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feverinfeveroutfic · 2 years

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like blood from a stone | chapter seventeen

(ao3 title: cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies)

happy birthday, alex love you to the moon and back, baby 💜

The sun was bright and golden on this particular day. Not a single cloud in the sky overhead. The air was filled with that fresh smell of salt all throughout. I had on my sunglasses and I had my eyes on the ocean off to the side every so often. The richest blue of all richest blues in the world, and the mere sight of it comforted me in a way that being up in the Bay Area alone couldn’t suffice.

Even with the saltiness of the air around me, there was a bit of sweetness in there as well. The strangest sweetness that gave me some sort of momentary peace the more I relished over it.

Chuck walked along right next to me the wooden boards of the boardwalk. His lush dark curls fluttered in the wind and the smooth silken skin of his diamond-shaped face resembled to the smoothest, finest porcelain. Whenever he smiled, his eyes seemed to sparkle and light up with the soft sunlight around us. When he got a big soft-serve vanilla and chocolate ice cream cone for the each of us, and the scoops of ice cream came in those big swirled towers all the while, it almost seemed as if he had streams of glitter embedded in the roots of his hair. I nudged my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose and I gave my hair a toss back with a flick of my head.

It was that moment I wished that I had a camera on my person just to capture his smile and the twinkle in his eyes.

There was another moment after that when I completely forgot about the gray sliver on the crown of my head as well as the scar on his own head. I licked on my ice cream and I moved my hand away from my hip to hold onto his hand. He swatted at my hand and wagged his finger at me: I looked straight ahead to the small crowds before us and I flashed him a wink at that.

Maybe I really was that nuts myself, but I was willing at that moment. I wanted to feel him right next to me. To feel him there as I licked up my ice cream. I wanted to run my fingers up his arm and then put my arm around the small of his back. But we were surrounded by so many people, so many families.

Nothing to see here: just a couple of boys eating ice cream and talking a walk on the boardwalk together in the golden California sunshine. Just a couple of boys eating ice cream right before we do something else together when all eyes are averted away from us. Just a couple of boys eating soft-serve ice cream with a very unfortunate shape for all of your eyes to bear witness to.

This was the second time in a row I had ice cream only to follow it up with some sort of encounter.

Every time I ran my tongue along the side of the swirls, I thought of running my tongue along the side of his shaft, along the side of that gorgeous dick down below. It also didn’t help matters that I caught the sound of the tides underneath the boardwalk at one point: I was swirling like the ice cream and the rush of the ocean waters all around us.

I started to think the whole thing was intentional. Chuck genuinely wanted to brush away my hand lest the two of us get caught holding, but then again, every time I licked my ice cream and peered over my sunglasses at him, he cracked me a smile, and he carried this soft, gentle twinkle in his eye at the same time. We reached the entrance to the roller coaster and he showed me the tip of his tongue: when the lady in front of us turned her back to us, he puckered his little lips and flashed a wink at me.

Oh, to feel paradise for myself. The sweetest thing. The best thing. The bestest thing known to man.

Though I had reached the rim of the waffle cone, I still hadn’t finished my ice cream by the time he and I boarded the roller coaster together. I cozied up next to him nevertheless as we strapped ourselves into the car at the very front. I wanted to touch his hand with my free hand, but I could only put up a front with that arm up in the air over my head as we made our way up the hill.

Our hair swirled every which way as we reached the utmost crest of that hill. I peered out before us to the vast blue sheet of the ocean. I swore that he and I were about to reach the top of the world together, such that I took a big bite out of that cone, which in turn caught him off guard and I almost choked on it from laughing so hard.

Chuck held onto the bar while I stayed hands free all the way down. I was amazed that the ice cream stayed in my stomach because the drop was so strong and vast before us, and I nearly leapt out from the suddenness.

My sunglasses stayed on the whole drop down to the first corner. I finally held onto the bar along with him, just so he wouldn’t feel so alone in holding onto it.

We rounded a sharp turn, such that we turned over onto the side a bit, and that was when his shrieks morphed into an utter burst of laughter.

I suggested including that on the next Death record, but the thought disappeared about as quickly as it came, especially as we reached the corkscrew. I started laughing myself once I realized that I held onto the ice cream cone the whole entire time we ventured through there.

I was there. I was with my soulmate and I was having a good time. The wind through my hair. Everything a euphoric blur. Every curve. Every turn. Every ephemeral fluttery feeling that welled up inside of me with each and every time.

The feeling of euphoria through and through with me, almost to the point that I couldn’t take it anymore and I wanted to let go of every care ever right then and there.

Wild to think that I stared down my own wedding in a few days’ time, especially once we slowed to a crawl before the platform. Chuck clapped his hands over his head and I gave my hair another little toss back away from my face and I took another bite of waffle cone.

“Man, you never let go of that thing!” the guy behind us declared, and I showed him the cone.

“Not even for one second,” I proudly declared. Chuck and a couple of people behind us all giggled at that, and once we reached a full stop and the bars lifted off of us, I climbed out of the car first, and then he followed suit from right behind me.

I scurried off of the platform and towards the exit gate first, and the whole time, I crunched on the cone. All the while, I thought of another thing that I could be crunching on.

Chuck raced up from behind me and he clasped his hands on my shoulders, and he nearly knocked me over from the power of his own hands. He and I both burst out laughing from the sheer euphoria.

His hand grazed over the seat of my pants for a swift second before he removed his hand. I peered over my shoulder to find the crowd right behind us. I really hoped no one saw that move as I finished out the remainder of my waffle cone.

“Holy shit, Alex—look over there—” He pointed over my shoulder and I followed his direction to the sight on the other side of the boardwalk. Indeed, when I followed his gaze, I recognized a mane of long smooth hair underneath a black cowboy hat as it towered over the crown of smooth light brown hair.

“What the hell?” I muttered, and I peered back at Chuck and the befuddled look upon his face. “I thought Lars was at his rehearsal dinner.”

“I thought he was, too!” he said in a hushed voice. “What’s he doing with Cliff, of all people?”

I shook my head and I returned my gaze to the two of them over there. It looked to be innocuous but neither of us could judge anything from afar, especially since neither of us held hands in public all to avoid prying eyes and hushed murmurs against us. If only I could read lips, then perhaps I could decipher as to what Cliff was saying to him right then. Given our soul tie to one another, Chuck must have read my mind right then.

“What say you and I do a little snooping?” he suggested, and I shrugged my shoulders.

“I dunno, Chuck, I don’t feel right about it,” I told him. “I mean, for starters, it’s nobody’s business. A juicy piece of gossip or not, I don’t really want to do that to Lars. Or Cliff, for that matter. It's also going to be so rich coming out of me, too—given I'm right here with you just mere days prior to my own wedding day.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “But—if Lars is cheating on Kirk mere hours before their own wedding across the street, he has to know about that, too.”

“True,” I replied in a low voice. I nibbled on my bottom lip. It gave me such a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, but at the same time, if there was a bit of truth to all of this, it had to be freed. Kirk had to know if his groom snuck around his back with a man who reminded me of a cross between a dark cowboy and a classical musician out of the baroque period.

Something inside the back of my mind told me that Cliff was the real prince, and Kirk was merely the king consort.

“You know what else is juicy is—you,” he muttered right into my ear, and I swatted back at him. I led him over to the potted bushes on the side of the boardwalk; I stooped down so they wouldn’t see me, but I soon realized that we were a bit too far away for them to discern anything.

“Alex, back here,” Chuck commanded to me; I peered over my shoulder to see him pointing to the posts that lined the edge of the boardwalk. I bowed over there with him at my back. Once we had ducked out of sight, he rested his hand on my hip, and I glanced back at him with a smirk on my face.

“Hey, you wanted to hold my hand back there,” he teased me. “We’re out of sight now so I can touch your hip and your body.”

“Does that mean I can touch yours?” I asked him.

“If you want when we’re done here,” he promised me, and he flashed me a little wink all the while.

We reached the posts all along the railing: before the railing stood a series of long low wooden benches as well as those binocular stands for a view out to the ocean and the beach down below. He lingered close behind me as we skirted along behind the first two stands. I ducked down behind the one with the dartboard on the other side, because I had no idea as to how hard the person was throwing the darts over there.

I skulked behind the next stand, the one that sold funnel cakes and deep-fried cookies, and the thought of both alone were enough to fill up my belly. I lingered behind the corner and I took a peek around the edge, and I beheld the sight of Lars and Cliff at a small table. The latter had his back to me and the former sat on his left side, and thus, there was no way to see either of their faces or make out as to what they were saying. I could, however, see the red cup of beer in Cliff’s hand.

Chuck lingered right over my head, such that the ends of his hair brushed up against my shoulder like a fine piece of horse hair. The feel of his hair sent shivers up and down my spine like a zipper.

“What the hell are they doing?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t know, it’s hard to see,” I confessed. “If they get up, you and I are gonna have to follow them.”

Cliff said something right then, and Lars burst out laughing: though they sat about fifty feet away from us, he laughed loud enough for me to hear. I swallowed down my own nervous feeling inside as I watched the two of them. The aroma of the funnel cakes at the side there made it a bit difficult to focus, and for all I knew, one of them could very easily turn around and mosey on over there in front of us.

“I’m scared they’ll see me,” I confessed to him. “Even from a distance, I can feel my gray streak is too conspicuous.”

Chuck nibbled on his lip and he peered around the corner again. He then turned back to me.

