#anyway each one of you make my dash more beautiful every day

[sunofmoon]

it is amazing that there were some mutual ones that really left their mark on me

every time i think of leo messi or argentina nt @/vayvaov comes to mind

every time i think of gabi martinelli (or gabi's in general) + arsenal @/starboygabi it comes to my mind

every time i think of marcus rashford or man united @/cryingforcrocodiles it comes to my mind

every time i think of kylian, barca ou the world's best gifs anyone can make @/doinggreat it comes to my mind

every time i think of kunessi, licha martinez, lichantony @/cherishlalune it comes to my mind

every time i think of neymessi or haalingham @/neyxmessi comes to mind

every time i think of neymessi, fanfics or sebchal @/lesbionel comes to mind

[coralinnii]

Congrats on 2.7k! The villain(ess) saga is my bread and butter hehe.

Anyways Id like to request borderline desperate Jamil trying to figure out Readers fav food as they can and will literally eat anything without complaint(even Lilia's cooking lol). Thank you 💖

‧₊˚✧A Dash of Sweetness ‧₊˚✧

↳ Reader S/O who eats anything

feat: Jamil  genre: fluff (like shojou manga level sweetness) note: no pronouns used with the reader, idiots in love, kinda oblivious!reader, roughly 1k words,

Random storytime, my big bro once got hungry and cooked himself eggs while the rest of us were out, and no one told him the eggs went bad. He was absolutely fine the entire day and none of us would have known if not for my bro saying it’s weird that the egg he ate was green. Yet, he said the french toasts I made once were bland T_T

Anyway, this took a while because I honestly didn't know how this story will end up, hopefully you enjoy it ^_^

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Jamil can deny all day and night, but he really likes to see you enjoy his cooking. For all the times he told you that he already has his hands full with Kalim, there was suspiciously always a warm lunchbox filled with aromatic meals made by yours truly. All for that bright smile of yours whenever you would finish off the “leftover” meal that Jamil would generously share with you. 

When Jamil realized that others have fed you, his hidden competitive nature rose. While there were many competent students with skills in the kitchen, within Jamil was a desire to see a special shine in your eyes when he cooks your favorite dish, a visual only for him.

But be it due to pride or embarrassment, Jamil doesn’t seem to be the type to be upfront with his intentions, nor does he take the straightforward tactic. Instead of asking you directly, he would ease his way through conversations with your friends just to find out your most favored dish per chance. But that turned out that that was harder than he expected. 

Day after day, Jamil would hand you a new type of dish and watch your reaction for the slightest hint of preference. Perhaps a raise of your eyebrows, a slower time to take in the taste, anything. He's racking his brain and looked for every sort of dish and recipes from all parts of Twisted Wonderland for the slight chance he comes across a dish to your absolute liking. But each time, you simply smiled graciously and thanked him for sharing with you, not that he disliked it since he did get to spend more time with you through all of this. 

But each attempt makes him all the more impatient, and curious. If you looked this beautiful just eating something good, Jamil wondered how you’d look if he served you your most favored dish? Would he see your eyes light up with joy, your body shaking with excitement, your cheeks so cutely puffy and full with every bite, maybe even bring him into a spontaneous embrace filled with so much gratitude, perhaps even a kiss…  

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” Jamil hid his face in embarrassment, but the burning ears and racing heart revealed how much he wanted to see that side of you.

You found it odd how often it’s been that Jamil was offering you leftover food this past week. You’re certainly not complaining but it’s always something new everyday. Sometimes Jamil would hand you a meal mixed with aromatic spices, other times an array of sugary sweet treats and pastries. It could be a simple stew that warms your soul one day, or it could be a unique cuisine with a variety of paired side dishes. 

But every day, you would notice that he would glance your way occasionally as you partake in this gracious meal, and it’s making you a bit antsy. 

“You’ve been watching me for a while.” Your voice seemed to break whatever concentration the Scarabia student had. “Is there something you’re expecting me to say?” 

Like a deer in headlights, Jamil flinched and felt a small wave of embarrassment when he realized he was caught watching you. He was sure that he was being discrete, but he supposed that as days went on he had gotten a tad bit restless and hasty. He got sloppy, he cursed to himself.

Quickly shaking his nerves away, he replied with a smile to ease you. “I’m simply glad the food is to your taste.” 

You were hardly convinced by that. Was he experimenting with dishes, you wondered. You tried to offer some insights and compliments which seemed to satisfy the long-haired upperclassman, but you felt a sneaky suspicion that he was hoping for something else. 

“Jamil, I’m really happy that you’ve been sharing all this food with me.” You said as you settled the lunchbox to your side. “But I don’t think I’m the best person if you're looking for a detailed review on food.”

Ah yes, Jamil was aware of your generous palate. While trying to discreetly find your preferences, Jamil first assumed you had a sweet tooth when you praised the Heartslabyul vice-housewarden for his sweets. But then, Jamil overheard you enjoying your visits to Mostro Lounge so perhaps you had a pension for seafood…Then, he was thrown for a loop when he heard from a giddy Lilia that he was delighted to see you have such a rigorous appetite, having tried and finished the beef-seafood-fruit stew he made for his dormmates. 

You...were not picky, to say the least.

You felt a pang of shame for your lack of refined judgment in cuisine. “Your food is really good. Sorry, I don't know what else I can say about it that is helpful to you.”

That’s it. Jamil saw an opening. “Perhaps, I could make your favorite food,” his voice sounded as though it was a spontaneous thought. “Then it would be something you can speak more on a personal level.” 

All other attempts to learn your food preferences failed in the past, but now there was an opportunity to learn firsthand from the source. It wasn’t strange, was it? It was simply the flow of the conversation, and all the long-haired upperclassman did was offer an option. What an auspicious break for Jamil.

But when Jamil looked to you to gauge your reaction, you surprised him. 

You stared at him, eyes wide with shock. Your lips quivered and shook, as though your body was nervously processing his words, which deeply worried Jamil. Has he somehow offended you? How?! 

Finally, you spoke. “You would make something…just for me?” 

“Yes, if that’s something alright with you?”

All this time, you were under the impression that Jamil was offering you food that couldn’t be finished, and you were content with taking whatever was offered, happy that the vice-housewarden thought of you in some way. But having Jamil make something homemade purposely with you in mind… to think of you as he makes the effort to do something, hoping you will enjoy it. A sweet gesture made for you, and you alone.

Feelings of butterflies filled you as your cheeks felt hot at such thoughts. You felt your lips quiver as a goofy smile crept its way onto your face, but you tried to hide your giddiness behind your fingers.

You thought for a bit, then softly you replied. “Curry would be nice.” 

Hmm? Jamil was surprised. That’s his favorite…  

“Then, we can eat together.” You smiled nervously. “I think sharing with someone you like makes food taste better.” 

Such a lovely sight of two shy fools. One was grinning oddly while the other was hiding his shamefully burning face behind his hood.

[abiiors]

Palimpsest

just something small and shitty i wrote after rewatching the GQ interview (and on loads of cough syrup)

‘There used to be a rave there,’ he speaks wistfully, softly and points at a large Pret nestled between two buildings. 

The cafe in question looks a bit out of place; shiny and modern compared to the brick buildings on either side of it. People walk in and out, speed-walking, head tilted down looking at their phones. Their business casual outfits are smart and ironed to the T. 

And the two of you stand in front of it in Matty’s old hoodies. 

‘What’s that…the third time now?’ you tease gently. He’s been in a bit of a mood; nostalgia topped with melancholy with an added dash of “old age is upon me”

‘The fourth,’ he corrects grumpily, ‘and you’re not supposed to be mean to me today.’

‘Why not?’

He grabs your hand in his, long spindly fingers gently caressing the ring on your finger. ‘Because it’s been six months since this,’ he points out proudly. 

You quietly examine the dainty gem on your finger, just like you have every day for the last six months, and smile to yourself. The platinum band is worn, maybe even lightly scratched but the diamond is new and shiny. 

‘Tell me the story of my ring again,’ you sling your arm around his waist and nudge him away from the Pret that was once a rave. 

The ring story has been told several times now, once by his mum, twice by him. Still you love hearing it each time, love how excited he gets when he starts narrating it like a proper story. 

‘Once upon a time,’ he begins with a flourish and you throw your head back to laugh. 

The day is mild and beautiful, his voice trickles like warm honey in your ears as he recalls the ring’s history. It was his nana’s, then it was briefly his mother’s, then he asked if he could use it to propose but get the gem replaced. 

‘It’s not just a ring,’ he states proudly. ‘It’s a palimpsest.’

‘Palimpsest,’ you shake your head, ‘you and your big words.’

‘You taught me that word actually.’

‘Did I?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ he nods and pulls you closer to him, ‘I had to look it up.’

That makes you turn to him and gasp dramatically. His face splits into a smile, he rolls his eyes and pulls up his hood further over his face. You have been walking around aimlessly; lazy and unhurried. Sometimes he twirls you in the streets just because, sometimes you catch the sun highlighting the grey in his curls. 

‘So what should we do to celebrate today?’ 

He takes a moment to think. It’s one of his serious silences, he’s actually contemplating his answer. ‘Just elope with me today.’

Your steps come to an abrupt halt. Elope. Today. Is he serious? The expression on his face is open and excited. He actually fully fucking means it. 

‘And what about all the wedding planning I’ve agonised over?’ You ask this only because you’re still trying to wrap your head around what he’s just said. Not that the idea isn’t exciting. And the more you think about it…

‘We’ll have that wedding too. But today it would be just us,’ he offers. His spontaneous idea is starting to take a vague shape now. Could you really?

‘And where would be get married?’ you ask breathlessly. It occurs to you then that you have fully stopped in the middle of a busy sidewalk. Some people give you judgemental looks while walking by you. And you watch as realisation dawns on his face.

‘There’s a chapel right around the corner.’

That. Is even more shocking. 

‘Matty Healy wants to get married in a chapel?’ you try not to let the scepticism be too obvious but fail anyway. He’s enjoying all of this, how after all these years he can still fluster you and leave you speechless. How unpredictable he is even after all this time spent together. 

He leans in and winks conspiratorially, ‘only because there used to be a rave there.’

