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tf-lover · 8 months ago

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Masquerade Madness

A little fun organised by @bodyswapmischief, and one of the only celebrity tf's I'll probably ever write! Enjoy the masquerade!

~~~

The idea of a masked ball was, at least in theory, the type of event Henry should enjoy. He was a famous actor, used to being in the public eye and in front of a camera. Only, he was dreading it. His agent had signed him up to attend, and as much as he could put on the charismatic face for the press, half the time he would rather be at home than at another event. Reading, video games and even stuff like Warhammer, the star had always been a not so secret nerd. He always had eyes on him though no matter where he was or who he was with. As much as he loved his craft, it was times like this he felt like a break for a night.

That's where Kade came in. He often acted as security for Henry, so they knew each other well. For the last several years at various events and on the occasional filming set he'd been Henry's personal bodyguard; the two had become fast friends. Kade was the stereotype of the rough bodyguard too; bearded and tattooed with closely shaved hair, one look told you almost everything you needed to know.

“What I wouldn't do for a night off you know?” Henry said once he emerged from the bathroom after a shower. “Feels like I never get any time to myself anymore.”

Kade, who would be driving Henry to the event and accompanying him inside, nodded in agreement. “I know man, I get you. It's a hard job being loved and thirsted over by so many people.” There was a hint of teasing in Kade’s tone, one only he could get away with.

Henry rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the slight smirk on his lips. “Yeah yeah, I know. I'm thankful for everything I have, don't get me wrong. I just… I don't know.”

“Well, what if I said Henry Cavill can still show up at this event and you can take a bit of a break for the night?” Kade had a hint of mischief in his eyes when Henry turned to face him. “You don't get it, I know dude. New tech in the industry.”

“Out with it Kade, what on earth are you going on about?” Henry folded his arms and frowned, more confused than anything else.

Kade pulled a small circular device out of one of his pockets and held it up. It was no bigger than his palm and had what looked like a scanner of some sort on either side. Other than that though it was sleek high-tech, giving away no extra information on what its purpose was.

“Military tech they ended up not using and selling off. Was meant for covert undercover operations so I'm told. The two of us use this to switch bodies, then I go to the party as you and you can just chill at my side. How's that sound?”

Henry… didn't know what to make of that. It was absurd, it had to be. It was like the plot of one of the movies he'd find himself in, not real life. Yet, there was something in Kade’s eyes that said he wasn’t bullshitting. Henry knew Kade well enough to know when he was joking around, and this wasn’t even close to one of those times.

“I know it’s a lot to take in man, but think about it.” Kade said as the other man spent a moment processing the information. “You don't have to ‘turn on’ that public persona people expect and can just vibe as me. You know security at these things is airtight even without some of the personal guards like me there, you'll have it easy.”

Henry was silent another moment before responding. “You know what? Alright, let's try it.” He gave Kade a small smile before holding a hand out. “How does this work then? Do we just-”

Kade stepped closer and smacked the device he was holding down into Henry's outstretched palm before the celebrity could finish his sentence. A jolt passed through both as their hands came into contact with the plastic surface, now fully activated with two participants. In less time than it took either to blink, Henry and Kade found the world around them suddenly shifted. Where Henry had been standing in a bathrobe and mentally preparing himself for another evening at another public event, now he found himself looking back at that very same face. The one he was used to seeing in the mirror now stood opposite him with an uncharacteristic smirk.

“Having fun there Kade?” Henry said when he saw his own smirking face. The voice that came from his mouth being a different one was definitely odd, but seeing himself was moreso.

Kade in Henry’s body laughed. “I was going to say the same to you Kade, since I’m fairly sure I’m the world famous Mr Henry Cavill right now.” Kade turned back to the bathroom and went to the mirror, running his hands over his new face. He knew this one well of course from films and working with Henry, but he never believed he’d actually get a chance to see it looking back at him. “Man, every time I’ve done this and it’s still fucking wild.” He said to himself.

Henry had followed his own body to the bathroom and watched as his bodyguard inspected Henry’s own handsome features. The strong, stubbled jaw, piercing eyes and just the faintest hint of chest hair that poked out of the robe he’d been wearing after the shower. Like anyone, Henry could really understand why Kade was so fascinated with being one of the hottest actors on the planet.

“Oh, you probably haven’t noticed yet dude, have you?” Kade stepped back from the mirror and turned to face himself. “Something different you haven’t spotted, should have mentioned it before really but I didn’t want you to freak out about it.”

Henry frowned. He didn’t know what Kade was going on about, and he was on the verge of saying as much when Kade did something he didn’t expect. He pulled off the bathrobe and dropped it to the floor, letting Henry get a good look at his ripped, naked body in all its glory. His mouth went dry. Objectively he knew he was attractive, he always had since being in such a public position, but now he could really feel it. Kade’s familiar smirk was plastered now over Henry’s features as the man flexed and gave his chest a squeeze, all with a look in his eyes that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

“See, one thing they discovered is sexuality and attraction is mostly tied to your body.” Kade started to explain as he kept teasing and running his hands down over Henry’s hairy chest and stomach. “So right now you’re as gay as I usually am. Once you’ve been doing this long enough you learn to be able to ignore the physical sexuality, but for a newbie like you…” Kade’s eyes flicked down to the obviously hard bulge between Henry’s legs. “Sorry to say you’ll have to be alright relaxing as a gay dude today.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine…” Henry mumbled whilst he couldn’t take his eyes off himself. “Guess I can see what everyone means for myself now. Are you always this attracted to me?”

Kade nodded. “Yeah, I mean who isn’t? But just like you don’t go getting hard over every attractive girl you see, it’s just the same.” He shrugged. “You learn to control yourself. Working with you is just business, not like I’m going to go over any boundaries that would be inappropriate.”

The mention of inappropriate boundaries sent other thoughts running through Henry’s mind. Thoughts of things he could do with men he’d never been interested in before, thoughts of things he could do with his own body. His cheeks flushed a brilliant pink for a moment before he shook his head; he had to get himself back under control. He was usually calm and collected, even if he was in Kade’s body and gay that didn’t give him an excuse to be ogling another man. Even if was technically his body he was getting an eyeful off and Kade was freely showing it off, it still didn’t feel appropriate.

“You should umm, get dressed Henry. You’ve got a party to get to, right?” Henry said in an attempt to deflect from the new stuff he was feeling. They’d made this swap for a reason, so he could have a night off and still make an appearance, so the sooner they got on with that the better. “Suit is in the bedroom.”

Kade let out a short laugh and a nod. “You’re right of course Kade. I’ll get myself dressed and ready to go, then you can drive me to the event okay?” Kade in Henry’s body turned and walked off in the direction he knew the actor’s bedroom was, all the while giving Henry a good long look at his muscular ass cheeks and how they flexed as he moved away.

~~~

It wasn’t long until the pair were ready and on their way to the party.

Kade had got all dressed up in Henry’s suit for the evening, including a custom made black mask by some designer he couldn’t remember the name of. He pulled the whole thing off well. Henry knew he would, after all he’d tried the whole outfit on days ago to make sure it all fit properly, but he hadn’t expected to be the one on this side of things. To be the one sat in the driver's seat of the car when he’d taken them both to the event.

Or to be the one trying not to look at how fucking hot hs own body looked in the suit his agent had picked out with the designers. Being gay because of the swap left him feeling all sorts of things, but chief among them was an undeniable attraction to himself. It was fucked up he knew that, but the drive over followed by silently following behind up the red carpet only hammered that nail down into the metaphorical coffin. Henry thought he was hot as fuck, just like many other gay fans had made clear, now he was almost one of them.

Kade didn’t make it any easier either. He showed just how good at his job he was as he smiled to the cameras, spoke to the occasional reporter and all round pulled off an incredibly convincing Henry Cavill. There were small things that only Henry could notice being off, but to anyone else they’d have no reason to believe he wasn’t himself as the pair made their way inside. And Henry really was getting a taste of the flip side of all this; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked down a red carpet and been as completely and utterly ignored as he was in Kade’s body. It was like he wasn’t even there. People moved around him like nothing, cameras flashed over his shoulders to capture anyone and everyone that wasn’t him; he was invisible.

The whole evening was more of the same for Henry. Or, for Kade as he made sure to introduce himself to a handful of the other security guards dotted around for other celebrities. It was strange at first, but the more he stood around chatting the more he felt like it was refreshing not to be recognised or idolised. He didn't have to “switch on” into his public facing actor mode like he'd been talking to Kade about earlier in the day, he could be his comfortable, relaxed self. All the while he watched from a distance as the real Kade in Henry's body danced and chatted and ate. All the things he should be doing but often found to be the exhausting part of being an actor.

“So, how are you finding things Kade? No issues with security?” The real Kade said later on in the evening when they got a spare moment together. Just a high profile celeb checking in with his security, that was all it looked like.

Henry nodded. “Yes Mr Cavill, all good on my end. I hope you’re having a pleasant evening?” It wasn’t hard to play the role of security guard for Henry, he was an actor after all.

“Yes yes, of course. All good fun events like these are, as you well know. And this suit is nice, makes me look good doesn’t it?” Something about the way Kade spoke with Henry’s voice was different to before. Lower, more heated. Maybe it was just to be heard over the crowd of people, but it didn’t feel like that quite. It felt like… more. “I’ve seen your eyes on me this evening Kade, and I want you to know I understand. Being so close can’t be easy on a night like tonight for you, if you catch my drift. One night, get it out of your system, if you think that would help?”

Henry couldn’t believe his ears. Kade, his long-term, always professional bodyguard, was suggesting something so… so sordid. This was a side of Kade he didn’t show for the sake of keeping to the job, but now something was crackling between them. Henry could feel it, a palpable tension in the air that he realised had probably been there since they first swapped earlier.

“You, You’re still gay, aren’t you.” Henry stated, since he already knew the answer. “You’ve done this enough that even in my body you’re still attracted to men… like I am right now as you.”

“That’s right Kade. As of this moment Henry Cavill is currently as gay as it gets, whether we’re talking about his body or his mind.” Kade said in that same low voice that Henry could now hear was dripping with arousal. Not one he ever imagined he’d be on this side of, or getting this turned on by either. “I get this is crossing a boundary between us, but I also get the sense that’s a boundary you’d rather like to cross right now, isn’t it?”

All Henry could do was silently nod his agreement. Since the swap earlier that evening he hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind. If he was a stronger person maybe he could have held back and kept things professional, but then wasn’t the whole reason he had agreed to this swap in the first place because he was tired of always having to put on the professional face? Always serving the public and never himself; maybe it was time that changed.

“Let’s get out of here Henry, I think for your safety you should let me take you home, there’s been a few suspicious characters at this party looking at you a little too closely for my liking.” Henry slipped himself back into the bodyguard role and smirked at Kade as he spoke; if this was his once chance to really experience this before it was over he wasn’t going to waste it.

~~~

An hour later, Henry was on his back getting his ass absolutely destroyed by his own cock.

“Yes, fuck me Henry!! Nnnghhh… oh fucking hell bro I never thought a celebrity could fuck so good!” Henry held onto Kade’s shoulders and let his moans freely fill the room, though right now it was hotter to imagine himself as Kade. To imagine for a moment that he wasn’t Henry Cavill having swapped bodies, he was this bodyguard finally getting fucked by the star he’d been protecting.

Kade, or Henry as he too found it hot to think of himself as, was much in the same boat. “Yeah Kade? Can’t believe I haven’t been fucking men until now, I’ve been missing out!” The current Henry shouted as he fucked down into the hole around his cock. He’d swapped with many celebrities in the past, but never had it landed him in an outcome as hot as this one. He was Henry fucking Cavill! The one and only, and with the former Henry getting so into addressing Kade by the name that matched his body it was easy to get lost in that fantasy.

The two kept going in that same rhythm long into the evening. Henry had fully embraced being Kade the bad boy bodyguard, so much so that when the former Kade above him moaned that name in his ear it didn’t feel at all wrong. It felt right. Liberating even. He wasn’t anyone in the public eye, he was someone completely invisible to them. And had one of the hottest celebrities on the planet cumming in his ass all night like an absolute beast. The new Henry had skills he never thought possible, the new Henry above him could do all the public stuff and fuck like the king Hollywood saw him as. It was giving him ideas already for their future…

~~~

2 years later…

Henry and Kade hadn’t looked back since that first swap.

