#why is there an entire second coffee grinder in your study

[empyrean-mirror]

it's not a reblog but I've been losing my mind about the state of Alhaitham's bookshelves all day Bruh, Bruh why have you got books on every flat surface and YOUR SHELVES AREN'T EVEN PROPERLY FILLED? THERE IS ROOM!!! SIR! SIR AT LEAST SHELVE THEM PROPERLY AND NOT JUST HOWEVER YOU PUT THEM DOWN KAVEH WAS RIGHT WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS

[artificialqueens]

Sweet On My Lips (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: This is my first fic! I usually write poetry, so this is quite a change. Hope you enjoy :) You can also read it on AO3!

Summary: Gigi’s a barista and Crystal stumbles into her cafe. Softness ensues.

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when Crystal Methyd stumbles into the cafe with a book bag under her arm. She needs a sugar high. Immediately.

She wanted to go to a Starbucks, but a few wrong turns on the way back from the new tattoo studio she was an apprentice at, and she was suddenly twenty minutes away from the nearest one. She ended up having to settle for a local cafe to satisfy her sweet tooth. How is that even possible? Starbucks is supposed to have a store on every street. That’s, like, the law.

Add that to the fact that LA summers felt like Satan himself was preemptively boiling everybody alive to lessen his workload once they made it down to hell, and you got one very pissed off Crystal.

“Hi! Can I get, uh, a-” Crystal starts, approaching the counter. She squints at the menu, trying to decide from the creative names which drink has the most cream and sugar. Her mouth tastes filmy and gross from dehydration, not at all helping her concentrate on scanning the drink names.

Tiramisu mocha? White chocolate raspberry frappe? Maybe the frappes are sweeter, given that they’re usually topped with whipped cream and all. She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. It’s too hot out to order a hot chocolate. Maybe she could ask to get it iced, though? Is that a thing?

She honestly should have just walked the twenty minutes to Starbucks; at least she knows for sure that they’re okay with modifications.

She realizes she’s been quiet for a few seconds too long when the barista speaks.

“Take your time! There’s not much business this time of day anyways.”

“Thanks,” Crystal drags her gaze away from the menu and up to glance at said barista. Her breath catches as soon as she does. The first thing she notices is curly red hair, pulled into a shiny ponytail. It looks soft, and she wants to touch it.

Crystal’s pretty sure this barista is the first redhead she’s met (apart from that one time she decided to dye her hair red in eighth grade, of course, but she doubts that counts.)

She’d only done it to piss off her English teacher after he’d gone on a rant and said that unnatural hair colors were an abomination of god or whatever. It didn’t come out to be a pretty shade like this girl’s. More… Clifford the big red dog. But ultimately, three months of picking out clothes to match her hair and drenching her damaged split ends in coconut oil were worth it, if only to see Mr. Rhodes splutter every time she came into his classroom.

A thump from the cafe dishwasher brings her back to the moment, and she startles slightly.

“D’you want some help choosing?” The barista asks helpfully.

She doesn’t trust herself to speak without stammering out something embarrassing, so Crystal just nods instead.

“Great!” The redhead says, smiling. Her nose scrunches as she does so, and Crystal notices the coral-colored blush placed there for the first time. It gives the girl a sunburnt look. It’s cute. She’s cute.

“I love guessing people’s coffee orders. It’s like, coffee shop tarot reading or whatever,” The girl says.

“Aren’t tarot readings for the future though?” Crystal gets out, finding her voice again. Her eyes drop to the barista’s name tag- Gigi. It’s nice to put a name to the pretty face. “So this would be more like a BuzzFeed personality quiz or something.”

“Whatever, I don’t know.” Gigi waves the question away, shrugging. Her smile is warm, and it makes Crystal feel kind of melty inside. “You’re probably right.”

“Do you do it often?” Crystal ventures.

Gigi gets a bit flustered, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. Crystal wishes she could be the one playing with Gigi’s hair. Is that creepy? Definitely creepy.

Gigi considers how to word her answer. Okay, don’t tell her you analyze everyone that comes in here like some sort of serial killer.

“Mostly just in my head? It keeps me entertained.” Or do. Great.

“Cool! Do you want me to answer questions or something? I can do that.” Crystal offers.

“No, that’s cheating. Just, like, stand there for a sec, yeah?”

Crystal obeys, feeling a bit silly. Gigi narrows her eyes, studying her.

“You’re wearing bright colors and mixing prints… that tells me you’re fun and like, a child at heart and stuff.” And you’re really pretty, Gigi wants to add. Really, really pretty, because nobody else I’ve ever met could get away with mixing prints. Not even Nicky, and that girl is a runway model.

“Uh, thanks, I think!” Crystal shuffles a bit. She hopes that being “a child at heart” a good thing in Gigi’s book. She wants Gigi to like her. The realization almost makes her snort in irony. Of course. I’m head over heels for a pretty girl I just met five minutes ago who’s probably not even gay. How very cliche lesbian of me.

Crystal makes a mental note to never, ever tell her group chat about this. (Meaning, the group chat is the first place she’ll go to talk about this after she leaves in around five minutes.) Jaida will probably never let her live it down. On the bright side, it would probably give her a break from constantly having to relive the Mailbox Incident of Summer 2017. She nearly shudders just thinking about it.

“Oh! And cute earrings! Where’d you get those?” Gigi asked, bringing Crystal out of her thoughts.

“Thank you, I made them!” Crystal says, and only allows herself to grin like an idiot for five seconds.

“No way, that’s incredible,” Gigi marvels. “Do you sell them or anything?”

“Yeah, mostly just to friends, though. Once a month I go to an art fair and that’s when I sell the most stuff.” Crystal says. She hesitates for a moment, before throwing in a, “but then again, lesbians will buy anything if you stick a needle on and call them earrings, so.”

“That’s cool,” Gigi says. “And amen to that. I just bought a pair of bottle cap earrings? I have no idea when I’m ever going to wear them.”

“Thanks! Those sound cute, I bet you’d look pretty in them.” Crystal feels like a broken record at this point, just repeating the same few phrases. The praise has her feeling a bit shy, and she can’t help but get a little self-conscious. She fiddles with the hem of her denim jacket to keep herself busy.

Gigi doesn’t seem to notice, still very much focused on analyzing her appearance. “Freckles, cute! Are they natural?”

“Oh, uh, yeah!” Crystal brings a hand up to tap her nose. “I used to hate them.”

“What, no, they’re adorable! I’ve always wanted them. I would, like, dot them on with mascara in third grade.”

Crystal giggles. “That’s so cute.”

She flounders for a second, trying to come up with something to say as Gigi goes back to staring at her. “Uh, I like your hair! I dyed my hair red in eighth grade, but it didn’t look natural or anything.”

“Aw, thank you. Yeah, red hair is really hard to get right apparently.” Gigi nibbles on her bottom lip, thinking. “Okay, I think I’ve got it!”

“What’s the verdict?” Crystal asks excitedly, all previous discomfort forgotten.

The redhead pauses, steepling her hands and drumming her fingertips together. She lets the silence sit for a few seconds to build anticipation, though this time it’s decidedly less awkward, both girls having warmed up to each other.

There’s a pause before she announces her decision. “I think… you seem like a diabetes in a cup kinda girl.”

Wow. Okay, how the hell did Gigi do that? Is Crystal that easy to read or something?

Actually, yeah, it makes sense that she’d get it right. Crystal thinks, answering her own question. I dress like something out of a five-year-old’s wildest dreams. Still, pretty impressive.

An indignant part of her wants to insist that she can handle bitterness, thank you so much, but Crystal’s never been a great liar, and something tells her this girl wouldn’t buy it either.

“Is that… a good thing?” Crystal says, a dumb grin spreading on her face. Get it together, Crystal.

“What? Girl, in what world is diabetes a good thing?” Gigi cackles. “It’s horrible. I get an iced black coffee, for reference.”

“Ew,” Crystal blurts without thinking. Shit, I said that out loud. She immediately flushes and tries to take it back. “Or, no, I mean, not ew, but-”

“No no, it’s okay! I know some people just aren’t mature enough for Big Girl coffee,” Gigi mocks. Crystal would usually be offended, but judging from the way Gigi’s blue eyes are sparkling with mirth, she knows the girl’s just joking.

She still makes a sort of offended squeak, pouting. “I just like the way sweet stuff tastes!”

“Okay, okay!” Gigi holds her hands up in surrender, barely concealing a grin. “Don’t pout, you’re too cute to pout.”

The squeak that escapes Crystal is real this time. Gigi called her cute? Is she flirting or just being nice? I’m probably delusional. Right?

There’s a moment where neither girl speaks. It hangs in the air with the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, mixing until Crystal’s half sure the entire cafe’s suddenly been turned into some sort of fairy-tale confection. She’s afraid to move, like the space around her will crackle and shatter if she does. It’s quiet, safe for the background of the coffee grinder going steadily and some gentle R&B flowing out of the sound system.

It’s a comfortable sort of silence. Crystal likes it, feels safe in the cocoon-like ambience. She wonders why she’s never come to this cafe before. Maybe it’s time to break her Starbucks addiction, explore a bit more.

Gigi clears her throat.

“So, how does a double chocolate cookie dough frappe with Nutella drizzle sound?” Gigi asks, finger already poised above the cash register screen.

Perfect.

Okay no, she can’t say that. Crystal clears her throat, trying to come up with a response that’s not as corny. She eyes the wall opposite the counter, where the menu is, then Gigi, confused.

“Wait, I don’t see it on the menu?” She scans the menu again, trying to find Gigi’s recommendation. Did she miss it? Her coffee budget is $3, what with rent due at the end of this week. Hopefully, Gigi’s recommendation isn’t over that limit.

“Oh! Yeah, um, I kinda just made it up right now.” Gigi flushes, sounding a bit flustered. She rushes to explain. “My boss is, like, super cool though! She lets me experiment and stuff. And I can just ring you up for a hot chocolate and it’ll be our little secret.”

In truth, this is Gigi’s first time making anything off-menu, so she isn’t sure what her boss Widow’s policy on the practice is. But she has this inexplicable urge to want to impress this girl. Gigi wants her to love the drink she orders.

I mean, it can’t go that bad, right? She reasons. Worst case scenario Widow takes it out of my tips or something. But Widow’s nice. She probably won’t do that.

“Well, in that case,” Crystal starts, and then changes her mind. “Actually, what did you say you usually ordered? Black coffee? I’ll take that.”

A shocked noise escapes Gigi. “I get an iced black coffee. You sure you want that?”

“Yeah yeah yeah! I can handle it, you’ll see,” Crystal hears herself say. This is an astronomically bad idea, she knows, but then again, she’s never been one to turn down a challenge. She wants to impress Gigi, and what with her teasing earlier, she honestly feels like she has something to prove.

“Okay, your funeral,” Gigi relents, raising an eyebrow. “That’ll be $2.49, then.”

Crystal hands her card over, watching Gigi go through the motions of scanning it, handing it back to her, and tearing off the receipt.

“You want the receipt?” Gigi asks.

“Nah, I trust you,” Crystal winks at the other girl, surprising even herself with her boldness.

Crystal thinks she sees Gigi redden, though that could just be a combination of her makeup and a trick of the light. Something tells her that the redhead is fond of blush, what with the way the coral powder has been taken across the bridge of Gigi’s nose and on her cheekbones.

“Okay!” Gigi flashes her a smile and grabs a cup and sharpie. Two can play this game. “Can I get a name for the order, babes?”

“Um, it’s- it’s Crystal.” Crystal blinks, trying to figure out whether she heard that right. Whatever boldness possessed her to wink at the pretty girl in front of her fled the moment that pet name passed Gigi’s lips.

“Well, nice to meet you then, It’s It’s Crystal,” Gigi says with a smirk. “One iced black coffee coming right up! Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

Crystal plops down at the nearest table, watching Gigi work. Now that she has an excuse to just quietly observe, Crystal takes in Gigi’s full appearance. Her red hair is glossy and shiny under the sunlight that streams through the cafe’s windows, and she moves with expert ease through the space behind the counter. Her apron is checkered red and white. It’s tied in a bow at the back—a bow that’s lopsided, sagging slightly to the left, Crystal notes with a smile.

The girl is gorgeous, there’s no doubt about it. If Crystal met her on the street she definitely would have mistaken her for a model. And she was nice, too.

Nobody ever noticed her freckles or complimented her on her earrings the first time they met her. Most people thought her style of dress was weird, and Crystal figures that’s fair enough. Just the other day she wore a magenta jumpsuit with matching bunny ears. Anyone in their right mind would be a little taken aback at her fashion (as Jaida put it, her aesthetic is best described as “thrift store on acid.” Not exactly everyone’s cup of tea.) But Gigi got her right away, and a little part of Crystal wants to take that as a sign. Okay, maybe a large part.

Just as Crystal’s about to get lost in her daydreams again, Gigi bustles over with two cups, one in each hand.

“I made you a cookie dough frappe just in case,” She says, setting both cups on the table. “It’s on the house.”

Crystal exhales a light laugh. “You didn’t have to.”

“Oh,” Gigi says. She shifts her weight onto the other foot, suddenly shy, and gestures lamely towards the two drinks. “I wanted to. Just in case, like, the black coffee was too bitter. Sorry. You don’t have to drink it, uh, if you don’t want to.”

She offers an awkward smile. “I won’t force you.”

“Oh! Uh, no!” Crystal says, a little louder than necessary in her haste to reassure the other girl. Gigi jumps, and Crystal grabs her hand out of impulse. The movement jerks Gigi closer to her. “I mean, thanks. You don’t have to apologize. It’s really sweet of you to think of that.”

Gigi blushes, and Crystal’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she’s holding the girl’s hand.

And the fact that they’re the only people in this cafe. And the fact that when Crystal grabbed Gigi’s hand, it sent her stumbling a step closer, so now she’s pressed right against Crystal’s leg.

Gigi is very, very close to her all of a sudden, and her hair is really pretty, especially with the sunlight backlighting the frizz into a golden halo. She looks like an angel, and her eyes are hypnotizing.

Crystal wants to kiss her.

“Okay,” Gigi whispers, and licks her lips. It dawns on Crystal that she said that last part out loud. Fuck.

But Crystal can’t think, can’t panic, because Gigi’s so close and she smells like chocolate cake when it’s freshly out of the oven and still gooey in the center, just the way her abuelita makes it, and she’s warm and everything Crystal has ever imagined or wanted. Everything molecule in Crystal is telling her to crash into Gigi, and she decides to just go along with her instincts, because when a pretty girl is that close to her there’s no way Crystal can think logically.

“O-kay,” Crystal whispers back, stretching out the word, and then Gigi’s lips are on hers and they’re soft.

God, they’re soft. Gotta ask for her lip balm brand, Crystal thinks, because that’s a perfectly normal thing to ask someone you’re kissing, and then Gigi’s shifting positions and sliding into her lap to kiss her more comfortably and she’s lost the ability to think again.

All she can do is feel, feel the way Gigi’s hand snakes around her waist, the way Gigi’s eyelashes are fluttering against her nose bridge, the way Gigi’s hair is smooth as she tangles a hand in it, the way her heart feels like it’s soaring and exploding all at once and each one of her veins seems to be pumped full of fizzy champagne all of a sudden. All she can feel is Gigi, and she thinks she likes that.

As they part, Crystal accidentally bumps her nose against Gigi’s. She pulls away, wincing, and meets Gigi’s eyes for one very still moment. They peer at each other in wonder, as if discovering each other for the first time, and then Gigi’s lips quirk and she’s giggling. Before long, Crystal’s joining in too, and both lose it, still riding high off the adrenaline of the kiss.

After they’ve both calmed down, Crystal motions to the drinks on the table. “Wanna share?”

Gigi smiles softly at her. “Yeah, sure.”

Crystal grabs the black coffee and takes a small, tentative sip. She immediately chokes, breaking into a coughing fit. Gigi pounds her back, hard, then races behind the counter and pours her a small cup of water. After Crystal’s done hacking her guts out, she accepts it gratefully, trying to catch her breath.

“That,” She pants, “Is fucking disgusting.”

Gigi lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s the prettiest thing Crystal’s ever heard, she thinks, which is saying a lot because she’s been to at least one show for all four of the One Direction tours. ‘“What a feeling” harmonies can’t even come close to the magic of Gigi’s laugh. Crystal wants to hear it over and over.

“I tried to warn you,” Gigi says with a snort, then covers her mouth, eyes wide and mortified, clearly shocked at the sound she produced. The comical expression sends Crystal straight into another bout of laughter, and before long they’re both losing it again.

Sometime later in the afternoon, somehow, Gigi ends up in Crystal’s lap again. Crystal’s lost track of time, but she doesn’t mind. She wants to kiss Gigi again, and again, and again. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of looking at her, kissing the sweet almond balm off her lips, touching her. Crystal wants to be in her presence forever. Gigi’s tongue pokes out of the left side of her mouth as she gazes down at Crystal, lazily tracing the smattering of freckles across her nose, forehead, and cheekbones with her peach nails.

“I wanna kiss every one of them,” Gigi whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then: “They’re cute.”

Crystal’s pretty sure if she wasn’t already giving heart eyes to Gigi, they are most certainly happening now. “You’re cute.”

“Can I? Kiss them.”

“There’s a lot of them,” Crystal says. It’s breathy, a challenge and a plea at the same time.

Gigi smiles, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind Crystal’s ear. “We have time.”

And they do, so Crystal lets Gigi kiss her until the drinks beside them are both completely melted and the whipped cream in Crystal’s has gone all weepy and deflated. Gigi insists on making her a new one, and on entering her number into Crystal’s phone before she leaves.

Crystal goes home and dreams of her.

[heli0s-writes]

IV. The First Taste*

Summary: NSFW Chapter. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

Since you kissed Steve Rogers in your classroom on that Thursday afternoon, you’ve kissed him again and again after each meeting. It’s been precisely two more lunch dates, one more dinner date, and one long walk in the park on his day off before he was suddenly called in for an emergency pastry situation. That’s five kisses. Five dates. Five moments you lie in bed and think about while trying desperately not to scream.

You scold yourself every time because a part of you is embarrassed that you’re so—thirsty! But good God, the man is a tall glass of water you want to drown in. It’s been two stupid years since you’ve kissed anyone, and when you’re in bed at night, you hope that it’s not your lack of practice that’s been keeping him from moving forward.

You can’t be that bad, right? … Right?

But it’s always you who initiates, and Steve always keeps it short and sweet. Once, you felt the slightest flick of his tongue against your bottom lip, but then as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away.

Grumbling, you press your pillow over your face and punch it a couple of times before settling back down into bed. You peer at the back of your hand in the darkness of your room and contemplate on trying it just like you used to when you were a kid. God, this feels stupid.

Tomorrow, you’ll just ask. Because you’re both adults and because he was your… boyfriend. You smother yourself with the pillow again, because that was an even more mortifying thought than making out with your own hand.

 In the morning you go for a jog and make yourself a quick protein and fruit shake breakfast afterward. Then you head to the pool for about an hour before coming back home. Everything is quiet, and the world is peaceful, now that you don’t have the lives of twenty-five children hovering over your every waking moment. You shower and lie down on the couch before turning on a baking show. Looking around, you survey your apartment. It is so damn barren and cream-colored. You’re not strong nor brave enough to go get a bunch of furniture by yourself and start arranging.

Sighing, you settle on an easier task: maybe today you’ll go buy some houseplants.

Steve texts you a picture of a cheesecake around noon as you’re spraying water into the soil of two new succulents and a hanging fern. You show him your fern, placing your hand next to it for size reference. The messages between you are short and brief, since you see each other pretty often.

Summer break unravels you a little bit, but you’ll be damned if you let your new (very adult) boyfriend know. You play video games and browse the internet with a bottle of wine on the weekends, and your summer is just a giant weekend. It’s almost troubling, really, because every summer you have to either find a new hobby to keep yourself entertained.

Last year you took up rock-climbing and baked a lot… but with Steve around, that just seemed like a good way to get laughed at. And of course, the summer before that one was spent moving out of your ex’s apartment and trying to keep your head above water. You shudder at the thought. If it wasn’t for the very fortuitous call back from your current workplace, you would have probably had to move back home or continued spiraling into credit-card debt.

You text Steve, asking him to suggest a new hobby to you.

Right away, he responds and recommends that you join his watercolor session at the bakery:

I’m teaching a two-hour workshop Sunday after we close. The sign up sheet is already full but… it helps knowing the teacher personally doesn’t it? I do a ceramics one in the winter, too!

You blink.

Steve… I can only draw if I invoke the spirit of Other Steve from Blue’s Clues.

Oh perfect, now he’s calling.

“Yes?” You answer. His laughter is ringing on the other line.

“Hey! Blue’s Clues is an excellent show! And, I gotta admit, that guy can really draw.”

You huff and sputter at him, “Stop messin’ with me. Last year I baked a lot but now that you’re here… I really need a new hobby- a doable hobby!”

He chuckles again before his voice grows quieter. Bossa nova plays in the background, and the coffee grinder is buzzing intensely. “Oh honey,” He whispers, and you’re nearly gasping at the way his voice sounds—low, deliberate—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Come to the workshop, won’t ya? It’s just a beginner’s thing. I think you’ll really like it. For me?”

The quick-draw refusal you were so sure you could unholster on time is nowhere to be found, not with him asking you so sweetly like that. You grouse jokingly and accept, warning him that if he laughs at your unskilled hand, you’ll never take his advice again.

“Me? Laugh at you? Never, sweetheart. I can’t believe you would think that of me.”

“Oh hush, Steven.”

A puff of air escapes him and everything grows quiet. Steve mutters something you can’t quite make out, and then, even louder than before, the coffee grinder screeches. “Everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Yeah. Um, yeah. Everything’s good.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the way he pulls away after a good night kiss and reach to unholster that gun.

“Hey—uh wha—why do you--- um.” What the hell is the right way to ask this question? Why have our tongues not fought for dominance? Why haven’t both my hands gotten lost in the front of your button-up shirt? Why have you not pressed your hard, broad chest against me?

Maybe you’ve been reading too much Cosmo or Buzzfeed Relationships in your quest to find the right answers.

“Huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that?”

You holster the gun.

“Nothing! Ha! I’ll see you Sunday!”

“Okay, hon… See you then. Don’t be nervous! It’ll be great!”

 You squeeze your eyes shut as you place your phone on the coffee table. Crisis averted. Then, you search for basic video tutorials on watercolors as well as tips for beginning artists on your phone before casting it to the T.V. It’s entirely baffling and when you pick up a pencil and try to draw your new succulent on a nearby notepad, the voice coming through the speaker sternly states that you should “make marks deliberately-- not fiddling about with sketchy, hairy lines like a fuzzy caterpillar!”

What you’ve been working on looks exactly like a fuzzy caterpillar, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

So you try again, erasing furiously before attempting those “deliberate” lines. After nearly fifteen minutes, you sit back and peer at your creations.

“Jesus.”

Your smooth, plump, glossy plant looks like one of those inflatable tubes outside of an auto dealership in the middle of deflating.

You feel deflated, too.

Over your dinner table is a corkboard of photos and postcards, and you walk over to snag Steve’s thank you card from its place in the corner. You study his technique and peer at the delicate forest green line of each stem- just a single, continuous stroke. The petals seem to be merely blobs of color if you’re looking closely, and where the flowers touch, sometimes the pigments bleed over each other.

No, it’s not a perfect thing. But it is gorgeous, still.

So, you try… again. This time, you tear off the deflated succulent drawing and place it on your coffee table in the left corner. Just for good luck, you chant “Steve, Steve, Steve!” as if he’s Beetlejuice, and get to work. Half your brain is thinking of the striped green shirt and oversized crayon, and the other half is thinking of a striped blue shirt and oversized pecs. Either way, both of them could art.

You’ve drawn all year for your students- especially your ESL kids who struggled with codeswitching. Sometimes, when they were unable to find the right word, or you were, you’d draw a picture instead. According to twenty-five first graders, you were an amazing artist, so… what the hell!

Ten minutes later, you tear off the top of the notepad and set it down next to its brother.

The two are stark differences, and your second one is little bit better. You’re almost proud of it—smooth flowing lines, rounded edges, and even a flat plane of the table to ground the pot.

Sitting back, you click around some more, making sure to choose videos that are most helpful to your current ability. Those speed-up painting videos were hella tempting, but you do not want to get lost in the rabbit hole.

Sunday is two days away. At the very least, you were going to be able to draw a damn good succulent.

---

You come in early to help him close before the workshop begins. Cap&Co. closes on Sundays right at six, and the workshop would start half an hour later.

The baristas say hello to you and smile, and you do the same back before you grab a rag and spray a counter down. The leftover pastries and sandwiches are placed on a tray and put in the middle of the room, where the tables and chairs have been pushed together by Steve.

“Snacks!” He smiles, “For the students.”

“Does that make me your student too?” You tease, finding the situation a bit ironic.

He winks at you before hanging up his apron. Between the four of you and the work that’s left, it’s quickly finished in the next ten minutes and the employees leave, wishing you a good night as they go.