[dazedquilly]

I finally found time to finish it! Yay!!! 💀😭

Also please note that this is a high school au so characters would be aged up. No pedo behavior is welcomed! And forgive me if any mistakes were made, I tried to proofread as much as possible.

Anyways, hope you enjoy the second part!

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In the Rain, We Meet Again- Part 2

Two weeks later, the second term is finally here. Back to procrastination and late nights of doing homework, You were reluctant to go but your mom insisted that "it was for your future" as they all do, you were however, excited to see your friends. They made your school life a bit more easier with the chaos they brought, you still thought about the boy you met in the rain the other day. How crazy would it be if you met him again! But that would never happen... right? Anyways, time was ticking and much more thinking would make you late for school. You quickly finished your breakfast and dashed out the door, yelling "Bye!" on your way out.

As you skipped along the way you bumped into someone, your bestfriend, Aoi. You both talked on and on about the short vacation you were given. "Oh, by the way, something interesting happened two weeks ago," you started off.

"Really? Well don't be shy, go on!!" Aoi certainly seemed interested in the tea that was about to spill.

"Well... it may or may not have something to do with a boy-"

Your speech was interrupted by her exclamation, "WHAT?! YOU? Y/N? WITH A BOY? I refuse to believe it." She knew how you were, most of the time you didn't pay any mind to boys around you but now here you were, bringing up one in the conversation. She had every right to be shocked.

"Well, if you'd let me finish you'd understand!" And so as you two walked to school, you told her about the encounter and how you both chatted and walked in the rain. "My.. and you waited until now to tell me?? WE BOTH HAVE PHONES Y'KNOW? THIS IS DELAYED INFO." Aoi was only joking but her sudden yelling made you jump, "I apologize, my dear best friend, please do not kill me..!" You both laughed at your response and entered the school gate, making your way to your classroom, it seemed like Nezuko and Kanao had already arrived earlier as they waved you over. "Guess what?" Aoi started, she obviously was not gonna gatekeep the tea that was spilled, Nezuko spoke up, "What is it? You don't normally look this excited so my guess is that this is good news..?"

You spoke up, "I walked in the rain with a good-looking boy, no biggie." Nezuko gave you a deathstare, "No biggie? NO BIGGIE?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF WHAT YOU JUST SAID?!" You slowly nodded, "Y e s...?"

Just as the two were about to rant on, your teacher entered the classroom. You all scrambled to your seats, but as you sit down next to Aoi, you see a strange, familiar person enter after your teacher.

"I wonder who that is.." Aoi whispered to you. Just then another similar person entered, in fact the two looked like printed copies of each other, "I think I'm seeing doubles.." You whispered back. Aoi only nodded in silence as the four of you stare on. Even after they said their names, Muichiro and Yuichiro, you still couldn't tell the two apart, then it struck you, one out of two them was the boy who walked with you in the rain. "Aoi..." You started as she turned to you, "I think one of them walked in the rain with me.."  Her eyes widened, "WHA..?!" You had to cover her mouth so the entire class wouldn't be aware of your conversation.

"Yes, it was definitely one of them." You continued in a positive tone. "You lucky rat.." Aoi hissed, as you giggled at the comment, just as you were about to speak you saw the two print copies sit down behind you. It took every single muscle in you and Aoi's bodies to not turn around and stare at their beauty. Class soon finished and one of the two got up and left for break as the other sat there silently. You and Aoi got up to leave but he grabbed your hand, motioning he wanted to talk to you. Your friends watched on, giving you either teasing looks or a smirk but decided leave the two of you alone.

"You.." He started, "You look familiar.." You watched him and said with a laugh, "Don't you remember? We walked in the rain together!" He nodded, finally understanding. "I see..." You continued, "By the way, is that your twin brother? Also which one are you? Muichiro? Or Yuichiro?" He only shook his head and replied, "We're a twin if that wasn't obvious, and I'm Muichiro." You sighed, finally understanding now, "Ahh, okay! I'm Y/n!" You held your hand out to shake and he received it, "I didn't know you would move to this school! Is that why you were in town that week? Getting stuff?"

Muichiro only nodded. And for the rest of your questions, he either nodded or shook his head. Even though this was your first day back at school, you felt that this would be quite the interesting school term!

[luminous-letters]

Since we're a magic less student if we were painting the roses we'd have to do it by hand and probably prick our finger

Can I request heartslabyul boys giving them a white rose and magically changing it's colour in their hands after they get banned from helping because their fingers are now full of bandages

sorry anonn, I can't write the entire heartslabyul gang since the character limit per request is 3. i hope you don't mind my choice of characters.

do request again if it doesn't satisfy you though! ^^

Skin punctured, palms encased in thick layers of bandages lest grime and paint toxins plague your injured hand. Each move of a muscle resulted in the horrible sensation of phantom needles digging its way into your skin.

Aside from the holes caused by the thorns, a deep and unsightly gash made its way across your forearm. It too needed the same, if not more, layers of bandages.

Another trip to the infirmary, you thought.

Now, back in the comfort of your own dorm, you rested your weary body. You made sure to thoroughly wash, disinfect and apply more bandages before you retired for the night. But for now, you sat on the gray cushions of your rickety lounge.

Three roses neatly sat on a makeshift vase— a taller than usual cup with water. Each rose was different from the other, reminiscent of the bachelors that offered them to you.

The first rose wasn't natural, its blue coloration set it apart from the rest. Honest work, you can commend that. Memories of an embarrassed Deuce Spade ran through your mind.

"Now...turn red!" he announced, the light in his pen flickered like a near-busted light bulb. "It's...blue?"

True enough the once white flower was turned into a deep blue, the same shade as lapis lazuli. You picked it up, careful not to prick yourself again on its dastardly spines.

"Wait! I can make another one— just give me another chance. I can prove that—"

"I like it," you chuckled, marveling at Deuce's accidental masterpiece. The rose's petals possessed a beautiful gradient from azure to pure white, akin to foamy ocean waves against the shore. "If you say so..."

"Oh wait! I forgot the pie!" Deuce panicked, quickly dashing towards the door.

"I'll be back! Just uhh— just wait for me 'kay? I promise you it's a good pie!"

You moved on to the second...rose? It looks nothing like a rose, It was more stem than rose, add the fact that the rose was slathered in still wet paint.

"Hey, hey~ If it isn't my favorite campus cryptid!" Ace hollered from across the hall, the lazily prepared flower in hand.

"What's that?" you ogled at what Ace was carrying. "A rose, duh. Did the medicine turn your brain to goop or what?"

"That's a rose?"

"Not the point, see what I did there? Anyways, got you this," he tossed you an expensive-looking bottle, decorated with shell patterns and pale purple.

"Prick."

"Touché, MC, touché."

Oh.

"Now before you tell me off," Ace seemed to read your thoughts, "I bought it," he waved the receipt in your face.

"It's a healing ointment, I can apply some on you if you like~" Ace playfully wiggled his eyebrows.

"I'm touched, but I can manage just fine."

"You must be fun at parties," he sighed.

Now the third rose was perfect. Trimmed and brightly colored, it was nothing but astounding perfection in every inch.

"To offer you just a rose would be unprofessional," Riddle offered you the rose first before handing you a box, "I prepared this myself, mind you."

"I apologize for my oversight and lack of supervision. This whole ordeal would've been prevented if I'd only been more cautious."

Inside the box was an appetizing serving of red velvet cake, its appetizing scent beckoned forth your tiny Behemoth— Grim.

"No oyster sauce this time?"

"I've already memorized the recipe, its better than last time. That, I can assure you," Riddle was smug. "Seriously, I'd choose Advanced Alchemy over baking any day."

"Let's dig in then!" NRC's resident weasel announced, clawing at the delectable treat.

A sigh escaped Riddle's lips, "Wash your hands— er, paws, at least."

[mocolococoffeesimp]

Can I request I-no relationship headcanons? As a lesbian, I gotta say i really love her everything

Yup, you can have them! She is my profile pic for a reason.

-It was like any other day to you. But, for I-No it was a day full of opportunity to mess with people. That role fell to you. She decided to do a simple mischief, trip you over. But, once she got close enough she froze. Something about you was different.

-But, that didn’t slow her down for long. Once she got her bearing again she waltzed up to you with a wide grin on her face. 

“Well, hello they're good looking.” Her voice was as sultry as ever, her outfit showcasing her curves. You blushed as you turned to face the source of this compliment.

“Are you talking to me?” You asked her. I-No’s grin only widened as she took a step towards you.

“Why yes! Is there anyone else as good-looking around? I don’t see one at least.” 

-She is extremely flirty. Like, not a day goes by when she doesn’t flirt with you. It can go from something small and somewhat innocent, like complimenting your hair. Or, the opposite, while you cook, she tells you that you’re amazing with your hands. (Take it, anyway you wish to.) This also includes teasing. One time you couldn’t open a can of food, only for this interaction to happen.

“Aw, can’t my lovely (Y/N) open up a can?” She placed her hand on your cheek, feeling it warm up. You handed her the can.

“You try it then.” She chuckled a little bit to your reaction, and with ease she popped the cap off from it. “I loosened it, for you.” Was your response to her action, not even allowing her to say anything. She smiled at your response.

“Sure, you did darling.” 

-It is quite the common sight, to see her playing with her guitar. You’d be more surprised, if you didn’t hear her play it during the day. You often sit down close to her just listening to her play. She does sing as well, which you constantly are mesmerized by how beautiful it is.

-She writes her own songs, when she has free-time. Just about various things, her experiences, you, search for power. The usual stuff. But, for some reason you are providing her with more inspiration than she has ever had. 

-Serenades. When you hadn’t started dating yet, she got outside of your window, her guitar and speakers ready to go. She started with strumming her guitar, which successfully got your attention. You stood at your window, as I-No was prepared to serenade for you.

“Good evening! I’m here to sing for the one with dashing good looks. Just listen to my voice!” With that, she went on singing for a solid hour straight. Safe to say your neighbors weren't too happy about it. But, you were highly entertained by this.

-She likes to play small pranks on you. Changing salt out for sugar, hides something from you, that kind of stuff. You do try to prank her back, but oftentimes, she sees it coming even before you’ve tried to do it.