“Here, they don’t recognize me, so I'll have a go for it,” he told me. I lingered back and he pulled ahead to the side of the stand perpendicular to us. The smell of funnel cakes there on my right was all too consuming: I rested my hands on my stomach to ease the gnawing hunger but it was useless. We had to shape up and eat something, even if this whole thing between the two of them was important.

Chuck then doubled back towards me with his hands extended out.

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Shhh, get down, get down...”

I lingered back behind him and the two of us peered around the corner to that particular table out in the open. Cliff stood to his feet and sipped on his beer some more. Indeed, I recognized Lars’ long smooth hair, which extended down to the halfway point of his back.

“I think they’re going to come this way because the benches are over here,” he replied.

“Shit. What do we do?”

“Let’s go around.”

He and I doubled back to the other corner of the funnel cake stand: lucky for us, there was a narrow gap between it and the other stand next door. We crept along that narrow line of wooden boards until we reached the front end, right below the cash register and the frier. He and I ducked out from behind it, one right after the other, only to find that they had gone.

“I think they are over there,” I told him as we rounded the front side of the funnel cake stand. “I’m not seeing his cowboy hat anywhere. Or Lars’ mane of hair.”

We reached the fourth corner of the stand and indeed, there was Lars, with his back to us as he and Cliff walked on over to the benches, right where we staked out.

Careful not to bring attention to ourselves, I skirted along the white side of the stand first. Before I reached the corner, however, I stopped, and I let Chuck round me for a view around the corner himself.

He and I both crouched down behind the corner.

“Where are they?” I asked him, and he turned to face me.

“Literally right near here,” he told me in a low voice. “We’re definitely going to get something out of this.”

He and I turned our attention back to Lars and Cliff: I had to picture the two of them on the bench that was right behind us because I knew for a fact that they would recognize me by my streak alone.

“Take a walk on the beach later?” Cliff was suggesting to him.

“I vote ‘yes’!” Lars exclaimed. “We are going to need a little time away from everything, too, given the delays with the wedding and whatnot. It's why I wanted to come on over here for a moment. We can also still hear one another here, too.”

There was a brief silence and I hoped that neither of them had seen the two of us hidden behind the corner. That warm, soft aroma of funnel cakes was driving me insane: though I had a big ice cream cone not long before then, I still yearned for something warm and sweet and all kinds of fattening. I was eighteen and I stared down my own fate soon enough: I had to live up as much as I could before I ascended to princedom.

“Man, are you sure you really want to go through with the wedding?” Cliff asked him.

“Please understand, I don’t want to,” Lars replied, and I could hear the doubt in his voice. Chuck and I glanced at one another with our eyebrows raised. “But rather—I have to. It is part of the arrangements, after all. I am sure that you and James have a binding of some sort between the both of you.”

“James,” Chuck muttered.

“I know, that—stuns me, too,” I confessed to him. “I always thought Dave would be the one for James, but I guess not?”

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Cliff confessed.

“What do you mean?” Lars asked.

“I mean, it’s a, uh—little hard to explain.”

“Well, you can explain to me,” Lars assured him. “Trust me on this, Cliff. You can totally explain your feelings to me.”

I closed my eyes. I wanted to make a run for it from there but Chuck and I were in too deep. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there was no way that we could make a run for it back to the chapel across the street when we could very easily be seen by someone, whether it was the two of them or someone inside the chapel for that matter.

“I don’t think James necessarily wants to go through with it, as much as it’s written in stone,” Cliff started. “I just see the look on his face and in his eyes, and I get a sense that he genuinely does not want to be a part of it all. We're a band, we’re always a band first and foremost. But I believe becoming a prince is a little daunting for him, though. I want to be able to comfort him, not just as a proverbial brother and his best friend, but as his groom, too. Thing is I don’t want it to be obvious that I'm coming at him as a groom as well, because—” He stopped.

“Because?” Lars asked him.

“Because I’ve seen how he acts, Lars,” Cliff continued. “Have you seen how he acts with—the way all of the guys who are engaged to each other—have you seen his behavior and what he’s said before?”

“No.” A brief pause. “Is it bad?”

“Depending on what your definition of ‘bad’ is,” Cliff pointed out. “But when I first heard it, I was floored by the words that were coming out of his mouth. There was one time—this was pretty recent, too—I was looking over our papers and he was on the phone with someone at HQ, I believe. I just happened to hear the word slip out of his mouth.”

“The word.”

“Yeah. You know. The word. The word that makes every gay boy—or girl—grimace and feel such self-loathing.”

Another brief pause, and then Lars gasped. “No! He couldn’t! He shouldn’t! He mustn’t!”

Indeed, I gaped at the sound of that. Chuck and I glanced at one another in apprehension.

“When I heard it, I had to stop myself from running into the next room to lecture him,” Cliff continued. “I didn’t know what he was going to do, though, if I did. Otherwise, I would have done it. I'm looking at our arrangement and I want to cry, you know, because—this is the man I'm set to marry. I mean, I still love him as he is, but to hear those words coming out of his mouth, it just—it hit me deep. It hit me deep knowing that this is how he feels with the boys from Testament and Death Angel and Exodus and Possessed and any other band that’s arranged, engaged, and free.”

“We’re not free,” I muttered with a shake of my head.

“Yeah, neither are we,” Chuck added.

“I worry,” Cliff continued, “that he’s going to make a scene at your wedding. I worry that he’ll pitch a fit or do something drastic.”

“He’s our brother, though,” Lars pointed out. “What is the worst he can do, besides say those things?”

Another pause and a gust of oceanic breeze welled up behind us. Chuck huddled closer to me, and I put my arm around him to keep him warm.

“I don’t know,” Cliff answered. “It’s hard to say, actually. I mean—we know him, he’s stern and taciturn James. He'll probably put on a mask but that’s about it, though. That's all I can probably say.”

“And what about your wedding?” Lars asked.

“I don’t know what will happen there, too,” Cliff continued, “especially since we’re going to be legally bound to another and I'm going to have to kiss him. I'm going to have to kiss those lips and I have this nagging feeling inside of me that he’ll want to do something drastic then. As far as I know, our marriage could be in shambles before it’s even out the door.”

It was right then I thought about the Chuck I was engaged to. Something told me that things could be far worse on our end with all of this in mind. I wanted the Chuck next to me all to myself, but I also wanted the Chuck I was set to marry to be happy by my side. Everything was locked and loaded for the two of us to be bound together, and there I was, sneaking around behind his back with the Chuck I shared a soul bond with. Too many conflicting feelings and too many things to mull over as they spoke up once again.

“Loving another man such as yourself is like trying to extract blood from a stone, Lars,” Cliff said, and I could hear the tears in his voice. “I want to be able to love you as you are. And I'm sure that there are plenty of men out there who feel the same with the ones they love.”

“Things will work out,” Lars gently assured him. “I am positive that they will.”

“How do we know this, though?” Cliff pointed out. “We don’t. Hell, I don’t even know if James is the one for me, or if you’re the one for me. It's impossible to know.”

“Bullshit,” Chuck blurted out in a low voice right then.

“Yeah, I was just going to say—that's complete nonsense,” I followed up with a soft chuckle.

“I am confident that something will happen to one of the both of us,” Lars assured him once again. “Something will arise, something will happen, and we will witness the bond in action. What that something is remains a mystery left to unfold.”

Cliff sniffled right then: another trickle of the warm funnel cake aroma reached us and I could feel my stomach rumbling again. A nice big plate of funnel cake with lots of powdered sugar and fresh strawberries and whipped cream on top sounded so divine right at that moment.

“By the way, you say ‘blood from a stone’ as if I am some sort of jewel in your crown, Cliff,” Lars confessed with a little chuckle.

“You are a jewel, Lars,” Cliff confessed to him. “A shining little emerald from the shores of Denmark brought out from the darkness that rides the north. You shine like the soft glow of the northern lights that loom over the black ocean like the filmiest, silkiest drapes known to mankind.”

“Wow,” Chuck breathed.

“Poetry,” I added. “Pure, unadulterated poetry.” Sometimes I did in fact wonder if Cliff came from a different time period and we all had retrogressed back to another one without his knowledge, given he spoke with such eloquence.

“Oh, my lord,” Lars breathed out.

“I want you the same way the sun wants the ocean at the end of the day,” Cliff continued. “I want you the same way the ocean caresses the sky out before us. There is something between us, and it’s going to drive me insane if I don’t figure it out soon enough.”

I brought a hand to my chest and gave it a pat as if he made my own heart pound.

“By the way, I don’t know what they’re selling over here, but it smells spectacular,” Lars pointed out, and Chuck and I both stopped.

“I think it’s funnel cakes or—deep-fried something or other,” Cliff followed up. “Deep-fried deep fry.”

Lars laughed at that again. “It smells so good, like it’s making me hungry just thinking about it.”

“Me, too,” Cliff added.

“Are they coming?” I asked him. He peered around the corner and gasped.

“Yes! Yes, they are! Quickly!”

I almost stumbled out from behind that wall there and I darted ahead to the table where they were before. Most of the crowd had cleared out at that point given the sun hung low over the ocean: Chuck and I could very easily be caught. But I ducked around the table to the next stand across the boards, and he came up right behind me. Breathing hard, I hid behind a trash can and Chuck lingered right there next to me.

“What’re they doing?” I asked him, out of breath.

“I don’t see them,” he replied as he set a hand on his hip. “They probably went around but—it's hard to say, though.”