Steve lets you choose the music for the night as he brightens the lights, and you randomly scroll through the shop’s selection before picking an old album you used to like as a younger girl—Fiona Apple’s 1996 Tidal. Right away, the singer’s brassy voice catches his attention.

“Who is this?” He asks excitedly, “I think I heard her on the radio the other day!”

You tell him, and he nods along to the music as he sets out sheets of watercolor paper clipped neatly on boards. Then he lays out five travel-sized round palettes already filled with an array of colors. By the time all the paintbrushes are next to each clipboard, people are starting to arrive and Steve is back and forth saying hello and giving hugs. You finish the end of the preparation and fill up heavy mason jars with water and set them at each spot. Then, you take your seat with a cake pop and eagerly and watch him lead the demonstration.

“Thanks for coming, everyone!” He smiles widely at the end of the table. “Good to see some of you again!”

 This must be what your students feel like, you think—you hope, because you are absolutely enthralled with everything that pours from his mouth. Even the way he stumbles over his words fascinates you, and the fact that he is so animated and engaged makes you love it even more.

Steve tells the group that he’ll demonstrate for about twenty-five minutes before everyone can start either trying out various techniques, or if they’ve done it before, can begin on painting whatever they please and he’ll come around to offer help. He suggests the plants for a nice still life, or other knick-knacks around the shop. Some returning students have even brought their own objects and you want to pinch yourself because you could have brought your succulent!

Then, he begins, showing you the right way to load the paintbrush with paint and water, and how water tension is so important to the medium. He shows you the difference between a wet brush and a dry brush. He shows you how to layer the colors. Your brain can hardly keep up with your eyes as they enthusiastically soak up the colors over his paper and the way his wrist moves easily back and forth from the mason jar where he cleans the bristles, to the palette saturated with pigment, to the paper where strokes are being placed.

“Here is a quick and easy way to make a flower.”

Steve loads a fat brush with water and pulls two shades of orange onto the white of the palette. In one swift motion, he streaks a daub of it onto the paper, letting the water gather more heavily on one side.

“We’ll let that dry for just a second— but we can do this for now.” He presses the tip of the brush into a tiny bit of red and makes another mark similar to the first one. The edges of the paint that touches leaks into each other, creating a tiny blossom of red into the first petal.

“This is what will happen when your paint is still wet—but that’s okay!” He makes two more petals—slightly more yellow than the last and touches his finger to the one with the accidental red bloom.

“It’s pretty dry now.” He blows softly on it for good measure and mixes a rosy coral shade into his brush.

The last petal is swept over the first, and the overlapping area where they touch turns into a vibrant shade of ripe orange. Then, quickly, he sticks the wood handle of the brush sideways between his teeth and picks up a smaller brush, wetting it, loading it with a deep purple that’s almost black, and makes a spray of dots in the middle.

“There ya go!” He takes the brush out of his mouth.

A part of you thinks that you are fucked because you may have just fallen in some deep shit here, as you stare at him, grinning widely—so proud of himself and somehow proud of you, too, for listening.

He’s made it seem impossibly easy. An absurdly beautiful blossom from his imagination stares at you from the watercolor pad in his hand as you shakily pick up the brush next to your hand.

“Well… shit, Steve.” You whisper before breaking out into a silly laugh and putting your forehead into your palm at the thought of the herculean task at hand. The woman to your right laughs along with you as she makes scribbly marks and drips globules of blue water onto her paper. Steve beams at you lovingly as you try to imitate the way he made the first petal, steering the water where you want it to go.

It doesn’t.

But you’re determined, damn it. Because one, you really want to impress him, and two, you really need a summer hobby.

The next hour flies by as you paint diligently, occasionally humming along to Fiona Apple’s resonant vocals in the background, chatting with the other painters. They’re all regulars at Cap&Co., and they adore the Rogers family.

Steve circles the room and answers questions, giving pointers, and sometimes putting his hand over yours to lead your paintbrush. He even kisses you on the top of your head when you finish your first flower—a lavender five-petaled ...cephalopod.

The affectionate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the others as they smile and quietly ask him questions when they think you’re not listening. Your ears go hot the rest of the night—just as hot as the top of your head because Steve!

Before you know it, it’s time to pack up. The album has already repeated, and it’s back to an early track. No one seems to mind, however, as they take their papers and wave goodbye. You linger in the area, pouring out dirty water and putting the jars back under the sink. Steve puts away the paints, fixes the rest of the tables, and you return to the café area to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his muscles. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“This exact song was on in the car.” He mutters amusedly, “I really like this… she’s got a great voice.”

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of a wooden booth. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

The lights are dimmed. The piano melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts.

“Um…” Your voice cracks.

I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long-legs, I feel that I’m finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a more upbeat tone as the chorus starts.

Give me the first taste. Let it begin. Heaven cannot wait forever.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you stand in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little confused. We’ve seen each other for like, two weeks now. I feel like it’s always me who initiates—but tonight you did a little bit more of that. And… I guess we’ve only kissed—Am I bad kisser? Steve? Am I?”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: Why have we not had sex yet?

Steve surges forward and takes your hand in his, “No!” His head his shaking wildly, “You’re a great kisser! The best!”

His blabbering catches you off-guard and the snort of laughter that comes from you is anything but attractive. “Jesus, Steven, that’s too much.”

Steve slaps his palm to his forehead. “Ah… I’m sorry. I think I’m just nervous.”

“About what?” You ask, leaning forward and looking up at him, “Steve, I just… snorted. You can’t be nervous about this. I should be the one who’s nervous! Look at you!”

He takes a step back and puts one hand on his hip, the other reaching forward to signal to you. “Look at me? Look at you!” He gawks.

The two of you stand there, pointing at each other, making scoffing noises of disbelief for a good two minutes before you put up your hand. “Okay. Pause, mister. You look like someone Photoshopped a rugged Ken Doll and then 3-D printed it. Westworld-style. You bake, you paint, you’re a ceramic---ist? Ceramicist? What! Steve!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “Come on! Your fuckin’ arms!”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m thirty-five and divorced. I sleep four hours a night. I’m a walking disaster.” Then he narrows his eyes at you.

“You’re gorgeous! You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so sweet…! You’re honest?” He ticks off each adjective using his fingers, “You’re patient? God, Sarah throws half a tantrum and my world collapses. You’re dedicated. You’re---“

“Okay. Stop.” You mutter, cheeks burning hot, “I sleep on the couch next to a bottle of wine and have three pieces of furniture. We’re both disasters.”

Steve laughs and steps forward again, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He whispers, “I like you so much… and… if we’re… talking about that. I haven’t… been with anyone in … two years. Other than you, I’ve only kissed one person my entire life… So, the question is—am I a bad kisser?”

You giggle as he gives you an apologetic smirk, shaking his head at the way you two have been aggressively complimenting each other. Standing on your tiptoes, you move to nuzzle your nose against his. “You’re a great kisser, Steve. The best.”

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before Steve expertly dodges your nose and catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Rogers grabs the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

He’s so tall he has to bend over and you’re so small against him that he’s nearly picking you up. A brief parting of your lips give you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest his burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, trailing your fingertips through his beard.

“D-does it bother you?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “My beard?”

“Mmm—no—” you’re breathless as he kneads his fingers into your waist, moving up to position them just below your breasts, “I like it—mmm-- lots.” You sigh, as his scruff tickles your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. “I’d like to feel it… elsewhere, too.”

He freezes and pulls away. His hands place you back down on your feet-- back to Earth-- as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against a table.

“Can we---”

You cut him off. Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger.

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

 Steve tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he leads you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and he’s made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, honey,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.”

You’re glad he knows how to navigate his house with his eyes closed because the whole way there, you can’t stop kissing him. Your hands tug his hair and your teeth pinch his bottom lip. Steve responds by growling softly, biting you back, squeezing your thighs before slowly easing you onto his bed.

It’s dark in his room, but you feel the bed dip as he climbs on too. Both your eyes are trying to adjust—trying to find each other. Your hands fumble around until you catch him, his knee. His hands find your stomach. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your shirt and peels it up over your head. Then he does the same to his own shirt and both of you shimmy out of your pants.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been two years and the first man you touch is more like a mythical creature than any man. It should be illegal for someone to feel this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This--” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already...”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of thick muscles.

The mischievous chuckle that pours from his throat vibrates against your chest. Steve grabs onto your thigh and eases your leg over his hips inching closer and straightening himself until you’re aligned perfectly. He tilts back and guides you against him until your center slides against his bulge.

Just as you find the elastic of his waistband, he jerks away and places himself in-between your legs as he moves you onto your back. You scoot until your head hits the wall, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him more room at the foot of the bed.

“You wanted to feel this?” Steve caresses your thighs with his cheek, the hairs on his beard tickling your sensitive skin. Your toes curl up reflexively as he moves back and forth, trailing his lips and face all over.

You squeal when the tip of his nose touches your mound, mouth hovering over your soaked panties. His mouth latches on, almost in a bite before he takes them off. Both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls your hips forward. You land on his face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.  

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss he presses to your folds. His breath comes out in a smug puff of air that purposefully continues to drive you unbelievably closer to what feels like breaking entirely.

“Baby…” he mutters—right into your cunt, Jesus! You groan at the way his face is nestled there. “Baby---mm— It’s been two years for me.” He whispers, “If I don’t get you off now, in a really good way—it’s not gonna be good at all.”

“Steve—you know—ah! It’s been the same amount of time for me too, right?!”

He ignores you, crawling his hands around onto your hips to keep you from squirming. When you settle finally, he moves one hand to your center, sliding a finger up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto your clit as his finger continues their trail. You fist his hair with both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But he doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your swollen clit, Steve doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion builds a terrible itch inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to scratch.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, pumping them in and out. He sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive bud, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching your back into his hand and face, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

“C’mon, that’s it. Thassa good girl. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked thighs, beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Instead of pulling away, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, and your heart stills. Ready?

You voice your concern, “What do you mean?”

With a slight chuckle, he sits up, wiping his mouth and parts of his beard with the back of his hand. In the dark, Steve reaches for your arm, guiding you to feel exactly what he’s talking about. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot. Throbbing. Big.

Sweet, sensitive, divorced, baker, artist, ceramicist, father Steve fuckin’ Rogers was packing. And it isn’t until you nervously grip him in both hands do you realize the importance of his last statement.

“Can I get you ready, baby?” He asks again.

For the millionth time that night, your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean against the headboard with a whimper. Steve crawls over on top of you, scoops you up once again in his arms, and places you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, previous two fingers pushing inside gently.

You rest your head on his shoulder as your body shakes under his ministrations, already tired and overstimulated. Your hands find their way to grip him, massaging his length tenderly, savoring the temperature of his body, spreading the beaded precum at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls.

The third finger meets resistance as you tense up.

“S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m… I’m pretty nervous…” But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear. It’s a few minutes of this exploration before you feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination. Steve takes the message as a confirmation and reaches into the end table for a condom.

It’s slipped on and you follow suit, gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could emerge from your throat.

“Oh… my… God!” You cry. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the sweetest sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re afraid to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, holding onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you mutter, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He flexes within you, grunts into your ear. A dry chuckle escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, my love… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. The two of you feel welded together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. You body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away and clean himself up. He goes into the bathroom first, lying you down and covering you with the blanket.

 When he returns, Steve finds you already dozed off. You palm rests under your cheek as you lie on your side, breathing deeply.

As quietly as he can, he squeezes in beside you, fitting himself against your back. He’s read it somewhere, that falling in love was a little bit like falling asleep. As his eyes slip shut, he feels it happening, just like that quote had said: slowly at first, then… all at once.

In the darkness behind his lids, there is strangely so much light.

Next Chapter

[dear-mrs-otome]

