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riddledeep · 3 months ago

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Chromosomes and Pheromones

A discussion of bug people, royal jelly, and Wolbachia pipientis

Pheromones play a large role in Fairy and Pixie cultures. All Seelie Courters produce them, but pheromones are most obvious when produced by gynes- the biological "queen bees" of the cloudlands.

H.P. has scolded Sanderson multiple times for keeping scratch-and-sniff magazines in his desk at work, as Sanderson enjoys flipping through and sampling various scents (paired with attractive images of famous figures).

- Anti-Fairies do not have a strong sense of smell. Pheromones are not part of their culture (nor Refracted culture)- these things are strictly for the insect people. - Anti-Cosmo treats his divus displacement disorder (his alleged "Fairy in an Anti-Fairy's body" disorder) by rubbing donor pheromones on his face. -> Growing up, he liked H.P.'s (which H.P. sold during a time he was young and desperate for cash), but he uses a random selection in modern times and doesn't wear a rival head of state's anymore. -> Many people think of Anti-Cosmo as "a man of ever-changing scents." His various pheromone applications put off many people who struggle to get a read on him below the donor pheromones; he comes across as an enigma who shouldn't be trusted. -> According to Prince Eastkal in "Deep," Anti-Cosmo's actual scent is "Soot, mulch, and ipewood trees, but no fruit."

Family Scents

Pheromones are always a combination of a fruit with either a wood, nut, or floral undertone (in that order of commonality). Scents are hereditary, so they're always passed through families. Since gynes are dominant, families with more gynes (or at least recent gynes) tend to be more dominant

Ex: Poof inherited the Fairywinkle scent because his grandfather (Wanda's father, Big Daddy) is a gyne. Cosmo's family isn't known for gynes; Cosma pheromones are pretty weak.

Below, scents are arranged from most common to rarest (by fruit). Many people know celebrities not just by their names and looks, but by their pheromones:

🍒 Cherry

- Almond - Fairywinkle (Big Daddy, Poof, Westley, etc.) - Walnut - Vieldgarr (Present-day Purple Robe's family)

🟣 Plum

- Mimosa - Lunifly (Cosmo's extended family; the Everwish and Coldwater families are part of the Lunifly line and inherited this scent). There's a very faint apple undertone in their line due to von Strangle heritage. - Hemlock - Needlebark (Iris debuted in "Needles and Dread")

⚫ Blackberry

- Pine - Fernfire (Coleen's family; her son Whistle was the first common fairy born after Poof. Even Anti-Cosmo picked up her dad's scent at the shower house in "Gossamer")

🔴 Cranberry

- Lotus - Waterberry (Jack appeared in "Made to Be Broken") - Pine - Sparklefield (Simon appeared in the episode "Timmy TV")

🍓 Strawberry

- Briar - Fairytwirl (Ian bullied and blackmailed H.P. during school)

🍇 Grape

- Black Locust - Cosma (Cosmo likes grape jelly. His pheromones smell more like this than the Lunifly scent. Although faint, it blocks out the apple undertones from the von Strangle family)

🥝 Kiwi

- Mint - Dentin (Tooth Fairy; her daughters took her pheromones, not Jorgen's)

🍋 Lemon

- Cedar - Abdul (Binky's family)

🍊 Orange

- Cinnamon - Whimsifinado (All pixies). The Ranens (H.P.'s sister and her son's line) also have orange-cinnamon scents. H.P.'s family is known for gynes (and cousin marriages in many past generations), so this scent has remained very strong across the years. - Maple - Wurpixiz (Solara's line through her father, Beckett; Sparky's pheromones had this scent before he became a cù-sìth)

🍑 Peach

- Cedar - Reddinski (Jean appeared in "Almost"; he has some katsura-scent heritage in his line as well, giving his pheromones a sugary undertone) - Elm - Hart (Fairy Hart reports news in the show)

🍈 Melon

- Walnut - Brindle (Ocean Brindle is a very ambiguous wraith, anti-wraith, or wraith refract pop star in Poof's generation) - Oak - Mayfleet (H.P.'s selkie ex-wife; pheromones very faint due to her seal biology)

🍐 Pear

- Almond - Crystal Ball (Billy and his daughters, Cotton and Grove). Cotton and Grove are heavily rumored to be Blonda's daughters due to cherry undertones from their mom, not to mention the almond, but Blonda laughs this off whenever she's asked) - Maple - Sweetsparkle (Sammy's family)

🫐 Blueberry

- Pine - Dyeberry (Ariana is Goldie's elf roommate and on Poof's saucerbee team; she appears in "Happy Holidays")

🍎 Apple

- Hickory - von Strangles (Jorgen) - Jorgen's scent being very subtle was - and still is - a constant source of tension.

🍍 Pineapple - Came into existence with Ilisa's genetic mutation. Wisp genetics tend to be unstable and weak, so this scent fades under others. Pineapple is the scent that makes moths more amorous.

- Juniper - Ivorie - Prominent around Kansas and Nebraska (in modern times) - Walnut - Goldenglow - Goldie's family, prominent around Tennessee (in modern times)

💗 Passionfruit - Exclusive to the Eros family. They have very tight restrictions on reproduction (See also, Eros Family Tree), so this scent is unique to Cupid and his relatives.

- Vanilla - Eros

Info on mindsets, Wolbachia, and chromosomes under the cut, along with snippets from Cloudlands AU 'fics, a discussion of how pheromones affect Sanderson, and who Sanderson is without pheromone influence.

Obligatory reminder that this is a non-human society with non-human biology and social norms based on eusocial insects.

Alarm Scents

Pixies are eusocial. They swarm to protect the injured (specifically, once the scent of blood hits the air).

Injured pixies produce a scent that's been described as "Mint, warm butter, and wet dog" along with the banana alarm pheromone.

Pixies swarmed in "This Is a Box" after Chloe kicked H.P. in the face.

Mature Scents

When Seelie Courters are no longer virgins, they gain an underlying scent of caviar. This boosts their social status, deepens the scent of their other pheromones, and makes them much more attractive to drones and potential mates.

This parallels many real-life insects, who can detect a scent change (and favor non-virgin mates)

Poof was embarrassed in "All I Ever Wanted" when roommates and family confirmed they'd noticed his scent change.

Since the mature scent boosts dominance, gyne rivalry is much more vicious among mature individuals than virgin ones- It's just part of their biology to get more aggressive (and it's a lot harder to calm down when a rival has strong pheromones).

- Vice President Longwood is under strict orders to remain a virgin, lest the Head Pixie kill him (H.P. has a hard enough time not killing Longwood just for being a gyne even when he is a virgin). - Tension spiked between Poof and another gyne he grew up with (Finley) once Poof was no longer a virgin. - Finley is a tomte: a Fae who can't use magic. This means he's guaranteed to die during mating since his body wouldn't be able to survive it... but Finley has always been more dominant than Poof, so there's a lot of increased paranoia and aggression there.

Mindsets

There are three Fairy mindsets- the gyne, the kabouter, and the drone. Gynes and drones are two sides of the same coin.

Gyne - A Fairy or pixie drake who has freckles and gives off powerful pheromones that drone Fairies and pixies are attracted to.

In insect colonies that have queens, “gyne” is the word for the virgin “princess” insect who will either leave her mother’s colony to form her own, or seek to kill her mother and take over her colony instead. Similar instincts exist in Fairy or pixie gynes, who are rather territorial.

Wilcox listed the following responsibilities for gynes in “The Facts of Life”:

Appreciate your subordinates

Care for them when they’re sick

Ensure they have food and shelter before yourself

Culture Note - In Fairy World, it's the dominant individual who provides and serves food. In Anti-Fairy World, a host will provide food, but it's served by submissive individuals.

Gynes and drones are more easily manipulated by pheromones as they're much more connected to their insect biology, so they're more likely to cringe away or submit to dominant individuals (and gynes often fight to the death for dominance).

You can identify a dominant gyne because they'll float higher than others and people tend to defer to them (i.e. glancing, asking permission, keeping alert).

IRL, eusocial insects outgrow the term "gyne" when they become queens, but in my lore, the term sticks for life.

Two dominant gynes can't stay dominant in the same area for long. On neutral ground (like Fairy Con's sparring ring), they can maintain their respective dominance. When visiting each other's property - or sometimes even when meeting up for lunch - the more submissive one will get flipped. -> See the chapters "Made to Be Broken," "Senseless," and "Almost" respectively for examples from Origin of the Pixies. -> A young H.P. was required to wear a scarf to conceal his pheromones when he lived in the Earthside town of Bayard- "Mature" "Getting flipped" means mannerisms, dialogue, dress code, and thoughts shift to reflect that of the dominant individual. This happens to Sanderson in "Minion" when he and H.P. visit the Fairy Elder and Sanderson gets flipped to his "yellow butler" persona; more info on this in the "Minion" section below. - The top image for this post depicts Sanderson in different colors, including the yellow butler one and navy blue while under Anti-Cosmo's influence In "Senseless and Almost" (see above), H.P. changes his shirt from lavender to Reddinski's red. He shifts into a highly anxious "apologizing and asking permission" state that mirrors his behavior when he was in high school with Jean Reddinski, who took advantage of him back then (i.e. flirting with and brushing fingers across skin, setting up tension years later when Reddinski is actively abusing his drones by taking advantage of them when they can't leave and H.P. struggles to face his old bully on their behalf).

Gyne Pheromones

🍌 All gynes have a banana undertone to their pheromones. It's specifically the banana scent that becomes stronger when a gyne has mature pheromones, and strongest of all if they're the dominant gyne in the area (the aldra mór). See also:

"Mostly 9-oxo-2-decenoic acid, but your 4-hydroxy-3-methoxyphenyl ethanol is rather strong too, sir." Keefe looked at him in horror. "The answer I expected was bananas, but close enough. That's right. Since I'm the boss, you'll smell the 9O2D on me, but not on a younger gyne like Longwood. That's the specific scent you like, Sanderson, along with the 10H2D."

Origin of the Pixies Chapter 36, "Senseless"

Only dominant gynes are capable of conceiving. Subordinate gynes have their fertility suppressed until they become dominant (Queen bee vs. worker bee).

Poof was subordinate for most of his life, but becomes dominant when away from Finley in Hawthorn Haven.

Rupert Roebeam (ishigaq) and Walter Keefe (pixie) are drones born with dysolfactya: the inability to organize scents in their head. This renders them immune to pheromone cues; they'll just look at you if you try to lure them in "because it's instinct."

This also leaves them prone to falling off clouds or wandering into dangerous caves since they can't smell border warnings.

In Baby, You're a Rich Man Chapter 10, Keefe is the pixie who manages the file organizing computer: a job that keeps him safely indoors and doesn't require smelling anything.

The Anti-Fairy parallel of a gyne is a pilot. The Refracted parallel is a plume. They don't produce special pheromones, attract drones, or fight to the death. However, they're more likely to express bat or bird behavior (such as preening wings with teeth or building nests). They're often considered attractive in their communities.

Poof is a gyne, Foop is a pilot, and Poppy is a plume

- Drones are drakes who are overly sensitive to pheromones (and are drawn to dominant individuals who produce them). They tend to be calmer, more organized, and clearer of mind when exposed to pheromones; they risk falling into anxiety or depression without regular exposure.

Drones make up retinues: groups of worker bees that clean, feed, and care for the queen of an insect colony (or gynes, in this case).

Most pixies are drones, so Sanderson is a great example. In "Grooming," he describes the caretaking process for H.P., which includes things like wing brushing.

Wilcox listed these responsibilities for drones in “The Facts of Life”:

Be loyal

Be trustworthy

Don’t hurt your superiors

Fight to defend your family

Culturally, they're stereotyped as simpleminded, but that's not part of their biology. During Fairy World's medieval era, drones weren't allowed to own property, hold eye contact, work most jobs, leave rooms without being directly dismissed, and were required to wear muted grays or browns (and wear bracelets that matched one worn by their gyne.

At the end of this era, the court case Canterbury v. Oakwing granted drones additional rights, though some (like marriage) wouldn't be gained for another two generations (by Waterberry v. Reddinski).

The Fairywinkle family have a history of smuggling drones out of families (both upon request of those who wanted them removed from the inheritance order and upon request of drones seeking a better life). Legally, they “disappeared,” though few were actually killed- Most were relocated to new gynes. Notably, as Poof (a gyne himself) grows older, he works to revive this practice, combining his Fairywinkle heritage with the business know-how he picked up from interning at Pixies Inc.; Poof's dream is to create a legal, transparent "exchange program" of matching compatible gynes and drones.

The Head Pixie and Santa are both examples of gynes with a lot of drones under their care- H.P. has his pixies and Santa has his elves. Pixies represent paper wasps in Cloudlands AU and elves represent honeybees- two eusocial insect species this worldbuilding was largely based on.

