#I still eat chocolate and ice cream and sugary things all the time just like I did when I was a skinny 20 year old

[the2amrevolution]

Chronic diarrhea can fuck up your pancreas too. You body wants to get energy from you food. If you don't give it time to absorb all the nutrients, all it gets is the easiest to digest stuff - sugar.

Your blood sugar will lower short term because your pancreas is still sending out a normal amount of insulin while you aren't getting much of the more complex sugars, proteins, and fats. You'll lose weight short term from dehydration, but also from malnutrition as you body starts to burn off fat stores and muscle to get the missing nutrients.

However, your body 1) wants to live and 2) doesn't want to eat itself if it doesn't have to. So what will happen is your pancreas will start sending out higher amounts of insulin so that it can get more sugar broken down before the food passes through your system. This causes blood sugar spikes, extra sugar being stored as fat when you body can make it, and still loss of muscle because you still need proteins to make energy. You will also be constantly hungry because you aren't getting enough nutrients per stomach emptying. You may even develop what appears to be pre-diabetes or type 2 diabetes, and your doctor will tell you to reduce your sugar and overall carb intake, but doing that won't help you if you are still having chronic diarrhea.

It absolutely boggles my mind that the standard first medication given to people who have an A1C above normal range is metformin aka the "you're going to shit yourself" drug. It allegedly is supposed to decrease your insulin levels and thus your blood sugar. What happens to a very large amount of people is anything they eat runs right through them. It may work short term just like "diet cleanses" do, but then you'll just have a compounding problem if your high A1C wasn't caused by high motility to begin with because now your pancreas is going to try to send out even more insulin to get sugar faster so you can actually produce energy. If you already had high motility, metformin will just make you more miserable.

If you are having diarrhea with or without cramping, nausea, hot flushing, etc. frequently - during menses is fairly normal, but outside of that, it shouldn't be more than maybe once or twice a month if you ate something weird or had a high stress situation/adrenaline rush - then something abnormal is going on. It could be a food sensitivity/intolerance (a shortage or lack of a specific digestive enzyme), a mast cell reaction (an immune system reaction without the presence of antibodies), a medication/supplement side effect, or a neurological motility problem (to many contraction signals or overly sensitive to them).

If you can do it, a food and symptom diary and/or an elimination diet can help you ID if there is a specific food that is causing you problems. Don't do these things without professional guidance and supervision if you have a history of eating disorders, and don't forget that the goal of an elimination diet is to add back any food that doesn't cause you symptoms. No foods are good or bad across the board. You just want to figure out if there's something that doesn't agree with your body personally and stop eating that while still eating everything else you want.

If you have chronic migraines with nausea/diarrhea, make note of what you ate not just directly before but for several meals leading up to the symptoms. A digestive enzyme problem is typically fairly quickly after eating the problem food (your classic lactose intolerance reaction). Mast cell reactions can be smaller and cause a build up of histamine until a threshold is crossed and symptoms are triggered, so you have to consider all histamine sources including muscular exertion.

For example, pork is one of my mast cell triggers. I also have true allergies. If I eat something containing pork, I may not have a negative effect right away. If I then have turmeric or rub my face against one of my cats or if ragweed levels are high or if I do something that requires physical exertion or if it's too hot out or go get my allergy immunotherapy shots or a combination of any of those or a myriad of other things, I may have a migraine with diarrhea 16-24 hours after I ate the small amount of pork. If I have something entirely pork based or cooked in bacon grease, I will have severe reflux, a migraine, etc. much sooner, but it's possible to have reactions from things that you would never consume in a high enough amount on it's own, like food dyes and additives, to make a connection without keeping close track of all histamine sources.

If nothing changes with an elimination diet, then the problem is more likely from a medication/supplement, which you can research yourself or talk to a doctor or pharmacist about to see if any stand out as a possible cause, or a more complex issue that requires medical testing.

i hate the diet industry as a whole, but there’s something so DEEPLY insidious about how “cleanses” and the marketing thereof is pathologizing… digestion.  like, basic concept of it – the process of eating food, extracting nutrients over time, and removing anything indigestible by pooping at the end.

your digestive system should not ever be “clean”.  it is full of bacteria.  it contains bile and shit and mucus.  this is normal and healthy.  you do not have “pounds of toxic sludge” in your body, that is partially digested food and unless you are constipated, it is supposed to be there.  your organs are still extracting nutrients from it.  

your intestines are not meant to be 100% empty.  you should have food moving through your system– you deserve to eat, and you deserve to digest that food as best you can (digestive problems gang, how’s it going?).

you are not losing fat tissue when you take laxative teas, you are losing water, nutrients, electrolytes, healthy bacteria.  and even if you were?  fuck that.  fat people shouldn’t be bullied into taking laxatives.  constant diarrhea is not pleasant or healthy or better than being fat.  let us fucking eat and digest our fucking food.

[z0mbi3k1d]

Romanticizing life Part 4

Food ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

This is just gonna be abt healthy food swaps and things different foods can do for you, I'm not promoting Ed at all!!

Note‼️‼️

Only do these if you want to, you should enjoy your life. That means don't do food swaps all the time, treat yourself! To be honest I probably won't do any of these because I'm happy with my body and don't have too, you should be happy with yourself too!

Eating Healthy 🍓

It is important to eat healthy! It can do lots for your body, skin, and mood, I'm going to give you some healthy food swaps and tasty snacks to help!

Toxic things to get out of your head 🐇

Before I'm going to share these it's important to me that you don't use this unhealthy, stop telling yourself these things

"I need to eat healthy to loose weight"

No, you don't. All bodies are shaped different and process food differently, allergies for example. Not everyone has allergies so what makes you think everyone processes all food the same? You can still be healthy without 'looking healthy'

"I'll only eat for energy, not taste"

Man just enjoy your life 😭 I see ppl say this a lot but it doesn't make sense. Break your shell and try more foods and flavors, enjoy yourself

"I have to look like them"

Nuh uh! You're hotter 💋

Remember if you wouldn't say it to a bunny DO NOT SAY IT TO YOUR SELF‼️‼️

Food swaps 🍡

Here's some food swaps for you!

Sugary cereal ~ Oats with fruit

Ice cream ~ acai bowl

Coffee ~ matcha/Chai

Chips ~ Popcorn

White bread ~ sourdough

My personal favorite healthy foods 🧁

I'd consider myself a pretty picky eater so when it comes to healthy foods this is what I eat

I love all fruits strawberries, blueberries, bananas ect. Fruits are great bc you can do lots with them, you can make smoothies, put them in yogurt or just eat them normally

Peanut butter, okay so I'm not a huge fan but there's a lot you can do with peanut butter and you an make really healthy stuff with it

Granola, guys granola is soooo good I used to eat the bars and they had honey on them too it was so good

Honey is also good but yk

Hummus.. Lowkey feel like a nerd for saying I like it but I do. If you wanna be healthy with it you could use cucumbers!

Cucumbers>>> squash (I hate squash it's so disgusting :p)

Tuna, it has like Idk it's good for you in some ways I wasn't really listening to my father when he was talking abt it

I love nuts!! I think they're a good quick snack

I'd you don't like water get some of the flavors things, they have energy and low cal ones

Apparently dark chocolate is gold for you too sooo

Salmon is also healthy hehe >:)

Chia seeds barley taste like anything so put them in your yogurt or something

TEA TEA IS SOOOOOO GOOD

Things foods can do for you 🍮

Idk how much of this is true but I'm not gonna gatekeep just in case

Dark chocolate can

Holy crap apparently it can protect against UV rays?? 😭😭

It fights tooth decay

And it's a brain food

More brain food

Nuts

Avocados

Eggs

Chia seeds

Fruits

I'm telling you fruits are good for anything and they're sweet!!! They are perfect!!! (If you don't like fruit consider yourself an opp)

Thanks for reading!! 🩷🩷

Thanks for reading!! Have a great day, remember to eat what you want and stay happy!! I love you my sweet angels!! 🩷🩷

[mega-punani]

For your Pirate AU, what are all the boys favourite food/dishes/treats/fruits/veggies and drinks(alcoholic and non alcoholic)? I don’t think anyone has asked this, but I was curious, for all of them? Sans, Papyrus, Blue, Stretch, Red, Edge, Razz, Cash, Bear and Cinnamon?

Also are people allowed to use your vers of AUs or even your AUs in stories with different twists?? Like say pirate AU(since I already mentioned them), and like doing the dragged from they’re universe of one piece to a total new that’s kinda modern time? Dealing with an MC that’s trying to keep them outta trouble as well as hide they’re secret but also it’s where a true pacifist route happened??

And of course give you credit but can they use your make, vers, variant, au, whatever you wish to call it in this case, in stories and other works?

Yaw! People can use the pirate stuff for whatever honestly. The au is kinda my idea but not really cause I'm just smashin 2 things together lol. I don't mind. Of course, designs are made by @the-skeleton-in-ur-closet so if you end up drawing or using the designs you GOTS to credit them (or I will hunt you down /hj) Also, the dragging the pirate au to a modern Y/N would be so FUCKING FUN. I loooove those tropes saur much.

