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How Mikayla reacts to your time of the month

A/N: I was dismayed at the lack of Koffee content on here and decided to do something about it. Feedback appreciated.

You spent the night a few weeks ago and never left. What initially felt like a sleepover, became a beautiful routine of domesticity.

You awoke next to each other with smiles and light wrestling. You'd catch each other's gazes in the mirror while brushing your teeth and laugh. She'd stare as you attempted to style your hair before asking to try and having fun brushing it in different directions.

You'd make her your momma's pancake recipe and she'd put on a kettle for tea. Your legs would be glued to each other's under the table while you ate. You'd wash dishes together, giggling at the silly remixes of songs you'd freestyle.

You'd hug very tightly at the door, making sure Mikayla didn't leave anything behind. You'd sit on the couch, looking out at the hilly view of Kingston before pulling out your laptop for school work.

Normally, you'd be watching Netflix or in the kitchen starting dinner when Mikayla would make it home in the evening, yet today you were nowhere to be found.

"Mama," she called out, depositing her shoes on the rack and keys at the counter. "Gyal, yuh a leave me?" She shuffled around the apartment, opening doors, heartbeat rising thinking you'd left without a word. Almost accepting the sinking feeling of being jilted, she reached for her phone to call you before hearing a noise from the bedroom.

Mikayla opened the closet door to find you in a fortress of pillows and blankets watching a Netflix show on your tablet with headphones. Your eyes squinted and your neck craned up at the bright intrusion of the door being opened.

"Uh-uh Mama, what yuh fi do in here?" she exasperated, climbing into the mess of pillows. A look of relief and amusement enveloped her face.

"Hi, sorry, I didn't hear you come in," you groaned, worming your way deeper into the corner. Mikayla reached over with a frown, checking your forehead with her hand.

"Oh Mama, you're hotting up, we need fi give yuh some medicine," she arose, "and yuh haffi catch yuh bed and sleep," You groaned at that.

"I'm fine, I get like this every month," you say, rolling over onto your side. You heard Mikayla sigh. "Why yuh nuh tell me nuttin, gyal?" she whispered, hands finding your back to give a few rubs.

At your behest, she pulled you free of the blankets and assisted you onto the bed. She left you in the room with a forehead kiss and after a few minutes of clanging cabinets and beeping appliances, returned with an armful of things.

She set them on the nightstand and lifted the bottom of your shirt with a comforting smile. She grabbed a warm towel from the stash and lay it snug over your abdomen.

"Better now?" she asked, a look of endearment reaching her eyes. You blinked and shook your head in affirmation, enjoying the comfort spreading through your aches.

Next, she handed you a steaming cup of tea and rubbed your messy hair as you drank. You sighed in content, earning a laugh from Mikayla. She presented you with the remote and a few snacks before returning to the closet to collect the remnants of your nest.

She returned and stood on the bed, reaching over you to stretch a blanket across the back of the headboard. You looked up with wide eyes to admire the cozy fortress. She chuckled at your amazement and slid next to you to enjoy whatever show you put on the TV. You naturally fell into her side, head resting on her shoulder. Your hands found each others' and locked. This became your favorite time of the month.

what sort of headcanons would y'all like to see next?

Being Koffee's Tall Girlfriend™

Starting playful fights by hiding things on top shelves

Never being able to find sneakers in both of your sizes to match

Her always fussing at you to eat more because she thinks you'll faint if you have small portions

Her standing on her tiptoes to give you a twirl when you dress up in heels

Her always flexing her muscles with a goofy smile and lifting heavy things to prove how much stronger she is

Her always finding an excuse to pick you up or throw you on the bed or couch

Having to move the seat each time you drive her car

Being asked to check for things at the top of the cabinet

Her always wanting to oil your long legs for you, because she finds them so sexy

Her making sure no one's looking to pull your skirts and dresses lower in public with a pointed look and grin

Her looking so cute being swallowed by your jackets

Looking silly when you borrow each others sandals to run outside

Laughing when you take stops on walks for her to catch up

Being mistaken for her mother or big sister and going along with it to get a rise out of her

Her being the littlest big spoon ever 🥺

Beach day with Girlfriend Koffee™

Her arguing to convince you to let her bury you in the sand

Maniacally laughing as she draws on your face with sand as soon as you're trapped

Preoccupied with not getting your hair wet because of insecurity so she throws you into the water so you can stop caring

Her leading you in a chase down the shore and faking you out multiple times

Competing to find cooler seashells

Sharing a coconut and mango

Her telling you what to do when you grill without wanting to get up and do it herself

Making extravagant sandcastle building plans only to make a messy pile

You kicking down the castle so she lunges at you and pins you in the sand

An argument and laughter filled game of volleyball

Her falling asleep as soon as you get in the car

I have a fire idea for a koffee chapter fic and started working on it but I need to know whether readers would like for the dialogue to be written in American English, British English, Jamaican Patois, or maybe American/British English with occasionally code switched Jamaican slang and idioms. If you're a Koffee fan I beg yuh pleaseeee let me know or share this so others can weigh in.

Being Koffee's Naija Girlfriend

She's so invested in learning your language that she quickly surpasses you and you find yourself having to practice more to speak with her

Her calling you terms of endearment like "omoge"

Her always choosing Nigerian food when you order takeout

She enjoys the messiest dishes and smiles when she gets it all over hands and lips

She loves family gatherings and holidays because she can dress up in your culture's clothing

Your family is always more excited to see her than you

She becomes the cool cousin

She is always the one to introduce you to the latest Afrobeats artists and loves going to concerts

You haven't been back home in a long time, but she wants your next vacation to be there

If you want children, she daydreams with you about how you're going to ensure your kids are fluid with their Jamaican and Nigerian heritage

Her waving a Nigerian flag at parades and concerts

Her loving Nigeria because it's the country that made you 🤎

good morning to the kafé 🤎

first order of business when im done traveling is to sit down and do a coffee shop theme for this page 🥹 I also thought how cute it’d be to call the fandom the kafé. we’ve never been given a name have we?

Defend Ch. 1 | Bodyguard!AU | Koffee x Reader

Summary: You're a district attorney that has been placed under 24/7 security during the investigation of a prominent member of a local gang. You believe the whole situation is blown out of proportion and resent the imperious woman you are entrusted to. Partly due to her teasing, cocky nature, you struggle to take the short-statured woman seriously. Eventually, you not only find yourself seeking her protection but also solace in her company.

Genre: Slow-burn romance, fluff, angst

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2241

A/N: I really appreciate any engagement such as likes and reposts. I particularly would be grateful if you all could provide feedback. Like for this writing, I experimented with Mikayla's character codeswitching in-between an American and Jamaican accent. Maybe just let me know what you think about that or anything else you read. Love <3

"You know it's not too late to call this whole thing off," you mumble in a sing-songy voice. If Oje Ollivierre, the state attorney, heard you it was not obvious. He stood in the full length mirror of his executive office looking over his suit- an unusual plum colored ensemble amidst his habit of all black and occasionally navy blue. His assistant, Daniel, looked up from his spot on the floor straightening the man's pants cuffs to give you a pointed look of pity.

"Daniel, don't you think this purple is a bit..." Oje began.

"Tacky?" you chimed in.

"Assuming..." Oje murmured, raising his eyes in the mirror to meet your gaze. Daniel blankly nodded in agreement. You gave a nervous dry chuckle to stifle your shiver. The air froze in painful tension as no one laughed. You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth in a wince, eyes rolling off into another direction.

"I will offset the forwardness with my black double breasted blazer and the Explorer instead of the Yacht Master," the state attorney added. He unclasped his Rolex and his assistant received it with delicacy and scampered off to the adjoining coat room to do as he said.

"You know, Ollivierre, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I've been meaning to apologize about the whole crab dip thing ever since my election celebration, but you know I got wrapped up in this whole Thomas case right after-" you rambled.

The state attorney raised his large, well-manicured hand before turning around. He pushed his long dark brown locs off his shoulder, took off his glasses, and reached in his blazer pocket for a handkerchief in one fluid motion.

"It has been four months since you were elected," he stated with clear disinterest while rubbing the Tom Ford frames spot-free. There was something particularly disarming about his hooded brown eyes. As if to pin you in place, he stared directly in your face for the first time since you had entered his office. "Did you come all the way to the capitol to humor me about a nearly half-year old dry cleaning snafu?"

You lowered your gaze to your kitten heels, shaking your head in a defeated no. "Well sir, I was... uh.. well, I actually came today because- well, I was wondering if I could maybe, uh, get some maybe, uh, some space with the whole bodyguard thing perhaps... please?" you churned out nervously. Your palms greased with sweat.

Daniel entered the office again carefully carrying a black blazer and jewelry box like a soldier in a flag folding ceremony. He helped the state attorney shrug out of his plum jacket and set it aside neatly.

"No," Oje stated directly, lifting his arms to have the new suit lint rolled. Daniel shot you a look of sympathy from under his long limbs. You began to stutter out a rebuttal when he continued. "You know, I was initially quite supportive of your campaign for district attorney. And I was honored that our state not only became home to the highest percent of female district attorneys per capita, but also the youngest D.A. in American history," he lamented. He strained his long neck as Daniel adjusted his tie.

"Furthermore, I was stunned by how our constituents were progressive enough to elect someone with such..." he drawled, pausing for thought.

"Moxy?" you chimed in, expectantly.

"Naivete..." he continued. You let out a nervous chuckle, hoping to cut the tension in the air. Nobody laughed. "It is certainly not to my pleasure that you are working such a high-profile case a few months into your term, but I will not have you killed by the mafia nonetheless. O'neil Thomas is a long time enemy of the state and it is only a matter of when not if his thugs will retaliate for the investigation. You will need to be under protection until we feel that the threat has been eliminated. This is not up for debate. Any questions D.A.?" he remarked plainly. You quietly kissed your teeth before muttering a barely audible no sir and turning on your heel to leave.

"Since you are already here, I had your security report directly for duty. So they should be waiting at the check-in" he called out, flicking his hand to shoo Daniel away from fretting at his clothes anymore. "Oh, and one more thing before you go, D.A."

You stand by the door tapping your foot nervously. Oje steps over to his desk and scribbles on a post-it before handing it to his assistant. Daniel takes it with two hands and walks to the door, offering it to you with one. It reads a 4 digit number. You raise an eyebrow to Oje quizzically.

He turns back to the mirror to admire his change of costume, adding in a bored tone, "That is the amount needed to replace the dress shirt from your... crab dip thing. You may inquire at the desk for the routing and account number."

"Look at me, I'm the state attorney and I don't even know my head from my own ass, blah blah blah," you mocked in an inaccurately high-pitched voice as you rounded the corner, holding another post-it from the front desk reading the aforementioned banking numbers. You toed across the lobby to alleviate the pain in your feet from the ill-fitting, cheap heels you’d worn. Were it not for student loans and random expenses like replacing $3000 crab dip stained shirts for your boss, you’d maybe be able to afford some shoes that didn’t require a tight-rope routine to walk comfortably. As you began to lose yourself in your lamentful thoughts, you took a misstep and felt your toes turn at an odd angle- twisting your ankle and throwing you off balance. 

As you expected to meet the cold floor in the lobby (a very fitting humiliation to match the other ones from today), you felt a strong grip on your arm and were yanked upright. You stood awkwardly in the lobby for a moment, knees still bent and braced in preparation for a spill. You blinked and turned your neck left and right in confusion. Business attired people walk to and fro in all directions without paying you mind. 