Fauvism - IkeVamp (Theo, NSFW)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Theo van Gogh x female MC Warnings: 18+, NS/FW. Blood and biting. Summary: There's only one thing Theo has allowed himself to want. (6.3k words, first-time smut) Author's Note: Many thanks to @velociraptor-detective for the baby joke, and for letting me flail over this.

~~~~~~

The heavy tolling of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall pulled Theo from his work, drowning out the crisp rustle of paper as he set the sheet he’d been reading aside and knuckled his eyes blearily.

Ten at night...when had the day gotten so far away from him?

He straightened up from his desk and scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair, stretching the kinks out of his neck and back with a long sigh. He should be sleeping.

Squaring the stack of correspondence, his eyes fell on a line in one - ‘your assistant’.

His assistant.

He hadn’t thought he’d ever read a phrase like that. Wouldn’t have believed it if anyone tried to tell him as much, six month ago before she’d arrived. Wouldn’t have believed it if anyone tried to tell him that she seemed happy to work with him of her own volition. And definitely would not have believed it if someone insisted that, given the choice of going home again...she’d stay. Here in this foreign country in a foreign time, in a house full of vampires.

He thought she was a fool for it, frankly.

But he knew he was one, every time he lifted his head from studying a painting and found hers still bowed beside him, his fingertips itching to smooth themselves down the fall of her hair. Every time he woke up in the dead of night, twisted up in damp sheets and the clinging spidersilk of dreams, panting with a myriad of thirsts - his throat and his body burning.

Every time the ridiculous, malformed hope managed to sprout again, before he crushed it. The one that whispered that maybe, just maybe, he'd had something to do with her decision.

Everyone in this house was more than half in love with her and her freely-scattered smiles - even Vincent, he suspected at times. Geniuses, artists, warriors and visionaries. And he was...a man. Just that.

Well. Not even that anymore, he supposed. Now he was just too stubborn to stay dead.

And too pitiable to stop dreaming as if he were alive.

Shoving aside those maudlin thoughts, he pulled open the door of his room and made his way towards the kitchens instead of his bed. If he knew her half as well as he thought he did, she’d still be awake. Somewhere in the house, still trying to make herself useful, and the kitchen was always a safe bet.

A part of him insisted she was a grown woman, who could take care of her own damn sleep schedule. The other, much larger part, couldn't stop himself from worrying about her. Someone had to, since it had become obvious long ago that she wasn't about to.

A half-dozen steps outside of the kitchen confirmed what he’d already suspected, as the ever-present sweet scent of her hit his nose like a sucker-punch.

He paused a moment and steeled himself, shoving his hands into his pockets in a carefully calculated show of nonchalance, before striding through the doorway.

“Knabbeltje. We have an early client tomorrow. You should be getting every bit of beauty sleep you can.”

She paused in whatever it was she was doing at the far counter and glanced back at him. “So should you, Theo.”

He cracked a grin at her quick retort and ambled closer, peering over her shoulder to see her elbow-deep in a pile of apple peels. “What are you doing?”

“Peeling apples,” she said, with the first hint of an impish smile, and he smothered his own by flicking her softly in the back of the head.

“Cheeky hondje. I can see that. Let me use smaller words - why?”

Her fingers turned the apple she held deftly, a long strip of mottled green and red curling from the paring knife as she worked. “So I don’t have to in the morning. I wanted to do something special for breakfast.”

“Something for Isaac? Here I figured you were the one person in the house who didn’t tease him about that.” He scrounged up a chuckle, even as the thought of her purposefully making anything for anyone rankled him.

“No.” She shook her head, and turned her attention back towards the work in her hands, her expression hidden from him. “I was thinking I’d make you a Dutch baby.”

The blood rushing in his ears was the only sound he heard as he blinked at her, his mind taking her words and galloping a thousand inappropriate places with them, dragging him along for the ride. “I...a what?” He cursed the way his voice broke slightly.

She glanced up at him, and the astonishment must have shown on his face, because hers immediately went incandescent. “A pancake! It’s a type of pancake,” she scrambled. “Have you ever had one?”

She was making food...for him? He busied himself with the coffee grinder and accessories, more to cover his disconcertion than from any real desire for a cup, juggling her sentiment as he measured out a serving. Unsure of what to make of it. “No. I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Ah.” Her small sound of triumph was accompanied by a satisfied smile. “I didn’t think so. I think they’re a bit after your time. But just picture a giant, eggy pancake with apple slices, baked in a skillet until it’s all puffed up and waiting for you to drown it in syrup and whipped cream. The edges get all nice and crispy and the center stays soft and mmm…” She closed her eyes, and hummed with bliss. “I love them. They’re one of the best things for breakfast.”

His fingers spasmed on the grinder handle, and he wondered what he’d done to deserve this special sort of hell - listening to her, smelling like that, describing his favorite food to him in excruciating detail. Especially after that misunderstanding a moment ago still had him...on edge.

Don’t lie. You know pancakes would be demoted to your second favorite thing to eat in a heartbeat, given half a chance, the devil on his shoulder whispered wickedly. Probably even third.

He was halfway through cobbling together a sardonic reply when he heard her hiss in a quick breath that ended on a tiny note of pain, and the knife in her hand clattered onto the counter.

“Hondje, what-” he began, and spun back just in time to see a scarlet droplet run down her wrist to hang off her skin, like the lone garnet bead on a pendant.

They both froze.

"Do you..." That was as far as she got, before her voice failed her, and it ruined him to think it might have been strangled by fear.

"No. I don't need it, I’m fine."

And he didn’t, technically. He’d just finished a glass of rouge an hour earlier. But, God help him...he craved it. Every fiber in him felt parched, as if he would dry up and curl away into dust, and his jaw ached where his fangs so desperately wanted to slip free. Vivid images tumbled through his mind in a rush, the same that haunted him so many nights - of her freely making him such an offer. Of sinking teeth into the soft welcoming pliance of her skin and feeling it give way to him, of the note she might keen as she writhed beneath him while his mouth filled with the sweet nectar that taunted him. Decadent and florid on the breath he sucked in.

It took every ounce of willpower he had to crush the urge to fall on his knees and beg for just that single drop.

Her tongue darted out, pink and bright, to wet her lips. "I wasn't going to ask that. I...was going to ask if you wanted it," she corrected him carefully, and the floor fell out from beneath him.

His hand had reached towards her before he snatched it back. Clenching the fingers that had so obviously trembled into a pale fist at his side. "I-"

"Are you alright, cara mia?" came a voice from the doorway, and his stare finally ripped itself away from that mesmerizing rivulet to find Leonardo standing in the doorway, his head tipped quizzically. His hands were thrust into his pockets languidly, but Theo could see the edge to his casual stance that whispered of violence, just below the congeniality. He'd been in far, far too many fights not to recognize a man one syllable away from swift, brutal action.

"She's fine," Theo bit out curtly.

Leonardo only eyed them mildly, his tawny gaze flickering back and forth between them before taking on a harder glint. "I believe I was asking her."

He took a step into the kitchen, towards her, and heaven help him - Theo felt his next breath leave him on something like a snarl, rattling low and ominous in his chest like nothing he'd heard  before, and the hot raw rage that suddenly roiled beneath his skin manifested itself as the fangs that had already been threatening. Sliding into place as he bared them at the other man.

Leonardo froze mid-stride to fix him with an incredulous look, and Theo wasn't sure which of them was the more surprised.

"I am fine. Really. Thank you, Leonardo." She glanced askew at him as well, before turning to the tall man in the doorway. "I appreciate you coming to check."

Leonardo just shrugged, and fished a half-smoked cigarillo out of one pocket to juggle aimlessly between his fingers. "Couldn't miss that smell." His eyes darted pointedly in Theo’s direction. “You’re sure you...ah...know what you’ve got on your hands there, cara mia?”

Another growl tried to clamber its way up Theo’s throat at the casual endearment, but he throttled it mercilessly. It only finally died entirely when he felt her small hand creep up and wrap around his forearm.  “I think so. Thank you for asking, but I don’t think I’d feel safer with anyone in this house than Theo.”

It took a great deal of his remaining fraying restraint to smother the triumphant smirk her words incited.

“I see.” Leonardo studied them a moment, before a crooked grin slanted across his face. “Well...ciao, then. You kids have fun now.” He turned on a heel and, with a last jaunty wave over his shoulder, disappeared out the door.

His footsteps had barely faded before she turned back to him, one eyebrow quirked. "What do I have here, exactly? What's going on, Theo?"

"I don’t-" He broke off before he could finish that lie, and raked a hand through his hair, scrambling desperately for some composure that was impossible to find when every deep breath he drew was suffused with the scent of her. His eyes falling everywhere but back on that line of blood.

Her eyes narrowed at his silence. "You didn't answer me earlier, either."

“Because, hondje. You have to understand. If you offer me this, I don’t share.” Don’t! Won’t, howled the beast that lashed along the scaffold of his ribs, like a wolf pacing the treeline restlessly. Stretching the thin ephemeral boundary between civilized and savage taut. Can’t...

“I’m not asking you to. I’m not interested in sharing either.” Her chin lifted another unyielding degree. "I'm just asking you to be honest. Do you want this? Yes, or no?"

"Yes."

The word was wrenched from him, agonized. He'd lied and lied and lied for so long, about countless things, but he couldn't dissemble when her stare was a misericorde. Sliding deftly between the gaps of his armor to dispatch him so effortlessly.

His entire heart was in that single syllable, torn from his chest and laid out for her, offered even if she was unaware. Here it is. Withered and unworthy, but yours.

“So...tell me what you want.” He dared himself to reach out and set fingertips to the fragile skin underneath that chin, traced the subtle rush of blood just below the surface until his touch alighted over her voicebox as his gaze flickered back up to hers. That feeble hope bursting back into full bloom once more. “Say it out loud, so there’s no misunderstanding. So neither of us can take it back.”

“I want you to bite me, Theo. I want more than that, if you'll give it to me." 

Her face washed pink but her voice was steady and deliberate, as steady as the eyes that met his undauntingly when she held her bloodied hand up between them and squeezed it into a fist, setting a fresh well of crimson up from her clenched fingers to run between them. Racing along like a fuse touched by flame - the precursor to a cataclysm.

Even if he’d had a reply, he didn’t think he’d have been able to force it out through a throat that burned as fiercely as his did just then.

Leaning in he caught the droplet on a flick of his tongue, and it burst exquisite across his palate. Like biting down on the sweetest summer-warmed strawberry. He couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him as his grip curled around her wrist and tugged it blindly closer, his free arm snaking around her waist to draw her hard up against him. His lips found the warm skin of her palm and closed over the cut, the edges smooth beneath his tongue as he licked away at the slow seep. 

Her breath caught in a sharp staccato, and he glanced up. “Does that hurt?”

“…It stings. A little,” she admitted, but there was a smoldering light in her eyes that told him that wasn’t the entire truth.

“Don’t worry.” His mouth curled smugly, and the point of one wicked canine dragged along her skin with the motion. “I’ll kiss it all better.”

The red red line mapped down her wrist, like a cartographer’s warning - here be dragons - but he followed it gladly. Lingered for the briefest of moments to feel her paper-thin skin throb with the frantic beat of her pulse at her wrist, as if it were something trapped. Desperate and begging to be set free.

And with a single swift bite, he did. 

She flooded him. Filling his mouth as surely as she did his thoughts, her blood sweet and decadent and somehow full of her. Reflected in faceted fragments of flavor. Ripe and lush, the same as the curve of her lower lip when she smiled. Crisp as the sly words she never hesitated to sling back at him. Laced bright and fresh with the glow of her hair when it was kissed by the sun.

“Oh...” He half-heard her soft exclamation over the bacchanalian clamor of his own heartbeat, felt the way she melted in his arms. “Oh. Theo…”

And fuck. If he hadn’t been a man lost before, he certainly was now - because he’d give anything and everything he was to hear her say his name like that again. Breathless and wondrous and needful, a gossamer thing woven of desire that snared his heart more mercilessly than any net ever could. He drew harder on her skin in a desperate bid for more, sank his fangs in again, deeper, as he swallowed another greedy mouthful, and was rewarded with a gasp that seemed to shake her entire body in the unyielding circle of his arm.

“Do you want me to stop?” He couldn’t resist lifting his lips from her wrist to fix her with a knowing, cocksure smile.

Her unfocused eyes blinked and cleared enough to find his, burnished with desire. “Don’t you dare.” A hand buried itself in his hair and drew him back towards her, and he felt her fingers shaking against his scalp like the last clinging leaves of autumn. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

He went willingly, loosening her collar enough to bury his face in the crook of her neck with a soft snarl, closing his teeth over the sharp ridge of muscle that ran taut between her shoulder and throat. Held her as he drank her down mercilessly, savoring every soft ragged exhalation he felt stir his hair and the fingers that dug into his back. Every writhe and tremor as she moved restlessly against him, desperate for the release of the tension he could feel singing through her.

Until, like a note held too long, he sensed it finally breaking.

He lifted her in his arms, drove the both of them back into the unyielding wall as his mouth sealed over hers, swallowing the sound of her scream down as she came apart in his embrace. Making of it an aperitif. Blood still tinting the kiss as he devoured her in a whole new way and filled his grasp with the soft, yielding weight of her body.

Her tongue slipped boldly past his fangs to meet his own when she recovered, retreating only far enough for her teeth to catch his lip, and he was halfway to unfastening his trousers when a measure of sanity came back to him and he stopped.

“You’re the first thing I’ve wanted for myself in a long, long time. The first thing I’ve let myself want.” He pressed the frantic words to the hollow beneath her ear, felt his own breath wash back at him, hot and fervent. Half-drunk on need and the taste of her. “Tell me I can have you.”

“You can.” Her fingers twisted in his hair, tilting his head up sharply to meet her gaze, and he blamed the brief sting of it for the way his eyes blurred with moisture until he blinked it away. “As much or as little as you want. I’ll give it all to you, as long as you return the favor.”

How did he tell her she already held all that he was in the palm of her small hand?

That he’d been hers from the first moment she’d sat fearlessly at a breakfast table full of vampires and laughed, sweeter than the syrup that had graced his meal?

“Good.” He bit the word out with a click of teeth snapping together, as if shearing through any last bindings that had held him restrained, fangs still bared. His hand left the wall, coming up to cradle the back of her head, holding her gaze on him as he ducked to fill his vision with the sight of her warm eyes. “Then I’ll show you that you’re mine. Mine alone.”

Closing the gap between them he crushed his mouth to hers, desire and fear and possession tangling tightly within his chest as he forced his way past her lips to press his tongue into the delight of her mouth, fingers untangling from her hair to drop to the small firm curve of her backside. Flesh dimpled beneath his harsh grip as he dragged her closer, half against himself and half to perch atop the sturdy worktable, never breaking the fierce kiss as he hoisted her higher, a ragged animal growl climbing in his throat and passing between them.

“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk straight,” he managed at last when the burning in his lungs forced him to break away, thumb brushing tenderly over her bruised lower lip in discordant opposition to his rough words. “Until you’re covered in my marks and everyone in this house knows as well as you do that you belong to me.”  

The tight heat in his groin only flared hotter when she nipped down at the pad of his thumb, a wicked smile curling across her mouth. “Yes,” she challenged, voice rough with arousal. “Please do. Show me how I’m yours.”

Her husky assent pulled a groan from him, lips falling back to hers as he worked her more securely onto the tabletop, hands framing the flare of her hips to clutch her against himself so she could feel the effect her words had on him. How hard and ready he was for her, how the look in her eyes shot straight through him.

“That eager, are you?” He breathed the question into her ear, voice tattered and undone. His tongue swept over the delicate shell, dropping lower to trace the throbbing beat of her heart as it ran down her neck, hands smoothing along the line of her back. The thin weave of her blouse snagging on his fingers as he pulled the hem free of her skirt, but the narrow span of her waist was an even softer satin beneath his palms as he worked his hands under the fabric, tracing the planes of her stomach and circling her navel with his thumbs.

He bent to press his face to the flesh there, tongue darting into the tiny hollow as he licked a path higher, hand working her the fastenings of her top loose until his patience unraveled and he simply pulled it the rest of the way apart, scattering buttons wildly.

“Theo! I liked this shirt!” she squealed.

“I’ll buy you another. I’ll buy you a new one every single day if you let me tear it off you every night,” he offered unrepentantly, delighting in her indignation. “A good master pampers his pet, right?”

He lingered over the sight of her breasts, warmed by the soft glow of the lamps and encased in her modern underthings. Lifting one free of the stifling cup of her bra he circled the berry-bright nipple with his tongue, breathing lightly on the dampness left behind to pebble it tightly before drawing the peak into his mouth and suckling hard, teeth leaving small scrapes and welts as he nipped down at the skin beneath his lips.

She rolled her hips against his, a small moan pulling out of her as the hard ridge of his arousal was ground between them, fitted tightly against her center but still separated by too many layers of clothes. Her hands slipped to the placket of his shirt, hasty fingers racing down the line of buttons until she could shove it off his shoulders and dig her nails into his bare skin as he bowed over her. Ten stinging crescents of beautiful impatience.

Winding her legs tighter around his hips, she pulled him even closer. “Theo,” she breathed, before whatever else she was going to say was lost on a wordless sound of desire.

His jaw flexed at the sound of his name, biting down on the soft mound of breast he’d taken back between his teeth, gratified by the hint of copper that rode his tongue as he pulled away and licked over the wounds he’d left on her skin.

“Mine,” he growled, like a beast crouched over its quarry, rational thought all but flown entirely as he tried to puzzle out the confounding undergarment. He picked up her discarded knife from the counter near them and slid it under the offensive thing, parting it easily. Flicking the useless scraps to flutter to the floor behind them and bending to finally claim the other freed breast, drawing on the flesh until it hardened and she squirmed against him, nipping again to ring the peak with his marks. “This one too.”

He flattened a hand between the wings of her shoulderblades, pressing the taut points of her breasts to his own chest, groaning slightly at the sensation of her curves molding gladly to his body. Nuzzling into the graceful arch of her neck he raked his teeth there too, drawing a shuddering breath that was full of their mingled scents as his fingers skimmed over the bend of her knee and under the edge of her skirt, cupping over the damp heat between her thighs to press firmly against the swollen flesh, thumb seeking the apex of her folds and circling the small bead there, grinding the harsh lace fabric over the sensitive spot.

Her teeth against his shoulder muffled the little cries that each sweep of pressure pulled from her. Drawing back one hand to wrap around his wrist she held him firmly against her, working her body against his touch.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” she gasped, breath hitching.

The only reply he could manage was a rumble of assent, working the soaked fabric aside to curl his fingers through the slick cleft of her, the heat of her core startling against his fingertips. He took his time, tracing slowly up and down her slit, teasing circuits just brushing the hard nub before dancing away again. Thrusting slowly into the warm depths of her, hell-bent on leaving her ruined for any other man. Teasing them both with the pantomime. Purposely pulling her to the brink again and again, pausing every time he felt the first flutters of her body around him until he finally sought out her ear.

“Tell me you’re mine one more time, and I’ll let you come. Make me believe it, and I’ll do it again and again...until you’re spent and sore and can’t even so much as remember your own name, let alone anyone else’s,” he purred darkly, lust and the heady sensation of pleasuring her adding gravel to his already husky tones.

The fingers she’d wrapped around his wrist alternately went lax and dug into his skin, pleading cries and whimpers working out of her lips to echo around the small room. Her hips moved in frustrated restlessness, chasing after the orgasm that he dangled just out of her reach. “Theo.” Her heels dug into the backs of his legs desperately. “I’m yours, I’m yours,” she said, sounding as if she might have agreed to anything at that moment, and he felt her body clutch greedily at his digits still curled inside her. “Please.” The plea was more whimper than word.

Straightening he stared down at her, lips curving in a slow smile at her breathless acknowledgement. Hooded eyes and trembling hands, tiny puffs of breath falling hotly between parted bruised lips as she begged, desire flushing her skin a dusky rose and trapping loose strands of her hair against the dewy surface of her forehead and temples - he’d seen few things as beautiful and erotic in his life.

She was a masterpiece to put all others to shame. Her pleasure a priceless portrait in a gallery for one, a sight he could keep all to himself.

“You’re stunning,” he said, shaping the words against her lips mid-kiss as he drew a quick breath, hips arching into the maddening heat of her body.

Her mouth moved against his, opening eagerly to the sweep of his tongue, and he felt her smile softly. “It’s hard not to feel beautiful if you look at me the way you just were…” she said quietly, catching his lower lip between her teeth.

He blinked, surprised. “How was I looking at you?”

“A bit like the way you look at a piece of art sometimes. Like it’s your whole world, like it has the mysteries of the universe hidden somewhere between the brushstrokes. You don’t know how many times I’ve been so horribly jealous of some paint on canvas.”

His thumb feathered over the soft happy creases at the corner of her eye, his lips just behind. The words he wanted to say stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled up in untold years of habit and silence. I’ve always watched you like that...just never when you could see.

He straightened, trailing his hands down her side, spanning the narrow cage of her ribs before ticking over each one, past the slim nip of her waist to slow at the spread of her hips, fingers curling into the scrap of fabric that still clung to her there. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he warned softly, leaning in to press his lips to the hollow of her throat that held her still-thrumming pulse, tongue swirling to gather the salt there. “I’m still not sure I’m entirely convinced.”

Moving lower, he kissed a pathway down the shallow valley between her breasts, following the ridge of taut muscle to the dip of her navel, breath whispering across the concave space held within the wing of one hipbone. His hands stroked down the lengths of her thighs, hooking thumbs into her panties to slip them down and off, palms curling behind her knees to bend them and set her heels on the edge of the table, urging her legs to fall further apart and leave her bared - pretty and pink - to his greedy gaze. The scent of her arousal swirled around him, blood and pleasure and sweat clinging to her like the richest of perfumes.

He closed his eyes on a muffled groan and bent to trace the tip of his tongue over the heavy tendon that joined her thigh to hip, tasting more of the same on her skin.

“Tell me again who you belong to...” he demanded, heated words ghosting over the fragile petals just beneath his lips.

She let out a little sound as she squirmed on top of the table and her lashes fluttered shut, before opening again and lifting her head to gaze down at the sight of him between her legs.

"I..." she started, but words failed her, caught in her throat for long moments. Her tongue darted out to wet dry lips. "Theo," she pleaded, trying to push him down to where she wanted him.

He stared up the long line of her body, admiring the gentle dips and curves of her landscape. “Was that your answer?” He leaned in to lick a single slow path through her folds that ended with a brief flick over the swollen pearl buried within. “You're going to have to sell it better than that.” A devilish grin graced his lips, fingertips playing about the soft heat of her opening tauntingly.  

He heard her bite down on a small whimper, watched her try to shift closer to his tongue, sink herself over his fingers, desperate for anything other than the brief, teasing touches he was offering her. Her fingers twisted through his hair as she stared down at him, her eyes dark with lust when they met his.

“Don’t you believe me?” she asked, her voice breathless. “You know I’m yours. My skin smells like you, my clothes. The taste of you is in my mouth…” She tilted her head back, baring the punctures on her throat, still crimson and bruised like scattered petals. The sight stirring something base and primal deep inside of him. “Bite me again, Theo. Mark me.” She lifted her hips. “Fuck me.”

The breath left him on a rough snarl, fingers flexing convulsively around the slim strength of her leg where he'd held her tightly, nearly undone by her brazen words. Turning his head blindly he sank his teeth into the silken expanse of her inner thigh, rasping his tongue over the punctures left behind and gathering up the honeyed flavor of her blood again before falling onto her damp center ravenously. He drew long lingering patterns over her with his mouth, groaning softly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and lips.

His fingers returned to delve deep into the tight heat of her body, curling and flexing again and again in time with the flicker of his tongue. At the edge of the table his own hips tossed restlessly, half-delirious with his own need and the tortuous ache of his stifled arousal, mind supplying him with lurid images to illustrate her words.

She cried out, slicking even wetter. Her fingers scraped over his scalp one more time before falling to the table alongside her, nails raking against the scarred wood frantically. She rolled beneath him, head falling back and eyes pressed shut, her hips lifting in time with the delving of his fingers, the wicked patterns of his tongue until she came apart forcefully beneath his attentions, her body quivering. Muscles fluttering around the fingers buried within her.

Panting at long last, she blinked her eyes open to stare dazedly up at the ceiling, breasts rising and falling as she caught her breath, shaking in time with the riot of her heart.

But it still wasn’t enough. He could have her, please her countless times, break and shatter and put her back together again over and over, and it would never be enough.

He wanted to give as he took. Wanted to fill her as surely as she filled him, until even they didn’t know where the other began or ended. It was love but it wasn’t, because that was too shallow a word for the way she had worked herself into everything he was. Coloring and tinting the very foundation of him, making of herself an imprimatura.

Quietly inescapable. Utterly irreplaceable.

Any capacity for patience he might have still had was lost. He drew back from her trembling form just long enough to work open the closure of his pants and lift himself from the confines of his undergarments, a long low groan falling from his lips at the freedom. No more talking, no more asking - just wrapping hands firmly around her ankles and hooking them over his shoulders. Arching to bring himself to her entrance as he wrenched her to the edge of the table sharply by the hips, burying himself in the heat of her in one harsh motion.

He breathed through the desire to spill himself immediately in her welcoming depths, scrounging tattered remnants of control from somewhere, locking eyes with her as he trapped her wrists above her head and began thrusting desperately, each motion shuddering the table and setting it skittering slightly across the kitchen floor. The breath panted from him on a faint grunt with every forceful flex, stirring the tiny hairs around her face as he kept his stare fixed on hers, watching the way each shuddering impact rippled through her awareness.

Watching his reflection play in her eyes. Still just a man - but the only one she saw.

His own drifted shut as he leaned in to kiss her, meeting her every motion with his own eagerly. Drinking in the scent of her enveloping him, the heat of her breath feathering across his cheek as his name winged its way from her lips.

Slowing his pace a fraction he peeled a hand from the grip on her to cradle the back of her skull, holding her close as he pressed his mouth along the fragile bone of her jaw, trailing down to nose at the soft lobe of her ear. “Say my name again,” he pleaded, the harsh dominance bled from his voice, leaving it broken and as desperate as the fingers he slipped between them to seek out the apex of her pleasure.

He needed to know that, even if for just a single shining moment, even if just for as long as it took to exhale, she was as thoroughly consumed by him as he was her.

“Theo,” she breathed in answer to the soft request he murmured against her skin, arching against him at the first brush of his thumb between her legs. She buried her face against the curve between his neck and shoulder, biting down in subtle defiance as her arms struggled fruitlessly against his iron hold, and then her body clamped down as her release washed over them both, messy and scalding and slick. Muscles trembling around him, her muffled cries catching roughly in her throat.

She clung to him through the waves of pleasure that battered her, as if he were the only port in a storm, and the feeling was both humbling and devastating.

Somehow he stroked through the clenching of her body, the first harsh seizing of her muscles drawing his own release to a sharp crescendo that broke at last, spilling himself hotly on a low shuddering growl until he felt wrung, drained with the long-forestalled climax. His head hung heavy and spinning for long unbroken moments as he fought for breath.

Stirring at last he lifted it, rubbing his cheek and nose over the damp strands at her temple, pressing a kiss to the hairline there before straightening and smoothing hands down her trembling torso, still sheathed tightly within her. “Schatje,” he murmured, hitching a soft smile down at her as he met her hazy eyes. “You are...something else.”

He felt raw. Exposed. Like she'd peeled off a mask with every rake of her nails over his skin, one that he'd nearly forgotten he'd even put on. Left in place so long it had nearly become him.

It should hurt. It did hurt.

But only in the way that stretching a sleeping limb did, or the lancing of a wound. In the satisfied aching way of things that could only get better from here on out.

She moaned faintly in reply at first, a boneless liquid sound that did wonders for his ego, and he stroked over her hair again. "You're going to have to carry me out of here, " she half-laughed as she drew her ruined blouse back into place

He scoffed, but set himself to rights and scooped her up easily, tucking her shirt tighter about her. "My hondje is going to be spoiled, at this rate, if she can't even take herself on walks."

Her pout only made him want to tease her more. "That's hardly my fault."

He laughed, a sound full of shameless male pride, as he carried her to his room. Laid her out on his bed and slipped beneath the sheets to tuck her inside the frame of his arms and bury his nose in the unruly mass of her hair. Drawing what felt like the first full breath of his second life.

"I forgot the apples," she murmured mournfully into the hollow of his throat as she nuzzled closer. "You'll have to wait on the special pancakes."

"That's alright. I'll be taking my breakfast in bed tomorrow anyways." The taste of her blood and the salt-sweet tang of her pleasure still rode his tongue as he hummed, the sound full of dark promise. The devil at his shoulder dancing in triumph at having been proven right.

Third favorite indeed.

~~~~~~

Tagging: @otomelin, @assomoir, @tacogawa, @shikikira, @vita-et-sanguis, @jennacat84, @that-otome-potato, @rokutouxei​

[ohemgeeitscoley]

Rey doesn't think when she calls Ben to go into her emails to send off her draft email with her final to her professor. 

It isn't until she's off the phone that she remembers all the other draft emails are to him and vary from confessing her love to him and describing in detail what exactly she wants to do to his body. 

No, Rey didn't think this through at all.

These letters to you (1/1)

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: This came from this prompt from the ReylosPrompt Twitter account.

Curious Cat Prompt: "Ben finds a draft on Rey’s email addressed to him confessing her love and lust for him."

@andyouweremine​ and @storiesofimagination​ are some of the best betas a girl could ever ask for. They make sure that my tenses stay correct and reassure me the entire time that I’m writing. They are the best cheerleaders and I wouldn’t know what to do without them. <3 

Read below or on AO3.

Please pick up. Please pick up. If there is any sort of fairness in the galaxy, please pick up your fucking phone--

"Hello?" Ben's voice is low, deeper than usual. It's his mostly asleep voice. Rey hates that she has thought enough about the variances of Ben's voice to know the different tones almost as much as she hates the fact that a sleepy Ben Solo is almost always her favorite version of Ben.

Ben had been one of the first people Rey had met when she transferred in as a sophomore. He had been in his first year at the law school. They both fought for the right to study under a specific tree toward the edge of the campus. It was quiet, far enough away from the hot spots to really attract much attention or noise. The leaves were big and provided plenty of shade from the sun. The ground was soft and mostly free of any large rocks or bouts of even landscaping. 

It was Rey's favorite spot. 

They fought over the tree for two months, both of them refusing to leave and each attempting to annoy the other into giving the spot up. It didn't take long for them to realize that when they were just sitting under the tree, quietly, together studying, it wasn't so bad.

It was actually nice, not being alone. 

Rey moved into Ben's apartment the following fall and they'd been best friends ever since. 

Rey's fairly certain she's been in love with him for roughly the same amount of time. 

Not that she has the time to be getting lost down that particular rabbit hole.

"Thank God, you answered," Rey responds, twisting the cord of the phone around one of her fingers. Everything about the diner she works at is a little bit kitschy and old, but having to make a call on a phone actually attached to a wall with cords is a whole different experience. "I'm so sorry I woke you up. I know you were up late studying."

"Rey?" Ben asks while yawning. Rey can hear him shuffle around in his bed. "It's not even 6 AM, is everything okay?"

"You answered," Rey smiles, hoping Ben knows that she is practically beaming at him through the phone. "Everything is going to be fine. My final paper is due at 6. On the dot. I was too nervous to send it last night when I finished it. I was going to send it in this morning, after I had a chance to at least look over it for grammar and spelling, but I'm me and I--"

"Slept through your first four alarms and barely made it out the door for work?" Ben interrupts.

"Yes." Rey sighs, rolling her eyes. "Anyways. You know I can't use my cell at work, I'm probably going to get shit for this call, and you're the only number I have memorized. So I really, really need you to get on my computer, go to my email and send in my paper. I have a draft saved and everything. All you have to do is get in my drafts folder and hit send."

"Sure," Ben agrees. "Password for your laptop?"

"Capital d-y-at sign-d-hashtag-number 3-exclamation point."

"I'm on it." Rey can hear Ben's door open, the same squeak sounding over the phone that she complains about every night when he's anxious from studying and walks back and forth from his room to the kitchen every twenty minutes. "Consider it done."

"You're the best roommate, slash friend, slash just all around hero of my life," Rey blushes, stopping just short of adding 'probably the love of my life' at the end of her sentence. Thinking about her feelings for Ben is definitely a rabbit hole she is better off to avoid. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"It's the least I can do if I'm really the only phone number you have memorized."

"It's 2020, Ben," Rey teases. "The fact that I have your number memorized is really impressive."

"Why mine?"

Rey can hear water running in the background, a cabinet opening and a drawer shutting. Rey hates that she can clearly see Ben in their kitchen, making coffee, probably with a slightly grumpy look on his face because Rey knows that she put the grinder and the filters back in the wrong spot. She hates it the same way she hates knowing that Ben won't say anything about the misplaced items to her, and that if she were home he would make her cup of coffee first. 

The way Ben always takes care of her first drives Rey crazy most days. 

"I figure the only time I'm ever going to need to call someone without having access to my phone would be in a real emergency. And you're the person I would want to call." Rey bites her lip, shaking her head as if she could shake away how vulnerable she sounds to her own ears. "Or, if I've been arrested. And if that's the case, you're the only lawyer I know."

Ben snorts. "I have to actually finish next semester and pass the bar to be a real lawyer."

"You're going to pass," Rey gently reminds him. It's the same conversation they've been having since the beginning of the year. "And then you're going to kick legal ass all over New York."

Ben's laugh is warm. "You should go back to work, don't worry about your paper. I won't let you down."

"I know you won't. Text me what you want for dinner. I'll pick it up on my way home from my last final." 

Rey hangs the phone back up on the wall and walks back out into the diner. She smiles, grabbing a rag to wipe down the front counter. Her nerves finally calm knowing that Ben wouldn't let her down and she no longer had to worry about failing one of her last classes. 

Ben would just go into her draft emails and send the email on to her professor.

Into her draft emails.

Her draft emails.

Fuck. 

***

Ben is not surprised when he opens Rey's email and sees that she has 37 draft emails. It's honestly exactly what he expects. 

He blows across the top of his mug, watching as the steam from the cup scatters. The coffee's still too hot to drink, but it's 5:57 in the morning and Ben's only had 2 hours of sleep. 

If he survives law school and passes the bar, Ben is going to need a three week long nap.  

Taking a drink from the mug, Ben grimaces as the too hot liquid burns his tongue and throat, and yet at the same time warms his soul. Ben opens the draft emails, seeing the one at the top to Rey's professor. It's easy enough to look at, make sure that there's an attachment attached and that Rey's message isn't full of 2 AM Rey snark. 

It's sent by 5:59.

Ben's glad that he woke up to his phone going off and that he answered. Usually, answering unknown numbers isn't something Ben does, but he's always a little more cautious when Rey is gone and it's a local number. Just in case. 

Answering a spam call and wasting 5 seconds but knowing Rey is fine is worth it. 

Everything about the call fell into the 'reasons to tell Rey about his feelings' column in the pro/con list he kept in his mind. Rey had his number memorized in case of emergencies. 

Somehow Rey Johnson had decided that he was worthy and could be trusted to be someone she could rely on.  

And for Rey, with all of the abandonment issues Ben knows about, to trust him to be there for her… it means more than Ben can say. 

Falling completely in love with his best friend was not on his list of things to complete before finishing law school. 

Though he thinks it might be the most worthwhile thing he's done in the three years. If he wasn't absolutely terrified of Rey not feeling the same way and ruining their friendship, Ben knows that loving her, being loved by her… that would be the honor of a lifetime. 

Tilting his head back, Ben reaches for his mug and takes another drink. These are the kinds of thoughts that Ben knows he cannot dwell on so early and on such little sleep. He's going to fuck up one day and send her a text message confessing that he does actually reorganize their kitchen cabinets sometimes just because he thinks that the way she scrunches her nose when she's confused and angry is the cutest thing in the world.  

Maybe he'll just text her that he loves her and not in a friend way. But in a ‘very real, very romantic, wants to take her on dates, and make her toes curl in pleasure’ kind of way.

Which is why Ben needs to go back to bed and try to sleep before studying again. His last final is tomorrow and if he isn't smart enough to list ten reasons why texting Rey about how pretty he thinks her freckles are in the sunlight, well, he has no idea how he's going to pass his trademarks and false advertising final. 

Ben is just starting to close the laptop when he sees his email on one of the draft emails. He knows that he shouldn't snoop in Rey's draft emails, but it's addressed to him and it's probably just a dumb meme that she forgot to hit send on. 

Because Rey sends Ben a lot of dumb memes. It's one of the things he loves about her. 

Ben pushes the screen up and is stunned to find that there are a bunch of emails to him.

Before he can think his way out of doing it, Ben opens the first email.

Dear Ben:

I came home early from work and you were shirtless and exercising in the living room

First: rude.

Second: I've decided it's unfair for you to ever wear shirts and you should be shirtless all the time

Third: actually, no one else needs to know about this gross injustice and you should only not wear shirts around me

Fourth: have you always been so... big?

Fifth: I need to go to bed and think more about this.

Yours,

Rey

Ben takes a deep breath. That was not a dumb meme.

That was the furthest thing from a dumb meme.

Ben slowly releases his breath, closing out of the draft email. He should stop. He knows he should shut down Rey’s computer and that he absolutely should not open another draft email to him. 

But he needs to know what else they say. For the first time in three years, there's a spark of hope inside Ben that maybe Rey feels something for him. So he looks down the list of drafts and opens one from 6 months ago on his birthday.

Ben,

It's your birthday. I know you aren't comfortable with attention being solely focused on you, but I'm so glad that you seemed to be enjoying yourself tonight. 

You deserve it. You're always so hard on yourself. I wish you could see you the way I see you. How kind and caring and thoughtful you can be. It never fails to amaze me, just how wonderful you really are.

You looked gorgeous. I had to stop myself from telling you just what seeing you in that suit did to me. I almost told you how badly I want you. 

I drank too much. I hate that you thought you had to leave the club to make sure that I made it back home okay, but I also… God Ben, you are always taking care of me.

No one else has done that for me.

You got me in bed, made sure I could change out of my outfit (which did you like my outfit? I thought you looked like you appreciated it when I walked out of my room, but you didn't say anything. I mean of course you didn't say anything. But I hope you did. I wore it for you.) you even brought water and aspirin for me to take tomorrow morning when I wake up. 

You kissed my forehead when you tucked me in.

I just want to kiss you. 

