#Macaroni Making Machine

[imperialasociate]

Imperial Associates is a premium quality pasta macaroni plant manufacturer in Noida. By installing this plant, you can start your pasta business anywhere in India or abroad.

Their supported team will provide you complete assistance from plant setup to production. Their supported team will also help you in building your brand. This machine is completely automatic in which you do not need many workers.

In these machines, you can control your production capacity according to your need. It shows your every smallest and biggest need on one display.

With this you will easily know what is the error in the machine and whether the product is required by the machine. By setting up this plant you will be able to earn a good income and at the same time you will be able to provide employment to other people.

[growmaxinternational]

[innvictisedutechs]

The Fortified Rice Plant - Empowering Communities with Essential Nutrients

A manufacturer of food machines, Growmax International Company specializes in producing machinery for producing fortified rice, macaroni, and other products. In order to meet the needs of its customers in the food processing industry, the company provides innovative and high-quality equipment. The Fortified Rice Plant is one of Growmax International Company’s most important products. This plant produces rice that is enriched with essential vitamins and minerals such as iron, zinc, and vitamin A. In developing countries where rice is a staple food, the fortified rice produced by this machine plays an important role in fighting malnutrition. Growingmax International Company also manufactures the Macaroni Machine, which is used to produce pasta products such as macaroni, spaghetti, and noodles. With minimal training, operators can produce high-quality pasta products using the macaroni machine, which is designed to be efficient and user-friendly.

[webdesigninghouse72]

Macaroni Making Machine Manufacturer India

micro industries, where precision meets innovation, stands India's pioneering Macaroni Making Machine Manufacturer India delivering excellence in every twist and turn. With a relentless commitment to quality and customer satisfaction, our state-of-the-art machinery is tailor-made to cater to the diverse needs of small-scale macaroni production units across the nation.

Our Macaroni Making Machines embody the perfect fusion of cutting-edge technology and traditional craftsmanship, ensuring seamless production processes and superior end products. From compact designs ideal for limited spaces to energy-efficient models perfect for micro-industrial setups, we offer a range of solutions to suit every need and budget.

[manyaccidents]

"All done cutie, you can go back to coloring now" said Alyssa as she finished doing the last tape on my fresh diaper.

"But it's no fair!" I whined, all too aware of how childish I sounded. Trying my best to come across more mature, and wanting to be taken seriously, I continued in a slight huff "I don't even need a babysitter. I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself". The situation I found myself in painted the opposite picture, but I was still trying desperately to hold onto the few last crumbs of dignity I had left, and even those were quickly slipping out of my grasp.

"Oh you're a big girl?" Alyssa said with a hint of a smile. "I'm so sorry sweetheart, I didn't realize. Tell you what, why don't you explain to me why you're a big girl who can take care of herself. If you are able to convince me, I'll convince your Daddy for you!"

Excitement bubbled up within me. Finally! A chance to get out of this! But almost as soon as the feeling came, it was replaced by one of unconfident apprehension. "What am I even supposed to say now?" I thought to myself, starting to panic. I had to say something, Alyssa was waiting. I couldn't waste this opportunity.

"um.." I started "well you see, um...".

I was totally blanking. I swear I had good reasons, but now that they were actually being put to the test they sounded substantially more flimsy and not thought through.

"It's alright darling, take a deep breath and begin from the top" Alyssa instructed comfortingly. This was not starting off well.. I took a shaky breath. The stakes were too high, I couldn't mess this up.

"um.. so well.. first I can.." - why was it so hard to think of something?? I stood there desperately trying to think of at least one thing I could say, aware that every second that passed was making my reward less likely. My heart was pounding and my thoughts racing. Without giving it any thought, desperate to at least say something, I blurted out the first thing that popped into my mind.

"I can eat meals by myself!"

A look of slight incredulity could be seen on Alyssa's face but she stayed quiet, waiting for me to continue.

"Um.. and I can... help with laundry! And cleaning up my room! And... I can even use the microwave and toaster by myself! I've been practicing! And... I can take care of my pets!" I finished in a rush.

Alyssa nodded her head slowly. "That's quite a list you've got there cupcake, but I just want to ask you a few questions about it okay? I just want to make sure I understand"

I swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of fear and hope in my stomach. "Okay..." I managed to squeak out.

"Great!" Alyssa smiled warmly. "Now, let's see. First off, can you tell me which meals can you eat by yourself? The ones that are already cut up in bite sized pieces?"

Her question caught me off guard, and I felt a twinge of panic. I knew I had to be careful not to say anything that would give away too much. "Um, well, s-sometimes it's c-cut up..." I stammered, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't make me sound too incompetent. "I mean, I can eat some meals by myself, like macaroni and cheese or chicken nuggets.."

Alyssa smiled at me "Thank you sweetie I think I understand now. Alright, next question; Have you ever done the laundry by yourself?"

I took a deep breath before answering. "Well, I helped Daddy put clothes in the washing machine and dryer a few times, and last time I did it all by myself!" Raising her eyebrows, Alyssa replied

"Your Daddy told me about that.. He said there were soap suds everywhere and that a certain someone used a little too much soap" I looked away, not wanting her to see how pink my face was getting. She chuckled, continuing "Well, I'm sure your Daddy was very proud of you for trying at least. Now, let's talk about cleaning your room. Do you clean it every day or just when you're told?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Um, well... "I try to keep it clean, bu-" Alyssa nodded, seeming to accept this as my answer. "And what about taking care of your pets?"

Finally confident in one of my answers I proudly state

"I pet them and I play with them all the time!! And they go outside and I watch them to make sure they are ok!"

"It sounds like you love them very much, but do you feed them, clean their litter box, and give them fresh food and water every day?" Alyssa inquired, already knowing the answer.

I felt a pang of guilt. "Well... um... I usually just play with them... but I thought that was taking care of them isn't it..?"

Alyssa smiled sweetly "So those are the reasons you think you're a big girl? You think you'd be okay by yourself for a few hours?"

I nodded shyly, looking at my feet.

"Well, I'm not quite convinced sweetie. Can you use the stove by yourself? Or the oven? Alyssa asked, her tone gentle but firm. "And what about changing your diapers? We wouldn't want someone's wet diapee to give them a rash right?" I felt my face flush even more. "I... um... I don't really know how to d-do those things..." I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Alyssa nodded, her expression sympathetic. "I know, and it's okay honey, I understand. You're still just a little girl, and there's a lot you don't know how to do yet. But that's why you have a babysitter here to help you when Daddy's not around, okay?"

I wanted to argue, but though I didn't want to admit it to myself, her words rang true. I looked down at my lap, the infantile garment stark proof of Alyssa's assessment.

Alyssa, noticing my silence, gently took my hand in hers. "I know it's hard to accept, sweetheart, but you're still just a little girl, and that's okay! Don't be in such a rush to grow up, being an adult is so boring... I know! Why don't I make us some popcorn and put on your favorite movie until your Daddy comes home, how does that sound?" Alyssa suggested animatedly, already knowing how easily my attention is diverted.

"Tangled?!" I squealed excitedly, forgetting everything temporarily. "Yeah, that sounds like fun!" I beamed up at Alyssa and ran to the living room to get ready, forgetting my skirt in my excitement.

Alyssa shook her head, smiling. "A big girl indeed.."

[esmeraldablazingsky]

the only person in fontaine who i think should have visibly shredded abs is clorinde. look. listen. i have an essay

furina has maintained a performer’s figure for a long time but she’s more of an actress and singer than a dancer. she has the muscle tone of a macaroni noodle, and also her body composition is 80% pastry. but you know what we love her for that

navia is definitely deceptively strong for her hyper femme presentation. girlie puts in the work! shes not a gym rat tho. she has better things to do, and macarons to bake

wriothesley you could definitely make a case for more than the others, but also, consider this. he’s not a mangy half starved wolf anymore. he’s comfortable, he can get whatever he wants from the kitchen staff, he puts sugar in his tea. it’s not like he’s lost any of his combat edge but he doesn’t HAVE to be a lean mean fighting machine anymore, he has other strengths, and he likes it that way!

neuvillette is the world’s most pampered dragon. furina summoned him 400 years ago and proceeded to spend those 400 years ordering him premium water and making him do paperwork and try fancy foods with her. he does not want to go outside, except if it is to swim. you may not like it but this is the ideal sea-animal-guy body type (strong swimmer muscles smoothed over by a layer of squish, like a seal)

sigewinne is literally a marshmallow have you ever seen a ripped melusine I don’t think so. but that wasn’t in question, right?

clorinde though!! clorinde. duelist and bodyguard supreme, a well known figure whose athleticism is highly publicized. she doesn’t HAVE to have abs, but she’s definitely the fontaine character I would most readily believe does

[rustedhearts]

“steeeeve!”

the panic-laced sound of his name makes steve drop the spoon in his hand in an instant. he’s sprinting toward the laundry room around the corner before he knows it, his own roaring and alarmed ‘what is it?’ following.

what he finds is white foam spilling from the washing machine and a pool of wetness around your bare feet.

“oh, shit,” he sighs.

you stare at him with wide, round eyes and an open mouth. a load of sopping wet clothes await in the open machine lid.

“wh-what do i do? steve, what do i do?” you bounce on your feet and steve watches water splash against the rug that’s now soaking it up.

“uh…hang on, baby, lemme just—“

“no, don’t leave me!” you whine, watching helplessly as your husband leaves the room in the hurried fashion he came in.

you hear the click of the stove turn off in the kitchen. “i’m comin’ right back, baby, hang on!”

steve is true to his word and reappears in the laundry room, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. he leans down and begins doing the same to his pants until they’re bunched at the knees.

“uh…okay, angel, step aside.”

you eye him incredulously. “steve, shouldn’t we call…someone? a plumber or…whoever fixes washing machines—“

“no, ‘m gonna fix it,” he insists.

you take a slow, wide step aside and steve replaces you before the washing machine. yet still, hesitance brews clear in your forehead.

“baby, i’m not sure—“

“i’m gonna fix it,” he repeats, reaching into the machine. you listen to it slosh and feel the anxiety wind tighter in your stomach.

“jane needs her volleyball uniform for tomorrow morning, steve! m-my new sweater is in there, it’s gonna get ruined—“

“hey, hey, whoa. calm down, baby, it’s okay. can you get my toolbox in the coat closet?”

“steve—“

“come on, just…let me at least try,” he sighs, hand cocked on his hip.

you drop your shoulders with a sigh of your own. the gold wedding band on his ring glints in the afternoon light peeking through the window.

steve’s tried to be a handyman many times in the past few years. since the retirement, he’s done his best to find new ways to be useful. when he’s not at the gym maintaining muscle or training new prodigies, or driving jane to volleyball practice and pretending to understand what you’re doing in your home office—he’s tinkering around the house.

taking wrenches and hammers to parts of the house that probably don’t need it, finding home projects that nobody really asked for.

but they make him feel useful. like super dad, or something better. he wanted to be that for jane, he wanted to be that for you. the hero of the family, the best man in your lives.

so, you got the toolbox from the coat closet and handed it to steve. the red steel toolbox decorated and gifted from jane two christmases ago when steve took it upon himself to deck out the basement by himself. she covered it in glittery stickers and spelled out his name in scrabble-letter magnets.

you decide leaving the room is the best course of action while steve clinks and clunks, cursing and grumbling when nothing seems to work. you busy yourself with the abandoned macaroni and cheese on the stove for lunch and serve it in mismatched bowls at the kitchen island.

jane wanders in and cranes to peer into the laundry room as she sits.

"what's dad doing?"

you take your place across from her and, although you know you'll be calling a repairman in the next thirty minutes, smile at your daughter and pick up your spoon.

"fixing stuff."

[gallaghersgal]

lip and father’s day….aur i know it makes him so emotional. he’s wanted to be a dad so bad and now that he has you and your sweet kids he’s just 🥹🥹

he wakes up in a puppy pile, one kid laying on his stomach with you practically melded in his side, his other kid kind of curled up near his shoulder. and he’s just so happy. unfortunately he does work that day, but he gets two drawings from his kids to hang on the fridge along with big hugs and a kiss from you before he leaves, and he comes home to more crafty gifts and something nice from you, his favorite meal made ready for him.

it’s something he’s always wanted, and when he hugs you extra tight that day, you don’t comment (though you do roll your eyes when he playfully asks if his father’s day gift for next year can be another baby)

UGGGGHHHHHHH SHUT UP I CANT HANDLE THIS!!!!!!!

i need dad!lip in my life so. bad. he pretends he's this big tough guy but when he wakes up all warm and cozy with you and your two kids, he for sure sheds a tear. he slips out of bed as quietly as possible and gets ready for work before the kids wake up, im thinking ages 2 & 5. he's in the kitchen making your morning coffee with the fancy machine when he hears the thundering footsteps, and suddenly his son is attached to his hip squealing "happy fathers day!!" and the littler one is looking up with her chin on his knee, saying "lub you daddy" in the sweetest little voice.

you trail behind them, crouching down to ask if they want to give their daddy the drawings they made, and your son takes your daughters hand to run off together to the playroom. after giving them each a kiss on the head and boasting about how good their drawings are lip scoops up his baby girl for a big big hug while the older boy stands on his tip toes and sticks the drawings to the fridge with alphabet magnets.

in the evening he comes home to his favorite meal, macaroni crafts from the kiddos, a small but heartfelt gift, and the sweetest kisses from you. after supper you all four watch a family movie, and your daughter ends up curled asleep in her daddy's lap while your son plays with legos at the foot of the couch. lip puts her to bed, then helps you tuck your son in, and then finally the two of you are alone. he gives you the tightest hug, mumblng a soft "i love'ya. an' i love our babies." you pretend not to hear him sniffle, look away when he quickly wipes his eyes, and just give his arm an affectionate squeeze. he plays off the emotions, telling you "great fathers day baby. what d'ya say we get ahead of the game for next year, hm? start makin' another one?" and his hands come to your hips as you roll your eyes playfully, but ultimately give in.

let's have a sleepover at mine <3 | inbox

[fandomrose]

Furina post 4.2 reverse comfort.

Hi again. A Furina post 4.2 reverse comfort. I've been working on this for a depressingly long time.

There is implied spoilers but not many. This is also friends to probably, eventually lovers. Starting with the friends in this fic.

This is alot more angsty than the Neuvillette one. It does have descriptions of injury and disassociation. I drew on my own experiences with my own disassociation and helping others through theirs.

I really wanted to do one for Furina because I wish to hug the poor woman. She's been through too much.

