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ephedrathirsts · 1 year

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Teach me

Synopsis: Your best friend asks you to take his virginity. As the both of you spend more time intimately together you are forced to acknowledge your feelings for one another.

Contains: idiots in love trope, friends to lovers trope, lovers in denial, one-bed trope, crack and sarcasm, mutual pining, eventual smut, fluff, afab reader, eventual angst, anger issues

Pairings: Hunter Sylvester! x afab! reader

Word count: 4100

Parts: I, II

You were preparing for bed, cleaning off the makeup you had put on for hours, feeling a little embarrassed. You had been stood up. It wasn’t the end of the world but it was a little humiliating. You shaved for absolutely nothing, put on a matching pair of bra and panties, wore one of your favorite gowns. You didn’t ' have game' per se but you weren’t doing bad either. At least you thought you weren’t.

You decided to stop your playlist and embrace defeat as you heard the sound of rustling leaves and the stomping of boots on the side of your house. That wouldn’t have been him, right? He knew your parents were out of town. There was no reason to go through all this trouble. That’s when a silhouette showed more clearly.

You freaked out, got to your feet, and locked the window, trying to come up with the most elaborate escape plan on the face of the planet but falling short as your panic clouded your judgment.

"Let me in, please. I think I scrapped my knee pretty badly." a familiar voice came through.

You were on edge still, shaking in place as you slowly dragged your arm to open the window.

Hunter came in with a swift motion, panting heavily, with a manic look on his face. As he collected his breath, he finally saw your expression- you seemed furious, steam coming out the top of your head. You were throwing mental darts, aimed at the boy and shaking your hands furiously.

"What the hell are you doing here?! In the middle of the night, unannounced! I thought I was going to get murdered."

"I knew you weren’t going to be asleep so I thought this time was as good as any… wait… are you expecting someone?" his gaze drifted off to your tight-fitting slip dress.

All of a sudden, he noticed the mood lighting and he remembered not seeing your father’s car parked outside. He felt a little uneasy now but he tried his best not to show it. Maybe him coming to you was a terrible idea after all.

"Nope.. it’s just me… no one's coming…" you squeaked, not wanting to share more of the story.

"Ok, good, because I need a favor and I know that this may sound weird and it might make things awkward between us but I trust you so I think you.." you interrupt his nervous spiel with a concerned look on your face.

"Are you not going to apologize first? You know, for scarring me to death." You replied through gritted teeth.

"Yes! Of course, how inconsiderate of me. I truly am sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but it’s an emergency. You are the only one I trust with this. I can’t just not try, the thought of it will haunt me for months on end and I really need this…"

"Wow, dude, slow down for a minute. You didn't have any of the funny juice again, right? Don’t tell me I have to pee in a cup. I’m not doing it."

"That was a one-time thing! An honest mistake, if you must know!" He said defensively- "I would never do that willingly.’"

"Sure thing, buddy." You replied with a smug smile on your face.

"What was so important it warranted you climbing up my window during the witching hour?" You said playfully, trying to calm him down.

"So... I've been thinking a lot about the future and how we have less than a year of high school left and... You know I'm high in demand and everything but.." He blabbered on.

"It's ok, I can help you pick out a collage. I am the wisest out of your friends after all. You can trust me, buddy." You declared knowingly

"No, fuck that. I'm not going to college." He brushed it off.

"Nope, you definitely are!" You demanded.

"No, not a chance that's happening." He replied, sounding a little distracted.

"Ok, we will continue this conversation later. You are going, by the way, but let's not get sidetracked. Tell me what's on your mind."

Hunter started blushing for a minute, uncertain of how to express himself.

"You know how last year you and Kevin were making fun of me for being a virgin.." he explained hastily.

"Yeah, I'm so sorry for that. It was funny as fuck but there is no shame in being a virgin. I mean, I was one up until five months ago." You confessed.

Hunter's cheeks became even rosier, embarrassment written on his face.

"The thing is… I still am one.." He blurted out

"Oh? So do you need me to hook you up with someone? I guess I could make a good wingwoman, I can look around, do a little research." You got all serious and concentrated, lost in thought.

"Puff, no. I'm the singer of a semi-successful metal band and like I previously mentioned I am high in demand." Hunter grinned proudly.

"Ok then, I don't understand the issue."

"Look, when I do decide to pursue any of my many.. and I mean many groupies.."

"Uhuh.." You dozed, rolling your eyes at him.

"I want to be certain of what I'm doing. I have a reputation to uphold. I'm not a washed-up indie singer or something. I am supposed to be a master in the arts of sex.." He rambled.

"Ok, I'm losing you. Stop stretching out the conversation and get to your actual point." You chirped a little annoyed.

"I want you to teach me." He spat out.

"You want me to take your virginity?" You asked a bit taken aback.

"Nope, I want you to teach me. You know how when you practice something, you get better at it? I have been playing the guitar for years and that's how I built upon my skill." He explained, hoping you were paying attention and reading carefully between the lines.

"I don't catch your drift."

Hunter's face dropped. Guess he had to spell it out for you.

"I don't want you to take my virginity and then never do it again. I won't learn anything from just one lesson. I need a proper course. Maybe like a month-long or something. I'm willing to do whatever you want if you agree. And if you don't and try to tell anyone about this interaction, I will deny everything I said up until this point so it will be your word against mine and..."

"Ok, ok mister 'Law and order'. Slow your horses. I'm not going to tell anyone."

A rush of relief washed over Hunter's face.

"So basically you want me to have sex with you in the pursuit of learning..?"

"Yup, exactly."

"Like scheduled, strictly mechanical. Just so you learn the woodwork?" You said a bit confused.

"No, of course not. What's the point in that? In real life, people don't show up and have sex out of nowhere. This isn't porn. I want to do the entire thing right- foreplay, intensity, passion, mood lighting, music, etc. I'm not about to half-ass it." He said confidently.

"And why do you want to do it with me?"

"I know you, I trust you and you are pleasing to the eye. That way I won't feel so weird or embarrassed."

" 'Pleasing to the eye', don't be busting out the compliments just yet, you don't want to make me all flustered and shit." You said sarcastically.

"Ok, I'm sorry. That sounded douche-y. What I meant to say is you’re hot and you are basically the only person that matches my energy."

"Yeah.. that sounds wayy less douche-y," You replied, unamused.

"I'm sorry, I'm having a pretty hard time here. If you think of a more appropriate way of phrasing it, please do let me know." Hunter retorted a bit defensively.

"This is such a bad idea, dude. It can go off the rails, you know."

"Can't you help a desperate friend out? Please, I really need this." Hunter pleaded, looking like a sad puppy.

You had to think for a second. This was such a bad idea. For one it could ruin the friendship, make things between you two uncomfortable, but you could see the strained expression on his face. You couldn’t just leave him hanging. Maybe he was going to back down, change his mind if you were to actually agree, so against your better judgment you went along with it.

"God, good thing I feel bad for you after this pathetic pitch you tried to sell me. Guess I'm not as wise.. uh.. sure I will do it, but I have to warn you that I do have some ground rules, some extremely important 'Do's' and 'Don't's'..."

Hunter got all excited and giddy after hearing you that he cut you off mid-sentence. "You will do it! Fuck yeah, thank youu! You are truly the best!" He said and then quickly kissed your cheek.

"I will be considerate of your 'Do's' and 'Don't's' and make sure to make you feel as comfortable as possible." He said matter of factly while saluting you and climbing back out of your window.

"I'm already regretting this." You croaked out to yourself.

Hunter was sitting on your bed, propped up on his elbows with a notebook in front of him and a pen sticking out of his mouth while you were going on your merry rant.

"Don't overdo it with the dirty talk. Don't name any of my body parts. Don't give me a nickname. Don't call me 'mommy' and don't expect me to call you 'daddy', I'm not into it. Don't grab my neck out of nowhere. You can't just go around choking me unannounced!" You scolded.

"So if I announce myself I can choke you?" Hunter's eyebrows raised playfully.

"We'll see about that.. Don't call me a 'good girl' or whatever. It makes me feel weird. Don't tear any of my clothes, I'm pretty attached to them. Don't touch my feet. Ass area is off-limits! I'm not kidding, don't slap it, care about it, try to put something up it, don't even acknowledge its existence!"

Hunter scribbled something in his notebook, highlighted it, and mouthed "no ass".

"Is this all? Or are there more 'Don't's'?"

"I guess there are but they will come up with time depending on the situation. Communication is key after all."

"Ok, what are the 'Do's' then?"

"A lot of attention on the neck, hips, and thigh areas. Reciprocal scratching is encouraged. The same applies to light hair pulling, biting, and slapping at times..."

"Wait, slapping?" Hunter got a little alarmed.

"I'm a very passionate person. I'm not only passive-aggressive. I can also be actively aggressive and sex is a productive way to channel it, ya know." You answered coyly

Hunter wrote down "Surprisingly both a sadist and a masochist."

"I like attention, I like eye contact, I like feeling like a gem. Like I'm God-sent or something. I know how it sounds but I'm being honest, it turns me on. That probably has something to do with my self-esteem issues.. well yet another thing to bring up with my therapist" you drifted off.

"The fact you like to be validated during sex?" Hunter chuckled.

"Yeah.. maybe.. maybe not." You said after sifting the thought through your brain.

"I can be mean during sex, by the way, sometimes I can get nasty." You warned.

"Only during sex?" Hunter teased and you hit his shoulder.

"Oh yeah, teasing is a must! I both hate it and love it so much. Banter is extremely erotic when done right and it has to be incorporated."

Hunter circled "probably has anger issues and gets her panties wet by arguing"

"That's kind of a mischaracterization of what I said but yeah, sure.."

"It's ok, I have anger issues too. I get you, girl." He put his hand on your shoulder while mock empathizing with you.

"Don't ever say that again."

"Ok, putting it in the 'Don't's' section right after the ass stuff." He said all knowingly.

"Oh God, how am I supposed to keep going when you’re not taking anything seriously and acting like such a little brat?"

"Don't get all worked up now babe, we haven't even taken our clothes off." Hunter coughed out and winked at you.

You went on without paying him much attention.

"I also like to take things slow. But that mostly happens when I have developed feelings for the person. Wanting to be in the moment with them."

"So you were the one half-assing sex?"

"Wait, what? I beg your pardon!" You screeched, offended at his suggestion.

"It is all about being in the moment. If it isn't clicking you simply don't go through with it. But sex is all about some basic type of connection between people. It's not only about feelings, it's about respect, it's about dignity. Getting to know someone more intimately, not only for your pleasure." Hunter explained all focused and mentor-like.

"If you know all of this already, what do you need me for?"

"You can't just go around the world with knowing stuff you can’t put to use," Hunter answered like he had thought about it for a long time.

You were quite impressed with him. You had known him for a very long time and you were already aware he wasn't showing everything there was to him to others. Yes, he could be impulsive and childlike, a pain in the ass, and a cocky son of a bitch but he was always strangely emotionally Intelligent at times, and that surprised you. Guess therapy was working for him, huh?

"So, is that the end of our lesson for today?"

"I think so. It's good that the two of us learned some new information today." You smiled, feeling proud of your student.

"Yeah, I now know not to call you 'mommy'. It's information that will shape me for the years to come." He said sarcastically.