-She lets you try her hat sometimes. She doesn't admit you look cute in it, but you aren’t so sure about it, as the hat nearly falls off you every-time you wear it.

-She takes good care of her hands, to play the guitar better. You join her in these sessions, holding her hands as you apply the moisturizer to them. After you've done moisturizing them, she will hold your hands, applying moisturizer to your hands as well. Thanks to this, your hands have never been better.

-At times, she has to make sure you’re still there. Just to make sure, you aren’t just a fragment of a memory. Thanks to her time traveling, she isn’t sure what is there, now and what is a memory. 

“You, okay, I-No?” You ask, as you realize she has broken cold sweat. She takes your hand, to her as she starts to relax again.

“Yeah, I am. Just you being here is enough.” Those are the rare times, I-No is very open with her emotions. This doesn’t happen too often, but each time they do, you feel like you understand her a little better.

[winchester-reload]

Hello :)

First of all I need to say: your art is so, so lovely and beautiful and makes me smile every time that it graces my dash <3

Second of all, I know that you are also a writer next to a painter, so I have a question: How do you get yourself to write? As someone who draws more often than they write (even though I have been writing a lot as a child), I find it hard to just do it. Art feels so much faster and straight to the point, while writing requires so much structure, planning, consistency, and background knowledge of the lore and the characters. Therefore it feels harder for me to just let loose and go off, as you can do while drawing. It feels really overwhelming sometimes. I don't know if you suffer from similar struggles or not, but do you have any advice for sitting down and actually doing it?

Well, anon. I wish I had an answer to this. The last actual thing I wrote (and published) was over two years ago*, unfortunately. It seems sometimes it really is just easier to sit down and do art. Like you said, that doesn't necessarily mean art is easier, just that it takes less critical thinking.

And yeah, of course, I experience this too. It's largely one of the reasons I haven't written anything in the last two years. I've been slowly pulling myself out of some extreme burnout. (Don't worry, I'm good now).

I mean, I can give the cliche advice here and say, as with anything, it's discipline and routine that help get it done. If you schedule a time to write each day and make sure you sit down to do it--whether you feel like it or not--you will write something. It's true. It will work.

But more than that, I think it's better to realize a lot of this problem--the "spinning your wheels" feel of writing--is an overthinking problem. Sometimes for me, if I call myself out on the fact that I'm overthinking something, it makes it easier to get over. So try that?

I find that self-discipline, kindness, and awareness are the key components to getting unstuck.

Then, don't think about it. Just do it. Write something, and then write something else. Eventually, the writing will get done.

That's my approach, anyway. I hope that helps a little.

*And, yes, I am still working on the end of this fic. I have 30k of it written, actually. I would post it, but I've already made people wait two years for it, so I don't want to post anything incomplete.

[southeastasiadiary]

Day Twenty-One, Part One: A Day of Wats and Wandering

The description for today on my itinerary reads, “Free time to wander around and free visits. Overnight in Luang Prabang.” Now, as a lifelong overthinker, my natural response to a statement like this is, “Wander around? Where? And how will I know when I’ve wandered enough? How many free visits does one make?” It’s the typical Paradox of Choice. Having too many options, I tend to freeze. For example, the first time I ever went to the DeKalb Farmers Market outside Atlanta, I emerged empty-handed because, seriously, how do you know which of the 396 varieties of green beans to buy? And, after last night’s story, I’m loath to buy beans at the market now anyway.

So, today’s dilemma was: Should I stay in Luang Prabang or go to the Pak Ou Caves? Should I take the bullet train to Vientiane or, as Pindar suggests, “Seek nearer home.”

In the end, inertia made the choice for me, as inertia is wont to do. I slept in late, having gotten up early for the alms ceremony the day before and then having gone back into town for the Garavek Story Telling Show. That meant that it was too late to go to the Pak Ou Caves or Vientiane, each of which would’ve required an early start. So, after a late-ish breakfast, I read the guidebook, chose a few destinations, and took the hotel shuttle to the center of Luang Prabang, and began my own personal Great Wat Tour.

The town of Luang Prabang is about the size of Statesboro, Georgia, where I spent eleven happy years in the 1990s. Actually, the comparison to Statesboro is not at all a bad one. If you simply replace every church of any denomination in Statesboro with a wat (i.e., a temple, a monastery, or a combination of the two) here, you’d end up with much the same thing. I’ll spare you photos of every single wat I took pictures of today (suffice it to say, there were lots), and just give you the Reader's Digest version. Even having just been there, they do start to look a bit “samey” in snapshots. And, if you haven’t been there in person, I doubt it’s easy all to tell one from another. But here are a select few.

I’ll start with the Wat Mahathat (“The Temple of the Large Stupa”) mostly because, while I was there, one of the novices dashed out and rang this large bell to signal that it was time for chanting to begin.

The bell also serves as something of a town clock. You can always tell what time of day it is in Luang Prabang by whichever bell is being sounded in whichever monastery. Even more impressive than the bell is a massive drum that’s hung nearby and played on certain festive occasions.

The large stupa that gives the wat its name can be seen in upper left of this picture. I photographed it almost accidentally since my attention was really drawn to the beautiful, but far less significant golden stupa to the right.

The temple building is quite ornate and, y my eye, very Laotian in style.

A long row of spirit houses lines the rear of the property.

Some of the senior monks are given residences that almost look like tourist cabins.

The steps leaving the wat were littered with frangipani blossoms, a flower that has become a national symbol for Laos.

Since the Laotian word for frangipani is champa, and I’d just come from two countries where the Champa Kingdom was very important, this term can be confusing. In fact, however, the Laotian word champa has absolutely nothing to do with the Champa Kingdom. It’s just a linguistic coincidence.

Recalling that an early name for this territory was Lan Xang, “The Million Elephants Kingdom,” another common symbol is that of the elephant, which also appears nearly everywhere.

By the way, elephant trunks are a little like horseshoes in Southeast Asia. In depictions, they should always be raised, otherwise the luck “runs out.”

Even though I’d been to Wat Mai (“The New Monastery”) the other day, I knew I hadn’t seen everything that was there. So, in my free wandering today, I returned to Wat Mai and saw a building that served as a classroom for instruction in the tenets of Buddhism.

[musette22]

Hi Minnie loveeee 💕💕💕 I hope your extra day at the office was okay?

I just needed to drop by because I’ve been reading some older evanstan fics, and then there were a bunch of evanstan posts popping back up on my dash again, and I’m so in my feels about them 😭😭😭

I don’t really have anything interesting to say, it’s just…I’d been thinking about them pre TWS like I told you, with Seb being so much more baby back then, and Chris being Chris, and how it’s so unfair we’ve been deprived of a bunch of content of the two of them that I know must be out there.

And then everything else (the fics & the posts) piled up on top of that…they’re just so gorgeous and amazing and they fit so well together and the way Chris is with Seb and talks about him and looks at him is so soft 🥺🥺, I don’t know how i manage to not cry about them every single moment of every day (I mean, it’s close, but still)?? Like they’re wonderful human beings in their own right, but them together is just special and incredible and everything? 😭😭😭

Anyway. Like I said, nothing special to say, just sobbing in your inbox, bc I know no one understands better than you 😭😭 I hope you’re having a wonderful evening honey, love youuuu 💖✨💖✨💖

Mayaaaaaaaa, hi my love 💖💖💖💖 Today was busy but not too bad, and my days always get exponentially better when I see you pop up in my inbox too, so thank you for that 🥰✨ How has your day been?? I hope it's been nice to work from home and that it wasn't too stressful today 😘😘

Aaaaaahhhh okay okay okay, you came to the right person with this because I'm literally in my Evanstan feels 24/7 🥺🥺 I just think about them all the time and every night I'm like 'can I go to bed yet because I just want to think about our boys being disgustingly in love and perfect for each other' 💕💕 So I know exactly what you mean! Just yesterday I was thinking about how baby Seb used to be and how unbelievably pretty he was (he still is!!) and I said to myself, out loud, alone in my bedroom, 'there is no WAY Chris didn't fall in love with him'. And I stand by that ✋🏻

It's a crying shame there's so little content of the two of them together before about 2013, honestly. Three whole years of these guys working together and making doe eyes at each other and we've got a handful of pics to show for it. A goddamn tragedy. But I guess that just makes us all the more eager and determined to fill in the blanks, either in our imagination or in fic <3

But yes, Maya baby, rest assured that you're not alone and that I'm right there with you, being all soft and tender hearted and weepy about these beautiful boys and how absolutely perfect they are for each other 💘🥺✨ I love you, sweetheart, and I love our boys, SO MUCH!!!

[suttttton]

love your posts about your own writing and fics! Im happy to see them on my dash; it’s fun to know what projects you’re working on :) they’re a lovely delight and I look forward to them being published! or at the very least, I look forward to seeing snippets and/or your process with it. have a great day Sutton!

<3 <3 <3

that's so nice to hear! i do feel a little bad for how often i'll post things like, "[x story] is so close to being done!" and then it doesn't get done for another six months after that. i simply am not good at predicting how long a story will take me or how close any particular project is to completion....

anyway, here's a nice lengthy excerpt of from today's project, an alternate bad ending for stag story (inspired by @inklingofadream's fic dishonor), in which elias kills martin and then sells jon to the highest bidder. (cw for dehumanization and typical stag story unpleasantness):

Elias has changed the stag's antlers.

That's the first thing Sasha notices when Elias leads him into the room. She's seated toward the back, so she has to crane her neck to see around the tall hats and intricate hairstyles of the nobles that surround her, each of them prepared to sink their fortunes into acquiring one of the only captive stags in existence. Useless idiots.

She doubts any of them have noticed a difference in the antlers. She doubts any of them ever noticed anything odd about the antlers in the first place. They'd looked beautiful, definitely, with their perfectly symmetrical, curving tips, but they never looked natural. There was clearly some sculpture involved in their shape.

They still don't look quite natural. The stag has always had eight points, but now there are twelve--an absurd number for a yearling set of antlers, and a clear attempt to make the stag look artificially more impressive. Sasha wonders what his antlers originally looked like. He's so small even in full adulthood, she finds it doubtful his yearling antlers started out with eight points. He might have managed six, but her guess would be four or five.