I hope you enjoy 💙

You clutched bags filled with cooking ingredients. Ever since learning that your 'former' Lady Furina was living off of macaroni from a certain blonde haired traveller and 'talkative' flying pixie. You decided to pay her a visit, said flying pixie freely telling you where she lived.

Nerves coursed through you. It had been a few weeks since you had seen Furina. Since the prophecy had 'not' come to fruition your services as a private investigator for 'solutions for the prophecy' was no longer needed. And when Furina stepped down from her position as Hydro Archon you stopped seeing her. 

'Diva archon' is what people called her but you knew her better than that. You can't have claimed to be close but, you had seen glimpses of the hidden care and love she had for the nation she governed. True god or not you saw glimpses of all she sacrificed over your few years working under her. You had grown fond of her and the trail she was put through almost broke your heart. 

You steeled your nerves before knocking on Furinas door at just past midday. There was silence before you heard rustling, the unlocking of the door and it opened giving you the first look at Furina in 3 weeks. 

She had slight bags under her eyes, she looked thinner and her smile was not as bright as it used to be.

"Why hello, it's certainly been a while since I've seen you,-" she started off attempting the same theatrical countenance she had before but it quickly faded. "Why have you come here and how did you find out where I live?" 

The thought of her finding it worrying that you knew where she lived didn't cross your mind. "The travellers companion may have let it slip my lady." 

She sighed, "Please don't call me that any more just 'Furina' is fine." Her voice now sounded tired, a slight rasp of exhaustion present.

"Alright my- Furina... um," there was an awkward air between you two, one that you were determined to dismiss. "I was wondering if you would like to spend the afternoon in familiar company... I brought food if you'd like to have dinner."

Furinas eyes narrowed slightly. "Did Paimon also tell you that I was living off of macaroni."

You had somehow forgotten how sharp Furina was. "Yes.. but, but I didn't just bring food, I thought I'd teach you to make more dishes other than macaroni. Still quick, easy and involving pasta but different. Also baking bread. I thought it would go well with what we are making...." You felt yourself ramble, trying to convince Furina to give you a chance.

She looked like she was fighting with herself for a moment. You hold your breath waiting for a response. "Okay.. that sounds nice actually." 

You sigh with relief "Alright lead the way my- um- Furina." You watched as she flushed a slight pink before leading you inside. Her home was modestly furnished but well coordinated and clearly to her aesthetic taste. She led you through the short hallway and into her kitchen. It was up to Fontaine’s modern standard with an oven and hobs, a sink and a new cooling machine that was recently invented by the Fontaine research institute for the storage of Fonta, but had been later discovered to increase the shelf life of many different foods. They were currently very expensive however. You wondered how she was able to afford it with no job. Her shelves were almost bare however, it made you glad you came with ingredients and a few extra essentials. 

"Here you can put the food on the counter." Furinas gestured to the counter close to the oven. "What are we making?" 

You nod and pull the ingredients out. "I thought a cottage pie and some garlic flat bread would be a good start. I also brought the ingredients to make some simple crěpes for dessert." 

"Great ... I don't know how to make any of that, are you sure you want to bother teaching me?" 

"Of course Furina, why would I bring all this if not to teach you." 

"I guess you're right, so what are we starting with?" Her voice was hesitant, you begin to wonder if she was really up to this. What if you were pushing her too hard?

"Ah I thought we'd start by preparing the bread.."

You show her the steps of baking bread. She follows your instructions diligently, her smile broadening and confidence returning with every step she gets right. "This isn't as bad as I thought it'd be. Then again of course I could learn anything I put my mind to."

Seeing her smile again was all you wanted out of today. If you were being truthful with yourself. 

"Now we let the dough rest for about 45 minutes.. in the meantime let's prepare the potatoes for the mash that'll go on top of the shepherd's pie."

You teach her how to peel a potato with a paring knife. Or rather you try to. As she pulled back the knife her hand slipped on the potato and she nicked her palm with the knife, a long thin line of blood appearing on her palm. You were focused on your own potato when you heard her yelp in pain. You immediately drop the knife and potato you were peeling and rush to her side assessing the damage.

"Furina! What happened?" You gently grab her hand looking at the wound. "Where is your first aid kit?" She didn't speak, only pointed to a cupboard on the other side of the room, her eyes glued to her wound, pearls of tears collecting in the outer corners of her eyes and all you want to do is draw her into your arms. 

But first the wound, you gather the first aid kit and sit Furina down at the table in the kitchen and quietly bandage her hand. The cut wasn't deep, which was good, but she barely flinches as you clean the wound, which was a point of concern. You sense she's not up for criticism or questions so you keep things to yourself while you finish bandaging her hand. 

I take a deep breath and try to talk to her again now that the wound is dealt with. "Furina? Are you up for continuing or would you like me to take over?" She didn't respond immediately seemingly not even hearing you, you are about to attempt to get her attention again when-

"No. You- you take over." She sounded exhausted again, and almost defeated. Worry crawls through your stomach all the way up into you throat but you hold back for now. Not quite sure how to deal with this Furina.

"Alright." Is all you can say, softly as not to startle her. As you continue prepping the meal peeling the potatoes, boiling them in milk for extra creaminess and seasoning with salt and pepper. You start up another hob and cook the meat, frying off the fat before adding, flour, worcestershire sauce, a splash of red wine, tomato paste, chopped bell peppers and onions. While the mixture reduces you prepare the dough Furina made earlier, spreading a mixture of garlic butter rosemary and thyme over the dough and place it in the oven. 

You catch Furina glancing at you while you work. You turn off the heat on the meat and take some of it from the pan in a small spoon and carefully carry it over to her. "Would you like to taste test Furina?" She looked up at you in surprise before nodding slowly. You offer the spoon to her and she leans forward and closes her mouth around it without taking it out of your hands. 

A moment of silence, while you might usually feel flustered at this kind of action. But with Furina seemingly still out of it, not registering what she'd done, it was just concerning. You take the spoon away and turn around.

"Is it good?"

A tired "Yea" is the only response you get. It'll do for now. You finish off the cottage pie by arranging it in a dish putting the meat and veg mixture, then the creamy mash before sprinkling a generous helping of parmesan cheese over the top of the mash and putting in the oven for 20 mins. The bread is almost ready to take out and could make a good starter. 

You set a time and sit by Furina, slightly awkwardly, not knowing what to say. You'd been so focused on your tasks you hadn't realised how strange it felt to be around Furina in a casual setting and especially not when something seemed to be bothering her so greatly.

"Furina.. How's your hand?"

"It's fine, doesn't hurt much anymore."

Your concern was beginning to reach a peak. She couldn't look at you for some reason. And her voice was so weak it was barely there but you don't know what to do without crossing an unspoken boundary or making things worse. 

The bread timer goes off. You rise from your seat to take it out, putting it on a rack to let it cool for a few minutes. 

You look over at Furina, her form slumped and defeated looking, her eyebags somehow more prominent than when you started. You didn't understand what could have made her this way. Overall yes, you were there at her trial after all, at the end of it you were just happy she wasn't actually executed. But what happened today? Was it the injury? But why would that cause a near catatonic dissociation? 

You didn't want to push, instead you just cut up the bread and offered her a piece, on a small plate, in the hopes that some form of stimulation would reawaken her. She slowly picks at the bread, putting small pieces in her mouth. 

The second timer goes off. The cottage pie is ready, so you remove from the oven, find two large plates and serve the food.

She looks up at the food and picks up the fork, slowly digging in to the cottage pie. You watch with interest hoping maybe food would perk her up at least a little. And perk up she does. Finally a smile graces her face, small but there.

"This is lovely, thank you. Truly a meal worthy of the great Furina De Fontaine." She made an attempt at her energetic performance but was still tired it seemed. 

You smile at her in what you hope is a pleasant and reassuring manner. "Well my lady I am glad it's worthy of your greatness."

She laughed that same haughty laugh you'd grown to enjoy hearing even if it was a little strained with exhaustion.

"Would my lady enjoy some crêpes to cleanse her palette of savoury tastes?"

"Yes, a batch of crêpes sounds wonderful my humble chef." 

You stand and bow hoping this play was helping her recover from whatever state she was in. Turning to make a small batch of crěpes you don't notice the way she slumps in her seat.

You dust the crêpes in powdered sugar, lemon juice and fill them with cream and chopped fruit. A plate of two crěpes is placed in front of Furina with a smile. Your smile fades seeing her downtrodden look again. 

"La- Furina? Is everything okay?"

"It should be... but it's not" was her response. You watch as tears slip down her cheeks. She tries to quickly wipe them away. "Ahhahaha.. how silly, I don't know why.. an overflow of hydro yes it must be."

You walk round the table and stand by her. "Furina, you can tell me what's wrong. You- you don't have to hide anymore." 

It seems that small push was all it takes for her to allow herself to break. She turns and practically falls into your arms and sobs. "It was going so well. But then I messed up again. I really am useless" She cried into your arms, her sentences broken up by bouts of heartbreaking sobs.

Saying anything felt like a bad idea for now so you remove her hat and simply stroke her head while she cries into your chest. You don't know how long it takes but you patiently wait for her tears to dry and her sobbing to subside. Grabbing a soft handkerchief you lift her face and dab at her cheeks. You watch her eyes widen as if she realised she was actually crying into a living person rather than a plushie. 

"I- I-" 

"Furina, it's okay.. you aren't useless and you are still learning right. You have no idea how many cuts and burns on my arms and hands I have scars for just from cooking. Hahaha. It happens my lady. But if I may be so bold, it's not about the accident is it?"

You pause before speaking again, not wanting her to have any excuses you make sure to beat her to the punch.

"Have you mourned yet? Your status as an archon? Your position in Fontaines elite? Your friendship with Monsieur Neuvillette? Anything else I am not privy to."

It wasn't the most elegant way to put it. Some might call it cruel but she needed to confront this in order to move on.

You begin to regret your decision when you see Furina hang her head and cry again, much more subdued this time. You open your mouth to apologise but-

"You're right... I've been ignoring it all instead of dealing with it. I thought I could just move on, and 'improve myself' and everything would be okay."

She spoke so harshly of her own thoughts. You shake your head and sigh.

"Don't be mean to yourself Furina. Your only mistake was isolating yourself, but if I may be so bold, again, I'm here. And I want to help you, I've always liked spending time with you so I'd be more than happy to be your friend."

She began to sob again. "You want to be my friend? You'll stay by my side even when I'm like this.." 

"Yes Furina, that is what I want. As long as you want it to." You open your arms letting her hug you again. She was crying, but at least her tears were happy this time.

This was probably the start of something wonderful.

[kekaki-cupcakes]

hello, are you still doing requests?

if so, could i have some sibling headcanons of nico with a hades kiddo that's really peppy and into colorful things and people find it hard to believe they're siblings at first because their personalities are polar opposites of each other?

thankyou!

Heya, I'm still doing requests but I have so many so it might take a while to get an answer, feel free to request something else though! This kind of went off track but oh well <3

Don't take it to heart---Nico/opposite aesthetics sibling!reader

»»————-　★　————-««

-The minute you skipped up to the porch of the Hades Cabin with your stripey rainbow leg warmers and a tote bag with a stupid pun about a show with something called ‘carebears’, Nico winced.

-He’d need sunglasses if he had to keep looking at you, but he didn’t really want to borrow the big yellow star ones on the end of your nose, so maybe that was a bad idea. Your first interaction went a bit like this:

You: “Heya, you're the emo kid, right? I’m new! So, where’s our cabin?” 

Nico: “Uh… you're supposed to go that way.”

You: “No, that’s the Iris cabin, at least that’s what Chiron said. I’m your new sibling, by the way. Chiron said we have one in Rome too! 

Nico: I- well, yes, I- we do.

You: Are they as grumpy looking as you?

-Needless to say you got off to a great start. Nico proceeded to dump your bags on one of the beds, which has a zebra print doona matching one of your headbands, and then left immediately. You shrugged it off, obviously, and started stacking your things on the coffin shaped bookshelves. You ignored the candle that was supposed to smell like ‘the souls of the damned’, and put your own flowery one next to it. 

-You found out you loved arts and crafts, where you made friendship bracelets with Lacy, as well as pegasi riding. You saw Nico once, and he waved awkwardly, but went back to the small child he was glaring at quickly. You quickly became attached to a creamy coloured mare called macaroni as well, but Butch wouldn’t let her sleep in your cabin. He did take a friendship bracelet, though. And he let you weave daisy chains into macaroni’s mane and tail, so you liked him. 

-You had brought a musty old record player with you after finding out that there was no wifi, but you had to pause ‘Washing Machine Heart’ [by Mitski, of course] when Nico came trudging into the now bright cabin. You’d opened all the curtains and taken the spiders that fell from them outside, dumping them in the bushes behind the Athena cabin. 

-Nico stared at the squishmellows on your bed and then the dreamcatcher by one of the windows, and the row of brightly coloured converse with striped laces lined up by his three different pairs of black Doc Martens. 

-He shrugged his jacket off and went straight into the bathroom, leaving a little trail of muddy footsteps along the heart shaped rug you’d put down.

-He was just adjusting to a roommate, you told yourself. It wasn’t anything to do with you personally. You hadn’t done anything wrong, maybe you should just give him a bit of space. That was a good idea. Leave him alone for a bit until he was used to you, and don’t take it to heart. 

»»————-　★　————-««

-You took it to heart.

»»————-　★　————-««

-Months had passed, and you were thankful for the Ipad Piper [she was so nice, and she let you borrow her Olivia Rodrigo records] lent you so you could facetime the family and friends you had left behind occasionally. They had seemed to adjust to you not being there anymore, now that you knew you were a child of Hades, the outside world was too dangerous to risk. You tried not to take that to heart either.

-Macaroni was getting used to the beaded bridle you’d made her, but you were still training her to get used to flying around while you used your new weapons.

-Nyssa had helped you make them, able to actually craft a design after glancing at you scribbled drawing with glitter gel pens that you really had worked hard on. Now you had a sparkly belt with three attachments, that you could click in your spray cans too. The cans were filled with different coloured paint, only the base liquid was melted down celestial bronze flakes, so when you fought a monster, which you were still learning to do, it would seep into their eyes and turn them blind, or crack through their skin and dissolve them. You loved the spray cans.

-Drew had warmed up to you as well, and you were even invited to Barbie premier night in Cabin ten. You got to wear your sparkly leg warmers and the cropped leather jacket in a light shade of pink.

-You were making your way to the arts and crafts center with a box of clay and little paint brushes in your arms to run the pottery class [you’d been elected as head of arts and crafts pretty quickly, shared with Elsa, one of the Athena kids who specialize in weaving and sewed the cutest pajama pants] when you bumped into Nico.