"Oh, shut up asshole. You asked for this, remember?" You retorted

"And you were the one that strongly encourages teasing, weren't you." He whispered huskily as he leveled with your face and kissed you, slowly and tentatively. Your cheeks flushed with shock. He opened his eyes to look at you and chuckled softly.

"May I kiss you again?" He pleaded. Your breath caught in your throat. You did agree to this, yes, but there was still some disbelief there.

"He'll probably drop it. He doesn't mean it seriously. It won't come to anything physical, I'm sure of it..." you had already convinced yourself.

You didn't expect anything to actually... Well, happen. But he was only asking for a kiss and he looked like such a sad little puppy, there was no denying him.

"Yes.." you gulped. "You may kiss me." You nervously shift your gaze from his eyes to his lips.

As if he was reading your mind he replied: "Don't worry, I'm anxious too."

And then it was all silence as he closed the distance between you, his lips gently caressing yours. He was holding you tight- one hand on the small of your back and the other on your cheek as he slowly deepened the kiss. He was hesitant with his movements but was trying to impress you. With his tongue fully in your mouth, engulfing you steadily. Savoring every little bit, every time you brushed your fingers through his hair, every time you pressed your palms against his chest or tickled the sides of his face with your fingertips.

He held you like you were made of porcelain, not because he was afraid of you breaking but of you changing your mind, your touch being too infectious to let go of.

Both of you parted to catch your breath and Hunter smiled at you sheepishly, held up your arm to his face, and planted a quick peck on the back of it.

"That was quite the kiss."

"Yeah.. it definitely was." You agreed, flustered, gazing into his eyes.

You were sitting on Hunter's bed, trying your best to focus on doing your homework while Skullflower was practicing. They were getting pretty good, their sound coming off as more refined and confident. Hunter had worked hard on their debut album to the point that even the demos of their songs were professional.

He was very serious when it came to his craft. You could see it now- how particular he was about the acoustics, how much emotion he put in while he sang, and how concentrated he was while strumming on his guitar. He was truly in his element while playing and you could see all of this passion radiating from him. He was in the zone, huffing, and sweating, looking down at the strings and plucking them one by one with his fingers.

Your body tensed at the sight, his long hair swishing, complementing the sharpness and edges of his face. And his eyes looked so.. uh... so... what were you thinking about?! Snap out of it! You were doing homework; you weren't drooling over your best friend. That's nonsense!

You were so focused on expelling all of the non-platonic thoughts out of your head that you barely even noticed that the band had stopped playing and Kevin and Emily were nowhere to be seen.

"Are you done with your homework?" Hunter asked while putting away his guitar.

"Yeah, you could say so. I made a lot of progress." You answered embarrassedly.

"That's good, hard work should be rewarded," Hunter whispered as he started coming close to you.

"Yeah. I should treat myself to desert or something." You fidgeted with your fingers and avoided his gaze.

"I was thinking of something more along the lines of this." He was in front of you now, grabbing your cheeks with both of his hands and kissing you passionately. He then broke away and started gently stroking your hair and playing with the ends.

"You looked pretty all concentrated and serious." He confessed. "But I think it's time for you to take a little break and relax."

"I'm not that tired." You gulped impulsively.

"Good, me neither." He put his hands on your waist and kissed you again so drawn out that it made you weak. It took everything out of you not to whimper at the feeling. If you were none the wiser you would have confused the feeling in your stomach for butterflies, but there was no way Hunter could be causing such a reaction. Definitely not.

"Do you want to hang out, watch a movie, or something?" He suggested nervously.

"Yea-yeah... Sure..."

"Oh wait, I know what you need!" He whispered and wiggled his eyebrows.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what was he going to do? That was too much. Your heart was racing and you could feel how increasingly anxious you were getting.

As your mind was spiraling, he put on TLC and turned to you.

"Pick your poison. I'm gonna order junk food and we can make fun of whatever show you want " You melted. He knew you so well. Just because you were swapping DNA samples with each other now didn't mean he didn't remember how it was before. He got you.

Hunter could sense you were a little tense and he didn't want to put you off. He wanted you to remember what your relationship was all about- you two goofing off, being idiots, being assholes to others and to each other sometimes but still carrying deep care and understanding for one another.

"That sounds amazing, but it's getting kind of late. I need to go home." You whispered, regret washing over you.

"You can stay over, you know? It's not a school night and for some bizarre reason, your parents are chill with me. Come on captain Crunch, please stay." He looked a little desperate and sad. He wanted you here. He needed you to stay.

"One time I choke on cereal and have it come out of my nose and I never get to hear the end of it, huh?" You answered, acting as if you were upset. "But yeah, ok, I will stay over."

Come to think of it maybe that was exactly what you needed- to remind yourself of what your relationship with Hunter was so you stopped acting as if you had a crush on him, because one thing was for certain- you didn't, nope.

The two of you ate pizza as you laughed at the terrible attempts at flirting made by some poor soul on 90-day fiancé.

"Don't worry about it, beautiful. When we get together, I will buy you an ass." Ok, not such a poor soul after all.

"Boo, who the fuck would actually say that?" You screamed at the TV.

"She is only in on it because she wants to get a green card, you can't get too mad at the guy," Hunter explained.

"Are you defending him?!" You replied dumbfounded by his words.

"No, fuck no. The dude is a total tool." Hunter snickered.

"Good, I was getting worried for a second there."

Hunter held up one of his hands to his chest and declared: "Don't worry sweetheart, I would never even dare to mention your ass." He laughed and you laughed as well, punching his shoulder lightly.

"Oh, fuck off." You spat out, still unable to stop yourself from giggling."I think it's time I call it a night. I'm pretty tired. Toss me one of your tees and some sheets so I can make the sofa..." Hunter interrupted you.

"What are you saying, you're sleeping with me. I can’t have you sleeping on the sofa. We have done this so many times before, there's plenty of space for the both of us."

"I know.. but it hasn’t happened in such a long time." The nerves were returning and a flush was creeping up your cheeks.

"Yeah, that’s true. But you are aware of how comfortable my bed is." He reminded

You could share a bed with him. I mean it was just Hunter. Good old Hunter- your FRIEND. Nothing more, nothing else. What was the point of making a fuss?

"Fine, just give me something to wear, please." You said trying to sound a bit annoyed at the situation.

Hunter gave you one of his band tees. You went to the bathroom to put it on, your toothbrush still being there from previous sleepovers. But was this a sleepover? What if he tried to do something? What if you tried to do something yourself? No, that was nonsense! Why would you, it's not like you desperately wanted to. You can behave yourself!

You came out of the bathroom wearing only his T-shirt and a pair of underwear.

"I know how you like to sleep on the left side but my phone is charging on the bedside table and I'll need to switch the do not disturb mode on at some point so..." He froze as you came into view, looking extremely casual and comfy with your hair down and his shirt adorning your body, ending just at the beginning of your thighs.

"Yeah, that's ok" you whispered.

Was he blushing? He couldn't be, right? There was no way you could make him this shy.

You climbed into bed with him. He also had a shirt on and you couldn’t tell whether he was wearing anything underneath but as your leg unintentionally brushed over his you knew for a fact, he was also only wearing his boxers.

"I'm sorry," you said coyly.

"It's alright." He replied.

To the both of your surprise, you put your hands on his face, pulling him towards you, and kissed him gently. He was so shocked he had his eyes open for a bit, but as the initial feeling warn off, he wrapped around you with both of his arms and held your chest close to his as his tongue slowly came into your mouth. Your legs were tangling between his, and without even thinking of it your grip landed on his shoulders as you tried kissing him harder, more passionately.

You broke away to catch your breaths, with your head laying on his chest. He caressed your hair and planted a kiss on the top of your head while lacing his fingers through yours. Your heart was racing and you could hear his was too. You liked it, how comfortable you felt in his embrace. How well you fit around him.

You reached up to lightly stroke his face and kiss his cheek. "Goodnight, Hunter’’, you put his hand on your waist and turned on your side, making him spoon you.

"Goodnight." He whispered tentatively into your ear.

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royalwriteroftheuniverse · 1 year

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Baby gazing

Comments Welcome and reblogs welcome to not repost translate or publish anywhere 18+ just in case as always nothing but fluff chris being a dad if thts a warning

Part 2 here

I woke up suddenly. Not to a baby crying or a shrieking but rather me reaching out and finding a cold spot a very cold spot

"Chris?" I said softly maybe he was in the bathroom or I don't know. I sat up. Still confused. The ensuite was open slightly the light was on

"Chris?" I said into the opening I heard nothing opened the door fully and walked in. It was empty. So I turned the light off and closes the door. He would've heard me if he was in the walk in but if he was there instead of bed I'd murder him. Why I dont know. I blame hormones.

"Chris?" I hiss out the door. I didnt hear anything. And Sodger wasn't here because of the baby. The baby. Of course but the bed was very cold. I quietly walk to where the Nursery is, not too far from our room and the door is open and hes just standing there staring.

I wish I had my phone to take a few pictures. My phone. Ugh what am I in a bad horror movie I should always take my phone.

I walk up to him taking his hand

"Chris, honey what are you doing?"

"Watching her."

"She sleeping."

"I know she's so beautiful look at her so peaceful."

"She is isn’t she. And her hair. I think she has the cutest curls." I really wanted to play with them but now was not the time. If she woke up she'd want cuddles and to eat and my body heat or Chris for the rest of the night and mamas gotta sleep so does dada but his brain isn't receiving memos correctly

" I went to get water and I wanted to check on her."

"You got water from the bathroom."

He had turned and looked at me

"You left the light on. Not exactly the on the way back from the bathroom."

"I took a detor"

"I can tell," I wisper, "pretty far detour considering it's not in our room. Babe you have camera and monitors. Shes fine. Look I love her just like you but we need rest hon. Hes pouting and it's the cutest thing ever but its not making me change my mind and what let him stand here hours on end. Nope.

I get Chris to come back to bed and lay across his torso like dead weight because I know what will happen the ninute I fall a sleep and he chuckles.

"Is it so bad to want to watch my baby girl." He plays with my hair.

"I guess not but what if she does something so unbelievably cute or starts to climb and your miss it cause your tired?" I pout

"Or even more, trying to watch two of them you have less than nine months to figure it out." I smirk turning on my side

What?

"You heard me," I smirk. I play Chris like a fiddle. Hopefully he'll get some sleep, after all we're watching our friends baby for the weekend. But I have a feeling Chris won't figure it out for a bit. Hehehe

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 2 years

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Michael After Midnight: Gordy’s Home

[Here’s the beginning of my journey (backstory here). The first Michael blog I accessed hails from what I have designated Earth-2211979, and it seems like this is the world where Jordan Peele’s film Nope takes place. This Michael seems to review a lot of old TV shows for his blog, especially weird, obscure, and even lost media. This right here is the last review on his blog, and it seems like he’s been inactive for several months.]

The 90s was an utter wasteland of either incredibly insipid or outright insane sitcoms, but tonight’s review is about one that landed somewhere in the middle. Gordy’s Home is exactly the sort of bonkers concept you’d see coming out of the chimp-obsessed 90s scene while at the same time being incredibly predictable. But, of course, you know that I didn’t decide to review this because of that. You know what the elephant in the room is.

Or maybe you don’t! So let’s set that shit aside and talk about the actual show before we get into the dark underbelly of this seemingly saccharine slice of 90s nostalgia.