Elias brings the stag onto the platform at the front of the room, improving Sasha's view considerably, and the second thing she notices is that he's restrained more heavily than usual. There are shackles around both of his wrists and a delicate collar around his neck, all hooked to a leash looped around Elias' wrist. They are subtle pieces, possible to ignore, possible to pretend they are just ornamentation. Elias hooks the wrist shackles to the stool, but keeps his hold on the collar. It's made of leather, but the buckles and hooks glint in pure silver.

The third thing she notices is the stag's expression. It's... wrong, somehow. Somehow both sharper and duller than it should be. Every time she's seen him in the past, his eyes have been like panes of glass, blank and inscrutable, like the eyes of a horse. He held himself tensely, always, his body a taut bowstring, an unexpressable desire to Flee. Now he looks calm, his shoulders relaxed even as Elias touches his back, fixes his posture, leans forward to murmur something in his ear. His eyes are downcast, but she sees true awareness there, a vague expression she can only describe as 'troubled,' completely at odds with the rest of his demeanor.

She wonders if he's been drugged for the auction. She wouldn't put it past Elias. She couldn't even fault him, really, if the stag were putting up lively resistance to the idea of being taken from his home for the past decade. A docile creature would doubtless fetch a much higher price than a stubborn beast.

Once the stag is settled, Elias turns to face his audience. He raises a hand for silence, and says, "Thank you all for accepting my invitation to this very exciting occasion, the retirement of my noble and dutiful bait-stag, who has served me well for many years. Due to my own retirement from the Hunter's Guild, I no longer have use of his services, and I trust he will find a welcoming home in one of your households. Shall we start the bidding at three broams?"

Sasha raises her eyebrows. Elias is aiming high. Still, she isn't surprised when he immediately gets a bite, a woman in the first row in an ornate blue hat. The stag had been instrumental in bringing down the Beast; he's no longer a simple novelty, but a celebrity in his own right.

"Three and a quarter?" Elias says, his voice perfectly neutral.

Another bite, a man leaning against the wall in a nondescript suit. Probably a well-off member of the Hunter's Guild, hoping to use the stag to emulate Elias' success.

"Three and a half?"

Blue hat raises her hand immediately, cutting off two other hands that go up just a moment too late.

And so the bidding goes. Three broams becomes four, becomes five, six, seven. The lesser nobility is left behind in favor of the people with real money. Blue Hat slumps down in her chair, arms crossed sulkily. The man in the suit leaves the room entirely. Finally, it gets to the point where the only two bidders are a man representing the Crown Princess, and a man representing the King himself. Idly, Sasha wonders what the point is, if Jon will join the royal household either way. Pride of ownership? Friendly competition?

"Seven and a finger."

"Seven and a ringlet."

"Seven and a quarter."

"Seven and a piece."

Sasha is bored. She stands up. "Ten broams."

All around the room, eyes turn to her. Elias' grin broadens. "Miss James offers ten broams. Does anyone care to counter?"

She sees the two businessmen look at each other, uncertain expressions on both their faces. She's surely outpaced their upper budget limits, and she sees them making calculations. Surely this stranger can't have much more than ten broams. Surely they can outbid her if they just press a little harder.

The one who represents the Princess says, "Ten broams and a half."

"Fifteen broams," Sasha says, sending the entire crowd into a tizzy. She grins.

"Fifteen!" Elias says, sounding genuinely surprised, just for a moment. Sasha keeps her eyes fixed on her competition, daring them to go higher.

One of them leans over to say something to the other, and he nods. The one who represents the King raises his hand and says, "Twenty broams."

"Thirty," Sasha says immediately.

The room goes silent, waiting for a response. For a moment, even Elias doesn't respond. He hadn't put the Great Antlers on auction, selling them directly to the King as a sign of goodwill. Sasha doesn't know how much the King had offered for them, but Elias had come out of the deal with a title and quite a few acres of land. Thirty broams seems as good an estimate as any. She wonders if he ever imagined his captive stag would fetch a price even half as much.

"Thirty broams," Elias says finally. "Do I hear a counter for thirty?"

He doesn't. The two businessmen sit down, defeated. She expects she'll be seeing them in the coming months, after they communicate with their patrons, bringing offers of sixty or seventy or two hundred broams, anything to complete the Royal Collection.

For now, though, Elias says, "Sold to Miss James for thirty broams."

It isn't a surprising outcome--Sasha has been planning for this sale for years, and she knew coming in that she would be the one leaving with the stag. But with every eye in the room turned on her, she feels a surge of victory.

Finally, the stag is hers.

[gaykey]

Good morning! I've been thinking about why VP is so alluring to so many people compared to KP, despite having the worst possible set-up for a relationship, and I think I got it. It'll be a long one, hopefully worth your time.

KP are lovely but they're the opposite of straight-coded. Someone said that the word Kinn used to call Yok means "wife's mother". But the "wife" is his literal bodyguard, a fuckboy street fighter, and there is nothing feminine about him. Even though they're a boss and an employee, they don't have that type of power dynamic. The majority of the audience is women and it's difficult for a woman to insert herself in place of one of two hunks.

VP on the other hand... Pete may be a bodyguard but he's friendly, soft, clumsy, and a fan of k-dramas who loves his grandma very much. He's relatable. He has no control, he's at the hands of Vegas, which is kinda giving conservative marriage vibes (hopefully no actual torture goes on in those). How many women face abuse or toxic relationships every day? VP promises that the (hot) guy loves you in the end, so it's bearable.

If that's not your thing, maybe you can relate to Vegas. He's lonely, maintaing a façade, and an abuse victim as well. He's the English speaker, and I think that's a crucial factor for international audiences. Maybe you also want an adorable guy who will understand you, who will see all your flaws, your most pathetic moments, but will love you anyway.

I don't want it to sound like VP is basically a straight relationship, female fans are the worst and women are naturally submissive, because that's not true. But I am a woman too, and I know the reality I live in. And I'm sure I would be very invested in VP if I was younger.

I hope you don't mind me writing such a long ask. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, as you always make good points and have a reasonable, mature perspective. Have a lovely day!

hi anon

i'll put my answer under a cut, because this is pretty long already, and, no i don't mind btw, i just worry about clogging up people's dashes.

alright so

whilst you made some interesting points in this, iiii'm not totally convinced? or, not on everything you said at least.

i'm not denying that a majority of the audience are straight women and i'm sure that what you pointed out, are true to some people in regards to how they percieve both vp and kp. but, i wouldn't actually say that vegaspete are overly straight coded?

idk, it's a bit of a big assumption to make i think. though, i am not sold on them, there's no denying that vegaspete is a bit more...complex than that. i don't think you can apply some of the straight stereotypes you mentioned to them tbh.

it's like? are you basing it solely on their personalities? because that doesn't check.

like, we've seen that pete isn't totally this soft, pure and fluffy person. he has edges, he gas a darkness in him. i mean, the man is literally a trained killer.

is it just their entire dynamic? because, that doesn't sit right with me either...

like, i get what your saying, but, hmmmmmm, i disagree.

as for what is so alluring about them.....i dunno. everyone's gonna have their reasons.

i personally think it's the dark, twisted and cruel but beautiful man, with a the tragic back story, and the one person who can open up his heart trope - or the let's both destroy each other, but then build each other back up trope - the no one else in the world gets me but you trope, to name a couple, that are the main attractions

and there are definitely queer themes in those.

maybe straight people in the audience interept in a heterosexual way, to relate it more to themselves but that doesn't make their story, or their relationship, totally staight-coded.

....am i making any sense?

anyway, i'm losing track of my point a bit i think, so i'm gonna stop here

but rhank you for you insight anon, this was interesting to read and think about <3

[artqueen02]

So I wrote a thing for English…. It’s a fractured fairytale for Cinderella. It’s under the cut.

The Girl, The Prince, and The Stableboy

**DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction, and any relation to real-life people and places is solely coincidental. This work also portrays negative themes such as aphobia (both internalised and external) and homophobia which are used as integral plot devices only and portray no reflection on my thoughts or feelings on the matters at hand as an individual.

 

Darius – The Prince

"But Mo-ther," I complain, stretching out the 'er' so she knows I'm annoyed, "Must I really get married? I am only eighteen."

 "Which is quite a reasonable time for a strapping young prince like yourself to find a proper wife. Now, off to bed, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow!" her tone reads 'end of discussion, now move along before I get furious' I want to push her more, 'poke the bear' as they say. Still, I can't think of anything else to say, so I grumble and track my way upstairs to my room. 

 

But I don't want a wife.

_________________________________________________________________

 

Ella – The Girl

"Calliope! Mother! Have you seen this! The Prince is throwing a three day festival to find a wife, and all eligible ladies in the kingdom are invited! Oh, dearest mother, please say that Calliope and I can go, it would make us ever so happy!" Charlotte runs upstairs, a fancy gold-embossed parchment envelope in her hands. If she squeals any louder or more high-pitched than she already is, all the glass within a ten-mile radius will shatter, and I will have to spend days cleaning. Anyways, that's not the point. If there's a festival, I wish to go, although there is no way my stepmother will let me. Oh, how I hate her and her horrid daughters, but mother always taught me to be kind and good, so I must honour her wishes. 

But oh, how I wish I could go to this festival. Maybe I would…..oh, I don't know, meet a handsome prince and fall in love with him, fix whatever broken in me that I have never loved in the way that most people do, in the way that my father and mother loved each other, and nor have I looked at someone and been taken aback by their appearance. Sure, I can admire how one might seem 'beautiful' or 'handsome' as described by societal norms. Still, I've never felt the same attraction that Charlotte and Calliope express when they gush over the handsome nobles who parade through town with their white horses and golden carriages. 

"Of course you can go my darlings, I will get Cinderella to prepare you your dresses. Oh Cinderella!" I groan

"Yes, Mother?"

"Come here, wont you, darling" I regretfully trudge up the stairs. "Do be a dear and prepare the most dashing dresses for the ball for Charlotte and Calliope here, won’t you?" her voice is honeyed and dripping with fake kindness.