-Literally. 

-The box may have been a few heads taller than you, so it wasn’t really your fault, but Nico still snapped at you. 

-You gathered up the little tubs of paint from the grass and apologized quickly, your chest tight with anxiety. You hurried away after that, ignoring your brother as he tried to explain he hadn’t realized it was you when he hissed curse words Drew had started teaching Harley and Lacy. 

-The class went well, the scrunchies Elsa was making her girlfriend for her birthday went along well, and a few more kids than usual showed up, taking lumps of clay from the tray and working it into figures on their tables. You were making beads that you’d string onto a bracelet for Nyssa, because she always broke the plastic ones with hammers and drills accidentally.

-You thought back to your interaction with Nico and regretted it dearly. Maybe if you’d just heard him out or even apologized and blamed yourself, he might’ve come to your class to see your works, or sat with you at dinner, or even just waved from across the infirmary when you went to get panadol for your headaches. 

-You knew you got them from straining your eyes to read and draw in the dim cabin, but whenever you opened the curtains or switched on your blue lamp with a cloudy pattern that you hadn’t got to use yet, Nico cleared out completely. 

-It wasn’t your fault, you reminded yourself, you were just… too different.

-People started filing out after putting their creations to the side, you complimented each of their idea’s even though you felt like getting some Ben and Jerry’s from the camp shop and curling up in bed to watch ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ again. 

-The beads for Nyssa were nearly done, so you went to find a container to pop them in.

-When you got back, they had been ground into the bench until the delicate tracing of different things Nyssa likes were just shapeless brown blobs. An Ares kid, Grey, was standing with their arms crossed and a smirk on their face, which was mostly obscured by a nose that had been broken too many times.

-You stared down at the squashed clay and felt your eyes prickle with tears.

-Grey jeered at you, calling you things you’d rather not hear again, because they only made the tears fall. You rubbed your nose and smoothed the front of your tye-dyed camp shirt flat. Grey called after you, something about being a ‘rainbow prissy’. You stumbled out of the center.

-Nico wasn’t in your cabin when you slammed the door behind you, thankfully, and you hopped into bed, kicking your yellow converse off and pulling the doona over your head so you didn’t have to look at the skull filled walls around you.

-It was so dark, it was so dark and shadowy and there were bones you were too scared to ask about their origins lining the mirror in the bathroom you kept seeing things behind you in. Your crocheted blanket that used to sit across the black doona cover had been folded up a while ago and placed back in your suitcase, along with a few of the more multicolored posters and the fruity scented candles that seemed to annoy your half brother. 

-You rubbed your eyes with your sleeves and held your hand over your mouth so Nico wouldn’t hear crying when he would eventually come back a few hours later, late enough that you could pretend to be asleep. 

»»————-　★　————-««

-The infirmary was busy with bleeding and laughing demigods when you wandered in looking for some panadol. Your headache was making it hard to think straight, but whenever you cried too much you got one, so you knew what to do by now. 

-Will waved from over from where he was pulling a ruler, a stapler, and a glue stick out of the stomach of an Iris kid who was giggling the entire time, coughing up glitter. He grimaced when a chunk of glue hit his face. You waved back and turned the corner, heading to the rooms at the back where Austin would be. He usually had the panadol. 

-Someone groaned in the corner, and you spotted Grey. 

-They looked like a soggy bag of a human, their mauled nose the only definable shape. You couldn’t pull your eyes away from the grotesque demigod blob.

-Austin shuffled up behind you with a grimace, passing over a few pills and a glass of water without looking away. You gulped them down quickly as Grey let out another moan and rolled a bit on their hospital bed. Austin told you that he’d been spotted on the floor of the Arts and crafts center. 

-Apparently, every few minutes one of his bones would disappear.

-It was only a few fingers at the start, then most of his ribs couldn’t be found and there was something wrong with his mouth, which Austin found out meant his jaw had decided to not be there. 

-A screechy sound came from the front of the infirmary, and you both looked to the door, which Clarrise was dragging Nico through, holding him up by the back of his jacket. He pummeled at the chunky daughter of Ares, but couldn’t get out of her grip. Clarrise glared around at the staring demigods and snarled, “why is this little shit de-boning Grey?”

-You didn’t know who yelled ‘that’s what she said’ from across the room.

-”Because they deserve it.” Nico hissed a bit like a cat, glaring up at Clarisse with narrowed brown eyes underneath his floppy hair.  

-Will ran up to the pair, brushing glitter off his gloved hands onto his scrubs instead. He folded his arms and stared Clarrise down until she finally let go of Nico, who dropped to the ground and then sprung back up, wrinkling his nose at the daughter of Ares, who just stuck her tongue back out at him. 

-Will pinched his nose, “Clarisse, more people come in here because of you then Nico, so you don’t get to talk. Nico, just fix them, they’re too annoying to be kept in here.”

-”But people deserved to be punched by me,” Clarrise argued with a scoff.

-”And Grey deserves to lose their bones!” Nico shot back, glaring up at Clarisse and balling his fists, “they stepped on my siblings clay stuff!”

»»————-　★　————-««

-You yawned and stretched your arms out above your head, then blinked up at the roof with bleary eyes. The skulls were gone, now it was just black concrete. You rolled over a moment later and stuffed your head back into your pillow, pulling your crocheted blanket back over your head.

-There was a ‘shing’ sound as curtains were yanked open, and you just sunk further into your comfy bed, ignoring the bright beams of early morning sunshine that streamed in and lit up the dark cabin. It made the rainbow rug in the center of the cabin even brighter, and you groaned loudly in protest. “Whaddaya even doing up so early? Go back to bed you vampire!”

-”It’s only six am?”

-”You’re more of a psychopath then I thought before,” you muttered, but made sure you were loud enough that your brother could hear you as he padded round the cabin getting changed and ready for his much too early start to the day. 

-Nico huffed and the bathroom door shut as he completely ignored the hairbrush you’d given him to passive aggressively deal with his scruffy black hair. “Leo forgot the code to the safe in the big house that he changed when he was hiding those icey poles from Piper.”

-”And how are you supposed to help him remember?”

-Nico’s boots were loud on the floorboards as he trotted over. He kissed you on the forehead gently, “oh I’m not, I’m gonna go watch him suffer the consequences with Jason.”

»»————-　★　————-««

[beskarinhyperspace]

The Intern

It's Halloween night and you work on set with Hayden Christensen. 

Who wants to party with Anakin? 

Hayden/ Anakin x Gn Reader  

AO3 | MASTERLIST

*Mature, Explicit, NSFW*

Warnings; shy hayden, soft dom, n3pple play, or4l- hayden.receiving, praise, soft degradation 

Happy Halloween!

WC; 3k

You only been working here for 3 months. Getting everyone their coffees and scripts. Making sure that everything goes as smoothly as possible for the cast members and directors. But this internship was getting on your last nerve. How can anyone survive these boring and unchallenging tasks. This is truly unfulfilling you tell yourself as you eat your lunch alone in the cafeteria. You only took the job because you needed to be more “involved on set and understand the flow” as your professor puts it.  

As you play with your macaroni salad with a plastic spoon, you hear someone entering the room. By instinct, you bring your eyes up to meet a handsome man. 

“Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to disturb..” cutting himself mid-sentence.  

“Oh no, no worries, you're not.” You reply mindlessly not fully realizing that it's Hayden Christensen who just entered the break room. You wouldn't say that you're easily starstruck, but you must admit, he looks better in person. 

He smiles timidly, going towards the coffee machine. “Got to have my caffeine. I- woke up early.” saying nervously. 

Watching him try to make small talk is utterly painful. He doesn't need to talk to you. So why is he acting so weird? 

“Busy?” You asks, trying to sound casual. 

“Yeah, I mean, I was in Seattle yesterday. Matter of fact I just landed here not even two hours ago.” Saying as he clicks a plastic lid on his coffee cup. “What's your name? Wait don't tell me. This way I know I'll see you again.” He smiles to you before looking at his watch. “I'm really sorry, I have to go. See you around I guess..” 

“Bye” you finally speak out, but he was already out the door. What the fuck just happened?  

For the rest of the day, you couldn't stop thinking about the most pathetic celebrity encounter you have ever had in your life, yet. I mean he's a big celebrity and he's busy. He said so himself. It's not like you're going to see him again, right? 

“Hey newbie, the director wants a round of coffee. He's also asking if you contacted the new hairstylist to see if they can come tomorrow instead of Wednesday?”  

“I did, she said yes, and I'll go get them shortly.” You reply nonchalantly. The other assistant simply smiles at you before walking away. Ugh, can this day be any worse? This is the 5th coffee run today and you only have an hour left to your shift. Without wasting any time, you go straight to your car. Not wanting to stay overtime again. Especially not today. Once behind the wheel, you sigh as you decide to have a look at your face. Jeez, I really look tired. I can't believe I just met him looking like this. What am I saying? It's not like I have a chance anyway.. 

With 10 min left to your shift, you only have a couple coffees left to deliver. Opening the director's office door. You quickly recognize Hayden’s side profile.  

What is he still doing here? Never mind, just stay professional.  

“I'm here Jay, bringing the hot!” You say with a bright smile. 

You hear a clear sigh coming from Hayden’s direction as you put the coffees on the meeting's table. As you try to look discreetly in his direction, you're met with his intense gaze. Why is he looking at me like that? He wasn't like that earlier.. Did I do something wrong?  

“Thank you, I really needed that. Hey, listen kid, would you mind staying later tonight?” Jay asks casually while scribbling in his notebook. 

“I–“ tonight is Halloween night and some of your friends invited you to join them at a party. Usually, you would've said no but this job had been so draining lately. You just want a little break. 

He stops writing to look at you properly, “I know you've been staying late a lot but that's only because I trust you kid. You're doing an incredible job here..” 

“I'm okay with it, I mean that's the least I can do before I leave.” You say calmly trying to not let your annoyance show through. 

He gives you a weak smile before returning to his scribbles. “Anita was looking for you earlier, I think she's in costume right now.” 

“I'll go check, anything else?”  

“I think you'll be pretty busy with her tonight, I'll let you work with her. If anything, I'll fetch you.” 

You nod before turning around. Fighting back the urge to look at Hayden again before leaving. Stay professional, this will never happen. We don't want him to think you're just another stupid fan. Just stay cool..” 

You sigh walking towards Anita’s workshop. As you walk the corridors, you feel a strong hand gripping your arm. You turn to a taller men with frowning brows. 

“Hey, um, I'm sorry. It's just I've been yelling and–“ You look to Hayden puzzled. “I guess what I'm trying to say is, um, ask, would you go out after with me?”  

You look at him like you have a million questions inside your head. While he looks at you anxiously waiting. “I work late tonight.” 

He nervously passes a hand in his hair, “right, yes, that's true. Shit, I'm sorry I shouldn't have bothered you. Have a great night..” he says looking at the floor, slowly walking away. 

What the actual fuck? Ugh, I'm going to regret this.. “I'm off at 11.” Raising your voice to make sure he hears you. 

He smiles as he faces you. “What's fun to do around here at 11?” 

His smile is truly contagious, making you blush automatically, “I was invited for a Halloween party-” 

“Cool, I'll come back to pick you up 11:30” walking away once again before you could place another word. 

Oh jeez, what did I get myself into.. 

-- 

You were doing some final make up touches before heading out the door. This year's last-minute costume is a vampire. As you're drawing some electric reddish veins underneath your eyes you can't stop thinking about the fact that you're going to a party with fucking Hayden Christensen. How did this happen? How are you going to explain this to your friends? This is going to be a big problem. You try to calm yourself down. Telling yourself that this is just a friendship situation. Omg is he a womanizer? No, that can't be it. He looked way too nervous to be one, right?  

It's 11:35 and you're patiently waiting outside when a car enters the driveway. Seeing it's him, you walk towards the car, opening the door. As you're putting your  seatbelt on, you can feel the heavy energy in the air as if you were being observe.  

“Wow” you hear him say softly in a low voice. “You really look good.” Shyly, you bring your eyes up to be met by his, looking at you shamelessly. He clears his throat quickly as he realize his behaviour, “where to?” he finally asks. 

“Omg”— “What??” 

“You can't wear that.” You say almost horrified. 

He laughs knowing exactly what you’re referring to. “It’s not that bad” 

“This, this is your Anakin costume..” you state gesturing his outfit. 

“Don't worry about it.” 

“Do you seriously believe that this is discrete? Everyone will know it's you. You have a pretty memorable face you know.”  

He laughs even more, “So I've been told. Stop, I told you, don't worry. Just tell me where it is.” 

“I don't know if I should, maybe you're a kidnapper.” you say nonchalantly. 

He tries not to laugh as he bites his lower lips. “Then we can stay here.” 

“We?” 

“Yeah, I mean don't get me wrong I like a party as much as the next person but, I want to know you. I don't mind where we are as long as I can talk to you.” 

You can't control your smile as you feel warmth in your stomach. Suddenly the self-doubts and questioning just fades away. This is a date.. omg, you're on a date with him.. you clear your throat, “I’d like to go, I really need this.” 

“Stressed?” Asking as he punches the address in the map app and starts to drive.  

“You could say that.” 

“Yeah, I'm familiar with the feeling. The ‘set’ life isn't always glamorous.” 

“You're an actor, it's different, you're the star.” 

He bites his bottom lip before replying, “well, the pressure is like no other. There are so many fans, so many critics. You need to have a thick skin. Plus you have to put yourself in so many weird situations. Trust me, it's stressful.” 

“Yeah, I guess you're right, I never saw it like that.”  You replied as he smiles softly. You notice that you've been quite comfortable in his presence compared to earlier this morning. He looks so self-assured and in control of himself you tell yourself. How can he be so grounded?  

During the ride you finally get to relax and enjoy your small talks. That was until you finally arrive at the party. Now all you can think about is the fact that your plus one is Hayden. As you both walk towards the house door, you can already hear the music blasting from outside.  

“Heyyy!!”—“You came!” You hear your friends calling. 

“Yeah, I actually just finished work–“ 

“–OMG are you the real Anakin? Like the actor?”— “I think his name is Hayden.”— “that's not him, that can't be him.” 

“Yeah, well, I always been told we looked alike, so I went with an Anakin costume this year.” Hayden responds smiling casually to the others. 

“You don't say” —”well it’s uncanny, you really do look like him.” One girl lets out. 

You roll your eyes, “stop bothering my friend. Anyways, we're gonna have a look around, we'll be right back” stating as you both walk away. “I told you that dressing as Anakin was a bad idea..” you say leaning towards him. 