The cast is a very mixed bag. Ricky “Jupe” Parkin definitely the weak link here. Look, we all loved him in Kid Sherrif, but we were like toddlers. He’s just not a good child actor, he just got a stroke of luck. At least his fist bumps with Gordy are pretty fun, but watching a kid do a fist bump with a chimp is hard to fuck up. The other human actors are all giving corny performances, but they seem a bit more self-aware and tongue in cheek, so it’s easier to stomach them. The MVP of the humans is definitely Mary Jo Elliot, who clearly is trying her best with this silly material. It’s such a damn shame we never got to see her go further in her career, especially when she managed to make a “drugs are bad” PSA episode palatable.

Then we have Gordy. Oh, sweet Gordy. Is it even okay to say he was the best part of the show? Because it’s undeniable, he was. But it feels so fucking dirty saying that, all things considered, and keep in mind—this show had an episode guest starring Bill Cosby! How the Hell did THAT age less poorly than the chimp? I look at it like this: He was an animal. I can’t really hold the poor chimp to human standards, can I?

…God, I guess I can’t really beat around the bush. Can’t I talk about the cringey tween romance episodes? The corny episode where Gordy keeps messing up the family vacation? The weird way this show seems to think adopting a chimp and an Asian is something you should think is wacky and whimsical (boy am I glad we left weird racist undertones in the 90s, never to be seen again)?

No. I’ve gotta talk about the incident.

This show is remarkably hard to watch. Like, the only version of the opening theme on YouTube is a poorly recorded VHS rip, and there are at least three episodes that have yet to be found despite lost media aficionados doing their damndest to hunt them down. And the reason for this is because of a tragic incident that happened on set in 1998, where Gordy went berserk and maimed or murdered his costars save for Park.

I remember seeing it on the news when I was a kid and just not understanding it. I remember seeing the magazine covers, the parodies, that fucking godawful SNL sketch… No, seriously, was SNL ever fucking funny? I rewatched that sketch for this review and it is the most tasteless, unfunny shit I’ve ever seen. Gilbert Gottfried’s 9/11 jokes right after the attack were funnier. Who okayed that? Who okayed any of that shit after the incident? A kid had her face ripped off, for Christ’s sake!

There were so many weird rumors and urban legends about the incident. I remember seeing one a lot, that there was some insane fan who’d wandered on set with a gun and that’s what set Gordy off, but that sounds really outlandish and ridiculous. There’s also a rumor that there’s footage of the incident floating around online, and you can see just where Gordy bites Elliot’s face off. I’d honestly rather watch that video where the dude with the ice pick eats that other guy again than see that, so if it does exist I hope it stays lost. Some things aren’t meant to be seen, and this is one of them.

Really, it’s a shame that THIS is what the show is remembered for: An awful, totally avoidable tragedy that has hung a dark cloud over everything. We never got a really clear answer over what happened on that set, but I’m guessing this is the same shit that happens every time an animal mauls someone. They ignored warnings, didn’t treat Gordy with respect, and honestly? Wouldn’t surprise me if they abused him too. Apparently Park has some theme park out in the place I’m going hiking with my buddies soon, maybe I could just drop in and ask him what the truth is. Bet he’d just love to talk about that.

Gordy’s Home is an unremarkable, corny, harmless 90s show forever tainted by a senseless tragedy. Like, I spent more time talking about the chimp attack than the actual show here, that’s how much Gordy’s rampage looms over it. Really, I think what sums it all up for me is how the show uses Gowan’s “(You’re a) Strange Animal” as its theme song, seemingly to imply fun and monkey business… but conveniently leaves out verses like this, ones that tragically foreshadow the ineptitude that led to the carnage on set:

Well, they say I should approach you with caution But not to let you be aware of my fear Never know what you'll find Don't understand your kind round here

They still used the song better than Crowder did, at least.

#Gordy's home #review #tv show review #multiverse

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bellafarallones2 · 2 years

Text

Promptober Day 11: Someone who made a deal with a demon/fae for money or fame, twenty years ago tonight

(SFW, but there are references to drug overdose/general poor mental health)

The show was over, and Indrid Cold was alone in his dressing room. The mirrors lining the walls, surrounded with lightbulbs, made the large room seem even larger. There were plush couches and armchairs to seat at least eight, all unoccupied except for the man sprawled out on one of the sofas, his shirt riding up to show the silver piercing through his navel.

And now, a demon. Indrid saw him first reflected in one of the mirrors - red skin, horns rising from his wavy chestnut hair - and then looked around to see him in person. His eyes were unsettlingly human - Indrid would feel better if they looked demonic. His name was Duck Newton, a name Indrid hadn’t spoken or written for twenty years but still had never forgotten.

“So, uh, how’s it going for you?” said the demon.

The most famous rock star in the world glared balefully up at him through his smudged stage makeup. “How do you think it’s going?”

“I was sorry to hear about your boyfriend,” the demon offered.

Indrid grunted. For the past eight months he’d been in a very public relationship with another celebrity, a country music star. Until two weeks ago, that was, when the country music star had overdosed and been posthumously revealed to have been cheating on Indrid with no less than three other people.

“Were y’all real? Or was it just for the tabloids?”

“I thought we were real,” said Indrid. He took a handful from the bowl of peanut M&Ms on the coffee table and crunched on them. “What’s with the small talk? Aren’t you going to just take me?”

“I figured it was polite to give you some time to process things.”

“I’ve had twenty years to process things.”

“Was it all worth it?”

Indrid gave a short laugh. “In a sense.”

Duck sat down across from him and took a couple of M&Ms.

“Twenty years was plenty of time. If you really wanted me to fight being taken you should have made the timeline shorter.”

“So you’re ready?”

“Fuck yeah I am.”

Duck’s tail flicked against the upholstery. “You’ll have to take out the silver jewelry.”

“Would it really protect me from you?” said Indrid with some interest as he removed the ring from his navel and set it down on the coffee table with a small clink.

“Not really. I’d just have to rip it out, which wouldn’t be pleasant.”

“Fuck no it wouldn’t be.” Indrid pulled his shirt up to his collarbone to remove the bars from his nipples, and then the six tiny rings from one ear, the silver serpent curling around the other.

“Good?” said Duck when Indrid had removed the rings from his fingers.

“Nope,” said Indrid, and unbuttoned his jeans.

“Oh, Christ,” said Duck, and averted his eyes as Indrid removed the Prince Albert from his cock. It took some doing. Indrid was a little surprised at the demon’s modesty.

“Yeah, I went all out. I thought it might protect me from you.” This was, of course, back when Indrid thought he had something to live for.

“Nope,” said Duck. He reached out a hand across the small midden of silver on the table between them. “Now are you ready?”

Indrid took his hand. “Yep."

–

Twenty years ago, that night, Indrid had just been booed out of his third open mic night in as many weeks and his dad was threatening to kick him out of his basement unless he got a real job. So he opened the book of spells he’d bought at a garage sale when he was twelve to the page reading MINERVA: GODDESS OF FAME AND FORTUNE and lit a ring of white candles.

The demon that appeared certainly hadn’t looked like a Minerva, with beefy arms and a potbelly. “...Minerva?” said Indrid.

The demon sighed. “I’m Duck. She fucked off and left me in charge. What do you want?”

“I want to be the most famous rock star in the world. I want to make millions of dollars and for everyone in the world to have heard my music. I want my music to be good.”

The demon’s face softened. “Your music is already good.”

“Yeah, well, not good enough.”

“Fine,” said Duck. “And you’re willing to give up your soul for it?”

“Yes,” said Indrid. “It says here you’ll come to collect in twenty years.” He was twenty. Twenty years in the future was unimaginable.

Duck was looking skeptical again. “And you’re really alright with that?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” said Duck, and held out his hand for a handshake.

Indrid got a call from a record label the next day.

–

They plummeted together through the layers of the earth, down into Hell, through red sulfurous clouds, and Indrid doubled over coughing. He didn’t catch his breath again, eyes streaming, until after his feet touched the ground. Then he looked up. “Woah.”

Hell was less like a Bosch painting than he’d been imagining. Sure, the sky was red, and the dirt was also red, but there were no writhing masses of suffering bodies, at least not that he could see. In fact most of what he could see was gently rounded mountains, carpeted with trees. And, directly in front of him, a well-built log cabin with checkered curtains in the windows.

“Is this where I’m going to be eternally tormented?” Indrid asked.

“Nah,” said Duck. “If you’d been a real asshole there’d be some torment, but not for you.”

“So what are you going to do to me?”

“...That part I ain’t quite figured out. See, just having souls is sort of a… status symbol among demons.”

“How many do you have?”

“Counting you? One. See, when I made that deal with you, I was only standing in for Minerva for a few weeks. And then I went back to my other job.”

“Which is?”

“Forestry.”

Indrid giggled. “Holy shit.”

“It’s not like I’ve been neglectful! I, um. I watched all your shows.”

“All of them?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re good.”

Indrid didn’t quite know what to say. He was no stranger to praise over the years, but he knew it all was because of Duck. “Did whatever magic you cast on everyone to make me famous work on you, too?”

“No. Here, c’mon inside.” Duck led Indrid up the steps and into the cabin. It looked to be just three rooms - a bedroom, bathroom, and open-plan kitchen/dining/living area. Duck went into the bedroom, opened the top dresser drawer, and pulled out a mess of gold jewelry. “I got you replacements for your piercings if you want to keep them in. Uh, except for the dick one. I didn’t know about that one.”

“You don’t read the tabloids?” Indrid teased as he reassembled the metal parts of himself. “That’s fair. I think now it’s mostly stories about how old and unattractive and washed-up I am.”

“Is that really how you see yourself?” said Duck.

Indrid examined himself in the mirror on the back of Duck’s closet door. Yes, that was what he saw. He’d never been muscular, but now he just looked skeletal. The dark hollows under his eyes seemed permanent now. And his voice had been damaged by years of screaming into a microphone.

Indrid turned away from the mirror. Maybe if he ignored his appearance it would go away. Maybe he could be young and attractive again. He’d been hoping, deep down, that being sent to hell he’d revert to the body he had twenty years ago. No such luck.

“I think you’re just as handsome now as you ever were,” said Duck.

There was still something gold in the dresser drawer. “What’s this?” said Indrid, pulling it out.

“Nothing!” said Duck. “Nothing.”

“Handcuffs? And a collar?” The gold was thin, but far sturdier than it would be without demonic magic. “Are these for me?”

“No! I mean. Uh.” Duck scratched his neck. “Look, I went to a goldsmith and said I wanted stuff for a human and she insisted I needed those too. Apparently folks like to keep their humans restrained. But you don’t have to. Unless, uh, unless you cause me a lot of problems.” Duck rearranged his face into something more menacing. “Then it’s into the handcuffs you go.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Indrid slipped the cuffs and collar back into the drawer. Then he went back into the living room. There was a stereo in there and he was curious what kind of music Duck listened to, what kind of radio signal you might get in Hell, but before he could turn on the stereo the box of CDs next to it caught his attention. Flipping through them, he saw a lot of bands he himself liked listening to, old rock he’d found inspirational, and newer stuff too. And then - his own music, too. His albums. Every single one of them, arranged by year of release. “Do you actually listen to my stuff?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Indrid said, idly flipping through again. Christ, he looked good on the cover of the first album. The most recent ones didn’t have his face on them; he didn’t photograph well anymore. Most critics thought the music had been getting worse ever since his sophomore album, but that had never stopped him from making music. The songs just kept coming. Probably a result of whatever Duck had done to him.

