#kinda grassy but sweeter

[skylordhorus]

eCh this peppermint tea now no longer smells or tastes like peppermint once brewed

#*deep space noises* #gross..... #it has the tingle of mint hitting u afterwards but thats it #the smell is familiar but i cant place my finger on it #kinda grassy but sweeter?? #its making me think of seaweed even tho its def not that either #regardless its Rank and i feel let down

[theteasetwrites]

Some Kind of Stranger

Part 2: Woozy

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 1-Season 9 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mentions of sexuality, swearing ❧ Word Count: 5.6k

❧ Requested by @zasher

❧ Request: “reader is ricks daughter (18/19 during the outbreak) and secretly dating daryl, rick catches them eventually. (maybe smut? 🥴) I’m idea was kinda like a few short bits from when they first met and the gradual changes and how their relationship grows, which leads to the main part where reader a daryl are together in some way (cuddling? kissing? smashing?) and rick catches them, chaos ensues.”

❧ A/N: More build-up than I anticipated, but I have to make their relationship seem earned! Sorry no smut or overt sexuality in this part. It didn't feel right yet, but we're getting there! Honestly though, this gif has enough sexuality in it for this part to be considered smutty.

Somewhere along the line, you’d forgotten how many stars were in the sky, how many of them you could see when the world didn’t have its lights on all night. Now, no one could turn on any lights, so the night was so dark that even the dimmest stars came out to play, and twinkled against the backdrop of the black, velvety curtain of night.

At the Greene farm, it had always been that way, even before the turn. Only now, sitting with your knees hugged into your chest on that grassy plain beneath the late summer night sky, did you realize how much you had missed.

You grew up in a small town outside of Atlanta, but as soon as you could, you moved to the city to get away from your stepmother, Lori. That was a year ago, and you liked her more now that you’d matured a bit, but a part of you always wished your father had gotten back with your mother, though they met when they were very young, and had you by accident when they were just about your age.

So you left, and now you were here, the same kind of place you were trying to avoid when you left. You didn’t want quiet, you wanted noise, and you got that in Atlanta, but you weren’t in Atlanta anymore. Funny how that works.

“Hey,” your father’s voice called out to you quietly from behind. He had a nice voice, a soft voice, yet strong and rich. Nothing could replace the sound of your father’s voice, his laugh, his southern twang that made everything sound a little sweeter. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You looked up at him as he stood next to you, his arms on his hips with that slight bend of his right knee. He had a very recognizable stance, always did. You smiled at him softly. “I know.”

Rick shook his head and huffed as he sat himself down next to you. You gave him a side-eye. “What are you doing?” you asked.

He stretched out one leg and bent the other, resting his arm on it and smirking at you as he spoke. “What, I can’t sit with my daughter? Ask her what’s on her mind?”

You shook your head and laughed. “I didn’t say that. I just… You haven’t really talked to me in a while, that’s all.”

He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve been busy, (Y/N). Tryin’ to keep this group together. Should be better… About payin’ attention to you and Carl.”

You scoffed a little to yourself as you thought about the baby Lori was going to have. You knew she was pregnant when you found the discarded test marked positive, but no one, not even Lori, knew that you knew. She seemed determined to keep it a secret, so you respected that enough, but you were worried.

“No, it’s fine,” you said. “I understand. There’s important stuff going on.”

“Nothing’s as important as you, peanut.” He raised his hand and moved some stray pieces of hair from your face. “You know, you’ll always be my baby.”

You rolled your eyes. “Dad,” you said, “why are you saying that?”

He shrugged. “‘Cause it’s true, and ‘cause you been actin’... different lately.”

You avoided his eye contact and crossed your arms over your knees, then leaned your chin over them.

“You hardly talk to anyone,” he continued, “and you keep goin’ out, doin’ things like this.” He gestured to the surrounding grasslands. “Why are you isolating yourself like this? Does this have something to do with Lori?”

Your eyes widened. “No!” you quickly said, then shook your head a little when you realized how loudly you proclaimed that word. “Uh, I mean, no, of course not. You know I’ve made my peace with Lori. That was childish of me, I like her now.”

“So it’s not that?”

“Not that,” you confirmed. “It’s nothing.”

Only you knew it wasn’t nothing, and Rick did, too. He didn’t know what it was, and you barely did either, but it certainly wasn’t nothing. “What is it then, (Y/N)?”

On a basic level, you did know what it was—Daryl.

It just seemed so pathetic, so ridiculous, so utterly unnecessary for you to be pining after him the way you were, but you couldn’t help it. Ever since that night at the CDC, you were much too embarrassed to even look his way, and yet you thought about him every single night, and maybe even more than that. He consumed you, that much was clear. Perhaps that had contributed to your split from the group—all you wanted was to be alone, away from Daryl, and away from anyone who might make fun of you for the way you thought of him.

The conversation went through your mind a thousand times:

He’s too old for you.

