jack ‘i’ll pay for it’ abbot but in a different context………. walk with me
restaurant!au, line cook!jack abbot, hostess!reader (fem reader), mild age gap, no smut, jack has a soft spot for reader and reader is a little oblivious to it
- i also haven’t watched the show so i apologize if i mis characterize him 😕 im plotting on starting season one soon so hopefully i get to write more of the pitt :3333
shifts at the pitt are always the same. clock in, put your belongings in your locker, head out with a bright smile ready to deal with an onslaught of customers who seem to be experiencing their first day on earth in the restaurant.
everyone has bad days— yours just happen to be days from hell.
you’re checking in on all the tables, and you realize you’re off by one. a table seems to have dined and dashed— you panic just a little since you know it’s gonna come out of your check, but tread on nonetheless. you tell yourself it’s fine, that this table will hopefully just give you a bigger tip since you’re bringing their food early, but unfortunately a customer gets up from his chair as soon as you’re turning a corner with said food, and all of it lands on you, you take a deep breath and keep that smile on while you excuse yourself to the back.
you can handle it— you have for almost a full year now. you know how to politely reject substitutions on orders, how to laugh when one of the people at your table make a sneak diss towards you, how to tune out a rather loud baby, and how to accept that sometimes tips just aren’t what you expected. you can handle it all, it’s why the pitt has you scheduled most out of all the other hostesses. hell, you’re even named in a few yelp reviews for being quite kind and professional.
your smile drops almost immediately once you’re in the kitchen. the line cooks all stop their talking to watch as you huff and try to rub off the stains of food and wine from your white button up. it’s futile, so you choose to storm out to the alleyway outside.
everyone returns to their job but jack, he remains looking at the door which you walked out. it’s obvious to everyone with eyes that he’s got the biggest crush on you, even when he shouldn’t. he’s about twenty-something years your senior; and it’s so cliche for the old line cook to want the younger hostess that it makes him want to poke his own eyes out for being that cliche about you.
he can’t even stop himself, it’s just impulse to go check on you. he tells robby to cover his orders before he steps out the same door you did. there, he find you pacing around in the little circle trying to calm yourself down.
“hey, c’mere,” his hands go to your shoulders. he almost puts them on your hips, but he realizes there’s far too intimate for two coworkers. he stops you, and god you look rather pitiful. your shoulders shake as you weep, white button up covered in sauce and wine— there’s even a little bit of pasta that got in your hair somehow.
“talk to me, what happened?” he croons softly. he knows you respond better when he gets his soft voice out, when he’s patient and keeping you steady. that’s when the words start tumbling out of your mouth.
“i-i got dined and dashed and then— then i was bringing a table their food but someone bumped into me and all the— all the fucking food spilled on me and now the moneys gonna come out of my check and— and tables have been stiffing me so and all of it is just—“ you heave as you finally get a breath in, tears fall from your eyes as he looks at you like he’s trying to solve every problem that you’ll ever have to face. your quiet hiccups pull him out of his daze, and he rubs his hands over your shoulders to try and soothe you.
“deep breath, follow me,” he coaxes out of you. “it’s not that bad, alright? just calm down.” bad idea
“i can’t calm down ‘cause— cause it’s gonna come out of my check and— im-im already short on rent so now i gotta figure that out and—“
“i’ll pay for it,” he cuts you off. his eyes widen for a moment; he didn’t mean for the words to slip out that quickly, he was first gonna offer slightly, then insist because he worried about you. he can tell by your confused eyes you don’t get what he means. “your rent,” he clarifies, “i’ll pay for it.”
and it comes out so nonchalantly, too. he just casually has enough money to pay your rather expensive rent, and he’s willing to do it, too.
“wh— no, no i can’t accept that, jack, that’s too much,” you decline softly, shaking your head as your tears seem to have come to a stop from the shock that he cares enough to give you money.
“i insist,” his eyes study yours— even now with red rimmed eyes, tear streaks in your makeup, he find you rather beautiful. he’s starting to realize he cares for you far more then he really should. “come on, it’ll give me a little peace of mind. i have the money for it, and if it’ll help you, i want to.”
after a little more insistence, you agree. it warms your heart just a smidge that he cares about you, enough to do such a big thing for you. your shift ends with a rather small pool of tips, but $2000 sent to your bank account by jack.
he hopes he’ll get more chances to spoil you after this.
You‘ve noticed the way your headchef seemed to put you into tasks and works that keep you away from the actual kitchen. It‘s as if he doesn‘t want you around and cooking like you always did.
It doesn‘t make sense. You didn‘t feel anything drastically change over the span of two days. And it wasn‘t like you didn‘t try to talk to him, or find a quiet moment to sneak up to him… In fact, you have tried.
It was common knowledge that you should never sneak up on Simon from behind. But you were getting slightly frustrated, and the fact that he avoided you during lunch break, was enough to make you more wary of the situation. You clear your throat as you startle him.
»Delivery is taken. Can I cook finally again?«
Simon is briefly taken aback, putting the box of potatoes away with careful precision.
»Did you check through them? Gotta make sure everything‘s actually fresh.«
You never had to do that before. Sure, you saw him always checking the product before preparing and using the, and you are sure Simon trusts the delivery-man enough to not check on everything right after deceiving it. Still, discussing or arguing was never your strong suit, so you simply nod and leave the storage room to ‘check through everything‘.
Unfortunately, the rest of your day was spent working away from the kitche. It got to a point, where you started to stare holes into the wall and started thinking. Not overthinking… just thinking.
What if we got a new rookie and he makes me work on other small stuff, to let them settle in? Are you seriously this threatening that Simon felt the need to push you away? Or are you just that good? No, no self-praising. You are brooding.
It‘s not like this feels like a sort of punishment either. He always does the exact same thing to Soap when he messes around too much. So, why is he making you do this stuff? Does he suddenly doubt your skills? Or is he just upset and takes it out on his coworkers again?
No matter what you do, he still can‘t bring it over himself to stop staring at you.
»Ye have heart-eyes when you look at ‘er, makes me sick.«
»No, I don‘t.« Simon shoots back at Johnny, who was simply stating a fact in his eyes. Simon resumes to cut the large salmon into proportional slices, getting the larger pincers to get the thin bones out of the spine of the fish out. Johnny tries again, pushing his luck once more.
»Jus‘ let her cook again… or will ye get too distracted and burn another steak?« He grins, moving closer to nudge his shoulder, but quickly decides against it once Simon picks up his large knife he used to cut the salmon.
»Say again?« Simon tilts his head towards his colleague and best friend, making sure the light reflects off the blade of the knife dangerously.
»I said, are you gonna burn another steak because of your—«
Johnny can‘t even finish repeating his sentence before Simon slams the knife into his work-counter, the loud sound making the other staff around the kitchen area freeze for a moment. Simon‘s eye twitches and gives Johnny one last warning glare, before resuming his preparations on the fish.
Johnny keeps a safe distance between him and Simon, making sure he isn‘t forced into cleaning duty again. Simon, on the other hand, keeps his focus enitrely on the food and guests, doing his best not to think back to you. Luckily Velvet isn‘t here to talk nonsense with him, he knows the elderly lady will take any opportunity to tease the usually brooding chef.
It‘s just his mood acting up for no reason and this ‘crush‘ will soon go away… right? It‘s definitely just temporary.
You are not surprised to get tasked into helping the servers with the decorations around the restaurant, happy to help, but also irritated. Simon is still distancing you from the kitchen and it starts to get on your nerves instead of worrying you.
Gladly, your shirt has just started and the staff is just now filing in, creating a rather lazy atmosphere around since nothing much is happening at the moment. The front door kicks open, the soft spring air flowing in as Johnny walks in, a faint smile laying on his lips already. He spots you standing at the large window, stretching up to adjust the heavy curtains, and dust them off with a feather duster. You focus on your task, not giving him much mind as he approaches you. A low whistle escapes him, his eyes raking over your form subtly.
»Mornin‘ bonnie. Watcha doing? Need help?«
You roll your eyes at his questions, stepping off the curtains to face him.
»Just dusting this off, because someone won‘t let me in the kitchen.«
»Ahh,« Johnny tilts his head back before taking his jacket off, glancing towards the kitchen area. It‘s an open space, giving the guest‘s the opportunity to glance inside. It‘s great for curious or bored kids, keeping them entertained while they wait for food.
»He‘s still on tha‘? Yeah, I don‘t get it either.« He shakes his head in a disappointed fashion, keeping his eyes on you. He‘s confident that Simon will— or is already watching their interaction from the kitchen.
»Can you maybe talk to him? I tried, but… the place was busy and he ran off to take orders.«
Johnny scoffs lightly as you tell him about your last attempt to talk to Simon. The man before you sighs out, resting his hand on his hip.
»It‘s impossible with him, I tried to talk sense into his thick head, but he just threatens to skin me alive… « You finally perk up at his words, keeping your voice in a hushed and quiet level.
»Did you? What did he say?«
Johnny watches your immediate reaction, the way you pay your full attention on him and only care about the part where he talked to Simon. It‘s a clear sign for him, but he will provide you with some answers first, while playing match-maker.
»Simon? Oh, well… first, he made me shut up real quick about you— which already is unusual, huh? So, I asked myself,« he taps his chin to make it clear that he was really thinking for once, »why would he do that?«
Johnny raises an eyebrow, pausing dramatically in hopes you would think about it too and put two and two together.
»Probably because—«
»Soap! Get your arse in here. Start working.« Simon peeks out the kitchen area, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the buttons of his working-shirt threatening to snap. Johnny almost flinches but gives you a cheeky smile before he walks off into the kitchen area, giving you a wave.
You are left with no answers, despite having talked to the biggest snitch on earth. Sighing out, you try to focus back on the task, helping around the other staff with the decorations.
◖
Simon tries his hardest not to listen on the conversation they both have outside the kitchen, but when he catches on Johnnys almost exposing him, he can‘t help but intervene.
Once Johnny enters, he expects to have something flying his way and keeps his jacket protectively in front of his face, carefully entering the area with slow steps. After a few seconds of not getting hurt, he pulls his jacket down, just enough to be able to look at the headchef. It‘s a surprise nothing was thrown across the room yet.
»Ye wanna know what she said t‘ me?« A smirk draws across his face, making Simon groan inwardly. He gives a short huff instead, busying himself with some preparations for the day, not denying his offer.
Johnny sees it as a good sign, probably even progress as he moves more freely around the kitchen, speaking up again.
»Okay, I gotta be honest, she‘s totally into you. The way she looks when I talk about ye? I think it‘s time to make a move, mate.«
Simon grunts again, not entirely convinced, but also lets his thoughts drift a little while he‘s at it. If it‘s true what his best friend said, then he should definitely make a move. Maybe even be more direct about it.
If he only knew how.
With quick steps, he reaches Johnny, making him flinch as he grabs onto his shoulders, looking like he is seriously distressed for once in his life.
»Johnny, I need your help.«
◖
You came into work earlier than usual, getting dressed into your uniform before walking into the kitchen area. Simon enters as well, acting as stoic as usual. He gives you a brief nod, not saying much other than that. You narrow your eyes at him but don‘t comment on anything yet, wanting to work in the kitchen today. Surprisingly enough, you get to work like you did all these years before, taking orders from the servers and just doing your job like you always do.