“I see why dem hire mi,” you heard from a firm, yet taunting lilt from behind you. You quickly turned around to match a face to the voice, only to be met by the tail end of a blur. You made a sound of confusion and frustration, turning only for the figure to shift out of the corner of your eye again.

“Look, whoever you are, you better find someone else to play with. I’m the distri-” you started in annoyance. 

“District attorney. Yes, yuh di district attorney who a daydream when she walk, but think she cyaah defend herself against a mafia ah drug traffickers an' hitmen,” the voice chuckled, an accent emerging. Before you could lash out, the figure stepped from behind to stand in front of you. 

The noise that arose from your throat was akin to an animalistic choke- and obviously one of clear disregard. The person in front of you raised an eyebrow in a look of equal disbelief towards your reaction. She was caramel-skinned with an oval face sculpted by plump cheeks, a button nose, and a sharp jaw. Her inquisitive eyes were rather large, slightly upturned like a cat’s, and a deep warm brown hue. Her dark chocolate dreadlocks shared the same color as her thick eyebrows and were tied up in a haphazard bun with a few strands straying down her face. She wore all black fatigues that contrasted against the diamond studs in her ears. 

Most shockingly of all, the strange woman could not have been taller than 5 feet flat. When you gathered yourself enough to recollect the events of the past few seconds, you broke out in an uncontrollable laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. You failed to straighten your back and just sunk lower as you let the laughs shake throughout your body. The woman stood over you unamused. 

“So, it’s you, huh?” you ask, wiping away the tears at the corner of your eyes, adding sarcastically, “The one who will defend me against imminent danger.” 

“Lieutenant Colonel Mikayla Simpson of Jamaica Regiment’s Sixth Infantry Battalion- honorably discharged,” she spoke, extending her hand to take. You straightened and enveloped it in your larger one, pleasantly surprised by how soft and warm it was. Her widening smile revealed a mouth full of silver braces.

“Aren’t you like twelve?” you snorted. The soft grasp on your hand turned into a vice-like clench, crushing bones you didn’t even know existed.

“I’ll do my best fi protect yuh, ma'am.” she spoke through the gritted teeth of her grin, before loosening the grip. You could’ve sworn you caught a flash of something crazy in her eyes. Was that some sort of threat? You rubbed your hand, still wincing from the vice-like grip, and watched Mikayla adjust the sleeves of her black softshell jacket. Her composed demeanor only irritated you further.

"Let's just get this over with," you muttered, trying to mask your embarrassment and irritation. She gave a curt nod and gestured toward the elevator to the parking garage.

The walk to the car was filled with an awkward silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heels clicking on the pavement and the occasional car passing by. You couldn't resist a few more digs, hoping to get a reaction out of the woman.

"So, do you always sneak up on people like that, or is it just your charming way of making a first impression?" you asked, feigning casual curiosity.

Mikayla didn't even break her stride. "If you'd been paying attention, you would have noticed me. Situational awareness is crucial, especially in your position."

You rolled your eyes. "Great, another lecture. Just what I needed."

You clicked the fob on the keys assigned to you that morning when you had been informed of the new security measures. You marched to the vehicle, your frustration mounting as you remembered you left your comfy driving moccasins in your own car which you were forbidden from driving until ‘this all blows over’. Mikayla stood there, arms crossed, waiting patiently. You couldn't help but feel like a child being watched by a stern teacher.

"I hope you know this is completely unnecessary," you grumbled as you unlocked the car. "I can take care of myself."

Mikayla raised an eyebrow. "Well, yuh track record seh different." You glared at her, but before you could retort, she had already slipped into the passenger seat, much to your displeasure. You sank into the driver's seat with a sigh, starting the engine and resting your head on the steering wheel for a long pause.

"Where to?" you finally asked, breaking the silence. The car was quiet for a few more seconds, the tension thick in the air. You focused on the dashboard, trying to disassociate from the presence of your unwelcome passenger.

"We're going to a secured location outside the city. I’ll provide you with directions," Mikayla replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I need to stop by my place first. I have things I need to pick up."

"That's not possible," Mikayla said firmly. "We already arrange fi yuh essentials fi get tek care of. We can't risk yuh safety, ma’am."

You let out a frustrated groan. "This is ridiculous! I can't just be whisked away without any of my stuff."

Mikayla's expression softened slightly, though her resolve remained firm. "I understand this is difficult, but it's for yuh own safety. Everything you need will be provided."

You knew she was right, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. You pressed your lips together in a thin line, trying to hold back your frustration as you drove in silence minus the occasional noise of her giving you directions. Your own city was almost two hours away from the capitol and the mystery location was even further west.

Finally, you arrived at an unmarked, inconspicuous single-family farmhouse down a dirt road from the interstate. Mikayla directed you to a flat patch in the grass for parking and you both exited the car.

"This is where we'll be staying?" you asked, looking up at the residence with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. You toed around the side to see a nice thicket of forest. 

Mikayla called after you, "Yes, it's a secure facility. Try nuh fi get lost, mi nuh want fi haffi rescue yuh two times inna one day.”

You rolled your eyes and followed behind her as she went to unlock the door. Your mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead. The reality of your situation was sinking in, and you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in your chest.

As you stepped into the entrance, you cowered behind Mikayla, who walked into the darkness with an effortlessly confident posture. Despite your initial annoyance, you couldn't help but feel a small measure of relief knowing she was on the clock and legally binded to kill any spiders or whatever lay in the abyss of the mysterious house. 

"Let's hope this is worth it," you muttered under your breath as the doors closed behind you, sealing you both inside.

Table of contents

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☕️ Comment to be added to my tag list ☕️

Girlfriend Koffee™  learning to make your favorite cultural dish.

She makes it her business to memorize the little facts about you like your favorite song, season, holiday, snacks, etc.

One day she realizes you always just cook or order food she likes and she has no idea what you personally prefer.

She remembers you talking to your family on the phone once about how much you were craving a particular home-cooked meal.

She's very inexperienced in the kitchen and can barely be trusted with making scrambled eggs, but she feels excited at the thought of surprising you.

She clicks through over a dozen videos before finding one with easy instructions in an understandable accent.

She waits until you're not home to make her grocery run.

So much confusion! Why must there be so many kinds of oil? Does it matter if the salt is kosher or iodized? Why does this produce not look like the produce in the video?

She's used to chopping things for you, but her slices always come out too thick or too thin. This time with extra concentration, she gets them very close to how they look in the video.

"Raaaatid!" - inevitable knife cuts

Constantly opening the oven door or pot lid to check progress so it takes longer to cook.

She decides at the last minute to do a fancy plating like on the cooking competition shows you watch.

You come in as she's trying to rearrange the dish to look more fancy.

Nervousness about what you'll think soon turns into joyfulness because you love it so much.

You're so touched and get carried away with tears and hugs.

You send your family pics of the dish and they comment on how great it looks.

It's the best thing you've ever had 🤎

Defend Ch. 2 | Bodyguard!AU | Koffee x Reader

Summary: You're a district attorney that has been placed under 24/7 security during the investigation of a prominent member of a local gang. You believe the whole situation is blown out of proportion and resent the imperious woman you are entrusted to. Partly due to her teasing, cocky nature, you struggle to take the short-statured woman seriously. Eventually, you not only find yourself seeking her protection but also solace in her company.

Genre: slow-burn romance, fluff, angst

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2265

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and you stepped inside, cautiously peering into the darkness of the house. The air was thick with dust, and a faint musty odor tickled your nose. Your fingers grazed the cold walls as you felt for a light switch, but the only response was the echo of your footsteps on the wood flooring in the empty foyer.

A sudden movement in the darkness sent a shiver down your spine. "Hello? Is someone there?" you called out, your voice wavering slightly. Silence followed. You took a tentative step forward, trying to steady your breathing. Just as you began to relax, something brushed against your leg. You let out a yelp, jumping back in fear.

Mikayla's laughter rang out from behind you, and she flicked on a flashlight, illuminating her amused face. "Jumpin' at shadows, are we?" she teased, her accent slipping into a playful lilt.

You glared at her, trying to regain your composure. "Very funny. What was that?"

Mikayla pointed the flashlight on her keyring at the ground, revealing a stray curtain that had fluttered in the draft. "Nuttin' but a piece of cloth," she said with a grin.

You exhaled deeply, shaking your head. "You really enjoy this, don't you?"

"Maybe a likkle," she admitted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Come on, let's get some lights on and I'll show yuh 'round."

She led the way, her flashlight guiding you through the dimly lit house. The floorboards creaked underfoot, and you could see the outline of old furniture covered in white sheets. Mikayla found a light switch and flicked it on, bathing the room in a warm, yellow glow.

"This place has seen better days," you commented, eyeing the dusty furniture and cobwebbed corners.

Mikayla shrugged. "It’s secure. That’s all that matters."

She led you down a narrow hallway, pointing out various rooms along the way. "Dis here’s the livin' room," she said, pulling back a sheet to reveal a worn-out couch and a rickety coffee table. "An’ over there’s the kitchen."

You peeked into the kitchen, noting the old-fashioned appliances and a small, round table covered in a faded floral tablecloth. "Charming," you said dryly.

Mikayla chuckled. "Come, I'll show yuh the bedrooms."

She guided you up a set of creaky stairs to the second floor. "We have two bedrooms up yah. Dis one a fi yuh," she said, opening a door to reveal a modest room with a queen sized bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The window was covered in dust, but the room looked relatively clean compared to the rest of the house.

"Home sweet home," you muttered, stepping inside to drop your purse on the bed.

Mikayla gestured to the room across the hall. "An’ dat one deh a fi mi. I'm there if you needa help."

You nodded, appreciating the practicality. "Thanks."

She flashed you a smile, her braces glinting in the light. "No worries. Now, sekkle in. I'll be down the stairs."

You watched her disappear, feeling a strange mix of annoyance and gratitude. You were still irritated by the whole situation, but Mikayla's presence was undeniably reassuring. You could not imagine living here alone. You sat down on the edge of the bed, the old springs creaking under your weight.

As you looked around the room, your mind wandered back to the events of the day- being surprised with the security scheme at work in the morning, driving to the capitol to meet with the state attorney, the encounter with Mikayla, and now this house. It all felt surreal, like a strange dream you couldn't wake up from.

You sighed, laying back on the bed and staring up at the cracked ceiling. The quiet of the house settled around you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. Maybe this would all blow over soon, and you could get back to your normal life. But for now, you were stuck here, under the watchful eye of a short, sarcastic soldier with a knack for making you jump at shadows.

But as you lay there, a gnawing hunger pulled you from your thoughts. You realized you hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the thought of food made your stomach rumble. Sighing, you decided to head downstairs and see if there was anything edible in the kitchen.

You descended the stairs, the wood creaking beneath your feet. As you entered the kitchen, the smell of dust and age hit you again. You wrinkled your nose, searching for a light switch. After fumbling around, you found it and flipped it on, illuminating the small, cluttered space.

On the counter, you spotted a few boxes. Curious, you opened them one by one. Inside, you found some of your clothes, some personal items, and, to your relief, a few cleaning products from home. Apparently, someone had thought to bring your essentials here, as promised.