The evening they spent together riding and sucking and fucking was one of the hottest either man had experienced. Enough so that the real Henry asked if Kade could make his body gay when they swapped back. He could, it turned out, leave his lingering sexuality in Henry’s body and corrupt it to be gay instead of straight.

Not that Henry spent a whole lot of time in his own body as it was anymore.

For filming and such he still stayed as himself, but that was about it. He still loved to act more than anything and didn’t want to give that up. But besides when he was on a job, Henry spent all his time as Kade instead. The name Henry had even started to feel slightly odd to him now he spent almost all his time as Kade the tattooed stud. It was far more relaxing than being his old self, and the pair made enough money to support them both just using Henry. The old Henry would do the acting, then the new permanent Henry would take over and spend the rest of the time doing all the publicity and stuff. Kade, as the former star now thought of himself, was more than happy to let his boyfriend take the spotlight when he was overall better at it than Kade had ever been.

The new and improved Henry had even gone to the lengths of coming out of the closet and introducing the world to his boyfriend Kade. If only they all knew the reality of the situation, but that was only for them. Henry Cavill, lost lusted after by gay men the world over, was now officially part of the gay community too, and it had sent fans into a frenzy.

Kade had got used to thinking of himself as a gay man now though. It was why he’d asked his boyfriend to make sure his old body was still gay when he used it for filming. Going back to being his old straight Henry Cavill self when he was filming had weirded him out for all of 48 hours before letting it get fixed up so he was gay regardless of which body he was in.

He loved his new easier life away from all the rapid publicity, and loved his soon to be husband even more for giving him this life accidentally. One last public affair to give the new Henry Cavill the proposal he deserved, then he would really be done with the exhausting side of his old life.

#MarchMasquerade #male transformation #body swap #my writing #straight to gay

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beautifulpersonpeach · 1 year ago

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Which members promotions were your favorite so far? Hobi might win for me because that listening party was super fun and Lollapalooza was crazy. Also More sits at the same table as SMFpt2 for me as far as being really shocking and exciting when it dropped!

***

Hi Anon!

Nothing beats Yoongi’s D-DAY tour for me. My god what an experience. I was fortunate to attend multiple stops and I still have fever dreams in the middle of the day remembering how hard I was screaming along to Burn It and Huh, how my friend burst into tears during Snooze, how I choked up a bit during Life Goes On and finally lost it on The Last. The encore tours gave me the emotional equivalent of a blood transfusion. Seeing Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook on stage in a proper concert setting for the first time in almost a year, was really the best parting gift and I’ll always be grateful to Yoongi for it. I love that man very, very much.

That cute practice session Yoongi did for the ‘I’m so cute’ or whatever challenge with Jimin too, subbing ARMYs with screaming plushies and the live he did reading fan messages teasing us about his seven tattoo… and then that cheeky reveal after the tour ended…

Yoongi gave me everything and more with his album and the tour.

Other members too:

- SeokJin going to Argentina to promote The Astronaut with Coldplay was incredible. The planning and organizing behind that feat couldn’t have been easy but somehow they made it work and LatAm ARMYs were finally able to see at least one Tannie for the first time in a long while. That really was amazing.

- Taehyung’s Tiny Desk performances are 🤌🏽

- I loved how Jimin really thought outside the box with his promotions, choosing to go on many really fun Korean variety shows. These are shows BTS either hadn’t done ever or in something like 5 years. A lot of my K-ARMY friends loved how Jimin seemed to prioritize them fully in ways that hadn’t been done for a while.

- I tried hard to attend Joon’s small concert but work commitments didn’t allow that possibility, but I also really love his promotion choices. My partner (surprisingly) has become a tiny bit obsessed with Joon’s Tiny Desk performance lol, so I suspect Joon has gained a new fan.

- Think I’ve already talked about how Hobipalooza was the concert highlight of 2022 for me. Hobi had such a short time to put everything together, and I’m proud of him for going out of his comfort zone a bit sending out invites and throwing the launch party. I loved seeing him just celebrate his success, seeing the other members chill out and have a good time.

- It was nice seeing that at least one member did not forget Europe exists with their promotions (😭), so I’m glad Jungkook could make the trip over to promote Seven in the UK.

The rapline’s album projects are easily some of the best releases this year in any genre for me. And I’m not even trying to be biased. Corroborated by critics reviews, each album is a solid, cohesive, and cerebrally stimulating piece of art and I’m so proud of them for putting it together. It’s easy to see how BTS has become the biggest band in the world when you have these three men who can stand as respected artists in their own right, being the bedrock of the music created by BTS for the last 10 years.

Jimin’s debut with FACE ended k-pop in 2023. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the industry as we know it, life as we know it, Jimin as we knew him, ended in March 2023. What Jimin did with Set Me Free Pt 2 still gives me goosebumps when I think about it. That song was a warning shot, a small mercy to the industry to warn them in advance of who Jimin is prepared to become as a solo artist and as Jimin of BTS, and I cannot overstate how excited I am for his next project. FACE as an album is the complete package. His songs are just good. Like, actually good. Good enough to play anywhere and any time. That’s the kind of music Jimin makes. Imagine hearing Face-off in a concert arena… imagine hearing the intro play before he comes on stage. Can you even imagine….

Lol I’m starting to hurt myself with these imagines.

Taehyung’s album too is very good (though these days it only gets plays from me in the evenings). And while Seven isn’t my favorite release, it’s still a well made song that Jungkook of course has done a phenomenal job with. Twice now he’s had to promote it outdoors in very bad weather and he’s kept his vocals stable and well projected. He’s working hard and I’m hoping it translates well into work done for his solo album debut later this year.

I have almost no complaints in the debut solo showcases from all the members, in their promotion styles, and in the overall presentation. These albums were all very decent and respectable first showings from the members of the biggest group in the world. The response from the general public and professional critics has been very favourable, and the fandom has supported each member to be as successful as one would expect for anyone from BTS.

I’m a very happy ARMY in Chapter 2 ^_^

#bts #jimin #yoongi #Namjoon #taehyung #hoseok #SeokJin #Jungkook #bts chapter 2 #BTS solo debuts #face album #indigo #d day tour #jitb #layover #jk seven #the astronaut

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lasi-nariyoyoreads · 1 year ago

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Heyyyyy can you do Joshua ideal type? Thank youuuu

Joshua's ideal type

Disclaimer:

My readings are made for fun and you should read them for fun too. So don't take them seriously.

Cards: curiosity, poverty, limitation

It's banal to say, but his ideal type should be able to pick his interest.

It's possible it isn't easy to catch his attention or he's simply attracted to unusual qualities.

I say unusual because the next two cards, "poverty" and "limitation" seem to point to his preference for normal and simple people, without any quirk.

Maybe because he lives in such a chaotic industry and one day he's in Seoul for a comeback the next in Paris for a fashion week, then again in Tokyo for a concert etc., I think he really needs someone "normal" next to him. With a normal job, a normal life, a normal personality, someone we could consider too bland compared to him.

He might want to live a frugal life outside of his idol schedules and he might want to be sure that the other person is ok with that.

Who knows how many people approach him while thinking they'll have a crazy life together only because he's famous and rich, while he's actually looking for exactly the opposite.

He might enjoy staying at home during his free time, instead of travelling, spending a cozy time and relax, so he wants someone who could match this chill energy.

He might think there's more genuinity in those who lead a simple life compared to those who have complicated jobs, big aspirations and are too attached to money and status.

I think personality wise he also wants someone drama free and without any particular issue.

I'm not too sure about it, but it's possible Joshua has a particular belief or he's religious? In an old reading, I also got this feeling that he's interested in religions or in general in anything spiritual or simply anything regarding to mental health (it might even be stuff like yoga, or those Marie Kondo types of books or whatever helps you find an inner balance), "limitation" makes me think to healthy boundaries, like "I have negative feelings, what do I do? What is the best way to express them without hurting others?", I feel he has a lot of thoughts like this, he wants to work on himself and become a better person.

I think he wants his ideal type to be like that too, someone who doesn't abandon themselves to vices or addictions or unhealthy behaviours, but who tries to check on themselves and work on their mental stability.

#joshua tarot #joshua reading #joshua ideal type #seventeen tarot #seventeen reading #kpop tarot #kpop reading #tarot #tarot reading

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itzpris15634 · 2 months ago

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Ah yes, Vinnie x Sharukh, please for 3, 4, 5, 10, 16, 29, 31, 41, 45, and 57

imma do this one first :))

hi boogie i read some of your shahrukh posts i'm taking those ideas now thanks

3. Do they wear the other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)

You already know this one, Mate. Next!

4. Which one is more protective? Who needs to be ‘protected'?

Just kidding, I'll elaborate more. Vinnie, well, obviously. This time is interesting, 'cause Shahrukh's wardrobe is mostly expensive designer stuff, even the more casual pieces. Vinnie of course loves it just because it's Shahrukh's clothing, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't taking it as an opportunity to try the stuff.

4. Which one is more protective? Who needs to be ‘protected'?

They're both pretty protective. Hear me out. In my human au, Shahrukh's been working in the film industry since he was a child, and it's not a very fun experience *cough* abuse and exploitation *cough*

Vinnie is protective in the sense he doesn't want Shahrukh to get hurt again. But Shahrukh tries to keep Vinnie safe, and making sure he doesn't make any stupid decisions like confronting those people. Because 1. Most won't give a shit anyway. 2. Some are still very capable of very dangerous things.

5. Describe their cozy night in.

The campfire in Shahrukh's big-ass living room is lit, and what are Vinnie and Shahrukh up to? They start the night off with some chiller activities- board games, jigsaw puzzles, attempts at painting. Some tasks are more frustrating than others, but they manage. And ofc, classic cozy cuddling in a blanket ^^

10. Describe their first date.

Their first date? THEIR FIRST DATE?

Gonna go with Shahrukh taking Vinnie to a fancy restaurant. The attire is picked out, and Vinnie is drilled on all sorts of etiquette he's got to observe while they're there. While he is excited, Vinnie doesn't really get the whole thing. Everything is so shiny, fancy, and has a strange feeling that's hard to explain. Still, he tries to make the most of it. Cause surely a restaurant this expensive has some good food, right?

...Yeah, no, it's not for him. So after that restaurant, he proposed going somewhere more casual. Like an amusement park or something.

They have a quick change of outfit (cause they are not going there in fancy suits) and they try to let loose there. They play a few games, burning money and barely getting any good prizes, but Vinnie is enjoying it. Shahrukh thinks the place is messy and noisy, but anything for Vinnie, right?

All in all, their date was trying each other's own ideas of what would be best. While they might not understand it 100%, it certainly was an experience.

16. Can they stay up all night just talking?

I like to think that they can :)) After a long grueling day of filming and dancing for each of them, while sleep is tempting, they have so much on their mind to share.

29. Who is more likely to jump in an elevator? Who freaks out?

Vinnie would jump just for fun, but only if it's just the two of them. If there are other people around he'll fear judgement.

So Vinnie is jumping a little. But as he tries to do it again, Shahrukh just grabs his head and pushes him down (in a playful sort of sense). The actor's a little freaked out inside, but tries to be chill and not get too mad at Vinnie.

31. Can they sit side by side without touching the other or are they handsy? (lacing fingers, touching knees, etc.)

They're quite handsy, I think. Lacing fingers, touching knees indeed.

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?

Vinnie is a cold boi, isn't he? He shivers a lot. Shahrukh does the jacket draping.

45. Can they fall asleep without the other?

Before they knew each other? Yeah, whatever. After? That's not too easy. The warmth, the love, the soft feeling of each other's skin... once they got used to it, it's hard to do without it.

57. Whose the serious one when grocery shopping and who likes to toss random things in the cart?

Shahrukh would usually have servants do all of his shopping for him, but with some convincing from Vinnie, he decides to give it a shot. Shahrukh, having never done this before, starts overworrying with stuff- a categorized list, a map of the store, and being super strict about sticking to the list. Vinnie tries to get him to have some fun with it, tossing whatever into the cart. Shahrukh is a little frustrated, thinking they're doing it wrong, but Vinnie is too cute to say no to.