When it‘s about closing time, the staff make sure to clean up the place and say goodbye to the last guests. The same happens in the kitchen as you clean the stove and the around your general working area, humming lightly to yourself. This day went by smoothly, although you didn‘t talk much to Simon like you usually do. You didn‘t have a break for light gossip, but it‘s progress.
»Wanna taste-test for me?« Simon creeps up behind you, a new kind of cupcake in his hands. It‘s looks a bit more experimental but appetising, tilting your head lightly at it.
»Sure. But my hands are dirty,« You answer back, already glancing to the sink, so you can wash your hands. Simon grows nervous, speaking up before you can step towards the sink.
»I‘ll feed you, it‘s fine.«
You pause at his suggestion, looking back up into his eyes. There‘s a faint blush creeping on to the tips of his ears, but he remains neutral, keeping the cupcake in his hands. Finally, after a brief existential crises, you open your mouth, letting him feed you.
It‘s a good thing the kitchen is empty for the time-being, or else you would be an embarrassed mess right now. He keeps his hand as steady as possible, not letting his body language expose his growing nervounsess. Simon watches as you take a bite out of the sweet baked good, before he pulls away, wiping off the bit of cream that was left in the corner of you mouth.
You focus your entire body to remain still and neutral as well, chewing on the bite you just took. Your eyes focus on his arms, refusing to look up at him yet. He patiently awaits your answer, keeping his eyes intently on you, unable to look away for some annoying reason.
After a few moments, you nod your head, finally glancing up at him.
»It‘s good. Really sweet.«
»Not too sweet?«
»No.«
Simon accepts your answer and walks off again, turning back to his duties. You also return to your own task, keeping your legs steady since they feel increasingly more weak after this interaction.
The next morning is pretty much the same, you get to work early and start the beginning of the shift with Simon by your side. It seems like he is back at his usual self and you feel more than grateful about it.
You are currently preparing a bigger dish for a costumer, the kitchen area being more hectic than usual. It‘s rush hour and you simply work by yourself, not minding anyone else. As you fry the vegetables in a pan, you feel a warm hand brush against your smaller back, glancing behind your shoulder just to see Simon walking by, squeezing between you and the few coworkers that have to walk by at the same time.
»Sorry, sweetheart,« he mutters out, leaning down to you briefly before returning to his usual spot, his broad back turned to you.
You stay in your stare before finally being pulled back into reality by the angry sizzling of the vegetables.
Occasions like these tend to happen more often, your shared lunch breaks fall back into rhythm and you find yourself being more giddy than usual whenever you think about work. It‘s not like everyone else around you make it better, Johnny tends to give you knowing looks between Simon and you, asking “So, you had your first kiss yet?“, just to see you fumble and react with light embarrassment. Of course he makes sure to give Simon thorough analyses of your current mood, which usually ends up with assigning Johnny with another cleaning duty, for the rest of the week.
After doing the closing shift, you make your way to the changing rooms, before a familiar, deep voice makes you pause.
»Should I ride you home? Since it‘s dark and… such.«
He watches you reaction, noticing your brief surprise. He never offered it you before, but now he feels like it‘s the best way to get closer and actually spend some time outside of work. Finally, with a nod and few more nods, you both change back into casual clothes in seperate changing rooms.
He already waits outside for you, leaned up against his motorcycle. Simons straightens up upon seeing you get out of the building, shifting the extrta helmet in his hands. He is geared up already, helmet on and leather jacket on, which makes him look even more broad than he already is. God knows why he needs so many muscles.
»Take this on.«
You watch him step closer, handing you over the extra helmet. It‘s got some scratches on the side, being black and shiny under the street lamps. After a brief inspections, you put it on, letting your arms fall to your sides as he steps closer.
»Jus‘ gonna make sure it‘s tight,« Simon mutters as he reaches out, carefully adjusting the helmet, his fingers occasionally brushing against your neck. Once he is fully satisfied with your safty, he nods towards the bike.
Like the gentleman he is, he helps you hop on the bike behind him. An awkward tension grows between the two of you before you finally wrap your arms around his torso, interlocking your fingers together on the front. He glances down briefly before nudging off the kickstand and starts to drive off the parking lot. Your grip grows tighter around him once he gets on the street, making you want to hold on tighter since he starts to speed up.
The cool evening air hits you properly, but you manage to stay rather warm behind him, having his back pressed against you. Simon makes sure to drive carefully with you on the bike, not wanting to scare you off or to get too distracted. He notices your grip growing tighter, making his brows pinch together in thought.
His hand moves off one handle, gently patting his hand over your own before placing it back on thte steering handle. You feel the brief touch, laying your helmet against his back in return.
You get home a little faster than you usually do, thanks to his few short-cuts. Getting off his bike, he helps you once more by holding your hand, although he remains seated on the bike. For a moment, you don‘t know what to do, until you take the helmet off your head, having almost forgotten you had it on. He watches you ruffle your hair to make it less matt, his eyes intently focused on the way the faint moon light looks on you.
Eventually, he puts his visor up, revealing his brown eyes. He looks uncharacteristically soft like this, head tilted lightly as he stays seated on his bike, leaned forward on it a bit.
»Thanks for the ride.«
»Anytime.« He mumbles back, reluctant to leave. You find yourself staying in front of him, not making any move to leave yet. Finally, once his brain catches up, he straightens up and gets his helmet back, tugging on your wrist to have you stand closer. But once he has you standing closer, he has no idea what to do, hand staying on your wrist before abruptly letting go, mentally slapping himself for the awkward gesture.
But luckily you fill break the silence, pointing towards the extra helmet in his other hand.
»Is that your old helmet?«
He nods, eventually being able to pull himself together and look back up at you.
»Yeah, got it out just for you.«
You smile at his words, heart melting briefly at the new information.
The evening ends on a peaceful note, watching him drive off before you enter your apartment and getting ready to sleep. You fall asleep, replaying the ride in your head, the way he gave you some reassurance with a light touch on your hands before dropping you off and telling you more sweet words.
←MASTERLIST
taglist ₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆
@dreamzaremyrealityy @dollyure @143637-hrrm
a/n: Here is part two since a lot of you wanted more!! and i'm also thankful for everyone who voted at the poll, i was happy i could write a proper drabble about it. Also, sorry for not including Ghost's sleeves being pulled up to reveal his tattoo and muscles, but i'm sure i will do that in the next part! (divider @vesearartistry). If you want to be part of the taglist, just like the post or leave a comment, so I know in what fandom you want to be tagged in!
SHUM, by Andromache Scythia, is the hottest ticket in town. The only restaurant to be awarded a full 5/5 by renowned NYT critic James Copley, SHUM’s forage-forward and wild-grown menu skilfully combines esoteric cooking techniques with modern presentation.
Nile Freeman, a hotshot young talent, impresses Andy so much that she’s hired straight out of culinary school. What will she find in the high-octane but notoriously corrosive industry?
[Image description: Picture one shows the restaurant logo, written in both the Cyrillic (Шум) and Latin alphabet (Shum).
Picture two introduces the restaurant staff, illustrated with signature dishes for their department:
Executive Chef Andy is depicted with a leafy, floral, artistically arranged dish
In charge of fish, we have Quynh, who is depicted with a luxurious dish of sea urchin abundantly covered in beluga caviar topped with small pieces gold foil.
In charge of meat, we have Nicky, who is depicted with a thin slab of medium-rare roasted duck meat. The duck skin is crisp and coated with spices.
In charge of pastry, we have Joe, who is depicted with a glossy cake molded to look like an apple with dainty decorations of gold foil, flowers and dried leaves.
Last but not least, we have the restaurant’s sommelier, Booker, who is depicted with a stream of red wine being poured into a wine glass.
Picture three shows a dish of extremely finely sliced asparagus, with the slices no thicker than 1mm, in a display of fine technical skill. Next to this dish is Nile Freeman, the newest kitchen hire.]
∴ warnings: none to speak of, eventual affection? sexual tension? Probable future make out sesh
∴ summary: It’s a Friday night out with your friends— a perfect opportunity to try out that mysterious new restaurant everybody’s talking about. Always game for new things and a good time, even you never expected to stumble upon the smart, incredibly handsome waiter you meet there who knows his flowers. Who knows where the night will take you now?
∴ vibey playlist that kept me company during writing
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“God, this place is gorgeous.” You gasped.
You felt yourself go still once you’d finally managed to push the heavy wooden doors open. Was it unreasonable to wish you lived in a restaurant if it looked like this? Because it was beautiful in here. Every corner was immaculately decorated- rich, emerald velvet in the waiting area, cognac wood floors, industrial light fixtures… each element carefully designed, but aged and warm, like maybe this place had been here forever, and you’d only just noticed it.
And the plants- there were plants everywhere, on every available surface. Shades of green wrapping and weaving around iron railing. Ivy crawling up the side of the exposed brick like nature was trying to take this luxurious place back for itself. You’d never seen anything quite like it.
This place was all anyone could talk about lately, but you’d never seen it first hand until tonight. It had been your coworker’s bright idea to get a bunch of the staff together and blow off some steam here this Friday night. She’d even wiggled her way into getting the company to pay for it by calling it a “team building experience,” a.k.a “let’s all get drunk together and moan about our problems on the boss’s dime.” You’d be skipping the alcohol tonight, but this place was a million years beyond your “guac at chipotle is a treat” personal budget and there was no way you were going to miss out on a free dinner here.
So far, no regrets as you wandered across the hardwood. You hadn’t even eaten any of the food yet, but it was already your new favorite place in the city on decor alone. And on top of that, you had something else to look forward to. Apparently, the hook here — not that it really needed one— was an upscale version of dinner and a mystery. You wondered how that was supposed to fit with this whole industrial utopia theme.
You hadn’t been to a restaurant that did a show with dinner since you saw Cinderella at a children’s dinner theater in eighth grade, but the shabby, primary colored castles of your memory clashed distinctly with the elegance of this place. The gaping imbalance made you chuckle. Sherlock dinner theater and artisanal hand glazed pottery seemed like an odd mix to you, but you were intrigued nonetheless, knowing you’d have fun whether the plot was brilliant or not.
After gawking an appropriate amount of time in the foyer, you realized you should probably check in for your group since you’d arrived first. Gliding through the Garden in search of the hostess booth, you found it hidden away beneath the shade of an almost prehistorically large fiddle leaf fig tree. You smiled up at the gargantuan plant, fingers tracing the edge of a leaf. If the millennial garden of Eden interior of the place hadn’t already been an indication, this alone reinforced what a miracle worker their main gardener must be.
Every fiddle leaf fig you’d ever owned had died many a gruesome death long before it ever even reached two feet, but this one almost brushed the exposed ceiling beams. You wished you could ask whoever was in charge here for some pointers, but they’d probably smell your plant mom failures on you from a mile away and decide not to waste their time. Plants just never seemed to like you back the way you loved them… oh well. That’s what plastic is for, you supposed.
Getting back to the task at hand, you leaned up on your toes to look for assistance, quickly noticing that the station was empty. Maybe they’re busy watering the crops, you chuckled to yourself wondering if this place really was pretentious enough to grow their own inventory-they certainly could- when you were suddenly greeted by the most stunningly handsome boy you’d ever seen.