He turns his head slightly to you as he tries to hear you better over the loud music, “Then let's get out of here. You know, to a place we can actually hear each other?”  

“Yeah, let's get out.” You reply and he doesn't waste a second. Guiding you back to the car. “Where now?” You ask as you put on your seatbelt back on. 

“I know a place near.”  

As you watch the car lights passing over him. You can't help but smile, he is so handsome, so hot.. Especially in his battle attire. “You do that often?” 

“What do I do often?” Glancing quickly in your direction. 

“Kidnapping interns on set.” 

He automatically let out some low giggles. “Ahh, huh, um no..” he answered shyly. “I don't..” Before you could place a word, he enters a hidden dirt road. 

“Oh, so you did plan to murder me.”  

He gives you a smirk, “Nah, you're way too pretty for me to kill..”  

-- 

After a moment you stop in front of a wooden bridge. “What is this place?”  

“Patience” he simply respond as he stops the car. “Come” 

You follow him without hesitation, crossing the bridge before going deeper into the woods. “Is it safe?” You asks voice worried. 

He takes your hand as he leads, “I used to come here all the time when I was a teenager.” 

“You grew up here?” 

He chuckles, “No, my aunt lived nearby. I used to visit every summer for a month with my mother.”  

After a few minutes of walking off road you finally arrived at a secluded part of a lake. “Woah, it's so pretty.. I lived here all my life, and I never knew this place existed.” You were truly amazed by the view. The moon was almost full. Shining it's light on the lake like diamonds on calm waters. Making everything a little more visible in this otherwise very dark night. 

“I can't believe it, it's still there-” you hear him say from afar. You glanced at him, watching him drag a tree trunk towards you. “-Look” he says pointing to a part of the trunk.  

·The true Skywalker was here· 

You smile as you read it, “You wrote that? How fitting, you're even dress for the occasion.” You state gesturing to his costume. 

“Ha, yeah, I haven't come here in ages. Last time I came to visit, I made a little stop here. I had just received the call to play Anakin and I knew the role would change my life. I know it sounds stupid but, I wanted something to remember the old me by.” He responds as he looks at you nervously. “You're really beautiful tonight.” saying low, almost a whisper. Coming to close the gap between you. 

“Thank you, and no, it’s not stupid. I actually think it’s pretty cool..” You don't know if it's the proximity, his firm yet soft voice or the fact that you would literally do anything he'd ask you to, but you can already feel the pulsing need in between your legs. Is he really going to kiss me? You wondered.  

As if he could hear your mind, he presses his pillowy lips softly against yours. Humming as he does. “Since I saw you this morning this is all I can think about.” 

“What?” You ask confused. 

“I couldn't look away; you were constantly on my mind. I had to know you more.” He says passing his hands on your chest over the clothes. “Is this, okay? C-can I know more of you?” 

You swallow, “yes of course, I'd love to.” trying not to sound too desperate.  

He smirks and omg, his smile mixed with desire is to die for. He goes back to your mouth with his lips slightly parted. Pushing his tongue gently inside. Jeez even his spit is sweet. Meanwhile, his hands were going underneath your shirt, moving upwards. He growls low when reaching your nipples. Brushing them lightly with his cold fingertips before he starts to flicker them. 

You try to stay grounded but it's becoming really difficult. His eyes were burning with desire as he watch you melt under his touch. “Wow, we just started and you're already so needy.” 

“I'm sorry” you say slightly embarrassed. 

“Don't be, I love it.” He purrs, moving slightly lower as he brings your shirt up, exposing your entire chest to him. “Mm, would you look at that. They're already hard and ready for me.” Stating as he brings his wet lips around your hardened nipple. Giving it some gentle sucks as his thumb flickers and rolls the other one.  

Oh god, this feels amazing.  

He hums deep, switching between them as his mouth licks and bites them gently. You're pretty sure that if he doesn't stop you might just cum like this. “Fuck, you're so hot. I bet you also feel so good and soft elsewhere” You nod while moaning as you feel the need growing inside you belly. “Can I feel you?” 

“Yes, please, anything.” 

He smiles kissing your lips, nibbling at your bottom one. He starts to undo his belt and you automatically drop to your knees. “Hey, that's not– “ 

“I want to.” you say smiling against his bulge. You start to unzip his pants letting his harden cock spring free. Geez even his penis is gorgeous. Long and thick with a little bead of precum already leaking from the tip. You can clearly see the veins pumping as it twitches with anticipation. 

“Are you still sure?” He asks laughing discretely. Aware of your startled eyes. 

You don't bother to answer as you start to shyly lick the tip of it. You hear him chuckle softly as he closes his eyes to the pleasure. Which only drives you with more heat as you start to stretch your mouth around him. “Ugh, this feels soo good sweetheart. You're doing such a great job” his words are only encouraging you to finally take it full. Sucking him like you never sucked before. Gaging slightly when you made it hit the back of your throat, but it didn't matter. Because his moans and panting were the best reward you ever had. His head falls back as his pleasure grow. 

Becoming desperate, you needed some relief. Bringing your hand down, you begin to play with yourself while still moaning around his cock. 

He quickly notices it as he passes his hand in your hair. Petting your head before grabbing a fist full of it. “Argh fuck yes, you're so fucking good baby. So, fucking good with this mouth, omg. Such a pretty mouth on such a pretty babe.”  

The praises are just too much. You can feel him fighting the urge to thrust into your mouth. Making touch yourself with desperation as he almost chokes up. “Wait, are you going to cum like this?” You nod as you continue to pump him inside your mouth. Feeling your sweet release near. “Oh, fuck..” he says surprised, “I didn't know you were so needy.” as he's softly pinching one of your nipples.  

And that does it.  You finally feel the waves of pleasure as your eyes closes slightly. Having your mouth fully open during your peak, making his cock loosely slides freely on your tongue. “Shit, you're so hot when you come like that. Please, can I come on your chest?” 

You simply smile as you present your bare chest to him. Playing with your nipples, rolling them in between your fingers. You watch him stroke himself as he grunts low.  Panting as he brings himself closer to the edge. “Agh, you're so god damn pretty..”  He finally cums, letting his juices drip freely drip on your nipples. 

“Fuck, you're so perfect sweetheart..”  

[growmaxinternational]

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[eoieopda]

foresight (myg)

It all started with a bad joke and a bottle of Tanqueray.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: One-Shot / Prequel to darksided (no. 2) & blindsided (no. 3,) but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Word Count: 11.3K 😳 Content: SPICY FLUFF (18+ or else - oral (m receiving) and penetrative, protected sex (p in v)); strangers to lovers au; POV switches; discussion of anxiety and negative self-talk; alcohol consumption (primary setting is a bar); tteokbokki; and just the cutest fucking duo. ft. Seokjin and a surprise cameo by reader's cat. A/N: The origin story for my beloved babies, which takes place in 2016 (and uses Korean age, fyi.) I found this photo after I finished writing and nearly fell tf over because this was the Yoongi in my brain; jacket and all, omfg. My actual note (and tags) will be at the end! 💕 Listen to the playlist here. Read Interlude: Sunrise drabble here.

Min Yoongi wanted it on record that he tried.

When Seokjin pushed, and pushed, and pushed Yoongi to ask out that girl, he did. She was someone Seokjin knew from somewhere, and she seemed nice enough. All Yoongi really knew about her was that she was pretty, though he hoped to learn that this was the least interesting thing about her.

If nothing else, Yoongi proceeded out of spite. He wanted nothing more than to shove it in Seokjin’s face that he was capable of being a normal, twenty-four-year-old man. He wanted to prove to Seokjin — and to himself, if he were being honest — that he wasn’t a borderline-reclusive workaholic.

Or, at the very least, he wasn’t exclusively a borderline-reclusive workaholic. He did want to get out and meet new people; just in negligible and infrequent doses.

It had been so long since Yoongi last went on a date that three (3) generations of iPhones had come and gone. Children who hadn’t yet been born were now entering pre-kindergarten, making macaroni art with the motor skills they’d obtained during his romantic sabbatical. It was embarrassing; it was depressing; and it all piled up at his doorstep, barricading him inside his apartment.

There was a vicious cycle at play, making matters worse. It casted Yoongi as the lone sock, swirling and drowning inside his washing machine brain. The plot was as stupid as it was repetitive:

Relentless schedule aside, Yoongi didn’t date because it made him anxious. Then, he’d become more anxious because he wasn’t dating. Ultimately, he’d end up too anxious about his anxiety to address the thing that caused it in the first place. And around and around and around he went.

Why the fuck did people subject themselves to this on purpose?

Asking her out was the simplest part. With a quick text and an emoji — the latter of which Yoongi deliberated over for far too long — he’d knocked the ball into her court. She’d responded within minutes, which he assumed was a good sign. Saturday night, they’d decided, at eight o’clock.

Unfortunately, no part of what came next was easy.

Yoongi had spent the four subsequent days in a tailspin. Spiraling over where to take her, what to wear, and what the fuck to talk to her about. In the few interactions they’d had before, all she seemed to do was pepper him with questions about his career. Like everyone else, she was fascinated by Yoongi: the Concept.

Whether or not she cared about Yoongi: the Person was yet to be determined.

Worse, after three years in the public eye, Yoongi worried that he’d lost track of what once made him relatable. That boy from Daegu — with a chip on his shoulder and a fire in his belly — was traded in for a luxury model. He no longer had to debate between purchasing a meal or a bus ticket home from work because he was now loaded and living in Hannam-fucking-dong.

Ugh.

People looked at him with stars in their eyes, but he could never tell if anyone truly saw him. And even if someone did, what was left to see, anyway? Yoongi doubted that he could pick himself out of a lineup now.

Eventually, after three nights of tossing and turning, Yoongi had landed on something that felt meaningful. He would take this girl to a hole-in-the-wall that he loved dearly, which sat relatively unnoticed in a lesser-traveled pocket of Seoul. It was quiet and unassuming, but had a life of its own.

As far as Yoongi could see, it was the perfect place to find the parts of himself that’d dropped on his rapid, record-breaking ascent. Decidedly unremarkable but worth it, nonetheless. There, she could get to know the person behind the persona. Maybe she’d even come to like who he actually was.

Before heading out, Yoongi had pitched his plan to Seokjin and received a thumbs up in response. Unfortunately, her reaction came from two knuckles down. Her departure followed less than sixty seconds after her arrival. She’d fled so quickly, in fact, that she managed to flag down the very same cab before it could clear the block.

Through her window, she’d shouted out her scathing review: Yoongi was cheap; she would never drink bottom-shelf liquor with him in a glorified dumpster; and she both expected and deserved better because he could access better. Yoongi had stood stunned on the sidewalk as she disappeared — likely forever — in a cloud of exhaust.

Somehow, it felt like that cab had run him over as it peeled out.

To be clear, none of this was painful because Yoongi was disappointed; he wasn’t, not in the slightest. Good fucking riddance. It was worse than that. He felt validated, and he knew exactly how fucking sad that was.

See? Told you so, he’d thought bitterly to himself. Then, immediately, Yoongi criticized himself for being too critical. Hypocrite.

So, there he stood.

If Yoongi followed his instinct and went home, he could rebuild his barricade and watch several episodes of Chopped before passing out alone in his bed. A productive night, despite its fruitless start. But then, he realized, he’d have to answer when Seokjin inevitably called to ask what the fuck went wrong.

Fuck it.

Yoongi shrugged to no one but himself. He then slipped from the sidewalk, through the dumpster’s front door, and straight to the bar. Slumping down onto a leather-topped stool, he rested his elbows against the mahogany countertop and dropped his dejected chin in his hand.

Is this rock bottom? He wondered, Drinking in a bar alone on a Saturday night?

Within seconds, there was a loud crash several meters away. Yoongi jerked his head towards the source of the sound, but he saw nothing. His brows furrowed. All was quiet until a whine erupted from the doorway to the back room.

“Shit, shit, shit!"

Upon standing, Yoongi pressed his hands against the bar and leaned forward to investigate; equal parts concerned and nosy.

On the ground in the doorway, he found shattered remnants of what was once a bottle of Tanqueray. Crouching above the pine-scented wreckage, plucking chunks of glass off the hardwood, he found you.

Yoongi immediately grimaced at your chosen method of disaster clean-up. There was already a bandage wrapped around your finger — with a Hello Kitty pattern, he noted — that confirmed your ongoing battle with clumsiness.

You didn’t need to add to that collection and he couldn’t watch in good conscience while you made that outcome more and more likely.

Mind made up, he crossed quickly to the side of the bar he had no authorization to be on. As soon as Yoongi reached you, he saw the nearby bucket labeled “broken shit.” Then, he clocked the small hand-brush and dustpan resting against it. Wasting no time, he grabbed all three; and without a word, you allowed him to carefully usher you out of the way.

Crouching down the way you had, he began to sweep the broken shit into the dustpan. Too preoccupied to glance up, he asked without looking, “Are you okay?”

When you didn’t immediately respond, Yoongi’s eyes quickly rose to find you with strawberry-pink cheeks and wide, vaguely horrified eyes, and —Shit, was he staring?

Say something. Say anything. For fuck’s sake, Yoongi, at least smile so she knows you’re not angry.

What he landed on looked more like a grimace, he was sure of it, and it didn’t seem to fix that look on your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you squeaked once he finished dumping the glass into its designated receptacle.

You didn’t give him a chance to tell you that an apology wasn’t necessary, opting instead to rattle off your perceived sins at an alarming rate:

“I think I’m the only bartender in Seoul that’s this bad at tending bar. I mean, I didn’t even know anyone else was here — because I wasn’t paying attention — and now you, the patron I’m supposed to be serving, are cleaning up after me. It’s definitely supposed to be the other way around —“

A smile was twitching at the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t prevent. Without a door into the so far one-sided conversation, Yoongi had to jump through the window you created when you finally drew a breath. “Have you got a mop?”

Based on the way your eyebrows knit together, you’d been thrown entirely for a loop. You re-opened your mouth, likely to apologize for not following the sudden twist. Yoongi refused to allow further self-flagellation, though.

Classic Yoongi: demonstrating more compassion for strangers than he ever shows himself.

“For the gin,” He chuckled softly as he gestured down to the puddle at his feet. Suddenly and baselessly bold, he shot you a playful look and tacked on, “And for all the words you just spilled.”

The aforementioned eyebrows shot up as your jaw dropped further. Thankfully, it was amusement and not offense glittering in your eyes. Pretty. As you crossed your arms over your chest, you tilted your head and sized him up with a quick glance.

If this was a test, he was determined to pass.

“Maybe,” you hummed.