"Of course, Mother", I sigh, resigned to my fate, "actually, I was wondering if I could attend the festival myself?"

"Oh, darling", she sounds almost pitiful. "If you can prepare calliope and charlotte, keep on top of your regular chores, and-" she grabs a bowl of lentils – why does she even have a bowl of lentils there? - off the bench and throws it into the hearth "separate every lentil here and put it back in the bowl in time; then, and only then, can you go to the festival. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, mother", I sigh, defeated. Charlotte and Calliope cackle in the background. 

_________________________________________________________________

 

Fabian – The Stableboy

I'm minding my business, and the horses, when Dare flings open the door to the stables, grabs a brush from the basket sitting next to me and starts to saddle up his mare, Honey, ready for a ride. 

"Ride with me?" He asks. As if that's a question

"Of course, your Majesty. Would you like me to prepare the horses?"

"No, Fabe, I've got Honey; you just get Onyx ready for yourself." He sounds…… tired, dejected, something bad has happened, and he's trying to mask it. And he called me Fabe; his mask is slipping. He doesn't do that when anyone else could be around. Something seriously bad happened. 

_________________________________________________________________

 

We ride.

And then we stop. And we tie up the horses and eat – he must've had one on the saddlebags spelled with an extension charm; he pulls a whole picnic basket's worth of food from it. And a blanket. And drinks – and we talk.

We talk.

And we talk, and we talk, and we talk. 

I love his voice. I love listening to him (I love him)

So I do. I listen. And he tells me how his mum is throwing a ball – no, a festival (three days) – to find him a bride. And he rants about how his parents still ignore the fact that he's very gay. (I'm just glad they haven't found out about us yet. They'd fire me on the spot). And he tells me about how he wants to be out already. And then he stops. He's too worked up to keep going. So I calm him down. I play with his hair (which he should totally wear down more often), and I tell him about mundane things. About the horses. And I tell him about how my little sister Priya is recovering from whatever sickness she had, and I tell him about how homey the winter soup my mother makes is – maybe he can try it sometime - and that we eat it with cheese and sour cream if we can afford it. I talk about everything and nothing. And we sit. And when the sun darkens in the sky, we ride back to the palace. And he kisses me goodnight in the dark security of the stables. And then we head our separate ways, and maybe I'll see him tomorrow if he gets a chance to sneak away from the preparations. And maybe I won't, and that's okay too. It's not like we need to see each other every day. It's just nice. To slip away and spend a few hours talking, riding, or splashing in the stream. 

_________________________________________________________________

 

Ella

"You want to go to the festival?" Charlotte sneers at me

"You Cinderella, the festival?" Calliope joins in

"The festival?"

"The festival?!"

"The King's festival?" They cackle in unison

"Darling, your nails, look at you dress. The lentils were one thing, but darling with those, you'll make us the fools of the festival, an mortify the Prince!" and now for another joint cackle. I swear these ladies all go to some evil hive-mind bonding experience where they learn how to cackle perfectly in unison. 

"But if-"

"You are not going to the festival Cinderella. And that's final. Now back to your chores. Come along ladies."

"Yes, mother", In unison. Again. Honestly, where else would they learn to do stuff like this?

________________________________`_________________________________

 

Right. Okay. Well, Plan C, then. I hope this works, seeing as I don't have a Plan D, E, F, or….. you get the picture. Off to mother's grave, the grave by the willow tree, to tell her I want to go to the king's festival. And so off I go.

When I arrive at the grave, I talk. An I talk, and I talk, and I talk. I tell her about how I wish to go to the festival and how sure I am that something in me is broken. And then I tell her about life, how my stepfamily mistreats me, and then about tiny, insignificant details, like how the dew on the willow tree sparkles in the early morning sun and how the stars at night shine so bright. And part way through my monologue, a dule of doves flies down, seemingly out of nowhere, and drops a dress and a pair of slippers at my feet. 

I dash deeper into the forest, calling a hurried 'Thankyou!' over my shoulder and only stopping when I get to the stream. I frantically look around, making sure that no one is here (I'm just being paranoid, no one ever comes here) and then quickly scrub at my face, my hands, and pretty much every visible piece of skin on my body. Then I hurriedly change into the dress, and suddenly, doves surround me, doing something in my hair, clasping a necklace onto my neck and nudging two rings onto my fingers. Most of the birds disperse, but two stay fluttering around me. I stop to look at my reflection in the stream. 

The dress is a deep forest green and fits my body nicely until it flows out loosely at my hips. The slippers are a bright, shimmering silver glitter in the moonlight: two rings adorning my fingers, one on the middle finger of each hand. On the left is a twisting silver-white design, and on the right is a basic black onyx band with a gold-embossed engraving in a language I can't make out. Around my neck is a thin silver chain with a glass bead attached to the bottom via a gorgeous swirling leaf design. My hair is pulled back and up off my neck and face and braided into a crown with flowers woven through it. 

_________________________________________________________________

 

Darius

This ball is so dull, not a single exciting person has walked through those colossal oak doors, and mother is making me sit here all night unless I'm dancing or conversing with a possible bride. The doors clang shut, and I pay them no attention; they've been doing that all night until the whispers start.

'Who is she?'

'A princess, surely.'

'Those shoes alone must've cost her a thoushand gold pieces.'

'Her dress-'

'Absolutely stunning'

'Where does she get her hair done?'

'Those rings'

That one catches my attention. It could mean nothing, or – rings have a lot of meanings in the LGBTQ+ community, dependent on colour, the finger it's worn, and other circumstances. I look up – it's quite apparent who the girl is – and focus on her rings. On the middle finger of her left hand, she wears a white ring – interesting – and on the same finger of the opposite hand, she wears a black band with – what looks like from here – the One Ring inscription from Lord of the Rings. Okay. That settles it; either she's ace (asexual) or a Tolkein fan. Either way, I'm talking to her. I walk over to where she's standing at one of the many food tables, looking unsure what to do with herself and start talking. 

"Excuse me?" no response. I nudge her side "Ma'am?"

"Oh!" she startles. "Were you talking to me?"

"As a matter of fact, I was, May I have this dance?" 

"Oh well, I'm not all that good at dancing – I never eally learnt, I'm sure I'd be terrible at it." She's flustered; she isn't used to being in this situation. If I were into girls, maybe I'd like her; alas, I am completely and irrevocably in love with the stableboy. 

"That's alright. I'm not all that good myself, but I can teach you?"

"Oh! Ok!"

_________________________________________________________________

 

Ella

"I never did catch your name?" The Prince asks me

"Oh… Um…” I flounder, trying to think of a name I can give him "Estella."

I always did love the stars.

_________________________________________________________________

 

Darius

She wasn't ready for that; it probably wasn't her real name either. If she's keeping her name from me, there must be a reason. 

"Well, Estella, I'm Darius," Although you probably already know that. I offer her my hand. She hums and takes it; we've stopped dancing and are leaning against a wall, drinking who-knows-what fruity concoction my mother got the fairies to make, probably spiked with alcohol of some form or one of their many potions or spells. I can almost hear Fabian's voice in my head, telling me to ask about the rings. 'Now would be a good time to bring up the rings, Dare', He'd say, and I don't disagree. 

"Your rings are beautiful, where did you get them?"

"Oh! They were a gift from my dead mother."

"So you're a Tolkien fan then?"

"A what"

"Y'know, Tokien, author of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings?"

"No, I quite frankly, do not."

"Huh. Okay, Why the One Ring inscription, then?"

"Is that what that is? I'm not sure, she just gave them to me like this, and I figured I may aswell wear them,"

"Yeah, it is. Hey, actually, did you know that aces sometimes wear similar rings to symobolise that they’re ace?"

"What?"

"Yeah, Its quite inter- "

"No no no I meant like who? who are 'aces'?"

"Oh! Well ace is an abbreviation of the term asexual, so yeah asexuals."

"And… what exactly does that mean?"

"Well, an individual who identifies as asexual often doesn't experience sexual attraction in any way, shape, or form, although really, asexuality is a spectrum and the term 'ace' can be used as an umbrella term for anyone who falls on said spectrum."

"That's actually quite interesting. What's classed a- Oh nope nevermind I know." She pauses, and then a look flashes over her face as though a sudden realisation dawns on her. "Wait. That's a thing? I'm not like…. Broken or something? What does this one mean?" she pulls off the ring on her left hand.

"First of all: No you are most definitely not broken and it is completely normal to feel that way. Second, often aromantics will wear a white ring on their left hand to show their aromanticism. Which is basically the same as asexuality but for romantic attraction. Of course, like you can't make assumptions based on ring choice obviously, but it is a possibility."

"And- you’re not just making this u right? I'm like actually not broken or something?"

"Okay. Estella. You are definitely not broken. Like at all. Okay?"

"Okay?"

"Okay"

_________________________________________________________________

 

We talk. And we dance. And we talk more. And he tells me about how he's gay – it means he likes guys – and he's secretly dating the stableboy, but his mum is making him get married by the end of the festival. And we talk about the most random things. And I tell him about my mother and my father. And my mother's grave and the tree. And we talk, and we dance, and we eat. And we plan my exit. When the clock strikes twelve, I run through the doors, down the stairs, and back to my house, stopping only long enough to change back into my regular clothes. And back into the house. He makes a show of chasing after me and then waits in the forest before circling back to the palace, claiming he 'searched for hours but couldn't find her anywhere.'

_________________________________________________________________

 

The next day my dress is a deep violet, in much the same design as the day prior, and the shoes and jewellery are bright gold, though I wear the same rings. We talk, and we dance, and we eat, and we talk, and we dance and eat. And then, I make the same exit as the day before. 

_________________________________________________________________

 

On the final day of the festival, my dress is different. It's a full ballgown in mostly oranges, with yellows and reds mixed in a fiery pattern. The slippers are glass – which honestly seems kind of dangerous – I'm wearing no jewellery other than my rings, and my long dark hair is loose over my shoulders. 