You could be his daughter, for crying out loud!

How can you even think about this when the dead roam the earth?

Besides, he doesn’t want you. You tried, and he didn’t budge. You’re pathetic.

You’re just a child, a dumb little child.

And they were right in your mind. The voices, they were keeping you from Daryl, and everyone else, for the last five days or so. Still, you thought it was your mind’s way of coping with its lovesickness, and that you’d heal from it soon, though the end didn’t seem anywhere near in sight.

“I just like being alone these days,” you said. “That’s all.”

“But why?”

The man was always so good at interrogating. Maybe that’s why he became a police officer, or maybe he became so good at it from years of doing it. It was the classic chicken or the egg scenario.

“I—I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

He leaned closer and wrapped his arm around you to pull you against his shoulder, where you sighed and laid your head. “It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to, I just worry about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you said. “I’m fine. I promise.”

That next morning, your father came to you again, walking up to you as you hung wet laundry on the clothesline in the middle of camp. He had a determined step and a recognizable look of action in his face. “Mornin’, Dad,” you said to him with a smile. “You’re looking chipper.”

He nodded. “Well, came to tell you that I got a job for you, something to keep you busy, and get you a little more involved in the search for Sophia.”

You sighed and looked down at your feet, then back up at your father as you scratched your cheek. “What is it?”

“You’re gonna work the search grid,” he said. “We’re pairin’ you up with Daryl.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped for a brief moment. “Wh-what? Why? I should go with you, or Shane, or Andrea, or T-Dog…” You stopped yourself before you named every able-bodied member of your group. “I mean, I don’t want to go with Daryl,” you said a little quieter now.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“He’s just…” You tried to think of a believable excuse. “He’s intimidating.”

He scoffed. “Hey, he might be a little… blunt, but he’d keep you safe. Besides, it’s best for you to go with him. It’s me with Shane, and Andrea with T-Dog. Those are the groups that work best, and you and Daryl just happen to be the last two, unless you really wanna change it.”

You shook your head. “Isn’t there anything else I can do?”

“(Y/N),” he sighed, “this is important. I want you to be involved, and we need as many hands on deck as possible. I’m also hoping Daryl can teach you some useful skills out there. He’d be a hell of a lot better teacher than me.”

The inside of your mind was now flashing bright red and in a state of panic as you tried to reconcile your father’s wishes with your need to stay as far away from Daryl as possible, but there was no way to do so.

“O-okay,” you said after a while of deliberation. “I’ll do it.”

“Great,” he said. “I’ll go tell Daryl.”

You met him outside the woods, between the beginning of the trees and the Greene farm. You sat atop a tree stump, your rifle laying across your lap as you waited. He trudged forward with his characteristic sway, which was much stiffer than usual, though he was just as serious as always. He moved quickly at first, and then hesitantly as he got closer and closer, as if trying to delay his imminent arrival.

Even when he did stop, he stopped some several feet away from you, cleared his throat, and looked down at his feet. You had only spoken to him in sentences of one or two words since the CDC, and you had tried to avoid looking at him, too, so now you were once again finding yourself in that trap of darting your eyes across every square inch of his body.

Immediately you were drawn to his chest, where the strap of his crossbow stretched diagonally across the broad expanse of the brown plaid of his shirt, which was torn at the sleeves.

Oh, how you wished he had worn something long-sleeved. The arms… They were your weakness. Your eyes grew hazy just at the sight of them, the outline of his lean biceps and the slightly protruding veins trailing down his forearm, how much you just wanted to—

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, brushing past you quickly with his head down. “Ain’t got all day.”

You swallowed hard, watching him begin to walk towards the forest.

Focus, you thought. And don’t you dare look at his ass.

You followed him into the woods, trying to keep up with his strides as he moved at an accelerated pace, almost as if he was trying to lose you.

“D-Daryl,” you finally said, tired of walking like this for ten minutes in complete silence and feeling like you weren’t welcome, “can we… stop for a minute? Or can you just… walk a little slower?”

You were completely out of breath, panting and sweating in the warm Georgia climate, but Daryl kept walking, his boots crushing dried leaves and sticks as you struggled to even match his stride.

“Daryl!”

“What?!” he yelled as he turned around and nearly knocked you over by suddenly stepping much closer to you. “What do ya want?!”

You stepped back and panted deeply. “Jesus,” you huffed. “I just want a break. I’m totally… out of… breath.” You leaned forward and rested your hands on your knees as you felt something suddenly rising up in your stomach. “Oh, God.”

The vomit poured out of you, all over your boots until there was nothing left. Luckily you hadn’t eaten much yet so it was mostly water, but you were mortified, a common occurrence lately.

Daryl stepped forward and leaned down a little to look at you, now a little concerned. “You all right?”

You raised your head to look at him, then quickly wiped your face and almost began to cry from embarrassment. If he didn’t already think you were pathetic, now he certainly did.