FAVORITE FOOD AND DRINKS:

Sans: Anything greasy and bready. Bro loves his carbs. Is a big fan of Ketchup too! Favorite drink is a hot mug of cocoa.

Papyrus: SPAGHETTI! And a wide range of pastas. He is also a huge fan of anything tomato. Looooves drinking iced teas, refreshing and sweet!

Blue: Huge fan of sugary and carbonated sodas but hates sparkling water. Blue is also a great enjoyer of greasy foods loaded with meat (like tacos). Likes fruits that are sweet and tropical.

Stretch: A refreshing jug of beer and potato based foods. He also has a deep love for spicy foods, even if he can't handle them well.

Red: MEAT. Bro loves him some bbq, steaks, and grilled goodies. He doesn't really have a favorite drink, but he'll enjoy a cup of coffee in the morning. 2 cubes of sugar and a dash of cream.

Edge: The stronger Edge's morning coffee, the less he will yell at the crew. This man needs his caffeine NEOW. Pasta is his guilty pleasure but he tries to suppress the fact that he wants to eat it constantly. He must set a good example by eating healthy...

Razz: Tea, wine, and cheese. Razz's holy trinity. Will nibble on a block of cheese in the middle of the night (scaring tf out of Bear)

Cash: A lover of alcohol. Every to all, especially the strong ones. He's a little embarrassed about this, but chocolate. Just cause he didn't get much as a kid,,,

Bear: Spicy foods and dairy. Spicy foods cause he can feel a strong kick from the food and it makes him all warm on the inside. He likes his dairy because it is still pretty new to him. (unfortunately, he is mildly lactose intolerant-)

Cinnamon: Desserts of all varieties. He loves him some sweet pastries, and he loves him some fudgy brownies. Cupcakes, muffins, cakes, donuts. Cinnamon got quite the sweet tooth. All of it can be paired with a hot cup of coffee that is 4 times more cream than coffee.

[palettepainter]

Food for thought 35

Riley is definitely the type of kid who, growing up, would do an impressive amount of chores for pocket money and then spend all of it in one go on a bunch of sugary stuff.

I want to make this into a short story but one time, when Riley went out and brought bags full of sweets after school, she made herself a sugary sundae concoction of all the stuff she'd brought and some thinks already at home (included but not limited to: ice cream, custard, sprinkles, chocolate mousse, fruit loops cereal and whip cream). Hoshi and his sister were round at the time and he stared in abject horror at her ''creation'', I don't have a scene in mind but here's how I imagined the scenario goes:

Riley: Hm, I see you're so impressed you are speechless~

Hoshi:...Speechless yes, but impressed is not the word I'd use

Riley: (pouts) Rude. I was planning to share this with you but I don't think I will now. I think I'll just have it all to myself

Hoshi: You can NOT eat that Riley! Not all at once!

Riley: (smirks) Sounds like a dare

Hoshi: (worried) I PROMISE I am NOT daring you to eat this! You're absolutely going to make yourself sick!

Riley: (fishing for a spoon from the drawer) The words of a coward my dear beloved cousin~ As my dad always says: (mocks her best Powerloader impression) A creator must take great risks for the betterment of science

Hoshi: Uncle Higari has NEVER said that!

Riley: Well he WILL start saying it after today (offers Hoshi several comforting pats to his shoulder) Don't you worry your little ninety degree composed head about a thing Hoshi, your cousin Riley knows what she's doing!~

Hoshi: (frowning) I'm two months older then you...(shrugs) But fine, it's your stomach that'll suffer

Riley: Relaaax~ I made sure to balance out the levels of sugar with equal amounts of healthy stuff. I cut up some banana and threw that in, problem solved!

Hoshi: But...fruits have natural sug-...(sighs) Nevermind

No less then thirty minutes later when Hoshi and his little sister are watching TV does Hoshi hear Riley groaning from her bedroom, so with a roll of his eyes he goes to investigate and finds Riley curled up on the floor clutching her stomach. Her miss-matched pudding creation isn't even half finished and sits abandoned on her desk. At the time of this all happening Cementoss, Higari and Powerloader are attending an afterschool UA meeting, so Hoshi leaves to go and call them for help (I also like to think that while Hoshi does that his little sister helps herself to Riley's leftover pudding creation, totally ignoring Riley in the process), and then the following phone call goes something like this

Ecto: (hums when he feels his phone vibrating, temporarily stepping outside the meeting to take the call) Hello?

Hoshi: Hi Uncle

Ecto: Oh, Hoshi. I didn't expect you to call (casts a look back to the meeting door) I'm in a meeting at the moment, is everything alright??

Hoshi: Uhm...not really

Ecto: (blinks)...You're going to need to be a bit more specific. What's not okay?

Hoshi: (nervously) Sooo just curious, but would eating an elaborate combination of uh...maybe several types of sweet things combined into one in one sitting count as a bit excessive?

Ecto:....(squints) Excessively excessive

Hoshi: (turns to look to Riley) In that case I think you or Uncle Higari need to come home..

Riley: (still clutching her stomach) UUUUGGGGGGHHHHH-

Ectoplasm left the meeting early and came home to one concerned teenager, one teenager curled on the floor groaning, and a toddler grabbing fistfuls of melted ice cream from a bowl. After Hoshi and his sister went back home Ectoplasm probably gave Riley a talking to, but he ends up not being able to stay mad

Riley: (now standing, but still clutching her stomach) Erugh... Everything hurts

Ecto: (arms crossed) You're old enough to know the consequences of your actions, Hoshi tried to warn you. Now you're going to have to deal with an upset stomach until you're better

Riley: Does this mean you won't rub my head till I feel better?..

Ecto: (scowling)....

Higari came home shortly after to find Ectoplasm on the sofa with a book, Riley under a blanket besides him with her head resting on his leg as he rubbed her forehead (this entire situation would repeat itself no less then a month later when Riley made her next sugary concoction-)

[iamvegorott]

A sequel to this Danti angst: Link

-----------

“Darkiplier, have you lost your mind!?” Wilford snapped as he stormed into the office, tucking his phone into his back pocket. Marvin had texted him moments ago about what had happened between Dark and Anti. 

“My mind is still intact, and I am working,” Dark stated flatly, having disconnected himself from everything and did his usual routine of sucking himself into work. He knew Wilford was beyond upset with him since he never used full names. 

“One of those statements is a lie; I will make the other the same.” Wilford slammed Dark’s laptop shut and tossed it over to the little couch, not wanting to break it but still adding to his point that he would not be ignored. 

“Wilford, there is no need-”

“What did you do to Anti?” Wilford cut Dark off. 

“I didn’t do anything. I simply put things how they should be to prevent him from getting hurt.” Dark sighed and stood up, prepared to leave the room before the conversation went how he didn’t want it to.

“Well, you failed at that.” Wilford snapped his fingers, and a pink wormhole appeared next to Dark.

“Wil, what are you-Wilford!” Dark snapped as Wilford suddenly grabbed him and shoved his head through the wormhole, having that part of him now at the Septiceye House, observing the scene from the ceiling and hidden from the view of those in the room. 

“Darling, it’ll be okay,” Marvin spoke softly as he rubbed Anti’s back. Anti was curled up a little, face pressed into Mad’s chest, using him to muffle his sobs. The three of them were on the couch.

“He’s an oblivious idiot, and this is coming from me,” Mad said, trying to help lighten the mood as he rubbed Anti’s back with Marvin. 

“I shouldn’t be like this.” Anti sniffed. “I should know better. That it was obvious from the start, but I…I still feel so gross…so used. That I was nothing more than a good fuck even though I literally signed up for that.” 

“Love is complicated, dear.” Marvin said. 

“Why do I have to love him? Why can’t I just hate him? Why couldn’t I just stay neutral and enjoy what we did have? I’m supposed to be heartless, a fucking monster that kills people for money. Why do I have to have these damned feelings that hurt so much?” Anti broke down again at the end, face back into Mad’s chest. 

“I found every single sugary item in the House. Jackie even donated some cookies Phantom made him earlier.” Chase said as he came into the room, arms filled with chocolates, ice cream, and cookies. “How are we doing?” He asked as he sat his collection down on the coffee table. Marvin just shook his head. That was all Chase needed to know. “You guys eat up, and I’m going to shoot Dark in the dick.” 

“Chase, sweetie, no.” Marvin caught the back of Chase’s shirt. 

“Fine, then I’ll just punch him a few times, and if a few of them just so happens to land on his dick, that’s on him.”

“Chase.”

“I have to do something, Marv. The asshole broke Anti’s heart.” Chase protested.

“If you want to do something, turn a movie on and sit with us. Anti needs comfort, not conflict.”

“But-”

“Please.” Marvin gently squeezed Chase’s arm, gesturing his head to Anti. Chase saw how Anti had practically drenched the front of Mad’s shirt with his tears, and his shoulders relaxed.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” 

“Thank you.” 