“Sucks, ‘cause I really, really want a funnel cake now,” I confessed.

“You just had ice cream, though,” he scoffed at me. “That was a big scoop of ice cream, too, like it filled me up!” But then he chuckled at me.

“It smelled so good, though,” I insisted. “And I'm trying to live a little, too.”

“Funnel cakes aren’t that good for your boyish figure,” he said in a singsong voice and with a wag of his finger.

“But they’re so good! My boyish figure wants the crispiness and the fattiness.”

“What about pastrami? There's a pastrami place over here right behind us.” He gestured to the white stand about twenty feet from there. “Besides, we don’t run the risk of running into them, either.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Besides, there is something sexy about pastrami. Pastrami with the jus and big fat pickle slices.”

“There you go! I'll get us a couple of sandwiches. Wait right here.”

Chuck bowed away from there, and all the while I stood to my feet and ran my fingers through my hair. I let out a low whistle as I doubled back to a bench right behind me. No sooner had I taken my seat when a long dark shadow crossed over my head and shoulders. I turned my head and there was that black cowboy hat and those dark clothes despite the soft warmth of the day. His face lit up and he nodded at me.

“Hey! It's that Skolnick boy.”

“Oh, uh—hi, Cliff,” I greeted him, and as I lifted my sunglasses to be polite for him, I could feel the blush in my face already.

“I thought that was you,” he said, and he lingered at the far end of the bench: his shadow crossed over me and I wanted to shrink back into the bench so much right then. I worried that he caught me and Chuck back over there by the funnel cake stand before we had a chance to get away from there.

“I’m just, uh—” I cleared my throat. “Waiting for Chuck. He's getting both me and him a sandwich.”

“Aw, that’s cool. Hey! You know I'm here right now with Lars and he’s getting married tomorrow. I wanna know if you’re going to the wedding.”

“Yes! Yes, I am. Why? Did you not get an invitation?”

“I did! I'm just curious ‘cause—you know how things are with—the way things are.”

“No, I don’t,” I said with a shake of my head. I glanced over at the pastrami stand, and I could see Chuck’s curly hair at the back of the line. It would be some time before he came back over to me and the bench.

“C’mon, you and Chuck are engaged,” Cliff encouraged me and he leaned closer to me, “you can’t really talk about it out in the open—at least, not in a place where people can eavesdrop on you.”

“Oh, that. Uh, yeah? Yeah. Now that you say it, yes, yes, definitely. I know how things are with us.” I cleared my throat again. Aside from the ice cream being so delicious and the funnel cakes smelling excellent, I wanted a glass of water so badly right then.

I peered behind him. “Where is Lars, by the way?”

“He’s getting us a couple of funnel cakes,” he replied with a gesture behind him. “They just smelled so good, so he and I couldn’t resist it.”

“Don’t they? When we were walking past there, I caught whiff of it and my stomach started rumbling almost immediately. He talked me out of it, though, he said it’s not good for my boyish figure.”

Cliff laughed out loud at that, and then he turned his attention to the pastrami stand. “You said Chuck’s getting the both of you a sandwich?”

“Yeah.”

He craned his neck and I swallowed hard. “I don’t see him over there. And he’s as tall as me.”

“Uh, he—probably had to use the bathroom and ducked out of the line real quick.” My heart sank when I knew that I was lying right to Cliff’s face, but it was all I could do at the moment. I let my eyes wander to right behind him and there was Lars standing out in the open with two baskets of funnel cake. I pointed over to him. “Your ride’s waiting for you.”

Cliff turned and nodded at him. “Oh, good!” He gestured for Lars to come on over, and I grimaced at that. Lars then nodded at him from afar and he hurried over to the bench.

“Hey! There you are.” I tried to keep myself composed as the two of them congregated right there right next to me. I hoped that Chuck would see them and keep away from there as long as he could. The two of them stood side by side to each other like a couple of chess pieces. Meanwhile, my stomach began to ache with hunger as well as nerves.

“Lars, you remember Alex Skolnick,” Cliff declared as he took the basket and cradled it in one hand.

“Oh, how could I forget,” Lars said with a twinkle to his eye. “How could I forget him at all. Going to be a part of our wedding, dearest Cliff.”

I swallowed again, and my throat was dry and parched from the feeling. I swore that I was dying of thirst.

“Well, how ‘bout that!” Cliff exclaimed as he picked up the little white plastic spork. The mere sight was making me even hungrier. “Fun and games for the whole family and then some.”

“Where’s Chuck, by the way?” Lars asked me.

“The men’s room,” I quipped to him. I thought I was going to pass out if I didn’t eat something or have a drink of water.

“Really? I think I just saw him across the street talking to—what's his name, from Exodus. Steve.”

“Zetro?” I asked him.

“Zetro, yeah. I could’ve sworn I saw him over there talking to him.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip. I had been painted into a corner then for all I knew. I had to get away from there, especially when I noticed that the line for the pastrami stand moved up one. Chuck was getting our food.

I almost jumped up onto my feet in front of them.

“Where are you going?” Lars asked me with his mouth full of decadent cake and fresh strawberries.

“I need something to drink,” I told them.

“There’s a water fountain right over here,” Cliff told me, and he pointed to the space behind me.

“No, I need—something—to drink,” I insisted. “I’ll be right back.” Before either of them could say anything further, I ducked away from there as fast as I could. I bowed past the pastrami stand to the rest of the boardwalk all to be away from the two of them. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Chuck moving away from the counter with two baskets in one hand and a pair of blue cups nestled in his other arm against his body.

“Alex?” Chuck called out to me. I dared not to look over my shoulder lest the two of them see me.

“Alex? Alex? What's the matter?”

I kept on running, out of sight, out of mind. I wanted to be away from them for a bit, just so they wouldn’t have to see me with the other Chuck, the Chuck I had a bond to. It was so wrong of me, but I didn’t want them to see me like this. I didn’t want them to know that we were eavesdropping on them, and I didn’t want our relationship to be put in jeopardy, either, especially if Cliff’s perceptions of Testament were anything to abide by. Plus, there was the whole thing with Lars having partaken in that foursome out in the woods, and I had absolutely no clue if he told Cliff or Kirk about it.

But then again, Cliff introduced me to him, which meant Lars never told him about that night.

But it felt like looking in a mirror to top it all off. We eavesdropped on them, and Cliff was oblivious to that night. The secrets had to remain secrets for as long as the lock and key were intact. The secrets had to stay in the stone no matter how much Cliff tried to make it bleed out.

I skidded around the corner to the next ride and a big glass case of fresh popcorn. It was right then my stomach ached with hunger. I was so thirsty as well.

Panting, Chuck hurried up behind me. I extended a hand to him to help up with those two drinks tucked under his arm as well as the top basket with that fresh pastrami sandwich.

“The hell are you doing?” he demanded over the noise of the popcorn machine.

“Cliff and Lars saw me,” I said. “I tried to cover for us, but it was so uncomfortable, though. They also thought I was with Chuck when I said your name, too. I didn’t want us to get caught, especially given how much Cliff feels about us, about Testament. He thinks we’re picture perfect compared to what he’s having to deal with.” I sipped on the drink and I was met with the fresh tang of lemonade, such that it felt so good to drink it up. It felt so good in fact that I rolled my eyes into the back of my head from the sheer taste of it.

“Shit. Well, let’s see if we can find a spot for ourselves, away from them.”

“I told them I'd be right back, though,” I pointed out, and I gave the lemonade another sip. Sweet and tangy, the perfect balance of both.

“What’d you do that for?” He gaped at me.

“Again, to cover,” I said. “I had to think quick and get myself out of there, especially since Cliff noted that Chuck—the one I’m engaged to—is his height and he can apparently recognize him from a crowd better than he can recognize me from a crowd. He told me he didn’t see Chuck in line and by the time you got up to the counter, I was already running away.” Another sip and a shiver ran up my spine.

“We really have to be careful from here on out,” Chuck told me as we stepped away from the popcorn machine and up the boardwalk to the next round of rides. “It also kind of makes you wonder if James knows anything about Lars, too.”

“Hard to say,” I told him. “Plus, Lars didn’t mention anything about talking to James when we were listening in on them, either. Like, he was genuinely shocked that James could say such awful things.” Though he and I were walking together, I almost closed my eyes as I sipped on the lemonade some more.

“Yeah, he was, and—you’re enjoying that lemonade just a little too much, Alex.” He laughed.

“It’s delicious and I'm thirsty,” I quipped in between sips.

“You’re a thirsty boy!” he laughed at that.

“Thirsty and hungry, too, god this smells delicious.”

“Delicious and juicy,” he kept on laughing.

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graywolf45 · 26 days

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The dining establishments I visited during my annual trip to Vermont.