“Fine,” you said. “Just… It’s hot, and we were walking fast.”

He nodded and adjusted his crossbow across his chest, holding onto it with his hands. “Sorry.”

You shrugged. “It’s fine.”

A series of awkward facial expressions led to Daryl lifting his crossbow off of him and setting it down. “Let’s take a break then,” he said. “Drink some water.”

You sat yourself down against a tree and pulled out your water bottle with a sigh. “Thanks.”

He nodded as he leaned himself against a nearby tree, folding his arms and biting his lip as he tried not to watch you drink, or the water trickling down your neck as you chugged it down.

He couldn’t help it, though. He had to look. He hadn’t allowed himself to look at you in days, but he thought about you, especially at night, and wondered what you were doing, who you were with, if you thought about him too…

Now he knew that you liked him, that you wanted him, as you had said, but it didn’t change the fact that he was not going to go anywhere near you. You were simply much too young, despite how much he looked at you and saw a grown, adult woman. No matter how much he knew you weren’t a child, he couldn’t remove himself from the idea that he was a grown adult when you were born, and that there was so much you had yet to understand about the world that separated you from him.

Still, there was that need, the desire to do something with you that even he didn’t have much experience with. The thoughts were almost oppressive, taking over his every waking moment, and distracting him from the job he had been tasked with: finding Sophia. That was what was most important, he didn’t have time to be lusting after a young woman. There was a child missing, and he was intent on finding her, even if it took all of his willpower to do so.

“Daryl,” you said after a while of silence, during which Daryl had been looking at his crossbow as he held it lazily in his hands, “could we talk about what happened?”

It was a bold move on your part, and certainly something you didn’t think you’d be able to ask of him, but that silence was unbearable, and sooner or later, you both knew you would have to talk about it, the fact that you admitted such an intimate thing to him. “I want you,” you had said, and those three words had been echoing in Daryl’s mind ever since, haunting him, tormenting him.

There was a woman there, in his world, who wanted him just as much as he wanted her, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit to her that he’d fall to pieces just to touch her.

He might’ve felt something akin to sadness, longing, desperation, but, as so often happened, he expressed everything in the language he was most familiar with: anger.

“Talk about what?” he asked, glowering down at you and speaking in that hissing tone you came to know as the precursor to a much… louder conversation.

You cleared your throat and looked down at your feet. “Well, about what I did at the CDC.”

He scoffed. “What you did? You mean comin’ onto me like that?” He didn’t mean to sound so accusatory, so offended by what you’d done, since he really wasn’t. He was mostly confused, even in disbelief that you had done such a thing, but he wasn’t going to admit that so easily. You were about to respond, but he cut you off before you could get any words out, pushing himself off of the tree and approaching you with a hard step. “You got some nerve doin’ that. What the hell were you thinkin’?! Ya know, I’m twice as old as ya! Ain’t got no business with a girl like you.” He sounded much more like a disappointed father than he intended.

You stumbled a bit over your words before getting them out completely. “Uh, well, I—I… I was lonely.”

It was all you could muster, in that sad, mousy tone that you tried not to use with people like Daryl, people who seemed much stronger and more capable and confident than you, but you didn’t know the half of it. Daryl wasn’t as strong as you thought, or confident in any sense of the word. He was lashing out at you because he had no idea how to handle this situation, and rage was always the easiest emotion for him to express.

So that voice cut through him like a knife, made his shoulders sag and his uptight posture of his body threaten to melt into a puddle of useless matter. The small stutter of your voice nearly broke him, and he couldn’t bear to think that he’d hurt you. That was never his intention. If he had to hear anything in your voice, he would have much preferred it to be pleasure.

Then there were the very words you spoke. Lonely. Daryl could understand that. He was often lonely, too, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Lonely in the way you must’ve been as well—lonely in the sense that you needed someone to hold, and to hold you. It was an innate need, and he had it, though he only had it for you, and that’s one reason why he was so confused. He’d never felt this way before, let alone about someone so young and inexperienced, even if he was almost just as inexperienced.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I understand if you’re upset,” you continued. “So I’m sorry… I guess I… misread the situation.”

He lowered his head and scoffed, the only response he could seem to muster for a while, until the words came to him. “Ain’t gotta be sorry,” he said, much more calmly than he was before. “I know what you mean.”

You looked up at him curiously, fiddling with your water bottle in your hands nervously. “What?”

He shrugged, and looked around, anywhere but your direction. He bit his lip and kicked the dirt under his feet, and you watched his every move, intrigued and still so enchanted by the man. He really was more like an angel than a man, you thought. He wasn’t like anyone else you’d ever met, and that is what drew you to him.

“Know what it’s like… to be lonely.”