"Great, at least I can clean this place up," you muttered to yourself, pulling out a bottle of all-purpose cleaner and some rags.

As you started to wipe down the countertops, you heard a soft scraping sound coming from the living room. You peeked around the corner and saw Mikayla sitting on the couch, a small piece of wood in her hands. She was carefully whittling it with a knife, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Hey," you called out, stepping into the room. "What are you working on?"

Mikayla glanced up, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I'm makin' a hummingbird."

You watched her hands deftly carve the wood, the shape of a tiny bird beginning to emerge. "That's impressive," you said, genuinely intrigued. "I didn't know you were an artist."

She shrugged modestly. "I wouldn't call myself an artist. Jus' somethin' I do fi pass the time."

You nodded, leaning against the doorway. "Well, I'm going to clean up a bit. This place could use a good scrub."

Mikayla's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Feel free. Yuh don't strike me as the cleanin' type, though."

You laughed. "Shows what you know. I like things tidy."

As you turned back to the kitchen and resumed cleaning, you decided to strike up a conversation. "So, Mikayla, how did you end up in this line of work?"

Mikayla kept whittling, her focus on the hummingbird. "Long story. What about you? Why did yuh decide to become an attorney?"

You paused, not expecting the question to be turned back on you so quickly. "Well, I wanted to make a difference. Help people, you know?"

She nodded, her eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly. "Noble cause. But must be a tough job, especially wit' a case like dis."

"Yeah, it's been...challenging," you admitted, scrubbing harder at a particularly stubborn stain. "What about you? What made you leave the military?"

Mikayla's expression didn't change as she expertly deflected your question. "Life can be unpredictable like that. Dis work keep me on my toes."

You huffed in frustration at her evasiveness but tried a different tack. "Do you have any family?"

She paused, her knife stilling for a moment before she resumed her work. "Everyone has family."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, Miss Mysterious. What about hobbies, besides whittling?"

Mikayla grinned. "I like to play basketball. What about you? Any hobbies?"

You sighed, realizing this conversation was going to be like pulling teeth. "I like to read, mostly legal thrillers. And I bake when I have time."

Her eyes lit up. "Bakin', huh? What's yuh specialty?"

"Chocolate chip cookies," you said with a small smile. "They're my grandma's recipe."

Mikayla nodded approvingly, adding with a suggestively raised eyebrow, "Yuh should make some while we're here."

"Maybe I will," you replied, feeling a bit more at ease. 

You both fell into a comfortable silence after that, the only sounds being the scrape of Mikayla's knife and the swish of your cleaning rag. Despite her guarded nature, you found yourself growing more curious about her. Maybe, in time, she would open up a bit more. For now, you were content to work alongside her in companionable silence, each of you dealing with your own thoughts and demons.

As you finished cleaning the kitchen, you couldn't help but feel a small sense of accomplishment. Downstairs looked much better, and the act of cleaning had helped calm your nerves. You glanced over at Mikayla, who was now carefully smoothing out the edges of the hummingbird.

"Hey, Mikayla," you said, wiping your hands on a towel. "Thanks for...you know, not being as much of a hardass as I thought you were."

She looked up, her expression softening. "No problem." You nodded, feeling a surprising sense of camaraderie with the small but fierce woman. 

With the kitchen now somewhat clean, your stomach growled loudly, reminding you of your earlier hunger. Determined to find something edible, you started raiding the cabinets. Most were empty, but in one, you discovered a hopefully unexpired can of marinara sauce and a box of pasta.

"Better than nothing," you muttered, grabbing the ingredients and setting them on the counter. You filled a pot with water and set it to boil, then opened the can of marinara sauce, pouring it into a small saucepan to heat.

As the water began to bubble, you glanced over at Mikayla, who was still engrossed in her whittling. "Hey, Mikayla, I'm making some pasta. Want some?"

She looked up, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Yuh cook too? Yuh domestic so," she teased, her accent thick with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. "Just trying to make the best of this situation. I hope you like pasta."

She chuckled, setting her whittling aside. "Cyaan be too bad. I don't really cook much."

"Oh, really? Surprising," you replied, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. "A woman of many talents, and yet, cooking isn't one of them."

Mikayla's large brown eyes sparkled with mischief. "Nah, I leave dat to the experts. Besides, it's nice to be taken care of once in a while." 

You couldn't tell if she was being sincere or making fun of you, but you decided to let it slide. "Well, don't get used to it," you said, focusing on stirring the pasta.

As the pasta cooked, you set the table, finding a couple of plates and some mismatched utensils. The simple act of preparing a meal helped you feel a bit more grounded, a small slice of normalcy in the midst of the chaos.

Once the pasta was done, you drained it and mixed in the marinara sauce. You divided the meal between the two plates and carried them to the table. "Dinner is served," you announced, trying to add a bit of cheer to your voice.

Mikayla joined you at the table, eyeing the pasta with a hungry look. "Looks good," she said, taking a forkful. "And it tastes good too."

"Thanks," you replied, a little surprised by the genuine compliment. "I wasn't sure what to expect from these old cans."

She winked at you. "Yuh did well, chef."

You both ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the clinking of forks against plates. Finally, you decided to break the ice. "So, Mikayla, tell me more about this town. It seems pretty isolated."

Mikayla took a sip of water, considering your question. "It's a small town, not much happen here. Mostly farmers and a few small businesses. The house we're in used to belong to an old couple who passed away a few years back. Their children sold it.”

You nodded, taking in the information. "And what about the townspeople? Are they friendly?"

She shrugged. "For the most part, yes. Small-town folk, yuh know? Dem keep to demself but a quick to help out if did need. Jus' stay outta trouble.."

You raised an eyebrow. "Trouble? In a place like this?"

Mikayla winked. "Yuh plenty trouble yuhself."

You couldn't help but feel a bit flustered and clammored before changing the subject. "So, what is there to do for fun around here? Besides whittling tiny birds?"

She chuckled. "Not much, honestly. Maybe I’ll take yuh for walks in the woods or you can read a book. It'll be peaceful."

You took another bite of pasta, mulling over her words. "It sounds...nice. Peaceful is good, considering the circumstances."

She leaned back in her chair, studying you with those sharp, inquisitive eyes. "Yuh don't seem like the type to enjoy peace and quiet. Always on the move, busy working working."

You sighed, realizing she had hit the nail on the head. "Yeah, I guess I am. It's hard to slow down when you're used to the fast pace."

Mikayla nodded in understanding. "Well, maybe dis'll be good for yuh. A chance to breathe, take a step back."

You shrugged. "Maybe. We'll see."

As you finished your meal, you couldn't help but feel a bit more at ease. Despite the rough start, Mikayla was starting to grow on you. Her teasing nature was still annoying, but there was something reassuring about her presence.

"Thanks for the dinner, mama," she said, standing up and collecting the plates. "I'll wash these up."

Your heart beat a little faster at the friendly title. You watched her walk to the sink, surprised by the gesture. "Thanks, Mikayla."

She flashed you a smile over her shoulder. "No problem. Teamwork, right?"

"Right," you replied, feeling a small smile tug at your lips.

As you both settled into a comfortable rhythm of cleaning up, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this arrangement wouldn't be so bad after all.

Previous chapter

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HOW HAVE I NEVER SEEN THIS BEFORE

HELP IM WHEEZING IM HYPERVENTILATING MY EYES ARE WATERING IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH IM SALIVATING WHAT IS GOING ONNNNN

Celebrating Juneteenth with Girlfriend Koffee

Mikayla has never heard of Juneteenth before, but is really excited to learn from you

She has new questions for every new bit of information you share

You start off by making a traditional Southern breakfast that she thoroughly enjoys

She's nervous and reluctant when you ask for help making red velvet cake

You make a joyful, laughter filled mess and give her your cake batter coated finger to test taste

You visit family or call home and she is sure to pay attention to stories and reflections from your elders

The two of you go to a black crafts fair and she supports by picking out handmade jewelry, beadwork, and shirts

Lots of dancing to live music

She loves seeing the dancers and drummers perform in the street

You end the night with a kiss under the fireworks 🥹

Rapture Ch. 1 | Koffee x Reader

Summary: After relocating to Spanish Town, you find yourself being ostracized in university as the frog-obsessed weird girl with no friends. Your educational experience is less than rewarding until you become entangled in the beguiling world of a girl from the basketball team, whose cruel and teasing nature captivates and confounds you. This unexpected connection draws you into a whirlwind of emotions and self-discovery, transforming your path in ways you never imagined.

Genre: Dark-ish romance, fluff, angst, college!au

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2907

A/N: Ah yes, another chapter fic. I worked very hard on this one, dedicating a lot of focus and skill into it. I plan on this story having more conflict, general moodiness, and sexual tension even so it has a different rating from my other stories which are intended to be more humorous and light reads. Also, this time I experimented with all dialogue (minus the reader's) being in Jamaican patois with some American spellings and vocab. Although my family and community are Caribbean, I am not, so what I've written may be rusty. Feel free to correct me. I tried to find a balance between authentic conversation and accessibility. I may come back and make changes as the story progresses. Feedback is appreciated always. Enjoy <3

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright

The science department at the University of Spanish Town was where the word “academia” went to die a slow, painful death. It was lovingly referred to as a social club among the other offices and anyone who knew it would laugh at its facade of molding young minds or pioneering research. The course load was light, deadlines were suggestions at best, and professors often skipped lectures altogether. Most students were either pre-med kids with rich parents or athletes looking for easy grades.

And then there was you, the starry-eyed idealist who thought the university’s environmental science degree would be your ticket to saving the rainforests. At seventeen, you had to move to your grandparents' house in a new city and chose the nearest, cheapest college with an e-sci program. If you’d had friends in your last year of school, they might have warned you about the university’s laid-back reputation. But your social awkwardness kept you in the dark, so here you were, blissfully ignorant and full of naivety.

Orientation felt like a bad sequel to secondary school. You hoped it would be your chance to finally break out of your shell, but nope. Everyone already had their cliques, and no one was interested in befriending the weird girl obsessed with frogs and trees. Professors (though friendly) lacked enthusiasm, lectures turned into casual chats, and your burning questions about conservation were met with bored shrugs. The syllabus promised exciting research and fieldwork, but instead, you were met with worksheets and outdated textbooks. Disillusionment set in fast as you realized you were being robbed of your dream.

“W-what’s the point of all this?” you once blurted out during another wasted lecture. Your voice was louder than you intended, cutting through the quiet chatter of the room. All eyes turned towards you, and you immediately felt the heat of a few dozen stares. Your cheeks burned as you realized what you had done. Professor Thomas looked up from his game of Candy Crush, raising an eyebrow with a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Di point?” he echoed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Mi nuh know- fi mek sure yuh stay outta trouble fi three years?"

The class snickered in unison, the professor’s nonchalant tone adding to your discomfort. You fidgeted in your seat, wishing you could sink into the floor and disappear. The feeling of being exposed and out of place washed over you in waves.

"Trouble? I just want to save the planet," you said, your voice coming out more defensive than you had intended. You could feel the tension in the room change as your classmates looked on with curious amusement.

"Save di planet?" Professor Thomas chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Yuh fi start wid di school first. Yuh ever see di state a di atrium?"

The class erupted in laughter, and your heart sank. You couldn’t help but feel immense regret for your outburst. The momentary courage you had felt evaporated, leaving behind a deep sense of embarrassment. You stared down at your notebook, the lines blurring as tears of frustration welled up in your eyes.