I'll do the other one some other time ;))

#pristelle's response

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girlreviews · 7 months ago

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Review #438: Parklife, Blur

In some ways this review is going to be like the antithesis to the one I wrote for Pulp’s Different Class. In that, this album features songs that are so important to British culture, and individually to my formative years, that I can’t ever be mad to hear them. However, unlike my ongoing and steadfast admiration for Pulp as a band, I have way more complicated feelings about Blur, and about this album in particular. Okay, so some context and education first. Blur had success in the UK with their debut album, Leisure, but had really dug themselves into a financial hole through poor management. They owed the taxman a lot of money. As such, they were essentially forced to go on a long, arduous tour of the US to promote their successful album. In theory this would be great. But it wasn’t great. They were touring tiny towns and venues that had never heard of them. The grunge scene had just exploded out of the Pacific Northwest and literally nobody Stateside had any fucks to give about Blur, British Music, or what they were doing on this tour. The band themselves have described the space and time immediately preceding the creation of Parklife as pretty bleak. Miserable. Oppressive. They felt backed into a corner, exhausted, downtrodden, underappreciated, and homesick.

Where they sort of lose me on this is where they express feeling as if they were shamed for being British and they were resistant to just create a record that adhered to the current trend of music. They returned to the UK with a concept in mind: a quintessentially British album, about British culture, that makes a statement: British music is a thing of its own, and it’s worth your time. I mean, I don’t disagree with that. I just fail to see how grunge being a popular genre at the time meant that they weren’t able to be proudly British, and proudly produce whatever music suited them. Artists make art for the art, and if someone likes it, that’s great. But they were young men at the time and I imagine egos and the lures of chart success influenced their feelings about it. You don’t get into a tabloid frenzied ongoing rift with the Gallagher brothers because you’re a really chill bunch of guys that only care about the music. There’s an irritating overtone of testosterone and national pride that has an icky vibe to it. It’s too easy for it to be co-opted. And it was! And it still is!

So let me just get the following points off my chest and then I’ll work my way through them:

1. Parklife is and was an important record in British music

2. It’s also not Blur’s strongest album by a BIG margin, but it’s managed to persist as somewhat of a defining album for them. I’m glad they shook it off, and we didn’t just get record after record of Parklife from them. That’s honestly how a lot of people would have done it and I can respect their commitment to art as a band: we’re going to do something different than what you just loved, and if you don’t like it that’s a you problem. People did like it.

3. Parklife also paved the way for an obnoxious marketing/PR ploy from the music industry surrounding British Indie/Rock artists, that created a ridiculous craze and wave that was surfed by bands ranging from incredible and deserving, to absolute dogshit. Ladies and gentleman, I give you: Britpop. If you were there you know what it was like, and you understand all the nuance and resentment surrounding it as a “genre”. We’ll get into this more later. In hindsight it all worked out okay and we live in a world where – at least to my knowledge – you can appreciate and criticize both Oasis and Blur for their talents and their fuck ups without it representing some massive class and cultural divide. This was absolutely not always the case and it was, for some reason, a really big deal, and it mattered to everyone, a lot. Blur or Oasis? I was 7 turning 8 years old at the height of this manufactured-turned-real rivalry, and it genuinely caused me stress. As a child! I loved them both. But I felt forced to choose. I chose Blur. I understand how ridiculous it sounds, but I wish I could go back in time and refuse to choose. It mattered, and it also really didn’t. They don’t sound similar enough to compare or compete? So why did we have to? But WE DID. It was on the news. It was the biggest thing going on at the time. It dominated the papers. Bookies were taking bets on who would be #1 between the two of them. Blur won that battle with Country House. I don’t think anybody won the war. I think everybody got bored, gave up, and went home.

So Blur kicked off Britpop with their return from this grinding US tour and they made a full blown concept album about being British. And it was good. But all of a sudden there was just this… Overwhelming influx of bands who were banking their success solely on this “being British”, thing. It had a look, it had a sound, it had a style, it had a location. The same thing happened with the Indie wave in the early/mid-2000s. It’s so annoying to me though. You end up just having to sift through a whole bunch of fucking garbage to find the stuff that is legit, and would be legit with or without the “scene”. Parklife is legit. It’s just responsible for the aftermath and onslaught of bullshit. Is that their fault? No, but they definitely participated in it all for a bit. There was a lot of great music that technically fell under the Britpop genre, but essentially looking back most of it isn’t Britpop – because that was just made up. It was just good music from various genres, and they all happened to be British artists. That’s not the same thing. It was just a music industry scheme and boy howdy did everyone buy-in.

The song Parklife, is pretty genius, still. Damon Albarn, unable to commit to the concept with a cockney accent, enlisted well-known British actor, Phil Daniels (of Quadrophenia fame) to deliver the lyrics. This was both creative and super novel. People went pretty nuts about it. They still do. It’s got the same pull as Common People. If you want to see an entire nation lose their shit over a song – you might stick on Parklife. It’s just deeply entrenched into the fabric of British culture and it’s as if it was from the moment it was released. It just is. I actually saw Parklife live at Reading Festival when I was 16 or 17, and they brought Phil Daniels out. The most memorable thing about the whole thing, was that Damon Albarn fell off the stage. I guess the most surprising thing about the wider record, is that you expect it to be more of Parklife the song. And it actually isn’t. It’s just a Blur record, and a not bad one at that.

It's just so weird how a regular album took on this entire life of its own, turned into a cultural phenomenon, and produced this era of music that for better or worse is part of history now. Some of the subsequent singles from subsequent albums honestly seem like they were more “Britpop” than a lot of the tracks on Parklife. Maybe they were running with it for sometime to bank on its success, but ultimately they grew tired of it too and changed directions. I’m glad.

I guess the other thing about Blur, is the individuals its made up of. They’ve been indie darlings forever. Graham Coxon was a nerdy little weirdo, he left and came back. I think Britpop almost killed him if I’m being honest. Damon Albarn was a pretty-faced front man and has gone on to produce some absolutely insane albums for other artists and with other bands. He’s got something, that’s for sure, but it’s not always good. Some ego and misogyny always sort of leaks out and it would make my life easier to enjoy his creative output if he just kept his mouth shut. He seems to have a problem playing nice with successful women and insists on tearing them down publicly, only to be forced to admit that he hasn’t actually worked with them, met them, talked to them, or even listened to the music that he is loudly criticizing. That’s fucking annoying, but, is also par for the course regarding male opinions being inexplicably important and accepted even absent of any actual valid perspective or input. Damon, you have a lot of great things to say with your music. That doesn’t mean you have to say something, about everything, all the time.

Alex James, floppy-haired and handsome bassist, for a time was the biggest darling of them all – attracting praise for being so quirky and unique by establishing a cheese farm. Over the years, I have come to suspect he’s really just hidden in plain sight and really what you get with him is a basic man, with basic opinions, who loves some attention. I can’t ever really quite put my finger on it with him but there’s something deeply off putting about his whole persona. I’ll just say it. Whatever image he puts out and however quirky and cool he makes himself out to be: he’s just a fucking Tory, man. With that comes everything else: classism, racism, misogyny and fucking over everyone worse off than you, so long as you get yours. But hey everyone, who cares right? He makes cheese! Isn’t that so weird and kooky? He’s gotta be a cool guy! It was this exact fucking line of thinking that allowed Boris Johnson to take advantage of the comedy panel show circuit for years and years and years, elevating his reputation among liberal young voters. Everyone thought Boris was a funny joke, so let’s vote for him! He goes from MP, to London Mayor, to high-ranking cabinet member, to the fucking PRIME MINISTER. And it wasn’t a funny joke then, was it? So let’s pay attention to the things people actually say and do, and not just the music that they make and the cheese they produce. The other guy in the band, whose name I can literally never remember – Dave Rowntree – he’s just the drummer, who brought nothing to the band visually, and was just sort of along for the ride. Seems like a nice enough guy, it’s just that nobody cares.

If you’re interested in making more sense of this review, I will recommend that you turn your attention to Netflix series This Is Pop which does a pretty decent overall rundown of Blur, Oasis, and the Britpop era. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty good, and I appreciate that it gives a voice to the women in that music scene at the time, who were treated like shit and had to deal with all of the masculine national pride shit that came along with it all. It’s pretty clear from listening to them: Oasis, literally didn’t give a shit – about anything – and that was pretty hilarious. Blur, despite being genuine talent with good music to offer, bought into the hype and acted like a bunch of pricks publicly. They were all pricks, it’s just some of them were more authentically pricks than others. Ha.

I guess all I can say is this: I love Blur, and I hate Blur. I don’t know that I’m inclined to agree with Parklife’s inclusion in the Rolling Stone Top 500, but I can also appreciate that I’m talking from the inside and the majority of listeners didn’t also absorb the cultural moment as it was happening. If you happened to be there, you know it was all kind of nonsense. It’s kind of wild watching documentaries or reading write-ups of a particular time in music that you were actually present for in real-time. Like how I imagine people who were at Woodstock, or when Bob Dylan went electric, or the original British Invasion of America with the Beatles. It was a whole thing, and if you were there, you remember.

#album review #music #music review #rolling stone top 500 #blur #parklife #britpop #oasis

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sillygonk · 8 months ago

Text

Strings of Devotion [ao3]

summary: Samurai is rapidly gaining popularity, despite being relatively new to the industry. The group leader and vocalist, Johnny Silverhand, quickly became a heartthrob, furtherly increasing the band's reputation. But their path to money and fame can’t be too easy. Banzai Riot, another fresh Night City band, is gaining fans just as quickly as Samurai, and is led by an enigmatic girl known as "V". As both bands soar in popularity, their rivalry (or rather rivalry between the leaders) escalates, fueled by a one-of-a-kind opportunity – Battle of the Bands competition with a three-year contract from Universal Recording as the grand prize. Will they jump down each other's throats first chance they get, or will they find a common ground amidst their shared journey to success?

pairing: Johnny Silverhand/V

word count: 4,4k

Chapter II ->

Chapter I – Get in gonk, we’re going to get famous!

In the waking world, where reality's gleam, I long for the man from my nightly dream. When I try to reach, he fades from my sight, Leaving me alone in the quiet night.

In the first rays of light I whisper his name, But he's vanished, like…

Like, uh… Like…

Fuck.

“Writer's block again?”

V stopped scribbling and looked up at Raf from her notebook. “Yeah,” she ran a hand through her ruffled hair. “I… It's just, like, my brain is playing hide-and-seek and I’m losing every fucking round. Fucking pisses me off.”

She tried to break through that creative barrier for the past hour, while ignoring both the loud music playing in the background and the lively banter of her bandmates gathered around their favorite booth at El Coyote Cojo. This rickety old thing had seen it all and was marked by years of their spilled drinks, drumstick banging and even jack-knife carvings on the tabletop, for which they got an earful from Pepe couple years back.

V was mindlessly running her fingers along the gashes, cursing under her breath. Seeing her frustration, Raf sighed heavily into his beer and took a sip. “I think you just need to chill, you know? Take it easy. Clear your head.”

“Ooor, you know,” Nova smirked. ”Fuck what he said and let’s start a good ol’ bar brawl and see where the night takes us. That will give you some inspiration.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I need another fucking charges on my record,” V snorted, looking into her friend's pink optics. “Plus, Mamá would kill me if I blew up in her bar again.”

“I’m not saying here. I‘m saying, like, in general.”

“Maybe don’t say anything else, how ‘bout that?” Raf sighed again.

V just rolled her eyes at them. Like fire and water, Nova and Raf were total opposites. Nova thrived on chaos. She was beautiful, loud, and was always drawing attention wherever she went. Even though she was a big softie on the inside, Nova had an unapologetic attitude and was a force to be reckoned with. Raf on the other hand was the epitome of calm and collected for most of the time, but behind his composed exterior hid a batshit crazy madness. Sometimes, when his rational façade would crack, he’d dive headfirst into the unknown just for the giggles. He was also, as the only guy in the band, just a baby.