You smiled a little, happy to have found some common ground. If you couldn’t have Daryl the way you wanted him, you would be glad to at least have a friendship of sorts. It might’ve seemed impossible given what you had tried to initiate at the CDC, but you would be damned if you didn’t try. Beyond your sexual attraction to him, you genuinely liked him. He had barely talked to you, but from what you knew of him, he cared about your group, and tried hard every day to provide for you all. Even your father seemed to like him, and that, to you, was the mark of a good person. Besides, he was kind, and just seemed so down-to-earth. It was refreshing.

“You like being alone, don’t you?” you asked.

He finally looked your way, meeting your eyes, but quickly averting them again. He removed one hand from his crossbow to scratch his neck. “Guess so. Always kind of been on my own.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I like being alone, too, but sometimes you have to let people in, you know? It’s scary, but it’s usually worth it. I mean, I used to hate my stepmother, but now I like her. You just have to take chances on people.” You had no idea where you were going with this conversation. You were simply talking out of your ass at this point, saying any little thing that came to mind, but Daryl didn’t seem to care. He looked at you again, this time holding a more steady gaze, and biting the inside of his bottom lip as he gave you an attentive look. He was listening, really listening. You could just tell.

“I mean,” you continued with a self-dismissive shake of your head, “I have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“Nah,” he said quickly. “I get it.”

A few beats of strangely comfortable silence flowed between you, standing on opposite ends of the small clearing in the forest. Only occasional birds chirping and toads ribbiting punctuated the quiet air.

“Well, I’m glad we cleared the air a little,” you said with a sigh of relief. It felt a little less awkward between you now, and that was going to help a lot with getting you to focus a little more on the task at hand: finding Sophia. “I promise I won’t put my naked body on display for you again,” you said with a nervous laugh, but Daryl quickly lowered his head, to disguise the fact that he was most likely blushing.

“Mhm,” he muttered. “Let’s, uh… let’s go.”

The rest of that day went rather uneventfully. You didn’t talk much to Daryl, as he did most of the talking, instructing you on what he was doing and letting you know the ins and outs of tracking. It was the most you’d ever heard him talk at once, presumably because he knew so much about the subject. It was nice, hearing him speak about something he was knowledgeable on. You listened intently, trying to pick up every little detail about what he was saying, and every idiosyncrasy in his dialect, which you gained an immense pleasure from listening to.

He spoke with a bravado that wasn’t characteristic of his usual voice, one that signified confidence and a vast knowledge of what he was talking about. You tried not to let the way he spoke get to you, but of course it did. Not only did it impress you, it gave you another thing to think about at night in your cot: how nice his voice sounded when he was sure of himself.

The search that day wasn’t a complete success, since no one found Sophia, but you and Daryl did stumble upon an abandoned house that showed signs of very recent inhabitance, which could have very well been the little girl you were looking for.

This sparked Daryl’s enthusiasm for the search more, and yours as well. That night, things seemed to be looking up a little more, and quickly escalated again when Daryl came back from a solo search the next day, with one of his own arrows in his side and the graze of a bullet on the side of his head (courtesy of Andrea, who mistook him for a walker as he stumbled out of the woods).

He’d had a harrowing day, and you couldn’t help but follow him nervously as your father and Shane dragged him into the Greene house. You weren’t allowed to spend too much time in the house, since Hershel thought it was bad enough to have one of you in there, but you did bring Daryl his food when you could, and slipped him a few books to read while he rested.

Seeing him bruised and battered… It chilled you to the bone. The man seemed so strong and unbreakable, but he looked much more fragile when you came into his room with a tray of food, him lying in that bed with a bandage around his head and a patch of gauze on his arrow wound, a dot of red blood in the center and sending you into a dizzy fit. You hated the sight of blood—a very unfortunate trait to have in the world you now lived in.

Standing in the doorway, Daryl must not have noticed you yet, since he was laying facing the other side of the room, with his bare torso completely exposed. You briefly saw the marks on his back, long and jagged ribbons of pink scar tissue. They looked much too old to be from that day’s accident, but they saddened you nonetheless.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, to which Daryl quickly tugged the blanket over him and flipped himself over as fast as he could given the state of him. You smiled a little at the man’s modesty. You had already seen him naked. Granted, he was drunk when you saw him naked, and he probably didn’t want to relive it, you assumed. “Brought you dinner.”

He grunted in acknowledgement, and flattened out an arrow of the bed with his hand so you could place the tray there. Carefully, you rounded the bed and placed it gently beside him. “There you go,” you said, in a much more high-pitched, saccharine tone than you had intended. You noticed how much your voice changed around him, almost instinctively. “Do you need anything else? Any more blankets, water, books… I can bring you something for dessert when you’re done. One of the Greene’s made a peach cobbler.”

Daryl mustered a weak smile, one that wormed its way into your subconscious, where you kept other mementos of your interactions with Daryl. “Nah, s’fine. Thanks.”

You nodded. “You’re welcome… I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He bit his lip. “Why? Been nothin’ but an asshole to ya.” He pulled the tray closer and picked up his fork.