“Your most recent one. Bug Venom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I like Bumblebee. It’s a lot more positive than a lot of political songs.”

“If you’ve got a guitar around here I’d be happy to give you a live performance. Unless your gift doesn’t apply anymore now that I’m dead.”

“Indrid, I did nothing to your ability to play. Don’t talk that way about yourself.”

Indrid looked up again and looked, really looked, at the demon in front of him. There was an expression in Duck’s eyes that Indrid knew well from groupies and admirers of all kinds, though as far as he could remember he hadn’t seen it on anyone for about fifteen years. Duck was attracted to him.

“What does Minerva do with her souls?” Indrid asked.

“She puts them to work. Trains them to fight her enemies and all that. But I don’t really get into all that. And you seem like you could use a break. After two decades of touring and all.”

Indrid carefully kissed Duck’s very warm cheek. “You’re sweet.”

#indruck #promptober

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gleefullypolin · 3 days

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I will be right there with you, loving and hating the month long break even though all logic points to me knowing it's a better idea for the numbers overall. The best would be weekly of course but the selfish side me of would probably scream, ha.

I don't watch enough of anything to lost track of it but I can't imagine how my brain would try to keep up with it all. Kudos to you for figuring out a system that works for you.

Oh to lose a story with a cliffhanger, I've been burned a few times on that one. There's a show I used to watch that actually made an alternative ending with a conclusion on the off chance it got canceled before the next season. This being handled all in one season then anything after that will just be happy extras is more than good enough for me.

Yeah, I've seen a lot of theories for the carriage/LW thing and I think a lot of people have forgotten that some of this stuff is speculation and not spoilers. I do not know what could make him run after her (and I am eagerly waiting to find out!) but knowing the carriage scene both happens at the end of 4 and seemingly has a confession (according to LN) I am all eyes and ears, ha. I'm not invested in any one theory myself though I know there's a lot of people who have decided how that scene is going to go and I hope it hasn't become so fanon that it's canon to them and anything less will disappoint them at this point.

Which was a long way to agree with you, ha, but I agree, he's too smart and he really listens to her when she speaks. If he's actively reading LW now there's a very good chance he could put it together. Maybe he sees her somewhere doing LW stuff, we just don't know and honestly it's going to be a ride finding out I think. I don't know what Lord Kenebling says to her that makes her make that face but if he's watching her in that moment, he's bound to see it and react to it quickly.

The heir plot! It's both a convenient way, if they wanted, to keep the Polin importance to the Featherington plot going forward or a good way for Polin to nope out and run off after they get married and deal with the LW stuff, ha. I don't know if she will say yes or no after the carriage scene tbh but I can see it either way. With them having an entirely different plot they deal with after being married/engaged in the book I can see them building up the LW for Colin in the first half then focusing on that with them together in the second since they would have so much plot left after the engagement (the engagement ball/aftermath of that, the blackmail from the book possibly? the wedding, the queen, etc) and those plots were very important in their story.

I still have no idea but the rabbit holes can be fun! I'm much more of an Occam's Razor sort of theorizer I'll admit so if LN says Colin will be the worst reaction I don't think he will do these horrible things to Pen that I've seen tossed around, I just go to he'll be the angriest and most worried for her. If that's true, I have no idea, but with the way show Pen is so impulsive and book Pen is so stubborn, that man is bound to lose his mind in the second half, haha.

I honestly am starting to prefer going back to the weekly format because it’s more enjoyable to me getting a weekly rush of enjoyment and then a week of anticipation of what to look forward to. And then I have a good 8 to 10 weeks of enjoyment waiting for things to happen rather than months of anticipation and then a day of everything hitting me all at once and then its just all over and I’m overwhelmed with emotion.

Ok so I followed the same breadcrumbs as you did. I got the LN comment too in his one-word comment to Carriage being confession and I was like oooh LW. And then I saw the interview about episode 5 having a huge family gathering scene with the entire cast. And I was like…oooh hmmmmmm engagement …. announcement…omg what is this????

Back to speculation…In those bread crumb trails NC’s one word comment for Carriage was Rocking. So confession and then rocking….so I’m still on the notion myself that he finds out about LW and then they get to knocking. That’s my own spec and definitely not based in anything in fact other than a game the actors played lol. And then my brain just sort of followed down that rabbit hole. I am not married to anything at this point but just following my own brain from the comments made in interviews.

My personal hope is that Lord Obi Wan telling her she looks beautiful while feels good to her, is also off to her compared to perhaps another person having told her his feelings possibly earlier in an episode or perchance during a kiss or some other moment between them earlier in the episode that now has both of them reeling. Though I have a feeling honestly that this being the Queens ball, and the offer for LW’s identity coming up, that suddenly love might not be on her mind, it may be more around protecting her identity is actually more important to her at this moment.

Pen may be running off when he finds her to escape the Queen and the ever-tightening noose of being caught. The confession may be two-fold, his at finding out she is LW and hers at finding out that he has feelings for her. Oh, the swoon factor at these possibilities. I love speculating and thinking of what could get my mind going because I just love how many ways they could take this carriage ride. Anger, shock, passion!

Yeah, I don’t know how much I want this heir plot. LOL I mean it is a way to keep them relevant but I don’t know where they are going with it. I was more like huh, when I read it. I have to admit that I will be sad to lose LW after this season as I love hearing Julie Andrews open the show. It’s so Gossip Girl and it ties the whole show together. So, I selfishly want them to keep it going some way, whether someone else takes up the mantel or she keeps it going somehow or whatever, but I hate to see it gone.

LN and NC seem so pleased with how the show is and the ramp up of the romance this season and I think they know the best so I’m going to trust them and not myself who knows absolutely nothing except what my brain has read and speculated on lol. I may not love everything but once the whole show has aired, I will sit back and breathe and take it all in again as a whole and reflect. I’m sure I will love it for the story they give us.

#my asks #wonderful people

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camellia-thea · 2 years

Text

vent

i am just. so fucking exhausted. of just existing. not even in a suicide way, just in a 'literally every part of my life right now makes me tired, even things i genuinely love' and i am already dealing with a chronic condition that makes my cells not produce energy correctly.

this semester has been. a lot. just. a lot. and i've been holding it together really well, honestly. genuinely think i've done as well as i could do but i just. i don't have the space anymore. i was hoping i could hold out until i'd gotten my portfolio done but just. fuck. holy shit. there is just too much in my head right now and there is literally nothing that's making it quiet anymore. normally i can just distract myself until either it punches me in the gut and i have to deal with it (eventually meaning it's quiet), or i ignore it enough and it goes away (look i'm great at coping okay this is a fine system) but i just. this hasn't, and it's just kind of sitting on the horizon and i know i'm not going to notice it's closer til i'm stuck in the middle of it with no way to deal.

i've been dealing with my ed a lot, and finally actually kind of brought it up with people, and i'm worried about my finances in regards to food because i cannot make rent this year without just. fucking over my food budget, which would be fine if i was paying for my own food, because i know how much i eat and i know how much i can spend, but i share with my flatmates in a shared meal system which worked fine before but i've spent so much money this year just trying to make it feel okay to live that i cannot keep paying as much as i do for the food i'm eating (very little.)

((and i fucking know my eating habits are terrible okay i eat approximately a meal (and a half?) a day, maybe more on a day where i'm doing things and need the brainpower and my cal count is low if i do try to calculate it (rare, like, once a month), and most of that is covered by the amount of tea i drink))

but i cannot afford what we purchase and i don't have solutions that don't, y'know, make it super super obvious how little i'm eating, and like, i know i'm not super subtle but like. still doesn't feel great airing it out, but i eat maybe a quarter of what i pay for which is. a good fifty to seventy a week, sometimes less which is great but y'know. i can make a decent meal for about five to ten nz d, and have it last multiple days. last year my costs were mostly snacks and i ate more and spent less than i do now. i don't have a good solution but i'm living on more than i can afford to spend, and like, i was concerned beforehand but now i'm genuinely going to hit 0 nz d before exam season is done. and before i was like 'oh, y'know, i'll have a couple of hundred to go into next year with but it'll be fine because i'll snag course related and living costs with summer school' nope. no that's not the case. i've been calculating every so often to double check and this is just. ahhhhhhh. i'm so fucking stressed about it and that's just. underlying literally everything i do.

and i've tried to bring it up in a way that doesn't just. completely fuck over our system because it works super well for the other three and that's amazing for them but it's genuinely fucked me over so much in the last six months because like. okay, rough calculations; 50 a week per person, i eat, let's be generous and say half of what i pay for. that's 200 a month that i am sinking down the drain that i *cannot* afford. and i'm often paying more than that and eating less. and that adds up. lets say four months; that's 800. that i could use to cover the cost of my medication. i get 280 from the gov. and i pay 220 rent a week. that's 60 left over. i pay 50 a month for my meds, now more because my new meds are 35 per repeat, which makes that 85 a month total. i pay. a lot more to, just. live. and my budget *still* doesn't cover my meds, and i'm not going to make that calculation, because it terrifies me too much to check.

and it isn't my flatmates fault at all, and i'm not saying it is in any way and i don't think it is either and i need to make that completely clear, but this is not sustainable for me, nor the continual panic attack i'm having.

and the biggest issue is that i just. do not have a solution for this. there is no way i can just say some magic words and we'll get a new system that perfectly covers how much we pay for based on how much we eat. that's just. not possible at all.

and i know my ed is probably making the me worse, god do i know, but i genuinely cannot find the energy to care or change it. ironic as it might be for the illness called chronic fatigue syndrome. and it's morbid and horrible and i should feel bad for thinking it but honestly. sometimes my brain says if this got worse then maybe it'd make things more simple. i'd drop uni and most likely go back home to my parents, which wouldn't be ideal and i really don't think living with them would be great, but i wouldn't have the same stresses. food payments wouldn't be on my mind, honestly my diet would probably improve, and i wouldn't be dealing with uni stress in the same way either. i'd honestly, probably recover a bit and actually have time and energy to try and take care of myself.

and i had a health scare where i was maybe 90 percent sure i'd have to go to the ER because of heart palpitations, and i was genuinely concerned i was having a heart attack, and i know that healthy nineteen year olds don't have them but i'm *not* healthy, i have a chronic health condition, an ed, and a history of heart problems within my family, like it's a reasonable conclusion to jump to when your heart is skipping multiple beats and not beating in sync correctly. but i couldn't make myself convey how concerned i was.

and i mean, on top of my teetering mental health, declining physical health, and perpetual state of anxiety, losing my great uncle was just. fucking awful. there are no words for how horrible it felt and i have not been able to properly grieve him since the funeral. i have cried perhaps three times and i just. i just want to fucking break, i need to just. feel and break. but i just. can't. there is a dam somewhere and i've been waiting for it to crack but it just won't and it makes me want to scream.

i don't think i can properly talk about that loss yet, and it hurts. it hurts so bad but i'm not grieving in a way that feels like grief. it's an ache that someone is missing but it isn't. it isn't crying at a funeral, it isn't mourning him and the moments i'll never get, my sister will never get, my dad will never get, my grandfather will never get. i feel so awful for my grandfather because he was flying from england to new zealand to see his brother, with the thought that it'd be their last time seeing each other and ross died just over a month beforehand. i cannot fathom how awful that is for him, but i can't actually express it in a way that feels like i'm actually feeling things. i'm in this awful state of numbness that i've been feeling for almost two months and i hate that i'm making it all about me. i hate it. i recognise it isn't productive at all.

i feel like i've been holding myself together by the skin on my teeth, and beneath all the numbness and exhaustion, i'm terrified it's going to make my illness worse, make my life just. fall apart. and i'm just a nineteen year old trying so hard to be a functioning adult but i couldn't even finish highschool without everything falling apart around me, and what the fuck made me think i'd actually function properly.

i just. i'm stuck waiting. because these problems don't have direct immediate solutions. i'm waiting to crash, i'm waiting to break a part, and i know they'll be mixed, and i'm just going to be stuck with the anxiety of everything else underneath til it happens, and there is no good time for it to happen in the next two weeks, which of course means it's going to happen at the worst moment, which makes me more stressed.