Dark was yanked back out of the wormhole when Wilford decided he had seen enough. He watched the pink vanish, and it took a few blinks to get the colored dots out of his eyes, vision returning to normal. 

“Prevent him from being hurt? Pretty sure a shattered heart hurts a lot.” Wilford said. 

“It’s better for him to have the pain now than to prolong it and cause it to become worse.” Dark’s head hung, a hand holding the edge of his desk as if that grip was the only thing keeping him standing. 

“What is happening to you? You’re usually a lot smarter with this stuff. Your whole schtick is messing with people’s heads and making them believe that everything you’re saying is for the best. Usually, the only reason why you can’t mess with someone’s head is when you care about them. That’s why you don’t even try with me. So…” Wilford twirled his hand in the air, gesturing for Dark to finish his sentence for him. 

“I can’t get into Anti’s head,” Dark admitted. “I can’t do my schtick, as you put it. I never have been able to. At first, I believed it was sexual attraction, that being the only other reason why I cannot work my abilities, but as time went on, I realized that…” His voice trailed off as he sighed. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“I am kicking both of your shins. Of course, it matters. What did you realize?” Wilford was urging Dark to actually say it. Hard to deny something when you’ve admitted it. 

“I don’t need to say it.” Dark shook his head.

“Say it! Stop hiding from it!” Wilford snapped, walking up to Dark and leaning over to make him look at his face. 

“I care for him, alright?” Dark tried to turn away, but Wilford grabbed his wrist. 

“You care for him?” Wilford’s voice showed he would keep prying until he heard what he wanted.

“I love him, okay!?” Dark yanked his arm free. “I love him, and I am an idiot and a fucking coward! I’m pushing him away because I am afraid. I am scared I’m not good enough, that I don’t know what I’m doing, and I am going to hurt him beyond repair without meaning to.” He stopped and made a face, looking annoyed at himself. “I want him to forget about me and find someone who can make him happy. He deserves to be with someone that can do that. Not with whatever the hell I am.” 

“Well, you’re right about being an idiot.” Wilford clicked his tongue. “But you could reverse that by proving you’re not a coward and talking to Anti about how you really feel.” 

“I can’t do that to him.” 

“Can’t do what? Continue the thing that’s been making both of you the happiest you’ve been in a long time. Ever since you and Anti got over the whole pretending to be hate-fucking thing, you two have been practically bubbly.” Wilford sighed and placed his hands on Dark’s shoulders. “You both love each other, he’s confessed to you and you just told me. Why break something that worked so well together? The only difference is that you’ll have a different label to it. Maybe you’ll kiss a little more outside of bedroom activities, maybe even hold hands and sometimes hang out together on those little things called dates.” 

“But he-”

“Stop saying ‘but’ to everything and go talk to him. You always have so many words. Surely, you can string some of them together and let Anti know what’s happening. He’ll probably be pissed at first, can’t blame him for that, but he’ll understand. Tell him the truth, Dark. Tell him the truth, and it’ll all work out.” Wilford waited as Dark just stood there, looking at him before finally swallowing and saying softly.

“Okay…I’ll talk to him.” 

-----

@ariesshower824 @bookwormscififan

[masterwords]

Summary: Derek misses Hotch while he's working at the Seattle Field Office.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: mentions of sex (not graphic)

Words: 1.7k

Notes: Pure, unadulterated cute. I sprinted out the entire barebones rough draft in 20 minutes and did my best to flesh it out but there just isn't a lot of substance here. It's just sweet, adorable, idiots in love...pwp but the cute no smut version.

**

“You've been gone for fourteen days...” Derek moans, spinning around in his chair. It's way too late to still be in the office, he knows, but it's the only time he gets to talk to Hotch who is 3 hours behind him in Seattle. The time difference feels surreal.

Short and fast, that was what they'd said. They needed someone to fill in and run the Seattle Field Office while they found a new leader, a week tops. They already had someone in mind. Except that person bailed, and now they're back at square one and well...the BAU has Derek to keep them in line, so Hotch has been over in the Emerald City for fourteen days and counting.

This isn't as bad as his station in Pakistan, but Derek had lulled himself into a false sense of security. It wouldn't happen again. That was an aberration. They'd tried to tap Hotch for Section Chief, and he always wound up right at his desk in the BAU like he belonged there.

But fourteen days...two weeks...that's when a short trip starts feeling an awful lot like something with real permanence.

“I think they've got their eye on someone,” Hotch says absentmindedly, pouring over a stack of employee evaluations that were turned in to him that day. He doesn't even know these people, he's just signing off on things. Putting his signature out there on things he can't exactly back up. It's not his usual prerogative, but these are desperate times. He's just a suit in a chair. Except he knows the truth...they love him here, they've wanted him back since he left and someone thought maybe bringing him here might remind him how much he loved this office too.

And he does. It's been a breath of fresh air being back in Seattle. But he can't live here, his family won't follow.

“I just want you home.”

“How has it been with you and Jack?”

“Great. He's great, he listens to me, we've been playing lots of games and eating lots of junk food...”

“Derek...”

“What? When the cat's away...”

That's not true. Derek hasn't fed Jack any junk food, that's been all Jessica who stops at the grocery store every day before picking Jack up for school and brings them some kind of treat. Ice cream, candy bars, sugary breakfast cereal, She eats her feelings. She also doesn't like when you point that out.

“How much longer?”

“I don't know.”

Gifts started showing up in Seattle on the third day. Nothing major. Just lunch, a burger and fries delivered to Hotch's desk from The Athenian.

“Sleepless in Seattle?” Hotch texted and Derek sent back a little red heart. He had enough to take back to the hotel and eat for dinner as well, though it didn't make it that far in the end. He ate his dinner at his desk as well...one of those days.

Never one to be outdone, he made sure coffee and pastries were waiting for Derek when he arrived at work the next morning.

And so it went, each exchanging little gifts of food and flowers from three thousand miles apart. Hotch hadn't even considered what he would have to eat in forever, Derek had it scheduled every day like clockwork. Jessica called it twisted. “Here I am gaining ten pounds with all the ice cream I have to buy myself and you two are playing cross-country footsie. It's disgusting.”

The next morning there was a chocolate croissant and a coffee waiting for her at her desk. Neither of them told her who was responsible and it didn't matter, it made her day. She was in on the game.

Donuts were sent to Jack's classroom courtesy of Voodoo Donuts. Hotch had to make a trip down to Portland to meet with another SAC and figured why not. Jack's classroom would get a kick out of the wild colors and silly little voodoo doll shapes, and he got to spend an hour waiting outside in the rain in a line that stretched around the block. Some might grumble at that, but Hotch likes the rain and he loves not being cooped up inside of an office building. Sure, he was cold and miserable, but he was also happy. (And out quite a pretty penny when all was said and done, shipping a box of donuts across the country fast enough to keep them relatively fresh wasn't cheap.)

He got a hot drip coffee and a fresh maple bar for his troubles.

“Seventeen days...” Derek whines. He's temping his roasted chicken, which he should have put in earlier, he knows that dammit. He's angry when it's still ten degrees below where he needs it. That's at least another half hour, they're going to be eating late again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

A bouquet of bright orange tiger lilies shows up at his office around mid-morning on a day when Hotch has been feeling rather under the weather. He's had a headache for three days, the kind that makes your jaw tight and your teeth sing. It could be his sinuses or maybe dehydration, maybe it's just his body telling him it needs a rest. He hasn't had a day off since he arrived in Seattle, not really. They're no closer to finding someone to take over than they were the week prior, no one wants the job. The flowers make him smile in spite of the way his tight jaw clicks and groans like rusty old machinery.

“Thank you,” he says when Derek calls later. At their designated time. “The flowers are beautiful.”

“So are you...” Derek says quietly. “That tie looks nice. Is it new?”

“I found it at a little consignment shop on my lunch hour a couple of days – wait..”

He looks up, and in the doorway to the unit Derek is standing with another smaller bouquet of flowers in his hands. Peach and white peonies, the color of a sigh, the gentle color of a spring sunset. He looks like a kid ready for his prom date. Hope is smeared across his features.

“Twenty-two days...” he says, handing Hotch the flowers. “I know I shouldn't be here, but I thought sneaking into your hotel room and surprising you there might get me shot.”

“You're not wrong.”

Hotch shouldn't leave, he knows he has too much to do but he hasn't had a day off in twenty-two days and one night isn't going to cause irreparable damage.

The next day, when he calls in sick because his headache has reached its crescendo and he'd much rather lie in the hotel room with Derek all day than go sit at that desk. They make good use of room service, barely leave the bed. The view from the room is picturesque, a full and un-obscured view of the Puget Sound from over the top of the concrete jungle. Not even a crane gets in their way.