Why did you have to say anything? You berated yourself silently. The professor’s mocking tone and your classmates' laughter played on repeat in your mind. You felt small, insignificant, and utterly alone in a room full of people. The dream of making a difference seemed so far away now, buried under the weight of ridicule and self-doubt.

As the laughter died down, the professor returned to his game, and the class resumed its usual dull rhythm. But for you, the sting of embarrassment lingered. You scribbled aimlessly in your notebook, trying to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of failure. At that moment, the idea of saving the planet seemed not only daunting but almost impossible. How could you make a difference in the world when you couldn’t even stand up for yourself in a classroom?

From then on, you spent your breaks, like today, alone in the atrium while other students hung out in the canteen or on the lawn. The atrium was a small, gloomy courtyard with a wild assortment of shrubs, flowers, and a few young trees. No one had thought to maintain it in years, so vines covered virtually every surface and few of the light fixtures worked. The little jungle had become a place of solace for you amidst the alienating environment of the rest of the school. 

You sat on one of the vine-covered stone benches, knees drawn to your chest as you concentrated on sketching a scientific illustration of a Panamanian golden frog. The little frog waved her four toes, a common strategy to distract predators. You admired her bravery, wishing you had the same confidence to scare off your own bullies. 

Even in college, you were still the target of ridicule. Classmates snickered at your cozy fashion choices, making snide comments about their grandmas owning similar shoes or skirts. Your books had been hidden more than once, and your ideas were almost always shot down as doing too much during group projects.

You became utterly lost in illustrating the world of the little frog, your pencil dancing across the page as you brought her delicate form to life. Each stroke was a whisper of your own soul, etched in graphite and paper. Maybe in some ways, she was like you- a tiny creature fighting against a world that didn't understand her. She and her family were critically endangered, their vibrant green world shrinking day by day due to loss of habitat. You, too, had lost your home, forced to move in with your grandparents in Spanish Town for your final year of secondary school. 

By now, you had named the frog Bertha. The name felt right, a sturdy, old-fashioned one for such a resilient little being. Bertha had been uprooted from her home, just like you, and moved to a foreign terrarium in a desperate bid for preservation. You imagined she felt as lost and alone as you did, staring out at a world that seemed strange and unwelcoming. 

As you added the final touches to the picture, the jarring creak of the heavy iron door and voices shattered the tranquility of your sanctuary. Your head jerked up, heart pounding painfully in your chest. Your eyes darted to the entrance, partially obscured by the overgrown foliage that draped like a tattered curtain. Two figures stumbled into view, their shadows stretching long and distorted across the stone path as the bright light from the hall spilled into the atrium, casting an eerie glow.

It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the shifting light, but soon you recognized the intruders. Mikayla, a sophomore on the basketball team, and Gabriella, a senior biology major, were locked in a heated argument. Their voices were low, yet their words carried a weight that hung heavy in the air, each one dripping with frustration and tension. Mikayla's lean, athletic frame was rigid with barely contained anger, while Gabriella's hands gestured wildly, her usually composed demeanor fraying at the edges.

"Wah deh wrong wid you?" Gabriella demanded, her voice a mix of anger and desperation. Her dark curls framed a face etched with worry, eyes wide and searching. Even across the path, you could see the lines of stress and fatigue on her face.

Mikayla shrugged, her posture nonchalant, almost dismissive. "Nothing de wrong wid me. Yu eva deh overreacting," she said, her tone dripping with disdain. She folded her arms across her chest, her stance defensive and closed off.

Gabriella's face contorted with hurt, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Overreacting? Mi overreacting? Mi cyaa manage dis—mi cyaa manage wid yuh! Mi ave grad school applications, exams—"

"Yeh, and mi ave basketball," Mikayla shot back, her tone turning sharp and icy. "Mi cyaa manage wid yuh drama all di time."

Gabriella took a step back, her expression crumbling. "Mi? Mikayla, yuh know seh dis important fi mi," she said, her voice breaking. The desperation in her tone was clear, each word laced with pain.

Mikayla's eyes flashed with irritation, her jaw clenched tight. "And mi tired a be somebody secret. Duh yu even know o dat feels? Fi act like everything good all di time wen mi a go crazy?" Her voice was rising, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head, unable to form a response. She turned abruptly and hurried back into the building, her sobs echoing in the stillness left behind. The sound tugged at your heart, and you realized with a shock that you hadn’t known they were dating.

For a moment, Mikayla stood there, staring after Gabriella, her short frame silhouetted against the dusty windows. Shadows danced across her face, emphasizing the tension settling into her features. She clenched her fists at her sides, then, with a frustrated curse that echoed through the corridor, she kicked a rock lying on the stone tiles. The small stone skittered across the ground and rolled to a slow stop right by your foot, disrupting the fragile peace of your hidden sanctuary.

You held your breath, heart pounding in your chest, praying she wouldn’t notice you. But it was too late. Her sharp eyes, glinting with a mix of anger and surprise, locked onto yours. Time seemed to freeze, tension thick in the air. The silence was a heavy blanket, smothering and suffocating, as Mikayla's gaze bore into you.

She walked over, each step deliberate and measured, the sound of her sneakers echoing on the ground like a drumbeat in the quiet space. When she stopped in front of you, her gaze dropped to your sketchbook. For a long, excruciating moment, she just stood there, staring intently at the detailed drawing. Her expression softened, the harsh lines of anger and frustration melting away, replaced by something almost like curiosity, or perhaps some form of disbelief.

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable, as if the very air was holding its breath. You could feel the weight of her presence, the heat of her barely contained emotions radiating off her in waves. Finally, Mikayla straightened, her cat-like brown eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps, or maybe just a hint of understanding—in her gaze. It sent a wave of heat through your body that settled into the pit of your stomach. 

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile, the metal of her braces catching the dim light and glinting menacingly. It was a smile that held no warmth, only a cold amusement. She said nothing, her silence louder than any words could have been. Instead, she casually turned on her heel in a relaxed motion and left the atrium, her footsteps fading into the distance, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and your sketches.

As her footsteps faded, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The atrium seemed to return to its quiet self, but something had shifted. You glanced down at Bertha, her tiny feet perfectly drawn on the page. Maybe, like her, you could have found a way to stand up for yourself just now.

Why didn’t I say anything? Why did I just sit there like a scared rabbit? you thought, frustration bubbling up inside you. The encounter left you rattled, but also strangely intrigued. You also thought about what could have driven Mikayla to such cruelty and why had Gabriela been keeping their relationship a secret. Furthermore, you wondered why Mikayla looked at your sketchbook with such intensity. 

The questions swirled in your mind, mingling with the lingering echoes of their argument. You gathered your belongings and stood, brushing off your corduroy skirt. I should have done something. Said something you berated yourself. The atrium felt different now, as if the air itself had absorbed the tension of the confrontation. You took one last look around before heading to your next class, your mind still buzzing with the unexpected drama you had witnessed. In a place where you often felt invisible, today you had been a silent observer to a moment of raw human emotion, and it pathetically left you feeling more disconnected and confused than ever.

It had been days since the encounter in the atrium. Today, the sky was blanketed by gray rain that drizzled steadily outside. You sat in the corner next to a window, your tray of lunch untouched beside you, engrossed in sketching a white-lipped tree frog. The rhythmic patter of rain against the glass provided a soothing backdrop to your thoughts, lulling you into a comfortable daze.

The canteen buzzed with the low hum of conversations, but you were lost in your own world, the frog's delicate form taking shape under your pencil. You meticulously added the tiny ridges along its back, the subtle curve of its legs. The drawing was almost complete when your peace was abruptly shattered.

Three trays clattered down on the table, and you jerked your head up in surprise. Mikayla, along with two other girls from the basketball team, had joined you. Lila, a cool senior who always seemed to be the center of attention, and Jaz, a junior who was perpetually giggly, were already deep in conversation as they approached. The three girls brought a whirlwind of energy with them, disrupting the tranquil bubble you had created.

"Eh, de sumady here?" Lila asked rhetorically, plopping down without waiting for an answer. Her auburn ‘fro was pulled into a puff, and her cheeks were still splashed with rain from outside. She glanced at your sketchbook with mild curiosity before dismissing it entirely. 

Jaz slid into the seat next to you, her tray clinking with a loud metallic scrape. Mikayla, her dark locs parted into two French braids, sat across from you. She gave you a brief nod, her expression unreadable. You hadn’t seen her since the strange encounter in the atrium and felt antsy being so close now.

They continued chatting and eating as if you weren't there, their laughter and banter filling the space between you. Lila was recounting a particularly amusing incident from practice, her hands animated as she spoke. Jaz laughed heartily, her voice ringing out above the din of the cafeteria. Mikayla smiled a bit but seemed more reserved, her eyes occasionally drifting towards you.

You felt a pang of anxiety, your mind scrambling for a way to escape the situation. Just as you were about to gather your things, Lila turned to you.

"Yu waan that?" she asked, picking up an apple from your tray with a mischievous grin. The green fruit was polished to a shine, and its crisp, tangy scent wafted over the table.

Before you could respond, Mikayla scowled at Lila. "Lila, yuh too rude! Yu cyaan jus thief from di gyal!" Her voice had a sharp edge to it, and her eyes flashed with a warning. Then, with a dramatic flourish, Mikayla snatched the apple from Lila's hand and took a bite herself. The crisp crunch echoed in the brief silence before the whole table erupted in laughter, the sound ringing in your ears.

You forced a smile, your heart pounding. The conversation shifted again, leaving you feeling even more out of place. Lila and Jaz resumed their animated discussion about the upcoming basketball game, their voices blending into the background noise of the cafeteria. Just as you were about to retreat back into your sketchbook, Jaz turned to you.

"Yaah a come tuh si wi tonight?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and she leaned in closer, her braids falling in loose waves around her face.

You hesitated, glancing nervously between the three girls. "Um, I wasn't planning to," you mumbled, your fingers tightening around your pencil. Your sketchbook suddenly felt like a flimsy shield against the social whirlwind.

"Nuh, yuh a guh ave fun- mi swear yuh a guh fulljoy it!" Jaz encouraged, her smile genuine. Her eyes were warm and inviting, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of hope.

Mikayla chuckled, the sound making you flinch. "Yeah, yu haffi come. Yu shud try mek friend dem fi once," she said, her tone teasing. Her eyes met yours briefly, and you saw a flicker of something—was it amusement or something else entirely?

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. The rest of the lunch break passed in a blur of awkwardness and forced conversation. The girls gossiped about their teammates, shared inside jokes, and included you in their banter a few times, though you mostly nodded and smiled, feeling like an outsider looking in.

Eventually, Lila and Jaz stood to leave, tossing casual goodbyes over their shoulders. Mikayla lingered behind, her eyes fixed on you. The cafeteria seemed to fade into the background, the noise dulling as she looked at you with a seriousness that caught you off guard.

"Mi expec tuh si yu tonight, Miss" she said directly, her voice holding a note of challenge. "Mi waan fi si yu deh.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving you with a swirling mix of emotions. You sat there for a moment, staring at the half-eaten apple on the table. Why had she invited you? What did she want? The questions gnawed at you, making it hard to concentrate as you gathered your things and left the canteen.