“Hello, welcome to the Garden.” The living, breathing Adonis statue could speak apparently. You tried not to stare as he smiled back at you politely, his silky curls shagging about his face as he slid behind the hostess booth. Holy crap. Did they grow him in the back too?
He was beautiful- some undiscovered demigod with broad shoulders and a jawline so strong it could cut glass. He lifted his eyebrows pleasantly, waiting to assist. “I apologize for the wait—how may I be of service this evening?”
You couldn’t help the silly grin that spilled across your face when his wide chocolate eyes smiled your way.
“Um, Hi. I need a table for, lets see… 1,2,3,4...10 people I think?” You counted unashamedly on your fingers as the host’s lips quirked into a smile. “Oh! Actually, you know what? What am I doing—do you guys take reservations? My friend Beth might have called about us earlier?”
“Let me see…” The boy’s amused doe eyes drifted over a computer screen. You fiddled with the edges of a particularly plump succulent on the counter as you waited. “Here it is. Beth party of 10. Now usually when we have a group that big, we do offer the option of one of our private rooms. You guys would have your own separate narrative from whatever the main restaurant is doing….Would you be interested in that this evening?”
“Sure! Why not—that sounds amazing!” You answered, a bit too enthusiastically admittedly, but when his face lit up at your bubbliness, you found you couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed. Not when a boy who looked like that was looking at you that way, all soft around the edges. Will you be there? you wondered.
“Okay, then you’ll come right this way. Oh! And you’ll need this.” Dipping into a crystal bowl behind the counter, he fished out a crisp white piece of paper and slipped it into your hand, fingers brushing over yours as he did.
Something in your belly reacted sharply to the contact. Apparently, the electric crackle affected him too. His already round eyes widened, a nervous chuckle tumbling from his lips as your cheeks blossomed a warm, soft pink.
Suddenly, a ruckus erupted behind you, crashing into the tranquil silence. You turned over your shoulder to see your friends piling in the tall front door, laughing and smiling widely at you.
Tearing his eyes away from you with a self conscious gulp, the host cleared his throat before leading you all back past fountains, lush greenery and elaborate floral installations into yet another beautiful space. This room was just as intricate as the rest of the restaurant, with its warm terra cotta-colored walls dripping with ivy and orchids, lit with the dappled light of melting pillared candles piled atop the elaborate raw wood table spanning the length of the room.
As everyone happily clamored to find a seat along the banquet table, you noticed your friend, Erik, crashing along its opposite edge. Erik had been a football player in college, some defensive position you didn’t know the title of. He was a mammoth of a man, his blonde Nordic hair making him look like an off brand, out of shapeThor.
He paid little to no attention to where he threw his weight around like a puppy who didn’t yet know his size. So when he dropped himself onto the neatly slatted bench (gosh, every detail here was dripping in aesthetics) and promptly leaned against the wall, crushing the intricate orchid display, you couldn’t help but laugh. You heard the host’s strangled gasp and giggled at the beautiful boy's wide eyes as his horror-stricken face went pale across the room.
Before he seemed to realize he was even doing it, his feet began to march across the floor to say something to your friend, until his politeness overtook him and he froze a few feet away. He grumbled to himself as your friend carelessly peeled himself off of the bench, annoyed complaining about something scratchy digging into his back. The host was positively fuming as irritation ticked in his jaw, but His big brown eyes betrayed his disappointment and downright bewilderment as the bedraggled orchids limped back into place.
“No.... They’re ruined. Now what am I supposed to display?” You heard him attempt to mutter under his breath, but his anger seemed to make his volume louder than intended. He was so flustered—it was oddly...kind of adorable. You couldn’t help but laugh.
You knew your friend had meant no harm. He was a sweet guy, but generally oblivious, so things like this seemed to happen a lot. Chuckling under your breath, you couldn’t help but notice the strain in the host’s angular jawline, not to mention how good he looked with his eyebrows furrowed like that. Intense. It made you want to kiss the creases to relax him. Man, this guy was really getting to you...
Maybe it’s time to have some fun, you thought.
Leaning over the edge of the bench, you whispered surreptitiously, “Hey, maybe you should consider wheatgrass instead.” You sent a quick wink in the host’s direction, a thick cloud of giggles falling from your lips.
Lashes fluttering , the poor guy seemed startled by your comment. He had been so wrapped up in blinders over his restaurant being ruined that he hadn’t realized anyone had been watching the entire interaction. For a quick second, embarrassment flashed over his features. The sudden chagrin on his face as he nervously ruffled his hair softened him. The Greek god of a man suddenly a soft, flustered boy. He looked so... sweet.
The whole scene gave you the oddest urge to pinch his cheeks and tell him how cute he was. But just as fast as it had appeared, the innocence in his wide eyes was gone, his composure swiftly resettling itself as his shoulders rolled down, his posture lifting him back up to full height. His confidence was back, and so was a lopsided smile that you decided you quite liked.
“Might not be the worst idea.... certainly less overhead,” he sighed resignedly, hands hanging low on his hips as the tick in his jaw loosened, replaced instead by the beginning of a smirk.
“Much less upkeep. Less horizontal space. Equal level of pretension. I see no downsides,” you shrugged nonchalantly. You felt your own smile bloom wider the longer your gazes stayed fixed on each other. His eyes were dazzling- coffee brown and deep- as they glittered back at you.
“I’ll look into it...might be a solid option. Have,” he hesitated. “Have you been here before? I don’t think I’ve seen you... I get the feeling I would have remembered you.” His face was so soft and unguarded, his pretty mouth just a bit too open as he searched his memory for a glimpse of you. You pulled your lip between your teeth as your smile threatened to grow.
“No,” you shook your head, hair bouncing around you. “It’s my first time here. First time for all of us actually. Hence, my friends lack of good graces with your horticultural displays.” you offered an apologetic shrug.
“May my orchids rest in peace,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “Not your fault though. You guys, uh, celebrating something?” He was suddenly too close for a stranger, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
“Oh, no. We just work in that massive upstart down the block. Kept hearing about the place, and Instagram kept hacking our feeds with ads for it so we finally caved. Figured we’d try it out. ” You waved across the table gesturing to everyone. There were all so deep in their own side conversations that no one seemed to pay any mind to you lingering oddly with the wait staff.
“Glad to see the marketing is working out,” he chuckled. “Well...if it’s your first time, then you’ll need a proper guide through the story.” A glint of mischief sparkled deep in his chocolate eyes, and you felt something effervescent glitter up your spine in excitement.
“I suppose we will.”
With a bow from his hip and a nod, he turned on his heel with no explanation, leaving you to smile down at your menu like an idiot in his absence. Trying to read was pointless honestly. The letters might as well have been in Arabic as they swam across the page- you weren’t processing anything. Far too lost in a dreamy eyed splendor over the boy you’d just met until a bony elbow nudged its way between your ribs.
“What was THAT all about?” Eileen’s eyebrows bounced with curiosity.
“ I don’t know.” You answered honestly as your head shook. At this point, you were smiling so much your cheeks were beginning to hurt. “But my God, isn’t he CUTE?” You hid behind your hands.
“Cute??” Eileen shoved you in the shoulder. “He’s not a corgi, y/n. He’s a grown man.” She bit her lip. “A GORGEOUS, full grown man....did you see him when he walked away? God, what a view.”
You pressed your forehead into her shoulder and whimpered, “I knowww. His smile, those thighs, my god...and his butt. Did you see it? It’s better than mine.” You both fell into a fit of giggles.
“All I know is that if you don’t give him your number then he’s definitely getting mine tonight. Or anything else he’d like for that matter.”
Your jaw fell open at her brazenness. “Hey! slow your roll. You can’t call dibs before I’ve even gotten his name!” you laughed.
“Then you better work fast, babe. Cuz butts like that don’t stay single for long.” She tipped her head to the side matter of factly.
“Oh my gosh, shut up! You don’t know when he’ll come back. He might hear you.” You breathed.
“Let him. It’ll make my job easier.” She bit down seductively on her red straw. Swatting at her, you both giggled before back into the table’s office gossip.
Apparently, Elliot had shown up to the office wasted again today- either from getting trashed the night before or from getting sloshed the morning of, no one was quite sure at this point. Either way, everyone was annoyed as hell that he’d never get more than a slap on the wrist for it since his dad managed their branch. Nepotism still alive and well. Clearly.
Popping an entire potsticker in your mouth, your belly ached with laughter as Sean told you all how his assistant had accidentally walked in on two higher ups making out in the supply closet this morning and how traumatized the poor intern had been. He described in detail how the poor slob had still tried to get around them to get the extra printer paper, and what a mess the whole ordeal had been. He owed you a clean fifty bucks now.
With your keen eyes, you’d been the first person to be suspicious of them- you’d called it a solid month ago- and had put your money where your mouth was. You’d started the office pool that they were in fact a secret couple- a bet you’d clearly just won if Sean bleak expression was anything to go by. Lunch on him all week. Potstickers til i burst? Don’t mind if I do.
It had been a great evening, full of unwinding and bonding. So great, that you’d completely forgotten about the mystery element of the dinner. That is, until a crystalline voice spoke above you, snapping you to attention.
“Pardon me, everybody. But it’s time for the mystery of the evening to begin.”
Surprised, your eyes darted up to see the cute guy from earlier. He was standing right behind you. Your pulse spiked as he sent a smirk your way. What were you supposed to do with that? He was so close now that you could hear the fabric of his dress shirt rustle every time he shifted or gestured above you. With every movement, a burst of his scent surrounded you. It was something citrus, something fresh. A dizzy smile tugged at your lips as it enveloped you like a cloud. God, you wanted to bury your nose in it. You were such a sucker for a good smelling boy...
And this one was so in your personal space. Which should have been off putting, honestly. Especially since you’d barely known him for half an evening. It was a bold choice on his part, to get so close to you. It should have been a turn off. Should have. But it wasn’t. Instead, you found yourself almost vibrating with excitement at the proximity of him. Whatever this gravitational pull was around him, you were perfectly content to get pulled straight into it.
If you’d had the nerve to, he truly was close enough that if you tipped your body back just a few degrees you could’ve rested your head against his lean stomach if you’d wanted to… which, of course you did want to do… but you’d only just met him. So instead, you bit down to stifle your smile, eyes flicking over to Eileen who was just as giddy on your behalf.
God he’s so cute, you thought. Wait- is he still talking? Crap-focus, you scolded yourself, tuning back into his monologue.
“As everyone knows, we all have the same five senses. But what happens when we lose one? How does it affect our instincts? Our gut? How does it change the way we listen to each other?” he paced around the edges of the table, hands clasped behind his tailbone. It made his dress shirt bunch deliciously in all the right places, and you bit back a smile. It was getting harder and harder to hide your little infatuation.
“When each of you arrived,” he continued, “you were each given a character and a backstory- No one should know it but you- but only one of you received the card that said killer. Someone at this table has committed a murder, but who? Often, our eyes can deceive us, so as part of tonight’s story, your sight will be taken from you as you try to decipher the truth. Can you rely on your other senses, your hearing, your intuition to solve this case?” A few other waiters approached the table with baskets in hand before the room went dark- completely.