They drink their coffee on the balcony, smelling the briny air before heading back to the bed. They make love enough times that Hotch loses count, showering and sleeping and eating briefly between. He loses count, but he also loses the headache somewhere along the way and he'll take both of those things gladly. Twenty-two days apart had created a hunger in them that neither had realized until they were here sharing the same air, the same timezone, and this time (unlike Pakistan) there were no hard feelings to work through. Just making up for lost time the best way they knew how, with hands and lips and a Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the doorknob.

“So...what the hell is a consignment shop anyway?” Derek asks, still thinking about what Hotch said about his new tie while popping a strawberry into his mouth. Hotch hums and hunts for something to watch on the TV. They'll barely pay attention to it anyway but the noise is nice. It drowns out the way that neither one of them seems to be able to keep their inevitable moans in check. And why should they have to? It's been three weeks since they've even been in a room together, so if they get a little carried away between the sheets who can really blame them?

It isn't just about sex, they take short cat naps in their love-warm sheets and they do talk a little, too. Just enough. But they've been talking so much lately, it's all they've been able to do, that it doesn't feel very important. While they sit and visit over meals and drinks, Derek leans against Hotch, keeps one hand anchored on his thigh or his shoulder or his back at all times. And Hotch makes no attempt to break away. Time will do that for them soon enough.

“It's a secondhand store. I found something for you, too.”

Derek wears his new cashmere sweater back at Quantico when he returns from his whirlwind surprise trip and everyone notices. It's the color of rich, deep purple-almost-black plums and the way it sits against his warm skin is breathtaking. Penelope can't stop touching him. Running her hands up and down his arms. It even smells good.

“It smells like Hotch,” he says when she comments on it later. She purses her lips and doesn't really know what to say to that. She's rarely speechless.

“He really knows you.” She'd looked up the tag, gasped and nearly died of sticker-shock, and then tried to remind herself he'd purchased the thing secondhand. Or, he claimed to have anyway. She wouldn't put it past him to tell Derek that just to ensure that he wore the damn thing.

“I would hope so, after all this time.”

“How much longer? We all miss him. It's not fair, those stinky Seattle people get him and we're stuck here without our boss-man.”

Derek smiles and glances at his phone, ready for it to ring. Hotch said he'd be the one to call tonight. “Soon.”

“That's what you said last time.”

“And it's what I'll keep saying until it's true. Now get outta here so I can talk to my man in peace.”

[skinnyysweets]

i feel like such a wannar3xic sometimes because while i'm on 3dblr, count calories, restrict, weigh myself everyday, want to be (borderline) underweight, etc, i still eat around 1800 c4lories a day, still eat chocolate, sweets, ice cream, sugary snacks, burgers, pizza, and all the other 'fattening' foods because i've taught myself that the only thing you need to lose weight is to be in a c4lorie deficit regularly and consistently. the only 4n0r3x1c thing about me are my thoughts, goals and tumblr blog, and yea, just having 4n4 thoughts is enough to qualify for an 3d, it feels like i'm not acting sick enough, and i don't even know if i want to act sick enough. anytime i think back to 4 years ago, eating 500 cals a day and being the lowest weight i'd ever been, i was so fucking miserable all the time. i wanted to km$ on the daily, i $h'd because i hated my body so much, i hid in clothes. i don't want to go back to that mindset, it didn't even work in the end because i kept gaining and losing the same 5kgs and i hated myself even more for it. i don't want to be miserable.

[abronzeagegod]

Untitled YA Novel Chapter 16: The Key to Silence

First Chapter || More

12:52 PM Miami time

Plane en route to Untouched Horizons

They didn't wake up until they got back on the plane.

The escape was less than stellar but they did make it to the plane without too many roadblocks.

Justin's dad didn't stir much as they flew back to relative safety of Si Yátz. Which was both good and bad. It was good because there was no one on the plane that was prepared to do the required medical procedures that might be necessary. It was bad because they didn't know what was wrong and if he would ever wake up.

It was also concerning because Alt didn't know if there was a chance that Justin's dad would ever come out of the Silence.

If he did regain consciousness they would finally be able to tell if we was still Silenced, and if the distance between Frost and himself would break the connection or lessen it to some extent.

It was all they could do to wait.

So Justin waited with his dad.

Hira, meanwhile, sat alone in a room on the plane, picking at some food she had absentmindedly grabbed. She wasn't hungry. She was guilty. She could have helped Rafe, could have saved her. If she was better, faster, or stronger. If she had been someone other than who she was, she could have saved Rafe.

It was hard to be happy that the mission was a success. They saved the team, they saved Justin's dad, and they stopped whatever the Silenced were doing. But the whole reason she was here, what she was supposed to be doing, she failed at. Rafe was still captured, still controlled. Everything was working out for everyone but her.

The flight back felt longer than the flight to Miami, and everyone was left to their own devices.

Justin waited in silence with his dad.

Hira sulked.

Mike was icing his numerous bruises and was wishing that he could have done more.

When the plane landed back in Si Yátz Justin's dad was rushed off to a hospital and the team was sent to debrief and speak with their own medical professionals.

Justin went with his dad, but Mike hesitated. He saw that Hira wasn't doing great but it was Justin, he felt like he had to help out his best friend.

"Hey, I'm going to go make sure Justin and his dad are ok," Mike said, "but when they're taken care of, I'll come find you and make sure you're fine."

Hira just kind of nodded.

The hospital was the exact same kind of intense and scare, but also insanely boring.

Justin's dad was physically fine, but largely unresponsive to all manner of tests. The doctors were pretty confused by the whole thing and the differences in anatomy weren't very helpful. The zlilfians had access to all the information they could need on human biology but it was a different thing to read about it and have it physically in front of you.

As the doctors discussed their findings as best as they were able, Justin settled in to wait.

"You ok?" Mike asked quietly.

Justin just kind of shrugged.

There was nothing to do but wait, so Mike did what he could to help, running around to get food and something to drink for Justin. When that task was done, Mike excused himself to find Hira.

It took him a little while as Mike got lost a few times, with the whole circular nature of the zlilfian buildings being somewhat alien to him. When he found her, she was sitting alone in her room, not really doing much of anything.

"How are you doing?" Mike asked from the doorway.

Hira didn't say anything, she just let out a small hum with her wings. Mike wasn't up on the sub-vocalizations and body language of the other species, so he said, "Look, we've had a hell of a day, flew a couple thousand miles back and forth, got into some pretty big fights, and honestly, I just want to eat a bunch of food."

Hira looked up and just gave a half-committal gesture that Mike could only interpret as a shrug.

"We should get some waffles and cover them in chocolate chips and whipped cream, and cover that is sugary syrup and eat our way through it until we fall into a food coma," Mike told her as he held out his hand.

"I do like chocolate," Hira commented as she accepted his help to stand up.

"Everyone likes chocolate," Mike commented. "Come on."

They made their way to the still ruined cafeteria.

"It's closed," Hira said, once again defeated.

"Yeah but we're the ones that broke it, or most of it," Mike replied. "I think we'll be fine. Besides, I'm not going to let some partially collapsed building keep me from making and consuming my body weight in waffles.

Hira followed Mike into the kitchen, passed the rubble, and through the still lingering smoke smell.

They grabbed some ingredients and supplies to start assembling their feast.

In their attempts to make food and navigate the mildly ruined kitchen, Hira bumped into Mike who cried out in pain.

"Sorry," Hira apologized. "Nothing done today by me has been right."

"No, it's fine," Mike said with a grimace. "I mean the only thing I managed to do today was get hit. A lot. I'm basically one giant bruise. You actually did stuff."

"Not enough stuff."

"I mean... we're kids, thrust into the worst kind of thing," Mike pointed out, "we're not remotely prepared for any of this, and I have no idea what I'm doing. This is all very dangerous and crazy! I think we're doing fine considering the fact that the adults all got their butts kicked immediately."

"That is a good point," Hira conceded. "The team was taken out very quickly, weren't they?"

"Like instantly. Do we even know what happened to them?"

Hira hummed quietly. "That is a question that I hadn't asked."

They took a couple moments of quiet to finish making their food, and when they sat down with all of their food and sugary condiments, Mike looked at Hira and asked, "So when are we going after Rafe? That was her name, right? Rafe?"

Hira answered, "Yeah. That is something that I haven't thought about."

"Liar," Mike said as he put almost an entirely bottle of whipped cream on his small mountain of waffles. "I know that if it was Justin, I would have already been plotting to steal a plane to go after that boat."

"The plan had gotten that far, but I don't know where to go after that."

"We'll help you out," Mike said with confidence.

"You think Justin will leave his dad?" Hira asked.

"Maybe not right this second. But give it a day, and I think he will."

"You make pretty good waffles."

"Thanks," Mike said with a beaming smile. "I make them whenever things get overwhelming so I have the recipe memorized."

Justin sat with his dad. It was quiet save for the gentle beeping of the various monitors. Which was comforting in its own strange way. He didn't have to worry about the Silence following them so long as he heard the beeping.

All the doctors had come and gone. They pronounced his dad unconscious but otherwise physically healthy, at least as far as they could tell. They didn't know why he wouldn't wake and at this point they couldn't even speculate. So they were going to monitor him and see what develops.

