Yoonmin Oneshots

sugar, spice, and coffee

[Not my story]

The first time it happens, Yoongi thinks it was a mistake.

His black coffee is slid across the counter with a call of his name, and when he goes to pick it up, there’s a brown paper pastry bag sitting on top of it.

When he looks inside and sees a baby pink cake pop adorned with star-shaped sprinkles, Yoongi motions to the barista and tries to push the bag back.

“I didn’t order this,” he said.

The barista, whose hair was a shade of pink alarmingly similar to the sweet treat, just smiled.

“It’s on the house.”

And Yoongi didn’t know what it was — if it was the boy’s warm smile or his pretty voice or if it was just too early in the morning for Yoongi’s brain to function properly — but he nodded, took his coffee and the cake pop, and sat down at one of the tables.

Yoongi stared at the incriminating pink pastry and cursed the cheesy poet that lived inside him (that he kept hidden deep, deep down) for comparing the star sprinkles to the boy’s shining eyes.

Yoongi would have to be a complete asshole to be able to look that barista in the face and tell him that he detested sweets.

Almost immediately, Yoongi regretted sitting down.

He should have just began walking to class, even though he still had an hour left before his lecture started.

Yoongi could feel the barista’s eyes on him, could feel the barista eyeing him eyeing the cake pop.

So with a deep breath and a silent prayer that he didn’t throw up or spontaneously combust or something equally as embarrassing, he steeled his shoulders, picked up the stick holding the sweet, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

Yoongi wasn’t a dramatic man.

With that information, one would be inclined to know that he was half a second away from gagging, spitting the cake pop out right onto the establishment’s clean floors, and skipping his upcoming lecture to go lay down in his bed.

That is how much Yoongi hated sweets.

But one glance over at the barista, who was watching him with the sunniest fucking smile on his face, had Yoongi chewing, smiling (more like grimacing but he tried his best) and then burning his throat chugging half his coffee as he tried to wash away the taste.

The problem was, Yoongi couldn’t go to any other coffeeshop for his daily morning coffees.

The cart on the other side of campus always had a line that was much too long, and the other shops scattered throughout their little college town always made their coffees too sweet, or charged six dollars for one damn cup, curse those swanky hipster establishments.

So every morning, he had to go back to the coffeeshop with the barista named Jimin, who had recently switched shifts with Taehyung, the barista who originally worked the morning shift.

“Morning, Yoongi! The usual?” Jimin was always much too happy at the crack of dawn, and if Yoongi didn’t know any better he would say that the sun rose when Jimin did, bright smile and bright eyes and bright personality beaming out over the horizon and lighting up the entire world.

With a grunt of affirmation, Yoongi paid for his coffee, left a generous tip, and steeled his stomach for another cake pop.

It’s been two weeks.

Yoongi knew that he should have said something by now, maybe something along the lines of ‘Hey, Jimin, it’s really nice that you’ve been giving me free cake pops for the past two weeks but I think it’s time to tell you that eating anything sweeter than an apple makes me want to throw my intestines up. Anyway, want to go on a date?’