#tw death #tw disordered eating #tw mental health #just yknow. general vent warning #the ed talk is... a lot i'm sorry i just need it out of my head #no numbers mentioned but there's some discussion of amounts eaten #honestly this whole thing is a lot #there's a lot of talk about budgets in here too because that's. the main thing i'm worried about right now #and like. this isn't a plea for help or aid #i just need to put thoughts *somewhere* into the void so that things are felt #and i know i have more things to say but i've been writing this on and off for two hours in between my maybe eight hour panic attack #yeah i dunno i'm sorry this is a lot and just. yeah.

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purplesurveys · 2 years

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1490

Do you have a bad reputation? I dunno. It would depend on who you ask.

Have you ever gone through a bad breakup? Yes, though I’d say it was largely bad on my end. I nearly self-destructed to death, while on the other side of things I watched that ex looking happier and freer than ever after driving me out, as if we weren’t best friends in the last decade, and in a relationship for more than half of that decade. That was the lowest, and the littlest I’ve ever felt. But everything’s good now! I’m back to being grudge-y, which has always been the main course of action for me anyway lmfao. Forgiveness isn’t in my vocabulary.

Do you believe in Jesus? Nope. I think I’ve always innately doubted him and the entire concept of Christianity because religion class always confused me. I didn’t know what it was for, and I didn’t understand why I should do nice things because a man got nailed to a cross. Anyway, I decided on my own to let go when I was like 10 and have been atheist since.

Has anyone ever used a cheesy pickup line on you? Uh probably, most likely in my previous relationship.

Are you hard of hearing? I struggle to a certain extent. Like I hate getting on calls because signal is always unpredictable and I get anxious about the possibility of going “What was that?” 100 times.

Would you ever want a statue made of you? Please never do this for me.

What's the name of your best friend? Angela is the name of one. Andi is the other.

When did you last go for a run? I don’t run, but the last lengthy walk I did was last Thursday when I walked from Rockwell to Poblacion. I did NOT expect to walk that day and thought we were gonna get to our destination by car �� ended up with bleeding blisters all over both feet because I wore the most walk-unfriendly shoes lol. Luckily both Kata and Bea both had band-aids and helped me and my feet out.

What is something that gives you good vibes? Being in a bar with just the right lighting, ambience, music, and drinks.

How many bones have you broken in your life? I’ve never broken anything, fortunately. I’ve only had sprains, and for both instances it took place in the same spot - my left foot.

What did you last search for? I looked up the Tumblr of my favorite fanfic author to check if she’s posted any new Tae-focused stories. She hasn’t, but I might start the ongoing series she has which revolves around Jungkook lol. What color are your lampshades? It has a white cover and a brown base.

Where are you currently? In my room, at my workspace.

Has anyone ever called you dumb? Yes.

Do you have any cats? Nope.

What were you doing last time 3am came around? I was already asleep by then last night. I might stay up that late tonight though considering it’s already nearly 1 AM.

What's your favorite love song? Hmm. I don’t listen to a lot of romantic songs, but I’d say Yellow by Coldplay is an exceptional classic.

What all did you do last night? It had been my first unbusy Friday in a month and was ecstatic as all fuck about it, so I stopped work at 6, made my associate stop work at 6, didn’t make any plans to go out with anyone, and stayed cooped up in my room while I passed level after level on In The Seom, hahahaha.

What last let you down? Redditor Armys being less than enthusiastic about More when I went through the r/Bangtan subreddit this afternoon.

How many lights do you have on? I don’t have any right now. Normally my night lamp would be turned on, but I don’t feel like illuminating my little survey space at the world at the moment.

Have you ever had vertigo? Eh, I wouldn’t say so. Has your house ever been robbed? No.

Are you currently tired? I should definitely start turning in now but it’s already the latter part of the weekend and I want to hold out and stay awake for as long as I can.

When did you last get a haircut? Nearly a year ago.

Do you ever use the slang "sheesh"? I do.

Have you done a breathing exercise recently? No. Those have never worked for me.

What food/drink did you last waste? The savory crepe and hot chocolate I had earlier at a restaurant. I didn’t get to finish them.

Have you ever had collard greens? Idk how that translates to Filipino but I’ve probably had them since we do put tons of veggies in our dishes. I’m sure I’ve encountered it at some point.

Do you or would you ever live on a coast? No, and I honestly wouldn’t. I prefer to be in the city.

Are you a cry baby? There are scenarios and thoughts that make me tear up easily than others, but I wouldn’t call myself a crybaby. I’ve definitely learned to harden up in the last year.

If you have a partner, do you have a song? I don’t have a partner. Have you ever dug a hole? What for? Only in the sand, at beaches. I’ve never really had a reason other than wanting to see how deep I can go.

Do you spend too much time in your room? I do, only because I work from home and my room is the quietest area I can be productive in. I certainly wouldn’t stay cooped up here for days on end if I didn’t have such a setup.

Have you ever fainted? What from? Yeah it used to be a semi-regular occurrence especially when I was younger. I was horrible at staying hydrated back then.

What is something that is "just like heaven" to you? Late night drives. My favorite thing.

Who is someone you know who is gorgeous? A schoolmate of mine. She’s an influencer now and I totally get it, she’s super pretty.

Do you know a Chelsea? Several people. It’s a fairly common name where I’m from.

Would you rather kill or be killed? That’s an awful question.

What's a good habit you have? Setting up a to-do list every single day. It’s really helped me meet my goals more efficiently and easily, and it’s kept my accounts moving at a steady pace.

Would you rather have 12 fingers or 12 toes? Toes, because I barely show them off anyway unless I’m home.

What's the sweetest, best pie you've ever had? Oooooooh this is tricky; I’ve never been a sweet pie person. My alma mater does have a signature tart recipe that I’ve always loved, if that counts? It’s pie crust slices with guava jam/jelly spread on top, and it’s always held a big tart-shaped place in my heart.

What did you last try to do? Applying for this new job. I’m a couple steps in the door at this point, but it’s been frustrating so far because part of the process was a timed exam wherein I had to craft an entire deck for them in an hour. I took it last Friday and it was stressful and that entire time I was just thinking if such a test was necessary.

Have you broken anyone's heart? Yep.

Do you have brown eyes? Really dark ones, yes.

Are you currently barefoot? Yes.

#survey #surveys

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snackhobi · 3 years

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this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner 🥺💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested. It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.)

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.)

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist.

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle.

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.)

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back.

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power.

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it.

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

“Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall.

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered.

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond.

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron.

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi.

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner. There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway.

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out.

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot.

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire.

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway.

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary.

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting.

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you.

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else.

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it.

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright.

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you.

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.)

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung.

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth.

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to.

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up.

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say.

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really.

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists.

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.”

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor.

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn.

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed.

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad.

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee.

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is.

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

“Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say.

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all.

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice.

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity.

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think.

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand.

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?”

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say.

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

#btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #magicshopnet #houseofddaeng #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts #yoongi au #bts au #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #PLEASE feel free to message me with any typos or whatever and I'll get on those when I have a chance

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sunaluvs · 2 years

Text

CW: gn reader, smoking (ive never smoked n it probably shows), he's taller than u (guy's 6 ft).

"those things will kill you."

a half finished cigarette dangles loosely from your lips as a man walks up to stand next to you.

you hum and take another pull, having recognized his footsteps the moment he entered your apartment.

"doesn't mean much comin' from me but," shinichiro shrugs, leaning against the balcony's railing, "still worth mentioning."

a derisive snort leaves you, and you cast a quick glance at the man to find him already looking at you.

"right," you hold the cigarette away from your lips, "and if i check your pockets right now, i won't find a half empty pack?"

he flashes you a wry grin, "nope."

you raise an eyebrow.

"you'd find a full new pack," he clarifies, like that's somehow better, "well—full minus one. finished one on my way here."

you can tell. strangely, even though you both smoke the same brand, his has always smelt a little different. a little less bitter.

the first time you tried smoking a cigarette, shinichiro hadn't known, so you had to experiment with it on your own. you'd gagged at the horrid flavor of raw tobacco and contemplated whether your heartache was worth willingly putting that on your tongue.

it was stupid probably, but you went through with it, anyway. it was your only chance at knowing what his lips would taste like.

a month later now, and a part of you occasionally likes it. you think the connection between the two poisons makes it a little more bearable; one for your heart, the other for your lungs.

"guess we're starting our mornings off the right way."

"most people would drink water first," he replies, tilting his head, "most would also have breakfast."

the corners of your lips quirk up, "well, most people are boring."

he snorts, nudging your shoulder. the brief contact is nice, and something about his lazy smile makes your blood warm in the morning cold. you swallow, tapping your cigarette to dust off the ash.

"can't argue with that," he hums, "i'm hungry as shit, though. didn't have dinner last night."

you narrow your eyes and shove his shoulder back, "dumbass. what happened to being a responsible adult?"

he grins, "what do you mean? this is part of adulting."

he shifts closer to you, enough that you try your damned hardest to ignore how good the heat radiating from his body feels next to you.

"and i'm the leader of a gang. not really sure how responsible you expected me to be."

you roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from leaning consciously into his side.

"you're right. i get my hopes up too high."

"but," he says, "i am, at least, responsible enough to have just the right amount of money to buy breakfast."

he raises an eyebrow down at you, and you force yourself to look away from the sight of his hair (messy, uncombed, a little oily) naturally framing his features. it's awful how your heart rate picks up at the simplest things.

awful and downright pathetic, you tell yourself.

"is that an offer?"

"i might be able to pay for two," he pauses, "maybe."

you sigh and let a small smile form on your mouth, putting out whatever is left of your cigarette on the metal railing; trading in one poison for another.

"if your card declines im not paying for it."

he throws you a carefree grin and you feel its venom sink into your chest.

"'course you won't." his tone is airy, light; he knows better than to believe you.

you wish you could hate him for it.

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Chapter 4: Unexpected (Bonding)

AO3

Bruce Wayne felt lost. This wasn’t an unusual feeling for him, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the events that led to him feeling lost. First, he found out he had a daughter. Yet another child that he hadn’t known of their existence. Then, he acted as Batman. He researched the girl and found that her school situation was...less than ideal. As was the supervillain situation in Paris. The girl- his daughter- had been targeted several times. Sometimes the Akuma went after her from the start. Other times, she was unfortunate enough to be in its line of sight when it was on a rampage. Any way you looked at it, she was in danger. No, the biggest mistake in researching her came with the phone number for the bakery run by her parents. Two lovely people who had raised her and taught her right from wrong. Something he hadn’t done. Their phone call was what left him feeling lost. They hadn’t demanded that he stay away from his daughter- from Marinette. No, on the contrary, they thought it was a great idea for the two to bond. Especially once Bruce had mentioned his other children.