She equally loved and hated them sometimes.

“What about that new track you've been working on, V?” Misty chimed in and started humming. “The one with the killer riff?”

“Ah, that one,” V sipped her beer. "Well, I have a track with no lyrics. Nothing we will make outta this.”

“We can say it’s a ballad and call it a day.”

A drink almost flowed out of V’s nose when she snorted.

“Yea, I don’t think that would be enough, Mist.”

Nothing was ever enough anymore, it sometimes seemed. Ever since they started taking music seriously, nothing had been the same.

At first, it had all been just for fun – they had been just a pack of raggedy teens who tried to find a way to blow off some steam in a safer way then jumping into gang life or ending up as dorphers. It started in abandoned garages or basements with klepped equipment and no skills. Their learning stage had been laughable at best, but it was better than wandering the streets looking for trouble. They honed their skills, at first getting somewhat good and then better and better each day. They began to realize that their music held a power beyond mere entertainment. It was their way to escape the reality for a while. It even became a lifeline in the darkest of times.

Then, slowly but surely, a shy idea rooted in their minds that maybe, just maybe, they could turn their passion into something more. Sometimes they dared to dream of a future where music was not just a hobby, but a way of life.

In the beginning they ignored these silly dreams, thinking they were too big for their own good. However, over time, they managed to convince one or two owners of second-rate pubs to let them play here and there. Then they even got the courage to ask Mamá Welles if they could play at the Coyote and to their delight, she agreed right away. “I thought you'd never ask,” she even said. To their even bigger delight, after their little gig, she told them that they should think of it more seriously. And that was it. For the first time they really thought the idea through and made their decision.

The legends of this city.

And now, here they were, stuck in one place, trapped in the shadows of their own ambition. They still had almost no name, no money, and in their minds, no prospects in a city where everyone wants to be a legend. They were getting somewhat recognizable locally, but it was too little and too slow. They all knew that their path to a breakthrough would be rocky, but come on. Not that rocky.

Still, they were refusing to let their dreams die. They may have been naive back then, when they made that decision, but now? Now they knew that they were meant for something more. They may not have been the most fortunate, but they had their passion, their perseverance, and, most importantly, the unbreakable bond that held them together. Which was cringe if V thought about it long enough, but she wasn’t one to denied it.

And as V reflected on those formative years, she couldn't help but smile at the memory of the innocent teens with stars in their eyes. They persisted despite the hardships, living hand-to-mouth, with empty pockets but unbroken spirits. They poured their hearts into every chord, every lyric, clinging to the hope that someday, their determination would pay off. They just needed to do better and be better. Better than anyone else.

So no, V didn’t think that leaving their song at “ballad” stage would be enough.

“Alright, V,” Raf placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice soft but firm. “Show me the stuff.”

“It’s not finished,” V stated, trying to hide her notebook away.

“And it will never be finished if you’ll keep gatekeep us, you gonk.”

This time it was V who sighed. Even though Raf was (usually) right, she would never admit it out loud. Fucking smartass. She handed him her notebook.

As Raf flipped through the pages, he nodded or shook his head while reading her never finished lyrics. V was on the edge of her seat, waiting for his take. When he finally got to the latest part, he laughed.

“The man from my nightly dream? Who the fuck you writing about?”

“Not your fucking business, that’s who,” V scowled, snatching the notebook from his hands.

“Hey, I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m saying it’s a bit corny.”

“Then you write something, funny guy,” V rolled her eyes. “You are all trash today, seriously. Maybe except Misty.”

She wasn’t going to count the silent one, Prime, as she was baked out of her mind in the corner of their booth, as usual, not bothering anyone.

“Why thank you,” Misty smiled. “And don’t listen to them. Writer's block is just another hurdle in the vast maze of creativity. Take a step back, breathe in the chaos of the world around you, and let it fuel your imagination. Night City wasn't built in a day, and neither is a masterpiece. Just trust your abilities, trust the process, and you'll be back in the zone before you know it.”

A small smile spread on V’s lips. Misty, always the sweetheart, was her forever favorite addition to the band.

“Thanks Mist. You’re seriously an angel.”

“I know,” she smiled sweetly. “Maybe I should give you a reading?”

“Eh, not today,” she drank rest of beer in one gulp. “You will pull out The Fool card and my mood will be ruined.”

“V, I told you hundred times now, The Fool card does not-“

“Yeah, yeah, it does not mean I’m the fool, I know. Still doesn’t make me feel any better when you pull it out every single time,” she murmured under her breath, suddenly irritated at the stupid card. Misty only giggled and pat V’s head.

“Is there any way to make your mood better then?”

“Yeah. I need another drink.”

As if on cue, Jackie appeared on the top of the stairs, walking towards their table with a tray full of beers, smiling widely.

“Hola fuckers. And Misty.”

“Jackie, my man!” Raf greeted him with a grin, sliding over to make room for him. “Finally missed us enough to crawl out of a studio?”

The man in question shot a quick glance at Misty and V tried to hide the smirk, though unsuccessfully, when she saw her friend blush.

“Maybe a bit,” he placed the tray on the table and sat next to Raf, stretching out on the bench. “But I come with big news and you’re going to lose your minds.”

“We’ll see. What do you have?” V nodded at him, already reaching out for a beer.

Jackie placed a flyer on the table. “A chance for you to finally make a name. Music contest.”

“Music contest?” Nova frowned and leaned in to take a better look at the brochure. “Like a talent show for kids at school?”

V silently agreed with the comparison. In her mind's eye, she couldn't shake the image of over-the-top judges acting like they know shit, fumbled mediocre performances and uninterested applause. They would most probably end up as some kind of puppets, doing mere sideshow for the amusement of others.

“Hey, don’t insult me, chica. I wouldn’t have come to you with this if it was not legit. This isn’t some dive bar competition, it’s an opportunity, a big one. And, it’s in Afterlife,” Jackie wiggled his eyebrows.

Afterlife? The Afterlife, a cornerstone of Night City's underground music scene? And, sure, mercenary work offered by first-rate fixers, or whatever, since lines between the criminal underworld and the artsy trades somehow got really blurry there, but dude. The music scene. Everyone who wanted to become someone dreamed about Afterlife. This was where real deals were made.

Well. V could re-consider being a puppet if it takes place in the Afterlife.

“So… It is legit?”

“Por supuesto. At least check it.”

Nova reached for the flyer with a heavy sigh and read it quickly. “Batlle of the Bands, yada yada, big opportunity for newbie bands- newbie? I ain’t a newbie, it’s you guys who are amateurs.”

“Just fucking read it Nova,” Raf grimaced.

“Fine, Christ. The competition will consist of presentation and three phases, yada yada yada, oh, OHH!” She exclaimed excitedly and sat on her knees. “The winner will sign a three-year contract with Universal Recording. Guys, Universal Recording! It really is legit!”

“What did I just say?” Jackie rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. But seriously, we've been playing gigs at crappy joints for too long. This really could be our big break.”

“Where did you even heard about it, Jackie?” Misty frowned.

“Wakako tipped me off about it,” he shrugged. “Talked with her about you guys copula times, guess she thought it might help you. As soon as she got the detes she let me know. I’m actually surprised that you didn’t already knew about this. Wasn’t Dex supposed to take care of stuff like that? This is a huge deal.”

“Well, Dex is a shitty manager,” V scoffed. “Fucking unbelievable that your cares about us more than our own.”

V met Jackie’s manager a couple of times now. Wakako Okada was a fucking scary woman. Professional and polite, sure, always treating everyone with the same level of respect and courtesy, but she was also reading you like an open book, her piercing gaze seemed to see straight through your core, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. And yet, despite not knowing her very well (and low-key being scared of her), V couldn't help but feel a deep respect for Wakako. She was one of the best in the business, after all, and there was no denying that. If Wakako wasn’t representing solo artists exclusively, and only within the rap and hip-hop genre, V would gladly sell her kidney to afford hiring her. At least Jackie made the cut, and V was really happy that he was able to work with the woman. She let him spread his wings and he was currently recording his first album under her watchful eye. Lucky bastard.

“You seriously should take care of your own biz all the more,” the lucky bastard said.

Guess he was right. They couldn't really deny the allure of this whole shebang. After all, when opportunity like this is literally knocking at their door, they couldn't afford to lose it. Especially if they were left to their own devices. V glanced around at her bandmates with a flicker of hope and was met with excited smiles and silent nods. From all except one since Prime was still spaced out and didn’t say a word since they sat down at the table.

Prime. Always a woman of few words. It might have something to do with her always being stoned, but, as she always said, no one had any proof for that. And she was right, if her constantly bloodshot eyes and the smell of pot that clung to her clothes were not proof enough.

V nudged her lightly.

“Astra? You with us?”

“Huh? Yeah,” Prime blinked slowly, her gaze drifting lazily towards V. “Sup?”

“We have a situation,” V handed her a flyer. “Big shit, big chance. We might even score a record deal. What do you think, we’re in or we’re out?”

Astra took a minute to check out the brochure and nodded slowly. “Oh, hell yeah, we’re in.”

“Really?” V beamed.

“Yeah, dude. That sounds cool,” she focused on the flyer once again and her eyes widened. “Yooo, this in Afterlife? Are we finally hitting the big leagues or sum?”

“That’s the plan, babygirl,” Nova laughed at her stoned enthusiasm.

“Oh, hell yeah, that sound epic.”

“Aight,” V nodded. “Then we just need to get the application and-” she fell silent when she saw Jackie pull application card and a pen from his inside pocket. “The big man thought of everything I see. Thanks Jacks.”

“A sus órdenes, chica,” he saluted mockingly.

“Kay. Guess we’re really fucking doin’ it,” V started to filling up their application with a goofy grin. “Nova, you want to go with full name?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Badges don’t have anything on me anymore, I don’t give a shit.”

“Cool, cool,” V quickly finished putting in their detes. “Okay gonks, sign this up and I’m taking it to the Afterlife.”

“I'll tag along,” Raf quipped in, already signing the papers. “I should get going anyway, I have morning shift tomorrow, so I’ll at least keep you company for a while.”

V narrowed her eyes at him.

“You just want me to drive you home afterwards, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Fine.”

When the papers were signed and the beers were finished, everyone decided to go their separate ways. Raf wasn't the only one working in the morning after all. The booth cleared and the gang headed downstairs, empty glasses in hand, so that Pepe wouldn't have to clean up after them.

Finding an opportunity, V tugged on Jackies sleeve, pulling him away from the group.

“Will you ever ask her out, Jacks?” V smirked at the man.

Jackie stuttered, tips of his ears turning red at the question.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really? Well, that’s a shame,” she hummed. “Misty would be thrilled.”

“You think?” his eyes gleamed and V laughed.

“Yea, you gonk. You just need to finally grow your balls,” she punched him on the arm, which he most probably didn’t even felt.

Jackie’s gaze wandered to Misty again. He cleared his throat and nodded, but pushed V to the side when she laughed at him. They said their goodbyes to Pepe and went outside.

“I, uh, I’ll take Prime home,” Nova winked at V with a smirk, which she returned, silently acknowledging their shared mission.

“Right, we should be on our way too. Need to take this pretty girl home.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” Raf batted his eyelashes.

“The prettiest.”

“Prettier than Nova?”

“I heard that!” Nova yelled, already a few steps ahead, tugging Astra along. “You kids be safe. See ya tomorrow.”

V laughed and waved at them, then pointed at Jackie. “See you soon, Jacks?”

“Obviously,” he smiled. “Still have some jobs bagged, waiting for us.”

“I sure hope so. We need to finish them before you’ll be too famous for that,” she hugged him tightly.

“Still have a lot of time,” he ruffled her hair.

With a quick wave to Misty, assuring her she will be home soon, V and Raf made their way to where V's motorcycle was parked nearby, trying to disappear quickly and leave the lovebirds alone. She swung a leg over the back of the bike.

“Hop on, babygirl,” she patted the seat. Raf sat down behind her, but not without rolling his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“That’s like, what, twenty minute drive?”

“I’ll make it in fifteen,” V smirked and revved the engine.