Not the “the lights are off but we can all still see” kind of dark. It was the “it's so black in here that you can feel it” kind of dark. The kind of complete nothingness you never get with the ambient glow of street lights and screens everywhere. It was heavy and consuming, the absoluteness of the suddenly inky black room.
Swirling your own fingers in front of your face, you saw absolutely nothing. Not even the glint of your own jewelry, and something fantastic bubbled up in you. This is going to be so fun. Your heart began to race in anticipation- you didn’t even know what for yet. You felt your knuckles wrap around the bench beneath you, bracing, waiting, holding your breath, wondering when the night would finally be-
Only to have your thoughts stop. Completely.
Each individual one of them halted in their tracks by the sudden contact of warm fingertips against your skin. The gentle press of a large set of hands melted into the tops of your shoulders, thumbs bracing on the back of your neck. It was him again, wasn’t it?
He squeezed once, tense and hesitant despite his obvious strength, like he wasn't sure touching you was the best idea, but he couldn’t back out now that he’d started. The delicacy of it left you buzzing. In the silence, the pads of his fingers sunk deeply into your skin, and your breath caught. You’d never been this grateful for off the shoulder clothing in your life.
“May I?” he asked, tone honeyed and sweet.
You realized he meant the blindfold you’d heard so much about before you came and nodded your head just once, tension sticking in your throat as you tried to swallow it down. It was only then that you realized he probably couldn’t see you in the darkness. You’d have to gather your wits enough to verbally respond. You hoped he wouldn’t catch the way the “yes” that left your lips was embarrassingly breathless.
You heard him hum in response, holding whatever was left of your breath as his fingertips slowly fell from the tops of your shoulders, dragging across the edges your sleeves like he was in no rush to let you go. It was a strange intimacy from a stranger, but to be honest, you didn’t want him to let go either.
Until, quick as a whisper, his warmth was gone, leaving you alone in the dark. The shift so abrupt that part of you wondered if you’d imagined the last thirty seconds. His lingering hands had fallen away so abruptly at the end. Where had he gone?
It all felt like a fever dream you’d cooked up, like your own subconscious was mocking you for wanting him so bad. For a second, you wondered if you should be concerned by how obviously attracted you were to him. Should you be ashamed by how quickly you welcomed his touch? By the way your traitorous body showed no intention of pushing him away? Maybe you should, but he didn’t give you the time to overthink it before he was beside you again.
“Jungkook.” He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.
“What?” You breathed, face turning toward his sound in the blackness.
“That’s my name. Jungkook.” He repeated, his voice airy and soft. You hadn’t realized how beautiful his voice was until it was the only thing you had to focus on. You could feel that he was bent low, his chest just brushing the tops of your shoulders. You felt dizzy at the sensation of his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as a cool satin ribbon was draped over your eyes.
“In case you were wondering.” He whispered, pulling the edges of the fabric into a soft bow as he dipped to the other side of your shoulders. “But I’ll also answer to ‘guy with the butt that’s better than yours’ if you prefer.” His breathy laugh filled your ears, and you could practically hear him smiling.
“Oh god, you heard that?” the back of your hand smothered your mouth, a smile emerging even as you cringed.
“Oh absolutely. Acoustics are insane in this place. It was kind of nice though... I mean, how often do I get to hear such a pretty girl compliment me ?” You could feel the rush of blood practically crashing into your cheeks. You knew the whole world would see you blushing if the lights were on.
“I’m out of witty comments for that one.”
“Don’t smile. You’ll mess up the blindfold,” he warned, the endearing softness in his voice undermining his words.
“I’ll try. Don’t think I can help it though.”
A satisfied hum left Jungkook’s lips as he pulled away and went back to the task at hand.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
And just like that, the mystery began with Jungkook as the narrator and weaver of your tale.
Your group had been given a story set in feudal Japan. Clashing samurai, feuding houses, forbidden love- Your friends all got surprisingly into it, losing their normal voices into the adopted lilts and pitches of their newfound characters.
It really was incredible the nuances you caught when you focused on your hearing. Jin’s voice, for example, was far more nasal than you realized. He had a tendency to react dramatically any time someone pressed him for details- clearly signaling how close they were to the truth the more he tried to hide it. Lina’s expressionless monotone was nearly impossible to read on voice alone, but it made her all the more fun to try to figure out.
Despite focusing on the story, you couldn’t help but notice that while Jungkook had the entire table to canvas as he narrated, he still stayed suspiciously close to your side the entire time- like he couldn’t help himself. His fingertips would brush the fabric of your blouse when he’d pass. His taut arms would graze the swing of your ponytail as he walked by. He had no mercy on the fragile hummingbird flitting with wild abandon in your chest at each of his actions. In fact, you could hear the distinct note of something that sounded an awful lot like laughter in his voice anytime he gave instructions to your character specifically. Smug son of a gun.
Soon, the story unraveled as it was revealed that Jin had, in fact, been the murderer. He was jealous of Lina’s love for samurai Hoseok and had killed him in a drunken rage but tried to frame Bobby for the dishonorable act.
With the crime solved, the lights were turned back on, a fuzzy halo emerging around the edges of your vision as a staff member came behind each guest to remove their blindfold. You were unsurprised when you were met with a gentle waft of clean citrus as Jungkook appeared once again to help you with yours. The warm pads of his fingers grazed your cheeks when he removed the satin ribbon. It was so quick- it was so hard to tell if it had been on purpose- before his touch was gone again far too quickly for your liking.
“I must say, you were particularly clever.” He offered softly as he stood behind you.
You dropped your neck back to look up at him, eyes wide. “Anyone paying attention would have known that wasn’t Bobby’s blade work.”
“Still, most people don’t catch it on their first time through the story.” He tipped his head matter of factly.
“Maybe I just had a good guide,” You winked, tucking your chin back to normal when you saw a faint pink color his cheekbones. He cleared his throat before addressing the table.
“You’ll find your individual checks have been placed in front of you, along with a complimentary dessert. Thank you for dining with us this evening. It has been our pleasure.”
He bowed at the waist as he gave his farewell, making his last words spoken dangerously close to your ear. Adrenaline spiked in your veins at his proximity for the thousandth time tonight.
As he returned to full height, another man approached the table, this one taller, leaner than jungkook, with a smile so innocent and wide it could have belonged to a child.
“Good evening everyone! How was your experience with us tonight?” His voice. It boomed like a clap of thunder. It was oddly deep for someone who looked so young. Everyone at the table chattered with random superlatives about how amazing the night had been as the man's smile glowed brighter.
“I’m so glad to hear it!! You had a real treat tonight- guided by our finest story teller.” Pride swelling in his eyes, the man clapped an embarrassed Jungkook on the shoulder.
“Such a shame it might be the last story he tells here.” The baritone lamented. “What am I supposed to do without my partner?” The man used his other hand to clutch at his chest dramatically, face scrunched in distress, as you felt your heart free fall into your shoes.
Last story?
“Calm down, Taehyung. You make it sound like I’m dying.” Jungkook rolled his eyes and swatted at the man.
“You might as well be!” Taehyung huffed. “He’s leaving us tomorrow to start his new life! Off galavanting in the mountains somewhere with flowers and goats. Leaving all his old, true friends behind.” He wrapped an arm around jungkook’s shoulder, dragging him against his will into a side hug jungkook vehemently tried to escape.
“Quiet down, bro. You’re making a scene.” Jungkook balked, face pale at the unwanted attention.
He’s…. leaving? Your stomach took a swan dive. No. But I just met him. How... where was he going? Your eyes fell back to the table as you steadied yourself.
You’d been so excited about where this all might go. It was hard enough to accept that you’d already gotten this attached to him. Let alone invested enough to be this disappointed…..but, you’d felt something so strong around him. The kind of glittering spark you hadn’t felt with another person in a long time, if ever.
Every time his eyes had lingered on you or his body had brushed against yours, a supernova had ignited in your chest. You’d spent the whole night going mad with the electric possibility of him- just to what? Feel like a fool for being infatuated with a stranger? Look like the naive girl you were, pining over a daydream?
This was ridiculous. You shook your head at yourself. This boy didn’t owe you anything. He was a stranger two hours ago, he’d stay a stranger when you left twenty minutes from now. But no matter how you tried to convince yourself, your poor heart still felt sick about it all. He’d just seemed so— you don’t know, special. So magnetic. And You’d thought he’d felt the same pull bringing him to you too.
Because why else would he have flirted with you half the night? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to lead you on if he knew it was going nowhere. An assumption you realized was a heck of a leap. You didn’t actually know anything about him, but somehow, something about that narrative just didn’t sit right with you. The look he’d had in his eyes each time he smiled at you tonight had seemed too sincere to be a lie. But from the way his loud friend was still talking, he made it sound like Jungkook was moving to the Alps.
So even if his sweet eyes had genuinely meant every smile tonight, was it really all for nothing? You knew the night was ending, and it was a long shot, but you’d really been holding out hope it might go somewhere beyond this. Apparently not.
In an instant, he reappeared by your side, having broken free from the grip of his affectionate friend’s grasp. Jungkook dipped beside you once again as you stumbled to rearrange your now troubled features into something resembling disinterest.
“Hey, Sorry about that. But, I um, really do hope you have a great night. So your uh, your check is on the table.” His poise seemed a bit more rattled than before, but you were too glum to give it much notice.
You sent an out of focus glance in the ticket’s direction and nodded. He’d already told everyone that. Most of the table already had their debit cards out for their tickets. You didn’t know why he was bothering to mention it again when all you wanted to know was where he was going and if it was far.
“I um...didn’t get to catch your name earlier,” the smile he offered you was gentle, hopeful, as his wide brown eyes looked down at you. You felt yourself sigh withought meaning to. You’d have found the sheepish look in his eyes hopelessly adorable just a few minutes earlier, but now all it did was make your chest hurt.
“Not a detail you need if you’re moving away though right?” You asked, a sadness creeping in your attempted smile. God, you weren’t fooling anyone. This was pathetic. His brows dipped at your response, confused by the shift in your demeanor.
“I’m... I mean, i told you mine.” His gentle eyes tried to salvage the situation. The confidence he’d exuded all night was slipping away, a boyish vulnerability taking its place. There was no harm, you supposed.
“Fair enough. It’s y/n.” you conceded.
“Y/n.” He repeated, like he was trying to make the shape a new habit for his mouth. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
The smile you gave him back was a limp, pitiful thing, but it was the best you could give. Half an hour ago, you definitely didn’t think him calling you pretty would have made you so sad. Compliments didn’t usually send you into a craving for solitude and halo top ice cream, but this one certainly did.
“Well, y/n, I may not be as far away as you think. Have a good night.” And with that he was gone.
Bummed, you looked over your shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Shoot. Well, that was a fast track to nowhere,” you sighed to Eileen, slouching in your seat.
“I know. Bummer. Seemed like he liked you too.” Eileen commiserated.
“Right? So it wasn’t just me? You could tell too?”
“Oh, he was totally obvious about it! He also gave you more ice cream than me. Shameless. Boy has no subtly.”