Tonight the dance is fast-paced, with lots of partner swaps; I barely get a chance to talk to Darius. Although during the climax of one of the dances, when I'm dancing with him, my dress suddenly bursts into flames, leaving behind a blue, silky, flowy dress – that almost resembles water – and everyone stops and stares for a moment before going back to their dancing, or conversations. 

"Did you know that was going to happen?" whispers Darius to me

"Nope, not at all", and then we're swept back up into the dance

I use the same exit strategy this time, but – I'm stuck. There's pitch spread over the stairs, and I can't move. I tug my feet out of the slippers and leap down to the bottom of the stairs. And then run through the forest barefoot. 

_________________________________________________________________

 

According to Charlotte, the Prince has declared that whoever sole the shoe fits is the woman he shall marry. It's probably a ploy, or like a mutual 'we don't love each other romantically, but you need to marry a girl, and it would pull me out of a bad situation' or something. Not sure. I trust him enough not to mess this up completely. 

_________________________________________________________________

 

The royal procession has reached our door, and the shoes fit neither Charlotte nor Calliope, so of course, the only natural course of action is to cut off the heel, or the toe, respectively, so it will. For the record, their plan did not work; everyone saw the blood dripping from the shoes, and they were ditched straight away. 

That horrid stepmother of mine nearly gets away with not letting me try the shoe, but Darius insists (good on him), and so I take the shoe – the one that isn't covered in blood – and, while staring right at my stepfamily, slide it onto my foot. It's a perfect fit, obviously, and as I watch their jaws drop, I jump onto the back of Darius' horse, and we slip away. Somehow he managed to come on this expedition on his own, and he seems like he has a plan, so I follow. We stop near the outskirts of the forest and pick up a boy called Fabian – Who must be Darius' boyfriend – who has two horses and a bunch of supplies with him. I slip down off dare horse and onto the one that isn't yet mounted – my father taught me how to ride when I was younger – and we ride. And we ride, and we ride, and we ride. 

_________________________________________________________________

*****************************************************************  

 

People talk, as people do. They talk about the lost Prince and speculate about where he might be, presumably with his bride, the woman he was meant to marry. 

In a faraway town, in another kingdom, you will find a bookshop, and In this bookshop, you will find two old men and a woman who – if you ask the right question – will chuckle amongst themselves. And If you ask for a book recommendation, one of the men will always recommend Cinderella, a story about a prince and a peasant girl, and they will giggle at that as well. And when you're not quite looking, out of the corner of your eye, you might spot the men sharing lingering touches or glances before the woman nudges them and whispers something in one of their ears, and they startle apart. You will find that there are always a couple of doves lingering around the woman; although she refuses to call them pets, they are just as wild as she says. And if you squint hard enough, you might just see a pair of glass slippers reflecting the sunlight in the back of the shop. 

 

The End

[readingshenaniganss]

Monday Review:

Starting Pride with a bang, I read One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston. Well, I actually read it the last day of May, but shhhh, I'm counting it.

This book was phenomenal. It was fantastic, and cute, and wonderful, and lovely, and every other word that in any language that could indicate I loved this book. It was just perfect.

The story is about August Landry as she moves to New York after transferring universities and majors. She's not sure about her roommates but it's the cheapest room available. She's not sure about her program but maybe third time's the charm. She doesn't know what she's doing at her new job and hopes she doesn't get fired in the mean time. But she does know one thing.

She has a huge crush on Subway Girl. Like, 'imagine putting Ikea furniture together' levels of crushing.

But a random photo brings August to question just who this girl is and where she comes from. Or more precisely, when.

This book was everything, and I mean everything. August and Jane have such great chemistry together that it was always fabulous to see them interact. In fact, the entire cast had great chemistry with each other and I was never waiting for the story to change which characters we saw.

August, while a little brusque for me at first, I warmed up to pretty quickly. I really appreciated seeing her growth throughout the book because it felt natural and didn't stem 100% from the lover interest. Her friends are a major part of her journey and help her open up to loving trusting others, even if she might get hurt, because they let her know that they'll be there to catch her when she falls.

Jane was great. She's charming, and dashing, and feels so alive she could jump out of the page to start a dance party in your house. But she also has such painful depths, and as we discover with her the ups and downs she's been through, we see the pain she feels knowing she's stuck in some weird time prison while everyone she knew has grown old and and moved on from the point she's trapped at. We see her go from frustrated not knowing who she is, to agonized over the knowledge that those she loved are gone, with complete lives she never got to see.

And for the rest of the cast is just-*Chefs kiss*

So I'm just going to get this out of the way, Niko owns my whole ass heart. He is great, and I love him, and he can do no wrong ever.

Below are several lines from him that live rent free in my head. To those who have read the book already, yes, they are all from the same scene and I make no apologies.

Like, I'm obsessed. There's nothing else I can say but that this non-toxic goth psychic has my heart.

Myla is also wonderful. She's just this positive force that keeps on going and reminds August that times get tough but you have to get through them anyway. I also really appreciated that August and Myla didn't have a whole melodramatic fight just for the sake of one. I had been worried about that with the trust issues August started with and Mylas' insistence upon August being her friend that there would be a blow up, but there wasn't one!!!

Wes is the quiet introverted roommate who has the social skills of a giraffe on ice. He mainly shows up to give vibes of 'why am I here?' and honestly, relatable. I really liked him here because he acts as a mirror to August. Both have issues with letting people in with their backgrounds and can sort of commiserate with each other their struggles. It gave depth to their relationship that could have been overlooked, but instead created a couple of beautiful moments as they both deal with their emotions.

And then Isaiah are just a fucking delight. Isaiah, drag name Annie Depressant, is a brilliant star every time when on page. I want to go to one of his brunches and get drunk with him. And he's so easy goin. 'Hey, we're breaking into a bar to do a séance, want to come?' Sure! 'Hey, going to help cover their asses as they do and Ocean's Eleven style heist to save Jane from her subway time capsule?' Absolutely!

There are a few more characters in the background, like Augusts' mom, her boss and her coworkers. While they don't really play a bigger part in the book, to say they do nothing to the story is just a huge oversight. Casey does a outstanding job of weaving everyone together so that, while the plot of the story doesn't necessarily revolve around their actions, leaving out the interactions leaves a hole where they were. Their relationships to August add the faintest sketch lines to create a more detail painting and in doing so creates a masterpiece.

One thing that I also really enjoyed seeing was just how young everyone was, how young they all sounded. All of the main cast felt so young, it didn't feel like an author trying to figure out how you sound in your early 20's, it was an author who knew how you sounded, and the choices to made, and the humour you have. When Wes was complaining about the trains and said 'But go off I guess' I was startled into laughter. One, cause I forgot about that meme, but two, cause it was so on the nose. It felt like something I would melodramatically deadpan to my fried group. And maybe it will be super dated in a few years because of it, but I rather think of it as preserving what 20 year olds were like in the 2020's.

I also love that everyone in the main cast is queer. It's just a much more realistic aspect of life, especially in a city like New York. Hell, I'm from a small town in the middle of Canada, and my highschool group still ended up being 75% queer, though some of us didn't realise what flavour we were until later. Seeing a group of friends whole, while not all identifying the same way, share the experience of not being heteronormative, and it shows in ways that you just innately recognize when you're a part of that group too.

I also really like how much of the queer activism of Jane's life was interwoven. While it's not the main aspect of her personality, it is an important one, and rightly so. She was a lesbian punk in the 70's, there's no way you can just ignore everything that was going on then, and this book doesn't. It talks about the history, and what it was like. How that colours your view of the world and your reactions to it.

The only thing I found to be slightly annoying was when they tried to explain the science behind Janes' time travelling. Specifically, the theory that she was hopping through several points in time. I see no evidence how they got to that conclusion, it's not like Jane is going 'yeah, today I'm in 2021 but yesterday I was in 1986.' So I didn't love seeing that, 'cause it felt like a completely illogical guess to make for the situation, and only brought in to create more drama at a later plot about her becoming more and more stuck in the present while the subway line is about the get shutdown.

But even with that irritation, I loved this book, this book was almost perfect, and if I tried to describe everything I loved about this story I'd be here forever. Instead I'll just say thatwhen I have disposable income, I'm buying a copy. For now, just going to take it out of my library on repeat. Go read it

10/10

[elysianslove]

haikyuu boys and tropes that suit them!

includes: kageyama tobio, iwaizumi hajime, oikawa tōru, sakusa kiyoomi, miya osamu, miya atsumu, suna rintarō

(possibly part 1??? consider this an apology for not posting as much 💔)

kageyama tobio — practice kissing. 

kageyama is, as embarrassing as it is for him to admit this, inexperienced, greatly so. he’s in his third year of high school, 18, and is yet to have his first kiss. college is approaching him dauntingly quick, and he doesn’t think he can handle being as clueless as he is for any longer. so while you’re sat on his bed scrolling through his phone, he bluntly asks you if you’ve ever kissed someone. he seemed so confident, and the words were straightforward and lacked any sign of anxiety or uneasiness. but the moment they left his mouth, he’s red in the face and his hands are shaking. when you agree to help him practice, he’s scared, shy, flustered, and his heart is in his throat, but he lets you lead the, setting the pace yourself as you sit before him, his face in your hands, pulling him closer to you. it’s electrifying, to put it to the least. he’d heard a million horror stories from his upperclassmen about first kisses, but he finds himself unable to relate. everything about the kiss and you is perfect, and he asks for more practice, starts looking forward to theses ‘sessions.’ he starts growing more and more confident, until he’s the one flustering you, the one making you gasp and squirm and mewl, not the other way around. and maybe he’ll find it in him to confess. maybe. 

iwaizumi hajime — friends to lovers. 

in general, with iwaizumi, he has a hard time believing in that he’s meant for a relationship, in that he has his own person, and for many reasons. he tries to be rational about it, saying he has other priorities at the moment, that he won’t be able to give his all, that he’s not particularly ready or in the right headspace/situation to commit to a person and a relationship. but it’s also, deep down, because of this indescribable fear of not being enough, of his flaws being too much, of being too imperfect. he just chooses not to get a headache over it, honestly. that’s why friends to lovers is perfect for him. it’s this person who he’s known for a long time, someone he’s come to know so well, so deeply, and vice versa. they’ve seen the bad and good of each other, been through all the ups and downs, learnt all their quirks, their habits, their tendencies. this is someone who is already a priority, someone who is already a constant. of course, he still hurts his head thinking about how wrong it is to have feelings for his friend, and the shame and guilt eats at him from the inside out. but it’s just so— easy. to love them. it’s so, so easy, as easy as breathing. and iwaizumi spends such a large amount of time pining and yearning that the final straw, the snap, the breathless confession, is so satisfying. 