They took off, making their way through the streets of Night City, wind whipping through their hair. V weaved through late-night traffic with ease, the scenery shifting from the gleaming towers of the corpo districts to the gritty urban sprawl of the combat zones, flickering streetlights flashing by in a blur. Though the journey was quick, V still sighed sadly when she checked the time after parking the bike in the dark alley. Seventeen minutes.

They made their way inside and paused briefly to explain to the security guy why they were here. He nodded in acknowledgment before directing them to the bartender. As they stepped further into the bar, V felt a thrill of excitement going down her spine. Just being here was enough for her to feel less stuck and more hopeful about their future. They reached the bar and she smiled at the woman.

“Hey.”

“Hi. What can I getcha?”

“Rather, what we can get you. Application for the Battle of the Bands,” Raf flashed his charming smile at the woman, while V pulled out their application.

“Alright kids,” she smirked and reach out. “Let me just check the papers real quick, can't ignore the drill.”

She took the application from V’s hand, took a moment to glance over it, her expression thoughtful. Then, with a nod of approval, she returned it to them.

“Looks good to me. Now I just need the entry fee and you’re good to go.”

“Entry fee?” Raf’s smile faded.

“Yup. There’s always a catch,” she tapped at the bottom of the papers. Both V and Raf looked down.

NOTE: entry fee – 3,500 ed

V huffed and rubbed at her eyebrow nervously. Nova and her fucking reading comprehension.

“Shit. Just… Just gimme a minute, okay? I need to make a call.”

“Who you callin’?” Raf frowned.

“Dex. We ain’t gonna pay from our own pocket, he’s the fucking manager, he need to manage,” she moved away from the bar and headed towards the exit.

“Whoa, wait then, I need to hear you chewing him out,” he laughed and winked at Claire. “We’ll be right back.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Claire chuckled and shook her head to herself as they made their way out. They were kinda adorable, she had to admit, with wide eyes but still exuding self-confidence. With a little smirk on her face, Claire got back to polishing the countertop as out of the corner of her eye she noticed a tall figure in leather jacket approaching the bar. She let out a resigned sigh.

“What now?”

“Those two that left, did I just saw them submitting an application?”

“Yup. Seems like they're gearing up to give you a run for your money."

“Lemme see their papers, huh?”

“You know I can’t do that, Johnny.”

“I know, but you have a soft spot for me,” he smiled sweetly.

“I do not.”

“And for me?” a second guy approached them.

“Don’t get involved, Kerry, you’re supposed to be the reasonable one.”

Kerry shrugged. “We’re just curious.”

When the woman rolled her eyes, Johnny whined.

“C’mooon, lemme see, I’ve been a good boy today.”

“The day hasn't ended yet,” she raised her eyebrow. He took it as a challenge.

“You poked the bear, Claire,” he snatched the documents before she could stop him.

"Johnny, I said no!" the woman exclaimed, her tone sharp with anger, but it was already too late. He quickly scrutinized the papers, narrowing his eyes, when he saw something he did not wanted to see.

Banzai Riot V – lead vocals, rhythm guitar Lara “Nova” Foster – lead guitar, vocals Rafael Gupta – bass Misty Olszewski – violin Astra Prime – drums

“So?” Kerry urged him. “Who are they?”

Johnny clenched his jaw and showed him their info. Kerry glanced at it, his eyes getting wider.

“The fuckers from Banzai?”

“Apparently.”

He heard about them, of course he did. A new band on the rise, slowly gaining fans and momentum, just like Samurai. Making a name was already hard enough when you're fighting for it with no opponents, but when do you add another young and dynamic team to the race? One that is similar in style, on top of it? Nightmare. It was one thing to compete against other bands, but to go head-to-head with a group that was basically their mirror image was not fucking good. Johnny knew that in the cutthroat world of the music industry, standing out was crucial. But now, with those motherfuckers in the scene, it was going to be so much fucking harder to achieve.

Kerry’s voice got him out of his head.

“Shit, they're coming. Put it back!”

Johnny quickly put the papers back in their place and turned around, nonchalantly leaning on the left side of bar with his elbows, his back to those little fuckers. Kerry, similarly, looked the other way, but both of them strained their ears to get any details about their rivals. Claire rolled her eyes at them.

“Kay, can send you the eddies now,” said the girl rather happily, her eyes glowing with blue.

“Okay, got it. From… V?”

“Yep.”

Oh, so she is the leader. She most certainly didn’t look like one, Johnny thought, barely holding back a snort. A sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips instead, as he processed the newfound information. With long basketball shorts, ripped tank top and checked shirt tied around her waist she hardly looked the part of a rock star. She looked more like someone you'd find shooting hoops at the local court than leading a fucking hardrock band.

As Johnny's mind wandered, Claire's distant voice slowly pulled him back from his thoughts. He blinked, refocusing his attention on the scene unfolding behind his back.

"… your own equipment, ‘cause the sounding is on us. Other than that, you’re all set.”

“Thanks Claire,” he heard the guy’s voice. “Appreciate it, really.”

“No prob. Guess we will see each other often over the next few weeks, so there will be an occasion to say it again, but still good luck.”

“Thanks,” the girl, V, said, and he could hear a smile in her voice. “See ya around, then.”

“See you,” Claire watched them go and when they were out of the earshot, she narrowed her eyes at Johnny and Kerry. “Enjoyed your eavesdropping?”

“Wasn’t even listening to that bubbly little bitch,” Johnny scoffed, turning around to face her again. “Can you fix me a drink?”

The bartender shook her head in disbelief but relented, reaching for a glass and a bottle of tequila. She poured him a new one, which he accepted with quick thanks and returned to his table, Kerry hot on his heels.

“That chick was their vocalist, did you gathered that?”

Kerry glanced at him, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I guess.”

“You guess? The fuck you mean?”

“I dunno, man,” Kerry shrugged, his gaze wandering back to the direction where their competition disappeared. “Was more focused on checking out the guy she was with.”

“Dumbass,” Johnny groaned. “Well, while you were busy checkin’ out the gonk, I was busy listenin’. Turns out, that chick is the one callin’ the shots."

Kerry's eyes widened in surprise, his attention finally fully focused on Johnny's words. "Seriously?” When he was met with Johnny’s uh-huh, he hummed. “Damn, she sure is unobtrusive,” he thought in silence for a while, but couldn’t suppress a twinge of doubt gnawing at his gut. His brow furrowed with worry. “Think we should be worried?”

"Please, they've got nothing on us. We've got this in the bag," Johnny said, downing his Tequila Old Fashioned.

Sure. They had it in the bag. One hundred percent.

Or, if he was really honest with himself, ninety nine percent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stepped out of the bar, their laughter echoed through the dark alley as they made their way back to V’s bike. Raf grinned, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Can you fucking believe it? We have a fucking golden ticket to the Major Leagues!”

“I know,” V smiled, fishing a cigarette from her back pocket. She lit it with a flick of her lighter and took a long drag. “And call me fucking crazy, but I think we stand a chance.”

“Are you kidding? We've got this in the bag, V!”

She smiled at his enthusiasm. He was right. He was fucking right, they could totally score this. All they needed was determination, which they had, confidence, which they had, and a talent, which they obviously also had.

A bit of luck would be also welcome, but to the hell with it – they were working hard for the success and they will succeed. Right now, they just needed to focus, work hard and show all them gonks something good. Something memorable and spectacular. Something…

“Aww, shit.”

“What?”

“Now I really need to think of a new song.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #fem v #silverv #au #alternate universe #cp2077 #cyberpunk fanfic #slow burn #enemies to lovers #original characters

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thefactsofthematter · 2 years ago

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u asked and i will deliver. if u want to write this feel free to change literally anything but

model davey! he graduated college with honors, has a degree in poli sci, and was literally about to go to law school before being signed to a modeling agency- thus starting a turbulent relationship with his family. he starts doing runways and soon moves into print works and even in his short time of modeling he’s become a frequent in some of the most well-known fashion magazines. this is great, this is amazing- but it has an impact on his mental health that he wasn’t ready for.

enter jack kelly, the makeup artist that somehow always seems to work with davey; jack is known for his bold editorial looks and impeccable work, yet he has quite the image in the industry. he’s stubborn, he’s unorthodox, he’s got quite the temper, but his work speaks for itself. jack is the guy who never wears makeup to shoots, he never dresses up unless it’s something important, he’s got piercings and tattoos and a list of bad habits following him wherever he goes.

anyway blah blah they fall in love they indulge in bad habits and reckless things they get better and boom they’re everyone’s favorite powerhouse couple!!!

ohohohoho JAC!!! i’m obsessed!!! god a model au just tickles my brain the perfect way and this is everything @we-are-inevitable

here’s a fun (or possibly fucked up? idk those are synonyms to me sometimes) little one shot! tw for some mentions of disordered eating - as one might expect from a model au

David Jacobs is a nice person.

For all twenty-three years of his life so far, he’s told himself that. It’s been mostly true— he’s never had much of a temper, he treats people with empathy and kindness, and he’s never been demanding or high-strung. He’s normally a pretty chill person who’s easy to please, and who genuinely likes to help people and make them happy.

Nothing about the past year has been normal, though, and he’s starting to realize it might be messing with him a little. Just a few weeks ago, parents were bitching about how much he’s changed, and he thought it was bullshit… until he suddenly catches himself storming away from his personal assistant (which he has now, by the way,) after shouting:

“Just stop talking and figure it out yourself! Can you fuck off and leave me alone for two fucking seconds? Oh my god.”

And then he’s off, out the back door of the set, to sit on the fire escape and try to cool down. He knows he’s being an asshole, but he’s at the end of his rope— he hasn’t eaten an actual meal in three days, there’s makeup caked all over his face and too much product in his hair, he’s sick of people touching him and telling him what to do, and fucking Romeo won’t stop reminding him how busy he is by asking stupid questions about his jam-packed schedule for the next few days. He has a runway show tonight that’ll go to at least midnight, and a 5 AM call time for a shoot tomorrow, and then an afternoon flight to Paris— he doesn’t care which of the two hotels Romeo booked he actually stays at, because they’re both five stars anyways, so it shouldn’t be this much of a hassle to pick one and cancel the other, and it’s something that should be able to get taken care of without needing to bother him about it.

He instinctively goes to rub at his eyes once he’s outside, but he freezes when he hears:

“If you fuck up your makeup, I’m not fixing it for you. I hope you’re done shooting in there.”

His head snaps to the side, and he sees none other than Jack Kelly.

He’s leaning against the wall, with half of a foil-wrapped bodega breakfast sandwich in one hand and a coffee in the other, obviously on a break. He’s still wearing his makeup-stained apron over his clothes— comfy-looking joggers and a t-shirt that shows off his tattoo-covered arms— and he’s got a Givenchy beanie perched almost precariously high on his head. He doesn’t seem pissed, mostly amused, but Davey has heard rumours about his allegedly quick temper; fucking up his work would be a good way to get on his bad side.

“Sorry,” Davey sighs. He folds his arms over his chest to keep his hands away from his face. “I think I’m done— they might want more shots once they look at what we’ve got, though. I don’t know. I have to get out of here soon for a fitting uptown either way.”

It was Jack who applied the fancy, editorial eye makeup that Davey nearly ruined— his apprentice does the base layers of foundation and whatnot, but it’s Jack’s artistic vision and skill that people pay for when they book him for stuff like this, so he does the important parts himself. He takes his sweet time, snapping at people when they try to rush him, which is why Davey spent over an hour in the makeup chair this morning.

It’s probably the tenth or-so time Jack has done his makeup, but they’ve barely ever conversed, both of them too busy being pulled in a million different directions by everyone else on set.

“Busy day, huh?” Jack chuckles. His nose crinkles a little when he laughs, and it makes his septum piercing wiggle. He takes a bite of his sandwich and then talks as he chews. “What were you yelling about in there?”

Davey very nearly rolls his eyes.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “It’d just be nice if my assistant would fucking assist me sometimes, instead of asking me a million questions about every stupid little thing. He drives me insane, I swear.”

Jack quirks an eyebrow.