You chuckled at her accusation, but sure enough, you did in fact have one scoop more ice cream in your jadeite bowl than the rest of your friends. This boy already knew the way to your heart.
“Still. Why act interested if you’re disappearing the next day?” You pouted.
“Why show interest when he’s just a server you’ve never met before?” She asked pointedly, eyebrow arched as your eyes fell away. “People react when they feel something- and clearly you two were feeling something the entire night. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second....We don’t get to pick the timing of when we’re attracted to people, y/n. Nobody’s working with that kind of control.”
Flopping onto her shoulder, you heaved a heavy sigh. “Again... you’re right. I just, I don’t know. There was just—something about him. He felt... special.”
“He looked special in that outfit. Those buttons were crying.” She mockingly bit her lip as you swatted your napkin at her.
“Eileen! Unhelpful! I’m aware.... I guess you just don’t always get to know where things could have gone.” You shrugged, wilting into her warmth.
“I know, babe. Sorry.” She patted your head comfortingly. You turned to your ice cream to heal the wound, accepting that beautiful Jungkook would just be a passing meeting and a quick deadend to nowhere. After polishing off your dessert, you pulled out your cash to at least leave him the memory of a good tip when your eyes caught on scribbled handwriting in the top corner of your receipt.
Hey, I don’t normally do something like this, but there’s a place around the corner that stays open super late. Meet me for crappy coffee + good conversation at 11?
-jungkook xxx-xxx-xxxx
You choked on nothing as you processed what was going on.
“Eileen! Eileen!!” You grabbed at her sleeve.
“What?? What is it?! Calm down.” She pried your clutching hands off her cropped leather jacket, brushing off any damage you’d done.
“He gave me his number!” You nearly shouted.
“What?” She almost spat out her cocktail.
“He gave me his number!!” You waved the receipt wildly in her face. “He invited me to coffee and gave me his number!!!” You squealed, shrieking at an octave usually reserved for wild piglets.
“Shut up! No way!!!”
“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” You rambled ecstatically. “But wait!” your face fell,“ we’re supposed to go out for drinks with everybody after.”
“And? Is that a joke??? You see us every day! What are you doing talking to me?? Text him! Go meet your man, honey. I’ll cover for you.” She winked as she swung her purse over her shoulder.
“Really?? I love you! I owe you!” You yelled as she made her way to the door.
“Um, You really don’t, but I’ll never turn down a favor. Let me know how it goes. See you on Monday.” She waved back at you, flipping the platinum ends of her ebony hair over her shoulder.
“Hey! Where’s y/n? Isn’t she coming with us,” Jin seemed to be the only one alarmed by your absence.
“Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, dear. I’ll fill you in later.” She grabbed him by his shoulders and nudged him out the door frame. “Ooo, bulking up are we, Kim? Feeling solid these days.”
“Yes actually!” His face glowed. “I have been! But you know, muscle tone is 80% genetics anyway. You cant just make yourself handsome, you know.You have to be born this good looking to start with and work from there.”
She knew there was no quicker, sure fire way to get Jin off topic than to ask him about himself. Once that train had left the station, there was little hope if any of ever turning back.
Eileen really took one for the team there.
“Call me” she mouthed back at you as they slipped off into the night.
You chuckled to yourself at the scene, finally realizing the turn your own evening was about to take. You plugged his number into your phone and shot him a quick message.
[10:35pm]
Hey, how did you know I was always down for quality conversation?
Moments later, your phone began to buzz.
Jungkook
[10:36pm]
Just went with my gut ;)
Hello admins♥️♥️thankyou for running this account seriously I want to ask what’s the best chanbaek fic that you have ever read
201212
hello <3 here are some of the best i’ve read!!
A Little Like Love (slice of life, strangers to lovers!au, NC-17)
Farfalle (restaurant!au, comedy, NC-17)
On the Booze With Brahms (college!au, band!au, neighbor!au, PG-15)
-nav
Hi anon! I think they were my original favorite ship when I first got into the fandom, but I don’t read quite as much anymore, so here are a few of my favorites!
eyes like summer skies, words like the ocean blue (+Sehun, age difference, NC-17, major character death)
Here Be Dragons (fantasy, fake relationship, NC-17)
Pain and Pleasure Rewind (BDSM, friends to lovers, NC-17, graphic violence)
Title: Tipping the Scale
Author: JayPendragon
Rating: Explicit
Length: >100k words
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Summary: Peter has a rhythm. A system. All runs like a well-oiled machine, engineering pun intended. He trades sleep for caffeine probably more often than is strictly healthy but he's doing well enough at Columbia to keep his scholarship, which is what counts. Come summer, Peter can take on more shifts at the restaurant and do some additional private events for Rumlow for extra cash. May and Ben think it's all from tips, which is exactly what Peter needs them to believe. Every wheel of his life is churning perfectly.
He doesn’t expect Tony Stark of all people to throw a wrench in it.
notes: happy thanksgiving, everyone! hopefully bartender!yoongi will give you something to be thankful about, lmao.
warnings: smut, obviously. oral and dirty talk - all the good stuff we expect when it comes to min yoongi, tbh.
01 | 02 | 03 | + saccharine. ✓
Morning dawns bright and sunny, a few wispy white clouds floating aimlessly across the periwinkle sky. Rolling over to shut off your alarm, your gaze skitters across the phone sitting so innocuously on your nightstand, and all at once every sordid memory of last night immediately floods to the forefront of your mind. A tap of the screen shows that there are no new notifications, and you aren’t sure whether to be relieved or disheartened at the sight. Reason and logic remind you that Yoongi is probably still asleep—you would be too, if you had the morning off—and it is with that thought in mind that you head into the bathroom and prepare for the day ahead.
Forty minutes later, you are standing at the bus stop with a half-eaten apple in hand, scrolling through your phone aimlessly. You convince yourself that you aren’t waiting for it to buzz with an incoming text—least of all one from a certain pale-haired bartender—and by the time you step onto the bus, you have successfully distracted yourself with one of the many games you have installed.
The journey to Cypher is short. Stepping off the bus, you head inside and are immediately greeted by a shock of startlingly bright red hair poking up from behind the bar. The man attached to it straightens up a second later, a brilliant smile stretching across his face at the sight of you. “Good morning!”
You return the smile, joining him at the bar and setting your apron down on the counter. “Hey, Hobi. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s great!” he chirps. “Thanks for the cover yesterday, by the way. Mickey ate something weird and got sick, so I had to take him to the vet.”
The mention of harm befalling his dog has your eyes widening in horror. Though you’ve never met the little brown and white pup, you’ve seen more than enough photos to know that Hoseok loves him dearly. “Oh no, is he okay?” you ask, peering up at the taller man in concern.
Hoseok nods. “Yeah, he’s already doing a lot better! Mickey’s pretty tough, even if he doesn’t look it.”
“Thank goodness,” you say with a relieved sigh, smiling as Hoseok laughs and rakes a few wayward strands of red hair away from his forehead.
“Nothing a bit of rest and relaxation can’t fix, right?” he asks with a cheery wink. Then his attention turns to the dishwasher behind the bar, a thoughtful frown creasing his lips. “Hey, that’s weird. Yoongi didn’t empty this before he left last night. He’s usually pretty good about it.”
“O-oh?” You can’t help the stammer in your voice at the sound of the pale-haired bartender’s name. “I mean, yeah. That is pretty weird.”
Hoseok glances up at you from where he’s opening the stainless steel door of the small dishwasher, plucking out a few martini glasses and setting them aside. Something glitters in his expression, but he doesn’t press you about your awkward reaction. Instead, he simply offers you another radiant smile, handing you a stack of water glasses. “Wanna throw those in the back with the rest?”
“Sure,” you reply, grateful for the distraction. Ducking away to the back of Cypher, you deposit the cups on their designated shelf and take the opportunity to start up the coffeemaker as well. By the time you return to the front, Hoseok is standing behind the bar polishing wineglasses, a sleepy-looking Jimin sitting across from him with a stack of napkins and silverware. You take a seat beside the blond-haired young man and pluck up a napkin, carefully folding it into a neat rectangle. “Morning, Jimin. You okay?”
He gives you a tired smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine; I’m just a little sleep-deprived. The neighbors next door threw a party yesterday, and it kept me up for most of the night.”
“At least you don’t have to work tonight,” you console, patting him on the back. “Catch up on your rest.”
Jimin nods. “Believe me, that’s the plan. I already can’t wait to go home, to be honest. It sucks that you both have to work a double, though.”
Hoseok looks up from where he’s inspecting a water spot on one of the glasses. “Gotta make money somehow,” he says with a shrug. You nod in agreement, reaching for another napkin, and for a few minutes the three of you work in peaceful silence. Jimin begins polishing silverware while you finish folding the last stack of napkins, and Hoseok tinkers around behind the bar before coming to a sudden stop.
“What’s this?” he wonders aloud, drawing your attention as well as Jimin’s. Together, you pause in your work to watch as Hoseok pulls a very familiar wooden crate out from behind the cash register.
“Oh, those are new wine samples,” you respond automatically, only realizing your error when the red-haired man gives you an odd look.
Jimin is staring at you with similar curiosity, his honey brown eyes wide. “Wait, really? How do you know?”
You wave a hand dismissively, trying to quash the sudden uptick in your heart rate. “I heard Yoongi mention it the other day. Something about needing to expand our wine selection, or something.”
Hoseok hums contemplatively. “Well, he’s not wrong,” he remarks, and when he pulls out a bottle all your memories of that night come rushing back. You can practically taste the wine on your tongue, recall every crisp, aromatic note. And then your thoughts suddenly shift to Yoongi, his hands tangling in your hair and his lips warm and addictive against your skin. Before your mind can wander down a more salacious path, however, Hoseok speaks again, his voice cheerful.
“Looks like some of these are open, so what do you guys say? Should we do some sampling of our own?”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had all morning.” Jimin reaches for the proffered wineglasses in Hoseok’s hand before you can even process the question, and you mutely accept when he turns and hands one over. Hoseok is quick to pour a generous helping of wine for each of you, grinning his dazzling trademark grin all the while.
“Here’s to some of the best coworkers around,” the red-haired man says after he’s re-corked the bottle, picking up his glass and raising it in your direction.
Jimin lifts his own glass. “Here’s to making some damn money today.”
“Here’s to… drinking on the job,” you add after a moment’s deliberation.
“Hear, hear!” Hoseok cheers, clinking his glass against yours. Then he perks up, eyes alighting on something behind you. “Hey, Jin! Want some wine?”
///
Work is much more pleasant with a little alcohol swimming in your system. The lunch rush sends you and Jimin dashing about frantically for a good hour, but the influx dwindles down to a mere trickle by one o’clock. After distributing checks to your last few tables, you find yourself sitting at the bar with a pile of freshly-washed silverware and a polishing cloth, wincing as your fingers come in contact with the hot metal.
“Careful!” Hoseok warns as he sets a stack of knives down in front of you, dripping hot water all over the counter. “Let me finish unloading the dishwasher real quick. I’ll come help you polish afterward.”
You flash him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Hobi.”
He offers you a playful salute before turning back to his task. Gingerly, you pick up a handful of spoons and begin the tedious task of wiping them until they shine, humming softly under your breath.