oikawa tōru — enemies to lovers. 

oikawa wants and needs someone that’ll both keep him on his toes, always pushing him to the very edge but not completely over. he needs someone that excites him, someone that he has to work to earn. the word enemies is blurry to him. all he sees is someone playing hard to get, and he takes it as a challenge. it’s not that he wants and needs everyone to be in love with him and how dare you not be swooning at the sight of me!! it’s more that this person intrigues him impossibly. this person challenges him, bites back, and bites back hard. and the transition from enemies to lovers is so smooth with him, because it’s unpredictable and unexpected. one moment you’re swearing at him across the hall, the next you’re tenderly massaging at his injured knee and reassuring him of his hard work and efforts. it’s beautiful, really. the snarky comments and the flirty comebacks and the glares returned with playful grins, and them the moment of realization that opens up a whole new door that this person isn’t so bad after all. the satisfaction of finally giving in, either so slowly, so carefully and timidly, or rushed, hurried and desperate. so good. 

sakusa kiyoomi — there was only one bed! 

sakusa does not share. it’s nothing personal (sometimes it is), but he just prefers to have his own private space, where he can be comfortable. but things happen! like a trip where you’re stuck in the same room! and there’s only one bed! and the person you’re stuck with is the same person you’re very confused in regards to your feelings about them! the trip is a couple of days, and so it starts with the offer to sleep on the couch. it’s very uncomfortable, but he does it anyways, because a) he’s a gentleman, and b) you both now each have your private, safe space. two days pass, and you both tiredly pass out on the bed next to one another. he wakes up before you in horror and falls onto the couch quickly, but he doesn’t fall asleep again. as if this were fate’s play, you find yourself unable to sleep, and neither can he, so you quietly scoot over, a silent invitation. reluctantly, he accepts. he doesn’t spend that night sleeping either, instead simply stares at you, his hand outreaching for you, but not quite touching. eventually comes a day when he wakes up with your face buried in his shoulder, and although his cheeks are as warm as ever, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. he only feels grateful to be finally touching you. 

miya osamu — soft only for their lover. 

it’s not that osamu is rude to others, or hates everyone else, or anything along those lines. it’s more that he’s less likely to open up, be vulnerable, be softer, easier than compared to with his partner. with his lover, he smiles easier, expressions are readable, his eyes always a dead giveaway to what’s on his mind. he’s colder and less approachable to others, but it’s almost as if his resolve melts the moment he spots his lover. he could be yelling at someone, angrily, then turn to his partner and in the softest voice say, “just a moment, my love,” and go back to yelling as if it were completely normal. similarly, he will always take his lover’s side of the argument regardless of whether they’re right or wrong. and, he’ll be kissing his lover, but pause for a moment to deck his brother, then return to kissing his lover again even softer. it’s because his lover owns such a big part of his heart, and when osamu loves, he loves with every part of him. he’s been called out on it multiple times; the fact that he’s so much meaner and harsher and stubborn with everyone else, including his brother, but it’s always the opposite with you. you are his soft spot, really, and it tickles your tummy whenever you notice the little changes and shifts in his attitude and personality when it comes to you. 

miya atsumu — enemies to lovers. 

unlike with oikawa’s case, you and atsumu genuinely hate each other. you despise his attitude, his cockiness, his ideals, his approaches, his voice, his hair, everything, and likewise, he can’t stand you. he’d only ever been rude to you, and in response, you’d defended yourself by being equally as rude. this isn’t playing hard to get enemies, this is i hate your guts enemies. rarely does being in a room with him not result in some sort of argument. your mutual friends are all fed up, of the arguments, the fighting, the smack talk behind one another’s backs, the complaining, everything. it’s infuriating, and so they beg you to talk it out, to try and resolve whatever it was going on between you, but either he wouldn’t cooperate, or you wouldn’t. it seemed hopeless, until at some point in time, you get badly hurt, maybe mentally or physically, but atsumu finds himself worried unbelievably. it’s irrational to be, especially with your history with one another. but he’s worried, insanely so, and when he finds you, finds out you’re okay, or you will be, the relief that fills him is dizzying and so, scary. but maybe the both of you were just projecting onto each other, the fact that you so badly wanted each other but felt like you couldn’t do anything. 

suna rintarō — brother’s best friend. 

it’s a dash of forbidden love, a dash of friends to lovers. he’s your brother’s best friend, older than you, and it’s wrong, you know it is, but you can’t help it. on the days he’s invited over, you purposely make sure to stay at home, and you make excuses to pass by your brother’s room constantly, to talk to him. he knows you like him, knows you’re desperately chasing after him in your own subtle way, and for a while, suna lets you. he acts dumb, none the wiser, lets you have your little fun of sneaking snaps of him to send to your friends and when you purposely press your leg against his sitting next to him on the couch or when you offer your lollipop after you suck on it. he indulges you, slightly, subtly. and when he sees it suitable, finds it right, he starts to return the advances: he accidentally arrives a little earlier than planned to your home when he’s invited, and he passed by you in school more often, and he makes up excuses to text you all the time. eventually, the sexual tension is unbearable, suffocating, incredibly overwhelming, and when it snaps, nothing else matters. just the two of you. he’s experienced, good with his words and his hands and his mouth and he’s a dream. and all you do is fall deeper, and deeper, and deeper. 

[snackhobi]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

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

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

“Was that the weekly special?”

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

“Would you recommend it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.  

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

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

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

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

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

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

You are the worst.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why, oh why, oh why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s dyed his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

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

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

And then Yoongi laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Your heart aches.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he spots you standing there.

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

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

Yoongi stares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you think. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand. 

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?” 

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say. 

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove

[bbjimin-dududu]

For starters, I have no idea how to do this🤩-

Anyways ajkdsjkd it was such an eventful year! There have been times when I plainly wanted to punch everyone out of existence, there have been moments when the world seemed to beautiful to let go. ;-; All i want to say is, I don't think I'd have made this far in a decent state of mind without this blog. Without all my followers and mutuals and everyone and everything lovely that exists on this hellsite. It's been over one year, ever since I first got this blog, but the friends, creations and memories that I have found here, are simply timeless.

This isn't a milestone celebration or a follow forever. It's a let's-welcome-2022-but-also-mutual-appreciation-post.

Wishing that everyone had a delightful Christmas, and now, I hope all of you could bid 2021 a much needed💀 goodbye, and look forward to a better, kinder, softer 2022. Trust me, the coming year will go just as fast as 2021 did. But hopefully, it'll treat you well. I hope, that anyone who's reading this, knows that you have never been alone. You've always been loved, and I pray that there should be so many amazing things waiting for all of us in 2022. Given the current situation, please do take utmost care of yourselves and let's all wait for the day when we're finally a step closer to being together, in all aspects. Love you guys 3000!💞💞💞

Let me *stands on a podium* start with my personal ramblings now<3

@intokook : ivy my beloved, bestest bestie award goes to you😔😔 i haveN'T KNOWN A MOMENT OF PEACE SINCE I GOT TO KNOW YOU BIT- anyways😔 thank you so much for allll the ramblings in the google doc, for random convos about anything at all, for caring about me every chance that you could, and simply just for being there. never leave this hellsite without telling me or you'll have a parcel called pristine at your doorstep, i love you💕💕

@taechnological : sae!!! you're that one chaotic friend that everyone secretly wants to befriend you know?🥺 your threads and your energy is really something that I endlessly love!! thank you so much for always matching my vibe, and here's to soooo many more crackheaded moments together, i love you💕💕

@gimbapchefs : nat :( i've always adored you from afar, even before we became moots, i just adore you sm :( you're like a soft marshmallow :( thank you for being there for my nutty self and for every other interaction that we've had! you're super cute :( i love you💕💕

@kimtaegis : annie!! i feel like a little fangirl blushing about whenever i interact with you💀 being friends w you is such an honour you don't even know!!! if you ever wanna talk about anythingggg please do hmu :( thank you so much for all the interactions we've had, and i def await so much more, i love you💕💕

@euphhorias : Liv omg😭 we started talking a LOT recently, and i really really couldn't be happier :( you're the elder version of me as i've already said and!! i'll always use the jikook line on you🥺 thank you for making me feel soft, loved and cared for all the freaking time, i love you💕💕

@blonghoonie : Rainie my beloved :( words leave me when it comes you :( you're so so full of love, for everyone, it just makes me so warm inside whenever i see you on my dash, whenever we're talking or spamming asks to each other💀 thank you for loving Pimin so much with me :( please know that i'm always here for you, i love you💕💕

@gentleyoon : Emily! We interact sometimes, but I just want to take this chance to tell you that I absolutely adore you and your presence on my dash! Everything about you screams gentle and loving :( please always be super lovely like this, there couldn't be a more lovelier version of you, i love you💕💕

@minieggukie : Kris hahsjhsk even as i type this, I'm instantly reminded of so many moments of Jimin, that I kinda associate w you :') thank you so much for the lovely set that you made for me on my bday, i still go back to it sm :((( and thank you posting that pic of jimin which i shall continue to reblog for the rest of my life😭😭 thank you for alllll the interactions we've had, you're amazing, i love you💕💕

@bluejaem : Aditi miss ma'am WE HAVE TO INTERACT MORE AND CAUSE CHAOS ON HELLSITE.COM PLEASE :') thank you so much for every other interaction that we've had! def loving jaemin hours 24/7 for you and loving jimin hours 24/7 for me, but let's spare a teeny tiny minute for each other🥴 please always take care of yourself, i love you💕💕

@daech-witless : Parker my boi :( One of my first first friends here!!! Lately I've been kinda busy, so haven't found much time to catch up with you🥺 i hope you're doing well and taking care of yourself🥺 thank you so much for always lifting my mood with your sweet asks, you're the bestie #1💀, i love you💕💕