Well, I want to do more than just kiss you. But kissing seems like a good place to start. 

Which is how I ended up here. Reading all of these unsent emails to you. I almost hit send on the first one I wrote. My feelings for you haven't changed. 

But I'm so so scared.

I am terrified Ben.

I can't lose you. You've become the one constant in my life and I don't know what I would do without you in it. 

What if you don't feel the same way? What if I ruin everything?

I should go to bed. I just wish that I were in your arms instead of alone.

I'm so tired of being alone.

Anyways.

Happy birthday, Ben.

Yours,

Rey 

Ben reads the email four times before it really clicks in his brain that Rey likes him. Rey has apparently liked him for at least six months, but maybe even longer since she referred to sending her first draft email and that her feelings hadn't changed.

Her feelings. For him.  

His birthday had been the best birthday he could remember. Rey had planned the entire event. She had been so excited to celebrate him that it was hard not to embrace it. 

Ben's birthdays usually consisted of a phone call from his parents, maybe lunch or dinner if they were in the same city, and a few text messages from others. 

Rey woke him up with pancakes and waffles, because no one should have to choose between the two best breakfast foods on their birthday, and a detailed itinerary of all her ideas for the rest of the day. 

She spent the entire day with him doing whatever he wanted to do. Watching his favorite movies, ordering lunch from his favorite restaurant, confirming with everyone the dinner plans and post-dinner drink plans she had made. 

Ben had almost told Rey about his feelings for her that night. After reading her email, he wishes that he had.

How much time had they missed out on being together because they were both scared?

Ben shakes his head, he still isn't sure that this all is real. Maybe Rey hadn't really called and he is still asleep. Maybe this is all a dream. 

He downs the last of the coffee in his mug, running a finger across the chip on the side. 

Rey had tried throwing the mug out after she moved in, saying something about how they could just use his mugs. Ben had ignored her, placing the pastel colored mugs, chips and all, next to his glossy black ones in the cabinet. He told her the blue one was his favorite and it wasn't going anywhere. 

The smile she had given him lit up the entire room. 

He sets the mug back down on the table, scrolling down until he finds the first draft to him. I almost hit send on the first one I wrote. The email is dated the day before she moved in. 

He opens it.

Ben,

I will probably never send this email, but I also don't know that I won't. I know that I want to send it. I want to be brave and to know the truth.

The thought of doing it is just scary though. 

You know that you're my best friend right? It's hard for me to imagine a world without you in it, which for me is a lot. You haven't even been in my life for a year and you've already managed to make it so that I don't know what I'll do when you decide to leave.

That's what people do, Ben, they leave me. 

It's just a fact in my life and knowing that, honestly, has kept me safe. I keep people at a distance, which wasn't hard growing up because I just bounced around from foster home to foster home and school to school. But now I'm here and I'm not going anywhere new anytime soon.  

And then there's you. 

For some reason, I believe you're not going anywhere either. 

Which is scarier to me. I've never had anyone stay before. I don't know what to do with that. 

A part of me needs to believe that you're going to leave. So when you do eventually move on and leave me behind it'll at least be something I knew was going to eventually happen.

Anyways. I've gotten really sidetracked here. 

I've been going to therapy. Which you already know, since you're the one who kept telling me that it was something I should look into. Thanks for that by the way. You were right. 

She suggested that I write letters to the people who have left or hurt me. Not to send, but to just, get my thoughts and feelings out of my head. 

It helped. 

Which is why I'm writing this email to you, even though I'll never be brave enough to send it. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about you, Ben. I need them out of my head.  

I love you. 

I am in love with you. 

Not in a platonic way. In a very romantic way.

Almost everything you do drives me crazy and makes my heart warm and my face glow. 

I want to kiss you and hold your hand. I want to find out if my head will fit in the crook of your neck when you hold me the way I think that it will. I want to commit the taste of your skin to my memory. I want to know the marks on your body better than I know my own. I want to know what you look like when you lose control and give into pleasure. 

It's really apparent, I think, the way I feel about you.  

Only you don't seem to notice. And I need to admit to myself that it's because you don't think of me that way. 

Which is fine. I get it. 

You're you… and I'm just, well, I'm just me. 

But I'm moving in tomorrow and I just needed to get these thoughts out. Otherwise I'm a little worried I might just blurt it out when you help me wash the dishes or eat dinner with me. Which I'm sure sounds a little strange, but after a lifetime without these moments… 

I imagine living with you is only going to make me fall more in love with you. 

Maybe I'll just have to write you more. 

Yours,

Rey

Ben doesn't bother to count how many times he rereads the email. He just keeps going back to the top as soon as he reads her name and starts again. He doesn't stop until he is sure he could repeat every word without looking at the screen. 

And then he continues to read the email again, just to make sure.

Rey loves him.

Even with the words clearly on the screen for Ben to see, it's hard for him to believe. He's been in love with Rey since before she moved in. The idea that Rey has felt the same way the entire time doesn't make sense. 

Ben is objectively smart. He isn't even shy about his intelligence. In fact any given classmate of his would likely describe him as an insufferable know it all. Rey loving him without Ben catching on for over two years is inconceivable. He would have noticed. He would have seen the signs.  Certainly he would--

He reads the email again. And again. And again. 

Every time he tries to find a way to read anything into it beyond 'Rey has admitted in three different emails, to various degrees, that she is physically attracted to you and that she is in love with you' he rereads the emails. 

He doesn't read any more beyond the three. There are plenty of drafts to him that are unread, but he grasps the threads between them to form the overall picture without needing to read the individual emails. 

He feels guilty if he thinks for too long about reading the ones he did. He has information now that he didn't have before. He reasons that it is information that he should have though. Because now that he knows and he thinks to any given memory of Rey, with just a tiny bit of certainty that Rey loves him…

Well it's the easiest thing in the world to see. 

When he really thinks about it, Rey doesn't hide the way she loves him, she shines with it. He can see it in the way she smiles at him when he pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and tucks it around her during a movie. Her face soft and warm as she instinctively burrows into the heat. 

He can see it in the way she keeps finding reasons to touch his arm when they are walking. Her hand guiding his elbow when she's giving directions. A finger tapping on his wrist when she wants him to follow her gaze. Her arm interlocked with his when she's had just a little too much to drink to still be steady in her heels. 

It's certainly the way she trusts that he won't let her fall. 

Ben closes the laptop, stretching as he stands. He places the empty coffee mug in the sink, rinsing out the small drops of coffee lingering in the bottom of the glass. The time on the stove clock mocks him. 

7:34.

Rey isn't going to be home for hours. She'll go straight from the diner to her final. And he doesn't want to worry her by texting her. Especially when he knows she won't have a lot of time, if any, to text him back.

He isn't even sure what he would say to her. 

He could study. He should study. He tries to study, but it's pointless. He can't really focus when at least half of his brain is still focused on Rey's emails. 

Ben waits. Impatiently watching the clock and attempting to will time to pass faster. He reads his note cards in between planning the possible ways his conversation with Rey may go when she finally, finally gets home. 

It's a long day.

***

Rey glances down at her phone for approximately the millionth time on her walk from the diner to campus. She's almost run into ten different people while walking because she's too focused on her phone and not where she is going. 

There are no messages from Ben. No missed calls either. 

Maybe Ben didn't see the emails. There's no way Ben would see the draft emails to him and not read them. And if he read them he absolutely would have texted her about them by now. 

Right? Right.  

Unless he thought that letting her down over a text message or a phone call is too impersonal. Maybe he is just waiting for her to get home to break her heart. 

She should have just turned in the paper late. So what if she failed and had to retake the class over the summer and figure out a way to pay for it out of pocket? At least she would still have her best friend.

A drop of water hits Rey's face, Rey looks up from her phone and glares at the darkened sky. She doesn't remember rain being mentioned in the weather forecast, but that hardly matters as it starts raining harder.  

Rey checks one more time for any messages before sliding her phone into her bag and running the rest of the way to class. She makes it inside of the building just before a large round of thunder and the rain starts to pour.  

She sits at her desk, waiting for the rest of her classmates to show up. She pulls out her phone, debating if she should send Ben a message. 

Hey! By now you probably read the emails. This is really embarrassing and obviously I should have deleted them instead of saving them. I'm an idiot. Please let me know when you need me to move out by. Sorry for making this so awkward.

Or

You find two years worth of love letters and you have NOTHING to say to me??????

Or

I assume that if you felt anything similar toward me you would have said something by now. Can we just pretend that you never saw them? I don't want this to change everything. 

The professor walks in, handing off the test packets to another student to begin passing around. 

There's not enough time for Rey to address any of this with Ben in a message. But she can't stomach the idea of not hearing from him at all before going home. 

Rey: Hey! Getting ready to start my final, you never said what you want me to grab for dinner on my way home?

***

Rey hands in her test to her professor with a tight smile and a small wave. She's pretty sure she passed, which at this point, is all she can hope for. 

She spent half of the time thinking of different scenarios that could be a possibility when she went back to the apartment. Anything near passing would be fine. 

She walks out of the classroom and pulls out her phone. She has two messages from Ben.

Ben: Actually, I was thinking I would make dinner. Something to celebrate your last final. 

Ben: Maybe something to distract me from studying. 

Rey sighs as she walks toward the exit of the building. Maybe Ben didn't read the draft emails after all. Even if he didn't have feelings for her, surely they'd be enough to at least distract him. 

Rey had poured her heart out in some of those emails. She knows there are at least a few where she went on and on about what she thought about Ben's body and the way his hair looked with him growing it out. A few where she made it clear about her thoughts about how kissable his lips looked, how she wondered what his fingers would feel like tracing her curves. 

Even if he didn't have feelings for her,  certainly he would be distracted by some of those emails.

Maybe she won't go home. Maybe she can avoid Ben long enough that she won't have to find out if he read the emails or not. She won't have to find out if she's ruined one of the best things in her life.

The sun is bright when Rey steps outside. The sidewalks are a darker grey, small puddles pooled around the cracks and uneven slabs. 

Rey zips her jacket up, shivering slightly as the wind picks up speed. 

She spends most of the walk home trying to fight against her disappointment at the thought that Ben hadn't gone through the emails to him. She had spent so much of her energy imagining Ben breaking it to her that he didn't feel the same way, but a part of her had been hoping that maybe, maybe he felt the same. 

The idea that Ben just didn't read the emails was worse.

Maybe Rey should just tell him. Get her feelings out in the open and see what comes from it. There was a chance, a small chance, but still a chance that he felt the same way. Or that he could be open to the idea. 

Rey: Sounds good! Need me to stop for anything? Dessert? Wine? Hard alcohol to help with the studying?

Ben doesn't respond until she's almost home. 

Ben: No. The only thing missing is you.

***

Ben fidgets with the pen in his hand, twirling it in between his fingers. The pasta is done, the french bread is in the oven.

The only thing that is missing is Rey.

He glances down at his phone to check and see if Rey had responded, but there's no notification. She should be home soon and Ben still doesn't know what he's going to do when he sees her. 

He knows what he wants to do. He doesn't want to waste anymore time. He wants to tell her that she's beautiful, because she is, even if she'll fight it because she always complains about how gross she feels after a shift at the diner when she has to head straight to class. She’s always beautiful though, and now he just wants to tell her that. He wants to be able to tell her that when she wakes up in the morning and she’s scrunching her face up against the harshness of the sun sneaking in, or when she is passionate about something and it lights up her entire face.

He wants to tell her that he loves her. That he has been in love with her the entire time too. He’s just not sure how. 

It doesn't seem like enough to just say that he loves her. She wrote him fucking love letters. And even though Ben only read three, he knows that there are more and that they are just as lovely and somehow all about her feelings for him. She deserves more than just him saying that he feels the same way.

She deserves to know about the day he realized he was in love with her. She deserves to know about the way the slope of her neck into her shoulder drives him crazy. She deserves to know that he pretends to fall asleep during their movie nights because then she'll fall asleep and curl herself around him on the couch. 

The oven beeps and Ben stands from the table, he closes his book, grabbing his note cards and pens and highlighters. He dumps the items into his bedroom, before walking back into the kitchen to pull the french bread out from the oven. 

Ben's sliding the bread onto a cutting board, knife in his hand, when the door opens and Rey walks in.

Ben struggles to remember how to breathe as he stares at her. She looks beautiful. But she's nervous, her fingers are playing with the sleeve of her jacket, pulling and twisting at the loose fabric. She shuts the door, taking a step into the kitchen. 

She's staring at Ben and he can see it now. She loves him and he can see it. How had he never noticed it before?

Maybe he really was an idiot.

He had spent all day fighting his own nerves, trying to come up with the perfect plan on how to tell Rey that he never thought about what she must have spent the entire day doing.

Obviously, she knew that she sent him into her draft emails and that there was a chance that he would see the emails.

Did she know that he read them? Is that why she is looking at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open, as if she is almost about to say something, but she doesn't. 

Of course she's worried that he doesn't feel the same way. Why else would she keep writing him draft emails while not saying anything or giving him any real signs about her feelings?

He sets the knife down next to the bread and takes a step toward her.

"Dinner smells good," she says, a little breathless. 

Ben doesn't say anything in response, he just takes another step, closing the distance between him. Rey glances up at him, her body tense as she takes a small step back. 

Ben reaches out for her, his hand settling against her lower back, gently urging her to come closer to him. 

"Ben," she breathes, stepping forward, her hand hovering over his bicep for a second before she commits and rests her hand against the sleeve of his shirt. 

"It was the first night you stayed over," Ben says, brushing a stray piece of Rey's hair behind her ear. "It was… two, maybe three months before you moved in. You came over to study. We had dinner first and then you demanded that we watch a movie before we started studying. Something about how our brains needed a break and we'd be better off waiting for a few hours to get started on our all nighter."

Ben smiles, mostly for himself, remembering how cute she had been arguing with him. 

"We didn't study," Ben continues, running a finger down her cheek. "You fell asleep twenty minutes into the movie. You looked so peaceful and beautiful and I just… all I could think was about how all I wanted in life was to share it with you. Because I was in love with you."

Rey's expression is soft and a little bewildered as he continues. She turns her head slightly, her lips quickly pressing against his thumb.

"I've been in love with you this entire time. I'm sorry I was too scared to tell you. I was nervous… I am nervous that I'm going to ruin this. I love you and I know, Rey, I know that nothing is ever going to change that. I'm going to love you forever. I can feel it in my bones. Be with me? I know it's scary--"

Rey pulls at Ben's shirt until he bends down and she cuts off his sentence by kissing him. Ben sighs against her lips, his eyes closing as he places her free hand on her hips. She deepens the kiss, her tongue running across his, her fingers burying themselves in his hair.

The way Rey feels pressed against him, the pressure of her mouth on his, it's better than he could have imagined. 

It's over too soon, Rey breaks the kiss, a large smile spreading across her face. Ben's grin is just as large and toothy. He stares at her for a second, trying to memorize the way she looks in that moment to his brain. Then he pulls her into his chest and kisses her hair.

"I love you too," Rey says after a moment. "And I agree that it is scary. But I want to be with you. It's worth it."

***

Ben's kisses are something Rey could get addicted to. He kisses with his whole body, the way he angles in his legs to brush against hers, the pressure of his thumb pressing into her hip, his fingernails lightly scratching down her spine. And his lips.

God his lips.

She had been right about his lips. They were absolutely made for kissing.

He left kisses all over her face, her cheek, her jaw, just above her eyebrow. Rey tugged at the bottom of his shirt with one hand, the other quickly moving to run along the exposed skin of his stomach. 

He is so warm and solid underneath her hand. 

Ben pulls away just long enough to pull his shirt off. Rey spends a few seconds taking in the sight of him shirtless, his eyes darker than she has ever seen them as he watches her watch him. 

"You're so gorgeous," she says because she can. Then she moves to pull her own shirt off.

The black bra, which was mostly see through mesh, that she had picked out that morning appears to have been a good choice, judging by the way Ben swallows at the sight, his eyes slowly moving down her body. 

He places one hand over her right breast, gently squeezing before taking her nipple and rolling it in between his fingers. 

Rey moans, pushing herself forward into his hand, desperate for more friction. he repeats the actions on her left breast and Rey can't control the needy sounds falling from her lips. 

Ben pulls away then, dropping his hands to her waist as he takes a step back to put distance between them. 

Rey whines, instinctively following after him.

"The food is going to be cold if we don't stop," he explains, nodding at the pasta that's on the counter. 

Rey shakes her head, lifting up on her toes to kiss him again.

"Ben," she says, her fingers digging into his shoulder as she tries to find her balance. "I don't give a fuck about the food."

***

Ben groans at Rey's words, helpless to pull away when she's saying things like that and smiling against his lips. 

He kisses her, while moving them until her back is pressed against the wall. His fingers making quick work of the button on her jeans.  

This is going too fast. He knows that he should stop, that they should eat and he should ask her to go on an actual date, or to be his girlfriend, or fuck, his wife,  whatever she wants. 

But he can't stop kissing her. And judging by the way she's trying to undo his belt, she doesn't want to stop either. It's hard to argue against the side of his brain begging him to give into the pleasure and to take her into his room when she's pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to run her fingers down his cock.

"Rey, look at me," he begs, his hand grips the corner of the wall as he fails to stop his hips from pushing forward. The way Rey's hands feel wrapped around him, moving at a slow and steady pace as she raises her eyes to his face. Her hand picks up speed, and her eyes slightly narrow in concentration, like she's trying to decipher every twitch of his face so she can make him do it again is too much. 

"Yeah, Ben?" Rey says as an answer, her eyes not leaving his. She looks like the picture of innocence as she holds his gaze, her eyes full of love, her cheeks slightly pink, and her lips turned up in a smile.

It's difficult to believe that she can keep that expression on her face while giving him the best hand job of his life. 

"We should, uh, we should talk," he manages to get out, his grip on the wall tightening. "About all of this and what it means. I don't want… we don't have to rush into anything. We have time."

Rey's hand stops moving and if Ben was capable of holding on to more than a few of his brain cells he would have been embarrassed at the way he kept moving his hips long after she stopped. 

She holds his chin in her other hand, tilting his head down so she can look directly into his eyes before she leans up. The kiss is chaste and short, it leaves Ben wanting more.

"I don't want to talk," she says, moving her hand down his length again. "I don't want to wait either Ben," he shudders at the combination of her words and the way she twists her hand around the head of his penis. "I just want you."

***

Ben doesn't say anything, he tilts his head and looks at Rey like he's trying to decide what he did to deserve her and what he wants to do next. He's all action once he's made up his mind. 

He places his hand on top of Rey's, and Rey pumps him faster, feeling emboldened by the feel of Ben's hands on hers. He moves her hand away off of him, pinning it above her head and against the wall. 

"Ben," Rey sighs, half heartedly fighting against his hold, "I wasn't done--"

Rey stops talking while she watches Ben push down his pants to the floor. He picks her up and Rey wraps her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist. 

Heat pools in her stomach when he starts to walk them towards his room. His mouth is on her again. Ben's room is only about 30 steps away from the kitchen, but it seems to take forever before Ben finally makes it to his door. 

Ben holds her against the door, carefully shifting her in his arms so that he can move one hand from her to open the door. Rey uses that as an opportunity to suck at the skin just below his jaw. The arm wrapped around her tightens and Rey can hear Ben's sharp intake of breath once she's moved her lips away. 

So she does it again to the skin below his ear, just to see if she gets the same reaction from him. 

Ben carefully sets her down on his bed. He settles his knees on either side of her and bends down to kiss her. His mouth is hot and desperate against hers as he unclasps her bra. Rey leans back on the bed and helps him slide the straps down her arms. 

Rey lifts her hips up so Ben can remove her underwear and jeans. She runs her fingers along the edge of his hip bone.

"You're beautiful," Ben says, his voice lower than Rey has heard it before. He drags his thumb along the curve of her breast and across her nipple.  "You're so beautiful Rey--" his fingers trail down along her waist and stomach until he barely grazes her clit with the pad of his finger. 

But it's enough to send small tendrils of pleasure throughout her body. He moves lower, running a finger through the wetness at her opening. She nods at the questioning look he gives her. 

He pushes a finger inside of her, curling it up as he sets a slow, leisurely pace with his movements. Rey moans, trying to urge him on to go faster.

"Ben, please," Rey begs, though she isn't quite sure what she's asking him to do. "I need more."

Ben drops to his knees, hooking Rey's legs over his shoulder. He adds another finger, picking up speed while he places wet kisses on her thighs and hip bone. His nose brushes against her clit when he moves his head to pay attention to the other side of her body. 

Rey whines, lifting her hips to try to find something to give her friction where she needs it most. Ben grins into her thigh. 

"You're a tease," Rey huffs. "An absolute damn tease and I need--"

"I know what you need," Ben whispers, his breath hot on her center and then he finally, finally lowers his mouth to her clit. 

Rey's brain ceases to function when he sucks and pleasure washes over her body.  She lifts her hips up and she's only slightly annoyed when Ben's hand pushes her back down to the bed. 

Ben works her up easily. He isn't shy about trying different things, and the way he manages to work his tongue with his fingers and his mouth is magic. 

Rey threads her fingers in his hair, she tugs on the strands as he brings her closer and closer to the edge. 

"Ben," Rey whimpers, her back arching. She's fairly confident the grip she has on his hair is actually painful, but she can't bring herself to let go and Ben doesn't seem to mind. At least, it isn't stopping him from devouring her. 

She doesn't want to come yet. She wants to stay in this moment forever. She needs it to last longer so she can commit the way her nerves are buzzing with pleasure and her heart is swelling with love and comfort to her memory. 

Ben sucks harder. The hand on her stomach moves up and he is pinching her nipple and she comes. 

He works her through her orgasm. His mouth and tongue slowing their movements against her clit until she swats at his head. 

"Too sensitive," she mutters, her eyes still closed. He laughs against her skin, resting his chin just above her pubic bone. 

Rey leans up, pressing her elbows into the mattress. "Hi," she says, grinning down at him.

"Hi." Ben sounds a little breathless, but he matches her smile and presses a kiss against her skin. 

His hair is a mess and Rey's stomach swoops with the knowledge that she did that. She's the reason this gorgeous man was out of breath and his usually perfectly tousled hair was all out of place. 

He moves up her body, running his tongue along her exposed skin until his head is hovering just over her own. 

"I love you," he says. And if it were possible Rey knows that he would be able to see her heart beat out of her chest. 

His face is so open and honest it surprises Rey. Because she knows that he said he loved her earlier, but there's still a part of her that isn't sure that he can mean it.

But then he looks at her with such adoration in his eyes and she's not sure how she could doubt him.

"I love you too," she says, beaming up at him as he closes the distance between them.

She can taste herself on his lips, but she isn't complaining as he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss.

"Condom?" she asks, breaking the kiss before placing smaller kisses along his jaw.

He nods, moving off of her and moving to the other edge of the bed. He opens the top drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a condom. Rey just watches as he tears open the wrapper, pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it down his length. 

"Come here," he says and Rey rolls over and makes her way to Ben. She settles herself over him, resting her hands on his shoulders and sinks down on him.

Ben let's her set the pace, but he meets her thrust for thrust and it makes Rey clench against him. He feels so good inside of her, and then he uses his hands, dragging them down on her spine, across her chest, down her stomach until he reaches her clit and he presses down and Rey starts to see stars. Her movements above him stutter and she knows she isn't going to last long if he keeps that up.

"That's it," he says, "Are you going to come for me?" He puts more pressure on his finger, drawing small circles on her clit. 

Rey sighs his name, squeezing her nails into his shoulder. He's taken over, controlling the speed of her thrusts as she just let's him, too lost in the pleasure pulsing through her veins.

"Ben," she groans when his mouth wraps around her nipple, his teeth sharp against her skin.

She comes when he bites down, her vision blurring. He keeps fucking into her chasing his own orgasm.

He comes silently, his breath hot on her neck. Rey catches her breath, enjoying the way Ben can't keep his hands still. He runs his hands over her collarbone, a finger trailing across her jawline, another down her spine.

She rolls off of him once she feels like she can take a full breath without immediately trying to suck in another. He moves around, removing the condom and tossing it into a trash can near his bed.

Rey is glad to discover that her head does fit into the crook of his neck just like she imagined. She tastes the salt on his skin when she leaves an opened mouth kiss to his shoulder. She wraps her arm around his chest and curls herself around him.

"So, you read the emails then?" Rey asks with a small laugh.

Ben kisses her head. "I read three of them, yeah."

"Just three?"

Ben sighs, his fingers continuing to run across her body as if he can't get enough of her skin. "I felt bad. Reading through emails you didn't send me, it felt like I was invading your privacy."

"I'm glad you did," Rey admits, pulling him closer to her. "Otherwise we might not be here."

Ben hums, his chest vibrating underneath her hand. "You have a point."

"Which ones did you read?"

"Um," Ben hesitates. Rey can feel his heartbeat pick up pace. "A recent one about me working out? And then the one on my birthday and the first one."

"Those were good ones," Rey laughs. "You could have read the other ones."

"You could send them to me." Ben drags his fingers through her hair. "I don't want you to hide from me anymore."

"Maybe I will," Rey teases. "Now that I know you might feel the same way about me."