Table of Contents

Next Chapter

Defend | Bodyguard!AU | Koffee x Reader

Summary: You're a district attorney that has been placed under 24/7 security during the investigation of a prominent member of a local gang. You believe the whole situation is blown out of proportion and resent the imperious woman you are entrusted to. Partly due to her teasing, cocky nature, you struggle to take the short-statured woman seriously. Eventually, you not only find yourself seeking her protection but also solace in her company.

Genre: Slow-burn romance, fluff, angst

Rating: PG-13

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Defend Ch. 3 | Bodyguard!AU | Koffee x Reader

Summary: You're a district attorney that has been placed under 24/7 security during the investigation of a prominent member of a local gang. You believe the whole situation is blown out of proportion and resent the imperious woman you are entrusted to. Partly due to her teasing, cocky nature, you struggle to take the short-statured woman seriously. Eventually, you not only find yourself seeking her protection but also solace in her company.

Genre: slow-burn romance, fluff, angst

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2205

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright

The heavy wooden door swung shut behind you with a resounding thud, echoing the anger pulsating through your veins. The assistant district attorney, Alecia Grey, sat casually at her desk, a forkful of shrimp lo mein poised halfway to her mouth as she glanced up from her lunch. Curls of her auburn afro fell over her eyes, giving her a devil-may-care appearance that only fueled your frustration.

"I’mma call you back bae," she murmured into her phone, the words dripping with insincerity as she clicked the red button and set it aside. She leaned back, feigning innocence as if nothing was amiss, before casually folding her hands in her lap.

"Good afternoon, ma’am," she began with mock politeness, her tone oozing with condescension. "Did you go for lunch yet? I believe there’s still some donuts in the breakr-"

"Cut the shit, Grey," you snapped, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. Alecia's raised eyebrow was a challenge you couldn't resist as you continued your tirade, finger pointing in accusation. "You went behind my back and whined to the police chief and your uncle down at the courthouse and went forward with the charges knowing I wanted to wait to hear back from Thomas’ ex-wife first. Go outside and look at the name on those doors, jackass. This is the district attorney’s office, and you work for me, not the other way around."

Alecia's response was infuriatingly calm as she rose from her seat, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor like the ticking of a time bomb. She circled her desk slowly, picking up the snowglobe beside her and shifting it from hand to hand in indifference.

"You’re right, ma’am," she replied, her smile twisting into something sinister. "This is the DA’s office. Too bad I don’t see one around here.” She glanced dramatically around as if to search, her curls bouncing as her head moved.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate. Each word spoken added fuel to the fire burning inside you, igniting a rage that threatened to consume everything in its path. But beneath the anger, there was a sense of betrayal that cut even deeper. Alecia was more than just a subordinate; she was supposed to be an ally, someone you could trust to have your back. And yet, there she was, undermining you at every turn.

As the confrontation reached its peak, you felt the weight of your authority pressing down on you, a reminder of the power you held in that office. But Alecia's defiance was like a slap in the face, a challenge you couldn't ignore. With every fiber of your being, you were determined to assert your authority and put Alecia back in her place.

"I knew you were a cheap hustler the first time you double-crossed me," you continued, your voice seething with venom, "but I didn’t think you were delusional on top of it all."

Alecia's facade faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she quickly regained her composure. She tilted her head, the movement almost mocking as she regarded you with a cool detachment.

"Is that so, ma’am?" she replied, her voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "And here I thought I was just doing my job. Silly me."

Your fists clenched at your sides, the urge to lash out almost overwhelming. But you knew better than to let Alecia see you lose control. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to rein in your emotions, to hold onto the last shreds of composure you had left.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Grey," you warned, your voice low and dangerous. "But mark my words, it's a game you won't win."

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the office, leaving Alecia behind with nothing but the echo of your words ringing in her ears. The anger burned hot inside you, a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path. But amidst the flames, there was a determination, a resolve to fight back against those who sought to undermine you. 

Lieutenant Simpson rose quickly from her seat in the lobby at the sight of you departing. The tails of her long black trench coat flapped behind her.  You could hear the loud slap of her oxfords on the linoleum as she trailed you. You ignored the sound of her voice, your mind racing with plans and strategies, each one more ruthless than the last. You knew you couldn't let Alecia get the upper hand, couldn't let her think she had won. No, you would fight tooth and nail to protect your position, to uphold the integrity of the office you had been working so hard to build.

After making it all the way down to the parking garage, a sinking feeling washed over you as you realized your keys were nowhere to be found. Panic clawed at the edges of your mind as you frantically searched your pockets, but it was no use. You had left them sitting on your desk in your haste to confront Alecia.

Cursing under your breath, you made a split-second decision and bolted out onto the street, hoping to catch a cab before you lost your zeal. But as you stepped out into the bustling cityscape, you felt a firm hand grasp your arm, pulling you back with surprising strength.

"Yow! Easy nuh!" Mikayla exclaimed, her voice urgent as she tried to steer you back towards the bureau. But you were beyond reason, your mind consumed by a single-minded determination to confront Chief McNaughton and assert dominance.

Ignoring Mikayla's protests, you shook off her grip and continued on your path, your anger driving you forward with reckless abandon. Your breath came in quick, sharp bursts, and your heart pounded in your chest. The city streets buzzed with activity, but all of it faded into the background as you focused on finding a cab.

You stepped to the edge of the curb, thrusting your hand out to hail a taxi. The heat of the day pressed down on you, mixing with the fire of your anger, making your skin prickle with irritation. The noise of the traffic and the chatter of pedestrians barely registered as you scanned the street for a cab.

A black truck turned the corner, its engine growling. Something about it caught your attention, a sense of unease prickling at the back of your mind. The truck slowed as it approached, the windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see inside. You frowned, still keeping your hand out, hoping for a cab to appear.

Suddenly, the truck’s window began to roll down. Your unease flared into full-blown alarm, but before you could react, Mikayla’s arms wrapped around you with surprising strength. Her grip was firm and unyielding, her muscles tensed with a readiness that spoke of her training and resolve. She tackled you to the ground in one swift, fluid motion, her body shielding yours.

As you hit the pavement, the impact jarred your senses, but all you could focus on was Mikayla's presence enveloping you. Her arms were like bands of steel, strong and unyielding, but there was also a gentleness in the way she held you, as if she were cradling something precious. Her fingers pressed into your shoulders with a fierce protectiveness, their warmth seeping through your clothes and into your skin.

Her body molded to yours, her chest pressed firmly into your back, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breath. It was erratic, yet comforting, a reminder that she was right there with you, sharing the danger. The warmth of her body against yours contrasted sharply with the cold, hard ground beneath you, creating a cocoon of heat and safety.

The feel of her curves against you was both a revelation and a comfort. You could feel every contour of her form, from the softness of her breasts pressed against your back to the firm, toned muscles of her legs entwined with yours. Her embrace was all-encompassing, wrapping you in a sense of security that was almost intoxicating.

"Stay down!" she growled in your ear, her voice urgent and commanding.

Her breath was hot and ragged against you, each exhale a mix of exertion and determination. The scent of her skin, a mix of faint cologne and something uniquely her, filled your senses, grounding you amidst the chaos. Her presence was overwhelming, her power wrapping around you like a lifeline.

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only Mikayla’s touch, the heat of her body, and the fierce determination in her hold. The sound of her heart pounding against your back, her strength, and the protective cocoon she formed around you created a surreal sense of security.

Then, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the moment. Bullets whizzed overhead, striking the ground and nearby cars, sending sparks and shards of glass flying. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the scent of hot asphalt and your own sweat. 

Screams filled the air as people scattered in every direction, the street descending into pandemonium. The chaos was overwhelming, each second stretching into an eternity as you felt the vibrations of each gunshot through the ground beneath you. Mikayla’s body shielded you from the violence, her presence a barrier against the chaos.

The truck sped off, tires screeching as it disappeared around the corner. The gunfire ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

You tried to rise, but Mikayla pushed her weight against you in a way that felt unexpectedly sensual, her body pressing intimately against yours. "Wull on, mama… Mi nuh think it safe yet," she murmured, her breath warm against your ear. You stayed on the ground, feeling the tension in her muscles as she remained alert, scanning the surroundings for any further threats.

After what felt like an eternity, Mikayla slowly eased up, her vigilance not waning. "Now," she whispered, her voice a blend of caution and assurance. She helped you up, her touch lingering, her hands gentle yet firm. She wrapped your arm over her shoulder and gripped your hip to lean you against her for support. Together, you hurried back inside the building, moving away from the vulnerable glass windows.

Once inside, Mikayla frantically checked you for injuries, her hands moving over every inch of you. Her touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as she worriedly asked, "Yuh aright? Yuh nuh feel nuh pain? Yuh hurt?"

Her concern was palpable, her warm brown eyes wide with fear and care. You were entranced by the intensity of her attention, feeling a profound sense of being cared for like never before. Her hands moved over your shoulders, down your arms, across your back, and around your waist, her touch both clinical and tender.

"I'm fine, really," you managed to say, your voice shaky. "Thanks to you."

Mikayla's hands stilled on your shoulders, her eyes locking onto yours. "Yuh frighten mi," she exasperated, her voice filled with emotion. The sincerity in her words and the warmth in her touch created a moment of profound connection. “Yuh gwine tek tings serious now?"

Your heart raced as Mikayla's words sank in, her accent adding a raw, earnest edge to her plea. The chaos of the past few minutes contrasted starkly with the intimacy of the moment, leaving you reeling.

"I—" you began, your voice faltering as you met her intense gaze. Her eyes held a mix of fear, concern, and something deeper, something you couldn't quite name but felt acutely.

You took a deep breath, the weight of her question pressing on you. "Yes," you said finally, your voice steadying. "Yes, Lieutenant Simpson. I will. I know I need to."

Her hands remained on your shoulders, grounding you. The anger and adrenaline from earlier were replaced by a different kind of intensity, one that connected you to her in a way you hadn't anticipated. You placed your hand over hers, feeling the warmth of her skin against yours.

"I didn't realize how much I was risking," you admitted, your voice softening. "But I do now. And I promise, I won't take this lightly again."

Mikayla's expression softened, a hint of relief washing over her features. She nodded, her grip on your shoulders tightening briefly before she let go. "Good," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She laughed softly adding, "Cah mi cyaan lose yuh yet."

The sincerity of her words and the way she looked at you created a moment of profound connection. You realized then that this wasn't just about the danger you faced—it was about the infatuation you were starting to develop that was growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the sirens of approaching police cars began to wail in the distance, you realized just how close you had come to disaster. The danger was real, but so was the support and affection you felt from Mikayla. In that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, having Mikayla by your side was a blessing you couldn’t afford to take for granted again.

Previous chapter

Rapture Ch. 2 | Koffee x Reader

Genre: Dark-ish romance, fluff, angst, college!au

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6073

A/N: And just like that, I’m back again like I never left. Sorry guys, I’ve been busy with work and traveling. I feel like I rarely have time to my self to do the things I enjoy most like writing and connecting with our tiny little innocent bubble of black queerness and fangirling. Hopefully, I may have more time for writing as we approach the colder months and spend more time inside. I hope this update was worth the wait. Tell me if you enjoyed it ❤️

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright @onyxstones-world

The thick humidity of the evening air clung to your skin, leaving a remnant of the rain that had passed earlier. You stood inside the athletics building, your footsteps echoing faintly in the empty lobby. The whitewashed brick walls seemed to press closer with each passing moment, their rough surface catching the dim glow of the overhead lights. A large banner for the night’s basketball game hung on the wall. Its bold letters contrasted starkly against the deepening darkness outside. The faint smell of old rubber and disinfectant lingered in the air, worsening your growing discomfort. 