“You haven’t been an asshole,” you said. “I like you, Daryl. I told you. That’s not going to change, unless you want it to.”

He turned his potatoes over with his fork repeatedly, looking at them intently. “Someone’s gotta like me,” he said. “Might as well be you.”

You smiled. “Good.”

That next day, you spotted Daryl fully dressed and heading off to the stables where the Greene’s kept their horses. You knew he was up to something. For one thing, he was supposed to be in bed in the house, resting. Aside from that, he had taken a horse (without permission) from the stable yesterday, and that was how he’d gotten injured in the first place. It worried you, so you handed the squirrel you were skinning to Lori, dusted yourself off, and jogged after Daryl. The guy was stubborn, and you weren’t about ready to let him get himself hurt again, or rip up his stitches by straddling a horse he didn’t know how to ride.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked him sternly with your arms crossed as you entered the stable. He was saddling up one of the horses, and ignoring you. You inched closer and began breathing heavily, irritated by his ignorance. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Don’t you remember you fell on an arrow yesterday? Doesn’t that ring any bells?”

He kept his back turned to you. “‘M fine,” he mumbled. “Go back with the others.”

You scoffed. “What, and let you mess up your stitches? No way. Hershel said he wants you to rest. You could have already done some damage just from getting up. You should let me look at those stitches.”

He turned around swiftly, and gave you quite the penetrative death glare. “Said ‘m fine, girl.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said. “It’s demeaning.” You looked down to his waist where the wound was to see his bandage was bleeding through the shirt, causing a small puddle of blood to form there, and a spell of dizziness to overcome you, as well as a heap of worry. “Jesus, Daryl! I told you you’d rip it! Let me see that.”

He pushed your hand away when you tried to lift his shirt. “Leave me be!” he said. “Don’t need ya touchin’ me.”

“I… I’m just worried about you. You’re bleeding.” You stumbled forward a little as you became more lightheaded, seeing the blotch of crimson expand more and more with each moment he stood in front of you. “Let’s get you to Hershel. He needs to fix those.”

He shook his head. “Told ya I’m fine.” He moved forward to get away from you, but you stepped in front of him and pushed your hands against his chest.

“Stop,” you said, and he looked at your face curiously as it seemed to be losing its color, becoming much paler than your usual skin tone. “Y-you need to sit down.” You swallowed hard and your vision became blurry, then you nearly fell forward onto Daryl until he caught you.

“Shit!” he yelped. “You okay?”

You palmed your forehead as Daryl held you by your upper arms. If you weren’t so lightheaded, you might’ve been losing your breath from how close he was to you, and how he was his hands so tightly gripping your arms.

“Fine,” you said. “I’m just not good with blood. You’re the one who needs…” You stumbled a little again, and Daryl quickly moved to sit you down on a bench just a handful of feet away.

“Sit down,” he said.

You looked at him sternly. “Only if you sit down too.”

He huffed, and nodded as he sat the both of you down next to each other. “Walkers must really freak you out then,” he said.

You laughed, still holding your head in your hands. “Uh, yeah. I’m trying, though. I’ve always passed out at stuff like that.”

“You didn’t pass out this time,” he pointed out.

You smiled at him. “Well, maybe it’s because you were here.”

His cheeks flushed and suddenly he realized how close he was to you, though he couldn’t bring himself to move, not unlike how he felt that night he saw your naked body. Now, he was simply entranced by your beauty, in your hazy, dreamy state. He’d never known anyone he’d wanted this much, maybe even at all, and yet it just so happened to be you.

So when he did it, he didn’t realize what he was doing, as it wasn’t really in the forefront of his brain. Rather, it was somewhere in the more primitive parts of his mind, which imparted to him that he needed to do what he did next in order to even survive. Of course, the affection he had for you was there, but in that moment, he wanted only one thing. He needed only one thing.

When you felt his lips on yours, and his arms entangling around your waist so tightly, you could only look over his shoulder with wide eyes, and a stiffness came over you that quickly melted under the pressure of his tight grasp. You slowly raised your hands to push against his strong, wide back, drawing him even closer to you.

His lips were at first two soft, buttery flower petals tenderly massaging yours, but gradually became more frantic with each moment his skin smacked against yours. He raised his hands to cup your cheeks and entangled his fingertips into your hair by your ears, causing you to let out a small groan into his mouth. It only spurred him on, and he began to feel the familiar strain in his jeans, where he had touched himself to the thought of your lips so many times, the same lips he now had in his grasp, that were so pliant and obedient for him.

You hardly even moved, simply letting him take over and do whatever he wanted to you, because that was all you could do. You knew nothing about kissing, or what men liked when they were kissed. You had only ever exchanged pecks with the one boy you shared a romance with, and they were nowhere near as passionate as this.