My parents and I went to Vermont a few weeks ago, as we do every summer, and that was fine. The only thing I didn't like was that we spent three weeks there, All things considered everything was fine it is just that I planned to spend two weeks with my parents, but I didn't remember that my mother likes to spend as much time in Vermont as possible which is something I should remembered from last year but I did not, which made me slightly annoyed because I should have remembered that. My parents and I ate pizza from a place called Stones Throw. The pizza was not anything to write home about. It tasted good, but there was not anything that I thought was special about it. That is why I briefly mention it here and do not write a separate paragraph. A few days later, we went to a restaurant called Electra. It was all right. I had a small stake with French fries and soda, and my father had some soup. I believe my mother had some seafood dish whose name escapes me, but I will account for all the food being good for them. I noticed that the restaurant could have been busier than it was, given that we were there around dinnertime in America for most people. I also thought that Electra could have more waitresses and waiters, but for all I know, it a slow night for them. I wish I had not been the main course so I could have tried the dessert, which I plan to do if we revisit that restaurant. I think that Electra is a slightly overrated restaurant, even though the food was pretty good, and I hope that in the future. They update the artwork they have on the walls. The restaurant I enjoyed the most on this vacation would have to be Bark Eaters Restaurant before, but it always gives me a nice small-town restaurant feel when I am there. The only thing I did not like about the meal was that it felt like they could have had fish for the meal. I mitigated enough fries to defeat a small army, but only three things that look like fish fillets in the tartar sauce were pretty good. my parents took an opportunity to enjoy one of Vermont's staple desserts, soft ice cream. My favorite is the chocolate and vanilla swirl and the maple and vanilla swirl. Both good combinations cookie love and Olson's are currently the main places my parents and I go for soft ice cream near where we stay in Vermont. One of these places is called cookie love the nearest place to where we live, it's and the the place has good ice cream and standard sizes good. The place I like the most right now is called Olson's primarily because of the size of the ice cream flavor. The sizes are standard, but the medium is a large serving of ice cream about the size of a large man's fist. In both places, ice cream tastes excellent, but in terms of size for the price, Olson's is slightly better in terms of portion size and cost.I look forward to trying more places in Vermont. Next time I go on vacation.0

#vacation #foodie #trip

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shop-korea · 9 months

Text

ITZY “BET ON ME” M/V @ITZY

youtube

GETTING - LEGAL - PERMISSION

IMPERIAL - HIGHNESS - OF - JAPAN

MET - HIM - LAST - CENTURY - MET

LITTLE - BOY - THE - CROWN PRINCE

IMPERIAL - HIGHNESS - ASKED - ME

AS - CHILD - IF - I - WANTED - 2 - YES

MARRY - CROWN - PRINCE

WE - BOTH - GIGGLED

HE - LOVED - FAST - VEHICLES

TRICYCLED - EVERYWHERE

WITH - MY - PLASTIC - SURGERY

PRESENTING - MYSELF - 2 THE

IMPERIAL - HGHNESS - OF - JAPAN

FACES - MARILYN MONROE - PAULINA

PORIZKOVA - 'STATE - FAIR' - PAMELA

TIFFIN - CANDICE SWANEPOEL SUCH

BEAUTY - ASIAN - PART - KOREA's

SE-KYUNG SHIN - LASER - HEIGHT

5'9 FT - LIKE - SERENE - PRINCESS

CATHERINE ELIZABETH

BUT - NO - MORE - WRINKLES

LOOKING - AGE 16

WITH - MAKE UP - LIKE AGE 19

WHAT - HIS - SON - LOOKS - LIKE

TODAY - THEY - NEED - BOTOX - 2

WHAT - MY - TOKYO - JAPAN YES

MALE - SCIENTISTS - CAN DO - 4

ME - SOMETHING - MORE SPECIAL

MARVEL - 'THE - AVENGERS'

THE - IRON - MAN - UNDERNEATH

WOW - SUCH - BRILLIANCE - THE

ULTIMATE - BULLET - BOMB FIRE

WATER - PROOF

LEGAL - PERMISSION

ITZY - HELLO KITTY

CHANGING - THEIR - SUITS - THIS

TIME - WILL - B - ABLE 2 BREATHE

BETTER - BULLET - BOMB - FIRE &

WATERPROOF - CAN - DANCE AND

DO - ACROBATIC - GYMNASTICS

AS - I - REMINDED - EVERYONE OF

ITZY - AS - ANIMATION - WE - ARE

CREATING - SUITS - 4 - THEM TOO

WHO - IS - HELLO - KITTY - AS - A

TALL - LARGE - CHARACTER

INTRODUCING - ME - FUTURE

CAILEY BAILEY

ROCKER - PINK LOVE

MY - ASIAN - MALE - DANCERS - SINGERS

WITH - ME - ON - STAGE

AS - HELLO KITTY - AKA - KITTY WHITE

DOING - ACROBATIC - GYMNASTICS AND

SING - AND - DANCE - ITZY - ON - STAGE

AS - THEMSELVES - EACH - LARGE DOLL

THINKING - SE KYUNG SHIN - AS MIMMY

TWIN - SISTER - YELLOW - BOW

POP UP - TENT - IS - HIGHLY - DEPENDABLE

ON - ONE - LOOK - RIBBON - ATTACHED SO

GATHER - LIKE - GIVING - A - HUG - GIVE IT

2 - U - AS - YOU - LIE - DOWN - THE - POP

UP - TENT - AND - BRING - EDGE - LEGS

UP - NO - RIBBON - TIED - WON'T WORK

AS - TENT - IF - OVER - DID - TYING UP

USE - BARRET - 2 - START - AGAIN

HELLO - KITTY - RESORTS - PARKS

HAVE - FAT - WOMEN - BRINGING IN

KIDS - WE'LL - HAVE - OUR

DEMOCRAT - CHEERLEADERS

MALES - FEMALES

2 - WORK - OUR - ITZY - HELLO KITTY

PARKS - HELP - WITH - OR - STORES

CAFES - HOTELS - INNS - MAJOR JP

PROVIDE - EMPLOYMENT

ON - STAGE - YOU - WILL - DO - YES

GYMNASTICS - AS - PEOPLE - LIVE

OTHER - STARS - LIKE

VANESSA HUDGENS

SUIT - LOOKING - LIKE - HER - ALSO

SINGS - AND - DANCES - WITH - IT 2

CHILDREN's - PARK

TEENS

YOUNG - ADULTS

ADULTS - SENIORS

SO - HELLO - KITTY - ITZY - WE'RE - STARTING

OVER - AGAIN - WITH - OUR - OWN JAPANESE

MERCHANDISE - COUTURE - DESIGNER - YES

WE'RE - JUST - SELLING - CHEAPER

ITZY - HELLO KITTY - OURS - THEIR DESIGNS

COUTURE - AND - DESIGNERS - AS - WE YES

BRING - BETTER - MERCHANDISE

BUT - THIS - TIME - AFFORDABLE

BRINGING - ADULT - AND - TEENS - NOT JUST

KIDS - ONLY - SOFAS - FURNITURE - BEDDING

PAJAMAS - CLOTHES - WHOLE - FAMILY WILL

HAVE - CLOTHES - MAKING - ABOUT - FAMILY

BEST - CLOTHES - APPLIANCES - KITCHEN

COOKWARE - ITZY - HELLO KITTY

SMART - HOUSES

ITZY - HELLO - KITTY - GATED - COMMUNITIES

SMART - HOUSES

AESPA - CHARLIE BROWN - GATED COMMUNITIES

SMART - HOUSES

SMART - APT - BUILDINGS

ITZY - HELLO KITTY

AESPA - CHARLIE BROWN

SOMETIMES - THEIR - STUFF - IS - GREAT

MANY - TIMES - JUST - EXPENSIVE

FUTURE - 0 CAL - ICE - CREAM

0 CAL - SOFT - SERVE - VANILLA - YOGURT

THERA - PEDIC - REMOTE - BEDS

ITZY - HELLO KITTY

AESPA - CHARLIE BROWN

SPORTS - ITZY - HELLO KITTY

ARCHERY - ARROWS - LIKE

'THE - SMURFS: THE - LOST - VILLAGE'

ARCHERY - ROUND - WHITE - BALLS

KIDS - 12 AND YOUNGER

ARCHERY - COMPETITIONS - BOTTOM

HELLO KITTY - 2 - MAKE - SAFE 4 KIDS

HOST - ITZY - SPORTS - BOW AND ARROW

SAME - WINNER - TAKES - ALL

500 BILLION - YEN - EACH - TAX - PAID

HELLO - KITTY - TROPHIES

PINK - DIAMONDS

DIAMONDS

RUNNING - LATE - LEAVING - SOON

2 - DO - LAUNDRY - BUS 8

HAVE - 2 - WAKE - UP - 3:30A - YES

INSTEAD - BECAUSE - TOOK - 2 HRS

WILL - B - LESS - IN - FUTURE

BUT - ABOVE - CAN'T - WAIT 2

PERFORM - WITH - ITZY - AND

AESPA - WITH - THEIR - ASSIGNED

ANIMATION - JESUS - IS LORD - JP

#Youtube

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flannelfloofs · 1 year

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Tears into the room like a little kitty with zoomies, accidentally slams into your leg. Bff what are your tmm blorbos' favorite ice cream flavors I'm curious. Also sorry I need to get my breaks checked

YEOW!!!!!!!!!!!!

ok so for the main cast' favorite flavors...