Yoongi wanted to volley your nonchalant tone, but he couldn’t swallow the laughter bubbling up from his chest. He was grinning like an idiot; there was no denying it. “Maybe?”

Your eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, the perfect overture to the mischief on your lips. When you replied, that microscopic smirk never faltered: “Let’s say, for arguments’ sake, that there is a mop.”

A manicured finger was held up to stop Yoongi from interjecting.

Mystified, his poor brain tried to crunch the numbers. Statically, it made no sense that — out of the thousands of people he’d met in his life — he’d never come across someone quite like you. In a matter of minutes, you’d pirouetted from adorable, to self-depreciating, to coy and confident.

All-encompassing, all electric, you moved through tone shifts far more gracefully than you did through the bar.

And if he’d done the math right, this was the first interaction he’d had in recent memory that didn’t deplete his energy. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Gazing at you, Yoongi began to wonder if this was how extroverts got to feel as they moved through the world. Like it gave back more than it took. Lucky bastards.

Once Yoongi was thoroughly disarmed, you continued breezily, “Hypothetically speaking, would you let me be the one to use said mop? After all, it’s both my job and my mess.”

“Hypothetically?” He repeated, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Your eyes narrowed further as he paused to formulate a counterpoint. Meanwhile, Yoongi’s involuntary smile spread in a straight line across his face.

You’re a goddamn delight, full stop.

“Assuming, for the sake of this argument, that I do concede the mop in question —” Yoongi raised an eyebrow, “— How could I be sure that you wouldn’t hurt yourself? After all, you did just try to clean up broken glass with your hands.”

If this had been a gun fight and not banter behind a bar, you would’ve shot him dead. Like lightning, you quickly unraveled your arms and held your hands at the ready. That effervescent grin of yours might be his undoing instead.

Eyes alight, you threw down the gauntlet: “Gawi, bawi, bo?”

Never before in your life had you played rock, paper, scissors, and lost at every single turn. You’d also never requested a rematch for every loss before, continuing the game into perpetuity; but you had a hypothesis to prove and a perfectly unique smile to make wider.

No matter what you threw, he’d offered a gesture to counter it. If his eyes hadn’t gotten wider and wider with shock as it just — kept — happening, you would’ve simply decided that he was psychic. A mind-reader, predicting your every move before you’d even settled on it yourself.

Spooky.

At the start, his amusement had been more or less concealed. Withheld, even, like it was dangerous to grin with every single one of his teeth. Eventually, though, his shoulders shook the way yours did; and mirth pooled in the corners of his eyes as he wheezed through laughter with you.

You didn’t know him, but still, you couldn’t help thinking: there he is.

At some point during your unending match, he doubled over to catch his breath. Seizing the element of surprise, you’d darted into the storage room before he could���ve stopped you. When you reappeared with a mop and bucket in tow, you’d immediately begun to address the mess you made. It took a few moments of buffering for him to realize what you’d done.

That time around, he hadn’t shouldered your burden for you and thank god for that. First impressions were never your strong suit, and you were already starting from behind. Always too much, you couldn’t be useless, too.

Instead, he’d simply resigned himself to swapped names and spiked blood pressure as you struggled — stubbornly and independently — to dump the contents of that yellow, wheeled mop bucket into the utility sink. Standing quietly out of your way, Yoongi had looked close to proud when you managed to do it all without spilling a drop.

See, you’d thought, I’m verifiably Not Useless!

Once the evidence of your clumsy crime had been disposed of, you’d returned the cleaning supplies to their rightful space in the storage room’s closet. Similarly, you and your patron returned to your rightful places: him on his stool at the front of the bar; you, finally fixing him a drink behind it.

Ardbeg, single malt, neat.

After sliding the glass across the mahagony to his waiting hand, you glanced towards the front entrance. As usual, there were no pedestrians wandering this way; no cars on the street, either. The only quiet part of Seoul — especially on a Saturday night.

The bar routinely bordered on empty, but it had some magical quality to it: Nobody you saw inside for the first time seemed to be there for the first time. This was especially odd because it wasn’t a place anyone went to, just a place they ended up. Nobody’s first choice, it was a last resort only visible to people who knew where to look for it.

Yoongi was the first one to speak, unknowingly putting an end to your mythologizing. You just barely flinched at the surprise of his voice, but he managed to catch it. Then, he conducted a brief yet careful study of your face to determine whether you were simply jumpy, or experiencing some sort of medical event.

A gesture like that, done in passing, shouldn’t have meant so much to you. Really, all he did was look at you. It felt like more than that, though, because it was the second-kindest thing anyone had done for you in months — and it occurred merely twenty minutes after the first-place winner.

Now, that’s depressing.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” He hummed, “I only ever run into Yang Daehyun-nim, though it’s been a minute. Honestly, I don’t even know if he’s still around. You know him?”

“Yes, absolutely. He’s my husband.” You deadpanned and Yoongi nearly choked to death on his drink.

You were, of course, fucking with him. The man in question was swiftly approaching ninety, but he looked twice as old. You successfully maintained your ruse until Yoongi’s tongue breached the barrier of his lips and gathered his runaway whiskey.

Where am I? Who am I? Is that legal?

Yoongi simultaneously picked up the joke and his glass. He raised both with pure amusement on his face, “Cheers to the happy couple, then.”

Never one to raise a toast empty-handed, you quickly dumped what little remained of a nearby soju bottle into a shot glass. His eyes sparkled as he watched you race to catch up; even more so when you leaned in to clink your glass against his.

Oh, so he’s pretty pretty.

“To the happy couple,” you echoed.

With both of your drinks dispatched, you grabbed the bottle of Ardbeg to top him up. Expensive taste, you noted, not the low-rent version you were destined for.

If Yoongi hadn’t shown up to order it, that bottle would’ve continued to gather dust on the top shelf. Like you, none of your regulars had the capital to even glance that high. Granted, the sample size was abysmally small at only three (3) people, but the point still stood.

Until Yoongi mentioned Daehyun, you couldn’t think of a single reason why your employer bothered to keep anything like that in stock. Now, that piece seemed to fit. Still, you were puzzled as to why Yoongi would come to a dive like this to drink liquor like that.

Clearly, the man sitting in front of you contained multitudes.

At the exact moment you asked how long he’d been coming here, Yoongi wondered when you joined the staff. Your respective answers came simultaneously, too. His six years easily dwarfed your eight months.

True to form, you joked that he was more qualified to tend bar here than you were. He said his only relevant skill was cleaning broken glass.

It made you sad in some stupid way to realize that you could’ve met a hundred times over by now. Had more conversations like this, haunted the joint jointly rather than on your own. Truthfully, though, you were at least semi-soothed by the timing.

You were a horrible bartender now, but you’d been even worse before. He might not have survived this long.

Once again, Yoongi set your runaway train-of-thought back on track. “Eight months ago.” He took a sip, then he asked, “Is that when you moved to Korea?”

It was a simple question, certainly not an offensive one. The reason it nearly bowled you over was that no one had ever bothered to ask. Nobody seemed to notice the non-native accent that occasionally appeared when you spoke — not unless you referenced its existence first, that is.

Even then, people forgot. You wished you were confident that they simply got used to it, but you had the sneaking suspicion that nobody really listened when you spoke. After all, no one had a reason to give a shit about you, so long as you kept their glasses full.

The weight of your curiosity caused your head to tilt to the side. You allowed a tiny smile to spread as you asked, “What gave me away?”

“Don’t get me wrong —” He held up his hands to prevent a reaction you’d never dream of giving. “It’s not obvious. You’ve got a better grasp than some of my friends do — which is kind of sad, actually. They’ve lived here their whole lives.”

He gifted you a reassuring smile, then came the true prize: he licked his lips absently before speaking again. You had to clench every single muscle in your body to keep from swooning.

That cannot be legal.

“I noticed it earlier, but you were already embarrassed. I didn’t want to risk making it worse.” Yoongi still looked like he was afraid to hurt your feelings. “When you word-vomit — like you did earlier — your consonants sound like they would in English.”

This linguistic assessment didn’t surprise you; it was dead-on. It didn’t embarrass you, either, but you blushed nonetheless. Without thinking, you mused, “Makes sense that you’re the first to say something. You spend more time overseas than most, right?”

For a split second, you swore you saw Yoongi frown. A little twinge, one you would’ve missed if you weren’t so fixated on his every micro-expression. If you could have, you would’ve hit the rewind button and reverted back thirty seconds.

Was it off-limits, finally acknowledging that you knew who you were dealing with? Did it bother him that you did know, and proceeded to speak to him like the glaring disparity between the two of you didn’t matter? Did it matter?

“You mean to tell me —” He started quietly with a flex of his eyebrow. You feared the worst, even though Yoongi didn’t strike you as the type to make your failure to fawn a problem. “— That the place you lived before wasn’t under a rock?”

As soon as he saw your expression morph from panic to blatant relief, his eyes crinkled until every one of his facial features contributed to his smile. It was difficult to process how an expression that gentle hit you like a punch, but it did, and you felt a bit dizzy.

Professionalism be damned, you cracked open another bottle of soju and filled not one, but two glasses. Yoongi smirked — likely unsurprised by your willingness to drink with him on the clock — and easily accepted the shot you slid his way.

“To the worst bartender in Seoul,” You cheered as you raised it.

He rolled his eyes at your self-depreciation, but followed your lead without any meaningful resistance. Like it was choreographed, you both downed your shots in unison. Straight, no chaser. Just the slight burn in the back of your throat and the very first thing your scrambled brain could think to say:

“Do you want to hear a joke?”

Yoongi was clearly stunned by your sudden maneuver, but you didn’t wait for him to co-sign your antics. You cleared your throat like you were about to say something worth hearing, then you warbled, “Knock, knock!”

You expected him to pause again; or worse, to leave you hanging entirely. It was, frankly, stupid how much of an effect the latter always had on you. You were a demented scientist and your bad joke was a litmus test, ready to reveal on the front-end what kind of person Yoongi really was.

Translation: Tell me now if I’m too much. I’m always too much.

“Who’s there?”

He didn’t hesitate. There was no blink of an eye, no breath taken in between your call and his response. This time, it was you who needed a split-second to buffer.

When your brain finally reloaded, you peeped, “Cargo.”

“Cargo who?” Yoongi asked slowly, growing visibly suspicious about where this stupid, stupid road was leading. Somehow, he looked as amused by you as he did continually bewildered.

Springing the trap, you accentuated your shitty punchline with a sing-song tone and pantomime for emphasis, “Car go beep beep!”

Nobody had ever — ever — looked at you the way Yoongi did when you concluded your comedy routine. As if your teary-eyed grin and raucous laughter were something beautiful; and your presence alone wasn’t killing off one, sorry brain cell for every minute that passed.

“Knock, knock,” Yoongi volleyed with a soft chuckle, and without breaking eye contact.

As if you weren’t too much.

Yoongi needed a minute to take inventory.

When he left his apartment at a quarter-til-eight, he was headed out for his first date in a long damn time. It was Seokjin’s setup and that girl’s letdown. For Yoongi, it was another drop in the bucket; one final reason to commit to life as a hermit.

Troll that he was, Yoongi was ready to crawl back under his bridge; emerging only to pose impossible riddles to passersby who didn’t know to stay away.

His brain had given him an out, but for once, he didn’t take it. So, what did he end up with instead?

You, sitting on the bar, going shot-for-shot with him; and telling your self-titled villain origin story with award-worthy narration.

Equally as enthralling as the story itself was the tangential webs you weaved along the way. As he’d already learned to expect, you apologized frequently for the way one thought trailed off in a direction you didn’t intend. He wished you didn’t; he had no trouble following wherever your mind led you.

You, born here but not raised here, returning to claim a master’s degree in photography and to reclaim what you felt you missed out on. Yoongi loved your foreign take on local foods, even if you hadn’t yet acquired a taste for pickled vegetables.

We’ll get you there, he’d promised.

You, gesturing with hand movements so impassioned they nearly knocked you off balance; right off the bar. He was down to listen to you talk about whatever — for any amount of time — because he could feel how much you cared about — well, everything.

Animated, fully alive, and so fucking refreshing.

Him, with one hand on his drink and the other hovering on the bar top near your hip — just in case your full-body laugh did, in fact, provoke a fall.

Yoongi, who do you think you’re fooling?

So, maybe it was never exclusively about concern for your safety — even though you’d demonstrated from the jump that it was warranted. Yoongi was quickly coming to realize that, when it came down to it, he simply liked having you close. He liked you, full stop.

Every now and then, you’d wiggle where you sat, and the denim of your jeans would brush against his knuckles. It was as innocent as contact could be, but for someone so secretly touch-starved, it was bliss. Is this the kind of feeling he gave up, locked away in his tower? It sure as shit made leaving feel worth it.

He was buzzed, sure, but not drunk enough to blame the warmth he was feeling on the liquor. Any flush on his cheeks would only be partly genetic. The rest of it was all you — and the way you talked with your whole body, and that giggle.

Seriously, what the fuck is that giggle? A wind-chime made out of stars?

“Yoongi?”

It didn’t dawn on him that he was staring until you called his name. Then, it dawned on him that he didn’t care if he’d been caught — not even a little bit. Red-handed, all Yoongi could do was smile up at you as you blinked down at him.

He’d thought it before and now he was thinking it again: You are goddamn delight.

You threw your head back and laughed. Maybe it was the soju, or how fucking obvious he made it that he was infatuated with you. Whatever the cause, the effect was music to his ears. He’d record it, if he could, and play it on loop to appease the butterflies going wild in his stomach.

Unfortunately, he was accurate in his prediction. The sudden movement of your laughter sent you reeling, but before you could fall, Yoongi was quick to intervene. He stood abruptly from his stool to secure you; one hand on your hip and the other — unintentionally — on your thigh.

“Shit — Sorry,” Yoongi muttered, though he was very much still holding you. Oh, fuck, his brain screamed as he glanced down at his hand on your thigh. Heart pounding, his gaze flitted from his touch to your face.

Your mouth was still slightly open, but that could’ve easily been attributed to the fact that you’d so narrowly avoided launching yourself headfirst at the ground. If it wasn’t that, then you were looking for the words to yell to get him to back off.

Those were the only possible explanations; and any minute now, his hand would accept his brain’s signal to pull away.

Any minute now. Any —

Yoongi watched it all happen in slow motion and he still couldn’t believe it when you leaned in. Or when your hair slipped over your shoulder and brushed against his. Or when you kissed him quick and pulled back just to smile from mere centimeters away.

“Impressive reflexes.” You were breathless but you still managed to sigh. Have you had freckles this whole time? “What’s that saying? Not all heroes wear Lewis Leathers?”