- Kabouters can smell pheromones, but are less influenced by them since they're more human-like than insect-like in their behaviors. They don't fight to the death and are not as ingrained in social traditions that can be traced back to insect biology.

The term kabouter does not have any connection to insect biology. It's a friendly creature akin to a gnome (Dutch folklore).

Damsels with ZW chromosomes can't* develop into gynes or drones. Instead, they come in two flavors: "can have sons" and "can't have sons." Wanda is an exposed kabouter, so she can have sons.

Fairy births are biased in favor of damsels, with a roughly 75%-25% split. Sons are less common, but not rare. Again, the vibe here is "haplodiploid reproductive system, but it follows the 'male Fairies give birth' canon from the show and I don't claim to know everything about it, so if there are mistakes, 'It's because magic.'" Fairy World doesn't learn about the jelly connection until Foop connects the dots in young adulthood. Fairy World doesn't really know what's going on with their bodies. * See Smith's info below

Gynes and drones can only produce gyne or drone sons, not kabouter sons (although they can produce kabouter daughters). This mirrors the haplodiploid reproduction of eusocial insects.

Reminder: The mother needs to be an exposed kabouter to produce sons in the first place.

Jorgen's father (Frost) refused to believe in the "gynes can't have kabouter sons" rule of biology. Jorgen was born without freckles (and is a drone), but his father refused to admit that as he considered it shameful. Jorgen was very pleased to announce himself as a drone during the eulogy he gave for his father (after a lifetime of living in shame and suppressed emotions).

Jorgen and Binky are a gyne-drone pair, and while there's sometimes tension between them, they're very content with their set-up overall. Jorgen's happy to be himself with someone who doesn't judge or shame him, and Binky enjoys the company of his long-time friend.

See "7 Billion Years in 15,000 Words" for more about how cloudland perceptions of drones have shifted over the years.

Fairies cannot reproduce with Anti-Fairies (or Refracts). Their bodies are shaped differently (Fairies having systems based on insect anatomy, Anti-Fairies ones based on bat anatomy, Refracts on bird anatomy). Additionally, their chromosomes are incompatible, so in vitro doesn't work either.

Pixies and Anti-Fairies can't reproduce either- Pixies are also bug-based.

"Minion"

H.P. values hard work, rigid body posture, a straight face, and showing little emotion. When Sanderson is under the influence of H.P.’s pheromones, these are the traits he shows.

He was raised by H.P. from birth, so he grew up under these expectations anyway, pheromones or no pheromones. However, he defaults to H.P.’s values more naturally when “in H.P.’s service,” as we would say.

130 Prompt #14 - "Minion" depicts H.P. and Sanderson visiting the Fairy Elder: a presumably powerful being namedropped in "Timmy's Secret Wish." In Cloudlands AU, she's an ancient being who stands about 20 feet tall and wears yellow robes- Thus, Fairy World's rainbow designs pay homage to her even though there is no Yellow Robe sitting on the Fairy Council with the other colors.

Being the Fairy Elder, she has very powerful pheromones, even more so than H.P. In the Castle, H.P. was unable to maintain his usual influence over Sanderson, who felt instinctively prompted to turn his gray suit into a yellow one. Even H.P. fell under the Fairy Elder’s charm, turning his own suit yellow and showing more emotion (in this case, romantic affections) than we would usually expect from him.

While under the Fairy Elder’s influence, Sanderson took on a slightly different persona: checking for smears of dust, gesturing with sweeps of his arms, wearing white gloves, and folding his hands behind his back, and refusing to acknowledge H.P. as his boss. As far as he was concerned, the Fairy Elder was his boss now.

The relationship between H.P. and Sanderson is very boss & employee in nature. Sanderson calls H.P. “sir” and expects to be treated as a valued employee who receives a paycheck for his services and can be promoted and demoted in the company as appropriate. However, the relationship between Sanderson and the Fairy Elder is very butler & proud mistress of the household. Instinctively, Sanderson can sense this, even though he’d be hard pressed to explain how if you asked him to. That’s the nature of being a drone: he can sense what his superiors expect of him, and his natural instinct is to conform to their expectations. No longer under the influence of H.P.'s pheromones, Sanderson gestured more than usual and even shrugged- An act unusual for a stiff, professional pixie. He also hung his shades from the collar of his suit. He makes a point of referring to H.P. by his full title, “the Head Pixie,” and refers to the Fairy Elder as “his boss.” Other things Sanderson tends to do more frequently when he isn’t under H.P.’s influence include rolling his eyes and interrupting conversations (even when H.P. is the one speaking).

Notably, Sanderson warned H.P. that he would be flipped by the Fairy Elder's pheromones before it actually happened.

Once he did flip, he struggled to comprehend a future where he would return to H.P.'s service. He mentions that logically, he knew the Fairy Elder wouldn't force him to stay because she's always dismissed him back to H.P. in the past, but it was difficult to wrap his mind around the thought because it felt so right to be in her service.

He even described H.P. as his “former boss” and mused that he “can’t go crawling back to his ex” despite the fact that he was never fired from Pixies Inc. and technically still has a job there.

So, what exactly is going on in Sanderson’s mind right now? And what does he think of H.P. while in the Fairy Elder’s service?

All of a sudden, my body felt three sizes too small. Not even caring that I was breaking Pixie tradition, I made a fast, observable movement and scratched furiously at the crook of my left arm. Oh, it was a snatter of a place to be, trapped between a gyne and a god. On the one hand, the Elder’s pheromones gleamed on my tongue like sparkling suns that I could stare at without flinching away, but on the other, even she couldn’t overpower two and a half hundred millennia of scent layers quite so easily. Though my body and actions were hers, my brain longed to stand safely beside the Head Pixie again. But I didn’t make a move to do so. As a drone, I had little choice but to passionately serve the most dominant source of pheromones in the area, and for now, that dominant source was a deity, not a dear old friend.

Sanderson recognizes his loyalty to the Head Pixie, and regrets his inability to go against his own instincts and stand beside him, the way he would be standing if the Fairy Elder weren’t so influential. The part of him that’s speaking is the part of him that was raised by and which loves the Head Pixie, not a part of him prompted purely by pheromones. It’s the part of him that sees H.P. as both a father and a friend.

Additionally,

Obsession, now that I could comprehend. By the distinct natures of our biology, my own “infatuation” with the Fairy Elder manifested differently than his. Drones were natural fair-weather friends and sycophant servants. Even I, though minutes ago I’d loved him fiercely, had no power to alter my fate. For kabouters (and, especially, gynes) it was confusing to watch our colors change in a snap. Hurtful, even, that we could so easily abandon someone who fed and cared for us in instant favor of someone we’d never met. Yes, hurtful even for pixies, pallbearers of emotion they may claim to be. Even a pixie gyne must be hurting to see me now. Hurting, and lonely, and confused, and dripping with lust and fearful anxiety. And thus, I looked back at the flushing Head Pixie with pity in my brain, without a thought of blame or hypocrisy. This was not my fault. This was not his fault. It did not matter whose fault it was. Neither of us mattered to each other right now. One thing alone mattered, and she was the Fairy Elder.

Here, Sanderson explains that switching sides is, for him, a natural part of life. It’s something that he goes through life expecting it to happen, and so he is rarely surprised when it does. In his detached way, he understands that he might be hurting H.P.’s feelings, but he is pitying rather than sympathetic.

In sometimes subtle ways, the Fairy Elder’s influence has gotten under Sanderson’s skin. He is making the shift from valuing H.P. above all else to valuing the Fairy Elder above all else.

During the conversation between H.P. and Jorgen’s mother (Adelinda von Strangle), Sanderson demonstrates that even under the Fairy Elder’s influence, he is still his own person with the ability to think for himself, and explains he can’t be forced to reveal any secrets he doesn’t want to:

He lifted his eyebrows. “Does that bother you, dame? It’s fine if it does. It would bother me. But the fact remains, dumb Fairy laws prevent you from getting in my way. Even if I’ve confirmed I will be launching one of my revenge schemes this year, and even if you know where I will likely act and who I may be utilizing as a pawn, you can’t stop me.” Each of those last few words, he spit like their own sentence, wings beating rapidly until their noses were nearly bumping. “My son and I will not be taking our eyes off Dimmsdale for a second.” “Do it,” he said, softly. “Send in your patrol of godkids to stop me. March them straight through the Learn-A-Torium doors and onto Pixies Inc. property. Maybe you’ll find a find a weak point in our plan that Sanderson and I didn’t catch and correct.” That was my name. And… that was my old job. Adelinda realized it at the same time I did. As I inhaled sickly pheromones through my nose, she turned and stared down at me. Her fingers snapped once. “Spill your guts, pixie.” I stayed quiet, glaring up at her as the Head Pixie widened his eyes behind her shoulder. When she made as though she might leap down and approach, it was a steady process- not the quick, unexpected lunges forward that the Head Pixie (more than Anti-Sanderson, or even the Dame Head) were well known for. Apart from shifting her staff in my arms, I didn’t move. The wingless Adelinda positioned herself, fuming, at the tip of the Elder’s knee. “Pixie, you wear the colors of our goddess. For the good of the Fairy nation, reveal to us what you know.” “Adelinda, I’m gone, but I’m not that far gone. I’m a drone. Not a computer program. While my present loyalties lie with the Fairy Elder over the Head Pixie, I’m able to perceive that if he should accept me back upon her leaving, I will again belong to him. In this likely scenario, it would no longer benefit me to share that information with you. I don’t discuss my ex with current employers.”

Other Sanderson Personas

Like most drones, Sanderson has a slightly different persona for every dominant figure he ends up in the service of. Briefly, here are two other dominant figures who trigger unique personas:

“Can’t we preen just one last time before you go?” “Sanderson,” Smith said, making exaggerated rustling noises as he moved the boxes around, “I’m busy right now. Why don’t you ask Cresswell or Chidlow?” “Because they don’t preen the way you do.” Sanderson walked his fingers between the coffee filters and black straws. “You know… Besides H.P., you’re the only gyne I’ve ever given myself to on purpose. Cresswell and Chidlow get paralyzed by awkward fears of getting caught, and they fumble around. You’re the only one who never lets on he cares if he’s found out. Whenever we preen…” Sanderson narrowed his eyes in thought. “You actually exude an aura like you’re in charge. You’re just so dominant that way.” Smith set the box he had just picked up back on the floor. “Go on…”

Smith - Every once in awhile, the name Mr. Smith comes up in my pixie-related works (in this case, the above scene is from a piece called “The Other One” that we won’t be seeing again for quite awhile).

Smith is H.P.’s second-eldest gyne offspring, and his “spare” to his “heir.” Sanderson finds Smith’s pheromones nearly as favorable to smell as H.P.’s. He considers Smith a good friend, and occasionally seeks him out when working on a project or struggling with a task he’d rather not admit to H.P. that he’s struggling with.

Smith, in turn, finds Sanderson more entertaining than annoying, and sees him as a little brother despite the fact that Sanderson is slightly older than he is. So every once in awhile, Smith’s pheromones do overpower Sanderson’s mind more than the Head Pixie’s do.

It’s technically against both company policy and social norms for Sanderson to walk around with pheromones all over him that don’t belong to the Head Pixie. As a result, such behavior is considered scandalous, and that’s affected the persona Sanderson takes on around Smith. He tends to be more coy and silver-tongued about getting his way, rather than defaulting to the entitled and somewhat whiny persona he often falls into around the Head Pixie.

The second figure is Anti-Cosmo-

Mr. Sanderson actually frowned, eyebrows descending. He took half a step back. His wings bumped against the nightstand. The candle dish rattled. “Preen you like I preen the Head Pixie?” “Is that a problem?” He paused again. “Yeah, actually, yeah. I’m going to refuse, sir. What the Head Pixie and I have is special. I’m totally bound to you for now, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I sort of have to be over here and stick around because you’re attractive, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been mind controlled. I fully realize and understand what I’m doing, and I’m not willing to give you that part of me. Pick a different way to do the ritual.”

Sanderson doesn’t view Anti-Cosmo as someone he cares about impressing. Simply put, if he’s in Anti-Cosmo’s service, it’s not because he intentionally got himself into that mess. It has happened on occasion, but Sanderson always considers the relationship between the two to be a nuisance.

In Sanderson’s mind, Anti-Cosmo is a friend of H.P., but not of him. H.P. tends to keep his friendship with Sanderson separate from his friendship with Anti-Cosmo. If Anti-Cosmo is around, then H.P. pays attention to him, and Sanderson ends up pushed into the background like a bodyguard. He hardly acknowledges Sanderson’s presence then, meaning that Anti-Cosmo, in turn, hardly acknowledges Sanderson either. Thus, being around Anti-Cosmo makes Sanderson feel like an unimportant child who isn’t wanted at an important business meeting in the living room, and his persona is more childish too.