“Marinette was distraught when the only information we could give her about her birth father was his name.” Sabine had said, adding to Bruce’s confusion.

“You had my name but didn’t reach out?” Bruce asked, trying (and failing) to figure out the situation.

“We didn’t have much to go on. Just your name and that you were American and worked in business. Bridgette didn’t give any specifics, and back then it didn’t really matter. I assumed Bruce Wayne was a common enough name, especially in the US.” Sabine replied simply. The rest of their conversation had gone similarly, with Bruce growing more and more lost until the end. They hadn’t even suggested a DNA test (though he was planning on asking Marinette, just so that they could be completely certain). They just wanted Marinette happy. Even if it meant meeting and bonding with the man who hadn’t known about her existence.

---

Marinette Dupain Cheng was not having an easy week. No, her week was sucky. In fact it was beyond sucky, it was shitty. So many things were happening at the same time, and she was just grateful that she wasn’t currently in Paris, since she was certain she’d be akumatized. From being attacked by the Joker for simply looking like a Wayne, to meeting Batman who was just as angry in person, and then figuring out Bruce Wayne really was her dad and accidentally calling him Batman, to fighting an Akuma by herself (one that she could barely handle) and then to top it all off, Adrien is Chat Noir. And Adrien has a crush on her, as Marinette. And apparently has for at least a month. Oh and now he knows that she’s Ladybug and so last night was filled with her Chat Blanc nightmares all over again. The cherry on the top of this mess was the fact that the class was practically ignoring her. She was sure they weren’t doing it intentionally and that they were just kinda distracted by Lila’s tall tales of Gotham. Tales that include her dating one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. She wouldn’t clarify which one, which was probably for the best. They two closest to their age were 12 and 19. Neither a great option for the 15 year old Italian. A shrill ringing tugs Marinette out of her thoughts. Glancing down at the unknown number attempting to call her, Marinette silently prayed that this would turn her shitty week around.

“Hello?” She answers, wincing slightly at the way her voice sounds after a night filled with screaming and crying from nightmares.

“Is this Marinette Dupain Cheng?” A deep voice asks. Marinette frowns.

“Um, yes?”

“Good. This is Bruce Wayne and well, I’m not sure how to-”

“You’re my dad.” She blurts out, face instantly heating up. “Oh crap, I mean, um-”

“Well yes. I do believe I may be your father. I was in contact with your parents earlier, to ask about boundaries and such. Your mother says that you had shown interest in meeting me and seeing how we’re similar?” He says, the question clear in his voice. Marinette opens her mouth to respond, then frowns.

“Just like that? We’re gonna meet, just like that?” She asks, hoping that her distrustful tone doesn’t push the man away.

“I’ll admit that I was going to ask if you would mind a paternity test. After speaking with your mother, I have no doubts, but I thought it might make you feel better. And of course, if you would prefer to just act as though I didn’t speak to your parents and go on with your trip, we can do that as well. I just- I was caught off guard, if I’m being honest.” Bruce Wayne- her father- says.

“I’ll do it. I- I would like to get to know you. I can’t have a relationship with Bridgette, but if my parents are okay with it, I do want a relationship with you.” Marinette admits, holding her breath as she waits for an answer. There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, but just as Marinette’s about to apologize and tell him he can go and pretend she doesn’t exist, he answers. His voice a little softer this time.

“I would like that.”

---

The paternity test came out positive, to no one’s surprise. Bruce had given Marinette the option of meeting somewhere more public (like a restaurant or museum) to bond, or coming over to the manor. Not quite ready to deal with the possibility of paparazzi and the rumors (no matter how true they may be) that would stem from a public visit, Marinette agreed to going to the manor for dinner. Which is how she ended up sitting in silence in a town car with a man who seemed like he knew more than he was letting on.

“So, you’re the one who raised Mr. Wayne?” Marinette asks, not quite ready to call the man “Dad” or any variation of the word. The man nods and she meets his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Indeed, Miss. I am Alfred Pennyworth.” The man, Monsieur Pennyworth, says calmly. She tries not to let the frustration that she feels building show on her face. She feels like she should know this man, like there’s something important that she’s just barely missing.

“Have we met before?” Marinette finally asks, racking her brain as she tries to figure out why this man is so familiar to her.

“I don’t believe so, Miss Dupain Cheng.” He says, and for the first time since meeting him, it doesn’t feel like he’s all knowing. Instead, it feels like he’s just as confused as she is. Drat. She opens her mouth to question him more, when the huge manor becomes visible in the distance. Eyes widening, Marinette forgets everything else and turns her attention to the beautiful architecture. The giant fence and metal gates do little to hide the massive house. Sections of the house rise above others, almost as if there are towers. Dozens of windows are visible, as is the giant fountain at the front of the house. Ripping her sketchbook out of her bag, Marinette immediately starts sketching out the ideas that attack her mind. Dresses and suits and skirts, all using the architecture in front of her for the basic shapes of the outfits. As the car goes past the gate and the gardens come into view, Marinette can’t hold back her shocked gasp. Shaped hedges and flowers, hundreds of different colored flowers, and trees and- it was beautiful. Almost too perfect. Like something that belonged in a movie. She jumps slightly as the car door is opened, Alfred standing on the other side with an eyebrow quirked up. Right. She was actually getting out of the car. And going into this massive house. And spending time with her biological- nope. She can’t do this. She can’t-

“Miss Dupain Cheng, if it makes you feel any better, Master Bruce seems to have run into some traffic on his way back from the office. You’ll have a few minutes to gather your bearings inside before he arrives.” Alfred says softly. Relief washes over her and she nods, finally moving to get out of the car.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says, smiling at the man. He nods back at her before leading her up the steps to the door. He opens it and then steps back, allowing her to take a tentative step into the house. Her previous panic is pushed aside as she realizes the inside is just as gorgeous as the outside. Immediately turning back to her sketchbook, she tunes out the world around her and just stands in the foyer, scribbling furiously into her sketchbook.

“Um, hi?” A voice says, making Marinette yelp and jump, eyes scanning her surroundings until they fall on a guy. A pretty tall guy.

“Hi.” She says softly, also confused as to who this guy was. Not her- dad-biological father-other part of her DNA-father-Mr. Wayne- not anyone she had ever met, that’s for sure.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dick Grayson.” The man says, extending his hand, a smile on his face. Anyone else probably would have thought the smile was sincere, but Marinette had always been good at reading emotions. And she could tell that he was wary of her. Why would he- oh. Grayson. As in, Richard Grayson, as in this man was her brother. Or, well, maybe he wouldn’t want to be. Maybe he would think that she’s ridiculous or that she’s just here to get money or here to try and pull apart Mr. Wayne’s family or maybe he would think that she was trying to take his place and she would never but maybe he would hate her and- She takes in a deep breath, trying desperately to ground herself and wishing she’d taken up Adrien’s earlier offer of him coming with.

“I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain Cheng.” She finally says, reaching out and shaking his hand. He nods, obviously still confused. So Mr. Wayne hadn’t mentioned her. Did he hate her? Did he ask her here to have her sign a NDA? Did he not want anything to do with her? Of course he wouldn’t, he obviously already had a family. A family that he chose, not one that he had by accident. His name was on her birth certificate, surely he would have found her sooner if he actually wanted anything to do with her? He chose Dick Grayson to be his son. He wanted him. He didn’t want Marinette. He-

“Ah, Marinette. I see you’ve met Dick.” The last voice she needed to hear says calmly as he walks through the door. Marinette swallows back the thickness in her throat, the one that tells her the tears will be starting soon.

“Uh, yes. Mr. Wayne. Um, hi.” She says, flinching slightly when he winces. What did she do wrong this time? Was he really going to tell her to take a hike? If he didn’t hate her before, he surely did now.

“Bruce, what’s going-” Dick starts to ask but is cut off by screaming voices getting closer to them.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Demon Spawn?”

“Not my fault your blocking skills are subpar, Todd.”

“Sub- you almost stabbed me, you little shit!”

“Almost, yes. But I didn’t. I’m sure Father will be pleased with my restraint.”

“You little fu-” “Boys!” Mr. Wayne finally yells as the two screaming walk into view. Both freeze and the younger one’s eyes instantly fall on Marinette, narrowing as he takes a defensive position.

“Another one, Bruce, really?” The older one asks, making Marinette flinch back. Of course. Two more of his sons-her brothers- who he chose. Another two that he wanted. Not like her, someone he was going to be forced to know. Unless he told her tonight that he never wanted to speak to her again and made her sign a paper saying that she would never contact him again and then they would never have to worry about seeing her again and- oh this is a lot.

“What were you two doing?” Mr. Wayne finally asks, and that’s when Marinette sees the weapons in their hands. And the blood on the older man’s shirt. The man turns slightly so that that part of his shirt is hidden when he notices her staring.

“Uh, bonding?” He says, not at all convincing.

“Who is that, Father?” The younger boy asks, the utter distaste clear on both his face and in his tone. And this is it. This is where he’s going to say that she’s no one, she’s nothing, and then he’s going to make her sign that stupid piece of paper and the last chance she has at knowing one of her biological parents is going to fly out the window. Poof. And then she’ll be so embarrassed, she won’t be able to go back on the trip and then she’ll have to change her name but she can’t completely run away yet because of stupid Hawkmoth and-

“This is Marinette, my daughter.” Well that was unexpected.

Tag List: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat bruce wayne #maribat #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat adrien agreste #maribat adrienette #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad au #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat batfam #mbdbwm2021 #day four bonding #ao3fic

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goddesswritings · 3 years

Text

“Can I slap her for you?” - Corpse Husband | Part Two

Title: “Can I slap her for you?” – Part Two

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Reader

Summary: Being stuck living with the queen of YouTube drama and partying during the pandemic has seriously worn down your patience. Meeting Pokimane has changed your life for the better, making Among Us a pivotal part of your life.

Word Count: 5.2k

Unedited for now. I was eager to post. I will edit it later.

Corpse Masterlist

********

<< PART ONE

After you left the apartment, you sat in the parking lot of some random store, trying to decide what to do now. Sighing, you opened your phone and went to Instagram. Corpse was probably wondering if it went okay.

Corpse: She left the stream, thank you!

Corpse: What exactly did you do?

Corpse: She’s sending Sean angry DM’s now.

Corpse: Hey, are you okay?

Y/n: Hey sorry, I had to pack. I’m fine, happy to help get her out of the stream. I switched off the power to her office.

Honestly, you wished you could have stood up against her more often than you did. She was four years younger, so you should have been able to have the say in things. But no, Olivia was a control freak and a spoiled brat too. She would no doubt tell your parents you started a fight with her, and she felt unsafe.

Corpse: Wow, you’re badass. Packing for what?

Y/n: Um, she may have kicked me out of the apartment, and I may have left without a fight because I’m tired of her shit. 🤷‍♀️

Corpse: Do you have a place to stay?

Of course you didn’t and you really should have thought about that before just leaving the way you did.

Y/n: Not really but I will find somewhere.