“Fire him, then.” He shrugs. “You’d have to start calling your own Ubers and picking up your own coffees, though… might be tough.”

Davey is pretty sure he’s joking, but he does have a point— Romeo takes care of a lot of the day-to-day shit that Davey himself doesn’t have time for anymore, everything from posting on his social media to ordering his groceries. He does a lot more than anyone gives him credit for.

“I’m not gonna fire him. He’s a good kid,” Davey sighs. “I’m just… pissed off right now. I needed to get outside and breathe for a minute.”

Jack finishes his sandwich, crumpling up the foil and shoving it into a pocket of his apron. He then reaches into a different pocket and procures a joint and a lighter.

“Here.” He holds them out to Davey. “Chill out a little.”

Davey blinks, staring more at Jack’s tattooed fingers than what’s held between them, and then quickly shakes his head.

“Sorry, no. I don’t smoke.”

Jack laughs.

“You’re a model, and you don’t smoke?” he teases. “That’s funny, tell another one.”

Maybe it was a good thing he hasn’t talked much to Jack before— he’s really fucking annoying.

“Fine, only cigarettes,” Davey ultimately concedes. “I’m not into weed.”

Jack shrugs and lights the joint, taking it to his own lips for a puff.

“Suit yourself.”

It’s quiet for a second as Jack exhales the smoke. He’s a real picture of effortless beauty— he’s obviously not thinking about his appearance right now, but there’s something almost untouchable about how casually gorgeous he is.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Davey ends up adding, “but I get so hungry when I’m high. I’m on a diet right now, so I can’t do that to myself.”

Jack shakes his head.

“Models… maybe that’s why you guys are brats. You’re hangry all the time.”

“Hangry?”

“You know, hungry and angry. You get all irritable because your agent convinced you a human can survive on, like, three almonds a day, when any sane person knows that’s bullshit.”

Davey’s stomach grumbles annoyingly, as if on cue. He’s not even that hungry. He already had a coffee this morning anyways, which should’ve been enough to get him through to dinner time.

“You’re kind of a dick,” Davey remarks. He wouldn’t typically be so blunt, but his bad mood is making him lose his filter. “What’s your deal?”

Jack shrugs.

“I’m tired. People think I’m an asshole for trying to take my time and do my job right, but when I rush it and cut corners to keep people happy, they get pissed that it doesn’t look good. There’s no winning, and it’s fucking exhausting.” He takes another puff of the joint. “Pays the bills, though.”

Davey rolls his eyes.

“That hat you’re wearing retails for, like, five hundred dollars. I think it pays more than your bills.”

Jack laughs, and it’s not that cynical chuckle from before. He actually smiles, caught off guard by the remark.

“Fair point. In my defence, I got the hat for free from a photoshoot. Another perk, I guess.”

Davey finds himself smiling too.

“How long have you been doing makeup?”

“I’ve been playing with it forever,” Jack replies, “but professionally, about five years. How long have you been in the game?”

“Almost a year.” Davey pauses. “I was in school— I actually finished undergrad and got into law— but it wasn’t right. I got scouted in August, and thought fuck it, I might as well try. It worked out pretty well, I’d say.”

Jack eyes him sort of curiously.

“You gave up law school for this?”

“Got out of going to law school, more like. I didn’t want to do it.” Davey shrugs. “It was more my parents’ thing. I wasn’t that interested.”

Jack blows a ring of smoke, almost absentmindedly.

“How do they feel about your career change?”

Davey shakes his head.

“I haven’t talked to them in, like, a month, if that tells you anything.”

“Damn.” Jack offers the joint to Davey again. “You sure you don’t want some?”

A pause.

“Fuck, I guess a couple hits couldn’t hurt.”

Jack grins and passes it over.

“I knew it.”

Davey silently takes a breath of smoke. It’s been forever since he’s indulged this way, and it feels good. He coughs a little on the first hit, but his head almost immediately feels clearer, so he goes for another.

“Feel better?” Jack asks, after a long moment.

“Yeah,” Davey breathes. “Thank you.”

He passes the joint back to Jack, who stubs it out on the railing— there’s just enough left that he could relight it for a few more puffs later, once this little buzz wears off.

“We should hang out sometime,” Jack offers. “I’d like to get to know you, Jacobs.” He pauses. “Any relation to Marc?”

“Nope. I walked for him in the spring, though.” Davey laughs softly. “You’re right, we should hang out. I’m going to Paris tomorrow, but I’ll be back in two weeks— let’s plan for then.”

Jack picks his coffee up from where he set it on the windowsill.

“I’ll bring the weed, if you bring home some cool European snacks for us to try.”

Smoking and snacking are both habits that Davey should be trying to avoid— but god, would it ever feel good to unwind when he gets home from this work trip. Maybe he deserves a night to relax with a new friend.

“Sounds good to me,” he replies, against his better judgement. “I should go, but I’ll DM you, okay?”

“Perfect,” Jack says. He waves as Davey turns to head inside. “Have a great trip. Take it easy on your poor assistant, okay?”

Davey laughs.

“Will do. I swear I don’t normally yell at people like that. Just… running low on patience today, y’know?”

That’s a stretch— he runs low on patience pretty often these days, and Romeo tends to take the brunt of it, but Davey pays him to deal with it, so he doesn’t feel that bad about it. When you’re a star, there’s certain things you can get away with: Davey’s occasional bitch fits are no worse than Jack’s famous temper tantrums. When you’re at the top, who’s going to give you shit about it?

“Oh, I know.” Jack winks. “I think we’ve got a lot in common, Dave.”

Davey smiles coyly over his shoulder as he heads back inside. He knows he looks good— he revels a little in the way Jack’s gaze stays glued to him. Maybe he’s admiring his own work, but maybe he’s admiring the canvas underneath it.

“I think you might be right. See you around, Kelly.”

And then he’s immediately being hurried back into a makeup chair so someone can clean his face, in order for him to be whisked off to the fitting that he’s already late for— at this point, people know better than to expect him to be on time.

Again, he’s a star, he does what he wants.

If he wants to waste time smoking outside with Jack Kelly, nobody’s going to stop him. Maybe he’ll make a habit out of it.

#in which davey is a bitch and jack is an asshole and they just work.#they are deeply unpleasant bc of their respective mental health issues that they refuse to deal with and now they enable each other teehee #poor romeo lol #idk why i picked him when i could’ve picked any newsie it just felt right #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #model au #my writing #i hope this is the vibe you were going for!!! ily jac!!

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seikilos-stele · 1 year ago

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Ack, this is such a fun tag game! Thank you for the tag @zeldurz!

Describe a creative WIP you’re working on this summer:

I’m gonna go with “Esau Have I Hated” — it’s a post-Dominion War Star Trek where Tom Riker is released from the Cardassian labor camp and remanded to the custody of Will Riker. Unfortunately, at this time in canon, Will Riker has just retired from Starfleet and moved to Nepenthe to deal with his son’s terminal illness. So the fic follows 8-year-old Thad’s POV as his dad’s strange twin is dumped into their lives, and as he deals with the knowledge that he’s gonna die before he turns 18.

Book Recommendation:

I love books so this part is always the hardest to narrow down 💀💀 the books I liked the most, out of the ones I’ve read this past month or two, are:

Cuckoo’s Egg by C.J. Cherryh — an alien warrior monk raises a human infant … an infant cloned from a human explorer who killed all the alien’s comrades and nearly killed him too.

T.E. Lawrence: Biography of a Broken Hero by Harold Orlans — this is great both as a historical resource for writers (info is concise and easy to find) and as a psychological study on Lawrence’s masochism and sexual trauma.

The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel — idk, this is kinda my comfort book right now 😆 I could read it a thousand times. I adore all the main characters but especially personality-disordered Sydney. It’s nice to read about realistic flawed queer people! I get sick of the sugar-sweet fluff that makes up most “queer rep” in the book industry these days.

Help At Any Cost: How the Troubled Teen Industry Cons Parents and Hurts Kids by Maia Szalavitz — a really harrowing nonfiction book. If you’ve ever seen those Dr Phil specials about out-of-control teens who get sent to outdoors bootcamps or disciplinary boarding schools, then you know what the “troubled teen industry” is. This book examines its origins, traces through an obscure history, and spends a lot of time showcasing specific victims and the abuse they suffered.

Hm it’s really hard to narrow it down 😭 I also really loved Female Masculinity, Moby Dyke, Ferocious Romance (Donna Minkowitz), Mission Child (sci-fi book) and Patricia Wants to Cuddle… I’m not gonna describe them all, they’re just all really good.

Fic Recommendation:

Three Weddings and a Shuttlecraft by CarotCake_42 — imo the definitive Worf/Riker/Troi series. Set somewhere around season 7 of TNG, Deana Troi is dating Worf but still in love with Riker. Their solution — why doesn’t she marry both of them? Soon, thanks to a Klingon mating ritual, Worf and Riker are both married to Troi, and to each other. They have to constantly explain that while they ARE husbands, they’re totally straight and not attracted to each other at all…

…right? ��

I love this one for the characterization, plotty elements, humor, and very slow burn between two men who are literally already married. I also love the family elements: juggling custody of Alex, who can’t stand Commander Riker; telling their families, with very different reactions from over the top Lwaxana vs. the supportive (albeit confused) Rozhenkos vs. the icy Kyle Riker.

Music Recommendation

I don’t care much by Mason Alexander Park from Cabaret — I’m a lifelong Joel Gray and Alan Cumming fan and I didn’t think anyone could supplant them in my head, as Emcee. But Park’s rendition of “I don’t care much” is so raw and emotional … god it gives me chills.

youtube

Tagging @beebee-76 @coruscantiscribbler

Summer Reading/Writing/Arting

Thanks so much to @retro-hussy for the tag!

Rules: Follow the directions in bold.

Anyone can join! I’m tagging @alexx-dax, @madelgard (again) and @myurlismisleadingbutsoami, if y’all want to join.

Describe one creative WIP project you’re planning to work on over the summer.

@neumh‘s Imperials server is doing an AU August challenge that I’m really getting into. After that, I’m hoping to finish the next chapter of the soulmate Thrawn/Piett fic and maybe get started on Imptober…

Recommend a book.

I’ll recommend two - well, two series. First is the entire Murderbot Diaries series by Martha Wells, starting with All Systems Red. Second, the Imperial Radch trilogy (and its sequels) by Ann Leckie, starting with Ancillary Justice. These are great sci-fi on the harder end, slightly dark at points. In particular I love Murderbot’s subversion/reinterpretation of sci-fi horror tropes.

Recommend a fic.

Uhhhhhhh…..I’m gonna go with Snowed Under by @madelgard (frankly everything by her is fantastic but this was such a GIFT). Mads is a brilliant SW writer and her smut is incredibly hot. Also her Espoused series.

Recommend music.

I actually am a big fan of making my own playlists, but one of my perennial favorites is Sea Shanties You Could Theoretically Fuck. Which is not one I wrote at all.

#tag games #Youtube

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starlostseungmin · 2 years ago

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一 oh yes darling, hjs.

pairing — idol!han x gn!reader

genre — domestic fluff

warnings — mentions of sex but not implied, kissing, not proofread.

word count — 988

notes — this is just for an experiment, might delete later if it doesn't show on the tags. i'm so upset right now.

“I’m so exhausted darling, are you sure, you don’t want to cuddle with me?” Jisung asked, loosening his tie while you flip a page on the book you were reading, feeling the comfortable mattress and the new sheets from the laundry. It was a good Friday night which means it was your boyfriend’s day off the next day. He’s been working overtime during the week and badly wanted to rest, with the help of your cuddles, of course一but he came a little late today when he promised he will cook dinner for the both of you.

“No,” You said, flipping another page of the book leaving the poor man pouting his lips. He knows this game, this is one of those nights when you’re trying to play hard to get as a joke to make him act all cute and beg but your boyfriend knows you too damn well.

“Are you upset?” He said, taking off his white polo after the blazer. You tried you remain calm and fix your attention on the book you were reading. Jisung loves your reaction every time you see his exposed skin or the way he takes his clothes off in front of you. Nevertheless, it makes you crazy and he knows it. The change of the atmosphere caught you off guard, you didn’t even get to say anything before he was completely topless. Even the book is not helping and the words seem to be scrambled and hard to read.