Overall, he is more casual around Anti-Cosmo than you might expect, and more forthcoming in conversations with him than he is with anyone else (although this has just as much to do with Anti-Cosmo being a good listener who carefully coaxes things out of him as it has to do with anything).

While Sanderson still thinks twice about letting company secrets out of his mouth, he does tend to be slightly more open about his (gasp!) feelings. Especially those concerning his frustrations with H.P., which are usually out of his mind when he’s in H.P.’s service, but which Anti-Cosmo’s aura seems to bring to the forefront of his mind.

This openness, of course, reflects Anti-Cosmo being a more emotional person than H.P. is. His influence prompts Sanderson to lower his guard.

On the flipside, because many of his filters are down around Anti-Cosmo, Sanderson also tends to be more critical, stubborn, and bossy around the anti-fairy than he is around H.P.

While Sanderson still “sort of has to stick around” Anti-Cosmo, he tends to fall into a persona that could best be described as “sneering, self-righteous butler.” He’s again more expressive with his body language while in Anti-Cosmo’s service than he is around H.P.

Sanderson Without Pheromone Influence

So if at least part of a drone’s personality can be attributed to the influence of pheromones, what happens if we strip them of pheromones entirely? Here's another scene from "Minion"-

I held her gaze for several beats, then dropped it to the pillow in my lap again. The tension in my legs and hands eased. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying these things. Back in Pixie World, the heaters and air conditioning units push the Head Pixie’s smell everywhere at all times of the day. Even after we shower, we just fall into them again. I’m not used to this. Being without." My eyes latched onto a glass bowl on the coffee table. I clicked my teeth. "Smoof. Is this who I really am when all the pheromones come off? Bitter and sassy and critical of everyone and everything? It doesn’t happen often, but it’s unprofessional and demeaning when it does. Do I not really like him? The Head Pixie is my boss. He’s the founder of our company. I have to like him. So where did all of these flaws I see in him suddenly come from? I shouldn’t say that. Don’t tell him I said that.” I clenched my fists to my ears, this time without the spider. “Sanderson is not a fan-derson when the Head goes subordinate. All of a sudden he’s not… He doesn’t seem… I don’t view him as… I start spreading negative gossip about him. Like this. I ought to be ashamed, but I’m just not in the state of mind to be ashamed. Do you regular kabouters ever get like this, Adelinda, or is this the curse of drones?” “I can relate. It is called being annoyed, pixie. It’s an emotion.” I fumed for a few seconds, unable to think up a clever response for her rebuttal. My hands slid down my face and then dropped into my lap. “Well, I don’t like it. I hate the ‘freedom’ of being a drone without a gyne. I’m nothing without one." My voice splintered. Reaching for my knee, I finished, "And I wish I’d remember that. But without pheromones, my brain doesn’t want to. Thank you for the towel. My thoughts are clearer without conflicting scents raging in my head. However, there’s still an empty deadness inside me. Blankness. Lostness. It’s not natural, Adelinda, to look upon the world and hate your own workplace. To criticize your employer. How can kabouters ever get by holding positions and doing part-time work like it’s some passing fling, not devoting every ounce of their passion to what they do? How can they serve someone and contentedly work side by side in a company doing a job they don’t like with people they don’t like either? I could never live that way.” No, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I ran my hands up and down my pant leg. “If this is what it’s like to be a kabouter, to live life hating the daily grind, never pleased with what you have, spotting flaws everywhere and griping about them after-hours, then I’d take being a drone in a wingbeat. But it’s just not natural, to be an independent drone. No one should have to be frustrated with someone they admire.”

Sanderson’s “au naturel” persona is, as he described himself, “Bitter and sassy and critical of everyone and everything” to a higher degree than he is when under the influence of most dominant figures, whose pheromones tend to suppress the part of him that snarks back (Exception being Anti-Cosmo, who as a bat instead of an insect, doesn’t produce impressive pheromones).

“Blank slate” Sanderson is more nervous and questioning, seeking approval from outside sources and constantly second-guessing himself. He’s more active with his hands: covering his ears, touching his face, holding his knee to his chest, and expressing himself through more body language than H.P.’s influence typically allows. His voice even cracks.

Without the presence of pheromones, Sanderson feels like a small child separated from his parent in a shoe store... unsure and overwhelmed. He acted in a similar way during Chapter 8 of Baby, You’re a Rich Man when he hadn’t been exposed to pheromones for days.

Although Fairy society may look down on drones, sometimes viewing them as cowards or as oddballs who gain masochistic pleasure from their “servitude,” in Sanderson’s mind (and in the mind of many drones), this is simply his role in life, and he accepts it. He lacks any desire to strike out on his own and raise his own family, because he prioritizes H.P.’s happiness- and, by extension, his own financial and shelter-related security. He simply enjoys being around H.P.

A drone is a creature who will loyally follow his gyne everywhere, and even raise his gyne’s children if he’s asked to. A gyne’s life consists of balancing his own needs with those of the drones who are subordinate to him, not to mention the needs of a potential wife and children.

Drones desire loyalty and intimate affection from their gyne much the way a romantic partner does, albeit in a slightly different way. There’s no question that H.P. has his work cut out for him, balancing so many pixie drones. No surprise, perhaps, that he isn’t married.

Wolbachia Notes

The bacteria Wolbachia pipientis has several properties, known as phenotypes. These are:

- Feminization -> Masculinization, to mirror FOP reproductive lore (During prenatal development, unborn children have their ZW sex traits overwritten with ZZ sex traits) - Parthenogenesis (Asexual reproduction; genetically identical offspring) - Male killing -> Female killing (Damsels who contract Wolbachia don't survive; Pixies with ZW chromosomes do because of aforementioned masculinization making them look like ZZs to the bacteria) - Cytoplasmic incompatibility (Inability to reproduce non-asexually, except with infected males females)

The masculinization phenotype of the Pixies' Wolbachia pipientis messes with the reproductive system. There ARE pixie kabouters, but they don't know they're kabouters because they're raised believing they're drones. Some pixies have ZW sex chromosomes, but were masculinized: looking at their outer body and internal reproductive system, you might assume they're also ZZ.

In other words, pixies are described as an "all-male species." Some have ZZ chromosomes and some have ZW. Chromosomes are pretty irrelevant for them; most don't know which set they have.

The pixie Smith is an unusual case: he had ZW chromosomes during prenatal development. He was masculinized by Wolbachia, exposed to jelly at a very young age, and ended up a ZW gyne.

Smith's pheromones are overpowering. He has conflicting hormones trying to express him as both a kabouter and a gyne. In other words, he has "double pheromones" and turns a lot of heads- Even the Anti-Fairies can smell him easily.

Clarifying note- Masculinized pixies don't get their sex chromosomes replaced with new ones- They get their hormones and such replaced so their body expresses the sex traits associated with ZZ chromosomes. Or in Smith's case, you get ALL the sex traits fighting for space and the body does its best to make that work.

- Many Fairies gossip about how attractive Smith is (despite shunning Pixies in general). In "Dignity," he's married off (unhappily) to a korrigan named Montana Powers. - Smith isn't H.P.'s heir, but he's next in line if Vice President Longwood loses the position. Smith is a rebellious braggart who flaunts his pheromones and challenges H.P.'s authority. "Letters and Numbers" is a good example. - H.P.'s non-identical daughter (Commelina) is the only ZW pixie who identifies as a damsel. She was born through an incredibly specific Wolbachia situation discussed in the Origin of the Pixies chapter "The Fading of Light" (Major story spoilers) - Commelina does not have Wolbachia and - like a Fairy damsel - would die if she came into contact with it. - In the Origin of the Pixies chapter "Fruitful Fruition," the cherubs bypassed H.P.'s cytoplasmic incompatibility by placing an egg directly in his uterus (Eggs are usually stored in the head and travel down).

Additional Chromosome Notes

- Witches are born with XXZ or XYZ chromosomes. Those with XXZ may or may not be sterile, but those with XYZ are always sterile (as far as studies have shown). - Juandissimo has no sex chromosomes; he was finger-snapped into existence by a genie, so his internal systems run on genie-given magic. On paper, he and his counterparts are listed as 00. He's infertile because even though he has reproductive anatomy shaped like a Fairy's, his chromosomes are incompatible. - Poof and Foop DO have sex chromosomes since they were conceived by their parents (not summoned without pregnancy). They won't have any chromosome-related issues when it comes to reproducing.

Poof can only reproduce if he's a dominant gyne. When he's submissive, his fertility switches off. Foop's ability to reproduce is in Poof's hands- He's unable to have children unless Poof has a child, at which point he's magically forced to have a child too. Further reading on that in the honey-lock section of Class Overview: Anti-Fairies.

Closing Note

These sex chromosomes apply to several AUs of mine, such as Cloudlands and City Lights.

Reedfilter Rules AU is notable for fluidity with their bodies. The RR Fae are shapeshifters, can change species, and reproduce freely with any Fairy, Anti-Fairy, or Pixie. It's not likely they know what chromosomes are (let alone sex chromosomes) apart from a thing they need to learn about so they can shapeshift into various living things.

- Class Overview: Fairies - Class Overview: Pixies - Freckle Distribution in Gyne Fairies - Preening Signals - H.P. and Sanderson's Short Bios - Commelina's Short Bio - Jorgen and Binky's Short Bios - The 130 Summaries page uses the 🔷 to mark works that contain non-sexual intimacy, with gyne-drone relationships being one example.

Click HERE for my Fairly OddParents worldbuilding masterpost

#Fairly OddParents #FOP #FOP fanfic #RD AntiCosmo #RD Head Pixie #RD Poof #RD Fairy stuff #RD Pixie stuff #Cloudlands AU #City Lights AU

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the-fiction-witch · 1 year ago

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Yes Darling

Media Nanny Mcphee

Character Simon Brown (Age Up)

Couple Simon X Reader

Rating Smut

Kinktober Day 30

Kinktober concept spanking

"Simon!' I yelled across the hall as I saw him exiting his office

"Ohh hello darling -" he began

"Don't you hello darling me!"

"What did I do?"

"You know exactly what you did!"

".... Your going to have to be more specific for me"

"Simon. Where is the jelly I made for the Marshall's party tomorrow night?"

"AHH that delicious looking blackberry jelly you made?"

"Yes. The one I spent hours hand picking blackberries, several hours baking by hand, that I had to bike a mile for extra sugar for all for the party tomorrow night. That I left in the cold pantry"

"I do recall yes"

"Where is it?'

'well…"

'simon?"

"In my tummy" he says Patting his stomach playfully "it was very delicious darling"

I was utterly fuming I grabbed him by the ear and yanked him up the stairs

"Oww owe oww owww!" He complained"I'm sorry darling" he whines as we arrived to our bedroom

"Over now." I demanded

"But I -"

"Have I misspoke? Over now."

He gulped but did as I asked holding the metal frame footboard of our bed slightly bending himself over slightly so I spanked him "uhhh!"

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

So I continued being firm and aggressive with him often making him jump or whine from the pain

"Undo your belt."

"Y/n-"

"Now."

He sheepishly did as I asked undoing his belt causing his pants to drop down his skinny legs pooling at his ankles leaving only his cotton britches to protect him from my hand

"Uhh- Uhhh!"

"Simon!' I glared noticing her was bitting his lip hard

"Yes darling?"

"This is supposed to be a punishment"

"It is. It is. I'm learning my lesson. Just maybe a little harder darling" he smirked

"Alright," I smirked pulling down his britches leaving him completely exposed and grabbing the wooden paddle I now kept by our bed and gave him a firm spank

"Uhhhh!" His eyes rolled back

"Simon!"

"I'm learning I am. I was a very bad boy, ummm bad boys you be punished"

"They should" I smirked being faster leaving him less time to rest between spanks

"Uhhhh yes!" He gasps "ummm harder darling. Make sure I really learn my lesson" he smirked but I noticed his hand missing from the bed now wrapped around his erect cock

"Excuse me" I snapped forcing his band back to the bed "naughty boy indeed"

"Ughhhhh please darling I'm so close"

"Bad bad boy" I snapped making sure to be hard on him causing him to jump and curl his toes against the floor

"Ughhh I'm a bad bad boy. Uhhhh punish me my darling. Ughhh destroy me my queen!"

So I spanked him hard and grabbed his erection squeezing it hard with was enough to force his orgasm.

His eyes rolled back, his head thrown back loudly moaning, his hips bucked forward uncontrollably, almost falling over as his knees went weak and he stood on his too toes.