"Sorry dad," he said. "This all feels like my fault somehow. And not just getting into this mess with the Silence and everything. I don't think they would have found us if I didn't post that video. I mean before that too. With mom. I know she didn't want kids. I know she didn't want to be a mom and I tried so hard to be the son that she could have liked but no matter what I did it felt like I was failing her. And you too. I know you've been sad, and I have been too. I know it's hard because I'm not the easiest kid to deal with and I've only added to everything."

The silence the room was only broken by the beeps of the monitors.

Then his dad stirred. "It's not your fault," his dad said quietly. "You've been nothing but a great kid. I know it's been hard, and I haven't been there enough for you. I'm sorry. You know how much it hurts to have someone you love so much that you give them pieces of yourself and they walk away with those pieces."

Justin found himself tearing up. His dad was back.

"It was my mistake if anything. We didn't talk about it before, or after. I let that sadness consume me, blind me..."

"Silence you?" Justin finished when his dad went quiet.

"Yeah. I think we need to talk about it some," his dad said as he sat up in bed. "It's not healthy to let it stew in silence.

"Yeah," Justin responded.

His dad pulled him into a hug. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," Justin muttered. Then after a long pause, "What was it like?"

"It was bad," his dad admitted. "It was like I was reliving the worst moment of my life again and again. All I could see was... your mother leaving, again and again, with the same outcome no matter what I did. Just having that replaying in my mind, I just went on autopilot, doing whatever I needed to do. There was this... feeling in the back of my mind that was directing me and it was easier to listen to it than be fully awake of what was happening."

Alt found Hira and Mike in the ruined cafeteria, dozing off with their mostly empty plates in front of them.

"Justin's dad is awake," he said, announcing his presence.

"Oh that's great," Hira said sleepily.

"Should I go?" Mike asked.

"I don't think so, not at this moment. The doctors will be attending to him for a while yet," Alt said. "But I suspect I've found a pattern with those that are controlled by the Silence."

"What is it?" Hira asked, suddenly more awake.

Alt put down a file in front of Hira. "It's Rafe's personnel file. I'm curious if you will see the same thing I did when I compared it to Justin's father."

Without waiting for a response, Alt left the room.

"I'll give you some space," Mike said, "but honestly I'm not going far because I'm tired and sore."

Hira just kind of waved noncommittally at Mike and stared at the file folder.

Should she just open the folder on her friend, the one that showed so much personal information? Would it be an invasion of privacy? Or is this the only way for Hira to learn how to save Rafe?

In the end, Hira decided to open it. She might need the information to save her, she just hoped that Rafe would understand.

She opened the document and read. It was very quickly that Hira noticed the pattern and the problem.

Rafe was the fourth child of four, the legal maximum number of children a family was allowed to have. She was put through the gender testing five different times and each time the result was labeled as shrar.

After that Rafe did well in class but was repeatedly reprimanded for missing multiple days of class. Her repeated absences were not excused nor was a reason given in the file. The absences continued into her training and mandatory service time, but this time they were labeled with the word "depressed".

Hira had a few guesses as to Rafe and her home life, but she didn't want to read anymore. It felt like an invasion that she was very uncomfortable with.

"How bad?" Mike asked when he noticed that Hira had stopped reading.

Hira didn't answer, instead she asked a different question. "Did you say that Justin's dad... his wife left?"

Mike winced. "Yeah. I don't know the whole thing, but it seems that Justin's mom just... left one day. Packed up all her stuff and left while Justin was at school and his dad was at work. It was... bad."

"Then I see the pattern."

"I'm almost afraid to ask..."

"I believe the Silence can target those that are excessively sad or depressed."

Mike paled. "Oh. That's not good."

Hira agreed, it was very bad. Especially for her friend.

i have a kofi

find me on pillowfort

[lelibug]

Been trapped in Nightmare Hell through the morning.. unable to get out of there, unable to connect or come back into, reconnect with, this Reality... It'd horrible and it's Scary As Hell......

Can't see— there's a mist, a kinda veil of film like greyish or off-white stuff, covering my eyesight... Like my glasses are MEGA smudged — even after they've been cleaned to death.

I can only kinda see anything in any kind of focus with one eye open, the other shut, like when I don't have my glasses on — it's a bad, awful situation to have to manage to get through.

The AGONY in my head is INSURMOUNTABLE. It makes opening my eyes a task itself, nevermind what it's like when I DO end up sort-of opening them....

I'm dizzy as all HELLS... Like ice gone twizzies and trying to manage stuff afterwards. Even thinking I'd too hard ... Everything else is absolutely utterly Impossible.

This Fibro FlareUp Is Seriously SO Kicking My Ass, it's... BEYOND Debilitating into TORTUROUS... It's Still Going. The PAIN is EXCRUTIATING. Moving doesn't happen without eye-watering, breath-taking AGONY. Meds have become SO Difficult to try and swallow (again)...

My Brain is about 80-99% Offline,

Slipping into Major ZoneOuts & BAD, Disturbing Hallucinations...

It's Blacking Out Again & Again & AGAIN...Days, Weeks, Months Just VANISHED. Into an Ether of Unconsciousness.

Zone Outs, BlackOuts... Blarey-Eyed & Exhausted... Utterly fucking WRECKED.

Another BAD NIGHT. Over & Over AGAIN.

NO proper food. No proper - or ANY! - Nutrition, AGAIN. Ate pancakes and some ready roasted chicken breast for "Dinner". That's all I manage these days.

Eating food makes me Black Out now. Utterly Unconscious & Unresponsive. For an average of about an hour.

The Daemon Prince of Hell is Quiet & Happy. Getting Happier. Eating Disorders/Anorexia Brain feed getting what it wants with ignored eating throughout the days

Have eaten sugary things. No real food. Not even my sammich because no one brought it out and I can't go and get it 😭 😔

A few days ago I Aspirated a sodding CAT'S CLAW Pill... I've never done THAT before. It's always been the smaller ones, like Baclofen... Like I did this morning. I Aspirated a damned Baclofen during Morning Meds on, as well... FFS....(!!!!????!!!???!)

My head is hurting SO fucking MUCH now.... Mam had to Bang my back again Hard This Time.

Haven't had to do that in a few weeks, maybe months, because if it's happened, I've managed to retch it up myself somehow. Including This Morning's One.

This Dysphagia malarkey is starting to fucking Gather Steam Again. This is NOT Good. Weather? Stress?? Haven't fucking slept, or even rested in bed, for a while. Sure as hell haven't been able to rest out of bed.

Everything has been a CHAOTIC PALAVER these last couple of weeks or so. Then the weather decided to go Stupid MEGA RollerCoster Isobars on us, as well...

An HOUR and two coffees later... and it's somewhat better... The PAINFUL AGONY in my head is down to a 9 {maybe}... Eyes have recovered a little with the film becoming a kind of haze, and I can use Both Eyes...

I'm going to have to find out sooner rather than later if the loss of focus is to do with my brain or my eyes....

It won't be good if it's my brain, clearly. But it's not going to be good news if it's my eyes, either. Getting worse than -8.25 is getting B.A.D...

I'm NOT OK. I've NUMBED.

Still feel SO HOLLOW by what happened the Animal Rescue Centre... Can't seem to get a grip on spiralling out on it...

Been another feeling really ill day... Had no BlackOuts, only a couple of Severe ZoneOuts. But then i didn't have any food, either.

Trying to do Meds for Lolli... It'd Meds Night, and we need enough to a lot over our next date.

Right now I just finished a grenade protein bar of chocolate and I had a couple of custard creams... Nothing more. And nothing really happened.

Guess that says a lot.

I don't know How or Quite Why what happened at the Rescue Centre was Triggering, but it's been MASSIVE... but I don't know where to go from here.

Especially when it looks like from the get-go they don't want us to even BE there.

It's too complex and too multi-faceted what went WRONG that day, how it played out.

I wasn't in control and it turned into a Clusterfuck.

I'm still TERRIFIED of going back.

I don't know what to do.

[mania-sama]

post-op day 3 final update: i am just going to jump STRAIGHT into it.

eating!!:

ONE cheese stick

TWO scrambled eggs with cheese

LOTS and LOTS of chocolate and vanilla pudding

ONE small chocolate sonic milkshake

THREE bottles of water

ONE bowl of chocolate ice cream

ONE slice of white bread

ONE cup of kraft mac n' cheese

as you can see, we are EXPANDING!! the cheese stick and bread were both a bit harder to eat than i wished. i think i will be able to complete them with more ease either tomorrow or the next day, but for today, it was slow-going and painful. all of the usual sugary and chocolatey goodness has made its reappearance. god, i didn't think i'd ever say this, but i REALLY just want a fruit right now. but all of that requires me to either open my jaw wider than i can or to actively chew, both of which are really hard for me right now (and is why i struggled so much with the cheese stick and bread, and even though the bread was untoasted, it still was hard to consume).