"I do feel the same way," Ben amends her words. "I'm crazy about you. I've been crazy about you."

"But will you be tomorrow?" Rey asks, hating how needy her voice sounds to her own ears. "And the next day?"

"Always," Ben answers. There's no hesitancy to his answer. 

"Always is a long time," Reys says, kissing his neck. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I never do," Ben promises. "I'm always going to love you."

"Me too," Rey says, her voice heavy with sleep. "I'm always going to love you."

"Maybe tomorrow we can read the rest of them together?" Ben asks.  

"Yeah," Rey smiles. "We can do that."

[spectralscathath]

Skinny Vanilla Latte

Mikaela is the world's nicest customer, and Yuu's heart absolutely Does Not go 'doki doki' whenever he comes into the cafe for his standard order. Anyone who says otherwise is entirely incorrect. (Mikayuu but Coffee Shop AU)

Commissioned Mikayuu oneshot for @fyrecrackeruwu

Ao3 link, ff.net link

“Peppermint mocha, extra whip, for Lacus!” Yuichiro called out, trying to remember his customer service smile even though he knew his eyes said ‘I’ll kill you’ to every person in the café. Narumi just had to go and get a new job, like the traitorous bitch he was. Being a lifeguard wasn’t even a real thing.

Narumi’s absence left the Moon Demon Café down a barista, and because Shinoa and Kimizuki were banned from interacting with the general public, Yuu had been the only one they could shunt from the kitchen into front of house.

Fuck this job. If he didn’t need it so badly he’d have tossed his apron in Guren’s stupid face to get rid of the shitsmug smirk.

“Hi, welcome to the Moon Demon Café,” he turned to the next customer. “What can I-” oh my god. Don’t pause keep talking. “… I get you today?”

Holy SHIT someone call Heaven because an angel had gone missing. Seriously, the customer standing on the other side of the counter was the prettiest guy Yuu had ever seen. Not to be corny on main, but this was the first time Yuu had ever thought ‘eyes like sapphires, hair like spun gold’ had ever felt like actually applicable metaphors for someone.

“A skinny vanilla latte, please?” Pretty Boy said with the utmost politeness, and Yuu remembered that breathing existed and so did brain functions.

“Of course, can I interest you in any of our specials today?” He put on his best grin, writing down the coffee.

“No thank you, just the coffee.” Pretty Boy kept smiling, already having his card ready to pay because clearly this guy was Mr Perfect Customer.

“Sure thing, can I get a name for this order?” He barely held back from tacking a pet name onto the end, but he managed. Someone get him a medal.

“Mikaela. Mika works though, please don’t try spell ‘Mikaela’.” Pretty Boy- Mika’s- smile became slightly glassy, with the wartorn eyes of someone who’d had consistent misspellings of their name throughout their life.

“Mika it is,” Yuu grinned at him and scrawled it down. “I’ll have that ready for you in a jiffy.” Why the fuck did he say ‘jiffy’.

Mikaela snorted, bringing a hand up to cover his smile. “Sure thing.”

Yuu smiled and started up the coffee grinder, his cheer instantly evaporating away when he heard the sound of an empty grinder. Where were the coffee beans kept again? Shinoa better not have moved their location to fuck with him.

“It’ll be just a sec,” he forced a grin at Mika, getting a shrug in return. Customer seemed chill, cool. He reached under the counter to find empty air, instantly ducking down to check. Nothing but coffee residue from the bags. Welp.

“Hey, Kimizuki?” He yelled at the back.

“What?!”

“Where’d the coffee get moved?”

“You think I know?! Figure it out yourself, dumbass! I’m cooking!”

Yuu’s eye twitched and he counted to ten in his head to prevent himself from leaping through the overpass to wring Kimizuki’s neck. “Of course,” he grumbled. “Let me just pull some coffee beans out of my ass, that’s how we run things here.”

There was a soft chuckle and Yuu blanched, realising that shitfuck his sarcastic grumbling might have been a little too audible. He whipped around. “Uh- sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Mika hid his laughter behind his hand again, blue eyes glittering like sapphires. “No no, it’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Yuu relaxed a little bit, kinda starstruck by the mirthful twinkle in those eyes. “I’ll just find you the coffee, give me a moment.” He spun around, hunting through every cabinet he could until he managed to find a dark roast with ‘hi Yuu’ scrawled on it in purple glittery ink. Shinoa and her fucking gel pens.

He started making the coffee properly this time, mentally promising that he would commit first-degree murder and get away with it the minute Shinoa showed her rat face again. He waited for the coffee machine to do the job and wrote Mika’s name on the takeaway cup, pausing before thinking to himself ‘fuck it’ and adding his phone number. He was gonna take the shot, especially since Mr Gorgeous had laughed at his sarcasm.

He finished putting it all together and smiled as he handed it over. “Skinny vanilla latte for Mika.”

“Thank you,” Mika grinned and pulled out a cup sleeve, slipping it onto the cup and completely hiding Yuu’s number. Yuu’s smile cracked. Fuck.

“Uh-” But Mika was already walking away after dropping change in the tip jar.

“Thank you!” He waved goodbye, the door closing behind him with a little jingle.

“You’re… welcome.” Goodbye gorgeous. Guess Yuu’d never see him again.

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

It was with great surprise that Yuu did in fact see Mika again, this time over Mitsuba’s shoulder as she did the ordering and customer talking while he just made coffee after endless coffee. Fuck rush hour holy shit.

He tried to catch Mika’s eye in-between frothing up milk and shaking cocoa powder over a cappuccino, green catching and locking with blue for the barest second before Mika smiled widely and gave him a little wave, a fancy-looking camera hanging around his neck. “Hi Yuu. Good luck with the rest of your shift, I hope it calms down a bit.”

“What, this? It’s no problem!” Yuu bragged, before he caught the side of his wrist on the milk spout and bit back a curse. Always with the burns.

“See you next time.” Mika grabbed his coffee, oblivious to Yuu’s plight, and walked out the door, again emptying some coins into the tip jar before he left.

Mitsuba turned to Yuu, blonde twintails bouncing with the movement. “You know that guy? He’s the nicest customer I’ve had yet. I hope he becomes a regular.”

“Yeah.” Yuu nodded. “Me too.”

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

Mika did, in fact, become a regular. Which was awesome.

Every Wednesday and Friday like clockwork he’d show up, order his skinny vanilla latte to have there, pick a booth, and do stuff on his laptop. It was pretty cool, aside from the fact that Yuu couldn’t write terrible pick-up lines on the latte glasses.

That was Plan A of ‘Operation: get Mika’s number’ thwarted.

Plan B was to write it on the napkins, but then the problem was that Mika didn’t order food. Currently Yuu was on Plan C, which was Plan B but better.

Mika walked in with his laptop bag and his camera-holding thingie, waiting patiently in line until he was at the counter. “Hi Yuu.”

“Hey Mika. The usual?” Yuu gave him a charming grin.

“That’d be great, thank you.” Mika beamed. It was really pretty.

Yuu had to take a second to recover.  “Easy, one usual coming up. Do you want to try a muffin to go with it? On the house, between you and me.”

Mika looked like he was considering it and for a moment Yuu’s hopes were rising, rising higher- “Thank you for the offer, but I already ate. Just the coffee, please.” And down those hopes fell, dashed against the rocks and crumpled like wretched Lucifer, cast from Heaven into the pits of hell.

“Sure thing. Give me a shot if you need a refill.”

“Will do.” Mika smiled at him, paid, and pottered off to go take a seat.

Yuu watched him go, noticing that he was wearing thigh-high boots what the fuck that wasn’t fair. That was illegal, that had to be illegal.

“Uh, sir? Sir? Can I order now?” Someone rang the bell and Yuu snapped back to reality, looking at the man in the- what the fuck was that a fucking cat? It looked like this man had lopped off the skull of a white tiger and mounted it on his head what the actual fuck. Yuu really hoped it was fake, he desperately fucking prayed.

Okay, goodbye Mika, hello Crazy Customer of the Day #309.

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

“Afternoon, Mika, the usual?” Yuu grinned at him, the café a bit quieter than usual. Maybe this time he could get a good conversation in while making Mika’s coffee.

“Yep, and also an English Breakfast tea, no sugars. I hope that’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all. You meeting a friend here?” He hoped it wasn’t a date. His attempts to try give Mika his number through shitty pick-up lines could not be foiled so easily.

“You could say that.” Mika smiled cheerfully, offering his card. “On debit, please.”

“No prob. He here yet?” Yuu looked around, not spotting any new faces.

“He said he’d be by in a few minutes. I’m surprised there’s not a rush, normally this place is quite busy. I thought getting a table would be harder.” Mika looked quite concerned at that.

Yuu waved it off as he finished putting in the docket. “It’s pre-midterms week. Everyone’s panic-studying, ordering pizza in, all that stuff.”

Mika chuckled. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m on top of my studies then, or else I might have had to miss out on the best coffee on campus.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” Yuu shot him a finger gun and a wink, before wondering if he’d overdone it. Luckily, Mika seemed to find it hilarious by how his smile went supernova and his laugh bubbled out of him.

“Definitely not. Thanks again.” Mika placed some coins in the tip jar before he went to the booth he always tried to sit at, pulling out his phone once he sat down.

Yuu watched him go and set to work on making the drinks, wondering if he should try make a food platter. Counterpoint to him trying to woo Mika through good food was the fact that Kimizuki was a snotty bitch who would kill him if he gave out even more free food, crushes be damned.

And yeah, Yuu could totally throw down with Kimizuki, but Mitsuba would tattle about it if there was a fight and he’d probably lose his job.

He’d just have to make it the best damn coffee in existence.

He was halfway through making the tea when a man walked in, and Yuu had to stop and stare for a sec because while yes, he was very fucking gay for Mika, he still had eyes.

It was when the total hunk sat down in front of Mika that Yuu felt his bout of ‘he’s pretty’ turn into entirely rational jealousy. Was Mika dating this guy? It took a special kind of hotness to pull off a braid and dyed bangs, Yuu could admit.

He put on his customer service smile as he carried the drinks over, rampant envy broiling in his veins. He set drinks down, being extra delicate and polite with Mika’s coffee and blanking out the other guy entirely. “here you go, Mika. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks. Crowley, this is Yuu, the barista I mentioned. Yuu, this is my dad, Crowley.”

Yuu practically heard the record scratch sound. Dad?

His next thought was along the lines of ‘oh thank god, Mika’s still possibly available’, and he was starting to realise he may be desperate. “Nice to meet you, Crowley.”

“You too,” Crowley grinned back with a touch of a British accent curling around the words, red eyes twinkling in amusement. “Thanks for the cuppa, luv.”

Yuu nodded before tuning him out again and giving another smile to Mika, going around to clear some other tables and already plotting his next move. Fingerguns and winks were now on the table. Mhuahahahaha.

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

“So, Mika, how’s the photography?” Yuu struck up a conversation as he cleared away the latte glass, taking advantage of the restaurant’s quiet to try and kickstart a deep meaningful conversation that he was absolutely going to fill with stupid jokes.

“it’s going well,” Mika smiled, saving the photoshop file on the screen. Clearly he’d lost a file once by accident and saved every program with the vigour of a spartan warrior ever since. “Are you interested in photography?”

“Actually, I’m studying psychology,” Yuu grinned. “Gonna go for a masters if I can once I’m done with this, then eventually you’ll have to address me as Dr Yuichiro.”

Mika’s smile sharpened slightly. “A PhD, huh?”

“Thinking about it.” He shrugged, trying to look humble when he was anything but.

“I think Dr Yuichiro’s got a good ring to it,” Mika smiled slyly, and oh no that wasn’t fair he was not allowed to make it sound so sexy.

“You’re the first. Kimizuki said I shouldn’t be allowed near people,” he grinned.

“And you work the register?” Mika laughed.

“Used to work in the back ‘til Narumi up and ditched us to ‘follow his dreams’,” Yuu told him conspiratorially. “I’m the only one of the kitchen staff who can reliably not scare away customers, so I got shunted here.”

“Maybe I should thank Narumi then, if he got me such a good barista,” Mika smiled. “You’re not scary at all.”

“How dare you, I’m terrifying,” he joked.

Mika scoffed, sapphire eyes sparkling. “As terrifying as my cat.”

Yuu let out a theatrical gasp, balancing his tray on one hand as he clutched his heart. “I think I liked you better when you were a polite customer.”

Mika blinked innocently at him, a challenge curling at the edges of his toothy grin. “Am I not anymore? Shame.”

What a brat. Yuu smirked at him in answer. “Well, I can’t be rude to customers, so I’m legally required to say no.”

“Only legally? Not morally?” Mika rested his chin in his hands as he leaned forward on the table, his photoshop file left entirely forgotten.

“Morally I can say whatever the hell I want as long as it’s not said in front of consumers.” Yuu winked.

“I guess you’re treading on thin ice right now, huh?” Mika bit his lip in affected concern, a prominent pearly canine catching for a moment, and Yuu’s mind went fucking blank. “Best be careful then. I wouldn’t want my favourite barista to go jobless. Right, Yuu-chan?~”

“R-right.” Yuu stuttered for a moment as he tried and failed to come up with literally any kind of flirty remark in reply, getting zero zilch zip from his flatscreening brain. Head empty no thoughts. “I’ll get you a refill, then?”

Mika’s smile screamed ‘cat who caught the canary’. “Don’t keep me waiting, Yuu-chan.”

He nodded and scampered back behind the counter, taking a minute to settle his racing heart. He heard a tapping sound and looked at the overpass into the kitchen, Kimizuki rapping a spatula on the counter.

“You’re pathetic.” Kimizuki’s scornful gaze was only amplified by the glasses he wore.

Yuu flipped him off. Fuck Kimizuki.

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

Yuu steeled his nerve as Mika walked in, refusing to let his crush pull one over on him again. Shinoa hadn’t let up since Kimizuki had told her, and Yuu was getting real tired of every whipcrack hand motion she was sending his way.

Mika smiled very innocently as he walked up to the counter, blue eyes bright and oh-so-breathtaking. “Hello, Yuu-chan.”

Little bastard.

“Good to see you too, Mika,” he grinned, resting his elbows on the counter. “Here for your usual, or are you thinking of switching it up?”

“Hm,” Mika tilted his head like he was considering it. “Now that you mention it, maybe I should try something out. How about something a little sweeter this time, Yuu-chan?”

“I think you’re sweet enough already,” Yuu flirted cheesily, watching Mika’s eyes widen a touch. That’s right, he could flirt too. All that ‘Yuu-chan’ business had no power over him now. “But sure, hit me up with what you want to try.”

Mika’s eyes sparkled delightfully, a challenge in his smile. “What’s your poison, then?”

Yuu raised a brow. “Well, I’m a black coffee kind of guy-”

“Because you grind so fine?” Mika interrupted him, like he didn’t just say the sexy pick up line for Yuu.

He gave Mika a Look, Mika merely batting his eyes back at him. “Double shot, nothing extra.” Maybe a bit of hazelnut when he really needed a pick-me-up. “That’s my coffee.”

“A ‘keep me up til two AM’ kind of guy, I like that.” Mika snickered.

“Stop it,” Yuu cautioned. Only he was allowed to use terrible puns like that.

“Make me,” Mika downright dared him, leaning over the counter a little more.

Yuu grabbed his chin and looked him in the eye, a spark of victory gleaming in his emerald gaze. “Keep it up and we’ll see where it gets you, gorgeous.”

Mika’s pupils dilated.

Yuu smirked at him and let go, picking up the docket sheet. “So, coffee order? You’re holding up the line, babe.”

Mika beamed, a smile like spun sunshine. “You know what, I think I’ll go for my usual after all. But maybe next time I’ll be a bit more daring.”

“Sure you will.” Yuu winked at him. “Later, beautiful.”

Mika laughed as he went to his favourite booth, Yuu internally high-fiving himself as he went. That went excellently.

Okay. Next time he’d ask him out. Next time for sure.

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

Today was the day. It was absolutely the day. Today for sure.

He handed Mika his coffee, got ready to say ‘I love you give me your number’, and chickened out when he realised that was absolutely not the way to ask and would instead plant him straight in ‘ultra creep’ territory.

Next week. Next week for sure.

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

Yuu looked up from wiping down the counter, groaning as Shinoa came in. “Aren’t you meant to be on your day off?”

“Well, yes,” Shinoa smiled far too innocently, and Yuu’s hackles went up with suspicion. “But my dearest friend has been telling me ALL about his new favourite café, so I had to come by and see it.”

“Shinoa, you work here.” Yuu glared at her.

“He doesn’t know that,” she smirked, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I never say names, my darling Yuu.”

“I never agreed to you calling me that.”

“I don’t care.” She swanned up to the counter, propping herself up on her hands and tiptoes. Yuu scowled as she smeared her hands all over the area he’d literally just wiped clean. “Now gimme free coffee.”

“Fuck off. Employee discount only and even then I’m debating making you pay full price.”

“You’re so mean,” she pouted. “And when I’m buying for my friend as well. I think you’d like him, as much as a big meanie like you can like anyone.”

“I like people, I’m not Kimizuki,” he rolled his eyes. “Who’s your damn friend?”

“Oh, you might know him.” Her evil grin came back full-force, making her look downright demented. “Why don’t we see if you can guess from his order?”

“Do you know how many customers we have?” Yuu snapped a tea towel at her hands. “Hands off the counter, you’re probably infested with something.”

“Boo you.” She huffed and raised her hands, twiddling her fingers as she did. “Anyway, I want a multi-mega mocha milkshake with extra sprinkles and four shots of coffee. Oh! And whipped cream. Lots of it.”

“You’re going to die from a caffeine overdose and I will film it.” He wiped the counter down again out of spite.

“Maybe so, but at least I’ll die not hopelessly pining for some boy who takes, oh, what was it now?” She tapped her chin, looking deep in thought. He didn’t buy it for a second, especially not when she turned a vicious smile onto him. “Oh, right, skinny vanilla latte. Large.”

He wondered what the hell kind of expression he made that had her cackling like the wicked witch she was. “You gotta be joking.”

“Nope, and remember, on the cup for that one, my friend’s name is Mik-ae-la~” She sounded out the name, taking too much joy in it. “And make it fast, sweetcheeks, he’s going to be here soon.”

“I hate you with every blood cell in my body.”

“Make sure to put one of your cute little pick-up lines on that now,” she winked. “I’ve been reading them whenever I take out the trash. You’re so desperate it’s cute. Now shoo shoo, make me coffee, coffee man.” She flicked a hand at him, revelling in the power that a customer had. Shit like this was why she was banned from interacting with the general public at work.

“Sure thing. I’ll bring your drinks out to you,” he forced out through a smile, teeth grinding together as he gritted them. His eye may have twitched. He wasn’t sure.

She twirled around and skipped to her seat, spinning her favourite little trinket in her hand and making the green and orange lights on it flare up like she was at a rave. He tried to stare a hole through the back of her head before he set about making her the drinks she ordered.

Mika. Mika was friends with Shinoa. It was a testament to how in love he was with that guy that knowing Mika willingly hung out with Shinoa did not become an immediate turn off. He liked her too, sure, for whatever was left of his sanity’s sake, but she was still a pain.

He heard the little bell above the door jingle and glanced up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Mika waving at him. “Hey Yuu,” Mika grinned, sounding way too proud of himself.

“Hey Mika,” he smiled back, unable to stop himself from getting all soppy at the edges. “Skinny vanilla?”

“You bet,” he winked at Yuu and sauntered off to sit with Shinoa, the two of them immediately starting up some sort of gossipy conversation judging by the hand motions and expressions.

He looked down at the drinks he was plating up, took a deep breath, and furiously scribbled a puntastic pick-up line and his number on the napkin under Mika’s coffee. This was it. He was going to do it.

“I am not a coward,” he muttered to himself, picking up the tray and carrying it over. “That was a multi-mega mocha milkshake with quadruple shots, extra whip, and sprinkles, and a large skinny vanilla latte?”

“She’s having the deathshake.” Mika pointed at Shinoa, who fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“No problem.” Yuu set the drinks down, trying to ignore how he could hear his heartbeat thundering in his eardrums like the bass beat of a good metal concert, keeping on a smile that was at this point reserved only for Mika. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do,” Mika reached for a packet of sugar and dumped it into his coffee, picking up his spoon before his hand froze, sapphire eyes tracing over the wickerscratch handwriting on the napkin.

Are you an espresso? Because you’re a shot to my heart. Call me?

Mika blinked up at him, Yuu frozen in place with the sort of calm that only came from blasting beyond panic and landing in the cool grey apathy of total nerve-ridden shutdown.

Shinoa snorted, the sound snapping Yuu out of his quiet reverie. “Uh- I mean, unless you want to kinda- not to be a creep or anything, but we could-” he paused when Mika put a finger over his lips.

Mika’s smile was soft as silk. “I like movies?”

“Movies. Right. I’m off at eight?” No way no way no way-

“Eight sounds great,” Mika’s grin became a bit toothier. “I’ll meet you out front?”

“It’s a date?” Yuu smiled hopefully.

Mika grabbed the front of his apron and kissed his cheek. “You bet it is.”

“Great!” He gave him a thumbs up, practically floating back towards the counter with a sunshine smile all his own.

He heard Kimizuki scoff from the overpass at him. “What coffee shop fanfiction bullshit is this?”

Yuu ignored him, too happy to even care. Best workshift ever.

[master-thief-gray-shadow]

A Real Life Coffee Shop Romance

Chapter 2

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Summary: Hina seems to have noticed something going on regarding her sister, and talks to Tsugumi about it. Despite the somewhat tense experience, it does leave Tsugumi with some questions of her own.

Notes: I’m actually managing to continue this thing can you believe it

“Um...Hina-senpai?”

Even as she seemed to be focused on student council work, Hina’s eyes had been trained on Tsugumi since she’d gotten here. Both twins had very intense gazes, Tsugumi had noted, but the type of intensity was completely different between the two. Sayo’s eyes were darker, deeper, opaque windows through which one could possibly, maybe catch a glimpse of her soul, if you just looked hard enough. Hina’s, on the other hand, were always full of light, so much so that it seemed to shoot out of them like laser beams. Sometimes, when Sayo would come into the cafe, Tsugumi almost thought she could see what she was thinking behind her gaze. But the inner machinations of Hina’s mind were a mystery, hidden beneath a brilliant green shine.

“Hm? Something up, Tsugu-chan?” Hina said, leaning in closer. A grin spread across her face. “Are you thinking about something? Maybe about the cafe and stuff?”

“Uh...n-no!” Tsugumi leaned back, Hina’s eyes now threatening to bore right through her like a pair of sparkling drills. With anyone else that would have been weirdly specific and out of line, but this was Hina. As they were in her head her thoughts were downright impossible to read, but every word she spoke came straight from her brain, raw and unfiltered. One could only wonder what sort of thoughts she opted not to voice aloud. “I was...I was just wondering why you were looking at me like that.”

“Oh, no reason.” And then, as if nothing happened, she returned to her work. For about thirty seconds. “Onee-chan goes to the cafe a lot, right?”

“Um...yeah, she...she does, I guess.” Tsugumi glanced at the stack of papers in front of her awkwardly. “Why are you asking me about it, though? You could ask her, couldn’t you?”

“I try, but then she tells me I’m being nosy!” Hina clutched at the sides of her head and whined. “It’s like totally impossible to get her to tell me what’s going on there! Especially when she gets all like that!”

“Like...what?”

“You know, like,” Hina began gesturing wildly and incomprehensibly, “all blushy and stammery and stuff!” In the blink of an eye her demeanor shifted, going from chaotic flailing to her hands over her heart, a slight blush dusting her face as she looked away like she was lost in thought. It brought to mind the image of a flustered maiden. “S-sort of like this, see?”

“I...I think I see,” Tsugumi said. She really was starting to get a grasp on what Hina was telling her, if only a little.

“Yeah, so like, what’s going on with that?” Hina was back to her normal energetic self. “Is she seeing someone?” She leaned in extremely close now, grabbing onto Tsugumi’s shoulders and holding her unsettlingly tight. Tsugumi found herself staring straight into Hina’s eyes, and at this distance the light from them threatened to blind her.

“Does she have…” Hina’s toothy grin almost seemed to take up the entire lower half of her face. “...a girlfriend?”

“Um,” Sweat was starting to roll down Tsugumi’s forehead as she averted her eyes. “N-no, she doesn’t seem to have a girlfriend, a-at least not that I know of.”

“Oh.” Hina backed off and let go of Tsugumi, who slowly released her held breath. “Does she have a boyfriend then?” She rubbed at her chin thoughtfully. “But that would be weird, because I know for sure Onee-chan’s a lesbian…”

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend either, I don’t think,” Tsugumi said with a small awkward laugh as she adjusted her blazer. “She always comes in alone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I see,” Hina said, her eyes narrowing. “Well that’s really weird. If she’s not seeing anyone, why does she get like that when I ask her about the cafe?” A smirk started to grow on Hina’s face, and Tsugumi felt herself getting nervous again. “Maybe,” She said, tapping her chin twice with her index finger, “she’s there to see the cute barista?”