It seemed odd to you, since Daryl had ostensibly made it clear he wasn’t interested in you the way you were, but the fact that he was kissing you, rather amorously, in fact, proved otherwise. So in this moment of rapture, one of the gestures you had wanted from him so desperately, you were confused, though above all, you were in the company of angels.

Still, he felt his groin throb and push against his jeans, and as he continued devouring your lips, getting dangerously close to pushing your mouth open and lapping up your sweet saliva, he knew he was on the brink of losing all control.

He very suddenly pulled his lips from yours and shot up from the bench, looking down at your raw, reddened lips and your softly closed eyes. For a moment he hoped he was invisible, that even if you did open your innocent, gently twitching eyes, you still wouldn’t be able to see him, but they did flutter open slowly, and you looked at him with a look of utter confusion that nearly broke him. He couldn’t believe what he had done, how he could take advantage of you, such a young girl. Most of all, he couldn’t believe he could let himself go like that. He’d never once felt so out of control, out of his wits, out of his mind.

“Daryl,” you breathed quietly, not knowing what else to say but his sweet, unassuming name that fit him so perfectly.

He stepped backwards before turning around and beginning to walk away at an increasingly fast pace. You furrowed your brow and felt your heart sink, more like an anchor than an organ.

“Daryl!” you cried in all your confusion and heartbreak as you stood to watch him leave.

You couldn’t go after him, as your legs refused to move. All you wanted in that moment was for him to hold you, to return to you and kiss you once again, since it was the sweetest feeling you’d ever known.

In his kiss, there was passion and the urge to have you, but not the pressure to make you feel compelled or out of your comfort zone. In fact, it had felt right, like something you’d always needed but didn’t know existed. You needed more, and the fact that he had run away from you like that, it hurt you so much it turned your stomach and blurred your vision as tears began to fall, incessantly and without warning.

You had cried much more for one man than you had cried for anything else in your life, and you hated it. You hated how much you wanted him, and how much it seemed to overtake you, but most of all, you hated that he didn’t want you.

~

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Series Masterlist Part 3 ➳

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#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader #theteasetwrites fanfiction #theteasetwrites series #some kind of stranger series #some kind of stranger

[boytouya]

𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙩 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

words: 1.3k

warning: blood (but it’s dabi crying), mention of child neglect (not towards you or your children)

requested: yeah lol

a/n: once again, i don’t proofread. i felt kinda faint writing this but i don’t think it reflects much🗿

It’s not much, but it’s Dabi. Dabi, who holds your hand and traces the lines in your palm as he slips a ring onto your finger. It’s cold against the overwhelming heat radiating from his hands. You’ve been through many arguments, times where both of you were wrong, quirk scares, financial issues, problems within your family...but it didn’t matter. He was with you through it all. He’d remain by your side, even if there was a door slammed between your faces.

An outdoor wedding, with only twelve guests in total, sits on a grassy green hill just above the park. Your kids picked out the place, the younger of the two explaining how it’d be much more fun. Neither of you could complain, as your hearts revolve around the two twins.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dabi jokes, a dimple forming on his cheek. His suit, the darkest shade of black the tailors could find, had blue accents on its sleeves to match his tie. A reference to his everburning fire quirk. It was a stark contrast to his hair, pure white with darker ends. You didn’t see his natural hair often, but the first time you had it was noticeably softer. Perhaps he wanted the wedding photos to actually show him, and not a watered down version of himself he’d created to hide his identity. Most of your shared income went into making sure everything looked nice, though the wedding was small. You had a few guests, Dabi (begrudgingly) went out of his way to invite the League. He even made Tomura and Twice his groomsmen.

Dabi’s eyes, blue as ever, shimmer from the sunlight beaming down on the two of you. His eyelashes, darkened from a thin layer of mascara bat against his cheek as he eyes the sparkling ring. To be honest, he was terrified of marriage. He was afraid of commitment, afraid your relationship would meet impending doom if he put a label on it. He was afraid he wouldn’t be good enough for you. He didn’t want to be the father he grew up with, that was his biggest fear. You could very easily remember the inner turmoil that leaked from trickling red beneath his scars the first time you had argued.

Those days, you felt as though you were walking on wire. Not because you were afraid of Dabi, just afraid he’d up and leave. A few nights before the ceremony he explained that he never would, because he knew what it was like to be ignored; neglected. But you knew that already. You cradled him through the night, when the wind pushed against your glass windows and he clung into the fabric of your shirt like your children had many times before.

There was a part of Touya that he’d lost many years ago, that of which only returned late at night through memories. Others looking into your relationship often called him childish, but he wasn’t. He was making up for lost time, replacing the festering rot from his childhood with something sweeter. The weight crushing his ribs and piercing his fragile heart had lifted, mended into something built from solid gold and diamond, something he stamped with the name ‘adoration.’ Something more gentle, loving. Something that came from you.