@i4taee : Pepper my babieeeee!!! Idk what to say, I just fully wholly adore you to bits and pieces and atoms!!! You're an absolute sweetheart, always going about and taking care of people! Bless your loving heart, I'm so so so damn glad to have found you here! Please always spread love this way, and spare lots of it for yourself too!! I love you💕💕

@cherryvmin : Keerthana :(((((( the taehyung to my jimin truly :(((( thank you so much for being such a strong support at any given time, thank you so so much for all the moments we've shared. i wish only the best for you, you're an amazing person and you deserve soooooooooo much!!! I love you💕💕

@stayjimin : Luna!!! For the 3489573985th I miss you!!!!!! You're hug-shaped :( I just cannot ever stop loving you :(( you remind me of jimin more than anyone else :((( i hope you're taking good care of yourself, and i hope that we can interact so much more!! I love you💕💕

@megmargaretmarch : Meg... you're not here lately, but please know that whenever you're back, I'll be waiting just with open arms for you to come and give me a hug :( I reallllllly miss all the chaotic interactions that we had early in the year, and I hope we could go back to it soon. Thank you for making me feel loved when I was lonely. I love you💕💕

@hello-yav : Thanking heavens you decided to send me that anon ask Yav. Else I'd never have the privilege of meeting such a beautiful soul as you. Please always know that you're loved okay? I'm always always here for you. I love you💕💕

@hendeurigf : Lacey! For one, I'm glad I decided to take the step of sending anons to you. IgnorING THE FACT THAT I REVEALED MY IDENTITY accidentally ._. it's been an absolutely amazing thing knowing you :( You're a really sweet person, and you deserve so so many good things. I hope 2022 brings you far more love than 2021, and I hope you can focus on the positive things in life and learn to love yourself. Till then, I'm here for you and I love you💕💕

@diorkoo : Ash!!! I adore you so much!!!!!!! You're one of my strongest supports, always there to cheer for me when things take a shit turn. Please see how self-less you are, it's such a rare and wonderful thing to see!! You don't even know how grateful I am for you :( Please be kinder to yourself, I love you💕💕

@loveonthefloormp3 : Wifey #1 James😔💍 Let's just get married and adopt a cat eh?💀 Then we'll collectively fangirl over Ryujin and Yeji- anyways, thank you for always making my day by mentioning me in cat posts, soft posts, and anything really! Just makes me everything to know that you've thought of me :(( Please maintain touch with me for a loooooooong time, I love you💕💕

@jimeanour : Manny my fellow jm enthusiast🤠 we recently started interacting, buT BUT BUT i feel i can relate to you soooo much in soooooooo many different things!! I'm damn glad we match each other's vibe and I hope to get even more close in the coming year! I love you💕💕

@noceurrealm : âme my love :( you're the most adorable, fluffiest, goofiest little ball of sunshine ever!!! For one, I love talking to you and even if it's just rambling, I'd leave everything to just come to talk to you :((((( Please be kinder to yourself, I love you💕💕

@softhaeshine : Mimi!!!!! Marry me- 🥴 Libra-Sag energy high in the house hasdfkjs I'm so so damn glad that I've found you here! I really want to never ever stop talking to you :( you're an amazing person with such a pretty heart, so full of love, I don't see why anyone would not fall in love w you!!!! Let's interact so much more in the coming year!! I love you💕💕

@imdamnconfused : Kikiiiiiiiii my beloved angel darling lovely sis!!!!!! Let us meet some day PLEASE so I can give you the tightest hug ever!!!! You're one whom I can always always count on, no matter what :( Please always stay goofy like this, sending soooooooo many hugs your way!! I love you💕💕

@liza-empress-of-emojis : Liza!! you give off such positive vibes all the time :( I'm very very proud of you, despite all the hardships in your life, you're still fighting your way through life, and trust me, I respect that so damn much.🦋 Please always take care of yourself and spread love and never change! I love you💕💕

@ackergrr : have to agree I really really missed your memes when you were gone😭 I'm really glad that you're back and continuing with the same cursed head-assery and I'm more than willing to join you<3333 Thank you for leaving me with a light heart and smiles all the time, I love you💕💕

@avizou : Awi!!!!!! I have so much love for you and i'm sorry i don't quite get a chance to show it :( You're elder than me, but you never ever make me feel different in any way. I have so much admiration for you and the amazing things that you post!!! I really hope the universe sends 10x the love to you that you give out, I love you💕💕

@starryjongseong : Oi Pranaya my lil sis ;-; taking this chance to say that I've not found much time to talk to you as of late :( I hope you're doing fine and please know that you're one of the cutest bubbiest sweetest people I know!! I'm always gonna be here if you need to talk, I love you💕💕

@jieunssi : Amal :( It's been a looooong time since we've been moots, and I must agree it's been so lovely knowing you, and interacting with you!! I don't think I've mentioned, but you're quite elder to me, so I look up to you a lot! You're so soft and loving inside-out, I love you💕💕

@parkdiaries-main-deactivated202 : Chae. I'll wait for you for as long as this hellsite exists. I found so much in you. The Chandler to my Joey, the toast to my butter. I love you so damn much. And I miss you so much. I don't know if you've returned and can simply not find me because of my url change, or if you've still not come, but either ways I'll wait. I'll wait for you to return so that I can be your significant bother once again. I'm praying that everything is well w you, I love you💕💕

@thatredwine : Erl!!! It's been next-level amazing being moots w you!! Every single interaction that we've had so far is just so hfdjakhdafsd and screams chaos :') I hope to have so many such amazing moments with you in the coming year! Please remain healthy and happy genuinely, I love you💕💕

@lost-leopard-beanie : Emma darling🥺🥺 you dshjsddsj idk what to say!!! you're so damn sweet and cute and precious and I just want to wrap you in bubble-wrap and keep you for myself and take care of you🥺🥺🥺 please always be confident about what you do, and know that you're loved!! I love you💕💕

@min-boongie : Réka🥺 I relate to you in so many different things, you wouldn't even know :( Who Yoongi is to you, Jimin is to me. Every time you're just mushy rambling about yoon I cannot help but think that it's exactly the way I cry over jimin :( and it gives me so much reassurance to know, that there are soft beloved souls like you on this planet :( I hope you're able to fulfill your priorities in life and that you get the love that you deserve in 2022. I love you💕💕

@yuniixoxo : Yuni!!!! You're the sweetest sweetest sweetesttttttttt person around!! You never fail to put a smile on my face, and I simply cherish you soooooooooooooo much for that!! Thank you for existing, and for being you, I hope you get sooooo much love in 2022! I love you💕💕

@jaefmin : Vidhi/Ara :') I don't think you know, but you're super super cute and always carry around an enthusiastic vibe around you!! I'm so glad to have befriended you here, and I hope that we can get closer in the coming year! I love you💕💕

@stray-kiss : Maluuuu bestie we gotta interact more😔😔 I hope everything's been well with you and I hope you're taking care of yourself :(( you're always so nice and kind to me, thank you so much for every interaction that we've had :(( I love you💕💕

@pyxisadamo : Joy🥺🥺 I get kinda emotional when it's about you idk dhjsjhsd you've been treating me so carefully, showering so much love upon me, I really couldn't be happier :( I'm so so thankful for you, for everything and I really hope that 2022 brings love and happiness to you :(( I hope we can interact more in a few years, anddd I love you💕💕

@pjmsdior : Isabella!!!!! Sweetest person on this planet!!!!!!! You never ever fail to bring happiness to anyone! If there's anyone on this site who's the kindest person I've met, it's literally you. You're no lesser than an angel, you've got so much love to give out and you always place everyone above you. I hope that the universe is always kind to you and I'm sending you the most gigantic jimin-hug ever to thank you for everything!! I love you💕💕

@hobeah : Niki!!! You're a sweetheart is all I can manage to say because!!!!! I adore you sooooooooooooooo much!!! I still remember how madly happy I was when we became moots :( Thank you so so much for being you, for being so lovely, for everything!!!! I love you💕💕

@marvelousbangtan : Crystal<3 I can understand that life is being really hard on you right now. So I'm praying that the universe brings you better things in 2022 and lots of strength to heal from what you're going through. I promise you'll be fine real soon, please take care of yourself, I love you💕💕

@serotaejin : Literally gives me a serotonin rush whenever i interact with you why!!!🥴🦋 You're a reallly sweet amazing nice polite lovely etc etc etc person and I just have sooooooo much love for you!! Thank you for much for being moots w me and loving me i'm so damn grateful :(((( I love you💕💕

@cosyserendipity : Sonja :(( you're such a beautiful and warm person, inside out! All little interactions, sweet asks and mentions and just you being there for me is something that I cherish very very very dearly :( I hope you have an amazinggggggg year ahead, I love you💕💕

@userjiminie : Rafa!!! By god I'm so so thankful to you for alllll the amazing jikook content that you serve! Like I couldn't be more jealous of them😵- hehe dshkjdsf anyways thank you so much for your amazing presence and just always know that you're beloved okay??? I love you💕💕

@marethetic : Mare :(( Idk when you'll see this, but whenever you do, please know that I cherish you so so so damn much. You're my first first real friend online EVER and I'm so damn glad that I decided to post on weverse that day. You replied, we became close, exchanged numbers dude!!! We have to meet one day for I want to give you the tightest hug everrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Thank you for everything, for listening to my ramblings and for always supporting me! You make me feel safe and loved. I hope you have an amazing year ahead!! I love you💕💕

@kithtaehyung : Ryen!!! I'm just so much in awe of you all the damn time!!!!!!! Thank you for the amazing creations that you put out, thank you for supporting my creations and just generally thank you for being such a wonderful person!!! Looking forward to interacting this year!!! I love you💕💕

@psycho-mocha : [extremely late mention because i'm a shithead] Mocha!!!!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE talking to you :(((( it makes me so damn happy to see your messages in my dms every once in a while, and the random topics that we ramble about- *ahem* anyways, dear light of my life, always keep shining like a pretty little light, and i hope this year treats you just as well!!!! I love you💕💕

Lovingly yours,

Pristine💌