MY FOOD RECOMMENDATION: the milkshake has been with me through thick and thin so far (and likely will be back tomorrow), but the EGGS. the eggs were so good. it was so nice to have something that wasn't a cold creamy sugary substance. it was actually healthy for me. goodness. the kraft mac n' cheese would be here, but the eggs were made with more love and affection and also tasted better.

more and more water is being added! three bottles is pretty good, though my mouth is perpetually dry and my throat always hurts. i'm just doing all that i can to prevent dry socket. i did attempt brushing my teeth today again, and it went SIGNIFICANTLY better. my mouth actually feels semi-clean this time.

ratings:

pain: 6/10. i actually went a good few hours where i couldn't notice the pain. but when i do notice it, it's there, and it feels the exact same as it did yesterday. however, that timespan without pain is a sign of good things to come. so i am hopeful that tomorrow will bring me less pain and more happiness!

stitches: 5/10. creepy pieces of shit. still don't know what to do about them. but they are there and they are getting freakier by the hour.

icepack: 0/10. didn't wear it a single time. it's the end of the road for it, unfortunately. it did good while i wore it, but i am unfortunately lazy and refuse to put it back on.

swelling: 7.5/10. i am now perpetually swollen. i look like a roblox character. it is painful!

talking: 5/10. it's getting easier, actually, and i attribute that to the further mobility of my mouth. again, i am looking forward to a near, bright future!

overall: 5.5/10. better than yesterday. really happy about the eggs and kraft mac n' cheese, but my goal right now is to be able to comfortably chew a cheese stick. i am expected to return back to functioning society tomorrow, so whether or not i will successful rejoin the living will be determined at 6 am tomorrow morning.

i was absolutely 100% correct in my guess that i would wake up at 3 am in lots of pain. i did. i woke up at 3 am to feeling every single tooth in my mouth in 4K. however, i was able to hold out until 6 am to set myself on the proper timeline for taking my pain medication. it's been pretty good since. eggs went over really well. i caved and ate a cheesestick, which was unfortunately more than i could handle but i forced myself to eat all of it anyway. it took me like three minutes... i had to nibble it.

[sunghun]

enhypen finding out their s/o likes mint chocolate

requested; yes 🙌

warnings; talks of food, some cursing

note; as a mint choco lover myself, this was right up my alley lol

general taglist; @blaqpinksthetic @heelariously

희승 | heeseung;

so

fucking

dramatic

acts like you’ve committed the worst possible crime

“you mean you actually EAT that stuff? and you LIKE it?? what’s wrong with you why do you enjoy eating toothpaste 😑”

and you’re just like . unprovoked??

literally you were just sitting on the couch together when you remembered that you had some mint choco from your grocery trip the other day

and now your boyfriend is attacking you??

might not say anything after the first time but would probably look at you like 😐 every time you eat it around him

might act like you’ve tried to poison him if you ever offer some to him

ESPECIALLY if u don’t tell him it’s mint choco

“hey babe you want some ice cream?”

“yeah sure!”

*takes a bite and realizes what flavour it is*

“ah fuck. i can’t believe you’ve done this”

refuses to eat any of your ice cream after that

which is kind of a plus for u bc now he’ll stop stealing it all

love wins <33

제이 | jay;

might think you’re a little weird but other than that

he doesn’t really care

low-key judges you every time he sees you eating it tho

“you like mint chocolate??”

“yeah it’s really good!”

“i mean….if you say so 🙄🙄”

but he would also make stuff with it for you?

like he’d say some shit like

“you and your sugary toothpaste…”

but then one day when you come home he’d be there with a mint choco pie that he made just for u <3

might try certain things if you really wanted him to

but it’s just not his thing so he’d probably politely but judgingly refuse if you offer him some

“you want a bite of my mint chocolate bar baby?”

“no thanks, i’ll let you enjoy your inferior sweets all by yourself <3”

제이크 | jake;

definitely the nicest one about it

like he doesn’t like it

but he respects the fact that you do

even if he thinks it’s gross

would probably make sure that anytime he gives you smth sweet

it’s mint choco flavored

like to the point where you would have to remind him that you like other things too

“jake, sweetie, darling, love of my life, i appreciate the fact you got me yet another pint of mint choco ice cream, but it’s okay if you get me other flavours too”

“ohhhh. i just thought mint chocolate lovers were like . monogamous or smth.”

he tries <3

would probably take a bite if you offered

and might even try to make himself like it for you

but it’s really just not his thing :/

it’s okay tho bc at least he doesn’t judge u for it <33

성훈 | sunghoon;

“iT fEeLs LiKe bRUsHinG yOuR tEeTH aFtER yOu AtE cHoCoLAtE”

literally won’t shut up about how he can’t believe you eat and actually enjoy the taste of it

would definitely make extremely exaggerated gagging sounds every time he sees you with some

“still eating ur chocolate flavored toothpaste i see”

and you just look at him like :[

good luck trying to get him to eat it

bc he Won’t

might be extra dramatic and not even look at you if you’re eating it

“hOW could you do this to me y/n???”

“i can’t even LOOK at you anymore”

and ur just like . sitting on the couch mid-chew wondering when your boyfriend turned into such a drama queen??

like go off i guess :/

선우 | sunoo;

is SO happy and excited

bc he finally has someone who gets him!!!

like one day he was just chilling on the couch eating some ice cream

and when you came in to sit with him u asked for a bite

and he was just like “ah shit here we go again”

bc he expected you to be a hater like most people

but he still gave you a bit bc he’s a good boyfriend <33

and when you realized what flavour it was you were just like

“oh cool i love mint choco”

and sunoo just. loses his shit a little bit

like fr he loses it in a very low-key way

looks at you like ❤️_❤️ bc he just fell in love with you jk but not really

is very happy bc now you guys have something you can bond over

but then quickly realizes that this probably means you’re gonna steal his sweets •_•

정원 | jungwon;

would be judgey like jay

but would be the opposite of low-key about it

“you like mint chocolate?”

“yeah!”

“🤨 okay…. 😐😒”

idk if it’s bc he’s an aquarius or what

but i just Know that wonnie would be very judgmental of ur taste in food

like he might roll his eyes or make an exaggerated grossed out face every time he sees you eating mint choco

“i can’t believe i’m dating someone who likes to eat toothpaste this is so embarrassing”

would maaaybe try it for u if you really begged him to

but he would defs pretend to gag and shit

like he doesn’t even hate it that much

he just likes teasing you and watching you suffer

r.i.p. my dude ur dating a little monster✌️

니키 | niki;

would not care

like the first time he sees you eating it he might stare at u for a minute or smth

but then he goes about the rest of his day like nothing

“hey babe what’re you eating?”

“hm? oh it’s just some mint chocolate”

“😑🤨😐🤷‍♂️ okay”

would probably take some if you offered

but he wouldn’t really be going out of his way to ask you for some

definitely steals some of sunoo’s secret stash for you tho

“look! i got you mint choco!!”

“omg thanks baby!!”

*two minutes later a furios sunoo appears in the doorway* “where the Fuck did my sweets go”

and ur just like .

“really riki? you couldn’t even buy it for me you had to steal?”

“oh come onnnnn y/n, he always has the high quality stuff why wouldn’t i steal it??”

“bc it’s wrong???”

“guess that makes us both thieves then bc you stole my heart”

“……”

lol ANYWAYS

very neutral abt it and not at all judgmental God Bless <3

[chubbology]

Getting Big

prompt: someone discovering they're a feeder as their feedee partner gets bigger

Sometimes you’re both in bed, distracted and ignoring each other on your phones or laptops, when you notice. Your eyes lift from your phone and notice your partner’s relaxed belly, rising and lowering with calm breath, stretching the fabric of their shirt. Really stretching it now, not just with every inhale, but by default. Not just pushing the seams a little with chubbier hips, but forcing the cotton to bow out close to its limit, forcing the stitching to cave into a belly button deeper and softer-looking than you remember. And your eyes inevitably take in the rest: thicker thighs, more shapely chest, less defined arms, softer jawline.  

You’re aware that your partner’s gained a little weight. More than a little, but it’s fine. Probably thirty or so pounds, not a big deal, and you absolutely don’t judge them for it. Have they mentioned it at all? No, they just keep tugging at their shirts and pants. And underwear. Their underwear is getting too small for them, with weight gain making them a bit of a pear and all, but you don’t say anything. You don’t say they need bigger underwear. You don’t tell them how much you appreciate the fact that they need it. As long as they stay mum on the subject of their weight and the fit of their clothes, so will you; that’s your rule.

Sometimes you’re both in bed, watching TV, and they’re eating their way to the bottom of a quart of appallingly flavored ice cream (super-caramel-quadruple chocolate-chunk type stuff), and you keep sneaking glances. Because you’re amazed they’re comfortable enough around you to eat freely like this—or so you tell yourself. Their eyes are so glazed with distracted pleasure that maybe it didn’t even occur to them not to gorge themselves tonight, right in front of you.