You hesitated, eyes fixed on the entrance of the basketball court. The iron handles of the glass doors glinted coldly as if to signal danger. Laughter and chatter seeped through them providing a muffled vibrancy against the stillness. Your feet shifted on the linoleum tiles, the soft scrape of your shoes the only sound breaking the silence. 

Just as you steeled yourself to go inside, a handful of girls swept through the entrance, their arrival shattering your quiet contemplation. Dressed in their colorful game day best, they walked past, each giving a cursory glance at your leather shoes and corduroy skirt. You thought you heard a scoff from one of them as another’s lips curled in obvious disdain. They looked back at one another, eyes meeting knowingly before a round of snickers followed. Heat rushed to your cheeks, a familiar sting of humiliation rising with it. Your throat seemed to close and your clothes suddenly became too hot and itchy.

Overwhelmed with the need to escape, you turned abruptly, footsteps echoing down the empty corridor. Tears blurred your vision, quickly wiped away as frustration tightened in your chest. Your hurried steps carried you down the corridor, past walls adorned with banners and the faint reflections of polished glass. As you brushed by, the gleam of a trophy cabinet caught your attention, pulling you from your retreat. A large group photo hung just above the shiny awards, each face captured in a moment of triumph.

But it was Mikayla who held your attention. In the photograph, her smile was wide, almost playful, her warm brown eyes sparkling with a joy that felt foreign compared to the cold, brooding presence she exuded before. Her locs, normally pulled back in a tight ponytail, fell loosely around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her seem almost ethereal. Seeing her like this—a version of Mikayla that felt freer, less guarded—struck a chord deep within you. The image was so different, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver down your spine, like the flutter of a wing brushing against your skin.

The feelings of rejection and frustration that had driven you to leave began to waver, replaced by something warmer, more uncertain. The memory of her voice, calm yet charged with an energy that seemed to hum between the two of you, replayed in your mind. Her eyes, intense and searching, had held yours just a moment too long earlier in the day, and now that gaze lingered in your thoughts, beckoning you.

You found yourself rooted to the spot, the sound of your breathing the only thing filling the silence. The corridor, once a place of escape, now felt like a threshold—one you weren’t sure you wanted to cross. The pull to go back was almost magnetic, an invisible thread tugging at your heart, leading you towards the gymnasium. The irony of it all wasn’t lost on you. Moments ago, you were desperate to flee, yet now, the thought of walking away felt impossible.

With a slow, deliberate breath, you turned, feet moving almost of their own accord. The sound of the crowd grew louder as you approached the entrance once more, the noise a distant echo of the emotions swirling within you. The earlier gloom still hung in the air, but now it was tinged with something else—an anxious anticipation, a small flicker of hope.

Stepping into the gymnasium, you were immediately struck by the charged atmosphere. The space, though modest in size, thrummed with the low murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. The bleachers, dotted with small clusters of spectators, displayed the familiar clash of school colors, each group a loyal island amidst the sea of seats. The turnout was decent, not overwhelmingly crowded, but enough to give the room a steady, vibrant hum. You noticed a few players beginning to exit the locker room, their sneakers quietly marking their arrival on the glossy court.

Your eyes swept over the bleachers, searching for an open seat, but your attention snagged on something far more captivating. There, just beyond the court's edge, stood Mikayla and Jaz. Mikayla’s basketball shorts, though loose, offered a glimpse of her toned thighs, catching the light with each subtle movement. The way the light played off her jersey brought out the contours of her smooth, brown arms, each movement rippling with a quiet power. A surge of heat bloomed in your chest, spreading swiftly, igniting every nerve. The gymnasium seemed to shrink around you, the hum of the crowd fading into dull white noise. Only the pulse of your heart remained, each beat syncing with the rhythm of Mikayla’s movements.

Mikayla and Jaz stood close, their conversation low but intense. Jaz’s expression was calm, she stared directly at her teammate as if absorbing every word, while Mikayla’s gaze darted around the gymnasium, her lips moving rapidly, like she was rattling off thoughts too quickly to contain. When her eyes met yours, your breath caught in your throat. Her initial look of restlessness melted into one of surprise, and you felt a sudden, almost dizzying rush of warmth. Her warm brown eyes seemed to hold a glimmer of recognition and curiosity as they locked onto you. She blinked, her gaze flickering away momentarily before snapping back with renewed intensity, her eyebrows lifting slightly in a mix of surprise and intrigue. The movement was swift yet deliberate, as if she was trying to confirm that what she saw was real. At the onslaught of her double-take, your heart skipped a beat. The impact of her lingering look made the room feel as if it were tilting. For a moment, everything else faded, leaving just the two of you in a silent exchange. Her lips parted slightly, and a small, knowing smile curved her mouth, sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, Mikayla lifted a hand, her finger pointing toward an empty seat in the front row. The gesture was subtle, almost casual, but it felt like a silent command, forcing your legs to march towards the seat as if you were controlled by puppet strings. 

As you approached the front row, your legs felt like jelly, each step heavier than the last. Your nerves buzzed, your hands instinctively finding each other in your lap, fingers twisting and pulling as you sat down. You felt tense with Mikayla and Jaz standing in front of you. The bleachers beneath you were cool and hard, but all you could focus on was the fluttering in your chest and the warmth spreading across your face. You tried to steady your breathing, but the faint tremor in your hands betrayed your efforts.

"Yow, mi glad yuh show up and support!” Jaz’s voice broke through your swirling thoughts, her tone bright and genuine. You turned to look up at her, your eyes widening slightly at her enthusiasm. Her smile was warm, and you couldn’t help but mirror it, a nervous giggle slipping past your lips.

“Y-yeah, of course,” you replied, your voice tinged with a shyness that you couldn’t quite shake. The words felt awkward on your tongue, but Jaz’s kindness put you at ease, if only a little.

But even as you focused on Jaz, you could feel Mikayla’s gaze boring into you, intense and unyielding. It was as if she were trying to read your thoughts, her brown eyes fixed on you with a concentration that made your skin tingle. You could barely bring yourself to glance her way, afraid of what you might see in her expression, yet irresistibly drawn to her all the same. The weight of her stare made your heart race, the air between you thick with an unspoken tension that made it hard to sit still.

Mikayla’s intense gaze finally broke as a teasing smile tugged at the corner of her lips, the glint of her silver braces catching the light. She leaned in slightly, her voice low but laced with a playful edge. “Yuh betta not have skipped out, or else,” she said, her tone carrying just a hint of a challenge. Her eyes glinted with something unreadable, making your heart skip a beat.

She straightened up, her smile widening as she added, “And make sure yuh stay yahso in dat seat, the whole time.” The words were delivered with a lightness that made you blush, but there was an underlying seriousness that sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded quickly, too flustered to trust your voice, and her grin only deepened, as if she enjoyed seeing you squirm

Mikayla’s teasing smile lingered as she tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Remember what mi say,” she said, her tone curt but laced with a playful edge. Just as she turned to rejoin Jaz, her fingers brushed lightly through your hair, ruffling it with a gentle but deliberate motion.

Caught off guard by the unexpected gesture, you instinctively leaned into Mikayla's touch. The gentle touch felt unexpectedly soothing, each movement sending a tingling warmth through you. The world around you seemed to blur, the sounds of the gymnasium fading into a white noise. You were enveloped in a hazy bubble of bliss, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth as you let yourself savor the contact. For a moment, you were lost in a daydream, the warmth of her hand lingering longer than you realized. The sensation was so captivating that you barely registered the sound of Jaz clearing her throat, a subtle reminder of the world that still existed beyond this fleeting, personal encounter.

It wasn’t until you registered the noise through your daydream that you snapped back to reality. Your cheeks burned as you suddenly became aware of how long you’d been leaning into Mikayla’s touch, a wave of embarrassment crashing over you. You fumbled awkwardly, your fingers twitching in your lap as you tried to regain some semblance of composure. When you dared to look up, Mikayla’s gaze met yours with a mixture of dark satisfaction and cruel curiosity, reminiscent of the look she’d given you in the atrium. Her lips curled into a mocking smirk, and you could feel her pleasure in your discomfort. The sting of your humiliation made you wish you could vanish into the bleacher beneath you.

Mikayla lingered for a moment longer, her smirk deepening as she savored your reaction. As she straightened up to leave, she tossed a casual, almost offhand remark over her shoulder, “Try not to miss me too much.”

The words hung in the air, playful but laced with that familiar teasing edge. Your stomach flipped, and all you could do was nod dumbly as she and Jaz turned to join the other players. The sound of their retreating footsteps echoed in your ears, leaving you in a haze of mortification and longing.

Soon the game began and unfolded in a blur, the fast-paced movements of the players blending into a whirlwind of action that you struggled to keep up with. The ball flew across the court, sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, and the crowd's cheers rose and fell like waves, but the rules and strategies remained a mystery to you. Despite your confusion, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the players, especially Mikayla. She moved with a grace and confidence that was mesmerizing, each shot she made sending the crowd into a frenzy. You found yourself caught up in the excitement, admiring how cool and composed she looked, even in the heat of the game. But then, after one particularly impressive shot, Mikayla turned and, to your utter shock, winked at you. The gesture was so unexpected, so out of place amidst the intensity of the game, that you felt a jolt of disbelief. Your heart skipped a beat, leaving you even more confused and flustered than before, as the reality of what just happened sank in.

As the buzzer signaled the end of the game, the scoreboard flashed a decisive 60-25. The crowd erupted, voices echoing off the gymnasium walls. Players began to gather around Mikayla, their faces lit with excitement and admiration, clearly impressed by her game-winning shots.

Amid the celebration, Mikayla’s attention seemed to waver. Her eyes flickered across the court, her brow furrowing slightly as she focused on something—or someone—in the distance. Following her gaze, you noticed Gabriella slipping out of the gym, her arm causally linked with a guy you recognized as a TA for one of the science college professors. Mikayla’s expression darkened, her triumphant aura dimming just a shade as she watched them leave.

After the game, you thought about gathering your things and slipping out unnoticed. The thrill of the evening was wearing off, leaving you with a nervous energy that made your legs restless. As you rose from the bleachers, however, your eyes unintentionally drifted to where the basketball players were huddled around their coach. Mikayla stood among them, her arms crossed, and to your surprise, she was glaring directly at you. The intensity of her stare made you freeze, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d done something wrong.

Unsure of how to respond, you awkwardly fidgeted before deciding to sit back down. You pulled out the fantasy romance novel you’d been reading and flipped it open, trying to shake off the weirdness of the situation. The familiar words on the page began to draw you in, pulling you away from the gymnasium and into a world of castles, enchanted forests, and epic quests.