"Uuuughhhhh!" He moaned collapsing against the bedframe

"Don't do it again' I warned giving him a firm slap with my hand before taking the paddle back

"I'll be a good boy. I promise" he gasped

'Im not so sure. You seem to be doing little miss behaviour like this alot lately." I glared "one might think your trying to get a spanking Simon"

"....maybe" he smirked "I can't help that my darling… punishes me so well."

"Clean up and you can start on dinner" I told him

'Or else what?' He smirked in a cocky tone leaning his hip on the bedframe smirking at me still half hard of course

I glared at him before I went over grabbed his hair forcing him to stand straight "or else" I warned slipping two fingers inside him and violently thrusting them into his-

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh! Uuuughhhhh! Okay okay!"

"Go start dinner."

"Yes"

"Yes what?" I asked speeding up again

"Yes my darling!"

"Good boy" I smiled moving back and going to clean my hand and run myself a bath in the bathroom "now Simon,"

"Yes darling" he nods pulling his pants Iians scampering downstairs to the kitchen.

#tbs #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #tbs imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #simonbrown #simon #nanny mcphee

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queen-rainy-love · 1 year ago

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Just a little fun moment in the AU.

*The scene takes place in the Cookie Kingdom, in the Pure Lily sibling household. Red Velvet was in the kitchen, cooking. As he chopped some vegetables, the radio played a familiar song.*

Red Velvet: (Huh...Haven't heard this song in a while. It wouldn't hurt if I...) *starts singing* So why don't we give it a go? Let the music set us free.

*Meanwhile, at the doorway, Pastry, Capsaicin, Blackberry, Latte, Shining Glitter, and Parfait were watching him in awed. Parfait was recording Red Velvet singing.*

Red Velvet: We've got no time to rest, the night is still young. It's our sweet dream Candy Jelly Sugar Dash! So don't stop until we're on Rocker's High! *starts bobbing his head to the music and doing a little dance* Won't stop, I don't want to stop, the dawn is still far away! It's our sweet dream Candy Jelly Sugar Dash!

*Red Velvet turns around to see everyone standing at the door. He stopped and punched the radio off.*

Red Velvet: How long were you standing there?

Shining Glitter: Long enough to know that the second Vanillian Prince can sing!

Blackberry: It is lovely.

Latte: Wonderful performance!

Capsaicin: You sounded amazing! Almost like HellHound!

Shining Glitter: You should get a career in singing!

Parfait: This video would be a *Red Velvet stepped right in front of her with a death glare* great...way...to...to...um...

Red Velvet: Delete the video and we will never talk about this. Again.

Shining Glitter: But you would-

Red Velvet: *a dark aura forms around him* Never.

*The five Cookies nodded and quickly left the kitchen, leaving Red Velvet and Pastry alone. The former nun giggled a bit before walking over to the general and kissing him on the cheek.*

Pastry: You're singing was wonderful.

Red Velvet: Thanks...but I'm still not revealing my secret to anyone else. Especially to Capsaicin.

Pastry: He will find out eventually.

Red Velvet: Until then, I'll just be careful not to sing in the house.

#cookie run kingdom #crk headcanons #red velvet cookie #pastry cookie #capsaicin cookie #latte cookie #blackberry cookie #parfait cookie #shining glitter cookie

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cosmicdreamt · 3 months ago

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"Musta been a long time ago. Still, you haven't had the blackberry moonshine they make. Sometimes they'll infuse it into a jelly spread and it is SO good on some butter toast lemme tell you."

Oh now he's got her reminiscing. It makes it easy to answer his question.

"I went a lot more when I was younger. As you know I was born in Tahlequah, that's because mom and dad would drive down and visit every season, stayed longer during the winter. Mom was pregnant with me and then out I came. Ended up staying a little longer that year until I was cleared to handle that long a car ride. My poor father had to head back up on his own for a bit. Now a days, especially given what I am now, it's harder to make time to go visit. In person anyway. I'll have to do that more while I'm still able to."

She takes a long sip of her tea then, making a mental note of when would be the best time while being absolutely unphased at his willingness to go along with her threat. Yeah, that got him going, but she's also happy to see him actually drink the tea, too.

She smiles, taking a final swig of what was left off her cup, reaching behind her to curl her fingers into his hair and bring him down to share that final sip. A little messy, as was expected, but why not give him a little treat for behaving fairly well. With a lick of her lips and a wipe at the corner of her mouth with her finger she gets up to put her cup in the sink.

"Sunday works perfectly for me. I'll go make sure the bathroom is good to go while you finish that tea. Need me to double check anything in particular?"

❝ believe it or not, ive had moonshine. i could taste that one, it was so strong but it wasn't easily accessible when i had it. ❞ most of his knowledge about it was during the alcohol prohibition in the 30's due to his foster father having it hidden in the house. he tried it once and got his ass handed to him. weird how he recalled that....

❝ do you go to oklahoma often? i think i traveled through there couple decades ago, but i never really stayed long term. ❞ abel had been familiar with the nature there, but he didn't have much on hand knowledge like he had for back home in louisiana. he wouldn't mind going there if she was there. otherwise, hed just end up backpacking it or taking a train if one was available.

when neff hands him, his cup, he grumbles but brightens viably at the idea she presents. ❝ don't threaten me with a good time. you know i won't say no. ❞ he was easy, and she knew exactly how to get his attention sometimes. thats what made her so dangerous. the fact she gave him her cup he slipped one hand around her to sit back to prevent spilling the tea between them. even if it was warm, it wasn't hot enough for him to detect, which was disappointing. at least, he'd get a bath in soon.

❝ i can make time for it to take longer. ❞ either way, he still listens and drinks. he's quiet for a little bit before he speaks up again, tone softer that usual.

❝ how about..... sunday. if that's good for you. ❞ if she would want him for that long.

#⋡☆《ic》—dreamcatcher #⋡☆《main || deity》—stardust in her veins #baphometed #[[ IT REALLY HAS ]]#[[ they're both asking and answering questions it's v sweet ]]

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brittle-doughie · 2 years ago

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Hey can you part 2 of wandering where brave gang have found the cure and y/n have silent leaves the horde again but one member have follow y/n and start the alerts the others before the mob have a chance to attack brave gang y/n cookie stops and give the cure to y/n and they come back to normal

Wandering #2

I was gonna take Thanksgiving week off, but figured I’ll do one writing to commemorate an anon’s birthday today. Hope ya like it!

Finally, after countless encounters with the horde and many tests, Aloe Cookie can safely explain to the Brave gang that she and Wasabi have worked together to create a cure to the jellification process! They now feel that in order to test how effective it can be, they’re gonna need the cookie at the center of it all, you.

Aloe did not try to beat around the bush, the mob of infected will not take lightly to see the group again after their previous escapades with them. Gingerbrave refused to back down, he knows that if they at least tried, they could get their friend to come out away from the group again to administer the cure. They have to make sure that not even a single infected member doesn’t stray from the group to follow, they’ll need to sort of keep the mob passive and low active for them to drop their guard.

Wasabi gets a wicked grin on her face and suggest they could try a sort of sleep powder in the air to keep the horde slow enough to try and lure out Y/N Cookie into the open long enough to inject the cure!

You were in the middle of the group being coddled by walkers from all side, after the last situation, they’re particularly watchful of any disturbances around the group, being incredibly vicious to anything that came close. The last escapade from the Brave have really agitated them for a while. You were feasting on a jelly as you had Blackberry Walker and Moonlight Walker to your sides, either eating along with you or staring and cooing at you.

There were a multitude of bodyguard walkers wandering around to ensure that the annoying Brave gang didn’t try to pull a sneaky on them. Walkers can remember a face that’s brought them lots of trouble, which leads to them attacking right away anyone they can recognize.

You were finish eating when you notice that the walkers around started grumbling more slowly as some even got down on their knees or even fall to the ground, snoozing. You noticed a sort of powder falling in the air which may be the cause of this sudden sleeping situation. You then heard someone call out for you, you gently place down Blackberry who leaned on you as she slept. You turned to see Brave waving for you in the forest, to which you followed after him.

You probably should’ve checked if everyone was affected, as Moonlight Walker spotted you wandering off elsewhere as she got spooked and worried. She started to hurriedly wake up her fellow walkers, but the powder must’ve been a heavy amount, so she had no choice but to follow after Y/N Cookie to keep them safe herself.

Brave and the others gave their happy greetings to you as they gave you the news that they made a cure and hope to use it on you in hopes to bring you back to normal. Your infected mind didn’t comprehend the word “cure”, but if their faces and toned were anything, maybe it was good thing that you should try.

Wasabi watched from afar in anxiousness, she hoped the cure worked and brought you back to normal and didn’t do anything terrible like making you explode or something. She was so close to bringing you back to who you were before, as the all-loving cookie that brought many cookies in the land smiles, including her and Mustard. You just needed to drink the cure-

The bushes nearby rustled as Moonlight Walker bursted through, angrily yelling and wailing as she got in front of you and made the cookies back off. However, you were quick to hug her off her moon and bring her close, to which makes her relax near immediately, she was still growling at the surviving cookies. You groaned and mumbled to her on how this cure you had could fix things and go back to normal!

She was confused, what did you mean by back to normal? Wasn’t this a normal you liked? What was the normal before this that was better then right now? Does this mean they’ll no longer be together in mind and soul? You had to comfort Moonlight Walker and convince that it was for the best that this cure fixes everyone, no matter what, they’ll never forget Moonlight!

Moonlight sniffled as she eventually nodded her head and held your hand as you brought the vial to your mouth as you took a drink.

#brittle answers #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #jelly walkers x reader #cookie wars x reader #jellywalker au

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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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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topsyturvy-turtely · 3 years ago

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june challenge - day 6

[see also: day 1, day 2, day 3, day 4, day 5]

6. making fun of one another

john was chilling on their couch in their little apartment which was a typical student place - cheap, small and already broken down - when out of nowhere john graved a peanut btter jelly sandwich.

he walked into their kitchen and walked to the shelf with the jam. he stretched his arm as far as he could. he had no chance however. the jar of blackberry jam was out of reach. out of reach for him. suddenly sherlock - his flat mate (were they more than that? kind of... it felt like more...) - moved his body dangerously close to john's back and grabbed the jar in question with ease.

"too short to reach the shelves, my dear watson?", he whispered into john's ear. a shiver creeped along john's entire body. but hey! john turned around between the counter and the young man, pressing his hands against sherlock's chest. who did sherlock think he was?

"excuse you?! it's kind of low to make fun of someone's height, isn't it?"

sherlock was incredibly close and john swallowed. "can you back off now anyways?", john pushed him out of his personal space.

"why?", sherlock asked stepping back closer again. "do i make you nervous?"

"what?! no! of course not! it's just- you're very close..", half-heartedly john pushed sherlock back.

sherlock locked his eyes with john. then he slowly bent down to john's ear. "i think i do." sherlock's lips - john was sure he did it on purpose - brushed john's ear. and then - all of the sudden- his best friend destroyed the magic between them by stepping back and fixing his button-up.

"anyhow, how were your seminars earlier?", he said, now fixing the cuff of his shirt.

"they-", john struggled calming himself. "they were good, yeah."

he turned back to the counter to finally make his pbj. then he realized sherlock still had the jar of jam. furtively john smirked. "sherlock can you open the jar for me, please?" john quickly busied himself with spreading the peanut butter over his toast.

"sure.", sherlock said and tried so. he grunted and worked on opened the jar - without success.

john by now was done with his task, turned around, crossed his arms and smirked at sherlock: "to weak to open a jar, my dear holmes?", he asked.

sherlock shot him an angry look. john's smirk turned into an affectionate smile. "give it here.", he said softly. reluctantly sherlock handed him the jar. their fingers brushed and their eyes locked for a second too long.

without any struggle john opened the jar. sherlock looked away, his eyebrows furrowed.

"do you want one too?"

"whatever.", sherlock responded grumpily.

john decided to make him one as well. who knows when his flat mate last ate something.

when he was done he turned around with both plates in his hand. "come." john moved his head towards the couch. "let's sit down on the couch."

sherlock rolled his eyes but followed the doctor-to-be.

they sat down next to each other. john couldn't help but wonder if the distance between them was a flate-mate-distance or a maybe-more-than-flatmates-distance. then he shook his head. stop this. he told himself. silently they ate their sandwiches.

when they were done john asked: "how was your pbj? good thing, ONE of us could open the jar."

abruptly sherlock looked at john, but john winked and him and sherlock decided to play along: "yeah and good thing, ONE of us could reach it."

john snorted: "at least i don't have long weak arms."

sherlock gasped at him: "at least i don't have unnecessarily strong rugby arms, that look decisively too attractive."

john gaped at sherlock and his jaw dropped. oh, how the turns have tabled. but john could play along.