Not gorging themselves like some kind of pig—no, it’s just, you both ordered a lot of takeout just a couple hours ago, and then they snacked on chips for a while, and then there was that candy bar they ate on a whim while you took out the trash, and now it’s a whole quart of ice cream. A whole quart. The more glances you sneak at them, the more you notice how their budding second chin peeks out when they chew. The more you notice that their bites seem hasty, as if tinged by some kind of distant, unconscious desperation.

You lean against them as if too tired to stay upright, reaching over them casually, letting one arm rest against their belly. It’s soft. It’s bigger. Not a big deal at all, you tell yourself for the millionth time.

And yet, you ponder their weight more. You’ve been pondering it incessantly. You can’t stop thinking about how they went to the mall two weeks ago without telling you, bought clothes a size up, and already were uncomfortably tugging and pulling on on every tight band and seam again. You can’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the idea of them sizing up again any more than your partner can stop their hands from opening another package of cookies.

“Ugh, this stuff is so good,” they mutter, swallowing the last bite, then closing the lid on the carton and setting it aside.

“Mm. I’ll buy more then,” you say without thinking. It’s fine if they size up again, after all. You’ll love them no matter their body type. Their happiness comes first. “I’m going to the grocery store anyway.”

A couple months later, going to the grocery store is not a chore to you, but a fun outing. You never used to even go down the junk food isles if you were by yourself, but now you scour them carefully. You place things in the cart you know your partner will like, and consider new brands and products they might like to try. It’s all so colorful and thrilling to actually buy. You tell yourself you might even try some of it and ignore the intrusive thought of your partner sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night again to binge on half the goodies themselves.

What niggles at you isn’t that you’re buying way too much junk food for your partner, who’s a little overweight now. It’s not as if they’ve told you to stop, or have implied they want to lose weight, or have said anything about any of it at all. That’s the thing: you’re in uncharted waters, and they haven’t told you a word about whether they fine with the way the tide was turning or whether they were actually really concerned that they were getting heavy and a little jiggly and they didn’t know what to do about it, let alone have the wherewithal to say, Honey, stop buying junk food. I’m getting fat.

Just the thought of the word makes you blush at the box of Fudge Covered Twinkies you’re holding. You quickly set them back on the shelf. Twinkies were practically the poster food for getting fat, right? Surely, your partner would suspect something, even though there wasn’t anything to suspect. You just know that they like food, particularly food that’s soft and sugary and addictive, and what better, cheaper food to comfort them with than Twinkies? No, it wouldn’t be good for their waistline, but you can already see their eyes fluttering closed at the taste—which was probably not even good, but that was hardly the point, was it?

Compromising, you buy a limited edition blue-stuffed brand of Twinkies instead, preparing an excuse that you thought the novelty of it was amusing and wondered if it was good.

But later that night, your partner eats six of them while you play video games and doesn’t mention the novelty of it at all. Your character dies stupidly and your partner laughs at you, belly jiggling as they do. You swallow, eyes fixating on their fat thighs. There’s no other word for them—they’re fat. Their thighs have gotten fat, just like their belly got fat, just like their hips and chest and arms and even their neck and face has been rounding out with so much chub. They were fat and they did eat like a pig, and all signs pointed to more weight gain. They were going to keep gaining weight, and when was it going to stop? When you finally decided enough was enough? When their doctor told them to take control? Yeah, so, you could imagine them awkwardly saying, coming home from the doctor, I guess I gotta lose weight. Maybe they would be holding a pamphlet on obesity or something, looking ashamed.

And maybe they would try at first. You would help. They’d exercise a little here and there, maybe only eat one Twinkie instead of six, maybe not ask for takeout so often. But it wouldn’t last. The second their will broke, yours would too. And you’d both be in bed, distracted by nothing but endless waves of pleasure that your sex life hadn’t known in a while, them leaning back against the headboard, eating every fattening thing you had to offer, which would be many, many, as many fattening things as they’d agree to swallow down like they glutton they were becoming.

“Babe?”

You blink.

“You okay?” they say with that chubby face of theirs, a face that said, I’ve been gaining so much weight, and you’re really aroused.

“I’m glad you like those,” you stutter. You look at the Twinkies box, and so do they. Your mouth keeps moving without forethought. “I’ll buy you more next time. Any other flavors you like?” You set down your controller and push your hand into their hair affectionately. Since they’re slouched, they look up at you, and you lower your hand to the back of their neck, touching the bulge of the fat there. “Want me to get you your favorite ice cream? I know you had a long day at work.” You stand and head for the kitchen, ignoring your partner’s confused ums and wells.

You open the freezer and get one of many ice cream quarts. Thanks to you, the fridge and freezer have been stuffed to the gills with crap, but you can’t regret it, not when it makes your partner look perpetually stuffed to the gills too. You get a spoon and sit down next to them again, brain fuzzy with want. “You’ll feel better when you finish this. By the time you do, I’ll finally finish this damn level.”

“I’m—I’m not…” But the look in their eyes is conflicted. “I’m not that hungry, really.”

You laugh. Your body is buzzing. “Please. With you, when you eat and when you’re hungry are completely unrelated. Let’s make it a competition! Finish before I do. Go!”

“What?”

You’re already starting the level over, thinking to yourself What the hell? Don’t make them eat if they don’t want to. Even if they do want to, even when they’re full, because they’re greedy and addicted, gonna get obese soon—

A minute passes, and they’re sitting up, belly folded in rolls on their lap, looking poised to either stand up and put the ice cream away or rip the lid off and devour it all.

“Eat it,” you say innocently, or try to. It mostly comes out like a pathetic attempt at sounding not-horny.

You glance over, and they still look conflicted, so you lean over and kiss them on their tubby cheek. “Go ahead,” you say, quieter. You meet their eyes. “Don’t you want to?”

They look taken aback now, flushed. All at once, they seem aware of their blubbery, overweight body, and they shift on the couch. You forget the game and lean in again, kissing them on the lips, then deeper as they lean into you. “I know you want to,” you whisper. You cup their fattened hip, squeeze it gently. “I bet you really want to.”

They’re blushing really hard now, gone shy and speechless. So you move closer to them, and since their head is lowered to avoid your eyes, you land a sweet peck on their bulging second chin. Then you peel off the lid of the carton, tear the plastic off, and push the spoon satisfyingly into the over-processed sugar that has been fattening your partner out of their clothes so well.

Despite their air of reluctance, they eat the spoonful you offer as if on instinct. They squirm with pleasure, and your breath hitches when their plump hand twitches out to take the spoon away from you when you don’t use it quick enough. You scoop them another bite. Then another. The room is quiet except for the game in the background and your rapidly beating heart. Their eyelids lower, and you murmur encouraging words to them. That’s it. It’s good, huh? Big bite... The experience seems no less momentous to them than to you, and so you keep going. Their eyes drift shut and so you guide their mouth to open at the right times. Eventually, your cooing gets bolder.

“I know how much you like this. Like eating. Eating a little too much.”

Their mouth pauses around the spoon, but their eyes don’t open. They swallow and wait for the next bite.

“And I know you get up in the middle of the night sometimes, just to eat,” you say. “Eat and eat until your clothes feel tight and your stomach’s queasy, right? You always come back to bed so uncomfortable, tossing and turning, panting a little. Holding back little burps. I wake up and all the junk food I bought is gone.”

Your partner leans into to your next spoonful, then takes it from you. Without meeting your eyes, they start eating from the tub themselves, at twice your pace. You smooth your fingers through their hair. Then rub a hand down their arm, which was now sausage-like with so much fat clinging to it. But it’s squishy, when you pinch it. No firmness anywhere you can see.

“I’m sure you know you’re getting big, baby. You’re getting big. But that’s okay.” You rub your hands over their belly, their hips, their rolls of back fat. “You just keep eating as much as you like.”

And after another pause, they nod.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[snackhobi]

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

[hiddennerdworld]

MHA Couples Dynamics with art by @leecheedoodles| Too Cool for Skool x Keener (Reader x Iida)

Masterlist

Warnings: none, all fluff stuff

A/N: eeeee I’m so excited about this. I saw this art and immediately was inspired. I would really like to do a series based on these. This is all thanks to leechee doodles here on Tumblr. They are v talented so check them out! I’ve seen others use their art, but if they don’t want me to I can always take it down. Enjoy :)

You and Iida definitely got off on the wrong foot

You guys didn’t hate each other per say, but you annoyed each other for sure

Iida just wanted his fellow classmates to be successful and tried to encourage you as class rep. And you just wanted to only take part in the aspects of hero work that you actually enjoy

In your own ways, you both stressed each other out

Iida would give you lectures any time you ditched class, saying you needed to be responsible in order to be the best hero you can be

You just stood and rolled your eyes the entire time with your arms crossed over your chest

Eventually, one day Iida just said fuck it (he didn’t actually phrase it that way bc he doesn’t use the bad words) and picked you up and carried you to class.