“I’m not,” You said.

“Then why won’t you cuddle me?” He pouted.

“You were late,” You answered as he chuckled in return.

“So you’re upset with me,” Jisung smiled but you just rolled your eyes in response. “Come on, how do I make it up to you?” He asked, sitting on the empty space beside you, trying to get your damn attention away from the book. Your boyfriend loves to tease, he can manage to make you give in when he starts to do something that will make you sore in the morning. But it’s not that easy, because sometimes, you weren’t just up for it. Your boyfriend is not the type to be patient, but when it comes to you, he would always understand. Yet you would also feel bad about it when he sighs and leaves in disappointment after you refused. No arguments were made because he won’t force you if you don’t want it.

You sensed his face getting closer to yours, attempting for a kiss as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His hot breath gave you the chills down to your spine making the book fall on the mattress. Jisung started rubbing the tip of his nose on your cheek which made you giggle in response while attempting to break free from the tight hug. You knew he wouldn't be able to finish his night routine if you let him be like this for a while.

“Go wash up first, I’ll cuddle you alright?” You smiled, cupping his cheeks before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

“Fine, don’t forget the smooches,” He smirked, kissing the tip of your nose before dashing towards the bathroom. A smile formed on your face as you fixed your hair, and placed the book back on your side table. Your boyfriend has been working too hard that you are worried if he is getting enough rest. Being part of a famous boy group in the whole industry gives him a tight schedule where it’s rare to spend some time with his beloved. And the tour一the tour is right along the corner.

A sigh escaped your lips as you waited for him. He deserves all the cuddles he could get from you anyway. The love he gives and the time management he has when it comes to you are very endearing. You knew there are a lot of reasons to love him, and being loved by him is already a huge thing to earn.

You heard the bathroom door open and shut as his footsteps are getting closer to the bed. His hair is soaking wet and his body was enveloped in a white robe, you prepared for him. The dryer started doing its job as Jisung watched himself in front of the mirror while you wait. Watching him like that made you think you are the luckiest person on earth to have him. He’s perfect wherever you look at him, he denies them sometimes but his narcissistic side is not debatable.

“I will melt if you keep staring at me like that,” He said as you scoffed in response.

“I was just waiting,” You answered as he ruffled his disheveled hair, taking his way back to your shared bed.

“There’s something I wanted to say,” He said, halting a foot away from the mattress.

“Shoot,” You said.

“Why don’t we spice things up for tonight and stay in all day tomorrow huh?” He said, with a smirk on his lips while wiggling his brows. You could feel the heat rising on your cheeks and Jisung could see how they turned pink because of the blood rush. It’s been a while since the last time you did it一thanks to his occupied schedule, he’s been missing a lot with you.

“Honey, no,” You said.

“Oh, yes darling,” He said when he attempted to hover over you but you were too quick to move, making him fall to his face on the pillows. “Oh come on,” He whined in response as he laid on his back, kicking his legs on the sheets like a little kid, making you laugh.

“You’re so cute,” You said, kissing his cheek. “I was just kidding you know? Come here,”

“I won’t go easy on you, darling,” Of course, Jisung is a sucker for you. He never hesitated to get on top of you again, before crashing his lips on yours and wrapping your arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss.

taglist: @wolfchanchan @inseonqt @soobin-chois @hanjiesgf @koovvie @lix-ables @zoe8stay @gwynsapphire @cherryhanji @lixesque @seungly @sleepyleeji @kim-seung-mo @strangevante @h0neydewmoon @ppiri-bahng @myjisung @snow-pegasus @milkybonya @l3visbby @yejis-biggest-simp @tangylemonade @hwan-g — lmk if you want to be added or removed !!

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spearxwind · 2 years ago

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Oof I'm kinda scared to ask... Why do you not want to be an artist professionally?

Its just like, incredibly miserable in my experience.

Everyone wants their dream job of being paid to draw whatever the hell they want but 99% of the time you are hired and tasked to draw things that you don't have a lot of interest in, professionally speaking, and constantly getting your artistic efforts undermined by the rest of the team (this is esp. true in the videogame industry) artists always try to push for better designs and get their takes watered down for the sake of general public pleasing. Also you don't have a security blanket unless you're under long term contract. Most freelancers live gig to gig with the fear of not being able to support themselves if they don't take a job to take a break. Videogame and movie jobs arent stable because companies never keep the art teams, they are laid off and rehired whenever there is a new project

During my major, I drew nonstop for 4 years for class. Not always things I enjoyed, but also not always things I didnt like. In fact I enjoyed my major immensely! It was so fun. But the burnout is very, very real, and the workload was similar (even inferior to) regular art jobs. What happens if you like to draw in your off time? You spend your days making and pumping out art nonstop for hours, and then on your free time breaks you draw some more? I personally couldn't do it. I just wanted to do other things

And like.... I spent the first three years being told by teachers (people with stable, contract based jobs) how cool of a job it is to do art, and then the last year getting grilled on how insanely hard it is to make it out there. If you don't have connections, money, an audience, a studio, it's actually impossible. You need to be your own lawyer, abide by the very strict self employment rules that take a severe chunk out of your earnings. Do all of your finance/schedule/marketing etc while on top of that constantly producing work (I know there's people who can do it but, personally, I cannot) I really admire the people who were able to build themselves up as artists from the ground like this (because its definitely possible, just insanely hard)

Also, making something you love into your job ends up being miserable too. I experienced this with patreon, which I posted to as like a chill thing and it just got increasingly hard to make content for it or just post in general, even drawing my own ocs and sharing stuff about them started to feel like a chore.

Maybe it's just me though, this has just been my personal experience but yeah in general I realized I am immensely happier just keeping art as a hobby or its gonna suck my soul out (Since I already experienced it)

I don't mean to discourage anyone, I think the world in general needs more artists. But for that we would need to actually be taken seriously and valued, which sadly we are not, at all. And if there's anyone reading that is considering art as a job: it is absolutely grueling. It's not an easy job. Even if you desperately love art it can suck the life out of you and the joy for what you do

(As an extra sidenote. Artists are usually exploited using this mentality as well. That they are supposed to love their job. So they expect you to work your wrists off "For the passion". Dont fall victim to it)

#ask #anon #genuinely i just wanna share my stories and content. see others stories in turn and make friends about it #the desperate need to monetize everything that makes you happy is such an insidious mentality.#people need to learn that you can have hobbies without needing to monetize them. your joy has inherent value and you dont need to sell it #like... i need people to stop being like 'oh you are so good at art/crochet/writing you should sell things : )' it fucking sucks #there is a lot of nuance to the topic of course but im talking like. in general #doing art out of ones heart is always good but having to pump out content under the crushing wheel of capitalism and need to survive is not #this is about my experience with drawn art but this goes for any other artistic discipline #music... writing... etc. we are all in the same boat #sorry for the long winded answer and tags i am just so passionate about this #and especially as someone whos skill wasnt taken seriously until i started making money from it........ fuck that so fucking much #you are allowed to create. in fact you should create. without feeling the need to put a price on it #not everything needs a price tag to be valuable.#especially not your joy.

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haloxsaisha · 2 years ago

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Like To Be You.

Chapter 1: Flicker.

[Charles Leclerc x Singer!OC]

Summary: Charles Leclerc and Advika Hira seemed to have it all- their dream jobs, love and support from millions around the globe and trust worthy friends. What if life gave them a chance to go back to something that had been missing in their lives?

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and death, cringey fluff with a shit ton of cheesiness (because I'm covering the honeymoon phase please forgive me), Google translated French.

Word count: 2.2K words.

A/N: I have no clue how the Prologue is longer than this lmao, do read the prologue incase you missed it though. Nevertheless I hope y'all like the first chapter and do let me know if you want to be added to the tag list <33

Italicized font: flashbacks.

Small Italicized font in brackets: translations.

December 2023.

People bustling down in the streets below, the homely cafés, white and sparkly snow cascading down from sky which had orange, pink and blue scattered over it with the CN tower piercing through the sky. Toronto had always been one of Advika's favourite places in the world, the place always helped her relax and destress.

The sound of the front door shutting breaks her subconscious state and she turns back to look at her Canadian best friend, who was joining her in the balcony with two paper cups in his hand.

"I got us some hot chocolate." Shawn said, handing her one of the cups and she muttered a small thank you. She'd never been used to the snow and chillness since it never snowed at most of India, especially where she lived, which was in the South of the country.

Shawn Mendes had been Advika's first friend from the music industry and was also one of the most important people in her life. She'd been signed to Island Records a year after him and he always guided her through work, since he'd got his big break even before Advika joined and knew how hard it was for a newcomer to settle into the fast moving world of music.

The curly haired duo got along well instantly, their love for acoustic music, Harry Potter, romantic clichés and their struggle with anxiety creating a trusting bond very soon. Many rumours of them dating had come up but it never changed a thing between them or made it awkward. They always had each other's backs on both professional and personal fronts- album releases and tours, award functions and galas, crushes and heartbreaks too.

Which is why as soon as Advika's tour ended, she took refuge at his Toronto condo without hesitation, needing some space from the brain clogging tour stress and her break-up with the green eyed Formula 1 driver.

“How’s the tune coming up?” he asks referring to the hour she spent, trying to make a tune for a song she'd been working on for a while.

“Like shit, it feels like my creative energy has been burnt out” she groans, staring at her guitar as if a miracle would occur and finish the song she was working on.

“You need to give yourself a break Advi, all you keep doing is making songs, releasing them and then touring all over the world non stop ever since you’ve come into the industry." he sighs, giving her a concerned look "You didn’t even stop working during the pandemic while everybody was giving themselves a break because of the lockdown. And for god's sake speak to your team about making your tour a little less congested, it's clearly making your health or your personal life worse. ”

"I couldn't help doing that. Try having to be alone in your home for months without being able to step out because the entire world is shut. It's not at all lonely Mendes." she responds sarcastically.

"You need to lighten the weight in your head, what's going on in there?" he asks as they both sit on the couch and look at the view in front of them.

"You worry too much Shawn, I'm alright" she shakes her head, giving a weak chuckle.

"Don't give me that bullshit, you're very easy to read." he gives her a pointed glare "Not to mention, all you've done ever since you came back is sleep and you still look like a train wreck."

"I'm just tired." she sighs "Both physically and mentally. The tour drained all my energy out and things with Charles really hit the rock bottom. I don't know why, but it hurts so much. Which feels so ridiculous because even though we were dating, it wasn't for too long and it didn't make much progress either because we weren't able to spend much time with each other."

"Your mom wasn't wrong you know, you do get really attached to people very soon." he tells her and she leans her head backwards on the wall, feeling exasperated.

Advika would've felt so much better right now if her parents were around. Her appa (father) wouldn't have been happy about her being in a relationship, because he was rather narrow minded, but nevertheless would've helped her reduce her overthinking whereas her amma (mother) wouldn't have minded the relationship and would've given her some relationship advice too. She cursed fate for messing life up like that, all she had was her parents and the accident took them away six years ago.

Her parents had always been supportive about her passion for music, but convincing her amma to agree for signing to Island Records definitely wasn't easy because she stated that her daughter was too naive and trusted people easily, which could cause a lot of trouble in the entertainment industry. after a lot of convincing from the head of Island Records, promising that they'd make sure they would take care of a fifteen year old Advika, her singing career took off.

Naysha, Ria and Shawn's families did treat her like their own, but nothing replaces the void that the loss of parents leaves in a person.

"Please don't tell me you both never had a heart to heart conversation atleast once." he tells her, looking bewildered.

"Of course we did. We've spoken about how exhausting travelling for our career gets but then it doesn't matter because we're lucky enough to get to do what we're doing. We've also spoken about losing important people and the healing process, he's lost people who were very close to him and I've lost my parents. Yeah, there have been heavy conversations. What I meant was that long distance relationships progress really slow and the both of us wanted more than that." Advika explained, taking a sip of the warm beverage in her hand.

"Do you think wanting to keep the relationship on the private side was a bad idea?" Advika pondered.