"at least i don't have unnecessarily pretty eyes, that are decisively too easy to get lost in."

at that sherlock made eye-contact with john and inched closer. once again invading john's personal space. "at least i don't have the nicest smile on earth."

john's eyes dropped to sherlock's lips. "and at least i don't have the most kiss-inviting lips on earth." john licked his own lips.

sherlock was only inches away from him, raised his brows and whispered: "what are you waiting for then?"

at that john dropped his plate, buried his hand in sherlock's hair and kissed his definitely-more-than-flat-mate.

after a while john pulled back: "do you wanna be my boyfriend, sherlock?"

sherlock scoffed and bent down to kiss him again. "obviously", he mumbled into john's lips. and john let himself fall into the infinity that was sherlock holmes.

---

check out @justanobsessedpan's ADORABLE fanart based on this ficlet! i adore it sm! <33

a shorter fic for my lovely turtles. lmk what you think please 💚

tagging!!! (please tell me if you wanna be added/removed): @catlock-holmes @helloliriels @justanobsessedpan @boredsushi @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b

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slimeypuppy · 3 years ago

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Stewy is pretty in a way not many things are, Kendall thinks, as the sun peeking through the curtains casts a line of gold along his back. He doesn't make a habit of keeping pretty things around. They're fragile. Diamond earrings and porcelain cups and expensive art all get ruined in a matter of weeks, one way or the other, and he knows that it's his own destruction that tatters them. He doesn't hold onto things that are pretty because he can't take care of them.

He doesn't have to take care of Stewy. He wants to, of course, do the stupid little things like setting the shower to the right temperature while Stewy brushes his teeth, wiping the blood off Stewy's gloves before laying them next to his gun, and hugging him from behind while he has a nightmare. But he doesn't have to hold Stewy together and protect him. Stewy is vicious and tough as nails, more than capable of fighting off an adversary and leaving them broken with hardly a hair out of place. Kendall doesn't think he could break him if he tried.

Stricken with the urge to touch, Kendall distracts himself in a bump off his own wrist from the stash on the nightstand. His nightstand, he realizes. He and Stewy each have a side of the bed, and on Kendall's, the nightstand always boasts a charger for his iPhone even though Stewy has a blackberry, the remnants of whatever he was using the night before, and a little bottle of water-based lube even though Stewy prefers the jelly kind. This is his mark on Stewy's space, kept there as a reminder that there's a place for him here.

He gives in to the desire to feel the muscles of Stewy's back, defined and firm beneath each tentative brush of his fingers. They're pretty evenly matched in a lot of ways, he thinks, but Stewy has more brute strength when adrenaline isn't pumping through their veins. Despite this, he always allows Kendall to hold him down and wreck him, though he gives as good as he gets. He's so pretty. He's too pretty for his own good.

Kendall kisses the nape of his neck and trails down over the soft skin, brushing his lips over thin scars and tiny moles he encounters along the way. He wishes there was more time to explore every inch of Stewy on a regular basis, but that's not what this is and it never has been.

When he reaches the waistband of Stewy's briefs, he pulls it down enough to bite one of his ass cheeks, sharp enough to leave a mark and startle him awake, but not so aggressive as to actually hurt him. Stewy flips them over in a heartbeat, even with eyes still bleary with sleep.

"Don't fucking scare me," he scolds, but it comes out more petulant. "Fuck you."

"Not my fault you didn't wake up while I was kissing you."

There's a smile on his face, leaking into the tone of his voice, which Stewy steals with a proper kiss, much less teeth and passion than usual. It's a tender, gentle thing that cultivates a warm desire in Kendall's stomach rather than pouring gasoline and dropping a match. Stewy rolls his hips against Kendall's to test his interest. He must've already had morning wood, based on how hard he is.

"I wish I had time," Stewy laments between kisses. "I've got work to do. New assignment."

Kendall pouts and ducks his head to find a new place to kiss and bite at, settling on one of the tendons in Stewy's throat that he knows is so sensitive to the sting of teeth. "I could help," he mumbles into his skin.

"Not on this one. I've got like, two weeks to seduce this chick and get her to flip on her husband. It's a one man job."

Kendall pulls back to look up at him. He's beautiful. The light behind his head seems to form a halo around him, proof of divinity. Stewy's dark eyes and swollen lips had to have been crafted by the most benevolent God imaginable.

"I could just kill him."

"No finesse as always, Ken. I've gotta read through this file, alright, and when I'm done, maybe I'll let you blow me."

He raises his eyebrows. "Let me blow you, huh, baby?"

Something in his tone makes Stewy's hard on twitch, which seems to be the nail in the coffin. He slips off Kendall with ease and stretches, showing off every inch of his body in a way that makes Kendall desperate to taste.

"You need to be out of here by the time I'm done showering. I'll call you when I'm back in town."

He walks off to the ensuite, Kendall following him with his eyes the whole way.

#agent!au #kendall roy #stewy hosseini #kenstew #emwrite

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theabyssorder · 3 years ago

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helo i saw your post abt angel's share having a cafe vibe in the morning and barista diluc now i have thoughts 🧍

in terms of creating coffee i just KNOW that diluc would experiment with different kinds of beans from different places, like ooo would the beans from sumeru taste really rich, would the ones from natlan taste strong, y'know??? yeah :))

i also think kaeya would like boba 🧍, esp w black sugar syrup god he'd love that, there's also a kind called dirty milk where it has boba, milk, and black sugar syrup, really sweet but good highly recommend if you're into those kind of drinks, oh and he might like popping boba!! and its exactly what it sounds like they have different flavors depending on which store you get it from, diluc might not like boba because its too sweet but he might like the fruit tea kind like peach tea mayhaps

this got really long so uhhh yeah those are my thoughts 🧍

First, you are fine, and thank you because I just got more thoughts. Second, I apologize for the trainwreck I wrote, because I can't stay on one single headcanon/idea. But like

His number one customer other than Donna is Jean. She gets her energy for the day without having to take Lisa's energy potions. (Jean please don't drink them) and she gets a freebie snack. He probably has Jean taste coffee because she doesn't particularly care about what she gets, and she'll always visit once a day.

Also, Angel's share does have sobering drinks for certain people who can't keep their liquor down.

(Also Diona is also a barista because coffee is gross to her, and it gives her dad bad breath and will ruin two industries at once if needed)

I could totally see him enjoying black tea, matcha, and chamomile.

I think Diluc doesn't mind boba, but I could also see him as a popping boba fan like Kaeya. Kaeya would buy a box of popping boba just to eat it without anything else JUST to frustrate Diluc.

However, I see him as a total coffee jelly fan and it can be in his tea or just as a snack. It's sweet and it gives you a small boost of energy.

Kaeya gives off brown sugar tea vibes or even halo halo!! It's like a parfait with so many types of toppings and sweets and I think it can include fruit jellies/boba!

Also, Diluc and peaches really make sense but I can't explain why?? It just matches his vibes and his aesthetic?? Diluc + peaches go hard 100/10

Same with Kaeya and raspberries or blackberries because yes.

#gazeintotheabyss #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin hcs #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact kaeya

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yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen · 4 years ago

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Day 29: In the Fridge - Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!Reader

Rating: 18 + for language

A/N: Day 29!? Only one day left :( Thank you for reblogging, commenting, and liking. I see them all and it warms my heart.

Taglist: @itspdameronthings (Requested this prompt and fellow Santi lover) @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel

“Where the hell is it?” you huff bent over in the fridge.

You steadily remove the entire contents of your fridge before you curse and slam the door. “Querida?” you scream and turn to your husband a hand to your chest.

“SANTI! Jesus honey you scared me! Did I wake you?”

“No, I don’t really sleep without you. I woke up almost as soon as you got up. I thought you were just going to the bathroom but then you didn’t come back.” he steps closer and rubs your back gently.

“I’m sorry. I just...god this is so stupid,” you rub at your eyes and wipe away the rogue tears.

“What’s wrong querida? Do you need something? Are you...are you having cravings?” He’s gentle with his questions but your emotions are all over the place and a small sob escapes your mouth.

Santiago holds you close to his chest and wraps his arms around you. Your slightly swollen stomach is protected between the two of you. “Querida...what do you need?”

You gasp and look up at him. His hands are so gentle as they wipe away the tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You hiccup, “I was trying to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich...and we don’t have any peanut butter...or jelly!”

Santiago tries to suppress the chuckle but it escapes and you groan into his chest before crying harder. Slapping his arm harshly, “don’t laugh you ass, you did this to me!” You take a step back and point to your protruding bump.

“I’m sorry querida...I just never thought I would see you cry over peanut butter and jelly. Would you like me to get you some?” He reaches for you and your anger is quickly forgotten over the temptation of him holding you.

“Yes, please,” you nod holding him as tightly as possible.

“Why don’t you go lay down and I’ll run to the store and bring you back peanut butter, jelly, and even that white bread you like so much?” He kisses your forehead gently and all you can do is nod.

He holds your hand and leads you back to bed, helping you into the bed and tucking you in. Your chocolate lab, Roman jumps onto the bed and cautiously walks over to you before plopping down and laying his head on your belly.

“Keep an eye on mommy and baby brother for me ok pal?” Santi scratches Roman behind the ears before kissing you on the lips. He goes to the closet, grabs his jacket, tennis shoes, and his hat before walking out the door. Twenty minutes later the door unlocks and Santi comes back with two large paper bags balanced in his arms. You walk into the kitchen upon hearing the commotion, your mouth dropping open at the sheer volume of items he purchased.

“Santiago...honey, I thought you were going to buy peanut butter and jelly? Not the entire grocery store!”

He grins at you before starting to unload the bags, “Well I wasn’t sure what you would want, and I read in that what to expect book that sometimes you can have aversions so I thought I should grab lots of options.”

He takes the next ten minutes lining up the items on the counter until he’s satisfied with his offering, smiling brightly at you from your perch on the island.

“Ok so I got you smooth peanut butter, crunchy peanut butter, sunflower butter, almond butter, cashew butter, hemp butter, and cookie butter to choose from for the butter part of your sandwich. Which would you like?”

“Uhm can I have a sunflower butter and a cookie butter one?”

He nods before pulling them forward, “okay, and for the jellies I got strawberry, boysenberry, blueberry, blackberry, prickly pear, orange marmalade, grape, pepper jelly, and cherry preserves.”

“Did you just say pepper jelly?!”

“Querida, nothing is too good for our baby, if you want pepper jelly you will get pepper jelly,” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You laugh before shaking your head, “I would love the boysenberry with the sunflower butter and the...god I can’t believe I’m saying this...the pepper jelly with the cookie butter.” As weird as it sounds the second he said it you couldn’t stop thinking of the mouthwatering combination.

Santiago’s face splits into a shit eating grin and he sets to work making the two sandwiches. “Go sit down on the couch Querida I will bring your sandwiches over to you in a minute.”

You hobble off the island and plop yourself onto the couch. Grabbing the remote and finding some old reruns of M.A.S.H. Santiago sweeps into the room and over exaggeratedly lays the plate into your hands.

You moan as you devour the two sandwiches in a matter of minutes. Licking your fingers and sighing at your craving having been met. You lean your head back on the coach and turn your eyes to see Santiago staring at you. His eyes blown wide with an unmistakable look.

“Like what you see Pope?” you tease knowing how hot it got him when you used his call sign.

“You are so fucking beautiful querida, pregnant with our son. You’re eternal my love, practically glowing. And shit when you moan and lick your fingers...the things you do to me querida.”

You can feel the heat sneak up your neck and you give him a smile and a nod and that’s all the conformation he needs. He’s on you instantly kissing you and tugging you to straddle his waist. You feel him devour you and you moan into his mouth. His hands kneading your lower back and running over your ass.

Yes, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were the baby's craving but mommy was craving something else. Luckily daddy was able to deliver both.

#November writing challenge #Santiago Garcia #santiago pope garcia #Oscar Isaac #Santiago pope garcia x reader #Santiago Garcia x Reader #Triple Frontier

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hydra-collector · 4 years ago

Text

Jam

AO3

Ship: Loceit

Characters: Logan Sanders, Janus Sanders, Roman and Virgil briefly mentioned

TW: self-harm, eating disorders (sort of), food, overworking, body negativity

Words: 1773

Summary: Jam is a bit of a comfort to Logan, no matter how stupid it feels. And God, does he need comfort.

Note: College AU

Logan stared into the blue light of his computer, eyes heavy and head aching. The bright LED of the kitchen wasn’t helping, but he forced himself to stay due to Janus sleeping soundly in their bedroom. If his boyfriend knew he was up this late, he would surely force him back into bed, Logan’s work left unfinished.

He was trying. He really was. But he’d barely made any progress after… how many hours has it been?

He glanced to the clock on the bottom right of his computer. Three.