Your playful tug at his jacket had no force behind it, but even with his feet firmly planted, Yoongi knew that he was falling. His stomach fluttered from the pinnacle of that emotional rollercoaster and, for once, he wasn’t afraid of heights. He’d kiss you again and follow that thrill all the way down.

Or, he would have, if the bell above the door didn’t chime.

Just as quickly as you’d kissed him, you spun around and prepared to dismount from your perch on the bar. Yoongi’s hand still seemed to vibrate, even when you slipped out from underneath. It was absolutely ridiculous that his body missed you already — automatically — but he couldn’t think of any other explanation.

He wasn’t a violent person by any means, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to throw the incoming patron out on their ass and lock the door behind them.

The audacity. Who does this clown think they are, coming into a place of business during their business hours? For fuck’s —

“Finally!” You squeaked as you stuck your landing. Then, you skipped around the edge of the bar and continued on your way towards the door.

Jesus Christ. Even the way you walk is cute.

Yoongi was initially too preoccupied with watching you to notice the intruder, but when he did, he couldn’t force the exasperated look off his face. That is, until he saw the panicked look on the prepubescent face of the delivery boy.

The poor kid’s eyes bugged out at Yoongi from under the brim of his uniform cap. Immediately, Yoongi felt inclined to atone, to bow. Instead, he offered a mildly apologetic grimace for the heart attack he didn’t mean to cause.

You accepted the bags of food into your arms, beaming like the fucking sun as you glanced over your shoulder to Yoongi. “You said you liked Hongdae Dakgalbi, right?”

Yes. Yes, he did. But his brain was spinning its wheels in the mud because —

What he finally said wasn’t a question, but it certainly sounded like one: “You ordered food.”

Clearly, Yoongi was missing something. He glanced around and confirmed that there was, in fact, an operational kitchen still situated at the far end of the room. He pointed to the small window carved out for taking and producing orders. “What about —?”

“Binna called off,” you shrugged through your explanation. Then, you tilted your head with a coy smile, “Were we supposed to starve?”

Yoongi had questions. A lot of them.

First and foremost: When did you summon takeout and how did you manage to go unnoticed in the process? He was certainly staring at you for long enough to catch it. Or maybe his heart-eyes were getting foggy with age.

Also, we? As in, you ordered food with the intention of sharing it with him? And you paid for it?

When his broken brain snapped back to attention, it registered the fact that you’d settled on top of the stool next to his. You either didn’t notice the smoke flying out of Yoongi’s ears, or you accepted his brain damage for what it was. Either way, you were too excited about the piping hot tteokbokki in front of you to notice the way he still lingered by the door.

The delivery boy was long gone by now; he took the first opportunity to get as much distance between himself and the visibly annoyed person he’d interrupted. Looking at it now, Yoongi’s fingers twitched with a desire to engage the deadbolt. But he didn’t — he, a coward, wouldn’t — so he simply reclaimed the spot next to you.

You immediately held up a pair of chopsticks as you fished out napkins with your other hand. Yoongi stared at them for too long, prompting you to look quizzically up at him. You asked no questions, and he couldn’t think of a single reason why he said it, but he blurted out:

“I’m supposed to be on a date.”

Unfazed by the lack of context, you gently tucked that pair of chopsticks into his useless hand. Yoongi blinked down at them like he didn’t know what to do with them. You went back to unpacking your takeout.

“And I’m supposed to be working,” You chirped, as if what he just said — unprompted — wasn’t completely idiotic. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Yoongi shook his head, praying it would knock his trapped thoughts loose. “I meant that I was supposed to be the one buying dinner.” He frowned down at the spread you’d provided. “If I knew you were hungry, I would’ve —“

“Taken a bite by now?” You teased with wiggling eyebrows. “Come on, Min Yoongi, you know the rules. The eldest eats first.”

Stunned wasn’t adequate. Entranced? His mouth hung open, primed to speak, without a single, coherent response on the horizon. Mystified, at the very least. You were always one step ahead of Yoongi, dancing off in a brand new direction.

How on Earth did you do it so easily? How were you so effortlessly bold when he couldn’t even blink without deliberating over the idea for days?

Yoongi wasn’t even jealous the way he would’ve expected to be, meeting his non-neurotic foil. He didn’t want to steal that spark for himself, or try to mimic your fearlessness. If he could just continue to witness it, that would be enough.

You threw him off again when you plucked a small piece of tteokbokki from one of the cardboard containers below and gently maneuvered it into his unwitting, waiting mouth.

Game over. Min Yoongi is done for.

“There we go,” You cooed with a smirk. Then, those chopsticks grabbed a piece of tteokbokki of your very own. You smiled adoringly down at it, winked up at him, and said, “Now we’re off to the races.”

After several minutes of deeply contented, quiet chewing, you turned slightly to gaze at him. You didn’t say anything at first; you simply watched and let your lips curve slightly into an understated smile. Yoongi didn’t care if that was all you did because — for once — he felt seen.

Eventually, you did speak. Your voice was soft, barely casting a ripple through the silence. “Can I ask?”

Your eyes scanned over his face for permission. Yoongi had no idea what your question was, but he doubted that he was capable of saying no to you. Fire at will.

“About the date you’re not on,” You clarified.

The one I was supposed to be on, or the one I might be on instead?

“Why aren’t you on it?”

He didn’t know how to explain any of it without sounding pathetic. He knew he’d rather die than have to relay his earlier misfortune to Seokjin; somehow, though, Yoongi didn’t hesitate to respond to you. Like everything else about the past few hours, it felt laughably easy.

“She’s a friend of a friend,” He began as soon as he wiped excess gochujang from the corner of his mouth.

“He basically harassed me into asking her out because I, uh — I don’t get out much. And I know a lot of people say that, but I really do mean it. You can probably guess as much from my frighteningly translucent complexion.”

Your mouth hitched up at the corner when he joked, but you didn’t laugh. In some odd way, he was grateful that you didn’t — not just because you didn’t enable his self-depreciation, but because you seemed too invested in what he was saying to interrupt him.

Nobody had ever looked at him quite like that before.

He cleared his throat, then he pressed on, “So, I did — and that part was fine. After that, though, I don’t think I slept at all. For, like, days. Now, I think I was just dreading the whole thing, but while it was happening, I figured I was nervous. Rusty, you know?”

Yoongi looked down at his hands, which fidgeted autonomously with his chopsticks. “I put way too much thought into the whole thing — I always do — even though I had this feeling that nothing was going to happen the way I planned.”

He paused, poked mindlessly at a lump of rice, and exhaled a breath he hadn’t intentionally held. Nothing had happened the way he planned, but if it did, who would’ve hand-fed him tteokbokki because they were too impatient to wait?

You dropped your chin in your hand as you continued to watch him. Wordlessly, you reached out with your other hand. Yoongi noticed just in time as you gently removed a piece of lint that had stuck to the tip of his jacket collar. Your eyes followed it as it floated off towards the floor.

Yoongi couldn’t see anything but you.

“You picked this place,” you murmured. Slowly, your eyes drifted back up to his face; he froze solid. The only thing moving was the pounding heart in his chest. “Must mean a lot to you.”

He wanted to be brave and tell you that it meant even more now. He wasn’t brave, though, so he swallowed that thought down with a mouthful of soju.

“She was not a fan, as it turns out. Hated it so much, just from the sidewalk, that she jumped right back in her taxi — yelled at me through the window that she deserved better than to drink bottom-shelf liquor in a dumpster with me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows and he wondered which part of that statement bothered you the most. Having your place of employment referred to as a dumpster would be a reasonable sore spot; one he probably should’ve avoided. Fuck. Could he rewind thirty seconds and omit that part?

“Well,” you frowned, “Joke’s on her. This dumpster has exactly one bottle on its top shelf, and it was apparently reserved just for you.”

He could kiss you. He really, really could.

You shifted on your stool, though, and stared out into the middle-distance at nothing in particular. Deep in thought, too, judging by the way your frown curved even further.

“It’s kind of funny, in a shitty sort of way. She more or less told you that you’re not enough, and people love to tell me that I’m too much.”

It was Yoongi’s turn to frown. Who in their right mind could look at you, experience the goddamn magnet that you are, and willingly detach themselves from you? The thought alone made his jaw clench.

There hadn’t been a single second since he met you — albeit, not that long ago — where he didn’t want to see and know more of you. Where he didn’t beg those seconds to slow the fuck down because the night kept moving faster than he wanted it to.

So far, no amount of time felt like enough.

“You’d think it would be nice, being everyone’s favorite new toy,” You laughed, to Yoongi’s surprise.

Looking genuinely amused, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “And I guess, for a minute, it really is. You do your silly song and dance; and everyone loves you — until they don’t anymore. Eventually, your tricks get boring; you burn them out; then they take out your batteries. You get shelved pretty quickly.”

There was a flicker of genuine hurt in your eyes, but you were smiling when you picked your glass up off the bar and raised it. “To always being the wrong amount!” You giggled.

“Nah.” Yoongi shook his head. He grabbed his drink, touched his glass to yours, and winked, “To being just right.”

One way or another, you spent most nights watching the clock, holding your breath, and waiting for midnight.

On New Year’s Eve, it was hope that bloomed bright in your chest like fireworks. When those final seconds dissolved, it meant closing one chapter and opening another. Something bigger, something better, something blank for you to fill in. A year in fresh white paper, with every color at your disposal.

Ten — nine —

For the rest of your midnights, it was relief that finally allowed you to unclench your jaw and drop your stiff shoulders. Closing time. Freedom to clean up, clear out, and drag your tired, little body back up to your apartment.

Thankfully, when your work hours were over, there were only three flights of stairs separating you from your bed, your cat, and your Netflix subscription.

Eight — seven —

Tonight was an outlier, a statistical anomaly. As the short hand inched closer and closer to twelve, your pulse picked up its pace. For once, it wasn’t relief and it certainly wasn’t hope. It was distinctively dread forming a pit in your stomach.

Even more than that, it was a telepathic plea shooting out from your brain that begged, and begged, and begged for more time. Five more minutes, just five more minutes.

Six — five —

You felt stupid, of course, because you knew that neither of you would turn into a pumpkin when the clock struck midnight. There was no spell, just two strangers who happened to be in the same bar at the same time, with bad jokes and a bottle of Tanqueray.

No bomb would detonate, no one would drop dead. When it was over, you’d simply go home, and Yoongi would go home and then…

Four —

That “and then what?” had you frantic. What if this moment ended and nothing followed? What if the magic didn’t survive the night?

You couldn’t take that disappointment; you knew that much. Gripping tight to your last first night, you tore your eyes away from the clock and looked at Yoongi.

He didn’t notice you staring because he had also become fixated on the clock ahead. His brow furrowed just slightly as he observed it, and you wondered what it meant.

Three —

You knew what you hoped it meant.

For all you knew, though, he might’ve been begging that hand to move faster. The end all, be all of justifications to say goodnight and go. To drop the moment in the bin with the spent, citrus garnishes on the way out; and then crawl back into that bed he spoke so fondly of.

The way you did whenever four zeroes lined up in a row like cartoon cherries on a slot machine. A personal jackpot any other midnight, but the farthest thing from a prize now.

Two —

No. You refused to believe that.

In the reality you’d chosen, he was strapped into that rollercoaster car beside you. He felt his stomach flip the way yours did as you stared down at the path ahead. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you were sure that you weren’t up there alone.

So, when the countdown was over, you took a deep breath and stated, “I’m calling a time-out.”

In actuality, it was more than a statement. It was a shout and it startled him so badly that he flinched.

As soon as he resettled on his stool, Yoongi’s neck could’ve snapped with how quickly he turned to look at you. His eyes were wider than you’d seen them at any point in the last four hours. Those once-knitted brows shot up to kiss the blonde strands brushing against his forehead.

You envied them, as stupid as that was.

“You’re — what?” He peeped.

Even louder than before, you blurted out your explanation. “I’m stopping the clock!”

You might’ve been the sole American in the entire neighborhood, but you could guarantee that you still knew less about football than Yoongi did. Knowing all of that didn’t stop you from making your worst attempt at a metaphor, or throwing your hand out to mime your way through it.

“Flag on the play — or whatever, I don’t know.”

At first, his expression didn’t change and you began to panic. Maybe you could duck down behind the bar and he’d eventually forget that you were hiding there. Then he wouldn’t see how pink your cheeks were; how the hope in your eyes bordered on desperate.

Shockingly, you weren’t delusional. You’d simply underestimated him.

Yoongi glanced down at his watch — already two minutes into Sunday — and then back to you. “Wow. Would you look at that? Only a minute til midnight.”

You could kiss him; you really, really could.

“Do you want to, uh, hang out? With me? Like, not here?”

Yoongi was smirking slightly at your stammering, just enough for you to notice, but you didn’t faint the way your body wanted you to. Instead, you doubled down.

“I live in the apartment upstairs, and this isn’t a proposition — it’s also not, not a proposition — but I need to lock-up here, and I still want you with me when I’m done.”

He blinked rapidly like you’d once again shook him off your tail. You watched in slow motion as his smirk dropped, and his brows dipped back into thoughtful wrinkles at the lowest part of his forehead. It hurt, physically somehow, that there was something to consider.

Were you really this egregiously wrong in your conclusions, or had he finally hit his quota with you and decided that you — this — were too much, too soon?

You wanted to explain yourself, to say that you were just offering for him to come up and sit on your couch with you. Because you wanted to keep this night alive and keep talking for as long as you could. Because this was something and you knew it.

You opened your mouth to do so, but he was the quicker draw.

Yoongi looked genuinely conflicted and you believed him when he said, “I don’t think I can. I have to be up in four hours to —”

“It’s okay!” You chirped. Stupid little bird, flying headlong into a window. You smiled and prayed it looked genuine, but Yoongi didn’t look convinced. Still, you breezed, “Raincheck, then — maybe.”

Maybe when you take the trash out later, you can heave yourself into the dumpster with it.

Deciding that your disappointment shouldn’t be his burden, you grabbed the takeout containers from the counter and whisked yourself over to the trash bin to discard them.

In a magnificent showing of restraint, you didn’t stuff yourself inside it, too. Instead, your tidy tornado kept spinning, picking up every glass you encountered and shoving them hurriedly into the dishwasher below the bar.

Are you suddenly Employee of the Month? Why is this the moment you choose to actually do your job?

With your hip, you nudged the dishwasher door closed much more clumsily than usual. Then, you began wiping down the counter at warp speed; damn near scrubbing a hole straight though the wood.