“Order up!” A plate of pasta suddenly clatters down in front of you, causing you to almost drop the spoon you’re polishing. A moment later, Jimin plops down beside you with his own plate, sliding a third to Hoseok before stealing a fork from your pile of silverware and shooting you a grin. “Hope you’re hungry. Jin made way too much.”
“May have overdone it on the fries too.” Jin’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn to see him approaching with a basket of French fries, still piping hot. “Got drinks for us, Hobi?”
“Well, we can dip into Jimin’s whiskey supply,” Hoseok says between a mouthful of pasta. Swallowing, he continues, “Or, we can try some more of Yoongi’s wines.”
“Yoongi has his own whiskey back there too, you know,” Jimin protests, perking up at the mention of his not-so-secret alcohol stash. “But yeah, let’s have wine. What else is he hiding back there?”
Hoseok disappears behind the counter for a few moments before reemerging with several bottles. “Looks like he’s got both red and white, so take your pick!” he proclaims cheerily. Retrieving a handful of glasses, he slides one to each of you before pouring himself a glass of riesling. Jimin grabs the pinot noir, and you wait patiently as he fills his glass before pouring yourself a generous helping.
“Pass me a bottle,” Jin says, sliding into the seat on your other side and pushing the basket of fries in your direction. “Doesn’t matter which one.”
Kindly, you pass him two—one red and one white—before reaching for a few fries and popping them in your mouth. “These are really good.”
“Garlic and parmesan,” Jin says by way of explanation. You hum in acknowledgement, taking a few more to munch on before sliding the basket closer to Jimin and Hoseok, who dig in with relish.
For a few minutes, the four of you eat in relative silence, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the splashing of more wine being poured. Jimin is well into his second glass by the time you finish your first, doing your best to suppress the way the familiar tartness dredges up every memory you have of a certain bartender and his wicked, wicked tongue. Hastily, you ask Hoseok to pour you a cup of water from behind the bar in lieu of more wine.
“Lame,” Jimin says, watching as you accept the glass Hoseok hands over.
You stick your tongue out at him childishly. “Some of us have to work tonight, you know.”
The blond man just laughs, scooping up another forkful of pasta. “That sucks.”
Hoseok retaliates by chucking a fry at him, bursting into hysterical laughter when it hits him squarely in the chin before flopping sadly onto his plate and sinking into a sea of marinara sauce. “You’re working a double tomorrow, so I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you,” he chides after recovering from his bout of hilarity. “Besides, {Name} drinking less just means that there’s more for you. You should be thanking her.”
Jimin chuckles and raises his glass in your direction. “I’ll drink to that,” he announces before tipping the rest of his drink back. Giggling, you nudge the bottle of pinot noir closer to him, and he thanks you with a grin as he pops open the cork to pour himself a third glass. “Good thing we don’t have customers right now, huh?”
The words have barely left his mouth when the front door bursts open, bringing with it a gust of chilly air. You whirl around with your best customer service smile and a greeting on your lips, and Jin is already halfway to his feet when he suddenly stops and barks out a laugh.
“You’re early, Yoongi. Did your apartment go up in flames or something?” The chef steps to the side, and you find yourself gazing up into the devastatingly familiar face of Cypher’s bartender, his platinum hair tucked messily underneath a black beanie. For the briefest of moments, his dark eyes lock onto yours, but even that fleeting glance sends your heart ricocheting up into the back of your throat.
“Joon asked me to come in and finish up some paperwork before my shift,” Yoongi explains, tugging off his beanie and giving his hair a quick shake. “Slow day so far?”
“Super slow,” Jimin pipes, lifting a heaping forkful of pasta to his mouth. “I’ve barely made any money.”
Yoongi raises a brow. “I see you’ve gotten into my wine selection though,” he says dryly, taking a few steps closer to where you and Jimin are sitting beside each other at the bar. His shoulder grazes yours as he leans across the counter and picks up the nearest bottle, holding it against the light to see how much liquid remains inside. “You bring these out, Hobi?”
Hoseok has the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Yeah. Was I not supposed to?”
“Nah, you’re good,” Yoongi drawls, popping the cork. “Hand me a glass, will you?”
The red-haired man lets out a relieved laugh and obligingly turns to fetch one from the rack, sliding it across the counter into Yoongi’s waiting hand.
“Thanks.” Expertly, the pale-haired man pours himself a glass of cabernet sauvignon before turning to you, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth. “Gonna need a drink or two to get through all that paperwork, right?”
Surprised by his sudden attention and continued proximity, you barely manage to stammer out a response. “Oh! Um, yeah. Right.”
Yoongi chuckles and steps back, just far enough for you to finally regain control over your lungs. “I’ll be in the back if anyone needs me,” he announces, to muted hums of acknowledgment from Hoseok and Jin. Jimin has already turned his attention back to his lunch, and you are about to do the same when the pale-haired man suddenly meets your gaze again, offering you a mock toast and a mischievous wink that leaves you breathless all over again. Wordlessly, you watch him turn around, following his retreating back and willing your frenzied heartbeat to slow as he disappears around the corner and into the office.
You don’t want pasta anymore. Instead, a very different type of hunger slithers between your ribs and settles in your tummy, molten like lava and just as hot. Suppressing the flush that threatens to bloom across your cheeks, you pick up your water and take several long sips, savoring the coolness. Thankfully, none of your companions have noticed anything amiss.
It isn’t long before Jimin is slurping down the remainder of his pasta, all the way to the very last dregs of marinara sauce. Wiping at his red-stained mouth with a napkin, he bounces to his feet and grabs his empty plate. “You didn’t need me to do anything before I leave, right {Name}?”
The sound of your name draws you out of your thoughts regarding a certain platinum-haired bartender. Startled, you look over at Jimin, who is gazing back at you expectantly.
“{Name}? Are you okay?”
Hastily, you nod. “Y-yeah, I’m fine! Um, I think we’re good here, so you can go if you want.”
Hoseok chooses that moment to pipe up, waving his tomato-stained fork in farewell. “Yeah, we’ve got this covered. Get outta here, man.”
Jimin grins, already beginning to walk backwards toward the door. “Sounds good to me. See ya!”
“Good riddance!” Seokjin exclaims, shooing the younger man away as if he were a particularly annoying fly. Then he leans over you and grabs the basket of fries, peering inside with a frown. “Definitely made too many,” he mutters as he shoves five in his mouth simultaneously. “Oh well. You two finish eating—I’ve got to clean up a bit before the dinner shift starts.” Standing up, he dusts off his apron and sneaks another handful of fries for the short walk over to the kitchen. Moments later, you hear the metallic clang of pots and pans, followed by the hum of the large dishwasher that sits in the back of the restaurant.
“Hey, are you done?” Hoseok nods at your nearly-empty plate. “I can take that if you are.”
“Thanks,” you reply, handing over your dish along with the ones Jimin and Jin left behind. Hoseok smiles and drops them in the bin beneath the counter before turning away to gather up the empty glasses. Meanwhile, you eye the half-full basket of fries thoughtfully, an idea starting to form in your mind. “Hey, Hobi?”
Hoseok hums. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to bring Yoongi the leftovers,” you say nonchalantly. “Will you be okay by yourself for a bit?”
He waves you off cheerfully. “Yeah, no problem! It’s pretty dead right now anyway, so go ahead and take a break. I’m all set here.”
“You’re the best, Hobi.” Flashing him a grateful smile, you pick up the basket of fries and head toward the back of the restaurant, your heart picking up speed as you approach the closed office door. Tentatively, you raise a hand to knock, waiting until you hear Yoongi drawl a soft come in before entering.
“Hi,” you murmur, taking in the sight of the pale-haired man sitting behind the desk, a neat pile of documents near his left elbow and the computer monitor up and running on his right.
Yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise, his mouth twitching up into a crooked little smile. “Hi yourself, sweetheart.”
“I brought some food,” you continue, tamping down your nervousness and holding out the basket. “Thought you might be hungry.”
He cocks his head, accepting the proffered basket and setting it down on top of a stack of manila folders. “I take it this means you’ve forgiven me for keeping you up last night?” Dark eyes rise up to meet yours, dancing with barely-suppressed mirth.
A warm flush blossoms across your cheeks at the sordid memories, but your voice is surprisingly steady when you reply—teasing, even. “Maybe.”
His smile curls up into a full-fledged grin. “Maybe?”
“Maybe,” you confirm with a grin of your own. “But I can be persuaded to reconsider.”
Yoongi chuckles, mischief twinkling in his dark eyes. “Oh? And how would I go about persuading you, dollface?”
It takes every ounce of discipline you possess to hold his gaze as you step around the desk to join him on the other side. He watches as you come to a stop just inches away, and slowly spins in his chair to face you. He’s sprawled across the leather in the most attractive way—legs parted, posture slouched—and you cannot help it when your gaze drops below his belt. “You know how,” you murmur, swallowing down your nerves along with the sudden influx of saliva in your mouth.
Yoongi huffs out another soft chuckle and leans back in his seat. “Then come here and let me convince you,” he purrs, patting his leg. Agreeably, you approach—but just before he can pull you onto his lap, you sink down to your knees in front of him. Placing a hand on his thigh, you meet his eyes once more, inhaling sharply when you notice how they’ve darkened to glittering obsidian. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathes, and a thrill runs through you at the slight quaver in his voice.
“You did tell me that I could suck you off next time,” you remind him, tongue darting out to moisten your lips. Yoongi follows the motion hungrily, his fingers already twitching toward his belt buckle, and you are quick to lend a helping hand. Gently, you slide your hand up his thigh, relishing the way he tenses beneath your fingertips before grasping his belt. Yoongi’s gaze never once wavers as he watches you slip the black leather free from its loops, one hand coming down to cup your cheek tenderly.
“So impatient,” he teases, stroking his thumb along the skin just below your eye. “You want my cock that badly, dollface?”
“You know I do,” you retort breathily, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you unzip his slacks. Yoongi lifts his hips so that you can slide them down, hissing out a curse when you purposely brush against his erection in the process. Curiously, you tilt your head and bat your lashes up at him in a perfect picture of obliviousness, innocently inquiring, “Yoongi?”
His head falls back against the leather backrest as he pinches the bridge of his nose, mouth curling up into an irrepressible grin. “Christ, you’re going to be the death of me,” he laments.
Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “But dying with my mouth wrapped around your cock wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”
Yoongi looks momentarily stunned. After a moment’s hesitation and several harsh bobs of his throat, his mouth twists into a smile, his fingers finding your cheek again. “Sweetheart, I can’t imagine a better way to go.”
You grin, leaning into his touch and pressing a kiss to his palm. “Don’t go dying on me yet, Yoongi.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” is his response, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip in a motion so tender that your heart stutters in your chest. Almost instinctively, you chase after him, and Yoongi inhales sharply when your mouth closes around the pad of his thumb, enveloping him in wet warmth. “Christ, sweetheart.”
You release him with a wet pop, fighting to suppress the smirk that threatens to bloom across your face when you notice how his cock twitches against his stomach, the tip beaded with white droplets that leave you aching for a taste. A prickling sensation along your nape tells you that Yoongi’s dark gaze is still on you, and the knowledge that he is watching your every move sends pinpricks of heat dancing along your spine to pool in your core. Sucking in a deep, calming breath, you lean down, your fingers digging into the black slacks bunched loosely around his hips.