The heroine of your story was a damsel in distress, caught in a perilous web of dark magic and sinister warlocks. As you read, your mind wandered, and you began to imagine yourself in her place, heart pounding as she awaited her fate. But in your version of the story, the hero wasn’t just any knight— for some reason it was Mikayla. You couldn’t help but to picture her riding in on a sleek, black horse, her eyes fierce and determined, cutting through the mist like a blade. She would charge straight into battle, her silver armor gleaming, and with a single sweep of her sword, she would rescue you from the clutches of danger. The image of Mikayla as the powerful, fearless arknight brought a flush to your cheeks, making it harder to focus on the words in front of you. Lost in the fantasy, you didn’t even notice when the huddle broke up, and the players began to disperse.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over your book, and before you could react, it was snatched right out of your hands. You blinked, startled, and looked up to see Mikayla standing in front of you, her expression unreadable as she examined the cover. Panic set in as you scrambled to your feet, or at least tried to—Mikayla’s hand shot out, and she placed it firmly on the top of your head, holding you down with a shocking ease.

“Hey—give it back!” you protested, your voice shaky as you tried to push against her grip. But it was no use; her hand kept you anchored to the bleacher, your attempts to stand only making you feel more helpless and humiliated.

Mikayla barely glanced at you, her attention focused on the open book in her other hand. With a slow, deliberate smile, she began to read aloud from the page you’d been on, her voice dripping with amusement. “‘Lady Elowen’s lips brushed against the damsel Seraphina’s, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and unspoken desires. The knight’s hands, strong yet tender, cradled Seraphina’s face, pulling her closer as the world around them faded, leaving only the warmth of their embrace…’”

Your face flushed with mortification as the words echoed in the near-empty gymnasium, Mikayla’s teasing tone making your heart race with both embarrassment and something else—something you couldn’t quite place. You squirmed under her hold, but she only pressed down slightly harder, making it clear that she wasn’t finished with her little game. You could hardly bring yourself to look at her, your eyes darting anywhere but those mischievous brown eyes, now alight with cruel satisfaction.

The scene felt painfully familiar, a humiliating echo of when your classmates had laughed at you in Professor Thomas' class and all the other times you were laughed at for having ‘weird’ interests. Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, and despite your best efforts to hold them back, one slipped free, tracing a hot path down your cheek.

Mikayla’s teasing smile faltered as she caught sight of your tear. She paused, lowering the book slightly, and for a moment, the playful glint in her eyes was replaced by something else. Without a word, she stepped closer, her taunting demeanor evaporating. She reached out and grabbed your face, her fingers cool against your flushed skin as she lifted your chin, forcing you to look up at her.

“Awah wrong with yuh?” she asked, her tone now laced with a soft curiosity, the sharp edge gone. Her thumb brushed away the tear on your cheek, and the intensity of her gaze made your heart pound.

You wanted to pull away, to hide from the vulnerability of the moment, but Mikayla’s grip on your chin was firm, holding you in place. The closeness was overwhelming, her fingers pressing gently against your skin, and the unexpected shift in her gaze—focused, almost concerned—left you feeling even more exposed. The sting of the past mingled with the confusion of the present, making you feel small and unsure, just like when your classmates had laughed at you before.

Tears began to fall more freely now, and your breath hitched as you tried to speak through the lump in your throat. “I know you’re just going to laugh at me,” you choked out, your voice trembling with anxiety. “Like everyone else does. I know I’m weird, but I don’t deserve to be made fun of.”

The words tumbled out in a desperate rush, each one pulling at the raw edges of your emotions. You couldn’t meet Mikayla’s eyes, afraid of the ridicule you were sure was coming. The admission felt like a wound laid bare, exposing the pain you’d tried so hard to keep hidden, and the fear that it would only be met with more cruelty.

Mikayla kissed her teeth, a sound of frustration mixed with disbelief. “Why yuh think mi a mek fun of yuh?” she chided, her voice sharp but not unkind. Her fingers, still holding your chin, moved to wipe away the fresh tears streaking down your cheeks. 

“You a mad mi,” she muttered, more to herself than to you, her tone softening as she brushed away the last of your tears with her thumb. The question hung in the air, leaving you feeling even more bewildered as you searched her face for answers, finding only a confusing mix of emotions.

You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat as you forced out a meek apology. “I’m sorry… I just… don’t understand,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Why don’t you want to make fun of me? And… why did you make me come to this game?”

Your question hung between you, the uncertainty in your voice evident as you searched Mikayla’s face, trying to piece together her intentions. The confusion in your mind swirled with the remnants of your tears, leaving you vulnerable and exposed, waiting for an answer that might finally make sense of everything.

“Wah? Yuh think mi a bun yuh out fi dis? You take me for hypocrite?”

You hesitated before asking, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you talking about… you and Gabriella?”

Mikayla’s reaction was immediate—she rolled her eyes, a dismissive scoff escaping her lips. “Gabriella is nothing to me,” she said with an almost bored tone. Then, without warning, she sat down beside you, her shoulder brushing against yours as she turned to face you more directly. “She nothing like you,” Mikayla continued, her voice softening. “You… You’re nice… kind… sensitive.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, a mix of confusion and disbelief flooding your mind. You opened your mouth to ask what exactly she meant by that, but before you could get the words out, the gymnasium lights suddenly flickered and went out, plunging the space into darkness.

The abruptness of it made you jump, the echo of the light switch’s click reverberating in the empty gym. You couldn’t see much in the dark, but you felt Mikayla’s presence beside you, closer than before. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts, the earlier tension replaced by something you couldn’t quite name.

Your breath caught in your throat as the darkness swallowed the gym, leaving you disoriented and uneasy. The stillness was unnerving, and for a moment, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in the vast, empty space.

But then, a soft beam of light pierced the darkness, and you turned to see Mikayla holding her phone, the flashlight illuminating her face in the otherwise pitch-black gym. She looked at you with a calmness that was almost reassuring, her earlier teasing gone.

“Come on,” Mikayla said, her voice steady as she reached out, grabbing you gently by the shoulders. You nodded, feeling your heart race, not from fear, but from the closeness of her touch. She guided you forward, her grip firm as she led you through the dark gym. 

The quiet shuffle of your footsteps echoed in the empty space as Mikayla steered you toward a door at the side of the gym. You barely registered where you were going, too focused on the warmth of her hands on your shoulders and the sense of safety it brought.

Mikayla pushed open the door, leading you into a smaller room—a coach’s office, by the looks of it. The room was cluttered with paperwork, sports equipment, and a desk strewn with notes. As soon as you stepped inside, Mikayla flicked on the light switch, filling the room with a warm, soft glow.

The sudden brightness made you squint, but as your eyes adjusted, you found yourself standing in the center of the room, Mikayla still holding onto you. The quiet hum of the overhead lights felt oddly comforting after the darkness, and the small space was a stark contrast to the vast emptiness of the gym.

As Mikayla pulled out a few chairs, the tension in your shoulders began to ease, replaced by a tentative sense of curiosity. She motioned for you to sit in the rolling chair behind the desk, and though you hesitated at first, the firm yet playful look in her eyes left little room for argument. You sank into the chair, the worn leather cool against your skin, while Mikayla settled into the chair across from you, crossing her legs with a casual grace. 

She clasped her hands in her lap, adopting a serious expression that contrasted with the mischievous glint in her eyes. It almost felt like she was conducting an interview, and you couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. With a dramatic flair, Mikayla cleared her throat, leaning forward slightly as if preparing to delve into something incredibly important.

“So, Miss…” she began, pausing for effect. Her tone was mock-serious, and she held your gaze, drawing out the moment. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to be very honest with me.”

A nervous chuckle bubbled up from your throat, and you tried to play along, though the weight of her stare made you fumble for words. “W-well, if this is a job interview, I should probably mention that I have a really bad habit of, um… overwatering my houseplants. They’re more like fish at this point.”

You winced internally, cringing at the corny joke that had somehow made its way out of your mouth. A flush crept up your neck, and you avoided looking directly at Mikayla, half-expecting her to roll her eyes. Instead, her lips twitched into a small, amused smile, the seriousness in her demeanor cracking just a little.

Mikayla smirked at your corny joke, but her eyes sharpened with intent. “This isn’t exactly a job interview, you know,” she said, her tone playful but with an edge that made your heart skip a beat. She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she fixed you with a serious look. “So, do you like women?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun. You could feel your cheeks heating up, and you desperately searched for a way to deflect. “Well, I mean… I like people who love the environment, but, uh… my fish-plants might say otherwise?” you stammered, your voice dripping with forced sarcasm as you looked away, hoping the awkwardness would dissolve under the pressure of humor.

But Mikayla wasn’t having it. She snapped her fingers, a sharp sound that made you jolt and instinctively turn your gaze back to her. Her eyes locked onto yours, unyielding, and she leaned forward, her expression darkening as her voice dropped to a low growl. “Don’t lie to me. You know exactly what I mean.” 

The intensity in her voice sent a shiver down your spine, and the room suddenly felt much smaller. You swallowed hard, realizing there was no escaping this conversation, not with Mikayla staring you down like that.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to avoid her gaze, nervously biting your lip. The words slipped out before you could stop them, barely more than a whisper. “More like… do girls like me? I’ve never even kissed someone…” 

Mikayla sighed, the sound heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. “Look at me,” she commanded, her voice firm with authority, leaving no room for hesitation. Reluctantly, you lifted your eyes back to hers, feeling more vulnerable than ever under her unwavering stare.

“Is that why you haven’t told Gabriella’s secret?” she asked, her tone softening just slightly as if she was carefully probing the edges of something fragile.

You shrugged, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I just don’t get the big deal. It’s none of my business anyway. And besides, you and Gabriella are cool—people wouldn’t care if you two were dating. They’d just hate someone like me. I’m not pretty, and I’m weird… I’d only get bullied more.”

Mikayla rolled her eyes, an exasperated sound escaping her lips as she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, closing the distance between you. “That’s not true,” she said with a firmness that made you almost believe her. “Yuh plenty cool. Other people? Them just lame and jealous of how original you are. They don’t get it—don’t get you. But that’s a them problem, not you.” 

Her words hung in the air, almost like a protective shield, and you could feel the tension in your chest easing just a bit. Mikayla’s gaze remained steady, the authority in her tone now laced with something almost like… admiration.

Your skin heated up, a flush spreading across your cheeks as your heart raced. The realization that Mikayla had just complimented you made it hard to think straight. You swallowed nervously, trying to keep your voice steady as you asked, “Why are you being nice to me?”

Mikayla’s gaze softened, a small, almost genuine smile playing on her lips. “Because I think you’re nice,” she replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

For a moment, the intensity between you faded, replaced by a warmth that made you feel lighter. The tension in the room eased, and before you knew it, the two of you had slipped into a comfortable conversation. Mikayla leaned back in her chair, legs crossed again, and started sharing little things about herself—her favorite movies, the music she liked, even the weird habits she had. You found yourself laughing at her dry wit and tossing back your own quirky interests in response.

The nervousness you’d felt earlier slowly melted away, replaced by an easy camaraderie. You traded jokes, some cringey and others surprisingly clever, and the more you talked, the more you realized how much you enjoyed this side of Mikayla—the side that was relaxed, open, and surprisingly funny. For a moment, it was easy to forget the awkwardness and just enjoy each other’s company.

Suddenly, your shared laughter was cut off by the sharp sound of the gymnasium door clanging open, followed by the unmistakable jingle of keys. You froze, your heart leaping into your throat as you glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly two hours had passed since the game ended. You hadn’t even noticed the time slipping by, so absorbed were you in talking with Mikayla.

A gruff voice echoed through the gym, “Who’s in there?”