Emily: Blue Moon (light berry/vanilla mix) Levi: Pineapple (soft serve with fresh chunk of pineapple) Warf/Armada: Cherry/Strawberry mix (has a huge sweet tooth so he can mix pints for himself) and Rose/Coffee flavor for Armada (inanimates, especially a man-eating beast like Armada, can eat whatever human's can't) but he can eat whatever ice cream is in front of him Dawn: Blueberry Pie (blueberry pie mixed into ice cream with whipped topping) Dusk: Black Raspberry Chip (black raspberry with chocolate chips) Serena: Ube (purple yam flavored ice cream sandwiched inbetween two ube roll slices) Jewel: Green tea (specifically served with matcha pocky sticks)

#flannelbabbles #flan asks #The Metamorphic Moral #Emily #Levi #Warf #Armada #Dawn #Dusk #Serena #Jewel

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highspeed-wobble · 2 years

Text

I’ve blossomed over my time on this wacky planet into a stubborn old man. I hate change. When Wendy’s offered a “vanilla “ frosty I refused to take this bullshit. There have been a few times a new product variant was superior, but Frostys are Chocolate, and every new item coming out isn’t Wildberry Skittles! So instead of accepting the vanilla frosty, when I’m at the drive thru and I’m asked “What kind of Frosty I want?” I’d reply “Frosty’s are chocolate.” My wife is a fantastic woman. I hear her sigh when I do it. She sighed because she thinks I’m being ignorant to put this poor kid through my passive aggressive nano tantrum. She’s not wrong, but the king of fast food deserts growing up for me was McDonalds Carmel sundae Carmel on the bottom and the top with nuts. In my young husky mind nothing could come close to this frozen heaven. One time with my Pops I was at McDonalds by Lane Tech. They left the Carmel bottle by the register and walked away. My shorts pockets wouldn’t be help smuggling that out of there. My heart started racing as I looked at the Carmel bottle, what are the chances of me getting caught? The old man would be extra pissed that his son got caught stealing the Carmel squeeze bottle, but man to this day, I’m seduced when I see it. Sitting there on the counter lookin sexy. I ultimately decided not to publicly marinade our family in chubby guilt. Later that summer my Uncle Mike stopped for Frostys with me. I’ve never had one at that point. My Uncle Mike was describing it to me. “It’s not a shake but it’s also not as thick as ice cream. It’s thicker than soft serve, you’ll see Kevin.” I scored it and dove in. Holy shit it’s was almost as good as my beloved McD’s Carmel Sundae. What I eventually concluded is that a Frosty is the consistency you’re trying to eventually melt your restaurant icecream down to while your parents order coffee. It’s the perfect icecream texture. So yeah, Chocolate Frosty is I heavy hitter in my fat sweaty heart. Don’t change it! So now I see the “Peppermint Frosty” available for a limited time any your local Wendy’s, Fuck!!! They didn’t, they made a Peppermint Frosty!!!! I love with a passion, peppermint ice cream. I gotta try this. I get a medium. Half way through my peppermint project I’m shit talking myself, because I love this Frosty! Frostys are chocolate!! SHUT UP you dumb fuck and WHY DIDN’T YOU GET AN EXTRA LARGE!?!!!? So yeah I guess this is a delicious way to see sometimes change can be euphoric. So I’d strongly suggest smashing a Peppermint Frosty. They are fantastic.

#gumball

0 notes

voorheehees · 5 years

Text

The Collector NSFW Alphabet

( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He takes a moment to catch his breath, then rolls over. The most you’ll get is a semi-gentle cheek stroke or a swift kiss on the top on your head

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn’t really have a favorite part of his body, although if he had to choose, it would probably be his arms. They’re toned, bone-crushing even, and it would be a lie to say he’s not at least a little proud.

Oh his partner, it’s a strong tie between their thighs and neck. (Also tiddies if his partner is a girl tee hee).

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Here’s a little secret: Asa is quite the neat freak. Therefore, he doesn’t want it getting on his sheets AT ALL. That’s just a mess he doesn’t want to have to deal with. So most likely, he will opt to cum inside his partner or on their stomach/back.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a nasty habit of watching you when you’re changing. Not even that, he has a nasty habit of watching you in general. Even while you complete mundane, day-to-day tasks, he’ll steal a glance or two.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Lol.

He has a basic idea, he knows what goes where, but experience? Nah. However, that doesn’t stop him from acting like he’s an all knowing, dominant sex guru (a bit of a know it all, the arrogant bastard).

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He absolutely loves to hit it from the back, but missionary works too.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Serious, come on.

I think it’s rare for this guy to be goofy even outside of the bedroom. To him, sex is no casual matter.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps himself well trimmed and neat, but he grows hair like a beast so it’s a very tedious and annoying task for him.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Unfortunately, he’s not the most romantic guy. He may try his best if he really cares, but it’s very unrealistic to hope for anything sweet from him.

You know that sex scene with Michael Shannon in The Shape of Water? Yeah, pretty much like that.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often, it’s more of a biological need than an enjoyable act. He feels a bit strange, or even wrong indulging in self pleasure. When he does, it’s quick and to the point, he wants to finish as quick as possible.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Lingerie, blindfolds, and handcuffs (all on his partner)

Also eye contact? idk if that’s really a kink tho akdalsfl

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Bedroom periodt. Boring ass vanilla ass Asa ass thinks anywhere else is ridiculous and impractical. Once in while, if he’s in a good mood, you could talk him into doing it in the kitchen or his office.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Oof lot’s of things. But the biggest are when you act like a homemaker. Cleaning the house, making him dinner when he gets home, rubbing his shoulders after a grueling day of work, all of it sends him. In addition, he loses it when you act innocent.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing turns him off faster than degrading. It angers him, even.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

To be honest, he prefers to give. He likes having you under his control, a writhing mess of his doing.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, it depends on his mood. Most of the time, it’s rough. But every once in a while, he can be gentle. But that is a r a r e occasion.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He prefers quickies, honestly. He doesn’t have a lot of time on his hands so they’re just more convenient for him.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s open to experimentation if you make him think it’s his idea. He has to feel like he’s the boss and that he’s the one with brilliant ideas for the bedroom.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can last a good amount of time, but can only go about one round.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No way. He wouldn’t even know what the things were until you introduced them to him. He would be hesitant at first, possibly even outright refusing. But as with most everything else, you can definitely get him to break eventually.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

It really depends on his mood (and on how tired he is). After a long day, he’ll just want to finish and be done. But when he has time, he loves to draw the act out as long as possible, and teasing usually plays a big part in that.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s relatively pretty quiet, although he can get reasonably loud as he gets closer to finishing.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Asa isn’t really capable of love, so any sexual act with him will definitely be driven solely by lust and the shocking fact that he hasn’t killed you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s pretty modestly sized, maybe a bit above average in the girth department.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

The limit does not exist.

Unless he’s a lil sleepy or cranky uwu

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He K.O.’s like it’s freaking WWE smackdown

#don't let the lord catch me slipping #the hoebag that lives under my bed possessed me whoops #i am 100000% not used to writing n/sfw so lemme know if this is sum wack shit #also this man is vanilla soft serve ice cream #but that's cool vanilla is mo bomba #the collector #asa emory

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hangryyell · 2 years

Text

VP and Ice Cream

Chamber is a vanilla BEAN ice cream man, bonus points if it has some kind of nut or actual fruit in it. He is a caramel drizzle drama king.

Sage likes Mint Chooclate chip, Rocky Road and a bit of Gelato (doesn’t matter the flavor. She likes whip cream as a topping, cocoa powder as another.

Raze takes me as a coffee ice cream person, she found a place that makes their own soft serve coffee ice cream. She’s a no toppings kind of gal, just wants to enjoy the beautiful taste of the coffee.

Yoru is a chocolate lover, he’d never tell anyone, anything triple chocolate he’ll get, toppings? You guessed it, chocolate drizzle, some frozen strawberries, raspberries as well. Don’t even THINK about asking if there’s anything other than chocolate on his list.

KJ is an icie kinda gal, the ice pops, Talenti brand for her assorted fruitie frozen desserts. Mango is her favorite and strawberry is a close second. Yeah this isn’t ice cream, but it’s a frozen treat and that’s what counts.

Brimstone is a man that looooves the strawberry part in a Neapolitan ice cream container, he also has Raze get him strawberry ice cream when she goes to get her coffee one. He likes light chocolate drizzle, doesn’t want it to over power the strawberry. From Wendy’s, strawberry Frost LARGE for the Stone.

Jett, Jett is the kinda gal that loooves brownies in her ice cream, she’ll get a cookie dough and crumple up a brownie for an added “yum” to the treat. She also likes to have her ice cream a little melted so it soaks into that brownie juuuust right.

Skye loves her some Candy Bar ice cream, a little bit of everything just hits her sweet tooth just right. She also likes to add candy bar to just normal vanilla ice cream.

Neon? Neon is the gal that dunks fries and nuggets into her milkshake. Doesn’t matter the flavor, it’ll happen and you can say nothing about it cause it’ll make her dunk harder and give you more eye contact. Her favorite flavor of all though is a strawberry vanilla swirl(or what I’m calling and pink and white. Cause a black and white is Vanilla and chocolate so why not?)

Viper, Viper just likes Yogurt, any and all flavor. I know it’s not ice cream. But are you gonna try and argue with Viper? Cause I’m sure as hell not. Her favorites are the ones that come with toppings.

Fade likes Gelato the most, orange and kiwi if they had it. She’s found some starfruit ones and has fallen in love.

Cypher’s favorite ice cream reminds him of his family, it gives him the good times before his life went to hell. A nice Burnt Honey ice cream, ice creams cold I get it, but it gives our baby a warmth that he misses til this day.

Reyna, Reyna is a Frozen Yogurt Gal. She likes to get the mango one for a hot summer day with some different flavored mochi, some chocolate covered pretzels and some almonds. Besides a hot day, she likes the peanut butter kind with chocolate covered almonds, kiwis and pieces of strawberries. And yeah you /will/ spoon feed her. -Management

Astra loves caramel peanut butter chocolate ice cream. She likes to add her own nuts, hazelnuts, almonds and cashews to the mix.