Tsugumi’s face exploded into scarlet as she nearly fell backwards in her chair, only managing to save herself at the expense of her pen and a few papers being knocked to the floor. “N-n-now wait a second! She’s not--”

“Aha, just kidding!” Hina stuck her tongue out and winked, and Tsugumi felt like an electric current had just been briefly run through her body. “Man, you shoulda seen your face, Tsugu-chan! It was really really funny!” Tsugumi just chuckled awkwardly in response, still a little too frazzled to actually say anything. “But yeah, I don’t know what’s up with her lately, so could you like, keep an eye on her for me?”

“I...I guess I could,” She answered, not necessarily meaning it. She was too caught up in what Hina had said earlier. The idea of Sayo going to the cafe every day just to see her...that seemed unlikely, as much as it made something inside her flutter. But that did beg the question: why did Sayo come in every day?

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

An empty yet open cafe. The first rays of sunset. The sound of the bell over the door. Sayo was right on time today.

“Sayo-san!” Tsugumi greeted, smiling warmly as she watched Sayo approach. Something jumped in her chest as she saw Sayo give a small smile back. “Welcome back! Oh, we have those cookies you like today. The matcha ones.”

The lights went up in Sayo’s eyes, in that way that Tsugumi relished every time she saw it. Like twinkling stars poking through the cloud cover on an overcast night. “Oh. Excellent. I’ll have some, thank you.”

“With your usual, right?” Tsugumi said as she retrieved a box containing a few cookies from under the counter that she may have saved for this exact reason. Sayo nodded, her eyes now focused on the box in front of her, before reaching into her bag for her wallet. “Ah, no, don’t bother.”

“What?” Sayo looked up in confusion. Her expression had changed from almost serene to mildly shocked. “But I must pay you for--”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beaming, Tsugumi pushed the box towards Sayo. “It’s on the house for today. Have a seat and I’ll get your coffee ready.” Sayo looked conflicted, her eyes going troublingly dark, before lights filled them up again as she pulled her hand out of her bag. A small but unmistakably genuine smile was spread across her face, and Tsugumi could practically feel the warmth radiating off of her.

“You’re too kind, Hazawa-san,” Sayo said as she accepted the box. “Thank you very much.” She bowed slightly before moving to a table over by the window, and Tsugumi allowed herself one last glance at Sayo, now framed almost ethereally by the gradually reddening rays of the setting sun, before moving to prepare a simple cup of black coffee.

As she measured the beans into the grinder, Tsugumi found herself recalling the conversation--if it could be called that--with Hina from earlier that day. Again, why did Sayo come here at this time every day? Could it be the matcha cookies? Hmm...no, she had only gotten into those after this had become a regular thing. The coffee, then? But Sayo’s order was rather plain, not that Tsugumi was judging her for it. Sayo was pretty clearly not an avid coffee drinker, and Tsugumi guessed that she likely didn’t register any difference between professionally made coffee and something she could make at home. That was probably why she drank dark roast americanos. Glancing up as she finished pouring the espresso shot over the hot water, she paused to watch Sayo, an open textbook lying on the table, scribbling something into a notebook and slowly nibbling a cookie.

Well, finding out would be as easy as asking, wouldn’t it?

Placing the steaming cup on a serving tray, she carefully carried it over. Sayo seemed mostly focused on whatever she was doing, but as Tsugumi drew closer she seemed to perk up, possibly at the smell of coffee getting closer.

“Here,” Tsugumi said as she placed the cup on the table. “It’s very hot, so be careful.”

Sayo looked up at her, bathed in a gentle orange light that served to amplify the warmth in her gaze. “Again, thank you.” She picked up the cup by the handle and blew away some of the steam, but did not take a sip.

Setting aside the serving tray, Tsugumi pulled out the seat across from Sayo. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

The small smile on Sayo’s face spoke volumes. “Of course not. Your company would be appreciated.”

Something about Sayo’s choice of words made Tsugumi feel giddy as she sat down. Folding her arms in front of her, she watched as Sayo once again picked up the cup of coffee, this time taking a small, cautious sip. A small, satisfied hum could be heard as she set it down again.

“Sayo-san?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been wondering...why do you come here so often around this time? What is it that brings you here? I see you studying, but why do you do that here and not at home?”

Sayo closed her eyes as she bit into a cookie, taking her time to chew. “It’s simple,” She said once the bite had been swallowed. “This place is quieter and more peaceful than my house ever is.” She reached for the cup again. “And…” It may have been a trick of the lighting, but Tsugumi swore she almost saw Sayo blushing. “I like the way you make coffee, Tsugumi-san.” A second passed before Sayo seemed to realize what she had just said. “Ah, may I call you that?”

“Of course,” Tsugumi said, trying her hardest not to stutter or blush at the sound of her name on Sayo’s beautiful lips, and somehow succeeding. “We’re friends after all, and you’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you.” A warm glow seemed to surround them, but whether it was from the setting sun or the peace and contentment radiating off of Sayo, Tsugumi couldn’t really tell. She simply watched as Sayo took another sip, this one longer and deeper. Taking time to savor it. Tsugumi only found herself releasing her breath once Sayo set the cup down.

“The coffee is wonderful today,” Sayo’s eyes met hers, and the glow in them travelled downward and settled as a warm feeling in her chest. “Tsugumi-san.”

[kaffeinic]

Caffeinic | Bang Chan

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | Epilogue

Pairing: Reader x Barista!Bang Chan

Genre: Neutral // Angst Maybe? // Romance

Warnings: None

Preamble: You’ve been going to the same coffee shop for the past four years. You’ve ordered the same thing almost every single day, and you never, ever skip on that part of your morning. So, when Mrs. Park hired a new barista and the once serene café was suddenly flooded with people every second of the day, you were less than thrilled.

You stood outside of the cafe’s entrance, debating whether or not to enter. It has been two days since the date, and you had been actively avoiding the building. Unfortunately, you just ran out of coffee and really, really wanted the coffee that’s made here. You crossed your fingers, hoping that Mrs. Park was manning the floor this evening.

You flinched when the bell above the door trilled as you entered, hoping it didn’t draw any unwanted attention. You peeked at the work station, checking for any signs that Chan was in today. You cursed yourself for never having asked what his schedule was. You only saw Mrs. Park, who frowned when she saw you.

“Y/n, it’s been a while. Are you alright?” She asked, placing a mug on the counter. You nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, of course.” You replied. She cocked an eyebrow, scoffing.

“You are most definitely not fine, and I don’t appreciate being lied to.” She said, wagging a finger in your direction. Your eyes widened as you stopped in your tracks. “You haven’t been in for days and Chan has never looked more depressed.” Mrs. Park said. You looked down.

“It’s fine, I just didn’t want to come in.” You said. You weren’t lying.

“Then tell me why.” She said. You placed your bag on the bar counter, sliding into a seat.

“I really don’t think it’s my place to say.” You said. She looked down and laughed a little.

“That’s exactly what Chan told me.” She explained. “Tell me what happened.” You hung your head low.

“We just fought.” You finally said. She squinted at you, trying to find any indication whether what you said was true or not.

“Ah, I see.” She said, turning. She had grabbed the mug and hung it up behind her. “I was afraid this would happen.” She mumbled.

“Afraid what would happen?”

“That girl would do something to you two.” She said. “She seemed like trouble.” You let out a sigh.

“It wasn’t her. Chan lied to me.” You said. “Or, at least he broke a promise, which is kind of like lying.” You corrected yourself. Mrs. Park frowned.

“What did he promise you?” She asked.

“I really shouldn’t get into it.” You said. “It’s not fair for me to tell everyone about something like this.” You explained. She hummed and nodded, looking down.

“I had such high hopes for you two.” She said. “What would you like to order today, dear?” She asked. You told her your order, pulling out your textbook. You flipped through the pages, not really paying much attention to what they said. You heard the bell ring, signaling you that there was a new customer. You looked up to see Junseok.

“Hey, Y/n~!” He said, waving. He made his way over to you, smiling. “How’ve you been feeling?”

“So-so. What about you?” You said. He frowned, but understood.

“I’m doing alright, thanks. Can I sit here?” He pointed to the stool next to you. You hummed and smiled.

“Of course.”

He took his seat, placing his book bag on the counter next to yours. “I have a lot of studying to do.” He said. You could see three textbooks protruding from the open end of his bag. He wasn’t exaggerating.

“I felt that.” You said, laughing a little. “Which classes?” You asked.

“Anatomy, calculus, and biology.” He said. You raised a brow.

“Are you a medical major?” You asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. It’s always been a passion for me. What about you?” He asked.

“I haven’t decided yet.” You explained, sighing. “I really should, though.” Junseok chuckled at your exasperation.

“Take your time.” He said. You smiled at his kindness, nodding.

“Alright.” You heard footsteps coming from the employee room, looking up to see a very tired-looking Chan. He ran a hand through his locks, frowning.

“I’m ready to take over. You can go now, Mrs. Par-” He stopped in his tracks when he saw you.

“Thank you, Chan. I’ll see you in a few hours.” Mrs. Park briskly walked past all of you and to the stairs, smiling devilishly. Chan slowly walked over to the both of you, looking at Junseok.

“Would you like something to drink?” He asked. You could faintly see his teeth grit while he spoke. Junseok shook his head.

“I think I’m good for now, thanks bro.” He said.

“You can’t be here if you don’t order anything.” Chan’s voice had become lower, as if he was warning Junseok about something. It took a moment, but then the situation hit you; He was jealous. You rolled your eyes.

“I’ve been here a lot without ordering anything, and the café is pretty much empty. I think he’s fine, Chan.” You said, looking back down at your textbook. You scribbled a note and looked over to Junseok, smiling. He returned the gesture.

“I can order something if you want. It’s not a big deal.” He said. Chan huffed, whipping out a notepad.

“What can I get you?” He asked.

“I think I’ll get a macchiato.” Junseok said. “It’s been a while.” Chan nodded and scribbled the order down, turning away to brew Junseok’s coffee. You glanced between the two boys and sighed softly. It was going to be a long day.

The next few minutes passed peacefully, you and Junseok reading your textbooks and discussing, while Chan prepared the macchiato. The café received no new customers in that time, which you were thankful for. You sighed softly and closed your book.

“I think I need a break.” You admitted. Junseok looked up at you from his textbook, which had a large picture of what you could only imagine was some part of the human body. He nodded.

“I could use one, too.” He said. “Do you want me to take you home?” He asked. You shook your head.

“I’m fine. I think I can get there myself. It’s nice out.” You said. “I might want some more coffee before I leave. You can go if you want.” He hummed.

“Alright. Shoot me a text if you change your mind about that ride.” He said, gathering his things. You nodded and watched him exit the café.

“He didn’t even drink his coffee...” Chan muttered to himself as he took the half-full mug. You pursed your lips.

“I don’t always drink my coffee.” You said. “Just because he’s my friend doesn’t mean he can’t be yours.” Chan scoffed.

“He’s made it very clear he wants to be more than friends with you.” He said.

“I’ve made it clear that I don’t.” You retorted. Chan’s gaze never found yours throughout the entire conversation. “You-” You stuttered. “You don’t get to be mad at me.” You said. This time, he looked at you.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You also don’t get to dictate who I spend my time with. Treating Junseok like crap isn’t going to help you.”

“I’m-” He said. “I’m not trying to.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Is now a good time for you to let me explain?” He asked. You shook your head.

“You admitted to kissing someone after you told me you wouldn’t do anything like that with other people. I don’t want to hear it. No explanation is going to help you.” You said. He frowned and nodded.

“I’ll try again later.”

Most of the next twenty minutes were spent with the occasional customer coming in, the sound of the coffee grinder going off every few minutes, and the smell of mixed colognes and perfumes irritating your senses. You began get up after your umpteenth cup of coffee, but stopped.

“Chan?” You said. He perked up and looked in your direction. “I’ll let you try to explain.” You couldn’t leave what both of you had without at least letting him try to explain the situation. He smiled weakly and nodded.

“I had gone back to the party after bringing you home, mostly to hang out with Junseok.” He began. “We were messing around, watching all of the drunk people being idiots. One of them came up to me - I don’t even know her name - and just laid one on me. Apparently, they were playing some hybrid of spin the bottle and truth or dare, and she was dared to kiss someone in the room.” He looked at you and frowned. “That person was me. I pushed her away the second it happened, I swear.” He said. You looked at him, contemplating how to feel.

If he was telling the truth, then it’s more than likely that Seoyeon used the incident to split you two up. If he’s lying, which people aren’t unknown to do, then you’d just be falling into the arms of a playboy. You hummed, and nodded.

“Thanks for telling me, but I need to just think about it for a while.” You said. Chan nodded in understanding.

“Take all the time you need.” He said. “In the meantime, I’ll try to find a way to prove it.” He paused. “Why didn’t Junseok tell you?” He asked.

“I never told him about it.” You admitted. Chan raised a brow.

“I thought for sure that you would have told him.”

“It’s not my place to tell everyone about things that happen between us.” You explained. “Even if I’m hurting.” Chan’s gaze softened.

“I get it.” He said. “Will I see you tomorrow?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” You told him. He looked at his hands and grabbed a wet mug.

“Alright.” He said.

~

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I’ve been getting lots of positive feedback for Caffeinic and it truly makes me so happy to see how much you all enjoy this! Also, wow, we just hit double digits for the chapter count! Let’s have a party! 😂 Let me know if you would like to be put on my Taglist. As always, if you enjoyed, please drop a like and reblog for your friends to read! Have a nice day~~

* DISCLAIMER: I do not own any gifs/photos used in this post. I do own the written content. Do NOT repost/edit. *

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[darisu-chan]

The Perfect Cup

Prompt:  Coffee Shop

Summary: When Ichigo starts working at Urahara’s coffee shop, things don’t go as planned with crazy customers, his weird boss, and his bitchy manager. On second thought, maybe his manager isn’t so bad.

You can also read it here.

“You must get a job, son!” Kurosaki Isshin, Ichigo’s father, had said the moment he had started college. It wasn’t a ludicrous notion. Ichigo knew his father was right and that he should have a part-time job to pay for his expenses, and to contribute to the household. However, why had his father insisted he should work here? Ichigo asked himself, staring at the establishment in front of him. The building was green and had a sign which read Urahara’s with bright orange letters, and had a decoration in the form of a green stripped hat. Ichigo eyed the signs in distaste. The young man had half a mind to turn away and leave entirely. He would have too if he hadn’t been expected there already. Sighing, he went in. The interior looked much better than the outside. The walls were a stylish brown, the tables’ wood matched the color of the walls, and it appeared that the menu had a wide selection of beverages as well as food. Standing tall, he approached the counter, where a short girl with neck-length black hair and amethyst eyes was standing.

“Welcome to Urahara’s! What can I get you?” She said cheerfully.

“Actually, I’m not here to order. I’m here to meet your boss.” Ichigo answered. The girl seemed surprised, then nodded and turned behind her to call her boss.

“Urahara-san! You’re wanted on the counter.” She said, and then smiled nervously at Ichigo.

“What is it Kuchiki-san?” A blond man, who was wearing green robes and a green stripped hat, said as he approached the counter. “Huh?” He looked at Ichigo, and then smiled widely. “My, my, if it isn’t Kurosaki-san! Welcome to my humble café! I suppose you came here because of what your father told me.”

“Yeah.” Ichigo simply said.

“Then, come to my office!” Urahara walked around the counter, and then signaled Ichigo to follow him to a staircase. The man never said a word, but had an unnerving smile on his face the whole time. Then, on the second floor, they reached a door which said Urahara Kisuke in gold letters. The man opened the door and let his companion in. “I was genuinely surprised when your father called me! I thought he had another thing in mind when he said he needed my help to get you in the right path to adulthood.” The man laughed, and covered his face with a fan he took out from his robes. “But, sit, sit. We need to talk about your wages and schedule.”

Anyone who knew Ichigo was aware of the fact that he wasn’t a people’s person. A job which involved direct contact with customers was probably the worst type of work for him. Yet, his father had insisted that he should go to his friend’s Urahara’s coffee shop and ask for a job there as a waiter. Ichigo would have rejected the idea if he’s father hadn’t threatened to disown him if he didn’t get that job right away. So here he was, with Urahara ─a weird and shaggy sort of fellow if you asked Ichigo─ listening about his wages, schedule, rules, and contract, all the while feeling like this was a terrible idea.

“You’re going to have to buy the uniform, of course. It consists of black pants, a white dress shirt and a black apron over it. Quite elegant, don’t you think?”

“Um… sure.” Ichigo said lamely.

“You’re going to start as a barista, learning how to prepare our different beverages. Is that alright with you?”

Ichigo nodded. Not that he actually cared. But he supposed it was better to be behind the scenes than actually being in contact with the customers.

“Great, then I’ll see you on Monday at 4 pm sharp!”

Ichigo walked home feeling slightly better than when he had left. The wage was minimum, but his shift was decent enough, giving him time to study and do homework, as well as having Friday and Saturday nights free to go out with his friends or just rest. Urahara, who was eccentric by nature, had behaved decently enough, so he guessed he’d be a good boss. The uniform could have been more embarrassing, like having to wear a green hat. Yet, it was classy and Ichigo hoped it was comfortable too. The best part was he wouldn’t be speaking to customers directly at least for a few weeks.

“How did it go, son?” Isshin asked him the moment he set foot on the house.

“Good. I start on Monday.”

On Monday, Ichigo arrived at 3:55, already wearing his uniform. He entered and noticed that the girl from the other day was on the counter too, and that there was another girl waiting a table. Other than them, he didn’t see other personnel.

“Oh, Kurosaki-san, you’re here~!” Urahara greeted him, as he walked down the stairs.

“Hello, Urahara-san.” Ichigo greeted him simply.

“Ready for your first day?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent! Now, follow me.” Urahara started walking to the counter, motioning Ichigo to walk with him. They went to the other side of the counter, and walked towards the kitchen. “Staff meeting!” Urahara proclaimed. The girl on the counter followed them too.

“Do you need something, Urahara-san?” A man with a moustache and glasses asked.

“Yes, yes, but wait until everyone gathers round.” Urahara answered, and Ichigo waited awkwardly by his side.

“We’re all here.” The girl from the counter replied, motioning to herself, the other waitress, and the man.

“What? Where’s Matsumoto-san?” Urahara questioned.

“Ah, she said she had run late and will arrive in a bit.” The waitress answered sheepishly.

“What will I do with Matsumoto-san? Oh well, she’s good with customers.” Urahara said, fanning himself. “Anyway, everyone, this is Kurosaki Ichigo, and he’s going to start working here today.” He pointed at the young man. The rest welcomed him with smiles on their faces. “This is Tessai-san, he’s our cook.” Urahara pointed to the man with the moustache, who nodded in acknowledgement. “This is Hinamori-san, and she’s one of our waitresses.” He then pointed to one of the girls, who had brown hair tied in a bun.

“Welcome, Kurosaki-san!” Hinamori greeted him cheerfully.

“And this is Kuchiki-san, she’s currently our only barista on the afternoons, and she’s the manager of this shift.” He introduced the girl from the counter. “From today on, Kuchiki-san will be in charge of teaching you how to prepare coffee.”

The short girl seemed dumbfounded by this. “B-but, Urahara-san, why don’t you teach him yourself?”

“Nonsense, Kuchiki-san. Your coffee is excellent, even better than mine. You’ll be a great teacher.”

“Hai.” She answered curtly.

“Well, I leave you all to your duties. Good luck, Kurosaki-san~!” And with that, he left, presumably to his office.

Both girls sighed while the man chuckled. “That’s Urahara-san for you, always leaving the hard work to others.”

Hinamori giggled. “Don’t be mean, Tessai-san, I’m sure Urahara-san has other stuff to do. Besides, Kuchiki-san will do a great job teaching Kurosaki-san.”

Rukia smiled. “Thanks for having faith in me, Hinamori. Well, Kurosaki,” she then turned to Ichigo, “let’s go.”

Ichigo followed the girl to the counter, where she took out a bag of coffee beans, and put it right next to a coffee grinder. “Let’s start. The first thing you should know is how to choose the ideal coffee beans, and then how to grind them. It’s a delicate art, so pay attention.”

“Delicate?” Ichigo asked. “How delicate can it be? You just grind them, right?” He said more sarcastically than he had intended.

Rukia frowned. “Fool. It requires more than just grinding the beans.” She huffed, sounding offending. “It’s such a delicate art that a newbie like you won’t understand unless explained. Now, so it’s clear, I’ll take the time to use illustrations to show you how.” She then took out a sketch notebook from apparently nowhere, and started drawing. “First, you must choose the beans that are adequate for the type of coffee you’re brewing. For example, if you’re going to prepare an espresso, you must choose the bag which says espresso and not another bag.” Here she drew a white bunny holding a bag with espresso written on it. “Next, you put the coffee beans in the coffee grinder.” She drew another bunny, grinding the beans carefully. “Then, you put it in a French press. Be sure to use a clean filter. The water must be warm, don’t use cold water.” Her explanation was again accompanied by the same bunny, just this time brewing coffee. “Any questions?”

Ichigo, who had been listening to the manager with a blank space on his face all this time, said. “Yeah, why do your drawings abnormally suck?”

Rukia got angry, and threw her notebook at Ichigo’s head. “That’s it! That was the last straw! You’re on cleaning duty!”

“What?!” Ichigo yelled unnecessarily loud.

“What you heard. Grab a mop and a bucket, and start cleaning the restrooms.”

“But Urahara-san said that you have to teach me how to make coffee!”

“I don’t care! I’ll teach you when you’re ready to listen to me!”

“Guys!” Hinamori suddenly whispered.

“What?” Rukia snapped.

“You’re being too loud and are scaring the customers.” The other girl said, pointing towards the people at the café, who were staring at the duo with surprised expressions on their faces.

The barista sighed. “Go clean the restrooms, and then come back here.” She ordered Ichigo, who huffed angrily.

“Fine.”

What a bitch! Ichigo thought as he mopped the men’s restroom, which was disgusting. You could’ve been less rude. A voice inside his head said. Ichigo scoffed at himself. Shut up. It was his first day and he had already ruined it. He definitely wasn’t cut to work with other people. His father would totally kick his ass for blowing up his first job on the first day. Whatever. He didn’t truly want to work there, anyway. He’d just find a better job.

Once he had finished cleaning the restrooms, he walked out without paying attention and crashed into a person. Great. I just crashed into a customer. The she-devil is going to kill me.

“Are?” He opened his eyes and found he had crashed into a woman with strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and a big breasts. She was also wearing the waitress’s uniform. “Who are you? Are you new? You’re a hottie! You’re going to attract a lot of customers!” The woman kept babbling, while Ichigo felt embarrassed. Did she just call me hottie?

“Rangiku-san, stop pestering Kurosaki!” Rukia came to his rescue. “Today’s his first day, and he’s going to work with us on this shift.”

Rangiku, as the woman was called, smiled and held Ichigo’s hand in an energetic handshake. “Nice to meet you, I’m Matsumoto Rangiku, but you can call me Rangiku!”

“Ah, I’m Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“Well, Ichigo, it’s gonna be fun working with you! We’ll talk later, otherwise Rukia-chan will get mad at me!” She winked at Ichigo, and then left to wait on a table.

Rukia rolled her eyes. “That’s Rangiku-san for you. Always energetic unless she has work to do. Anyway, are you ready to learn now?”

Ichigo nodded.

“Then, let’s get going.”

After two weeks of working at Urahara’s, Ichigo had started getting a hang on the job. Rukia was a demanding manager, so his first tries at brewing coffee hadn’t impressed her one bit, and Rukia ordered him to try again and again until he finally brew something decent. Not long after that, Rukia put him in charge of preparing the easiest brews. He found himself enjoying his time brewing coffee, and grinding the coffee beans. It was relaxing for him. He also didn’t have to deal with the customers, for he had found some were rather obnoxious. For example, every Thursday at 7 pm, a group of eight people arrived to drink coffee, but had a tendency to cause a ruckus every time they came. The first time Ichigo met him, he had been learning how to prepare lattes under Rukia’s guidance when Hinamori interrupted them.

“Kuchiki-san, it’s almost time!” She whispered a bit loudly, while getting the lemon cake Rukia was passing her.

“Damnit!” Rukia cursed. “Hinamori, tell Rangiku-san to get ready, please.”

“On it!”

Rukia then went into the kitchen. “Tessai-san, it’s time!”

“I’m ready Kuchiki-san!”

Ichigo watched this scene wide eyed. “Wait, what’s going on?” He asked Rukia, who was looking intently at the door.

“You’ll see.”

At exactly 7, the front door opened revealing a blond man with short hair trying to avoid being hit by a short girl, who wore her blonde hair in two pigtails.

“Fuck, Hiyori, stop it already!” He yelled, covering his head with both arms as he started making his way to a table.

“Shut up, baldy!”

“I ain’t bald!”

Meanwhile, all the customers sighed, and tried to get out of the way in perfect synch. Rangiku delivered coffee to a table with perfect gracefulness, not dropping a single drop of coffee. Hinamori started preparing a table, and then pulled out two chairs so that the two new customers could sit down, while they remained fighting. The chime at the door rang again, and next came two other people, a tall man with short silver hair, and a woman with green hair, who was hanging from the man’s right arm.