Why are you so frazzled? Are you really this sensitive after being politely turned down by someone you just met? This is what they mean when they say you’re “too much,” and you know what? They’re right.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Yoongi asked because he was lovely.

You were, as it turned out, as bad an actor as you were a bartender. Your reassuring smile was more unsettling than anything else, but you hoped that — maybe — the shake of your head was enough to dispel the concern from his face.

In case it wasn’t, you quipped, “You’ve already done more than your fair share of cleaning tonight, I think. Thanks again for that, by the way. I ran out bandages, so…”

Your sentence petered out when you finally looked up and locked eyes with Yoongi. His expression was indecipherable and, only for a moment, it made your hurried hands stop moving.

“So, I’m glad you came in,” You finished through an exhale, quiet to the point that it was hardly audible. You hoped he heard you, though, as loudly and clearly as you meant it.

Straightening up, you dropped your bar rag into the “dirty shit” bucket underneath the counter. You quickly wiped your hands against your jeans, laughed with no real joy behind it, and hid your wobbling voice behind a poorly imitated French accent, “Et voilà.”

Yoongi was still staring, still unreadable. For a few moments, you simply looked at one another. Neither one of you made a sound — at least, nobody spoke. There were gears grinding in his head, judging by the look on his face, and you swore you could hear them from across the bar.

“I guess I should — um,” Yoongi eventually muttered as he gestured to the door. He briefly glanced at it, but you doubted that he registered what he was looking at.

Oddly, it wasn’t awkwardness that seemed to have him short-circuiting — not as far as you could tell. It was like his brain was moving faster than it could form words, leaving his mouth open with nothing to say.

You nodded. You knew where he was going with this, and you didn’t want to prolong whatever he was so visibly toiling with.

“Yeah, of course,” You squeaked. Somewhere, the world’s tiniest violin began to play as the corner of your mouth hitched up. “I’ll see you around, I hope?”

Then, Yoongi’s gaze dropped to the phone in his hand. If he heard your question, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, deep in thought, he mumbled, “I need to — fuck, okay —” Urgently, he looked back up at you and said firmly, “I’ll call.”

He dashed out the door before you realized the problem with his plan: he had no way to call you.

You’d been so caught up in each other that you never thought to exchange phone numbers. Not only was he now gone, but he hadn’t actually said goodbye.

Seems kind of fitting that yours is the only fairytale without a happy ending, huh?

You occupied the borderline between being a hopeless romantic and a masochist, so you immediately decided that, if you ran, you might catch him before he was truly gone.

Kiss him or kick him, it didn’t matter — you just couldn’t let it end like this.

You skirted around the bar and darted to the door, throwing it open and shocking the bell above it. You were already out on the sidewalk before it had the chance to chime. It was the only sound, and it echoed through otherwise dead air.

Similarly, you were the only person on the street. Judging by the dark windows lining the road, you were the only proof of life in that little corner of Seoul. The lack of visible stars was likely due to light pollution, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they dipped out on you, too.

No matter how many times you looked up and down the street, Yoongi didn’t appear. So, you closed your eyes like an idiot, and wished on a star you couldn’t see that he’d be there when you re-opened them. Standing on the other side of the street, laughing, and asking how you’d missed him on your thirty previous scans.

But he wasn’t.

Yoongi had disappeared like smoke right through your fingers; exiting your night as abruptly as he’d entered it.

You weren’t inclined to stand on the sidewalk all night, stunned by your complete failure to see the plot for what it was. You slipped from the sidewalk, through the front door, and locked it behind you. And once you did, you stood there with your hand on the deadbolt for several moments — just in case.

When no one came to knock, you turned all the lights out and flipped the sign in the front window from open to closed. From there, you made your way to the back of the storage room. Finally reaching the stairwell door in the far corner, you unlocked it slowly like the wait would make a difference.

As you climbed the three flights to your apartment’s entrance, the night’s events formed a whirlpool in your mind. The playback settled it: there was simply no way that you were this wrong — not about this.

Clearly, you weren’t clairvoyant to the extent that Yoongi seemed to be. You hadn’t seen it coming when you nearly fell backwards off the bar, but he did. He’d kept his hand close all night like he sensed you’d need it. Just like he sensed every rock, paper, and scissor.

Even still, it felt like a premonition every time you turned to look at him at the same time he did; and you couldn’t put a finger on it.

That something was more than simply chatting with a person stuck in your close proximity — more than commiserating and drinking simultaneously. That was the nature of your job: circumstantial friendship. Not uncommon, not designed to last beyond last call.

This, though? Cosmic interfere or craziness, maybe, but not nothing. You weren’t superstitious and you didn’t necessarily believe in fate, but the odds of all of this had to be shockingly low.

It felt cinematic, in a way, or straight out of a dream. You would have believed it either way if the pinch of your fingers on your forearm didn’t debunk both theories. It was all too perfectly timed to be a coincidence, though, you knew that much.

Out of all the nights you’d worked at this bar — and all the years he’d been a customer — this was the one time your paths had crossed. And when they finally did, he found you right when you needed him. The same, you hoped, could be said for him.

Too Much meeting Not Enough, proving perfect balance. It was just right, but the ending didn’t fit.

Sure, he knew where to find you — but that was assuming he wanted to. With his quick and wordless departure, your confidence in that assumption wavered as you unlocked your apartment door and stepped inside.

The ball’s over, Cinderella. Sorry about your shoe.

When his third call went to voicemail, Yoongi was ready to launch his phone down the alley.  

There was no fucking way that Seokjin — of all people — was asleep already. This could not be the night that he turned off whatever game he was playing and went to bed at a reasonable hour. Seokjin was rarely reasonable. As it turned out, he wasn’t reachable, either. 

Yoongi growled, kicking the nearby dumpster. He thought that some explosion of physical activity might take the focus off his anxiety, but it didn’t — it just made his foot hurt. 

“Fuck!”

He didn’t even want to make the plans he was now trying desperately to reschedule. He didn’t like fishing; he liked his friend, and his friend liked fishing. So, Yoongi agreed to share the cost of renting a boat that he would have to leave at five o’clock in the morning to catch.

If it's 00:17 now, I have three hours and forty-three minutes until —

The unexpected chiming of his phone stopped Yoongi’s pacing before he could wear a trench into the concrete. “Finally!” 

“Do you always yell at people instead of greeting them?” Seokjin scoffed. As expected, Yoongi could hear some sort of video game blaring in the background.

Typical.

“Hyung, I’m so sorry, but I'm not going to make it back in time. Can we re-schedule this fishing thing?”

Yoongi felt awful for having to ask in the first place, but he felt even worse as he anticipated Seokjin’s reaction. Yoongi swallowed disappointment and stewed in it. Seokjin was quite the opposite, and Yoongi didn’t want to ruin his night. 

To Yoongi’s surprise, he did not get yelled at the way he expected to. Instead, he got Seokjin’s juvenile, sing-song voice directed right into his ear, “Ooh, staying with Hyunjoo, are we?” 

Yoongi, having completely lost the plot, paused for a moment before asking, “Who?” 

“What?” 

Oh, fuck, was that her name? It’d slid out of his brain the second that abuse slid out of her mouth.

Quick to avoid that conversation, Yoongi sputtered, “I’ll give you the story tomorrow, hyung, but I really need to go. Can we push the fishing thing to another day?"

“Oh, I forgot to book the boat, so don’t worry about it!” Seokjin cheered and Yoongi was this close to following through with chucking his phone like a grenade. “Have fun with —” 

Not inclined to wait another second, Yoongi hung up and turned to sprint up the alley towards the bar’s entrance. When he reached it and found the lights out, he skidded to a stop so forcefully that he almost fell over. What the fuck? He tugged at the door handle just to make sure he wasn’t missing something. 

Didn’t he tell you he was going to make a phone call? 

Fuck! He'd said I'll call. He didn't say that he was going to call Seokjin, and he sure as shit hadn't clarified that he was going to do so right that second. There'd been no explanation, no “please wait because I promise I’m coming right back for you" — just a mad dash out the door to get rid of the only thing standing between him and more time with you. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Yoongi never indulged in unadulterated rage because he decided a long time ago that it took more effort than it was worth. In that moment, though, he felt the overwhelming urge to punch himself right in the face. How did he fuck it all up this badly?

Instead, Yoongi scrubbed his hands over his face and begged his brain to figure out a better plan. He couldn’t just call you because he was too busy making googly eyes at you to ask for your number. He couldn’t pick the lock because it was illegal — and because he didn’t know how.

Unable to do anything else, Yoongi threw his head back with every intention of screaming at the sky. But before he could let his frustration rip out of his mouth, he saw it: his saving grace. 

Mere moments after he sprinted up the alley, Yoongi was tearing back down it like his life depended on it. The end of the iron emergency ladder sat too high off the ground for him to comfortably reach it, but — thankfully — he had garbage at his disposal. Without a second thought, he stacked whatever semi-sturdy trash he could find to bridge the gap between him and your fire escape. 

With all the strength and recklessness of a lovestruck teenager, Yoongi threw his twenty-four-year-old body upwards and grabbed hold of the nearest rung.

Maybe you overestimated that strength a little bit, eh, Yoongi?

He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up enough to swing a leg up, too. Groaning triumphantly, he hooked the bottom of his shoe on the lowest rung. 

From there, it was easy enough to reach the first landing. When it came time for Yoongi to tackle the other two, he picked up the pace — and he didn’t give a shit about how sore he’d be tomorrow. 

Finally, finally, finally, he reached his destination. Unfortunately, that fleeting moment of relief was replaced by fear as he stooped down to knock on your window. Staring back at him through the darkness was a pair of big, yellow eyes.

Yoongi shouted as he stumbled away from the window. He knocked over a planter on his way down, landing on his ass with a crash and a grunt. Adding insult to injury, that black cat looked positively smug as it stared down at him.  

It was quiet when you called out — in English — from another room. “Toph, did you break something? I thought we talked about this, bub." As your voice grew closer, you switched to Korean, "You can't ruin my stuff until you start contributing to this household.”

What's the incubation period for lovesickness?

Yoongi heard footsteps headed towards whatever room he’d failed to break and enter. He saw the light as it flicked on, and then he saw you — wearing a fluffy, tan headband with little, round ears at the top —with a bare face glistening as if you’d just finished tending to it.

Oh, fuck. Is lovesickness terminal? 

If your eyes opened any wider, they might’ve fallen right out of your skull. They would’ve landed where Yoongi did — in the mass grave of pepper sprouts he’d just outright annihilated. But they stayed beautiful where they belonged, and you simply gawked at each other. 

Yoongi spoke first despite not thinking first. “Toph? Like, Beifong?” 

Your shock gave way to the biggest, brightest smile and Yoongi was thankful it didn’t blind him. If it did, he would’ve missed the way your cheeks went pink to match the tips of your ears. Whatever the shade, it was his new favorite color.

Just bury me in this potting soil, doll. I'm dead. 

“Yoongi,” You started with a giggle that turned into a hum when you pursed your lips and tilted your head. Your eyes narrowed and then you asked, “Any reason why you chose the fire escape over the door?” 

The what? 

Sensing his confusion, you leaned out the window and pointed. Yoongi’s eyes followed the invisible line from your fingertip until they located an awning, which sat mere meters away from his impromptu stepstool made of trash.  

Inwardly, he winced. Outwardly, he turned to you with a lopsided smile. “I was checking out your little garden."

Yoongi cleared his throat, now wincing outwardly, “And, uh — then I killed it, a little bit. I promise I’ll replace everything as soon as the shops open. I am so —” 

“Cold? I bet,” You interrupted with a smirk, “Come inside then, Min Yoongi. Just don’t break the window too, alright?” 

You didn’t have to tell him twice.

Immediately, he was on his feet, furiously dusting potting soil off the back of his legs. When he suspected that he’d gotten it all, Yoongi turned around and glanced at you over his shoulder. Even without a question, you knew what he was asking; you signaled okay with your fingers and a giggle. 

With more care than he’d ever shown in his life, Yoongi crawled through the gap you created when you ducked back through the window. Once he had his feet underneath him again, he quickly toed off his shoes and plucked them off the tile.

As soon as he was upright again, you took his wrist in your hand — oh god, your skin is so criminally soft — and led him through your kitchen to the living room. 

Gently, you set his shoes down on the mat beside your front door. Then, you turned back around to gaze up at him. Looking at that face of yours, Yoongi forgot every word he’d ever learned. It was just his hammering heart beating in time with yours, until: 

“So, this is where I live.”

You were close enough that Yoongi could smell the toothpaste on your breath when you spoke, but still too far. You must’ve thought so, too, because you shifted your weight to your other foot and wound up slightly nearer to him. 

Yoongi hummed in reply, though he could barely hear it over his pulse pounding in his ears, “It’s nice.”

He didn’t actually know if that was the case because he’d spent every second so far staring at you, but he had faith that you’d prove him right.

More quiet, more anticipation disguised as quickening breaths.

Like a magnet, you drew him in. Yoongi echoed every tiny move you made towards him until the distance was gone; and he could feel the heat of your body mere centimeters from his.

This close, he could see flecks of gold in your irises that he hadn’t noticed before. Yoongi knew he shouldn't have been surprised. If he'd learned a single thing tonight it was that hidden treasures were par for the course with you.

“Yoongi.” 

It was baffling how you could sound so shy, even with desire blowing your pupils wide. Just as confounding was the fact that Yoongi knew, without question, that you felt it, too — that this new and perfect something was the start of everything.

“Please, just kiss me already.” 

That wasn’t an opportunity he’d ever expect to turn down. 

You were already breathless, weightless, and floating in fucking space when you finally crossed over the threshold into your bedroom.

Because, fuck, that man took your oxygen with him whenever his lips left yours. Without even trying, he’d fashioned himself into a ventilator that you really might suffocate without.  

Thankfully, whenever he pulled away, he didn’t stray far. Even as you both stumbled towards your unmade bed, tripping over obstacles — up to and including Toph, whose favorite spot was between your ankles — there was always one hand on your hip and another lacing fingers through your hair. 

As you moved, you couldn’t help thinking of the leftovers you’d brought home from work before. All single-use encounters, wastes of time that you normally didn’t care to recall. Though he may end up being the last, Yoongi wasn’t the first person to have you in this position.

He was, however, the only person to rescind his tongue just to comment on the tiny, design details of your shit-box apartment. 

“How did you —” He paused to moan into your mouth when your teeth gently claimed his bottom lip. “Find a place with — oh, fuck, you taste like spearmint – original crown-molding in this —” The back of his knees bumped into the edge of your mattress and suddenly, he was sitting. “Neighborhood?” 