Well you hoped you could. There weren’t many people who were keen in taking in a friend during a pandemic.

Corpse: Poki’s going to call you.

At that message, your phone started to wring and sure enough, it was Poki.

“Hello?” You asked hesitantly.

“So someone let it slip that your sister kicked you out?” Poki said calmly.

“Is that someone, Corpse?”

“Yes, he said it out of shock but I’m glad he did. Knowing you, you would have kept it a secret from me.” She was right. You hated inconveniencing your friends.

“Damn you, Corpse.” You muttered making her laugh. “Yeah so I ruined Olivia’s stream and she started screaming at me before kicking me out. I didn’t fight it because I am tired of her.”

“Understandable. Well do you need somewhere to stay?”

“Yes but I will find some place.”

“Nope, you’re staying with me. Come over now or I am coming out to drag you back to my place.” Her protectiveness made you smile.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a few.” You hung up.

Y/n: Thank you for looking out for my stubborn ass, Corpse. I would have never told her.

Corpse: Stubborn is one word to describe you. Cute is another.

That comment made your face heat up from the sheer adorableness of it. Corpse seriously just called you cute.

Y/n: Can I say you have a genuinely nice hand. It’s marvelous.

Corpse: Hey, don’t make fun of my hand. It takes all the heat for me. That hand is very anxious every time I post him.

Y/n: Awe I bet. Give him hugs from me. Also tell him I’m a big fan!

The easy flow of conversation between the two of you was nice. You got along extremely well and talking outside of the game was nice, since you could focus on what you really wanted to say to him.

Corpse: He’s flattered!

This was great and took your mind off Olivia and the fact she just kicked you to the curb with nowhere to go. But Poki was there for you. You appreciated her more than she knew.

You pulled up in front of her apartment building, parking the car, you got out and grabbed your stuff. Typing in the code Poki had given you a while ago, you were let into the building. Entering the elevator, you made your way to her apartment.

Barely knocking, the door flew open to reveal Poki. She looked mad but also worried. She pulled you into the apartment and hugged you tightly.

“Can I slap her for you?” She asked calmly.

This made you giggle. “I mean I would like to slap her as well.”

“We should make a plan. Hey, the group is still on, come say hi.” She started to lead you to her office.

“Are they still streaming?” You didn’t want to reveal your face to the world, not like this.

“Oh no. We ended our streams when Olivia started talking about you. She completely wasn’t respecting your privacy and we weren’t about to let her spill it to our viewers.” That was so sweet of them to do.

You had left your bags in the other room while you followed her. An idle conversation was going on when you entered.

“Hey guys, I’m back.” Poki took a seat in front of the computer, she pulled up a second chair. “I have someone special here.”

Sitting down, you saw her nod for you to say something. “Hey, did you miss me?”

They went wild.

“Y/n! Oh we missed you!”

“Don’t leave us again.”

“I’m sorry I invited your sister to stream.”

“Hey Y/n.”

The mix of voices was overwhelming in a good way. Sykkuno, Rae, Sean, and Corpse pretty much spoke over each other which made you laugh.

“One at a time, guys. You can’t overload her.” Leslie told them.

“Sorry Y/n. We just really missed having you here. You’ve become one of our favorite friends to play with.” Sykkuno said sounding as sweet as ever. That man was just the best.

“Yes, I can say we agree.” Rae added.

It was nice to hear they missed you. It really helped to lift your mood as well.

“Did your sister really kick you out?” Toast asked

“Yes she did. But it’s not surprising at this point. She’s probably been gunning to kick me out as soon as she could.” Sad truth

“Well she’s the worst player ever. She can’t keep a secret at all. I really should have never agreed to get her into the group.” Sean said sounding sad.

“Hey Sean, please don’t worry about it. She’s always weaseling her way into things. It’s completely not your fault.” One of the things she loved to do was incessantly DM other youtubers for collabs or for free stuff. She really had no morals.

“Well thank you, Y/n. You’re literally the sweetest.” Sean said earning a bunch of ‘I Agrees’ from everyone else. That really was helping make the night better.

“Who’s up for some more Among Us to relax after that shitshow?” Lud asked making everyone laugh hard. It was agreed the group would do it. Luckily, you had your laptop and joined the call and game and stayed in Poki’s living room to play. Honestly, it was so good for you.

At the end if gaming, you said goodbye to the group. Then Poki showed you to the extra room that used to be her roommates before she moved out last month.

“Hey, are you looking for a roommate?” You asked as you put the bags on the bed.

Poki sent you a smile. “I am. Are you interested?”

This was good. “Yes, I mean I still have to find another job since my main is still furloughing me until this pandemic gets better but I have some money saved up.”

“Hey, please don’t sweat it. Besides, I know a friend who’s in need of an editor, I may have mentioned your name and she really wants to talk to you about it. Is that okay?”

“Wow, that’s perfect. Thank you, Poki. You’re such a great friend.” It felt good to have someone there for you.

She pulled you into a hug. “Always. I am so glad I met you. You’re one of my best friends.”

This was an honor. “Don’t make me cry.”

“I can’t promise anything. Anyway, I will leave you to rest. It’s been a long night. Tomorrow I will give you my friends details.”

“Sounds good, night Poki.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.” She waved goodbye and closed the door behind herself.

Smiling, you sat on the bed. It was such a good thing that she was here got you. But also Corpse was the catalyst that got you to actually tell Poki was what happening. He was sweet and it seemed he was looking out for you.

After changing into comfy pj’s, you brushed your teeth before climbing into the freshly made bed. Opening Instagram, you saw that Corpse has messaged you.

Corpse: I don’t like being too forward but hey here we go. Can I please have your number so we can talk more easily?

A smile made its way to your face. For a tough man, he surely had a sweet way of getting to you

Y/n: Yes you can. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

The nerves jumped when you sent that message. Less than a minute later, you received a text from an unknown number.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Hey Y/n, it’s Corpse. Would you mind if I called you so we could talk for a little?

You liked this idea truthfully. It only helped to show how genuine Corpse was being.

Y/n

Not at all. Please go ahead and call me.

Your phone rang, displaying Corpse’s name.

“Hello?” You answered the phone while pushing away the anxiety.

A soft deep laugh filled your ear. “Hey sweet girl. How are you feeling?”

His words made you want to sigh in the most lovesick way. That never happened these days.

“I’m good. Poki had an extra room I could crash in and well I might just be her new roommate.”

“I love that. She’s so much better than your sister I assume.”

“She is. Here I won’t have to deal with the incessant pandemic partying Olivia likes to do.” That selfish bitch.

“Shit, is she stupid? She does know she’s risking a lot of lives, right?” You loved that Corpse had the logic you craved.

“So she is stupid, and her response was always that it’s not her problem and that the vulnerable people should stay home.”

“She sounds like the typical beauty youtuber these days.”

“Yes, she is. She has no morals.”

“Well that’s not good. I guess that’s why her name keeps popping up all over social media. She really needs to be careful, before she becomes the next Tana.” He was right but you personally thought she was past that point already.

“It’s too late. She’s already passed the point of return with all of this.”

“Yikes. It’s good you got out of there when you did.” A soft but deep laugh was heard through the phone. The sound made you giggle. Hearing such a tough guy laugh the way Corpse laughs, made you feel giddy. “So about what I said earlier, I meant it.”

“Huh, what are you talking about?” You truly were a little lost by this.

Corpse laughed again. “When I called you cute earlier. I meant it.”

Heat filled your face and a small smile made its way to your lips. “Thank you, Corpse. That’s really sweet of you. I don’t like to show many people who I am because they will immediately connect me to Olivia, and I don’t want that.”

“I get that. I don’t show my face for fear they won’t like me when I do. All my fans have built up this expectation of what they want me to look like and now I just don’t want to let them down. Plus it’s nice being able to stay anonymous if I go into public, but of course people will hear my voice and know. Shit, it’s hard.”

“Awe, I’m sorry. I saw what the attention has done to some people, but I think not everyone goes into that headspace. Also, I think you should stay faceless if it makes you feel better. There is no rule that says you ever have to show your face. People who push you to do it have no boundaries.”

Corpse was quiet for a while and you thought you had offended him. “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing, Corpse.” You squeaked.

“No, you said the right thing. I was just thinking. You’re right. A lot of people have been on me to reveal my face, but I never intend to. I want to be able to live my life without being swarmed by fans, or god forbid, them judging me by my appearance.”

“Which is really fucked. When I first appeared in my sister video, the comments were awful. They couldn’t understand how she was related to me, but I never thought I looked bad. But I guess they expected Olivia to be surrounded by people in her genre. It was so hard to see those comments.” Thinking back to it, Olivia had even added to it. Telling you that you should have tried to look more like her for the video. You should have worn something more colorful and put-on way more make up then you liked. But you hated that. That wasn’t you.

“I can’t imagine the things they said. Is that why you deactivated your twitter?” How did he know about that?

“Oh, yeah. How did you know about it?”

“I remembered seeing a story about it on YouTube last year. They didn’t show your face, so of course I didn’t know it was you. But I figured it out when Olivia joined the game tonight and she blabbered on about being your sister. I’m sorry you received that hate. No one deserves that ever.” His voice was calming you now.

“Thank you. Olivia seemed to add to it, as well. Fuck, she’s just the worst person.” Family definitely had the ability to be shitty. “Meeting Poki last year really was the best thing. But also joining this Among Us group has been so good for me. Thank you for accepting me.”

“Of course. You’re a natural in the game but you also fit very well with the group.” Corpse really hoped you believed him because this was true. The group had a whole conversation about it when Olivia finally left

“I’m flattered. The Corpse Husband is telling me I fit in with him and his streamer friends. Wake me up, I must be dreaming.” You knew his words were genuine because it was just easy to tell.

“You better believe it, baby, because it’s true.”

You stopped short when you heard him call you baby. Of course Corpse had used that word before but right now it felt more intimate.

Letting out a yawn you realized it was nearing 4 am. “I appreciate it.” You mumbled, feeling the events from the day seep in.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” His deep voice was lulling you closer to sleep.

“No.” Another yawn broke through.

“You can’t lie to me, Y/n. Get some sleep and we will talk tomorrow.”

The words made you smile. “That sounds good, Corpsie. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweet girl.” Despite wanting to stay on the phone, you hung up. Sleep was quickly coming in to claim you. You can happily say you fell asleep with a huge smile on your face.

Waking up was easier than it had been in a long time. Normally you woke up to Olivia screaming at you or someone else. So it was nice to wake up to silence. It allowed you to relax and wake up properly.

Your phone buzzed from beside you. A text from Corpse is what you first saw, so you opened it.

Corpse

Good morning, sweet girl. I hope the night treated you well.

Sweet and to the point. His messages made you think he had a thing for you. Well you hoped he did but he also could just be treating you the way he treats friends.

Y/n

Yes, I slept well and for once I wasn’t awoken by my obnoxious sister.

It would he good not to live with her.

Corpse

I bet. Hey I hate to be the one to show you this, but your sister posted this on her instagram.

He then sent a link to the post. It made your blood boil.