Logan sighed, resting his head on the table instead, stomach growling. He often spent nights like this, hungry and tired, refusing to eat under the guise of not wanting to go to sleep while digesting. That excuse barely held anymore, though, due to the fact that he kept his dinners lighter than breakfasts, and was often up for, well, three or more hours later each night. So he grew hungry quick, and he used to opt for the easy option of jam and bread. But he couldn’t be gorging himself in the middle of the night like that anymore, or really any time of day.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t had a jar of Crofter’s in a long while.

That was fine. It was unnecessary, and more expensive than other brands. Plus, jam wasn’t really the best filler for the fruit in his diet. And he wasn’t keeping up with healthy eating habits much anymore anyway.

It was fine. He needed to lose weight after all.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the twinge of guilt bubbling up in his chest. He would give anything for Janus’s help, but the thought of telling his boyfriend that he’s worried about something that isn’t even that serious terrified him. It wasn’t difficult to eat, he just did less of it. He needed to, that wasn’t unhealthy.

It was fine.

He sighed again, headache finally starting to recede as his eyes were shut tight on his arms. He knew this wasn’t healthy. He tracked every action he took, and he knew he wasn’t healthy, physically or emotionally. He knew exactly which advice to give to someone going through the exact same things, performing the exact same self-destructive tendencies.

So why couldn’t he apply that knowledge to himself?

Even right now he was writing a paper on psychology, you’d think he knew enough not to live his life like he was a depressed preteen.

Nothing was ever good enough for his own standards. Not his work, not his body, and not Crofter’s.

Why the hell did he care so much about a jelly brand?

He groaned, kicking his legs and pounding the table like a six year old throwing a tantrum. He lifted his head up to lean back in the chair, suddenly reminded why he buried it in his arms in the first place.

“Lo?”

He jumped at the sound, shutting his computer screen, more due to impulse than to rational thought. Janus would have already realized what he was doing, there was nothing to avoid it.

His boyfriend ambled in his direction, pale nightgown swishing around his ankles.

“It’s one in the morning, love.”

Janus pulled up a chair beside him, the sound cutting through the peaceful quiet of the night. Logan couldn’t help but tense at the arm snaking around his back, Janus’s forearm pressing against his belly fat. Soon, though, he relaxed into the touch, letting his eyes close for another moment.

“How often have you been doing this?”

“...Not too often.”

Janus nuzzled his head into Logan’s hair. “I know you’re lying. You wake up late and exhausted every morning.”

Logan sighed, nodding slightly. There was no point in trying to further his lie, he hated himself enough as it is, he didn’t need Janus hating him too.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Logan pulled his head off of Janus’s shoulder, slumping down in the chair to look up at him with tired eyes.

“What?”

Janus threaded his fingers through Logan’s hair, looking down with a soft, worried expression. “How your daily routines are borderlining on self-harm.”

Logan nearly felt himself choke at the term. It was everything he’d tried to avoid, everything he tried to convince himself he was not.

“I’m not- I don’t-”

Janus sighed. “You eat half your meals, you pinch or punch yourself when you get frustrated, and you refuse every offer to socialize you’re given while you isolate yourself with your work, all while beating yourself up over it.”

“Janus, I have to get my work done. I don’t have time to ‘hang out’ with people, that’s why I’m up at one in the morning trying to finish this. Imagine how it would be if I had wasted two hours of that with Roman or Virgil? And I don’t intentionally punch myself, I just need something to vent my frustration onto, and since everyone else gets frustrated if I slam a door or mutilate some random object, I don’t have many options but myself. I always regret it afterwards, it’s not like I want to keep doing it. And I realized I’m not at the ideal weight, so I cut down on some of the unhealthy things-”

“It’s not just the unhealthy things, Lo, you know that too. You’ve done your research on weight statistics and how societal norms set an unattainable goal, you don’t need to do this. You don’t even eat Crofter’s anymore.”

“I don’t need Crofter’s. It’s stupid, it’s just a jam.”

“It might be just a jam, but it’s still important to you. I know how you’ve eaten that stuff during the best and worst times of your life, how attached you are to it. It’s your comfort. And it’s okay to have little comforts. It’s okay to have ‘stupid’ comforts. It’s okay to feel bad about them. Things don’t need a reason for making you happy. You’re pushing out everything else that makes you happy right now, why not let yourself have one thing?”

Logan looked up at Janus. “Happiness is the most distracting thing. I don’t need it now, not when I have so much to do.”

Janus laughed, the sound breaking the quiet.

“I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. We’re going to CVS.”

Janus grabbed him by the wrist, putting on a coat and shoes as they stumbled out the door. He remembered his wallet and keys, stuffing them in his coat pocket.

“Wait- Janus, I can’t-”

He didn’t have much of a choice as he was dragged out into the cool night- morning air. Janus pulled him into the car, turning the key quick and driving off into the dark.

“So why are we going to CVS in our pajamas?”

“To get you Crofter’s.”

“Janus, can’t that wait until tomorrow-”

“You won’t come tomorrow. I have to bring you when you’re tired and helpless, so you won’t resist.”

“So you’re kidnapping me?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that…”

Despite the irritation caused by his boyfriend, Logan smiled. It was rare that he believed, or really even let himself hope, that he was loved. And now that Janus had decided to throw all plans of sleeping out the figurative window just to get him something he liked… it was a bit easier to consider.

He was reminded of his hunger as his stomach growled in pain, not just hungry but deprived of food for the previous day as well. He looked out the window, streetlights passing by as they drove.

“We’re here.”

“Hm?”

Logan opened his eyes, not knowing when he’d closed them. He was scrunched up against the door in an unadvised position. He might as well have not been wearing a seatbelt at all, based on the way he was sitting.

He was snapped back to reality when Janus brushed his hand.

“You’re very cute, love, but you do have to get out of the car.”

Logan did so, suddenly wishing that he’d worn more than his pajamas as his skin met cold air, as well as realizing that anyone out could see him in such unprofessional clothes. He seemed to have forgotten in his sleep deprived state. Hopefully the cashier wouldn’t remember them from this outing.

Janus laced their fingers together, pulling him closer as they approached the 24-hour store.

The inside was warmer than the shockingly cool air of the night. The lights inside were tinted blue, reminiscent of his bright computer screen. Janus led him through the aisles, finding the jam fairly quickly.

“Take your pick.”

They didn’t have too many flavors here; they were lucky that they sold the brand at all. Logan sighed.

“This feels stupid.”

“There’s nothing stupid about it. Now come on, just choose a jar.”

He sighed again, but with a smile this time, picking up a jar of blackberry. Janus didn’t let go of his hand the entire time as they paid, Logan leaning into Janus’s touch as they left.

They arrived home soon, the exhaustion finally setting in Logan’s body. Janus held him by the waist, guiding him inside to sit back down at the table. He took Logan’s computer away, likely to their room, before returning. Logan sat there, head on his arms, just staring at the jar.

“Do you want toast?” Janus asked, hanging his coat back up before returning to Logan.

Logan kept staring. “No. Just a spoon.”

Janus got him one, handing it across the table as he sat down. Logan opened it, beginning to hungrily shovel the jam into his mouth. Janus just sat there, waiting for him to finish.

He paused halfway through, slumping back and setting his jam down, spoon still sitting in it.

“This is stupid. I’m a grown man sitting in the kitchen at two in the morning with my boyfriend eating an entire jar of jam because I’m insecure.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

Logan looked back down at his jam. “I guess not. It just feels stupid.”

“Like I said, it’s your comfort. It’s not stupid to have comforts, plus you’re a fan of consistency. Crofter’s is something that you keep consistent. Now eat your jam.”

Logan smiled softly, leaning back down to finish his jar. He did so messily, not bothering to stand up and get a napkin when he was finished. Janus stood to get it himself, tilting Logan’s head up to dab at the sweet substance. He then placed a quick kiss on Logan’s lips, tugging him up by the collar of his pajamas. He stood, leaning against his boyfriend as they made their way to bed.

#loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #logan angst #sanders sides #ts fic #ts logan #ts janus #ts sides #sanders sides fic #ts fanfiction #grays fics

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 5/10 - Juno

Chapter summary: Dessert week will see bakers having to keep their cool as temperatures rise in and out of the tent, with a caramel signature, a coffee technical, and a white chocolate showstopper. Meanwhile, Asttina’s astrology app proves oddly prophetic, Tayce and Aurora get closer, but Lawrence’s nerves intensify after an accident with one of her bakes.

A/N: We’re at the halfway point! I really appreciate all the support from all of you so far! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

WEEK 5: DESSERT WEEK

I’m here to win a cake stand. I’m here to win a cake stand.

Tayce thought that if she kept repeating this in her head, maybe it would stick. Because she had a Star Baker badge now, so she’d proven she was a competitor, here to win; and that meant she had to keep being one of the top bakers, to stay in the spotlight. That way, she’d avoid slipping down the pack.

The problem was, all through the practise runs she’d baked for this week back at home, all that had been on her mind was Aurora.

She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t, so stop torturing yourself, Tayce.

When Tayce had suggested fake-flirting in the tent, she’d wondered if maybe she’d been reading the signs correctly. She’d noticed Aurora becoming a little flustered, a little tongue-tied, in her presence, and dared to hope for a second that maybe … just maybe …

She thought that mentioning faking it might give Aurora a chance to tell Tayce if she wanted it to be real, if she felt the same way. But Aurora’s nonchalant tone, the polite, business-like manner they’d discussed their boundaries, confirmed to Tayce that she didn’t.

So, here they were. Tayce was faced with the prospect of having to pretend that her very real feelings were just for the camera. Even if they went so deeply down that she ached at every touch, every smile …

I’m here to win a bloody cake stand!

Aurora had turned up to Norton Hall this week a little late this morning - trains delayed, groundbreaking - and sprinted past the rest of them, dragging her weekend case, as they waited to go into the tent for the Signature.

Around the common room, the other six bakers waited along with Tayce. Asttina was on her phone, her free hand in Bimini’s; Tia and Veronica had kicked off their shoes and put their legs onto the sofa, curling up together and watching something on Tia’s phone; while Lawrence had a paperback copy of Cujo in one hand, chuckling at intervals, and Ellie twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and watched the brilliant sunshine through the window, ignoring everyone else.

“Moon in Cancer, waxing,” Asttina said suddenly, nodding at her phone. “Co-star is reading me this week.”

“What does that even mean?” Bimini asked her.

“The moon is your emotional self, right? And Cancer is its home sign. And Cancer is all about emotions and being emotional. I think,” she added with a shrug. “I’m only a beginner. So anyone with Cancer in their big three will be feeling all the emotions right now.“

Tayce didn’t know where her moon was, but emotional was right.

Seeing Aurora again after the week back home restarted the ache in her chest at the knowledge her feelings were in vain. Aurora did not feel the same way about Tayce as Tayce did about Aurora.

If she did, she’d have told me that she didn’t want to fake anything.

Still, even though it was unrequited, part of her still looked forward to seeing Aurora again.There was nothing about her that hadn’t piqued her fascination. That dimple when she smiled made Tayce’s chest tingle. The nervous way she tucked locks of hair behind her ears and the way she would look away modestly when the judges came near her made Tayce want to just hold her …

But I’m here to win a cake stand!

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Tayce said to Asttina, “but I’m sure it’s riveting.”

“What’s your big three?”

Tayce huffed. “Not a clue. Not a Scooby Doo. I just know I’m a Gemini, baby. We get a lot of stick, but that’s because not many other signs can handle us!”

“Okay, well what is your birthdate? I can put your details into the -“

“Sorry!” Aurora careered into the room, pausing for breath, and as soon as she did, the producer opened the door to call them to the tent for the Signature.

Tayce’s big three, whatever that meant, would have to wait.

——

Signature: 6 Creme Brûlées with set caramel discs

This week had been hot, and this weekend was forecast to be just as hot. All they’d been subjected to on telly and the news had been this week would have record-breaking temperatures, warmest May since last year probably, and pictures of people crowding at Brighton beach on the front pages as if sunshine was news.

We only get one nice weekend a year, and now we’re in a tent.

Tayce always hated the way the most intricate, delicate challenges always seemed to happen when the temperature was high, making all the bakes melt in the tent. It was always that one week where there was a heatwave especially prepared for the Bake Off, and this seemed like it would be that week.

Oh yeah. And the Signature is creme brûlée. Great idea.

It was still quite early in the morning, but the tent was already starting to feel like a greenhouse. Eight bodies in the room, not including the judges, was already starting to drive the temperature up, along with the beaming sunlight, not to mention the ovens and hobs when they would all start to light up for baking -

“On your marks -“

“Get set -“

“BAKE!”

Tayce grabbed for her ingredients. She’d made this creme brûlée recipe two or three times, and it hadn’t normally gone quite right, so she was not expecting to have a repeat of last week, when she’d won Star Baker.