The whole time with you kicking and screaming, which doesn’t affect him bc he’s a fucking tree

This became routine. Iida was with you almost 24/7, keeping you in line. This caused even more tension between you guys

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Well you wouldn’t if you stopped acting like a baby and attended to your duties!” *snickers* “You’re gonna tell me you’re not a baby when you can’t even not laugh at the word ‘duty’?!!!”

The bickering wouldn’t stop and it was driving EVERYONE crazy

So as Aizawa solves all problems, he paired up the duo with pent up frustration for their final exam

You guys were rolling your eyes when you saw you had to work together but weren’t surprised tbh

It seemed like you guys weren’t gonna make it, but at the last second you were able to distract Cementoss and give Iida an in to dash up and capture him

You guys cheered and high fived when you realized you’d passed, the negative feelings towards each other forgotten

Afterward you guys had a talk.

“Good job out there today, Iida. I’m impressed on how you came up with a strategy so quick. I guess studying so much does actually help, huh.”

“Thank you, L/N! I appreciate the kind words, especially coming from someone who has such good control over their quirk like yourself!”

The whole time both of you were staring at the ground, blushing to hard to look at the other person while complimenting them. Iida still did the hand waving tho lmao

Afterwards, Iida still kept an eye on you always bc he thinks you have a lot of potential and wants you to do well

And you don’t find him as annoying anymore, so don’t really try to avoid him

This ends up with you guys basically just hanging out rather than him chaperoning you.

Training, studying, making food, you guys are together a lot

You and Iida occupied a table in the dining area for your studies for the millionth night in a row. The other students know better than to disturb you at this point. Yes, you guys are friends now, but you still bicker like an old married couple.

“I could really go for some ice cream right now,” you said while leaning back in your chair.

“L/N! You know that stuff isn’t good for you! Why do you wish to consume such sugary content?! Why don’t you eat an apple instead?!”

“I don’t think that’s how cravings work. Besides we have training tomorrow and always so I will still be keeping myself in shape. It’s one treat.”

“L/N, we are studying to become the best heroes! We need to be responsi-“

“But that’s just it! We are always going to be working to be the best we can be. You need to be able to enjoy yourself. Life isn’t all about work, you know?” You said standing up and grabbing his arm, “We’re going out. Come on!”

“Absolutely not! It is after curfew! It would be dangerous and-“ Iida lectured on and on until you guys were basically in front of the ice cream place. He tried to get you to stay back, but you were surprisingly strong when you were determined. (Also, he probably wasn’t resisting as much as he could’ve).

You guys went in and ordered. You got cookie dough with some chocolate syrup on top, and Iida got a scoop of vanilla on a cone, only because you insisted he get something. After you got the ice cream you went to a nearby park and sat on a bench.

“Mmmmmm this is so good. Totally worth it.” You say as you take your first bite, eyes closed while enjoying the delicious dessert.

“I’m not sure if it was worth breaking the rules, but as long you are enjoying yourself I guess it’s alright.”

“That’s because you got the most boring flavor. Here try some of mine.” You said raising a spoonful up to him.

This caused his face to go red and he stared at you with wide eyes for a few seconds before speaking. “No, L/N! I appreciate the offer but it would be inappropriate. Mine is perfectly fine and-“

As he was rambling, you shoved the spoon in his mouth, making him blush even harder. “L/N! You could’ve choked me.”

“But was it good though?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He said at almost a whisper.

A shit-eating grin grew on your face, “Told ya so. See, Iida look.” You gestured over to the sight in front of you. There were people scattered throughout the park enjoying their night, and you could even see the glowing city in the distance. “We are a part of what makes this all possible. There wouldn’t be people out here living their lives if we didn’t keep them safe. It may not be too often, but we still get to relish in the world we created too. It reminds us why we do what we do.”

Iida couldn’t help but just stare at you for a hot minute. You looked gorgeous under the moonlight while you looked around in awe. You were more wise than he ever gave you credit for. He had always thought you were carefree, but actually you just had cared about things differently than him and he failed to realize.

“You’re right, L/N. We should be able to enjoy this more often.”

“We?”

“Of course. Why would I do something fun without you?” Now you started to get all flustered. Feeling heat rush to your face, you covered it with your hands and looked toward the ground. “Are you alright? Sorry I didn’t mean to say anything that would upset you.”

“No, don’t worry. You didn’t upset me. I would love to spend some time with you.”

So you guys did. Well you already spent a lot of time together already but now you guys would go out and do something fun if you had free time

Like instead of training on the weekends, you guys sometimes walked around the park.

And every time you’d go, you guys would also visit the ice cream shop you guys went to that one night and try a new flavor

You also were participating more in class. You’re grades were getting better from the beginning of your guys’ relationship, but now you actually were invested.

After a test, you would show Iida your grade and thank him for all his help, and he would be so proud and excited for you

Of course, your classmates started to catch onto you guys being more and more friendly with each other

Hagakure snuck up on you guys one day while you were studying. “Alright, when did you two start dating? We all thought you hated each other but now we know it was all an act to throw us off, so spill the beans.”

“Oh, no we’re not dating.” You replied

“Well..” Iida started to talk and your eyes darted towards him

“I mean now that someone has said it, I wouldn’t be opposed to dating you, L/N. I really enjoy my time with you and think you’re a great person. Could I take you on an official date?”

“Y-yea I would really like that.”

“Awwww that was so adorable! I can’t believe I just help you guys get together!” She skipped out of the room, on her way to tell everyone her accomplishments

“Sorry, L/N, that probably wasn’t the best timing.”

“Call me Y/N”

“O-oh okay… Y/N. I’m looking forward to going out with you.”

“Me too, Tenya.” You said smiling and grabbing his hand.

Barely anything was said the rest of the time, but you guys couldn’t stop smiling and you didn’t let go of each other’s hands. Safe to say no information was retained from this study session

[talking-about-bug-snacks]

CINNASNAIL

It is here! Today is the day! Today is the pinnacle of this very blog! Cinnasnail is absolutely without a doubt my number 1 favorite Bugsnak, and as a result, one of my favorite fictional creatures ever! Snails are one of my favorite animals, and when I say “one of”, I don’t mean “close to the top of a numbered list”, I mean I have a cluster of favorite animals in no particular order, and Good Ol’ Land Snail is one of them.

Now, when I saw the announcement trailer for Bugsnax, I knew it was going to be wonderful and special. How could I not when seeing foods with googly eyes running around? With the fact that they are bug-like being emphasized? Yowza! And then there was this shot in the trailer.

SNAIL! Snails made of cinnamon rolls! Sweet, sugary snails! Some of my favorite things ever, combined! I’m not sure cinnamon rolls are my favorite food, since I do not eat them very often at all, and maybe not even quite my favorite food represented in Bugsnax, since ice cream is here, too. But they are still wonderful, and this is still a snail! Besides, I would not WANT it to be based on any other snack. There would be no better option by far! Cinnamon rolls and snails go together so perfectly! Pardon the expression, but snails are beautiful cinnamon rolls, too good for this world, too pure.

In fact, they go together so well that I had previously had the same creature idea! Not the exact same design, but a cinnamon roll snail is a cinnamon roll snail, and is wonderful to think about!

And here is a Cinnasnail I drew a few months ago, to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the game’s announcement! 

And HERE is a Cinnasnail drawn by @wooljester​! Look at its heart eyestalks!!!

And that is all barely talking about Cinnasnail itself! Time to do just that! Most of its design is the cinnamon roll itself, which is of course, perfect for a snail’s spiral shell. And then there is the icing, representing to a degree both the snail’s squishy body and its slime! The eyestalks and tentacles are both made of icing and- hey hey WHAT? TENTACLES? That’s right! It is such a rare thing to see, but Cinnasnail even represents a snail’s tentacles! In some ways, this has more realistic anatomy than so many cartoon snails, and this is a pastry!

Cinnasnail’s behavior is quite simple, as to be expected. It mostly just oozes around on a wall or cliff, but do not underestimate it. I appreciate that Chandlo does not underestimate them either, seeing them as master climbers that even he can’t keep up with! It’s good to appreciate creatures for their abilities rather than take them for granted. Just look at any little bug flying around and think, that creature has the amazing ability of flight! Wowee!

Cinnasnail’s main gimmick is sort of a combination of two. It is always found JUST out of reach, which would not normally be a problem, as a Snak Trap can be easily launched at whatever you please. Cinnasnail, however, is sticky! When trapped, the trap will just stick right there. Maybe if you’re bold and agile enough, you can jump and grab it, but mostly, the Snak Grappler wil be essential for catching them.

It is possible to have Cinnasnail go on a little adventure, though! Using chocolate, it can be lured onto a Lunchpad and launched away from the wall, whre the process can be continued to get it wherever you want! After doing this, a fun thing to do is cover the Buggy Ball in chocolate and let Cinnasnail play with it. It is so happy sticking to and spinning around the ball!

I hope you all love Cinnasnail too! Though this may be my favorite, there are absolutely so many wonderful Bugsnax left to talk about, and I hope you look forward to those, too!