There was no way you could ever explain Min Yoongi’s duality. He was unequivocally, fatally hot — and simultaneously, he was the most endearing, grandfatherly person you’d ever encountered. Somehow, this mind-boggling man turned architectural factoids into dirty talk.

You might orgasm on the spot if he brought up your built-ins, and you didn’t know or care what that said about you as a person. 

“I’ll show you the blueprints later if you want,” you giggled while Yoongi ‘s cheeks flushed. Before he could find a reason to feel embarrassed, you tilted his chin up in order to kiss him properly. As you did, you murmured against his lips, “But if you take those jeans off, there’s something else I’d like to show you first.” 

Your little finger was near to his throat as you held his chin captive, so you felt it when it when he growled. Against your knuckle, in your chest, and in that growing ache in between your thighs. There was roughness in him that you’d only seen snippets of, but you’d bet that you could pull it out if you tried.  

Maybe not now while you were both masking nerves, but eventually. 

When Yoongi made to stand, you backed up to give him room to do so. You were already on your knees when his belt came off, unbuttoning his jeans before the leather even hit the floor. As you pulled that zipper down — slowly and carefully — you glanced up at him from under your lashes and watched the breath catch in his chest. 

It wasn’t the first time you noticed how fucking beautiful he was; in fact, that thought had been looping through your mind all night. But there was something new in his expression as he observed you taking his cock into your hand.

Something reverent, like he believed he should be the one on their knees.

A few languid, kitten licks at the tip, and his eyelids fluttered. They screwed shut entirely as you ran the flat of your tongue along the vein underneath. When your mouth finally enveloped him fully, his head drooped backwards as he groaned. 

Your name would never sound better than it did exhaled from Yoongi’s chest. 

More often than not, fellatio felt like an obligation. A quid pro quo, you always figured, though none of them kept up their end of the deal. But with Yoongi buried in the wet heat of your mouth, it was a gift you might never get tired of giving. Every breathy moan and involuntary twitch felt like a prize — and still, neither came close to the way it felt when he looked at you. 

In those fleeting moments when he could focus, of course. 

“I’m fucking dreaming,” Yoongi groaned, bringing his hands up and scrubbing them over his face. “Shit. Perfect figment of my imagination, that’s the only explanation for you. Where the fuck have you been my whole life?” 

You hummed as you let him slip out of your mouth. In turn, it prompted a flurry of expletives to slip out of his. Tracing a feather-light line from hilt to head, you smirked up at him, “Waiting at a bar for you to show up, Min Yoongi. You sure did take your time.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” He laughed, “I already plan to regret that for the next — I don't know — forever?”

He dropped his hands from over his eyes and held them out to you. “Come here, angel. You’re too far away.” 

As soon as you were back on your feet, Yoongi enveloped you in the warmth of his arms. You were halfway to melting when he kissed you; dead and gone when he laid you back against the mattress; and downright astral projecting when the weight of his body was added to yours.  

Not to be dramatic, but is heaven a place on Earth? 

With your head resting comfortably on the pillow, you gazed up at Yoongi as he addressed the tied waistband of your sweatpants. It wasn’t until that knot came undone that you realized: if he’d come home with you earlier — before you’d swapped out your street clothes for shapeless knits — he would’ve had a prettier present to unwrap.  

Lace over your hip bones instead of cotton briefs. A black, balconette bra that made your tits into something worth looking at; not lackluster bareness that barely registered under your paint-stained t-shirt.  

Unintentionally mimicking him, you covered your face with your hands to conceal the way you were blushing. You didn’t even dare to peek through your fingers at him while he dragged your sweatpants down over your legs.

That is, not until you heard the world’s softest chuckle and it hit you like a bus. 

“Pretty girl,” Yoongi hummed. He left a chaste kiss on the top of your left thigh, and you whimpered. So sweet, so brief that your skin still tingled when he moved to mirror that kiss on your right thigh. “Where’d you go, baby?” 

Baby.  

That settled it. Min Yoongi was trying to kill you.

Nobody kissed you that carefully, not ever. No man, no woman, no one in between or beyond spoke to you that softly; turned you to putty in their hands with gentleness alone. Not like he did.

You were going to love him — you already knew it — and that stupid, four-letter word just sealed your fate. There wasn’t a single thing that you could do to prevent it, even if you wanted to. So, your options were limited to one:

Leaning into the fall. 

You reached out with the hand that once covered your face and grabbed him by the shirt to pull him closer. Once he was within range, with the tip of his nose bumping into yours, you stared him dead in the eye and told him just how badly you needed him inside of you. 

It took no time at all for the two of you to cast aside what remained of your clothing. Hand-me-downs mingled with designer items that exceeded the cost of your rent, and you didn’t give a fuck. You discarded your inhibitions in that heap, too, sitting up on your knees as he rolled a condom down his length. 

Yoongi’s return to you was marked by his hands cupping your face. He kissed you until you were no longer breathless, until you felt the rush of air filling your lungs. You followed his lead back down to the mattress where he rested on his side; and without any need for instruction, you draped your right leg over his hip. 

It was the closet you’d been to him, but it still wasn’t close enough 

“Is this okay?” Yoongi broke the kiss just to look at you.  

The fondness in his eyes was competing with concern, but that didn’t surprise you. Considerate to a fault, he’d no doubt been thrown for a loop when you went from zero to one hundred in merely half a second. “I can —” 

Oh, I bet you can.  

But you couldn’t wait. Impatient, through and through — and thoroughly dripping — you shook your head.

Your hand left its place on his bare bicep and dipped down to wrap around his cock. There were two individual heartbeats hammering in sync as you guided him to your cunt, though it sounded a lot like one. 

“Like you said earlier,” You sighed as he pushed into you. “Just right.” 

Six years later...

tagging: @mgthecat @jihopesjoint @jaejoontrashpanda @taebaelove @cyanide-mustard @xjoonchildx @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @yoongiphoria @sstarryoong @xcherrywaltz @btschimeyplanet @persphonesorchid @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @goodsoop @jkoofier (couldn't tag)

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likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

a/n: holy shit. just, holy shit. i've spent less time on literal thesis papers than i did on this. i'm so thankful for everyone who blew up darksided and blindsided — i really hope this provides context for how these two got together, and how tf they love each other that much. i will not apologize for the sexual cliffhanger because this smut wasn't going to be included, initially! this was going to end at the bar, lol.

also, this is an ode to those very special (very impermanent) nights with someone new that feel like perfect lifetimes in just the span of a few hours. in my experience, they never went anywhere (which i think made them more special, in hindsight) but i wanted to write a fic where things didn't stop there.

anyways, i'm very tired of writing words now, so please enjoy and let me know what you think 🫶🏻

[webdesigninghouse72]

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[luveline]

hey!! i hope you're having an amazing day <3 for the valentines day prompts could i request a platonic "you’re my family too." for roan and the reader

luveline's valentine's mini party ♥︎

thank you for your request! eddie and roan tw burns | fem!reader

Eddie burns himself at work, an angry stripe of red blistered skin up the length of his forearm. He goes to the ER, and he gets everything dressed properly. His arm hurts really bad, but he's not in any danger of infection as long as he's clean and careful. 

Roan thinks he's gonna die. 

To be fair to her, it must've felt a little traumatic for her to get picked up from school by you instead of him, and then to be brought straight to the hospital. You'd done a really great job at looking after her while he was getting looked at, you'd been more calm than he or Uncle Wayne, that's for sure, but you're no miracle worker, and you'd cried. Roan had seen Eddie in a hospital bed with his shirt cut off and bandages wrapped around his arm and burst into tears herself. No amount of vending machine treats had helped.

Eddie's home now, he'd barely been there for the night, and though it's past Roan's bed time you're all awake at the kitchen table. Roan lies against Eddie's chest, refusing to leave him for even a second since she sat down, and you're making mac and cheese. 

"Roanie, Roanie, macaroni," he sings quietly, hand buried in his daughter's soft curls. "Where'd your macaroni go?" 

She doesn't sing along. Her nose stabs him in the ribs. 

"I'm really sorry about dinner," you say. 

Eddie tips his head back. "Why, angel?" 

"I mean, I'm sorry I didn't get dinner for her when we were in the ER, or you, I was just so worried. It's no excuse, but–" 

"Woah, hey, what? You don't have to be sorry. I don't think any of us were thinking about dinner."

You're moving fast at the stove, tipping the saucepan of mac and cheese into three different bowls. He notices you giving yourself the smaller portion and promises to make it upto you eventually. His poor girl. 

His poor girls. 

"I just don't want Roan going hungry," you say.

Eddie frowns, because he doesn't want that either. 

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?" he asks, moving his head down to talk near her ear. 

She nods and sits up. She's concerningly quiet, and Eddie decides enough is enough — he's gonna cheer his baby up if it's the last thing he does. He turns her around in his lap and aeroplanes her food though she's probably too old. He does voices, he kisses her cheek, he bounces her on his knee and shouts, "Earthquake!" until she's giggling and begging him to stop. 

You don't pepper up as Roan does. He plops her down in his seat to use the bathroom, and he hears your quiet tones as he returns, pausing by the stairs. 

"I'm really sorry, Ro," you're saying.

"It's okay," Roan says. 

"No, it's not. I didn't mean to scare you today with daddy, and I'm sorry I wasn't being as brave as you deserved." He hears you sniffle. "I didn't mean to scare you," you repeat. 

"You didn't scare me," Roan says. 

"No?" 

"No," she says. 

"Can I have a hug?" you ask.

Eddie steps quietly into the doorway to watch you embrace her. She climbs into your lap and hugs you tightly, her chubby cheek pressed to your chest. You hug her and you look so miserable that Eddie feels his heart break for you. He has no clue why you're taking today this hard. He thinks you must've been more terrified than you'd let on. 

"I'm supposed to look after you," you murmur. "You and Eddie, you're my family." 

"You're my family, too," Roan says. 

You make a sound like you've been punched. "I know," you say. 

You kiss her forehead and push her away from you gently. 

"I'm glad I didn't scare you, baby. Thank you for being so brave today. I'm so proud of you." 

Eddie grins at the way Roan puffs up. He slips into the room and rest his good arm across your shoulders, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he squeezes you. He rests his nose against your cheek. 

Roan's not the only one who was brave today, he thinks. Then, Christ, I'm getting soft. 

"You looked after us just fine," Eddie says, standing up. "Now you gotta look after yourself and finish your dinner, sweetheart." 

Roan nods with a sense of urgency. "We need juice," she says decidedly.

"And you need another tramadol before bed," you say to Eddie. 

He sighs in relief. His arm fucking kills. If he didn't have his girls he'd be rolling around on the floor. 

[upsidedownwithsteve]

your writing is the coolest!! if you're still doing requests, could you write about shy!reader who stresses really easily and is always mentally reminding herself of the things she has to do, even if they're quick trivial tasks. but since she's shy, she doesn't really talk about it, and one day it all compounds and she break down. but she has steve to comfort her :(

this is the most self serving thing I’ve ever written don’t @ me

Steve can practically see the list that’s been written down inside your head. Your eyes staring blankly at the counter top as the pot bubbles away, close to simmering over the edge. There’s a rolodex of things to do in your head, and you can’t see the one you’re supposed to be doing before the next one creeps up.

The furrow between your brows has been there for hours.

And the boy will ask you if you need help, if there’s anything he can do, and you’ll say no like you always do, brushing him away with a soft smile and shy kiss to the apple of his cheek. You say no because it seems silly, the way you linger on such trivial things, a list from one to twelve of tasks that are easy to do. But it builds in your brain until taking out the trash gets overshadowed by making lunch and suddenly the vacuum is in the middle of the hallway, the laundry you brought from upstairs is left on the sofa and the sink is full of soapy water with no dishes actually in it.

It gets done. It always does. It just takes a while.

And Steve doesn’t mind the chaos of it all. He can step over the vacuum cord, and when you’re not looking, he can shove the laundry into the machine. Besides, half of the pile usually belongs to him.

He hates to see you struggle though, smiling when you write it all down or list it outloud to him, each task, each time, each goal and aim. And he always smiles and nods and says, “you got it, baby.”

But now, you’re still frowning, a pout pushing at your lips as you begin to chew at your thumb and the pot of - still just water - is bubbling over and hissing as it touches the flame. You snap out of it when Steve stands behind you, one arm switching off the hob as the other curls over your shoulder and chest, bringing you into him.

He’s warm and solid and his lips at your neck is soothing. Butterfly kisses, soft and sweet, and a quiet hum of approval is gifted to you when you relax against him. His hand finds yours and he tsks when he has to drag your poor fingers away from your teeth.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” he tries again. You blink, turn and press your face into his neck. “Can we compromise?”

You don’t say anything. You just cling to his hand and breathe in his cologne, your poor mind racing, head a little sore from overthinking. You remember you had to call the bank and you sigh.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice small.

Steve smiles even though you can’t see it, big, warm hands rubbing nice circles into the skin over your arm. He squeezes you shoulder, a mini massage and you melt a little more against him. He’s practically holding you up. Another kiss, just under your ear this time.

“How about we have some lunch, yeah? Get you fed and then—” Steve shuffles you both closer to the stovetop, dumps some macaroni into the still boiling water and switches it back on, low this time. “—you can finish vacuuming and I’ll tidy the kitchen, how’s that sound?”

You turn and push into him, arms wrapping around his waist and your cheek pressed to his chest. The relief is palpable and it makes you feel even more silly. It’s only twenty past one in the afternoon, a Sunday no less, with no plans or no time limits, and all these simple tasks would be done in a few hours if you didn’t stop and start so many at once.

But it’s the way your head liked to work and sometimes, like now, it got overwhelming and the idea of going to bed with the chaos still downstairs - and in your head - was much too stressful. You nosed at Steve’s neck, fond, grateful.

You nodded. “Sounds good,” you agreed. The pasta bubbled gently and you wondered if you had enough cheese in the fridge.

You leaned up, pressed onto your toes and waited. Steve grinned, ducking down to give you what you wanted, a soft kiss that had your lashes fluttering shut, lovely enough for your head to stop pounding, for your mind to just fucking breathe.

You exhaled, warm breath fanning over Steve’s cheek and he smiled into you. Another kiss, and then another, until he was pink in the cheeks and the pasta was threatening to bubble over again.

“Thank you,” you told him and god, you really meant it.

Steve shrugged, bashful, reaching with a gentle hand to cup your chin, fingers and thumb squishing your cheeks until your lips popped into a pout and he could steal another smooch.

“Happy to help,” he replied and yeah, he meant that too.

…