Phoenix is an ice cream sandwich kind guy. Sometimes chocolate on chocolate, or chocolate with cookies and cream. Either way, if it’s in a sandwich he’ll eat it.

Breach is the man that likes the fruit pops with the chimoy. He likes his fruit spicy. I know it’s not ice cream.

Sova, Sova likes a crème brûlée flavored ice cream. So push it further a dark chocolate drizzle, a couple of raspberries.

#valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant protocol #reyna #chamber #yoru valorant #headcanon #brimstone #brimstone valorant #viper #breach #fade #jett #neon #sage #Kj #raze #Ice cream #hangrycanons

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snackhobi · 4 years

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.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

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

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

forever is the sweetest con | Chip Taylor x Reader

18+

Summary: Reader's dad is a carpenter; sometimes he takes on apprentices and sometimes, if they're lucky, they get his daughter's number at the end of their training. Chip Taylor, however, hits the jackpot when her father invites him over for one of her homecooked meals.

Warnings: reader's mom passed away, mentions of parental death, strangers to lovers, random acts of kindness, mutual pining, falling in love, steamy make-outs, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, sub!chip, food mentions, praise, love confessions.

word count: 6.2k

a/n: thank you @samuel-de-champagne-problems for requesting a chip fic!! i am in love with him and also yes this plot is something that happened to my parents, however, my mom is still alive and my dad does give my Instagram out to the men who subcontract for him lmao!

Her father was a carpenter, and he often took on apprentices. You see, he had to learn everything on his own to make his way in life and support his family, he was willing to help other men do the same thing. And so every night he would come home from work and talk about whatever idiot he was teaching this week.

“His name is Chip,” her father emphasized the p with confusion, “what is that even short for?”

“It’s short for Charles,” she couldn’t help but laugh, “is he at least more competent than that Mason kid?”

“Much!” He rolled his eyes, “although I did have to teach him how to put crown moulding in today, he’s a quick learner and you can tell he’s just following what they teach at the schools but I know the hacks.”

“I know, Dad,” she smiled. “Is he cute? Single?”

She’s been on dates with most of the guys he’s worked with, mainly because they went to her high school back in the day, but also because her father was trying to play matchmaker. Ever since her mother died, she’s been taking care of him and he just wanted her to have some fun outside of the house. She needed a life in his eyes.

She was content working at the diner and serving people food all day just to come home and take care of her father. He worked hard to make sure they stayed afloat after her mom, the least she could do is make him dinner and a sandwich for lunch the next day.

“He is actually,” he shrugged, “he’s a yes man, you’d probably really like him.”

“Why’s that?” She asked, waiting for whatever snide comment he was going to make to jokingly piss her off.

“Your aunt Lisa only married your uncle Jason because he was a yes man and she could wear the pants, and you’ve always been just like her,” he explained it nicer than she expected.

“Give him my number next time you work with him?” She asks nicely, taking his plate from the table and moving it to the sink.

“Good luck chip,” she hears him mumble under his breath.

It makes her laugh, she loves her relationship with her father and the friendly environment they were able to keep after everything that’s happened to their family. They always laughed together, he was always cracking jokes and even when they were shouting obscenities at each other it came from a place of love, “fuck-head” was a term of endearment in their home.

—

He brings Chip home with him without telling her, she’s been home all day cleaning the house; her hair is a mess and she’s all sweaty, and he really is cute. She made enough food for an army so it wasn’t a problem in her father’s eyes, saying “doesn’t she always look beautiful? It’s fine Y/N.”

“Yeah,” Chip agreed with a small smile and a blush that roared red down his neck. "You're very beautiful."

She cleans up a bit before dinner, brushing her hair and changing into a nice sundress. She adds some perfume and shakes the anxiety out of her body, he was just one of her dad’s friends from work. And he happened to be incredibly adorable.

Returning to find them talking about how he fixed their frozen pipes in the winter with a hairdryer. It was the most basic shit to her and yet Chip was fascinated like he’s never heard any of these things before. He’s holding a beer in his hands with a leg crossed as he leans on the sofa and he’s so cute…

He’s in his work jeans and his shirt is all sweaty, and his hair is curled on the ends from all the hard work. His hands are dirty and he smells like sawdust and home. She’s not listening to a single thing they’re talking about, she’s just staring at the way his face moves when he talks and how sweet his laugh is.

He loves dinner, he’s beyond thankful and even more so for dessert. She made homemade banana bread with the bananas they had, they were going to go bad if she didn’t. It wasn’t anything special but he acted like she made his whole day.

He helps bring all the dishes into the kitchen, standing beside her as she fills the sink with water, “do you have a towel? I could help dry.”

“I know where everything is, how about you wash and I dry?” She compromises with a smile, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

She learns a little about him, he’s kind and friendly and he seems to crave the feeling of family that being in her home provides. He doesn’t want to stop washing dishes because then he has to go home, and he doesn’t look like he really wants to do that either.

“Do you need a ride home, Chip?” She asks as he lets the sink water out, “I was thinking about going to get some ice cream if you want to join me?”

“I would love to,” he smiles again, “thank you, Y/N.”

—

She understands everything when she drops him off at his tiny, little, run-down apartment; he’s going to be all alone as soon as he leaves her car and she hates that for him. He was so nice it was hard to believe that he didn’t have a nice partner and a house and kids by now.

“I wouldn’t mind if you came over for dinner after all your shifts with my dad? Just text me before so I make enough dinner?” She offers with butterflies swarming in her stomach.

“You’re too kind to me,” he replies, unable to meet her eyes as she turns to him.

“I just want more time to look at you,” she teases, “you’re really handsome.”

He lights up, “you think so?”

She nods with a small laugh, pushing air through her nose as she leans in more, “and you’re nice and funny, and your voice is cute.”

He’s stunned as his eyes flick back and forth from hers to her lips, his lips are parted as he tries to breathe but fails, he looks like no one has ever told him that before.

“Are you working with my dad tomorrow?” She changes the topic so that he can focus once more.

“I should be,” he replies just soft enough for her to hear.

“Would you like a sandwich for lunch? My dad said often the guys don’t bring that much with them to eat, I wouldn’t mind making you a sandwich too?”

She’s not sure why she feels the need to take him in and care for him but she does. She wants to wrap him up in a hug and make his meals and tuck him in at night. He just has this aura that calls for love and she desperately wants to give it to him.

He leans forward and kisses her, she kisses back instinctively and reaches to hold his face. His cheeks are soft as she runs her thumb along the skin, she pulls back only to press a few more pecks to his lips.

“You're something else,” he whispers against her lips before stealing another kiss.

He’s sweet, he tastes like vanilla ice cream and she just wants more. She kisses him again and again, eventually licking at his bottom lip and desperately whining to make out with him. She hasn’t felt this needy since she was a high schooler, but something in Chip made her feel alive.

She is leaning so far into his space she might as well get into his seat too. She moves to kiss his jaw and down his neck and he’s nothing but hands as he feels all over her back.

“Do you want to come inside?” He whispers, scared but just as desperate as she is.

“I shouldn’t,” she says before continuing her trail of kisses down his neck.

She can’t leave any marks because her father will know, but she also doesn’t care. He’d probably just give him a high five and move on with his day. She wanted to be even closer to him, she wanted to sit in his lap and kiss him for hours just because she could.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he tries to persuade her, “it just might be more comfortable for this?”

“Alright.”

He holds her hand on the walk up to his apartment, she likes how much he already feels like hers. He shows her inside and before the door is even closed she’s connecting their lips once again. He moans into her mouth at the feeling of his back colliding with the door and her hands are immediately roaming his shirt.

He’s such a good kisser, he is gentle and soft, he isn’t overly eager and controlling. He lets her explore and slow it down as she presses in closer to him and his hands wander to her hips. She places one of her thighs between his and grinds herself even closer to him.

He’s hard against her hip and the prospect of sleeping with him is so enticing but she knows she can't, at least not yet. It would be too quick, she wants to just appreciate him like this. Her kisses trail from his lips to his ear and he’s still a whining mess, but he’s completely still as she sets the pace of her grinding. He’s not pushing her to do anything or move this along, he’s just letting her explore everywhere… he’s so different.

“I don’t want to have to do laundry tonight,” he whispers with a smirk, moving his hands down to block her from grinding on his erection anymore.

She just undoes his belt and pushes his jeans to the floor before resuming the same position as before, this time she pulls her dress up and rests the clothed tip of his cock in just the right spot under her.

He’s holding her closer again, his arms wrapping almost all the way around her as his big hands grab handfuls of her skin in a desperate attempt to be closer to her. She keeps kissing his neck, they’re more open-mouthed and breathy than she intends but he just feels so good under her.

No one has ever made her feel this desperate before, something about him made her want to devour him whole. His sounds were delicious, his skin even more so, she couldn’t help herself from nipping and sucking at his neck as he made more beautiful noises.

She was so close and she could tell he wasn’t far behind, “let go, Chip,” she whispers in his ear, “cum with me.”

She grinds down hard one final time and he’s a shaking, moaning mess. It’s the feeling of the wet patch in his underwear and the feeling of him shudder that sends her over the edge, panting into his neck as they hold each other close against the door.

He turns them around, taking her by the waist and manhandling her until she’s the one against the door. His lips are on her neck and it’s like his orgasm has only enticed him to go further, “you’re too good to me.”