Yoongi releases a soft, shaky sigh when you give the tip of his cock a kittenish lick. One hand slides up to twine in your hair, stroking through the strands as you take more of him into your mouth. The other finds its way to yours, drifting across the ridges of your knuckles before gently loosening your grip on his slacks and twining your fingers together. His thumb draws slow, soothing circles into your palm, and you feel your heart swell at the tender motion even as you close your lips around the flared head of his cock and run your tongue around the velvety skin.
He tastes just as good as you imagined. The slickness coating him is pleasantly musky, with a distinct tang that hovers somewhere on the edge of sweet and salty and lingers deliciously on your tongue. Greedily, you suck lightly on the head of his cock, dipping your tongue into the slit at the top and relishing the way his thighs clench beneath you. A barely audible hiss escapes him, and you, determined to elicit a more vocal reaction, sink down farther onto his cock to trace the vein along the underside. By now, you can feel the head of his erection prodding at the back of your throat, and as you deliberate whether or not you want to proceed farther, you steal a glance up at your companion.
His teeth are tightly clenched—you discern that almost immediately. A tiny bead of sweat drips down his left temple, and as you follow its descent you notice a prominent little ridge that disturbs the otherwise straight angle of his jaw, just below his ear and bobbing slightly as he swallows. Your gazes meet, and the hunger glimmering in his dark eyes is enough to send another wave of heat down to your core. You are absolutely certain that you’ve soaked through your panties by this point, but the embarrassment you would normally feel at the realization dulls in the face of Yoongi’s ravenous expression. You need to make him come.
And so with that thought in mind, you sink down onto him until you can go no farther, your nose pressed up against his navel and your throat swollen with the entirety of his dick. Despite your preparatory deep breath, your gag reflex still flares at the intrusion, and it takes every ounce of control you possess to fight it into submission. Once your reflex settles, you swallow around him, and the sharp inhalation that sounds from above you is enough to send a satisfied thrill running through your body. Carefully, you lick along the part of the shaft that you can reach with your tongue, caressing his length with a tenderness that contradicts every other aspect of your sinful actions. Then you swallow again, and this time Yoongi rewards you with the tiniest moan you’ve ever heard—barely more than a shaky exhalation into the open air of Cypher’s back office. Still, it’s enough to boost your confidence—enough to stoke the flames of arousal in your core—and with newfound determination you begin a slow, bobbing rhythm along his length.
Yoongi’s hand tightens in your hair when you begin to move in earnest. He exhales audibly when you pull back enough to lick at the flared head of his cock, and groans lowly when you dip down again. Your free hand reaches up to give his balls some attention as well, and when he rasps your name—his voice dark and deep in the best way possible—you moan brokenly around him.
“Christ, {Name},” Yoongi repeats, his head lolling back against the chair. “I would’ve let you suck me off so much sooner if I’d known how good you are with that pretty little mouth.”
A pleased grin pulls at the corners of your lips. Taking a careful breath, you relax and lower yourself down again, moaning as he sheathes himself fully in your throat. The vibrations from the sound have Yoongi tensing up again, and it only takes a few more swallows from you before he is coming undone with a groan, painting your throat in warm spurts of white. Pulling off of him, you lick your lips for every last drop, and Yoongi huffs out a chuckle as he gently pulls you to your feet.
“Jesus, sweetheart, you’re really something,” he murmurs. He strokes through your hair tenderly before curling his hand around your nape, and you barely have time to breathe in before his lips find yours. He kisses you heatedly—hungrily—and before you know it, you find yourself seated firmly on his lap, one leg on either side of his thighs. His hands find their way to the curve of your bottom, and you gasp when he gives the ample flesh a squeeze.
“Yoongi!”
He chuckles, pulling back to fix you with a raised brow and an amused little smirk. “Listen to you,” the pale-haired man croons, deft fingers finding their way to the buttons of your shirt. “I almost think you’re doing that on purpose just to get me worked up.”
Already, he’s gotten the two topmost buttons on your shirt undone. You let out another gasp when he leans forward to nip at your exposed clavicle, sucking on the delicate skin before trailing up the column of your throat to find your mouth again. This kiss is a bit more languid, his tongue sliding lazily against yours, and when Yoongi pulls back he is grinning like a cat that caught the canary.
“I’d like nothing more than to bend you over this desk and fuck you senseless, sweetheart. That sound okay to you?”
“More than okay,” you admit in a whisper, winding your arms around his neck to tug him in for another kiss. He returns it eagerly, and when you mold your body against his, you can feel his cock beginning to harden once more against your stomach. Grinning, you are about to wrap a hand around his erection when there is a sudden, loud knock at the door.
“Yoongi? You in there?”
Your eyes widen at the sound of Namjoon’s voice. Yoongi stares right back, alarm flashing across his face before he wipes it away and nudges you gently off his lap. Carefully, he reaches out to fasten your buttons again, and you hurriedly run your fingers through your hair and adjust your clothing while he turns his attention to his own uniform. Tucking himself back into his slacks, he gestures for you to take the seat opposite him and slides a pile of papers over. “You’re helping me,” he breathes softly, offering you a crooked smirk and a wink before speaking again, this time at a normal volume. “Yeah. Come on in, Joon.”
The door clicks open and Namjoon steps inside, one brow rising toward his hairline as he takes in the sight of you and Yoongi sitting on opposite sides of the mahogany desk with random forms and documents piled in the middle. “Oh, hey, {Name}. I wasn’t expecting you to be back here.”
“Hi, Namjoon,” you respond, giving him the most innocent smile you can muster and waving a pen in his direction. “Just thought I’d help out a little. It’s been a slow day, and Yoongi looked like he was about to drown in paperwork.”
Yoongi snorts, dark eyes flitting toward you for the briefest of seconds before landing on Namjoon. “Seriously, Joon. You could save so many trees if you just used the electronic forms.”
The tall manager laughs and adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses, seemingly oblivious to the lingering sexual tension in the room. “I’ll keep that in mind next time. For now though, can I ask you guys to come help me move some crates? The delivery guy just came, and I think it’s your new wine shipment, Yoongi.”
At the mention of new wines, your heartbeat quickens. Yoongi, however, seems unaffected by the news. “Don’t we pay Jungkook to do the hard manual labor?” he complains as he climbs to his feet.
“Kookie’s not scheduled to come in for another half-hour,” Namjoon replies, chuckling at Yoongi’s frown. “Come on, it won’t take long. And you’ll help too, won’t you {Name}?
You drop your pen and nod, standing up to follow the two men out of the office. “Of course.”
///
As promised, it doesn’t take long to move the crates. Hoseok is standing at the loading dock with a bright smile when you arrive, and with his help, the four of you finish the job in no time at all. Yoongi carries a couple over to the bar to stock his shelves, and you help Namjoon load the remainder onto a cart. As the tall man wheels it off toward the back of the restaurant, you return your attention to Yoongi, still standing behind his bar. His platinum hair is tousled slightly, both sleeves of his black uniform shirt rolled up to his elbows. Together, he and Hoseok set about cracking open the two crates of wine, pulling out bottles and arranging them carefully on the counter.
“Hey, that’s the riesling I had this morning!” Hoseok exclaims, pointing at a cluster of royal blue bottles.
Yoongi raises a brow. “You were drinking riesling? Amateur.”
“Nothing wrong with a sweet wine,” the red-haired man sniffs, bending down to shove the bottles in the fridge under the counter.
Yoongi chuckles, seizing another bottle of white wine to hand to Hoseok. As he reads the label, however, he suddenly pauses and glances up, catching your eye. Deliberately, he turns the bottle toward you, and when you spot the familiar ‘Lonely Whale’ label, your breath snags in your throat.
You recognize that wine. You can still taste creamy notes of peach and crispness of lemon—recall telling Yoongi that it was your favorite out of the three white wines you’d sampled that fateful night. And you definitely remember what happened afterward. But now, all you can focus on is the fact that there are now six more bottles of the wine you’d chosen, sitting proudly on the counter for all to see. The knowledge that Yoongi had indeed taken your preference into account stirs a warm feeling in your chest, and you are suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him again.
“Care for a drink?”
Even without looking at his face, you know that Yoongi is smirking. You can hear it in the teasing lilt of his voice, and just as you are about to open your mouth to deliver a retort you haven’t yet thought of, another voice speaks up from behind you.
“Why don’t we all give the wine a try?” Namjoon suggests, suddenly appearing behind you. “{Name} and Hoseok can get a taste for it, and we can try and sell a few bottles tonight.”
“Good call, Joon,” Hoseok chimes from where he’s still huddled underneath the counter. A second later, he pops back into view, this time holding four wineglasses and wearing a cheery grin. “What are we drinking?”
“Lonely Whale sauvignon blanc,” Yoongi replies smoothly, flashing you a mischievous smirk. Reaching into his pocket for his wine key, he pops open the cork with a few deft flicks of his wrist and pours generous helpings into each glass.
Namjoon surveys the pale golden liquid within, holding his glass up to the light before bringing it to his mouth for a sip. “Damn. This is good. Nice choice, Yoongi.”
This time, the pale-haired bartender grins outright. “I had some help,” he says, and you want nothing more than to sink through the floorboards and disappear when he glances at you again.
Luckily, Namjoon is too busy reading the bottle’s label to inquire any further. Hoseok, on the other hand, furrows his brow and tilts his head curiously at Yoongi. You can see the beginnings of a question forming in the red-haired man’s mind, but Yoongi interrupts before he can voice it aloud.
“You two should probably finish your drinks,” he remarks. “Dinner shift’s starting soon, and I’m pretty sure I saw some napkins in the back that need folding.”
“I’ll go get them,” you volunteer, eager to escape Yoongi’s playful smirks and Hoseok’s prying eyes.
You only hope that you’ll make it through your shift unscathed.
///
To your utter relief, the dinner shift passes quickly—with minimal stress and only one broken dish, courtesy of Namjoon accidentally pulling the napkin out from beneath his dinner plate and drawing aggrieved sighs from Jin and Hoseok. Thankfully, Jungkook is quick to clean up the mess, and the reminder of the shift passes without a hitch.
You are closing tonight, and up until two days ago this would be enough cause for complaint. However, you’ve recently discovered that closing isn’t so bad—not when your last table has already left, leaving you and Yoongi alone to finish cleaning and locking the restaurant’s doors for the night. Taking a seat at the bar, you watch as he slowly puts down the towel he’d been wiping the counters with and approaches you, a smirk twitching on his lips and mischief dancing in his eyes.
“What can I get you this evening?” he asks softly, coming to a stop in front of you.
Your answer is simple. “You.”
At that, his smirk blooms across his face—crooked and self-assured as ever. “Then I’m all yours, sweetheart,” he murmurs, before leaning across the counter and tilting your chin up for a kiss.
You are fairly certain that you could sit there kissing him forever—consequences be damned—but Yoongi pulls away far too soon for your liking. Your eyes flicker up to his, a smile creasing his face as he takes in your petulant expression.