Mikayla’s eyes widened in alarm, and she leaned in close, whispering urgently, “It’s the security guard!” 

Before you could react, she was already on her feet, grabbing your arm and flicking off the light in one swift motion. The room plunged into darkness, and you stumbled as she tugged you out of the coach’s office. Your heart pounded in your chest as the two of you hurried down the hall, the sound of the security guard’s keys and footsteps growing louder, echoing ominously through the empty building.

Mikayla led the way, her grip firm as she pulled you toward the locker room. The closer the footsteps got, the faster you moved, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts. As you reached the locker room, Mikayla pushed open the door and slipped inside, dragging you along with her. The door closed behind you with a soft click, and you both stood still, listening as the footsteps continued to draw nearer, the tension between you palpable in the close quarters.

Mikayla didn’t waste a second, yanking you through the dimly lit locker room, her grip unyielding as she pulled you toward the back, where the shower stalls were hidden in shadows. You barely had time to catch your breath before she pushed you into one, closing and locking the door behind you with a soft click that seemed to echo in the tense silence.

The small space was cloaked in darkness, save for the faint silver light spilling through the narrow window, casting long shadows across the tiled floor. Mikayla’s silhouette loomed over you, and as she pressed you back against the cool, damp wall, you felt the chill seep through your shirt, the wetness clinging to your skin. The shock of it made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the electrifying proximity of Mikayla.

She moved closer, her presence overwhelming in the confined space. You could feel the heat radiating from her body, a stark contrast to the coolness of the tiles behind you. The smell of the locker room—a mix of the humid, fragrant air drifting in from outside and the lingering traces of fruity body wash—was intoxicating. But it was the scent of Mikayla that dominated your senses. Her cologne, rich and spicy, mingled with the saltiness of sweat from the game, creating a heady blend that made your heart pound.

Mikayla leaned in, her breath brushing against your ear, and placed a finger over your lips, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race. Shhhh, she mouthed, the command barely more than a whisper, but it reverberated through you, sending a shiver down your spine. The tension between you crackled in the air, thick and charged, as if the very atmosphere was waiting to explode.

In the dim light, you could see the way the moonlight caressed her features, highlighting the sharp lines of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the subtle gleam in her eyes that hinted at something darker, something thrillingly dangerous. Up close, she was stunning in a way that made it hard to breathe, and you found yourself unable to look away, captivated by the raw beauty before you.

The heat of her body pressed against yours, the firm, insistent touch of her hand still hovering near your lips—it was almost too much. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, your senses overwhelmed by the closeness, the intensity of the moment. Your heart thudded in your chest, your breath quickening as your eyes darted over her face, drinking in every detail, every inch of the person who now seemed to dominate your entire world.

And in that instant, with her so close, with the intoxicating scent of her filling your lungs and the feel of her warm breath against your skin, the world outside ceased to exist. All that mattered was Mikayla—her presence, her touch, the way she looked at you with something that felt dangerously close to desire.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The distant sounds of the security guard’s footsteps and jangling keys faded into the background, replaced by the deafening silence that hung between you and Mikayla. Your gazes locked, and in that shared look, something shifted—an unspoken understanding, a pull that neither of you could resist.

Mikayla’s hand, which had been resting against the wall, slid down to your waist. The touch was firm yet gentle, her fingers pressing into the curve of your hip as she pulled you closer. The space between you evaporated until your bodies were flush against each other. The sudden proximity was overwhelming—you could feel the rapid thud of her heart against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. Her breath, warm and slightly ragged, mingled with yours, the air between you thick with anticipation.

Your senses were ablaze, every nerve ending tingling with the electricity of the moment. The scent of her filled your nostrils, intoxicating and addictive. You could feel the heat of her body, the firmness of her grip on your waist, and the way her fingers tightened slightly, as if grounding herself in the reality of your closeness.

Time seemed to stretch as you stood there, lost in each other’s eyes. Her gaze was intense, the dark pools of her irises holding you captive, drawing you in deeper. There was a rawness, an honesty in the way she looked at you—something that made your breath hitch and your pulse quicken.

Then, slowly, as if every movement was deliberate, Mikayla leaned in. The world around you blurred, the only thing in focus being the soft press of her lips against yours. The kiss was tentative at first, a gentle exploration, as if testing the waters. But as the seconds passed, it deepened, the pressure increasing as the initial hesitation melted away.

Her lips were warm and soft, moving against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. The kiss was everything and nothing like you’d imagined—slow, dramatic, filled with a tension that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. It was the kind of kiss that made the world fade away, leaving only the two of you in that small, shadowed space.

Your hands, almost of their own accord, found their way to her shoulders, gripping the fabric of her shirt as you kissed her back. The connection was electric, the sensation of her lips against yours, her body pressed so intimately close to yours, igniting something deep within you.

The kiss seemed to stretch on for an eternity, each second drawing you further into the heat of the moment. When she finally pulled back, just a fraction, her breath mingled with yours in the small space between you. The intensity in her gaze hadn’t lessened; if anything, it had grown, and the look she gave you made your heart skip a beat.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—just you and Mikayla, and the undeniable connection that had sparked between you.

Previous Chapter

Rapture | Koffee x Reader

Summary: After relocating to Spanish Town, you find yourself being ostracized in university as the frog-obsessed weird girl with no friends. Your educational experience is less than rewarding until you become entangled in the beguiling world of a girl from the basketball team, whose cruel and teasing nature captivates and confounds you. This unexpected connection draws you into a whirlwind of emotions and self-discovery, transforming your path in ways you never imagined.

Genre: Dark-ish romance, fluff, angst, college!au

Rating: Mature

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

1. “that was good work” | Koffee x Reader

Summary: One day, Mikayla disrupts her private chef. Could it be the beginning of something great?

Rating: PG

Genre: Romance, fluff

Word Count: 1068

A/N: So I’m doing Fictober! I’ll be challenging myself to publish daily this month which I believe will heal the overly critical relationship I’ve had with my writing the past few months. I suspect it will feel good to just write more and worry less about reception and perfection. Most of what I write will be short blurbs like headcanons and drabbles. Feedback is always appreciated! If anyone wants to be added to my taglist, the link is in the pinned post on my page.

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly @prettymrswright @onyxstones-world

You had your routine down to a science. Show up once a week, put on your headphones, and get to work. You’d been cooking for Mikayla for a few months now, but it never felt like a job. She was always somewhere in the house, but you never saw her. It suited you just fine—no awkward conversations, just the rhythm of your favorite tunes as you chopped, sautéed, and cleaned.

Today was no different. You had already started on her meal prep, humming along to your playlist. The sizzle of vegetables filled the air, and you twirled a wooden spoon in your hand, feeling completely in your element.

Then, out of nowhere, someone cleared their throat. You froze, heart skipping a beat, and pulled out one of your earbuds. Standing in front of you, wearing an oversized hoodie and track pants, was Mikayla.

"Mi nuh mean fi startle yuh," she said, her voice lilting in that vaguely familiar honey-like voice, the one you’d only ever heard through walls or faintly from another room.

You fumbled with the spoon, almost dropping it in the pan. "No, no! It’s fine. I just—uh—I didn’t hear you come in."

Mikayla laughed softly, the sound warm and easy. "Doh mind me. Mi always see yuh vibe." She made a little dance move, mimicking how you must’ve looked swaying to the music. Your face heated up immediately.

"Uh, yeah… I, um, like to get in the groove while I work."

Mikayla glanced at the counter, eyeing the half-prepped meal. "Do yuh eva consider a teach mi fi cook?"

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right. "Me? Teach you?"

"Why not?” she said, stepping closer and peering into the pot on the stove. "I want to learn, but mi feel like mi too frighten fi di kitchen, yuh know? Yuh mek it look easy so."

Your heart did that weird little flip it had started doing ever since you first saw her up close at the beginning of the job. Back then, it was professional—just introductions. But now, with her standing here, asking you to teach her to cook? This was different.

You tried to play it cool. "Well, uh, it’s not that hard. You just need some basics, like how to chop properly and—"

"A wha' yuh call dis?" Mikayla interrupted, picking up a kohlrabi like it was an alien artifact.

You stifled a laugh. "That’s kohlrabi."

"Kohlrabi," she repeated, raising an eyebrow as if the word itself was suspicious. "It look strange."

"You’ll get used to it," you said, pulling out a cutting board. "Alright, let’s start simple. I’ll show you how to chop."

You demonstrated with another kohlrabi, your hands moving smoothly as you sliced through it. When you handed her the knife, she stared at it like she was about to defuse a bomb.

"Mi nuh promise nuttin' good here," she muttered, gripping the knife awkwardly. Her first cut was more of a hack than a slice, and the kohlrabi flew off the counter and onto the floor.

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. Mikayla gasped, her face a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

"I warned you!" she said, laughing along with you.

"Okay, okay, let’s try again." You picked up the runaway vegetable and handed it back to her. "This time, gentle. Just follow through with the knife."

With some hesitation, Mikayla tried again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a solid improvement. You smiled. "There you go, that’s better!"

She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "Yuh zimme."

As you both moved onto the next step—seasoning the dish—you found yourself more and more distracted. Every time Mikayla leaned in to ask a question or brush past you to grab an ingredient, you were hyper-aware of how close she was. It didn’t help that every now and then, your hands would bump or she’d flash you a quick smile that made your stomach flutter.

"Raatid- mi add too much," she muttered after pouring half the bottle of garlic powder into the pot.

You smirked. "Maybe just a little. We can fix it."

"Yuh a lie," she said with a laugh, shaking her head. "Yuh nuh haffi be nice 'bout mi terrible cooking."

"I’m serious! You’re not that bad," you said, your voice a little quieter now, as if admitting some secret.

She paused, catching your eye for a beat longer than before. "Mi glad yuh here," she said softly, her usual playful tone replaced with something gentler.

Before you could even process that, the pot bubbled over, and both of you scrambled to fix it, the moment lost in a flurry of sizzling and laughter.

Maybe you didn't do as well as you could have, and maybe there was a little too much garlic in the sauce, but as Mikayla smiled next to you, her laugh still lingering in the air, you didn’t mind one bit.

You wiped your hands on a towel and glanced at her. "That was good work," you said, grinning despite yourself.

Mikayla raised an eyebrow, smirking back. "Good? After mi nearly mash up di kitchen?"

You chuckled. "Hey, we made it through without burning anything down. That counts for something."

She smiled, the kind that made your heart flip. "Well, I’m proud of us."

As you handed her the spoon, your fingers brushed lightly against hers, and you both paused for just a moment, eyes meeting. Mikayla’s smile lingered, softer now, as if she noticed the shift too. The room felt warmer, though the stove was off, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

“Yuh really patient, yuh know?” she said, stirring the pot slowly. Then, with a playful smirk, she added, “An’ cute when yuh serious.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh… thanks,” you mumbled, feeling your face heat up.

She glanced up at you with a playful grin. “Maybe mi should mek yuh come by more often den.” Her tone was light, teasing, but the way her eyes lingered made your heart skip a beat, leaving you wondering if there was more behind her words than just a joke.

Mikayla ladled the food into two bowls and placed them on the counter. She slid onto one of the stools, resting her elbows casually on the counter, and nodded toward the other bowl. 

"Come siddung,” she said, her tone soft but playful. “Yuh nuh gaan leave mi eat alone, right?"