“How many times have I told you to not grab onto me in public?!”

“Kensei, you’re such a meanie! I just want your company! Or could it be you’re having dirty thoughts about Mashiro?” The young woman said, obviously teasing the man.

“Shut up!” He flushed furiously, as he tried to get her off of him to no avail.

“Pervert Ken!”

“I told you to shut up!”

Similarly to the previous couple, they walked without really paying attention to their surroundings, until they settled on the chairs Hinamori had pulled for them. Then, two men came in, one with long curly blonde hair, and the other with an afro. Both were discussing passionately a romantic movie that had recently come out. Like the rest, they didn’t pay any attention to where they were going, and finally settled on the table. Lastly, a young woman reading a book and a tall robust man with pink hair entered the shop in complete silence, and simply sat down with their companions.

“Welcome back!” Hinamori instantly greeted them. “May I take your orders?”

“Oh, Momo-chan!” The blond man with short-hair, better known as Shinji, greeted Hinamori with a flirty smile. “How about I take your number?”

Hinamori laughed awkwardly, and then the blonde girl hit the man with her sandal. “Stupid, baldy! You’re making Hinamori uncomfortable!”

“Hit, Shinji, hit him, Hiyori!” The woman with green hair cheered.

“Oi, don’t encourage her, Mashiro!” Kensei scolded her.

“You’re such a party-pooper, baka-ken!”

“Oi!”

“Guys, settle down!” The pink haired man, known as Hachigen, said, trying to get them to settle down.

“Ignore them, Hachigen, they’re always so lively.” The man with long hair said.

“True that, Rose.” His other friend said.

“I’ll have a black coffee and a chocolate cake, please.” The other woman, named Lisa, said, not once taking her eyes off of her book.

“I’ll bring your food immediately.” Hinamori said and excused herself, while the others remained fighting.

“By the way, where’s that good-for-nothing of Urahara?” Shinji asked, while trying to duck from Hiyori’s hits.

“I’m here, my lovely customers~! Did you miss me?” Urahara suddenly exclaimed from the stairs. Then he walked down and greeted them all. “How are you today?”

“Been better.” Shinji said as he rubbed his abused head.

“Your waitress is slow as always.” Hiyori complained.

“Now, be fair Hiyori, Hinamori-san waited but you guys never told her your order.” Love said.

“Speaking of waiters, let me introduce you to my new employee.” Urahara said, and then turned towards the counter. “Kurosaki-san, come here, boy!”

Ichigo turned to look at Rukia. Do I have to? He asked her with his eyes, and she nodded, grimly. Goddamnit. He walked towards the table, and stood next to Urahara.

“Kurosaki-san, these are my favorite clients. Hirako Shinji, Otoribashi Rojuro, Kuna Mashiro, Aikawa Love, Muguruma Kensei, Yadomaru Lisa, Usoda Hachigen, and lastly Hiyori-chan, who used to work here not so long ago.” He introduced them one by one.

“Why was I left to the end, baldy Urahara!” Hiyori exclaimed.

“I saved the best for last!”

“Yo, I’m Kurosaki Ichigo.” The boy introduced himself, ignoring how Urahara was being hit by the girl.

“Berry-kun?” Mashiro said.

“What? No, my name doesn’t mean strawberry!” Ichigo yelled.

“Of course it means that, berry-tan!” Mashiro kept saying, while the table laughed. Soon they all started calling him Berry, much to Ichigo’s dismay.

He returned to his post at the counter, huffing angrily.

“So, what do you think of our customers, Berry-kun?” Rukia asked him with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

Those eight idiots weren’t the only annoying customers they had. Sometimes, women came in with their children, who started running around the place and couldn’t be controlled. Other times, old men came in and stared lustfully at Rukia, Hinamori, and Rangiku, which didn’t sit well with Ichigo. Rukia generally ignored them with poise. Hinamori had the tendency to blush and stammer when the customers flirted with them. Meanwhile, Rangiku found the situation amusing and flirted right back, to the delight of the old men.

“Rangiku-chan, it’s so lovely to see you!” Kyoraku Shunsui, a frequent customer, said each time he went to the coffee shop, appreciating the way Rangiku’s breasts moved when walking.

“It’s nice to see you too, Kyouraku-san!” Rangiku said and winked for good measure, making the old man blush.

“Rangiku-san, please tell Rukia-san that her coffee is excellent as always.” Ukitake Juushiro, Kyouraku’s best friend and companion, said, complimenting Rukia’s coffee.

“Actually, today Ichigo prepared your coffee, Ukitake-san.” Rangiku informed him one day.

Ukitake smiled, and turned to the counter where Ichigo was working. “Ichigo-kun, you have improved a lot. You’ve truly learned from the best!”

Ichigo blushed and thanked the man profusely.

“See? I’m a good teacher.” Rukia told him smugly.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m just a natural.”

“You wish.”

But perhaps the most annoying part of the day was when Shihouin Yoruichi came to the coffee shop. Yoruichi was Urahara’s wife, who had kept her maiden name just to tease her husband. Yoruichi was a gorgeous woman, with dark skin, dark hair, and cat-like eyes. Like Urahara, Ichigo had known Yoruichi for a long time due to the fact the due were his dad’s friends. Hell, he had even attended Yoruichi and Urahara’s wedding as a child. Knowing his boss’s wife could’ve been a good thing if it weren’t for the fact Yoruichi was his boss’s wife. She liked teasing people, and she was inclined to bother him when he was working. Yoruichi visited the shop at different times during the day. But when she came in the afternoons, Ichigo had the misfortune to have to listen to her criticism.

“Yo, Ichigo.”

“Yes, Yoruichi-san?” He forced himself to be civil.

“You’re doing it wrong.” The older woman pointed at how he was brewing coffee.

“That’s not true! I’m doing it exactly as Rukia told me!” Ichigo replied. He had started calling his manager by her first day after three days of working at Urahara’s. Rukia, in turn, had started calling him by his first name as well.

“Kisuke won’t be happy if you serve that coffee.” The woman answered.

“Gah! I’ll start over!” He naively thought Yoruichi was right, only to find moments later he had brewed the coffee correctly.

Other times, Yoruichi tried to mess with him for working with three attractive girls. Ichigo hated this teasing the most, for Yoruichi had a tendency to point out each of the girls’ attributes, from Rangiku’s breasts, to Momo’s hips, to Rukia’s legs. Ichigo blushed each time and tried to deny he had ever ogled the girls.

“I can’t believe you don’t like any of them. You’re young, and you don’t have a girlfriend. Maybe you’re gay. Or could it be you’re in love with me? Kisuke won’t be happy about that. But he doesn’t have to know.” She said suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows for good measure.

“Shut up!” Ichigo yelled, turning red from head to toe, while the woman laughed.

The other annoying customer was a girl who had recently become a regular. It all happened during his third week at the job. Rukia had tried to get him to attend the customers directly at the cashier machine. Ichigo had been reluctant to leave his post as a barista, but Rukia had insisted he needed to learn how to do it just in case one day she couldn’t come.

“Smile, Ichigo, smile!” Rukia told him.

“I’m smiling!”

“You look like you’re constipated.” Rukia deadpanned and Ichigo frowned.

“I’m doing the best I can!”

Rukia rolled her eyes. “Okay, then let’s try your greeting.”

“Welcome, may I take your order?” The young man said with no emotions whatsoever.

The barista sighed. “Can you sound less robotic? Try this. ‘Hello! Welcome to Urahara’s! May I take your order?” She said cheerfully, even gesturing for emphasis.

Ichigo cringed. “You sound creepy.” He hated her customer voice, she sounded so fake when she spoke like that.

“Not as much as do. Quick, here comes a customer, be nice!” Rukia warned him, and then stepped aside.

A girl with magenta hair styled in pigtails, wearing what looked like a Lolita outfit, walked directly towards the counter with a bored expression on her face. Ichigo instantly knew she was one of those high maintenance girls, and prepared himself for the attitude he assumed she would give him.

“Welcome to Urahara’s, may I take your order?” He said with the same intonation as before. Rukia facepalmed behind him.

The girl frowned, and then turned to look at him ready to yell at him for being rude. “Hey, who do you think you─” But she stopped dead in her tracks when she took a good look at Ichigo.

“I what?” Ichigo asked with a raised eyebrow.

The girl continued to ogle him. The truth Ichigo was a highly attractive man. He had deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, a hard jaw, a straight nose, and you could appreciate her biceps and chiseled chest under his uniform. His wild orange hair just added to the appeal.

“You’re a hottie!” The girl shouted, blushing heavily.

“Arm, excuse me?” Ichigo said, raising an eyebrow.

“I told you that you were going to attract a lot of customers!” Rangiku remarked as she passed by and accepted the cup of coffee Rukia was giving him. The barista was trying to stifle a laugh.

The girl stammered and managed to order a Frappuccino, never once taking her eyes off of Ichigo. The man started blushing because of the attention he was receiving.

Ever since, the girl, who they heard was called Dokugamine Riruka, came almost every day, always ordering a Frappuccino, and sitting on the table right in front of the counter, to have a better view of Ichigo at worked. Ichigo flushed every time she came in, and had to bear the teasing from his female coworkers. Later, more girls started coming in just to stare at him. One had been very forward and asked for his number. Urahara found the situation both hilarious and good for his business. “With you here, Ichigo, our customers have increase a ten percent!”

After a month had passed by, Ichigo had finally settled on his new routine. Ichigo worked from 4 to 8 from Mondays to Fridays, and from 12 to 4 on Saturdays. He rested on Sundays. Usually, from 4 to 6 they had fewer customers, so he had the chance to study or do homework in the meantime. He hadn’t thought about doing it really, until Rukia gave him the green light one day. It had been particularly slow that day, it was Monday after all, and the two of them had been resting on the counter. Soon, Rukia took out a bag from under the counter, and opened a book.

“Don’t you have homework to do?” Rukia asked him.

“What?”

“You study at Karakura University, right? I’ve seen you there. Don’t you have homework?” Rukia explained herself.

“Ah, yeah. But I didn’t bring my stuff.” He answered.

“You should. On slow days, you can study for a bit.”

Ichigo nodded. Then, he gasped. “Wait, you study at Karakura U too?!”

Rukia laughed. “Yeah. Hinamori, Rangiku-san and I study there. Hinamori and I are in our second year, while Rangiku-san is on his last. This is your first year, right?”

Ichigo nodded. “What are you studying?”

“I’m majoring in business. What about you?”

“Criminology.”

“What? Ichigo studies at Karakura U!” Rangiku, who was passing by and had heard everything, exclaimed.

“Yeah. I study criminology. And you?”

“Electrical engineering, actually.” Ichigo blinked, clearly surprised. “Shocking, isn’t it? I’m not only a pretty face, but I’m smart too.”

“I study psychology there too.” Hinamori joined their conversation.

Soon, they started discussing their classes, teachers, and college events. Rangiku and Hinamori were very into university social life, attending most parties, while Rukia was just as reserved as Ichigo was. Since the Law and Business buildings were close to each other, and shared the same cafeteria, Rukia had been able to see him walking by one time. After Ichigo knew this information, he made it a point to look for Rukia at the cafeteria or nearby. One time, he had run into Rukia when he was walking towards the coffee shop. They had decided to walk together. That had spurred a couple of rumors at the café, which were mostly spread by Rangiku. They had denied everything, but Ichigo had to admit he was starting to enjoy Rukia’s company, even though at first he had thought she was bitchy.

Tessai, Hinamori, Rangiku and Rukia weren’t Ichigo’s only coworkers. He knew that early on the mornings, Urahara attended the counter and was the barista as well, while two girls, Ise Nanao and Kotetsu Isane, waited the place. From 12 to 4, Kiyone, Isane’s little sister, and Kira Izuru were waiters, a guy called Ayasegawa Yumichika attended the counter, a girl called Kurotsuchi Nemu was the barista, and a man called Hisagi Shuuhei replaced Tessai as the cook. At 8, a young man that looked to be younger than Ichigo but was actually older called Hitsugaya Toshiro replaced Rukia as barista. Isane came back as a waitress to replace Hinamori, while Rangiku stayed. Another man called Madarame Ikkaku came to work at the counter. Ichigo had met some of them during Saturdays, for he worked those days with Hitsugaya, Hisagi, and Ikkaku. He had met the others whenever they changed shifts or whenever Rangiku needed someone to cover for him.

Ichigo had become friends quickly with Ikkaku, Yumichika, Hisagi and Kira. He laughed whenever Rangiku teased them or took advantage of them, especially of Hisagi and Kira. They had even invited Ichigo to drink with them. He had gone with them one Saturday at a local bar, and had regretted immediately. They drank a lot, more than he had ever drunk in his whole life, and were quick to get wasted. Rangiku usually was with them, and got as drunk as them. Kira and Hisagi apparently always ended up in their underwear at some point during the night. Ichigo was also surprised to find out that Kyouraku, their customer, frequented the same bar and got drunk with them.

As for Hitsugaya, he was even more demanding than Rukia. He acted as manager on Saturdays, while Ichigo was the barista along with Ikkaku, Hisagi cooked, and Rukia, Hinamori and Rangiku were waitresses. Hitsugaya had little to no patience, and scolded Rangiku often. Their interactions were often like this:

“Matsumoto!” Hitsugaya would yell. “Stop fooling around and start working!”

Said girl would scream in panic. “Yes, yes, Hitsugaya-sama!” She’d say teasingly, while Hitsugaya would frown.

“Shiro-chan, don’t be so mean!” Hinamori would complain.

“She had it coming, and don’t me like that here, Hinamori!” Hitsugaya would reply.

“Whatever you say, Hitsugaya-kun.” Hinamori would say teasingly, making Hitsugaya grow red, either from embarrassment or anger, Ichigo didn’t know.

“I prefer you as manager.” Ichigo would then tell Rukia, who would smile smugly.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Even though he liked his male coworkers, Ichigo’s favorite coworkers were still the girls. He had never had as any girl friends as he had now, and it surprised him he got along so well with them. Rangiku was wild and rambunctious, and although she liked to tease him, she had a golden heart. Hinamori was extremely sweet, and always had a good disposition. She told him funny stories when business was slow. And Rukia, well, she was sarcastic and could be very bossy when she wanted, but she was also kind, intelligent, and funny. At first Ichigo had thought she was a bitch, but upon knowing more about her, he found that wasn’t the case, she was just strict. She could be patient too. Somehow, he found that he had grown closer to her, perhaps because they worked side by side. He truly enjoyed her company.

As time went by, Ichigo realized that he could call Rukia his best friend. They were almost attached by the hip. They spent a lot of time together at work, but they ate lunch sometimes at the cafeteria, and walked together to Urahara’s after their classes were over. They had even gone out on the weekends, to watch movies at the local cinema or to just stroll in the park. He had found out a lot about her during their time together.

“So why do you study business?” He asked her one day.

Rukia sighed. “At first it was expected of me. My family owns a large business, which my older brother runs. Naturally, my family wanted to follow into the same footsteps. I wasn’t that convinced but accepted business anyway. That changed last year when I was looking for a job. Urahara-san hired me and soon I started truly loving working here. That’s when I had a new dream. I want to own my own coffee shop one day. I already have a name and everything.”

“Oh really? And what is it?”

“Promise not to laugh?” She said self-consciously.

“I promise.”

“It’s going to be called Chappy Café, and it’s going to be cool because it’ll be bunny-themed and you’ll be able to pet bunnies.” Rukia explained, her eyes shining with glee.

“So basically a cat café but with bunnies.” Ichigo deadpanned, not at all surprised. Over the time working with Rukia, he had found out she was obsessed with bunnies and wanted to have one as a pet someday.

“No, you fool! It’s going to be better than a cat café because it’ll have bunnies!”

“If you say so!”

“Don’t laugh!” She said and then hit Ichigo on his shoulder.

“Damnit, Rukia! That hurt!”

“That was for being mean.” She huffed and crossed her arms. They grew silent until Rukia started speaking again. “So, why are you studying criminology? It’s not that common.”

Ichigo gulped. “It’s quite personal, actually.” His eyes were downcast.

“Oh, I’m sorry. If you don’t want, you don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s okay. I think I’m ready to share this with someone.” Ichigo said. “You see, when I was eight years old, I was walking on the streets with my mom. It was raining and we didn’t notice we were being followed. In the blink of an eye, a guy appeared and tried to mug us. My mom got scared because of me, and took a lot to give him her purse. I guess the guy panicked, for he stabbed my mom, snatched her purse as she fell, and then ran. The cut wasn’t so deep, but unfortunately, the guy hit an important vein, and my mom bleed out.”

“Oh, Ichigo, that’s awful! I’m so sorry.” Rukia said, covering her mouth in horror.

The man shrugged, trying to appear unaffected although he visibly was. “Yeah, anyway, the police searched but they never found him. So, I made it my goal to investigate crimes to find criminals, so that families like mine can get justice. No crime should go unpunished.”

Rukia smiled tenderly at him. “That’s an incredible goal.”

Ichigo smiled back. “Well, a bunny café isn’t so bad.”

He had also discovered Rukia once wanted to be a painter, but realized she wasn’t good at drawing. She also was a pro at ice skating, and had won a prize when she was thirteen years old. She had also been adopted by her current family. Her older sister had married Kuchiki Byakuya when Rukia had been a small child. Since their parents had died, Byakuya adopted her into the family as his sister. When Hisana passed away due to a chronic disease, Byakuya raised Rukia as his own, and had given her everything she had wanted, although their relationship was tense.

Rukia, Rukia, Rukia. That was what was in Ichigo’s thoughts most of the time. His friends, and even Rangiku and Hinamori had started asking him about it, wondering if there was more to it than just a friendship. Ichigo had denied everything, but after a while he had started wondering too about it, especially when a certain man arrived at the shop one day. He was tall, taller than Ichigo, he had reddish hair, and slanted brown eyes. The moment he entered the café, Rukia gasped and immediately walked towards him pulling him outside. From the window, Ichigo could see they were almost arguing.

“Oh no.” Rangiku whispered next to him.

“Who’s that?” Ichigo asked her.

“That’s Ashido, Rukia’s ex. I wonder what he wants.” Rangiku mumbled, more to herself than Ichigo.

“I hope he goes away. He really hurt Rukia-san.” Hinamori said, as she grabbed a piece of pie from the counter.

Ichigo felt something strange in his chest. He felt angry that someone had hurt Rukia, but he also felt a pang when he saw that Rukia had smiled at her ex, before going back inside. That was the moment he realized he felt more for Rukia than just a friendship.

“Hey, Ichigo, why are you making such a weird face?” Rukia asked him once she was next to him.

“Nothing.”

He was fucked.

“You’ve been acting weird lately.” Rukia remarked one day.

It was true. Ever since his epiphany, he hadn’t known how to act around Rukia. Should he confess? Try to show his feelings? Or just get over her? He didn’t know. He had never been in love before. He had dated, sure, and liked girls, but this was more than a crush. Besides, he didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Rukia. It was too precious for him.

“Nothing.” He lied.

Rukia scoffed. “Nothing my ass! You’ve been avoiding me! Did I do something to you?” She asked, looking hurt.

“No!” Ichigo panicked. “Of course not!”

“Then what is it?” She demanded, putting Ichigo on the spot.

“Ilikeyouokay.” Ichigo said quickly.

“What?” Rukia asked, not having understood a word he had said.

“I knew it!” Rangiku suddenly shouted. She had been at the counter, taking a piece of cake for a customer when she had managed to hear the conversation.

“What? What did he say, Rangiku-san?” Rukia asked her.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. It’s better if Ichigo tells you himself, Rukia-chan.” Rangiku said, winking at the end of her sentence. Said guy blushed.

“I’ll tell you later.” He mumbled, and started brewing coffee.

“Fine.”

Once their shift was over, and they were walking outside side by side, Rukia inquired again. “So what did you want to tell me?”

Ichigo gulped, then sighed. “Look, before I tell you anything, promise things won’t get weird between us.”

“I promise.” Rukia said seriously. She looked incredibly cute too.

“Fine… well, for a while now I’ve noticed things have changed about how I feel about you. I guess, I think of you of more than just a friend or coworker. You’re special… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you.”

Rukia blinked once, twice, and then turned a lovely shade of pink.

“But, you don’t have to say anything. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way.” Ichigo added quickly, before Rukia could answer.

Rukia snorted. “You’re such a fool, Ichigo. Of course I like you back!” She said and took Ichigo’s hands between hers.

“Really?” He asked hopeful.

“Really.”

Then, they grew closer and started leaning. Ichigo pressed his lips against hers, and Rukia started kissing him back just as eagerly. From the window, Rangiku, Hinamori, Tessai, Urahara and some of the customers were watching the scene with curious eyes, and when the couple finally kissed, they cheered loudly, which caused Ichigo and Rukia to pull away to see what was that all about.

“Finally!” Urahara yelled, taking picture after picture.

Ichigo started screaming bloody murder at Urahara, while Rukia laughed, and then pulled him back for another kiss.

Maybe working at Urahara’s coffee shop had been the best thing that had ever happened to Ichigo.

[bellarkefanfiction]

make my messes matter, make this chaos count

*click through to read on ao3

written by: Nai | @hiddenpolkadots​

prompt: ‘I’m a robber and you’re an assassin and by pure coincidence we broke into the poor guy’s house on the same night, and I mean apart from the murder thing you seem pretty chill so you wanna get coffee later? After you’re done melting the body in the bathtub, of course' for anonymous

word count: 2666

Bellamy has never really gone out with anyone who's held a knife to his throat when they first meet, but hey, there's a first time for everything.

The first time Bellamy meets Clarke Griffin, she’s pinning him to the floor with a knife to his neck, which isn’t exactly the most promising of first impressions.

Of course, he doesn’t know it’s Clarke Griffin, just like she doesn’t know he’s Bellamy Blake. That was the point of the terribly uncomfortable masks after all. If he was found out, he’d be put in jail, and Bellamy rather not find out if he can break out of Ark City prison.

All he knows is that when he tried to override Cage’s security system, he found it already shut off, and by the time he hauled himself up to the third floor study to get what he came for, he spotted a figure clad in an all black getup, just like his, peeking through a crack in the door. It’s about as suspicious as one can be, especially when the moonlight glints off the handle of what seems to be a gun for half a second.

Most people would wait until it’s clear before slipping in, or maybe even use the element of surprise to get one over on the other person. Instead, Bellamy silently slips in through the window, the sound of his feet hitting the floor muffled by the carpet, and he leans against the wall.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he says airily, and the figure jumps, spinning around, just as he expected.

What he doesn’t expect are actual throwing knives being flung his way a second later because really. Who the fuck expects that?

He manages to dodge the first few, but apparently it was all just a distraction because the next thing he knows, he finds himself falling, landing with a muffled ‘thump’ on the floor as a heavy weight settles atop his torso, pinning him in place. The knife appears a moment later, just barely pressing into his skin.

Bellamy has no one but himself to blame for being put in this position if he’s being honest. It still doesn’t stop him from trying to talk his way out of it though. He doesn’t have a rep of being a silver tongued bastard for nothing.

“Warm welcome,” he huffs. Or well, wheezes since they still have their knee pressing down on his sternum.

The knife presses further into his neck, stinging a little. “Who the hell are you?” a girl’s voice says, and she makes sure to jab his chest for emphasis. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m Nobody,” he smirks, flexing a bit to throw her off balance. She catches herself on his shoulder before she can tumble off entirely, and shoots him a dirty look in return. “And I’m here on a job.” He looks over her with a critical eye before lifting an eyebrow. “I assume you’re doing the same?”

“How do you know that?” she snaps, and he can feel just the barest tickle as blood begins to slowly leak from the wound at his throat.

He’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to roll your eyes at the person holding a knife to your neck but he can’t help it. “Just a hunch, princess,” he says dryly, glancing back down at her all black outfit, and then back up to the mask that covers most of her face. All that he can see is her mouth and a pair of impossibly blue eyes glaring at him each time he so much as shifts.

“Do you mind not killing me tonight, by the way?” he asks when it starts to get uncomfortable. She hasn’t said anything else, just cocked her head to the side and observed him. “I have things planned for the rest of this week and I think getting murdered might put a damper on that.”

She rolls her eyes, but pulls the knife away slightly. “Why don’t you let me know what days you’re free and we come up with something then?” she snarks, folding her arms over her chest.

“Sounds like a plan,” he grins at her, “Why don’t we meet up for coffee tomorrow and discuss potential death days? If you’re going to be stabbing me, I have to say that I’m partial to March fifteenth for historic reasons, but that’s almost a year a way and I’m willing to be flexible.”

His words leave her dumbfounded, opening and closing her mouth soundlessly several times, and it gives him the distraction he needed to successfully manage to throw her off. She squeaks as she goes down, limbs flailing, and he grins, dusting off his shoulders as he gets to his feet.

“Well this has been nice,” he says cheerily, quickly scanning the room for the painting he's been sent for. He finds it hanging behind the heavy oak desk that dominates the room, high enough that he might have to stretch to get it down. “Now if you excuse me, princess, I really must be going. Have fun lurking.”