“You deserve good things Chip,” she whispers as her hand comes up to grip his hair as he continues to kiss her neck.

“Let me say thank you,” he whispers as he drops to his knees and pushes her dress up as she reaches to pull it up for him.

She spreads her legs as he moves her panties to the side and dives in. Spreading her with two fingers he sucks her clit into his mouth first and she tugs on his hair so tight he moans against her. Sending another shockwave through her body as he built another orgasm up.

He’s so good with his mouth, her legs are quaking as she tries to stay standing against the door. She can feel him everywhere but it’s still not enough, she wants him deep inside of her but she knows it’s way too soon to even be doing this. She has never gone this fast with someone before but she couldn’t stop, he felt too amazing.

“Chip,” she chanted his name, tugging on his hair tighter to get him to moan against her and send her over the edge once again.

She ruts against his tongue, fucking his face as she rides it out and he is more than happy to keep going as long as she wants him to and it feels so good she might just stay there. But the twitches get too intense and the whine she makes lets him know she’s done as he kisses back up her body.

Supporting her against the door, he presses his body against her once more. Taller than her, he tilts her chin up so she can look him in the eyes, his chin and nose are glistening with her cum and somehow he’s still cute.

She kisses him on the lips quickly, “when I can feel my legs again, I need to head home.”

When she leaves, she just sits in her car for a few minutes as she settles even more. Then she heads to the grocery store on the way home to get nice things for his sandwich tomorrow, because any man who can make her cum twice in 10 minutes deserves the best sandwich.

—

Waking up at 6 in the morning to make sandwiches is normally a chore, she sometimes makes them the night before so she doesn’t have to worry and can sleep in, this morning she wants to put all the tender loving care into these lunches. Her dad has noticed, he’s eyeing her down from the living room as he has his morning cereal and she knows he wants to ask.

“I didn’t sleep with him if that’s what you’re wondering.” Her voice is just loud enough for him to shoot her a listening glance.

“Oh, but you’re making him a sandwich?”

“You should see his apartment complex,” her expression drops, “ and after the way he devoured dinner last night, I just knew he hasn’t been taken care of in forever. And he’s so nice?”

He smiles, “your mom did the same thing for me.”

“You’ve never told me the story,” she reminds him.

He gets up and walks over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter so they can look at each other. His expression is soft, he’s an overly kind man and it was the thing she loved most about him.

“Your grandfather and I worked at a company making refrigerators, I was new to the state and had nothing and so he brought me home for dinner,” he smiles at the memory.

“Her parents got divorced soon after and her mom was having trouble with the bills so I moved in and I helped, and every morning your mom woke up and she made me a sandwich as a thank you.”

“Oh,” she smiled at the recollection, they really were having the same little love story. “Well, I’m thinking about making fish for dinner, would you ask Chip if he likes it? I’ve invited him over for dinner after all his shifts with you.”

He laughs in a huff, he’s proud of her— and himself. He finally found a good one for her.

—

She outdoes herself for dinner. The food is amazing, the table is set, and she’s all dolled up for him. Her dad thinks it’s cute and he doesn’t mind being the third wheel, they all talk to each other like he’s been having dinner with them for years.

He helps clean up after dinner and her dad falls asleep watching Jeopardy in the living room like normal. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his back while he’s still doing the dishes, he’s still all sweat from work but she doesn’t care, she wants to give him a hug.

“What’s this for?” He whispers, placing a wet hand over hers on his stomach.

“Do I need a reason to hug you?” She counters.

“No,” he turns around in her grip so that he can give her a real hug. Wet hands on her back and everything.

She held him there, leaning against him as he leaned against the sink. His heartbeat was quick and he still smelled like sawdust and hard work, but he was warm and soft and it felt so right to just be there.

“Are you working with my dad tomorrow?”

“I will be for the rest of the month,” he confirms her hopes; he was going to be around often.

“Would it be alright if I asked you to stay the night?” She whispers incredibly soft for only him to hear.

He nods against her before taking her hand and leading her outside to the porch. They close the house door softly and then she’s back in his arms, “are you sure?”

She looks up at him and he’s even more beautiful today than he was yesterday, “I can take you back to your place to get some things? It would be nice to send you off to work in the morning.”

“You’ve decided that I’m yours now, haven’t you?” He teased her with a smile, perfectly fine with that.

She nods again, “you could move in tomorrow if you wanted, I’m not sure what’s possessed me to take you in like this, but I really don’t want to let you go.”

He delicately places his hands on her cheeks and pulls her into a kiss, it’s soft and short and he’s quick to look at her again.

“You can have me,” he whispers, “forever, if you want.”

It makes her laugh, “that's the sweetest con you know, you promise yourself to me forever and yet you have no idea if you can stay that long.”

He nods in agreement, “what if I promise my hardest to stay?”

“Okay,” she smiles again, leaning forward and kissing him again, finally.

—

The month is coming to an end and he’s slept beside her almost every single night, and even with that, they’re still taking it slow. They go on dates on the weekends, they make out in her car, he drives her to work, she kisses him at the door every morning he stays with them and they’ve done almost everything but have sex together.

They didn’t feel the need to yet, everything that was leading up to it was fun and interesting. She’s enjoyed sneaking around with him to get each other off back and forth, like an adult game of tag.

She’d blow him in the car on the way back to his apartment after dinner, or he’d come and pick her up after a shift at the diner only for them to end up making out in by the back door, and his hand always ended up in her panties. It was an interesting month of getting to know each other, but she wanted more now.

Her dad is going out of town on a fishing trip with his buddies this weekend, she’s booked time off and Chip has no idea what is in store for him. She plans a dinner, she gets all dressed up for him, there are candles and music and it’s perfect.

He’s amazed by the whole thing and she can really tell he’s been mostly alone for his whole life, he looks at a simple home-cooked meal like it was a million dollars and he was beyond grateful for everything. He almost cries he’s so thankful for the time and effort she puts into taking care of him.

He goes to pick up the plates and bring them to the kitchen as soon as their meal is over, “ah, ah, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleaning up for you?” Chip answers with a nervous tone that she hasn’t heard before.

“Don’t you want dessert?”

“I can bring it out for you, stay there,” he offers and then frowns when she stands anyway.

“You’re looking at it,” she whispers as she enters his space.

She takes the dishes from his hands and places them on the counter before wrapping her arms around him, “my dad isn’t going to be home until Sunday night.”

“Oh,” he whispers back before his hands reach for her ass and he’s picking her up.

Her legs wrap around his waist and she grips his shoulders for dear life as he hurries them up the stairs and towards her bedroom.

He’s incredibly strong for such a skinny guy, although he was filling out the longer he knew her. He makes it up the stairs and through her door as she gets a head start at kissing his neck until he has her pressed against the door.

“What’s with you and doors?” She teases as he rests her back on her feet, she draws him in closer to her so their chests are pressed together and she can look up into those sweet honey brown eyes.

“I’m just impatient.”

“Too bad, baby,” she teases, “I’m making you take your time with me tonight.”

“Yes ma’am,” he responded with a smirk, “I’m here to please you,” he whispered as he leaned in more.

Attaching his lips to her neck he kissed towards her ear, “to thank you,” he took a fistful of her hair and moved it out of the way before kissing down towards her shoulder. “To show you how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”

She pushed him back enough to get Chip to stop kissing her neck, instead, pressing her lips against his. Kissing him deeply before running her tongue across Chip’s bottom lip as a request to make out with him.

Making out with Chip was something she did often, yet it felt like not enough every time. His plump lips and velvety soft tongue, soft touches and rough stubble rubbing against her chin and cheeks.

He smelled like oak after a storm, it was warm and electric and delicious. She dipped her face into the curve of Chip’s neck and took a whiff before attacking him with open-mouthed kisses.

He giggled, his hands her hips now, the pads of his fingers going up and his nails trailing back down over the fabric of her dress, the perfect motion to make the hair on her body stand up.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, separating from his neck so she had room to pull it off of him before reconnected their mouths. Kissing him deeply then pushing him onto the bed, watching Chip get comfortable before she crawled on top.

They wasted no time getting back into the groove of things, tongues clashing and hips grinding, soft moans in each other's mouths, hands roaming everywhere. She reached between them to undo his belt and the button of his jeans so his dick wasn’t rubbing against the zipper. Making out like that was some of the most fun she ever had, she could do it for hours on end.

She pulled back, kneeling above Chip, she grabbed his open belt and pulled it through all the loops and chucked it towards the floor. She massaged her hand over the bulge in his pants as she got closer to his crotch, watching as Chip threw his head back to moan.

She fiddled with the waistband, wanting to pull them down, Chip lifted his ass up ever so slightly for her to do so, she pulled his pants and boxers all the way off and threw them to the floor as well. Spreading Chip’s legs and taking him in her hand, finally. She dipped down ever so slightly and licked the tip and he let out a beautiful cry as his hips bucked. She loved his noises, she loved seeing what new ones she could make and he was more than willing to show her.

Chip gasped and reached out to grip her hair, she took that as an invitation to suck his dick, she wrapped her mouth around the tip, slipping her way down as far as she could go before bobbing back up. It was slow and sensual, she made sure to cover all of him; jerking what didn’t fit in her mouth, dipping down even further to kiss his balls and suck one into her mouth.