::::

There was a picture of her, she was holding up a ripped picture of you. A huge frown was on her face.

oliviaxoxo It’s a shame when family starts to treat you like you weren’t the one to give them money when they needed it. This is my sister and she’s a bitch. For the last few years, she’s been the one editing my videos. Well I found out she was trying to sabotage me, so I had to fire her and kick her out. What a shame it is when family stabs you in the back. 🙃🙃

1,454,787 people like this

oliviafan23 Is this true? Damn, f*ck fake people.

queenolivia Sueeee herrrrr!

lovinliv Family ain’t shit. Spill her info so we can drag her.

sykkuwu Whoa, why are you spreading lies about your own family?

queenolivia Why would you defend someone like that?

valkyrea You’re such a sad human for doing this. Stop lying.

pokimanelol Let’s see, none of this is true. Your sister has done so much for you and you’ve never appreciated it. Get some help for this.

corpse_husband This is sick. No wonder your name is always blasted everywhere. Do your sister a favor and stop talking about her.

oliviaxoxo I don’t know why you’re defending my stupid sister, but that totally makes you not hot to me anymore. Ugh.

valkyrea Uh, that’s what you got from this. Wow, you’re not worth this.

corpse_husband What can you expect? The covid must have gone to her brain. |

corpseandlivfan Whyyyyyyy Corpse, why would you stand up for her. Do you not realize how horrible Y/n is? Please tell me this is a joke!?!?

corpse_husband Well, she’s a good friend of mine and I won’t let people make up lies. So it’s not a joke.

::::::::

You were mad that she’d even say this shit publicly, but you should have known she would. She was nothing without her group of misguided followers.

Y/n

Can’t say I’m not surprised. This is so on brand for her. Thank you for sticking up for me. It means a lot.

Corpse

I would do it any day. She shouldn’t be able to get away with doing that to you.

Sadly, growing up, she did get away with doing the absolute worst shit and you always received the brunt of it.

Y/n

With any luck, she draws negative attention.

You clicked the link to view it again but instead were lead to a page that said the content was unavailable.

Y/n

I believe she just deleted the post.

Corpse

Oh, she did. That’s awesome.

It was. Olivia was never one to swallow her pride and admit any wrongdoings. That means she would never delete a problematic post, but she finally did

Y/n

I didn’t really read any other comments besides you and your friends and the top comments. I can’t imagine what her fans are really saying.

Olivia was completely okay with letting her fans attack people. It was seriously a huge mess. She fell into the category of YouTuber with the worst most entitled attitude.

Corpse

It’s good you didn’t read them, because they were horrible. I can’t believe she would let her fans do that.

Y/n

She’s done a lot of shady stuff. This is even before she blew up on YouTube. There is a lot of issues between us.

There was a lot that could be said about your relationship with Olivia and none of them were good. Forever it seemed, you had tried to make it work and hoped your sister would grow up and change but it never happened.

Corpse

I think she’s a vile human. From what I have seen and her complete lack of human decency, I just can’t help but feel she’s just not a good person and she never will be.

He was right. She would never change.

Y/n

You’re right. Hey, I have to go thank Poki for letting me stay but I also need to go back to that apartment to get the rest of my stuff. Can I call you when I get back?

Corpse

Yes, of course. Good luck heading over there.

Talking to him was pretty natural feeling. It was clear now that you were getting a massive crush on him. You had a crush on a man who’s face you’ve never seen. You couldn’t help it though, his personality just meshed so well with yours. He’d made you feel safe and wanted.

After getting dressed, you found Poki in the kitchen making breakfast. She sent you a sweet smile when you entered the room.

“Thank you for standing up for me against my sister on Instagram.” You were truly honored this group of friends liked you enough to do something like this.

“You’re welcome. I couldn’t just let her say that and get away with it. She’s done a lot to you, that you don’t deserve. Corpse messaged all of us the minute he found it and we all jumped into action. Sean and Felix were getting ready to comment when she deleted it.” She explained as she set a plate in front of you.

“I’m so honored. Thank you!”

“Of course, you’re one of us now and we will never let her get away with this stuff anymore.”

You could just cry with how loved they were making you feel. This is what had been missing in your life. Friends who genuinely cared about you and wanted to protect you from the nasty stuff Olivia was capable of doing.

“Would you come with me to the apartment to get the rest of my stuff?” You asked once the two of you finished eating.

Poki nodded. “Of course I will. You shouldn’t have to go alone.”

An hour later, you exited the elevator on the floor where you once resided. Your sister wasn’t home, which would be good but there was a chance she could return while you were packing. But you would deal with that when it came down to it. The two of you quickly got to work, packing your life up into the boxes you’d brought with you. Luckily, you weren’t one to collect a ton of stuff. You mainly just had to make sure your clothes and makeup were packed up.

You and Poki would fill boxes and pile them by there door, then you would take them down to the car when you acquired a good amount. In the end, you figured you would fill maybe 10 boxes which is actually not too many considering you’ve lived in that apartment for five years.

Poki had left to go take two more boxes to the car while you finished up packing up your last few items. The front door closed, and you assumed it was Poki, but it wasn’t.

“Oh look who’s here? My lovely sister.” Olivia’s voice was flat and emotionless.

You rolled your eyes and turned to find her standing in the doorway, glaring at you. “Hello, Olivia. I’m just packing my stuff and then I’m leaving.”

“Who said you were allowed to come back here?” She grumbled, eyeing the boxes.

“Well, this is my stuff and I have every right to come pick it up.”

“If it’s in my apartment, it clearly belongs to me.” She snarled.

You snapped. “Cut it out, Olivia. This was my apartment too, until you kicked me out last night. You can’t just claim my stuff as your because you’re salty about me having friends.” She was a spoiled brat, and you were done letting her get away with it.

“I’m not the salty one. Everyone can see it’s you.” God she was so annoying. You taped up the last box and turned to her. She held her phone in her hand. “Everyone say hi to my sister. You know, the one I posted about earlier before someone reported my post.”

“Are you live?” You asked, keeping your face expressionless. Olivia would do this.

“I bet some of you remember the few videos I did with her. Well of course that was before she turned against me and decided she was going to try and ruin me. Say hi, Y/n.” A sick smile played on her face.

“I never consented to being in your live, Olivia. Please stop.” You tried to keep your voice calm so that she wouldn’t have any way to make you look like the bad person. But regardless, she was already doing it.

Olivia cackled. “Well I think I’m free to do as I please in my apartment.” You could only imagine what her fans were saying. “You’re right, Andrea, she is an idiot, and I should have her arrested.” She spoke aloud making your blood boil.

“You’re so immature, Olivia.” You grumbled before grabbing the last couple boxes and moving towards the door. Olivia decided to swat the boxes out of your hand, and they fell tumbling to the ground. “What the hell, Olivia. I could have fragile stuff in there.” You growled at her.

Olivia was just laughing. “This is funny. What else should I do, guys?” She asked as she panned the phone around the room.

Her immaturity was giving you a headache. Poki walked in and saw Olivia.

“Oh hey guys, look who’s here. Pokimane.” She panned the camera to Poki who frowned. Olivia just laughed and started talking shit until she was cut off by the stream just ending. “What the hell.”

You gathered the last few boxes, and Poki came to help while Olivia attempted to start another live.

“What the fuck, it won’t let me go live.” She growled while stomping her foot like a child.

“That’s what happens when an influx of people report your live.” Poki spoke as you both had gathered the boxes.

Olivia was frowning. “What did you do, Y/n.” She wanted to pounce at her, but Y/n and Poki were already at the door.

“Y/n did nothing, but I got word of your little livestream and contacted some friends for help. It will be at least 24 hours before you can have another live. But with the amount of people who reported you, well you may be banned for a while.” With that, you and Poki left Olivia standing there is absolute shock.

You and Poki put the last boxes in the car. “Thank you, Poki. How did you get so many people to report it?”

“Well it was actually Corpse. He texted me and informed me that she was doing a live and bothering you. He had his fans go report it, but apparently Sykkuno and Rae also sent their fans. I was going to send mine, but they had it handled. So this was all Corpse.” She explained.

Hearing this made you feel so soft for Corpse. “Awe wow. That’s so sweet of him.”

The two of you entered the car. “Y/n, can I tell you something without you telling him I told you?”

You looked over at her. “Yes, sure.” Your heart rate kind of picked up.

“Well the other day, Corpse admitted he has feelings for you, but he wasn’t completely sure if you felt the same way for him. But I mean I can clearly see you do. Your whole face just lit up when I mentioned him. So do you?”

Heat filled your face and you suddenly felt shy. “I do, yes. Which is ridiculous because I just met the guy, and I don’t even know what he looks like. But gosh, I like him so much. When I talk to him, I feel happy. He’s been so good to me through this crap with Olivia.” You admitted, knowing she already knew.

Poki smiled and squealed in complete happiness. “You two are just the most adorable people! It’s not ridiculous. We pretty much knew from the first time you joined us, that Corpse was into you. But oh my god, you’re into him. You need to tell him!!!!”

You agreed, Corpse deserved to know. “I do. But how? It’s been a really long time since I’ve told someone I liked them. Shit, I feel like I’m in high school again!”

This made Poki giggle. “Calm down, Y/n. I have a plan. Let’s get back to the apartment and we will talk about this. Rae also wants to be involved in this.”

Back at her apartment, you had jumped onto a call with Rae and the three of you talked about what your plan was for you to tell Corpse what you felt for him. Rae and Poki decided to organize an Among Us game strictly for fun and no one would stream, they would also use Proximity chat.

“So we will get him to follow you around until one of us is imposter, then we will lock you into wherever you end up. Do it then” Rae explained sounding so excited.

“Okay, that can work. Let’s do this!” You were nervous but also excited to finally do something good for yourself.

You and Poki set up for the gane and Corpse sent you a text.

Corpse

Are you joining the game tonight?

Seeing a text from him, made you feel giddy.

Y/n

Yep I am. So I will see you in game?

Corpse

Yes you will, angel.

Cue the insane butterflies.

The lobby loaded and it was you, Corpse, Poki, Rae, Sykkuno, Karl, Tina, Sean, Toast, and Leslie. All streamers you had grown to like a lot in the time you have been playing with them.

“Y/n, I am so happy you’re playing with us!” Tina gushed as her little character ran around yours.

“I’m happy to be here.” You really were.

“You’re sister is a piece of work, Y/n.” Sykkuno said.

You giggled. “Don’t I know it.”

“What did she do this time?” Sean asked.

“Decided to film a live when we went to get Y/n’s stuff from the apartment.” Poki explained.

“Oh, that’s gross.” Karl commented.

“I have to thank Corpse for helping.” You stated to the group.

“Yeah Corpse was quick to text us.” Sykkuno added.

“You’re welcome, Y/n. I wasn’t going to let her get away with what she was doing. Truth is, I got a bunch of fan DMs that were telling me what Olivia was doing. So a lot of my fans were already reporting it, but the tweet helped.” Corpse’s deep voice soothed you.

“I appreciate it so much. She was just being an immature brat as always.”

The group laughed before deciding to start the game. Poki and Rae agreed to text you when either of them were imposter. Now it was a matter of getting Corpse to follow you.

The group was on the Polus map, which seemed to be a favorite for everyone.

Rae

We should lock them in weapons.

Rae had texted you and Poki through the group text.

Poki

That’s the best place for them.

Y/n

Okay but I still have to get him to follow me.

Rae

He will. Just wait, I have a plan.

You trusted Rae and Poki to help you. Now it was time to admit it all to Corpse and hope he genuinely liked you back.

Y/n

Let’s do this!

PART THREE >>

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