“Wait,” she tells him, and there's the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.

That gets his attention, and Bellamy slowly sets down the pocket knife he was using to pry the back of the frame open before turning around.

“What now?” he asks, just barely refraining from rolling his eyes again.

She lifts an eyebrow. “Are you always this nonchalant about having a gun pointed towards you?”

He gives her a half shrug. “I like to think of it more as a very special hello.”

“I can’t let you leave,” she says, ignoring him. “You’ve seen too much.”

“I haven't seen anything,” he grumbles and she ignores that too. Clearing his throat, Bellamy flashes her his most charming smile. Or tries to at any rate. It's hard to do so when there's something covering most of your face. “You're not going to shoot me,” he says flippantly, returning to the painting.

“Oh? And why not? Because I'm not a murderer?” she simpers. “Because of you think that then you really don't know what I'm here for.”

“I know what you're here for Wanheda,” he says, smiling at the shock that flits across her face. “That is what they're calling you these days right? Commander of Death? If you ask me it's a stupid name but then again pretty much everything about that language is stupid so-”

“If you know who I am then you know I have no qualms about killing you,” she says over him, speaking as loudly as she dared.

“True.” He nods. “But I also know that you're far more precise and methodical than out of the blue killing. Well, that and the fact that you and I both know that a gunshot is going to alert everyone on the block and we don’t want that, no do we?”

The gun wavers and he knows that he's got her there. “Fine,” she snaps, dropping it in its entirely. “You did your homework. Now did you come here because knew you I'd be here tonight and you wanted to look death in the eyes?” She doesn’t holster it, not yet, but Bellamy’s sure if he keeps on talking he might just walk out of here with all limbs attached.

“Oh please you're not that important,” he scoffs, before turning on the charm again. “It was just a coincidence. A very happy coincidence,” he adds with a wink.

“Do you flirt with everyone that tries to kill you?”

“Only the ones I really like,” he smirks, gently prying the painting out of the frame and replacing it with a fake. There’s the barest hint of colour on the exposed part of her ears, and she mumbles something about damaging the quality of the artwork when he rolls up the original. Bellamy finds himself biting back a smile. She’s not what he expected for the most ruthless assassin in this part of the country, and he finds himself oddly endeared by it.

“So how do you plan on killing him?” he asks conversationally, sliding the painting into the travelling tube. “Knife to his neck?”

“Oh no. I know better than to go out giving away my secrets,” she says, seemingly amused despite herself. “That, and a knife to his neck is far too messy.”

“Poison in his cup then?” he tries again, and it gets a faint giggle out of her, almost as though she was trying to hold it back. “Or perhaps a gun to his back?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You really aren’t giving anything away, are you?”

“Well I am a professional,” she adds with a sardonic grin that he finds rather captivating.

“That you are.” He secures the loop around his arm. “Have fun killing Cage.”

“Thanks. Have fun with your night of armed robbery and theft.”

“Will do.” He mockingly salutes before pausing, one hand on the window, ready to jump out. “Oh, and Princess?” She glances over at him, her lips curling just the slightest bit. “I was serious about getting that coffee together. Say, three tomorrow at Grinders?”

“What?”

“You seem interesting.” He shrugs.

“Really?” she says skeptically, glancing at her watch before looking back up at him. “And how am I supposed to know which one is you? Order a drink for ‘the guy I met while waiting for my mark to snuff it’?”

“I figure you’ll know it when you see it.” Bellamy winks at her. “I’ll be the one reading The Odyssey,” he adds, and then jumps out, melting into the night before she even has a chance to reply.

He actually does go the coffee shop the next day just a bit before three, weathered book in hand, and orders a macchiato while he sits by the window.

He can’t stop fidgeting, alternating between dicking around on his phone and actually reading the book, skimming over his favourite parts just for fun while he waits. This isn’t something he usually does- or ever does considering that he’s never run into someone while working a job before- and he’s oddly nervous about this notorious assassin knowing his true form: a geeky history nerd with clunky hipster glasses and owns more flannel shirts than he needs.

He doesn’t think anyone might want him personally dead, but then again, he has been robbing the rich people of Ark blind for the past year, so.

(Bellamy’s not sure what makes him more nervous, the idea of someone finding out who he really is, or the thought of her not showing up at all, especially when three o’clock comes and there’s no sign of her as yet.)

At a quarter past three a girl walks in, all fair skin and blonde hair, wrapped in a pretty blue sundress, and something about it makes him just know.

It’s pretty much confirmed two seconds later when her eyes fall on him first, and then his book, her face lighting up almost immediately. Bellamy has to remind himself that he talks to pretty girls all the time but for some reason this one has his stomach doing somersaults as she walks over still seeming somewhat shy.

“So if I leave my purse here while I use the bathroom, would you steal it?” she asks, and he can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“I’m not that kind of thief, princess,” he teases, and the smile that breaks out across her face actually makes his breath catch. She has a beauty mark above her lips which are painted candy pink, and her hair falls over her shoulder in a cascade of almost perfect curls. The nickname ‘princess’ seems truer than ever, and he’s already so gone on this girl.

“So what kind of thief are you then?” she asks, cocking her head to the side as she slides into the seat opposite him. “The kind that’s going to steal my heart?”

He can’t help but snort at that. “That depends, what kind of assassin are you?”

“The people killing kind,” she deadpans, and he snorts again.

“Funny.”

“I try my best.”

“I’m Bellamy,” he says, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Bellamy Blake.”

Her hand is half the size of his and cool to the touch, but her fingers are soft when they tangle with his. “Clarke Griffin. Nice to meet you. Sorry about the knife thing yesterday.”

“So long as you’re not into that, we’re good.”

Every time she smiles that toothy grin at him his stomach flip-flops, and he feels like a kid with his first crush all over again. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that conversation is more geared towards third date conversations, don’t you?”

He ducks his head, smiling at the table before glancing up at her. “You think we’re gonna get that far?”

“I think your chances are good,” she says softly, squeezing their hands together.

They spend the next few hours at the coffee shop, just talking, and after they realise how late it’s gotten, they get dinner, Clarke suggesting the new Thai place that’s been on his list. It’s the most fun he’s had in a while, and everytime he glances over at Clarke, her grin is blinding.

He takes her home, back to his place, and when Bellamy wakes up the next morning, it’s to find Clarke in his kitchen wearing his shirt as she absentmindedly scrambles some eggs. She has her phone in her hand, scrolling through a chat, and startles when he wraps his arms around her from behind, nuzzling into her neck.

“You’re up early,” she says, flicking the stove off and turning around so that she can kiss him properly. She easily slips the phone down on the counter, face down. “I thought I tired you out last night,” she adds with a smirk, letting her fingers play with his curls.

He returns her smirk, backing her up against the counter to press little open mouthed kisses into her neck. “I think you’ve got it mixed up babe,” he murmurs, licking the salt from her skin. “You basically passed out on top of me.”

She scratches her nails down his bare chest. “Did not.”

“Did too,” he breathes, hoisting her on top of the counter and kissing her again, letting his tongue slip into her mouth while she sighs.

Just as Bellamy is about to push the shirt off her shoulders, her phone vibrates between them, making them jump apart.

“Friend?” he asks, trying not to sound too put out when she unlocks it instead of throwing it in the trash for disrupting what was setting up to be a very good morning indeed. He would have thrown his toaster in the trash if it interrupted what he was trying to set up here to be honest.

“Work actually,” she says, oddly nervous as she twists her fingers together. Clarke bites her lip, looking back up at him before her eyes dart away again. “A new job. One that I was hoping you could help me with.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you want me to help?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have you around,” she shrugs. When she finally meets his gaze again, her eyes are soft, and when she speaks, her voice is even softer, “I’m hoping you’ll be around for a while.”

It makes his heart triple in size in his chest, a strange warmth making its way throughout his body, and he draws her in for a hug, resting his cheek on top of her hair.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clarke Griffin,” he says, dropping a quick kiss to her crown. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

She giggles, lips brushing over his jaw for a moment. “Good,” she murmurs. “You’re stuck with me for good, Blake.”

His hands drop, finding both of hers and letting their fingers tangle. Their foreheads are pressed together as they booth grin like a pair of lovestruck idiots, and he swipes a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Griffin.”

[littleplebe]

HERE IS A PROMPT FOR YOU...ShieldShock - “They can’t prove anything, if we stick to the story.”

Why are you so intent on making me use my brain? This was hard! Thank you for the wonderful prompt, Holly. It kickstarted my muse.

It was just his luck to walk by the science labs when Jane Foster was going on a break. The astrophysicist grabbed his shirt and pulled him in, giving him big sad eyes that she knew Steve would be unable to resist.

“Look after my machine for me while I get coffee?” she asked hopefully.

The machine in question was small, considerably smaller than those in Tony’s lab, and it whirred and beeped quietly in the middle of the room, looking for all the world like a cheap, old age coffee machine. On the other side of that metal contraption sat Jane’s assistant, Darcy, ears plugged and working on her laptop, her head bopping away to some godawful loud music that Steve could hear all the way to where he was standing. He raised an eyebrow at Jane.

“Isn’t that her job?” he asked, nodding toward the assistant.

Jane looked sheepish. “She’s working on the data and… um… it’s a new machine. I don’t really trust anyone with it.”

“Not even your assistant?”

Jane huffed impatiently. “Look, just sit here and make sure no one touches it while I’m gone.”

“Fine,” sighed Steve. “But if you’re not back in half an hour, I’m leaving.”

Jane looked ready to squeal. She squeezed his arm gratefully and practically bounced out of the door. Judging by her abnormally wide smile, it was clear that she wasn’t just going to get coffee. A certain demigod was always involved when Jane was this happy.

Steve took a seat on a rolling chair and raised his feet to rest comfortably on Jane’s desk, throwing his head back to stare at the white ceiling in resignation. He was such a pushover sometimes. Well, while he was there, he could at least appreciate the quiet in Jane’s lab. Unlike Tony’s bots, Jane’s machines knew how to behave. They emitted soft noises and tiny beeps but refrained from demanding attention with useless squeaks and whooshing noises which were so commonplace in Tony’s lab.

That’s exactly the reason Steve was alarmed when, the very next second, Jane’s new machine grunted and emitted a loud grating noise that forced him out of his chair and over to the lab assistant in no time. She removed her ear phones and stared at the machine in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked her urgently.

“I don’t know.”

So, this wasn’t normal then. Great. He raised a brow at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be prepared for this kind of thing?”

“Do I look like a Nobel prize winning scientist to you?” Lewis snapped. “Jeez, Cap!”

Steve took a calming breath and bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. Time and again he was reminded why he chose to stay away from Darcy Lewis. She was mouthy and called him Cap, which reminded him so much of Tony that he was beginning to hate the resemblance. She was also pretty clueless about everything science related, which begged the reason why Jane kept her around.

“Let me just…” Lewis mumbled as she carefully stepped up to the machine and peered inside. “Maybe I should…?” When she raised a hand as if to stick it inside the machine’s depths, Steve hurried forward and pulled her away from it.

“Are you out of your mind?” he reprimanded her. “You could lose a hand.”

“It’s an atmospheric anomaly analyzer with a built in stabilizer and pressure generator,” Lewis told him mockingly. “Not a mixer grinder.”

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t totally clueless, Steve admitted grudgingly. But he wasn’t about to let her finger the analyzer without being completely sure that it wouldn’t blow up in their faces. He had been a victim to many a blowups in Bruce’s lab and he was still trying to get over the last one.

“Can’t we shut it down?” he asked, still holding firmly onto her arm.

She shook her head. “It’s recalibrating. Jane will kill me if I shut it down and her scheduled experiment gets delayed.”

“So, what do we do?” Without waiting for an answer, he released his grip on her and pulled out his phone. He would call Jane. As simple as that. She would come running at the first grunt of her machine, even if she and Thor were in the middle of… something.

While he was turned away, Darcy sidled up to the analyzer and did exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do. She touched it. It was warm and vibrating beneath her fingers. The grating noise had stopped but it was still whirring at a loud and dangerous pace. Darcy curiously tapped the pressure meter and studied the buttons next to it. Maybe if she switched off the generator, the analyzer could continue recalibrating in peace. Or maybe the entire thing would shut down. Should she take the risk?

Her index finger decided for her and before she could even blink, there was a boom and a hiss as all the pressure in the machine was released and Darcy found herself flying through the air, a shriek escaping her lips as she landed directly on top of an unfortunate Captain America. He was turned away from her when he went down with the force of her body hitting his and the air rushed out of his lungs in a painful whoosh.

Steve had tried to break the fall with his hands but his chest hurt and he could feel a bruise forming on his cheek due to abrupt contact with the floor. He opened his eyes to see waves of dark hair blocking his view. Darcy Lewis was lying right on top of him, her arms caging his and her knees digging into the back of his thighs.

Steve closed his eyes, ignoring the throbbing pain in his cheek and in the heels of his palms, and took a minute to wonder why he had agreed to lab-sit for Jane Foster in the first place. And why had he averted his attention from Lewis for even a minute? She was a disaster waiting to happen.

She moaned and wiggled on his back. “I think the generator exploded.”

“You think?” Steve grabbed a fistful of her hair and held it up so that he could see the damage she had wrought. “Get off me, Lewis.”

“Why so cranky?” she joked halfheartedly, sliding sideways to slump beside him in shock. “It wasn’t my fault. The generator malfunctioned.”

Steve heaved himself up so that he could flop onto his back and relieve some pressure from his chest. “You keep telling yourself that,” he muttered, gingerly touching his bruised cheek. “No one is going to believe you.”

“Why, you plan to tattle-tail?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “They’ll figure it out when they check the machine, Lewis.”

“They can’t prove anything,” said Darcy, “if we stick to the story.”

She was blankly watching the ceiling, just like he was, and her chest heaved in an erratic pattern as adrenaline still rushed through her system. Steve pursed his lips and decided to set her straight.

“One, there is no story. Two, there is no we.”

“They’re going to question us–”

“There is no us,” he insisted grumpily. “You were the one who blew up the generator.”

“I did not! It malfunctioned!”

“Therefore, you will be the one to answer all questions and take all the blame. I’m out of here the moment Jane returns.”

“How chivalrous of you,” mocked Darcy, throwing him an ugly look.

Steve ignored her and instead focused all his energy on getting his heartbeats under control. He felt a bit dizzy and was in no mood to budge from his not-so-comfortable-but-not-uncomfortable-either position on the lab floor. Darcy must feel the same because she, too, didn’t move. And that’s how Jane found them ten minutes later, sprawled side by side on the lab floor, not talking, not moving, just lying there as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“What the hell?” she exclaimed, hastening to her beloved machine and completely disregarding the two possibly injured people in her lab.

Darcy sighed and asked softly, “Did I break a rib?”

Steve turned on his side and ran a hand over her torso, careful not to stray too close to her ample assets. “It doesn’t seem like it.”

To his surprise, Darcy blushed. “I was asking about you,” she murmured. “Did I break anything of yours when I fell on you?”

Steve felt a rush of warmth fill his cheeks and he snatched his hand away from her person. “Oh. Um… no, I don’t think so.”

She nodded, her lips ticking up in relief. “Good.”

“We should get up.”

She quirked a teasing brow. “I thought you said there’s no we.”

Steve snorted. Maybe Darcy Lewis wasn’t so bad. And maybe lab-sitting for Jane hadn’t been so bad either. But he was still never setting foot in this part of the facility… ever!

[thestudentarchitect]

Easy Zero Waste Kitchen Swaps

Kitchens are riddled with toxic and disposable items - there is so much potential for reducing waste and toxicity!

See swaps here

Disposable products may appear to be cost effective however, the fact that you need to keep buying them indefinitely has proven to be more costly, and the lack of quality in these disposable products have proven to be costly for our health too.

In this post you will notice a recurring theme: avoid plastics and disposable/single use products. As an alternative, my main go to's are glass, stainless steel, organic cloths, wood, and high quality silicone. Please note that there have not been significant studies on silicone at extreme temperatures (high heat, freezing cold) therefore I cannot recommend it for items like bakeware or ice cube trays, or for use in microwaving, freezing, or in the oven. I do however recommend high quality silicone for moderate temperatures (room temperature, fridge temp). Also note that low quality silicone has fillers, some of which may leach toxins, and which have not been tested thoroughly for toxicity.

If you're wondering what's so bad about plastic, here are a few brief reasons why you should avoid it.

First of all, of the plastics that are biodegradable, it can take anywhere from 20 to 1,000+ years to decompose! When you compare that to more environmentally friendly alternatives such as bamboo or cotton which can take from 1 month to 3 years to decompose, and the fact that some plastics, such as LDPE will never biodegrade, it seems like a no brainer to use natural materials as opposed to plastic. You may have seen that it can take a tin can 50 years to decompose or a glass bottle 1 million years to decompose but the difference between those and plastic is that metals and glass are easily and commonly recycled and reused, making them much more economical.

Another problem with plastic is the toxicity. All plastics have the potential to release toxins, but cheap, low quality plastics in particular are a huge problem. The various compounds created and used to make plastics are vast and there are still insufficient studies on the effects of these materials under a variety of conditions. One of the most well known chemical compounds in plastic is Bisphenol A (BPA) which is used to make polycarbonate plastics and epoxy resins and can cause changes in cellular function, reproduction, development and behavior. Unfortunately, products that now advertise as BPA-free are just as toxic because the BPA has been replaced with Bisphenol S (BPS) which causes similar effects to that of BPA.

The last issue I'll touch on is the problem of microplastics. These are extremely tiny plastic pieces and particles (smaller than a sesame seed) that mix with soils and our water sources and are impossible to remove. These plastics get ingested by animals (which the effects of this are unknown) and then people eat these animals thus ingesting these plastic particles themselves.

There are countless studies expressing the dangers of plastics; there's not one that shows it could be beneficial for our health so with that in mind, there's no reason to not try to avoid it.

Investing in quality products can get costly so just remember, you don't have to replace all of your kitchen supplies in one sweep. Also be sure to use up the products you already have and recycle, reuse, or donate whatever you can so as to not contribute to the waste problem. Take baby steps replacing a few things here and there to work toward living a healthier, minimal waste life.

GROCERY AND PRODUCE BAGS

WATER BOTTLES

FOOD STORAE CONTAINERS

NAPKINS AND PAPER TOWELS

COFFEE AND TEA

COOKWARE

KITCHEN UTENSILS

CUTTING BOARD

Kitchen Swaps

GROCERY AND PRODUCE BAGS

Why no plastic bags? 60,000 plastic bags are consumed in the US every 5 seconds. They not only leach harmful toxins into our soils and water supplies but they're choking hazards for humans and animals, are incredibly difficult to recycle, and take 20 to 1,000 years to decompose (depending on the thickness of the bag).

What do I use instead?  Opt for canvas or cloth (preferably organic cotton) reusable bags for produce and groceries. These are made from natural, easily biodegradable materials that are much safer and non-toxic.

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WATER BOTTLES

Why no plastic bottles? Plastic bottles are rarely recycled, leach toxins, can take 450 to 1,000 years to biodegrade, and some, such as those with PET will never decompose. Whether they are single use or reusable, plastic bottles should be avoided.

What do I use instead? Even bottles that appear to be all stainless steel or all glass still tend to have plastic seals and gaskets so look carefully.

Jars - while researching water bottles, to switch out my old bottle, I was disappointed to always find some element of plastic. Then I noticed how around the house I always drink out of mason jars and realized I could just put a lid on it and there's my reusable bottle! I could even get a lid with a hole and a stainless steel straw! Note that most canning jars have a plastic coating on the underside of the lid so opt for those that are entirely stainless and you can get a silicone gasket to create a tight seal.

Stainless Steel - glass can be heavy so a great alternative is a reusable stainless steel water bottle with a silicone seal.

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FOOD STORAGE CONTAINERS

Why no plastic tupperware? Ever have your tupperware stained after storing your pasta or other greasy foods? Yeah, well it works both ways. While your foods are leaking into the plastic, the plastic is also leaching chemicals into your food. Even BPA-free plastics aren't completely harmless as the BPA is often replaced with BPS which is equally as toxic.

What should I use? 

Silicone - silicone stretch or suction lids to cover your existing bake and cookware is a great cost effective alternative - just be sure to use high quality silicone as the cheaper products have fillers that may be toxic.

Stainless steel - There are a variety of stainless steel storage containers that are lightweight, great for travel, work well in extreme temperature (obviously not in the microwave) and come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Please note, even some of the stainless steel storage containers have plastic gaskets and seals so be sure to research.

Glass - glass jars are great for storing dry foods, soups, dips, fruit, etc. Opt for those with stainless steel tops. Beware of glassware from China as it can contain lead.

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NAPKINS AND PAPER TOWELS

Why no disposable napkins/paper towels? Single use products are just wasteful, are not recyclable, and are completely avoidable. Here are some fun facts about paper waste.

What should I use instead? Use reusable napkins and paper towels made of natural materials - best if unbleached and organic. Not only do they help keep wasteful, disposable napkins out of landfills, but they'll save trees, save you money and let's be honest, they're just super classy!

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COFFEE AND TEA

Why no coffee filters or tea bags? Coffee filters cannot be recycled and most are bleached. They are yet another avoidable disposable paper product which contributes to the waste in our landfills, killing of trees, and waste of money. Coffee makers cycle steaming hot water through plastic compartments which cannot be disassembled to be dried or thoroughly cleaned. The Keurig in particular has been linked to health problems due to lack of cleaning and stagnant water that cannot be emptied which grows bacteria. Disposable plastic coffee cups for single serving coffee (like K-cups) are not recyclable, end up in landfills, cost an excessive amount of money, and they are unhealthy as the #7 plastic in the cups may leach toxins into the coffee. Tea bags are not recyclable and are made of either silk, plastic, or paper. Silk (with the exception of Peace Silk) is made from boiling silk worms alive so if using (or ingesting) silk products is against your values you may want to avoid them. Plastic tea bags are made of nylon and PET which have high melting points but not higher than that of boiling water so they leach toxins into your tea. Now paper tea bags might sound like the way to go but they are unfortunately treated with epichlorohydrin, a carcinogen which acts as a pesticide and has been linked to major health risks in animals.

What's the solution?

For coffee: I recently swapped out my plastic coffee maker for a single serve coffee dripper made entirely of stainless steel. I like the single serve dripper because I can take in on the go like to work or camping and I can make it fresh each time so it doesn't get cold waiting for the second cup. it's actually large enough that I could make a few cups at a time if needed. For larger pots of coffee, there are larger drippers and pour overs made of natural, recyclable, non-toxic materials without the need for wasteful filters. For pour over coffee I would recommend a gooseneck kettle and a hand grinder so you can control the fineness of the grounds.

For tea: For larger servings I recommend a tea press made of glass and stainless steel. For single servings I recommend a ceramic pot with a stainless steeping cylinder or steeping balls which are also perfect for travel tea. Both methods use loose tea which can be purchased in metal tins or in bulk sections in stores.

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COOKWARE

Why no nonstick pans? The nonstick coating on cookware, while convenient, actually leaches toxins as the coating breaks down with use and high heat.

What should I use? Cast iron cookware is extremely versatile and can be used on the cooktop, over an open flame, and in the oven. Perfect for camping, and with good care, will last a lifetime. Stainless steel cookware is a great option as well as it can be used on the stovetop or in the oven and will last a lifetime with proper care. One way to prevent food from sticking to the pans is to wait until the pan is hot before adding oil.

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KITCHEN UTENSILS

Why no plastic spatulas? The plastic in kitchen utensils can leach chemicals into your food, are hard to clean, and are particularly dangerous if left on hot surfaces as they can melt and release harmful toxins. They are also rarely recycled and take hundreds, if not thousands of years to decompose.

What do I use instead? Stainless steel utensils are thin, sturdy, durable and easy to clean. Stainless steel utensils are safe to run through the dishwasher but best if washed by hand. Bamboo utensils are very sturdy, don't convect heat, are easy to clean, won't scratch cookware, won't leach chemicals into food, won't melt, and are naturally antibacterial, are biodegradable, and can be regenerated quickly and easily. Keep in mind that wooden utensils should not be submerged in water or run through the dishwasher.

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CUTTING BOARD

Why no plastic cutting boards? Plastic cutting boards are often flimsy, can slip and move around as you're cutting which can be dangerous, are easy to score with a knife, and harbor bacteria in the scratches which can be hard to disinfect. Furthermore, of the plastic cutting boards that can be recycled, few of them are. Stone cutting boards are hard on your knives and are porous so they absorb liquids. It's best to use stone boards for preparing dough or as serving trays.

What should I use? Bamboo cutting boards tend to be the best option as they are very durable, naturally antibacterial, and are harder to scratch. Hardwood, butcher block cutting boards work similarly to bamboo but you should opt for harder woods like maple because they're less porous than softer woods and wont get as many scratches. They are both sustainable options because they regenerate and can be recycled easily. Regardless of which type you choose, it it highly recommended to have at least two cutting boards, one designated for meats and the other for raw foods like fruits and veggies. Wooden boards should not be submerged in water or run through the dishwasher.

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