"Not at all." he nodded his head "Especially with the way people were taking pictures and videos of the both of you when spend the summer break together this year, it's okay that you wanted to keep it away from the public eye until it became a very stable relationship."

The media and fans adored Charles and Advika. The pair first met at Paris to work on a photoshoot for Giorgio Armani, since both of them were the brand ambassadors and a connection sparked instantly. Advika being a huge Formula 1 fan and Charles being quite fluent in music helped them bonded over both the topics and time flew very quickly in those two days, his charm and her compassion blending together effortlessly.

They had also done a few interviews together and attended fashion weeks hosted by the brand, which brought in a lot of public attention towards them. Everybody could see the spark between them.

Advika shook the thoughts away from her head. There was no point reminiscing about the past anymore, she reminded herself. What was the point of a flickering spark when they couldn't even be around each other?

Shawn was probably right, she really needed to take a break.

August 2022.

"So, what do you think of Monaco?" Charles asked Advika, who had her back leaning against the railing of his Yacht.

"It's such a beautiful place." she tells, a happy glint in her eyes "I'll be honest, I normally don't like places which are sunny but I've actually fallen in love with the places here. And I think the beaches here are definitely making me want to stay here."

"I don't think I've been more grateful for paparazzi not being allowed without a permit here, the people aren't making you uncomfortable no?" he asks, referring to how people around them were constantly taking pictures of them.

"That's alright, it's nothing new. Something that we get to experience all the time we're at a public place." she nods her head in understanding" Plus, Formula 1 is a very loved sport at Monaco, so it's understandable that you get a lot of attention here. They love you."

Always so emphatic and sweet, he thought as her words brought a smile on Charles face.

"You look really pretty today." he tells her, admiring how her dusky skin shined under the Monacan sun.

"Says you." she retorts and he gives her a playful look.

"I know you're modest but you can admit that you look good, it's totally alright." he tells her and she rolls her eyes at him.

"Was your plan to make me blush the entire time because it's actually going really great." she tells him, her cheeks getting redder.

"Your cheeks are more red than my sun burn so yes, I think my plan is going really well." he continued teasing her.

"You really need to apply your sunscreen, love." she tried, knowing that he won't listen because she'd been trying to convince him into applying it.

"It's not a big deal Vika, I'll be fine." he shrugs it off lightly and she glares at him in response.

"Alright, I'll do it but only if you ask me to do it in French." he completes with a small smirk.

"Maybe you could teach me how to."

"Pouvez-vous appliquer un peu de crème solaire, mon amour." he tells it slowly with gaps so that she could slowly repeat it after him. (Can you apply some sunscreen, love)

"Je vais le faire, chérie" he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss on her forehead, noticing the usual red tint that formed on her cheeks whenever he called her "chérie". (I'll do it, darling.)

"You really know how to charm me with your cheesiness Leclerc." she tells, looking up at him.

"You can't blame me for doing that, I've missed you." he chided light heartedly.

"I missed you too, I wish my team kept a longer break in the middle." she sighed, a small frown making it's way onto her face.

"It's alright, you can do it for the next one." he said, rubbing small circles on her waist to calm her down. He noticed during their video calls that tour stressed her out and drained a lot of energy, although she'd never admit it because she loved meeting her fans and singing for them.

When they started dating, she'd been touring for two months and half a year into their relationship now, she'd been done with only three-fourths of it which Charles found really ridiculous because she had to travel every three days and then sink into lots of practice and with breaks of a week's duration coming up once in three months. He had no idea how she managed all the stress that came with a schedule like that, the last thing he wanted was for her to feel more stressed about the fact that they barely got to meet because of their very active work schedules.

"Shall we have food now, des gamins?" Pascale approached them, smiling and they nodded their heads in agreement. (kids)

"I'll help your mum with arranging everything." she told him, slightly tip toeing to place a peck on his cheek "You still haven't applied your sunscreen."

December 2023.

Charles had been a wreck of mixed emotions and he honestly had no clue about how to sort it out.

He missed Advika. He missed everything about her, even those video calls which he thought he hated. He missed the gleam in her eyes, the way her curls were a tangled mess every morning, the blush that appeared on her cheeks every time he said something cheesy and would call her "chérie", he missed the sound of her laugh which ringed even at the smallest jokes and her voice, god that was the one thing that had him holding on despite the long distance. Her voice and the smile that she always had on, no matter how shitty things were for her.

He got tired of the fact that they couldn't be around each other and instead of figuring out a way to be around each other more or at least wait until her tour ended, he just cut it off.

That was a decision worse than the ones his team made last year.

"Tu vas bien, mon fils?" the sound of his mother's voice breaks his chain of thoughts, bringing him back to the moment. (Are you alright, son?)

"Yeah I'm just thinking, nothing much really." he nodded his head at her.

"Sure, the look on your face is definitely saying it's much." she replies sarcastically "Do you want to talk about it."

"I was just thinking about everything that happened with Advika." he sighed and a look of concern appeared on her face.

"Well, do you feel guilty about breaking up with her on a day which was very important to you?"

Damn, what was it with mothers and being so blunt.

"No maman" he whined at her "I feel guilty for letting her go so soon, elle me manque déjà tellement." (I miss her so much.)

"Then talk to her about it. From what I've noticed about her, she's been the most understanding out of all the girlfriends you've had so far. I'm sure she'll at least listen about what you feel."

"She definitely will Maman" he agreed with her "But if we do decide to get together again it won't work out, especially with the way our schedules are set up."

"I think that's ridiculous. When two people really want to be with each other, no matter what comes in between they'll give their best to make sure they stay together despite all of it."

Charles could only accept those words in silence as a response, flying into deep thoughts again.

•••••

Taglist: @crueloveascities

#charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc series #charles leclerc #like to be you #charles leclerc x singer! reader #charles leclerc x oc #saisha writes #f1 imagine

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velvetstreets · 2 years ago

Note

Bestie, can you write something based off of this, for Jack? 🥰

You were going through your shared closet with Jack, trying to get some spring cleaning done- which your closet was in desperate need of. Jack and you had so many clothes and kept so many pieces from red carpets, gifts, promotional packages etc. You decided to go through your things first as Jack said he wanted to be there when he was ready to sort through his clothes.

You had already been at it for an hour, and made good progress. You slid a few hangers out your way that were hung with Jack’s clothes, until you saw an old dress of yours. It was the dress you wore the first time you met Jack, years ago. You smiled at the memory.

Your friend dragged you to the studio, she was lowkey a well known producer in the industry, having worked with Pharrell, Metro Boomin, among other artists like Ariana Grande, Drake, and SZA. She wasn’t famous but people knew of her, so she always dragged you to industry events and studio sessions with random artists every once in a while. Today was no different, she parked her G Wagon in the studio parking lot and turned to you.

“You excited?” she asked eagerly, almost bouncing in her seat.

“More like incredibly nervous and terrified.” You said laughing, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Cmon y/n it’s Drake and Pharrell and Jack Harlow all working together today! It’s gonna be so much fun, you’re being let in on some exclusive stuff here.” She said trying to get your nerves to settle and focus on how fun it was going to be.

“Yeah see, to me that just sounds like a lot of big names of talented people in which I have no business in being around. It’s gonna be weird that I’m here, I serve no purpose.” You said to her as you both got out the car and started walking to the building.

“Stop the negative talk bitchhh, get excited! And so what if you’re not an industry person, you’re part of the target audience so your opinion is for sure important too. Plus if they got an issue with you, they’re gonna have to go through my ass first, and you know I’ll take any mf that play with you, down.” She said giving you a reassuring look.

You both walked into the building, greeting the receptionist and then moving further into the hallway that held multiple studios. Your friend led the way until she stopped at one door and opened it. She walked in and you were right behind her, your eyes glancing over everyone that was in the room. You saw Pharrell and Drake standing by the soundboard talking while Jack Harlow was sitting on the couch on his phone.

“Hey y’all, sorry we’re late, traffic is a mf. This is my bestie Y/N, I’m sure you gentlemen will treat her very nicely right? Anyways, let’s get into it.” Your bestie said introducing you and setting her bag down while walking over to the soundboard.

Drake and Pharrell came over to greet you with handshakes and introductions. You politely returned the greeting and gave a smile while shaking their hands. Drake looked over at Jack who hadn’t stopped staring at you since you walked in.

“Seems like you’re Jackie boy’s type. She seems sweet, go easy on her yeah?” Drake laughed and turned back to work with your friend.

Jack walked over to you and stuck his hand out.

“Ignore him. Hi, I’m Jack.” He said in a deep voice that sent a playful chill up your spine.

“Y/N.” You said shaking his hand and giving him a sweet smile that made your dimples peek out. Jack grinned harder at this, still enamored with you and shaking your hand.”

“Oh- sorry.” He laughed awkwardly as he finally noticed and let go of your hand.

“All good.” You smiled at him and made your way to sit on the couch.

He came and sat next to you and started up conversation, asking you what you did, what you were into, if you had heard any of his music, pretty much any and everything he could think of, he asked you. He wanted to know everything about you, making mental notes to keep handy for when he would eventually ask you out later. He took in your appearance as you talked, eyes raking down the cute dress you had on. It hugged your body perfectly, slight cleavage peeking out at the top, and the hem of the garment ending at mid-thigh. You were beautiful, and that was just that start. Your laugh and your voice made his heart flutter, he craved hearing more, seeing more, being around you more. He was finally called upon to go record his verse, and he winked at you before getting up to walk into the booth and record. The music played and Jack started to rap, occasionally opening his eyes to look at you and smile. After a few takes, he was finished and came back out. You two continued to talk and Jack’s knee occasionally touched yours, and you did the same with your hand, occasionally touching his chest as you laughed or he said something stupid.

After a few hours, your friend had decided it was time to dip. You gave everyone a hug goodbye, Jack being last. He wrapped his arms over your shoulders, pulling your into him as you wrapped yours around his waist. He put his head on top of yours and you breathed in his LV perfume that made you shudder a little. Jack grinned at your reaction and whispered in your ear as the others said their goodbyes.

“I really liked hanging with you today. D’you think I could get your number and we could keep hanging sometime?” Jack whispered.

“Mmhmm.” You nodded before releasing your grip on him and he whipped out his phone. You typed your number in and gave it back to him.

You smiled at him and he grinned giddily. He gave you a quick hug once more and whispered “I’ll text you.” and you finally left with your friend who was embarrassingly making eyes at you the entire time.

Once you left the building, you felt your phone vibrate. You pulled it out and saw it was a text from Jack.

“What are you doing Friday evening mamas? :)” you smiled, texting him back and making plans.

That was three years ago. You pulled out the dress and put it on, deciding to FaceTime Jack and show him your lost and found discovery. You smoothed the dress down and fixed your hair a little while waiting for Jack to answer.

He answered and you stood back smiling so he could see the entire dress.

“Hey baby, remember thi-“ you started to say before Jack started to screenshot the hell out of you.

“Jack!” You laughed blushing at his actions.

“Sorry baby, couldn’t help myself, especially when you’re wearing one of my favorites. You look even better in it than the day I met you, which should be impossible you were fine as hell- wearing the hell outta that little dress, teasing me.” He cheesed through the camera.

“I didn’t even know you then, any teasing was unintentional.” You said holding your hands up.

“Mmhmm, you knew what you were doing.” Jack said sarcastically, pulling a giggle from you.

“You really do look good in that dress y/n. Like real good. You wanna go out to dinner tonight mamas? Dust off that cute ‘lil fit, and later we’ll come home and I’ll knock the dust off that pussy of yours.”

You smiled shaking your head at his comments.

“Like this pussy needs any dusting off.” You said rolling your eyes.

“You’re right, she doesn’t. But she does need her daily filling of me.” He said with a smirk.

“Jack! Shut up” Your eyes widened, knowing he was at the studio and there were probably people around him.

“Who cares, you’ll forget they heard that in 15 min when I’m making you scream, get ready, I’m on my way. He said winking.

You but your lip and let out a small grin.

“See you soon baby.”

#anon #jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x you #jack harlow smut #jack harlow blurb

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still want to take me on a date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I won’t,” you say.

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

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

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