Now that Cherry had left, she was right behind Veronica, and could see the exact regimental order that Veronica had everything. Her ingredients were split around the workbench in order that she would use them, with the caramel ingredients for the caramel disc right at the far end. Each timer she had - and she still used all five - was set up differently, with the one on the far left being the time for the whole round, but the rest timed for individual parts of each challenge.

Everyone was struggling with the heat. Even Asttina, right at the front, normally cool as a cucumber, was letting out frustrated noises, becoming more irritated the longer the bake went on. The cameras seemed to all be on her this week, as she clutched at her hair and stomped around the tent to the tea machine at intervals.

Lawrence too, to everyone’s surprise, was having an off-week. Whenever pans fell to the ground, everyone always just expected it to be Ellie, who didn’t seem to realise that she was about 70% limbs; but this week it was Lawrence who dropped the pan - and once she’d dropped one, every other kitchen implement seemed to slip through her fingers.

Then Tayce looked at Aurora, and her jaw fell to the floor.

That smile, that dazzling smile, the dimple visible from this distance; her hair tied off her face and neck, calmly mixing her custard ingredients, merrily humming as she heated up the sugar for her caramel discs, not really saying a word to anyone.

Aurora was calm, poised and accurate, like a Stepford Wife.

Tayce’s whole body tingled for a few moments as she realised that the happy aura she was exuding was contagious.

“How are you getting on?” Tayce said, walking over and leaning into Aurora’s side.

Aurora let out a contented hum. “Pretty good. Crème brûlées look good and so does my competition!” She glanced at Tayce through her eyelashes, as Tayce’s insides turned to jelly.

She’s a good actress, I’ll give her that. She’ll definitely convince the audience.

And Aurora’s calm mood continued all the way through, despite everyone else in here seeming to be falling apart. Tayce’s first caramel refused to thicken, and the second crystallised, but the third batch worked - finally, she said to herself - and she was able to harden it just in time for the discs for her creme brûlées.

It was a close shave.

At the front, Asttina slumped against the back of Lawrence’s workbench, dropping from view so fast that the medics hovered, thinking she’d fainted; but as Tayce approached her, after Bimini and Tia had already rushed in, it was plain to see she was fine, physically at least. She sat against the cupboards, sighing, as the others crouched around her.

“Bloody caramel,” Asttina pointed to the pan, still on the hob, “it’s my Achilles heel.”

Tayce peered into the pan, where the sugar had completely crystallised, just as her own had earlier; and all of Asttina’s creme brûlées were just setting custard, without the caramel disc on the top.

——

“Alright, Tayce,” Paul said, as they came to her for the judging, “you’re up. Tell us again the flavour of your creme brûlées.”

Tayce waited for the camera to point in her direction as they had all been instructed to do, before she opened her mouth to speak. “They’re blackberry-flavoured, and the caramel is salted and also flavoured with coffee.”

She watched, holding her breath, releasing it when the caramel disc cracked at Paul’s spoon hitting it - one of the main judging points for this dessert - and waiting as patiently as she could while the judges were tasting.

“Good flavours this week - custard hasn’t quite set, but the caramel gave a great crack, and the sweetness of the blackberries is nicely off-set by the salt in the caramel and the bitterness of the coffee.”

“Great job this week, Tayce.” Prue added. “Just needed a little longer for the custard and it would have been fantastic. Thank you.”

“Thank you!” Tayce grinned, as the judges moved away from her.

Noel hovered for a second, the cameras still on him. “I’m taking this one to go, alright Tayce?” He said, picking up the nearest dessert and walking off.

They all had to continue waiting for the judges and cameras to set up for Aurora, who was last to be judged. Tayce relaxed on the stool, as Veronica looked over at her.

“Well done on the feedback,” she whispered, giving Tayce a rare smile.

Veronica had started to talk to her a little more since Cherry had gone, no more people between them; and although Aurora didn’t seem to like her too much yet, Tayce thought she didn’t seem that bad.

“And you, too,” Tayce grinned back at her. “You and Tia got some good comments this week!”

“Everyone seems to be this week, apart from … well.” Veronica glanced to the other side, and Tayce hummed in agreement. Everyone on the other side had had poorer feedback this week, although still kind as always; but Asttina, Lawrence and Ellie all looked dejected at their comments.

Only Aurora was left to be judged, and Tayce watched the judges crack into the caramel disc and take their first tastes of her creme brûlées.

“The cinnamon’s there.”

“Yes, and the apple flavouring is too. The caramel is not too sickly, and the texture is really nice and smooth.”

“It’s … pretty much spot on.” Paul nodded, his face the vague surprise that he normally wore when he tasted good bakes. “You nailed it. Good job.”

The whole room erupted into applause as Paul held out his hand to Aurora for the handshake, Aurora’s jaw dropping in delight, Tayce finding herself making the most noise of anyone in whoops and applause.

Wow. I’m keen.

——

“Congratulations on the handshake!” Tayce smiled at her in the common room. “I said I wasn’t going to eat loads more cakes and things while the competition was on, but I’ll make an exception for yours.”

“Tayce,” Aurora murmured, smiling and letting Tayce draw her to her side, looping her arm around her waist. “It’s - it’s nothing - dessert week! It was the last thing I expected, I didn’t know they’d like it that much!”

“A win’s a win, bitch! Don’t knock it!” Tayce smiled at her, picking up one of her creme brûlées in the ramekin. Aurora’s was good, although the caramel melting with the heat meant there wasn’t really a crack to the top any more.

As she turned to go back to sit down, Tayce almost walked into Lawrence, who was standing staring blankly at her own tray.

“Oh - sorry Lozza.”

Lawrence sighed. “It’s alright. I’m just -“

But she didn’t finish her sentence, putting a hand to her mouth and chewing her finger, still staring. Tayce took a moment to really look at Lawrence, the vibrant purple of her hair slowly fading as the weeks went on, the rings around her eyes deepening.

“You were all nerves today, girl! What’s with that? You’re always so bleeding confident! Where’s that Lawrence gone?” Tayce followed her as she walked away, out into the sunshine again, away from everyone else.

“Just - I’ve just been really dreading this week,” Lawrence muttered, her voice starting to creep higher. “Desserts, caramel, all that shit - it just really makes me annoyed that I can’t do it -“

Her voice broke as she put her hand to her forehead to cover her eyes, but there was no hiding the way her shoulders shook. Tayce shuffled for a second, chewing her tongue, wondering what she could do, before resting a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder and squeezing it gently when she didn’t have it thrown off.

“Sorry - I don’t know why I’m this upset -“ Lawrence took a couple of breaths, turning her eyes to the sky to stop herself crying any more. “I just want to be good at things and when I’m not …”

“You just … panicked a bit I think,” Tayce said, “and then you panicked more because you were already panicking. You need to relax a bit! It’s just a baking show! You’re here to win a cake stand!”

Lawrence let out an exasperated snort. “We can’t all be like you. You’re practically fucking horizontal.”

Tayce laughed, although she wasn’t sure how funny Lawrence was trying to be.

——

Technical: Tiramisu cake

The Technical challenge didn’t see Lawrence looking any more sure of herself.

Tayce found herself keeping an eye on Lawrence more than she’d expected to, a small pang of sympathy for her growing in her gut. Her movements were cautious, tentative at first, but once Lawrence had knocked another pan over, she was off again. Her hands were shaking even from this distance, her moans of frustration turning into growls.

The problem was, the bake was so hard that no one really wanted to leave their workbenches and go to help her. Asttina turned around once or twice to watch her and ask if she was alright, which was batted away by Lawrence with a dismissive wave; but when the third one was met with a harsher tone than any of them had heard from Lawrence, Asttina promptly turned back to her own bake, and didn’t disturb her again.

With ten minutes to go, Tayce watched Lawrence slump against the back of Ellie’s workbench and slide to the ground. Ellie batted away the cameramen to run round her own to sit with her, and as Tayce peered over she could see that Lawrence was fine - physically - just sat against the cupboards with a look of utter despair on her face.

By contrast, Tayce glanced at Aurora, in her own world, taking her perfectly-risen cake from the oven and wafting it with a cool baking tray, looking completely composed and unruffled.

What the actual shit is going on?

Ellie was muttering into Lawrence’s ear, waving her hands emphatically; and Tia, her own bake already on the tray, cautiously approached them both too, crouching to Lawrence’s level to offer some comfort too.

In a few moments, Lawrence was nodding, rising back to her feet, and grabbing her glass of water.

Once the bakes were done, all loaded onto the trays to take to their photographs, Tayce stole a glance at Aurora’s. It looked incredible, immaculate and neat. Tayce’s own was sinking a little, but Aurora’s could have come from M&S. Maybe it had. Maybe she’d taken a leaf from Joe’s book.

She followed Aurora to the table, placing hers behind her photo, before turning to Aurora and mouthing well done in her direction, to watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and smile in response.

But before they had made it back to their benches, there was a gasp, a clatter - and Tayce turned to see half of Lawrence’s tiramisu cake on the ground, the other half intact but dripping from the side of the plate, having slid partially off it.

On her right, Ellie had blanched, a hand at her chest - a hand with a smear of cake over the back of it.

——

“I saw a fly. I saw a fly. I saw a fly.”

“We know, Ellie.” But Aurora’s exasperated words didn’t stop Ellie’s stream of thought.

“It was a fly. I saw a fly. Just a wee fly.”

Lawrence hadn’t been marked down on the fact that Ellie had knocked half of her cake off the tray; she’d been marked on quality of the rest of it - but she’d still come seventh, the first real bomb she’d had in the Technical challenge. Ellie, ironically, had had a really good week, coming first, just beating Tayce in second and Aurora at third.

But it didn’t look like Ellie would be celebrating any time soon, as she stared into space and repeated the same words over and over.

As soon as they’d all gone into the hall after they’d left the tent, everyone had tried to comfort Lawrence, although she’d maintained her stoic indifference, nodding and saying “it’s fine” to everyone. But the moment Ellie had come in her line of sight, her eyes had clouded over and she’d turned, sweeping from the room back outside.

Since then, Ellie had just sat glassy-eyed, looking at the picture on the wall opposite them and mumbling to herself about the fly she’d tried to swat away from the cakes, resulting in her knocking Lawrence’s.

“I’m gonna go look for a …” Ellie said flatly, standing up, but she didn’t finish her sentence, seeming to float away from them in a dream.

“Rory!” Tayce said. “What’s going on today! This is the first time I seen you when you haven’t been a bundle of nerves! Has someone spiked your cup of tea?”

“No!” Aurora giggled, waving a hand at Tayce. “Just … you know, remembering to enjoy my time here.”

Aurora was looking at Tayce through her eyelashes, a coy smile starting, and Tayce would never have admitted just how much her insides turned to liquid at her gaze.

“It seems to be working in your favour,” Tayce purred. “You came third in Technical, you got a Hollywood handshake for your Showstopper - next you’ll be getting a Star Baker badge just like me! And then we’ll be even!”

“Yeah, well,” Aurora grinned, “that’s the plan! Draw even with you, and then overtake you!”

Tayce threw back her head in sudden laughter. “Not gonna happen, babe.”

“Oh, no?” Aurora giggled, nudging Tayce’s foot with hers. “Game on, babe!”

——

Tayce woke far too early the next morning. She opened one eye a sliver, and saw the time was quarter to five. Much too early to get up. Sunlight was starting to edge at the curtains, not enough light to indicate the start of the day.

But the room looked a little unfamiliar, as if the furniture had been altered slightly. And as her brain cleared from sleepy fog, she realised why.

Shit. I’m in Aurora’s room!

The others had been drinking last night. After Ellie had come back in, tugging Lawrence with her, she’d fished in her bag for a bottle of something and they’d started some drinking game, but Tayce wasn’t in the mood to drink loads, and had leapt at the chance to join Aurora in her room again, for more Netflix.

She didn’t remember what time she and Aurora had fallen asleep together, nestled in the duvet, an episode of something playing in the background - but she vaguely remembered waking up briefly to Aurora’s face before her, her brown eyes soft as they silently searched Tayce’s for something.

It had felt like a dream, but now it was definitely a nightmare.

Once she saw her outline in the bed beside her, a silhouette draped in a halo of dawn light, Tayce sighed.

I can’t be getting in this deep with her. She doesn’t feel the same way. And I’m here to win a bloody cake stand!

She slipped out of the bed as gently as she could, pulled her jeans on from where she’d discarded them at the side of the bed at some point in the night, and pattered to the doorway, hoping the slow creak of her door would not wake Aurora, followed by a thud as it closed again.

Once she was back in her own room, she leaned against the door, the gravity of this situation starting to creep over her skin.

Tayce sighed.

This is going to be an interesting day.