“I’ll kiss you again in a minute, sweetheart,” he promises, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Then he’s walking away—rounding the bar with unhurried steps until he’s on the same side that you are sitting on. “This is much better, isn’t it?” he asks as you spin in your stool to face him.
You don’t bother giving him a verbal response. Your fingers twine into the silky hair at the nape of his neck, dragging him down to your level so that you can rejoin your mouth to his, and Yoongi is quick to return the kiss. His hands smooth down your sides to settle around your waist, and you sigh when he pulls you off your stool so that he can tug you flush against his chest.
By the time you pull apart again, you are gasping for air. Yoongi looks winded as well, though he doesn’t betray his lungs’ desperation for oxygen anywhere near as readily and recovers much more quickly. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he wastes no time in popping open the button on your pants and sliding them down your hips. “I think it’s time I paid you back for earlier, don’t you?” he queries, and you can only gasp out an affirmation when he reaches up to trace your damp entrance through the lace of your underwear.
Then your pants are pooling around your ankles, a warm flush suffusing your cheeks when Yoongi urges you to lift your feet and slide off your shoes so that he can pull them off entirely. His gaze is positively ravenous now, his eyes darker than obsidian, and when his tongue slips out to lick a tantalizing trail across his bottom lip, your heart stutters in anticipation.
Yoongi is clearly in no mood to tease. Pushing your panties aside, he circles your clit once with his thumb before leaning in for a taste. His tongue drags along your clit in a torturously long lick before he delves inside you properly, and you whimper at the sudden surge of wet warmth.
“G-god, Yoongi.” Your head falls back, your fingers tangling in his platinum hair, and Yoongi chuckles hoarsely against your core when you tighten your grip at a particularly adventurous dive of his tongue.
“Always such a mess for me,” he rasps, pulling away just enough to murmur the words. His lips brush against your clit with every syllable—the touch light and teasing and so utterly maddening that you want to scream in frustration.
Instead, you settle on your best sultry moan—intent on driving him further into debauchery. “Yoongi, please,” you entreaty. “You feel so good.”
“You taste so good,” he rasps, surging forward to press a firm kiss to your clit. The tender motion sends a breathless shiver down your spine, tingling heat pooling in your belly like molten lava, and when he speaks again you all but melt against him. “God, I could eat you out for days if you’d let me,” he mutters, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder.
You keen out an incoherent string of curses at the new position, which leaves you fully spread out and on display for him. Immediately, he takes advantage of your vulnerability and begins laying a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.
And then he’s burying his face between your legs, laving along your folds with the ferocity of a hurricane and just as unpredictable. He alternates between long, slow licks and punishingly hard sucks to your clit, and the different sensations are enough to make your head spin. His lips, his tongue—even his nose—are all focused on driving you to the edge, and when he doubly renews his efforts, you are left teetering dangerously on the brink, your tummy taut.
One final swipe of his tongue inside you proves to be your undoing. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, spasms wracking you as your legs give way, but Yoongi is there to catch you with open arms and a warm smile as you chant his name. Two hands curl gently around your hips as he straightens into a standing position, and you sigh contentedly when he pulls you flush against him and traces a soothing finger down your spine.
“Fuck, I love making you cum,” he rasps, nosing his way through your hair until he finds your ear to make his confession. “You’re so gorgeous when you fall apart, sweetheart—I already want to make you do it again. Think you can take my cock now?”
Your fingers fist into the soft material of his shirt, pulling him down until you can plant a kiss to the little ridge along his jawline. “Yes, please,” you murmur, perfectly polite.
Yoongi laughs, chasing your mouth and bringing you in for a deep kiss. His lips move against yours urgently, his hips pressing forward until you can feel his hardening cock branded against your thigh. Boldly, you reach down to cup him through the material of his pants, giggling when he breaks away with a low grunt.
“Didn’t get enough earlier?” he asks, nudging your hand away so that he can begin undoing his belt.
“Never,” you breathe, an electric thrill coursing through you when he fumbles with the buckle. Teasingly, you place your hand over his, slipping your fingers into the spaces between his. “Need some help, Yoongi?”
“Go ahead, dollface,” is his reply, allowing you to replace him. His hands venture up to the buttons of your shirt instead, flicking open the buttons greedily to expose your breasts. “Maybe now I’ll actually get to bend you over and fuck you like I wanted.” Two fingers slide under the elastic of your bra, seeking out the hooks.
You work his belt free deftly, now more than familiar with the piece of black leather. His cock springs free when you undo his slacks and tug the material down his hips, and this time you don’t stop until it’s pooled around his ankles. Yoongi kindly steps out of them, and you straighten up to work on the buttons of his black shirt, drinking in each inch of pale skin as it is revealed. “Then fuck me,” you say quietly, bringing your mouth to his sternum and laying a soft kiss there. His bare chest is warm and slightly damp, and when you press a little closer you can feel the reassuring rhythm of his heart, strong and steady as a drum.
There’s something different about tonight. He’s urgent, yes, and you’re undeniably just as desperate—but there’s still something in the way Yoongi’s dark, indolent eyes meet yours, shimmering with what might be tenderness as he leans down and traces the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb. Your lips part instinctively at the motion, drawing a chuckle from him and earning you a fleeting press of his mouth against yours.
“Cute,” he murmurs, pulling back before you have a chance to deepen the kiss. Still, he remains close, his nose brushing against yours as he blinks lazily down at you, his hot breath washing across your cheeks.
For a few moments, the two of you simply stand there. Somewhere above you, the heat turns on and sends a wave of warm air wafting across your bare skin, but you barely notice as Yoongi continues to trace parts of your body with his fingers. He drifts from your jaw down to the column of your throat, and when his thumb and forefinger pinch a nipple, you let out a gasp. “Yoongi!”
The pale-haired man simply grins and leans down, soothing the sensitive nub with a gentle lap of his tongue. His hand slides over to pay tribute to its twin, and your head falls back at the sudden spike of pleasure, another whimper of his name escaping your lips. Your fingers itch to tangle in his hair and draw him closer, but he’s withdrawing before you can even touch the silky strands, his chest rumbling with laughter when he notices your frown.
“Wouldn’t you rather have my cock?” he asks playfully, grabbing your hips and urging you to turn around. “Brace yourself against the bar, sweetheart. I want to be inside you.”
Just like that, heat is bubbling up in your core again, molten and ebullient. Obediently, your hands fly up to curl around the wooden countertop, a wave of arousal flooding through your veins when you remember how he’d fucked you on this very same counter just two nights ago. Anticipation curls in your belly, and when you hear the sound of a condom wrapper being torn open, it grows and coalesces into pure need.
“Yoongi,” you plead, rocking your hips backward and tearing a dangerously low growl from his throat.
“Patience, dollface,” he rasps, splaying a hand on your spine and effectively halting your movements. His mouth finds the crook of your neck and shoulder, brushing against the delicate skin with every word. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”
His lips curl into a smile when you acquiesce, falling still in his grasp. The warmth of his body disappears, but you can feel the shift in the air as he positions himself behind you, painfully aware of how close he is. Every breath you draw feels like an eternity as you wait, not daring to turn around and look at him.
Two hands curling around your waist is all the warning you get before he slides into you. The surge of fullness tears a moan from your throat, the breath whooshing out of your lungs as he buries himself inside your drenched core. You can feel the slow throb of his cock sheathed in your walls, the weight deliciously hot and heavy as your body adjusts to the intrusion. “Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Yoongi.”
“God, you feel even better than I remembered,” he grits out, his grip tightening on your waist. You can feel his breath on your back, puffs of warm air that send gooseflesh prickling across your skin.
And then he’s pulling back, retreating until only the head of his cock remains inside before snapping forward again. The pace that Yoongi sets is relentless, but you don’t mind one bit, your eyes squeezing shut as he continues to drive into you. The air fills with the sound of skin against skin, your breathless moans intermingling with Yoongi’s obscene praises and occasional grunt of exertion.
“That’s it, dollface. You feel like a dream, you know that? Absolute nirvana. I could spend the rest of my life inside this tight little pussy of yours, fuck.” The words are snarled in your ear, his voice a full octave lower than usual. You can’t match Yoongi’s dirty mouth even when thinking completely straight, much less in your current state, so you settle on a garbled whimper in response, your fingers clawing for purchase on the wooden bar you are pressed against. A stack of coasters falls prey to your attempts to ground yourself, and when they fall to the ground and roll every which way, your companion chuckles and delves between your legs to rub at your clit.
“You’re making a mess, sweetheart,” he breathes, giving your earlobe a teasing nip. “Good thing I put all the glassware away, otherwise you’d really be in trouble.”
You inhale sharply when he suddenly changes his angle, hitting the spot inside you that will have you seeing stars. Yoongi smirks against your neck and rams into it again, and when his thumb begins drawing hard circles around your clit, you are sent spiraling, the coil in your belly snapping and sending electric heat through every inch of your body. His hips stutter when you clench around him but he determinedly continues to roll up into you, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist hard enough to bruise. His thumb doesn’t stop circling your clit, and you barely have time to suck in a breath before another wave of pleasure hits you, rendering your helpless as you shake apart in his grasp.
Yoongi only manages a few more strokes before the tight, wet draw of your body proves to be too much. He groans as he barrels over the edge, his forehead dropping down to rest against your shoulder blade as he empties himself into the condom. “Fuck,” he breathes, reverent. “Fuck, {Name}.”
It takes several long seconds for the two of you to recover, but eventually the pleasure recedes back into your veins. Yoongi pulls away, and you wince as his softening cock slips out from between your swollen folds. You hear him pad away to dispose of the condom, but you don’t have the strength to turn and look at him quite yet. It’s only when he returns, his warm hands settling gently on your shoulders and urging you to face him, that you straighten up and see the smile creasing his handsome face.
“You hungry?” he asks, handing you your shirt.
“W-what?” you ask, taken aback by the sudden question.
His smile widens. “Are you hungry?” he repeats patiently, grabbing your discarded bra off the back of a nearby stool and looping your arms through the straps. Embarrassed, you bat him away, and he relents with a chuckle and a soft kiss that he plants just below your ear. “Because I don’t know about you, but I could really use some food right now.”
You blink. “You… you do realize that we work in a restaurant, right?”
Yoongi snickers, his shoulders quaking with mirth. “Are you telling me you don’t get tired of Jin’s fancy food? Come on. There’s a great pizza place down the street that should still be open, and they’ve got stupidly good milkshakes and the best breadsticks you’ll ever taste in your entire life.” Glancing around, he gathers up the remainder of your clothes, handing yours over before slipping his shirt back on. “My treat,” he adds as he begins doing up the buttons, giving you time to wonder at his sudden invitation.
Maybe you’re reading too much into this. Maybe Yoongi simply wants company instead of dining alone. But you can’t help but notice the way his voice had softened as he spoke, and even looking at him now you can easily see the glimmer of affection lurking in his sleepy eyes.
“I’ll buy the milkshakes if you get the pizza,” you offer quietly, giving him a tentative smile, and your heart skips a beat when a gummy grin blooms across his face.
“Deal,” he says, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers slide into the spaces between yours, and you marvel at how natural holding his hand has become over the past few days. And as you follow him out to his car, there is only one thought turning over and over in your mind.
Maybe—just maybe—this is more than just sex to him.