The people she’s been with before had never been reactive, they either gave her praise or roughly directed her deeper and deeper till she choked. Chip was different though, making soft noises that sounded like ‘yes’ and ‘god’, his little gasps and stutters of breath were the cutest things. It just encouraged her to do it more.

She pulled off, looking up at Chip who was just staring at her softly. If she knew anything about giving a blowjob she knew what her face probably looked like.. eyes blown out in passion and lips swollen bright red. It was a sight he loved to see, his hand slipped down to cup her cheek and then down to his chin where he used his thumb to brush her bottom lip.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

She crawled back up and sat on his hips, taking the hem of her dress in her hands and pulling it over her head. She was wearing a nice matching underwear set for him, nothing too fancy because she knew it would just end up on the floor anyway.

She leaned back down, attaching their mouths once again, he wrapped his arms around her back and slowly rolled them over safely. Now on top of her, looking up into Chip’s eyes was a blessing. He blinked a few times, making sure it was real and he wasn’t dreaming that the most beautiful girl in the world was looking at him like that.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked gently with pleading eyes that let her know he was desperate to touch her however she pleased.

“Make me yours, Chip.”

“I think you always have been,” he replied.

His beautiful sweaty curls drooping over his eyes, she smiled as she brushed them back. Petting his face softly as she looked at him, he was so beautiful. The light was bouncing off the wall just enough to illuminate him.

“How do you want to do it?” She whispered.

“Let’s just go where the rhythm takes us,” Chip’s voice dropped low as he did, pressing their chests together, close enough to kiss as he rubbed their noses together softly.

She kissed him, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him in more. He squeezed his arms between her back and the mattress, wrapping himself around her. he decided to reach into her panties with his free hand.

He took a moment to admire her chest, she had caught him staring before. He constantly used them as a pillow, he wanted to touch them so badly, so she leaned forward and let him unhook her bra. Pulling it from her body and towards the floor.

She could sense his hesitation, taking both his hands off her sides and guiding them to her breasts. He whimpered as he felt them, she closed her eyes at the feeling. A small moan escaping her lips as he groped her. His big hands felt amazing, so strong and gentle, rough and yet soothing. Perfection against her skin.

She leaned back against the bed then, leaving him sitting up on her hips. Her boobs flattening out into a funny shape as she laid back, making her smirk in embarrassment. Only making Chip love them more, diving in and kissing the newly exposed skin.

He dragged his bottom lip over her skin between kisses. Leaving a trail of where he’s been already. She had a hand in his hair, holding it out of his face as she watched him.

Panting as she tried to grind up against him, the arousal in her core was overpowering. She needed to feel more, she wanted all of him. She was addicted to him already, hoping she’ll have forever with him.

She was too hot, feeling the sweat gather behind her knees as she tried to find more friction against him. She didn’t mind all the exploring he was doing, it was a wonderful appetizer, but she was nowhere close to being full.

He pulled back then to sit on his knees between her legs before Chip slowly slipped her underwear off. Raising her hips softly before resting her ass back in his lap and spreading her legs.

Fully on display for him, she played with her nipples slightly. Knowing how much he loved her boobs, watching her with a slack jaw as his hands ran up her legs.

He snapped back into the moment when she pushed her ass down against him, a whimper slipping past his lips as he placed his thumb on her clit, rubbing gentle circles into the bundle of nerves.

With his pointer finger, on the other hand, he traced around her entrance, not pushing in, just exploring the wetness as it dripped out. She tightened up on command, seeing his breath hitch as his finger almost slipped in.

“Please?” She begged, arching her back more so that he could finger her.

“Can we try something?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, resting on her forearms as she leaned forward.

“If I lay back would you, um,” he couldn’t say the words. They felt too filthy leaving his mouth, pointing at his face instead.

She sat up then, pushing him back against the pillows and settling herself over his chest and gripping the headboard for support, Chip wrapped his arms around her hips and guided her forward more.

Her legs were already trembling in anticipation as she hovered over his face, feeling his breath right on her core, Without warning, he sucked her clit into his mouth.

“Fuck,” she gasped as she smacked her forehead against the blocked window behind her bed, hoping to god no one could see through the blinds.

He pushed one finger in as his tongue played with her clit. She couldn’t help rocking her hips against his face, helping him get deeper inside of her. He curled his finger, lightly fucking her with it as he sucked, licked, kissed her pussy.

She was a mess, shaking over top of him as she tried to keep her orgasm in. Not wanting to cum yet, wanting to feel all of him inside of her before she did that. So he added a second finger, making her cry out in pleasure against the window without even trying.

Her orgasm ripped through her as she fucked his face, holding his hair with one hand as the other steadied her on the headboard. She couldn’t believe how intense it was, almost knocking the wind out of her as she road it out on his tongue.

He smiled against her, kissing her clit once more before pulling out and helping her back towards his lap. She wasted no time hovering over his cock as it strained on his stomach.

“Do you want to?” She asked, trying to control her breathing but still looking like a panting mess as she anticipated him.

“I’ll always want you,” he assures her with the sweetest smile.

She wraps her arms around him and rolls them over once more, he adjusts between her legs and drags himself along her overstimulated clit, she shudders at the feeling and then laughs at her own reaction.

“Ready?” He whispered.

She nodded, feeling Chip push in, she reached for his hands where they rested on her hips and interlocked their fingers. He bottomed out and dropped to hover over her, bringing their interlocked hands over her head.

She reached up to kiss him, Chip pushing into the kiss and making her settle into the pillow once again. It honestly felt like a movie scene, a first time between two star-crossed lovers. He pulled out ever so slightly before thrusting in again, she gasped against his mouth.

Chip trusted more while she pushed her hips into it as well, an offbeat rhythm developed in pure ecstasy. She let go of Chip’s hands to snake them around his waist, to run her fingers over the soft and slightly chilled skin of his back. Feeling the bump of his spine as Chip ducked into the crook of her neck, placing kisses along her collarbone.

Chip changed the position of his thrust as he wrapped his arms under her, arching her back ever so slightly to reach the bundle of nerves that left her a quivering mess. Y/N, in response to the added pleasure, ran her sharp nails down Chip’s back and he groaned at the feeling, “do that again.” he requested.

“Like that?” She asked, dragging his nails down him once more.

“Yeah,” Chip moaned, dark and deep.

The feeling of pure bliss overtook her body with each thrust, warm chills ran through him with each brush of his thumb on her clit. Every kiss to her neck and squeeze around her waist made her feel like she was on fire.

The hairs on her arms stood up, goosebumps formed along his forearms. Chip kissed from her neck to her nipple and took the hard nib into his mouth causing her to moan like she never had before.

“Chip,” she panted, pulling Chip’s face back up to his.

His eyes were absolutely blown out in pleasure, those golden wonders he used to stare into were now replaced solely by the pupils. She ran her thumb across Chip’s cheek before reaching to the nape of his neck to pull him into another kiss. Open mouths pressing together, hot air on each other's faces as they panted to the pleasure.

She was in heaven.

Her orgasm bubbled in her stomach, “are you close?” Chip whispered right beside her mouth, kissing her cheek lightly after.

She hummed, unable to speak with the mass amount of pleasure coursing through her body. Chip fucked into her a bit harder, a tiny bit faster, hitting her g-spot dead on each time to the point the nerves in her thighs were quaking uncontrollably.

She was so close, Chip used 3 fingers to quickly rub over her clit before she threw her head back with a shout. Cumming with her eyes pressed shut, pleasure coursed through her body stronger than she’s ever felt it before.

Nothing had ever made her cum that hard, ripping through her like her soul was leaving her body. She dug her nails deep into Chip’s skin holding him close to his body while he kept thrusting.

A high-pitched gasp left his lips, close to her ear as his hips sputtered into her’s one last time.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, her breath rigid, she felt winded. Chip had stilled as he came inside of her and then collapsed into her, deadweight laying on her.

Chip mustered enough energy to prop himself upon his arm and look at her. Using his free hand he ran his thumb against her bottom lip once more to get her to open her eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she replied with a smile.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, smile growing, “that was amazing.”

“Better than you hoped?”

“I’ve thought of doing this for the last month, I knew it would be amazing but I never imagined it would be that good.” she complimented Chip, “I think I died when I came, no joke.”

He laughed, dropping himself back into the crook of her neck. He kissed her more, up to her ear and across her jaw to her lips. Soft small kissed followed by a long-drawn-out one. Chip pulled their lips apart with a smack.

“Let me clean us up,” he said.

At that moment she realized Chip was still in her, soft and all. He pulled out slowly it was always such a weird feeling to be empty again. He sat up and made his way off the bed, he went to her bathroom.

Coming back still naked, his dick bobbing between his legs, she loved the view. He had a thing of baby wipes with him, knowing exactly where she kept everything in her bathroom by now.

“I can do it,” she suggested, reaching for them.

Chip pulled them back away from her, “I want to.” he said softly.

Running the cold wipe over her soft skin, Chip looked mesmerized. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she replied with a shy smile, “can you come back up here now?”

He tossed the wipes onto her night table and cuddled right back into her naked body, she held onto him tightly so he wouldn’t escape. She knew he wouldn’t, but she loved him so much she never wanted to let go.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered into her neck. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same yet.”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed, pulling back so she could see his face as he looked up at her. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you walked in and said I was beautiful.”

He reaches for her cheeks and pulls her in for another kiss, “I’m going to love you forever.”

The words used to scare her, but now she looks at him and thinks they might be right for them.

“Forever it is, then.”

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