Saying that, Tayce knew as soon as the rest of them had traipsed downstairs for their breakfast, that she and Aurora were probably the least hungover of the group. Tayce was alone at first, tucking into her beans on toast - god-tier breakfast, with a squidge of ketchup on the side - but as soon as Lawrence made an appearance, her face slightly grey, she’d swallowed hard and turned away to the tea machine.

Asttina and Bimini, coming back from their hangover run, looked more tired than anyone had seen either of them.

“No personal bests today, folks,” Bimini muttered, shaking their head as they and Asttina passed Tayce, who shrugged and continued scooping beans into her mouth.

“How long did you all stay up for, Lozza?” Tayce called across the room, but Lawrence uttered a groan and shook her head in response.

“Too fucking long.” Lawrence came over to Tayce, dragging her feet, pulling the chair out and dropping into it. “Asttina and Bimini went to bed, and then Veronica - of all people - challenged me to Truth or Drink.”

“Oh, right.” Tayce picked up her cup of tea.

Lawrence took a deep breath, staring at the tablecloth. “She asked me about Ellie.”

Tayce almost choked on the sip of tea. She hadn’t expected Lawrence to acknowledge the fact that Tayce had walked into Norton Hall last week after Technical, to find Lawrence and Ellie leaping apart from each other across to opposite ends of the sofa.

“What about Ellie?” Tayce said finally.

“You know already.” Lawrence sighed. “Yeah, we’ve gotten a little close.”

“But how did Veronica know that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I took drink. Instead of truth.” Lawrence shook her head again.

"Do you want to talk about Ellie now?” Tayce asked.

Lawrence rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I mean she’s - yeah. I kind of … ah, I don’t know. I mean, she’s great. But …” Lawrence sighed. “She’s probably got someone at home.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” Tayce said.

Pot, meet kettle. But Tayce pushed that thought away.

“And I know she didn’t mean to knock my cake over, I just got upset because of how close we’d gotten.” Lawrence’s gaze was downcast. “This contest starts to fuck with your head after a while.”

“You did look like you’d forgiven Ellie before I’d gone to bed, let me tell you,” Tayce said, raising an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about,” Lawrence said weakly.

In the last couple of weekends, Tayce had noticed they would steal glances at each other when they were not within a six foot radius, somehow always at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes and then looking away again. As if just to make sure the other was alright. And they’d been doing plenty of that last night, lots of surreptitious glances at each other, when they thought no one was looking, giving each other secret smiles that lit up their eyes.

“Oh,” Tayce shrugged, “nothing much.”

——

Showstopper: White chocolate cake with at least two layers and one additional flavour.

Tayce still didn’t know why the British weather always waited until a complicated challenge to turn up the heat, but it did, and the Showstopper challenge - making white chocolate cakes - was taking place on an apparently record-breaking day for the weather.

No one was having a good day. Asttina was doing more growling and stomping to the tea tent, where a water cooler had also been provided. Veronica and Tia were fanning each other with baking trays. Bimini, who had turned up in some high fashion suit, was peeling layers off the longer the day went on. Ellie was wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm and plaiting her thick blonde hair to tie it off her neck.

Only Aurora seemed to be unruffled. She was quieter than the previous day, no longer humming, but the dreamy smile was still on her face, that single dimple maddeningly smug. Even though her eyes narrowed a little every time Tayce caught a glance from her, so she couldn’t have been entirely happy herself.

By the mid-point of the Showstopper, Lawrence was in tears, shaking over the workbench, a camera lens approaching her slowly. Ellie, who had been alarmingly quiet all day, almost leapt over her own bench, swearing aloud a few times to make the cameramen’s footage unusable, before seizing Lawrence’s shoulder and marching her out the tent.

It was hard to make out what they were saying to each other. Ellie was gesticulating wildly while Lawrence ran a hand over her hair, coming out of her usual tight bun at the crown of her head. Tayce wasn’t the only one watching them - all the cameras and the contestants were too, peering through the clear plastic of the tent. Eventually, Lawrence nodded, wiped her eyes, and seemed to grow in height by three inches, while Ellie grinned at her, following her back into the tent.

Not entirely convinced, Tayce followed Lawrence to the tea tent as she left to make herself a fresh cup of tea.

“Lozza, you’re starting to worry me a bit now, and you know what you said, I’m horizontal. Tell me what’s going on, girl.”

Lawrence huffed, shaking her head in exasperation, but at herself.

“Ellie’s just … I’m just remembering what I can do, you know? I need to remember that just because my mind’s telling me that I can’t do something, it doesn’t mean that I actually can’t.”

“Yeah!” Tayce clapped her on the back. “That’s right! You’re Lawrence Chaney! You can do anything!”

Lawrence resumed the exasperated shake of her head, but now, she was grinning, and not her normal wry, comedic grin, but one that softened her eyes, some aura of serenity returning to her.

“I can’t put mental boundaries on myself,” she said, “because that’s what’s holding me back. It’s the fucking fences up here.” She turned to Tayce, tapping her forehead. “And I’m not gonna be told by someone I can’t do something, and let it rule my life, because I can.”

“What’s going on here? Pep talk, is it?” Bimini entered the tea tent, holding their own mug and Asttina’s, looking between them both curiously.

“Bimini, I have to ask,” Tayce said, unable to hold it in any longer, “what is this fashion today? I like it - I’m just wondering what the inspiration is.”

Bimini’s apron hid some of the outfit, but it consisted of a black suit and white shirt with braces, along with a monocle, for some reason.

“What, this old thing?” Bimini teased. “It’s a cross between Vivienne Westwood and Noel Fielding as The Hitcher in The Mighty Boosh. You remember that show, right? I was watching it on Netflix last week.”

“And you chose the day when it’s hotter than Satan’s sauna to wear that?” Lawrence blinked.

“Well I didn’t know it was gonna be this hot!” Bimini laughed. “Just my luck, innit?”

——

There were several disasters in the tent today. Not only was white chocolate notoriously hard to bake well into a cake anyway, but the heat melted a lot of them into mush, and meant that so many decorations were melting away into nothing.

Everyone had mediocre critiques from the judges, mainly because the heat had turned their creations into gloopy messes. Bimini’s dark chocolate sculpture and scroll decorations were dissolving into the cake, while Asttina’s caramel had crystallised yet again, her frustration evident from her folded arms and huffs. Ellie whose Showstoppers were always incredible, had her spun sugar disappear, leaving a stain on top of her cake.

When Tayce looked at Aurora, she’d barely noticed any of the critiques, gazing at her own bake, which got the best feedback by far. She might have put a protective bubble around hers, with how perfect it still looked at tasting.

This is so weird. She’s in her own little world.

“What’s the deal, Rory?” Tayce asked her as they filed out the tent, letting the judges deliberate as they waited outside. “You’re not melting in this heat!”

“Don’t know!” She shrugged, still smiling. “Just feel good about my bakes!”

Anyone leaving this week would be a loss, Tayce realised, watching everyone else separating into their pairs on this humid day, looking for shelter among the trees around the grounds. But she knew it wouldn’t be Aurora. In fact, she’d be surprised if she wasn’t getting a badge this week.

None of them wanted to go back into the tent. After the early evening shade and breeze started to cool them down outside, the balmy heat inside the tent felt too much. Everyone fanned themselves with their hands and baking trays until the judges came back in.

“We’ll make this as quick as possible for you to get out again,” Paul said, nodding to them, as they all started linking hands again. One long chain of bakers in a row, any link breaking now a loss to them all.

“I’ve got the great job this week of announcing who will be Star Baker.” Matt smiled sweetly at them all. “And this person was calm under the pressure cooker of the Signature, produced a perfect tiramisu cake, and didn’t bat an eyelid at white chocolate.”

Tayce felt Aurora’s nerves, radiating through her skin, on her right; while Asttina’s hand on her left was an iron grip, her feet jiggling against the stool.

“The Star Baker this week is Aurora! Congratulations!”

Aurora gave a squeak of joy, and Tayce grinned at her.

Well, she deserves it.

But when Aurora responded to her grin by looping an arm around her waist and giving her a peck on the lips - in front of the cameras, and the judges - Tayce kissed her back, their arrangement coming back to her in a rush along with every feeling she’d tried to contain.

The person to go home was still to be announced. Aurora turned to Lawrence, on her right, who was blanched and clenching her right hand so tightly her knuckles were white. Tayce reached behind Aurora to rub her back, and Lawrence held her breath.

They were all getting closer now. In fact, no one in this eight hadn’t grown very attached to someone else, Tayce realised with a jolt. Bimini, on Asttina’s left, looked grim, their lips pinched, letting Asttina lean into their arm. Veronica had let go of Tia to hold Lawrence’s right hand in both of hers.

“… Asttina. I’m so sorry.”

Tayce looked up to Asttina, but Asttina wasted no time in getting up and walking to Lawrence, pulling her into the tightest hug, her smile serene and no tears in her eyes.

“Well done,” she was saying, over and over, as Lawrence’s shoulders shook against her. “Well done. You’re doing amazing.”

One by one they all joined the hug, Bimini wiping their eyes with their thumb, the eight of them far too warm but far too close by now to let that matter. Asttina hugged them all briefly individually, leaving Bimini until last, before she left the tent for the exit interview.

Still no tears, peaceful and serene, blowing a kiss to them all.

——

“I thought she was gonna go to the end,” Bimini muttered, nursing their beer.

“I thought so too,” Aurora nodded.

“Says you, Miss Star Baker!” Bimini gave her an elbow in the ribs. “How the hell did you stay so calm, babes? I thought I was gonna explode with that heat. My mullet was catching fire.”

“Don’t know!” Aurora shrugged, still smiling. “Maybe I just found my groove!”

The three of them were alone. Tia and Veronica had already gone up to bed; Veronica citing her long trip back to Rochdale in the morning as an excuse for an early night. But no one had seen Lawrence or Ellie since the exit interviews.

“It feels really weird, everyone leaving,” Tayce said, looking around the room. “Remember when there were twelve of us here?”

“Yeah,” Bimini nodded.

“Far too many.”

“I agree,” Bimini chuckled. “Much better when you all leave so I can take the cake stand.”

Bimini didn’t stay up much later, standing and stretching before going up to their room, leaving Aurora with Tayce in the quiet of the evening, the windows open to encourage the slight breeze inside.

“I feel like I’m finally here,” Aurora said, running her hands through her hair. “Oh, god, I’m so glad I finally got a badge!”

“Congratulations, Aurora!” Tayce patted her knee, but Aurora’s stare was intent, searching her eyes. “What?”

“What made you leave this morning?”

The question took Tayce by surprise. Aurora’s smile was still there, but her eyes had narrowed slightly, her head cocked to the side. Why was Aurora asking about that? Surely she wouldn’t want to wake up next to Tayce, as they were only meant to be faking their flirting to the cameras.

“I just … I don’t know. Wanted to get ready for the day!”

Aurora’s stare was still intense, her eyes boring into Tayce’s as if waiting for her to flinch, and Tayce held her stare, even though she felt she should look away.

Eventually, Aurora leaned in to kiss Tayce, and Tayce responded with a chaste peck, but as Aurora pulled away again, she continued the same stare, a curious smile playing at her lips.

What’s she doing?

“We weren’t exactly doing anything that would make either of our mums upset. It was just nice, and I just wondered why you left me so early.”

But Tayce couldn’t deal with that sort of question right now. Not when her own mind wasn’t even sure of the answer.

This isn’t meant to be happening like this. It’s just for the cameras.

“I’m gonna get a bit of air.”

She stood without another word, making her way to the door of Norton Hall, stepping into the cooling evening. The sun still hadn’t completely set, the sky a pale lavender blue in the east, and the earlier clouds were parting, revealing a sprinkling of stars emerging.

Imagine living here permanently. When I’ve won this thing, and got my TV contract, maybe I’ll buy a place like this for the weekends.

She put her hand on the stone fence, imagining herself bringing out a yoga mat to stretch here in the evenings, with these stars and this calm and those two people on the grass before her -

Wait.

As she looked over the grounds, she could see two figures shadowed in the dying light of the day, laid on the grass at each others’ sides, and she knew it could only be Lawrence and Ellie, even without the purple of Lawrence’s hair, striking against Ellie’s blonde, intertwined in the grass.

So maybe she’d exaggerated to Aurora about what she’d seen last week. Maybe she hadn’t seen them actually sharing a kiss, more looking suspiciously close to. But this time she felt as if she was interrupting a moment. Soft laughter floated on the air towards Tayce, mostly Ellie’s, and she held her breath as she saw Lawrence roll to her side to meet her lips.

Oh, God, finally.

She found herself smiling. Deciding to leave them alone, she went back into the building, closing the door as quietly as she could

Asttina was right about this ‘waxing moon in Cancer’ stuff. Maybe I’ll actually download Co-Star.

——

SEVEN BAKERS REMAIN

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