“To be honest, I didn’t write anything,” Dabi scratches the back of his neck, looking behind his shoulder then back at you. You can hear Twice shout behind him, then apologize not even a second later. If it were someone else, someone who wasn’t Dabi, you probably would’ve felt awkward. “I mean, seriously, I didn’t think I was the right person for this.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Choked up already, you’re not sure how to tell him it’s okay to continue when you yourself are looking for a bit of guidance. This man, who you met under unusual circumstances was now standing in front of you, making up his vows. And you loved him for it. He held the key that unlocked the box around your heart, swallowed it for safekeeping, and protected it himself. He knocked down all of your barriers, held you up when you were running on empty, and caught you when you fell completely enamoured for him. He softened up your hardest places, peppered kisses on your birthmarks.

“Anyone else could take my place,” Touya’s eyes flicker down to your hand, his fingers twitching as he hesitates to clasp his over your own. He’s struggling to get what he wants out. In his mind he’s screaming how much he loves you from the top of the highest mountain. In his head, he’s twirling your kids around while they giggle and call him Dad. In his head, he kisses you while fireworks go off and the whole world knows of your proclaimed love. Fuck. Is he prioritizing his thoughts over feelings? Fuck. Instead, he opens his mouth just to close it again. “I’m glad I got to you first, big guy. Not even writing my vows...drowning in my own genius, wouldn’t you say?”

“Dabi...Touya….D,” You nod to your kids, who are practically vibrating in their seats as they watch with stars in their eyes. You make a mental note to let them have extra big slices of cake tonight. “When we met, my- our kids were so scared of you. Which is kinda funny, considering they steal paint to look like you now...Anyway, I’m glad we all grew together. I hope you don’t regret this. You were there when no one else was. Sometimes you felt unseen, but you were there. And I saw you, I heard you. Sometimes we took each other for granted, but looking back on it, we were all the other had.”

Dabi swipes his thumb- his chipped black nail polish makes you smile- under his cheek, smearing a bit of blood across his cheekbones. Something you’d wipe away later, just like you always did.

“I love you, and I love how we can agree to disagree,” You wanted to add more, about how arguing with him felt like a game you couldn’t win, how sometimes it felt like he was ten steps ahead of you just when you’d managed to take one forward, how even from those ten steps he’d stretch himself thin and weary to pull you forward with him. “You’re an amazing father. You never believed me whenever I told you, but you are.”

You mimic his actions from earlier, slipping a wedding ring on his finger with a satisfied smile. There’s something dancing in his eyes, swimming laps in the pools of blue. He can't wait anymore, and takes your brief silence as his queue to kiss you. You went from sharing ownership of a couch, adopting a cat together, and sharing cologne to exchanging wedding rings.

One hand cups your cheek, the other on the base of your neck as he pulls you forward and spills the space between your parted lips. He steals the air from your lungs, plunges you into the deep waters of his obsession for you. He doesn’t want to pull away, holds your face closer to get as much contact as he can while his lips move with your own. You have to tap his cheek to get him to pull away, and he does, but only for a split second as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. There’s a series of “Ew!”s erupting from the children in front of you, along with a ring of clapping and whistles. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that you were his husband, it was apparent.

“Guess you’re stuck with me then?” Touya whispers. His lips, swollen and covered in a thin blanket of saliva, curl into a shark-like grin.

taglist:

@lustclubs @indigowren21 @cannedfoodisbestfood @junkwhoore @kissesdenji @sanderssidesangsttrash @i-d0g @kaito-asmr @jream-23 @princejasno @mel-bigia04 @mhasimp666 @onehellofasimp @corporeal-terrestrial @angelaturservice @shootingstars-and-burningsuns @sleepyslvt @rintarosaku

#💕.dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x male reader #dabi x you #anime x male reader #lov x you #lov x reader #mha x male reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi fluff #dabi imagine

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

--

A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.

"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."

"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."

"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"

"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"

You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."

A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."

You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"

"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"

"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."

The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."

You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”

“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”

Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”

“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”

Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”

“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”

You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.

What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.

In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-

Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.

You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.

That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”

His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “...you want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.

You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”

You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”

He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”

Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”

He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”

He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.

You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?

You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.

“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”

His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”

“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”

He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”

And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.

“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”

You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”

His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”

His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”

You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”

He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”

--

You sleep well that night.

Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.

It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.

The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.

“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.

The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”

“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.

After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.

The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.

You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.

When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.

In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”

You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.

“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.

“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”

You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”

“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”

A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.

Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”

“Huh?”

Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”

His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”

He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”

You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”

He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”

“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”

He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.

He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”

“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”

All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”

He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”

“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”

A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”

Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”

A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”

—

You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.

That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.

You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.

“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.

“Not long.”

You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”

He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”

“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”

With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”

You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”

His smile falters. “We could.”

You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”

“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”

“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”

The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”

Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”

You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.

You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”

You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.

She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”

You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.

Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.

“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”

“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.

Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”

“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”

She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”

You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”

Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”

“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.

Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”

The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”

Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”

You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”

As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.

“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”

Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.

“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.

The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.

“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.

He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.

The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”

Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”

You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”

He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”

“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”

“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.

The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.

You don’t speak the rest of the way back.

--

You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.

It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.

You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”

He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”

“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”

He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.

You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”

You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”

He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”

You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”

He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”

As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”

“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”

Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”

--

The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.

“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.

The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.

It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.

“Do they fit a bit better?”

His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”

With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.

His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”

“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.

With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.

In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.

You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”

Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”

--

It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.

Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.

Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.

The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.

“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.

A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”

A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.

Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.

Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”

The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”

You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.

“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”

“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”

His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.

Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”

“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.

You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”

When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.

--

The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.

However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.

While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”

You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”

He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.

“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.

Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.

You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.

Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.

He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”

Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.

Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.

Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”

Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.

You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”

“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”

The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.

--

It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”

You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”

He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”

He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”

You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”

Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”

He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”

You shrug. “And?”

He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”

In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”

A pause. “With you?”

You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”

His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”

You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.

Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

--

“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.

Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”

He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”

You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”

He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”

You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”

He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.

Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 

Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”

—

“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”

Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.

“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”

The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”

Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”

You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”

The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”

In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.

As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”

You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.

With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.

“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”

You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”

You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.

“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”

You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”

You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.

Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”

“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”

He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.

--

When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.

You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.

They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.

Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.

You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.

Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.

The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.

Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.

Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”

It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.

“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.

“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.

You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”

He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”

You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.

“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.

Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.

You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”

“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”

Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.

The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.

Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.

When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.

Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.

Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.

“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”

Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.

Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.

Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”

Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.

He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”

At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.

The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”

“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”

You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”

“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”

“What?”

He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”

“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”

“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”

Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”

Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”

You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.

Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”

You twist your head around. “You what?”

He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”

After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”

He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.

--

You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.

There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.

You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.

When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.

Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”

The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”

“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”

“Would you love me even if I was bald?”

“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”

The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”

“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”

Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”

You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”

The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”

Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”

“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”

He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”

That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.

“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”

Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.

“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”

You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.

You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”

He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”

There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”

The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.

They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.

Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.

You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.

Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.

The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.

--

When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.

In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.

Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.

He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.

Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.

But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.

It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.

Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”

You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.

It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”

“Home?”

“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”

“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.

You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.

You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”

You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”

He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”

The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”

You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”

His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”

You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”

Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”

Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.

“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”

You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.

“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”

He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.

“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”

In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”

Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.

The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”

With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”

“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”

You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.

“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”

Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”

Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”

Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”

You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.

“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”

--

Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.

Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.

For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.

You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.

You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.

“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”

Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.

He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.

You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.

His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.

“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.

You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?

--

You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.

You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.

You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.

Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.

And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.

He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.

“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”

Silence.

“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

--

It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.

Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.

“Single room for one night?”

You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”

“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”

You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”

The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”

You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”

You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.

She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”

You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.

Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.

“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.

Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”

Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.

Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”

He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.

Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?”

He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”

You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.

“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”

You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”

Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”

His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.

A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”

His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.

He pulls you into a tight hug.

You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.

“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.

You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”

Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.

He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.

You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.

You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.

It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”

He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.

He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.

You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”

Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”

“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.

Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.

Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.

“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”

He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.

“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”

“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”

"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"

"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.

It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.

In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.

After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 

You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 

“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.

“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 

You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 

With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 

You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 

“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 

When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 

He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 

Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 

“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 

He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”

You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”

He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 

“How do you figure that?”

He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 

“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”

You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 

He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 

You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 

In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 

Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”

You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 

He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 

“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 

His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 

You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 

His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 

“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.

He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 

You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 

He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 

Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 

True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 

You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 

—

You wake up before him that next morning. 

Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 

When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 

The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 

You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 

#yoongi smut #bts smut #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #smutcentralnet #ksmutclub #btssmutclub #bts x reader smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts oneshot #bts fic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #yoongi oneshot #taejin

[miaxeu]

      though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, MIA STOEGER is actually a descendent of DIONYSUS. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-ONE year old MYTHOLOGICAL STUDIES MAJOR from LOS ANGELES, USA has taken after HER godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite CHARISMATIC & DUPLICITOUS. 

( y’all dont deserve this real messy intro but im workin w half a bwain cell at 4am so i beg thee 4 mercy. nywyy im the excited new girl who’s hella pumped to meet all ur charas : katya ! feel free to hop in my ims to plot or drop a like and i’ll hop in urs ! x  )

POWERS

natural acting abilities — her ma’s a hollywoo agent so she started actin real early & now shes a big shot actress. there r more deetz on her career below !

chlorokinesis — it wasnt as natural as acting n she only started working on it when she turned 13 n started going to camps. b4 she just noticed shes good w plants but it wasnt super crazy or nything. its p good now tho ! shes prioritizing vine binding and manipulation 4 the self defense bc awards r cool n all but they dont rlly protecc from monsters ykwim 

levitation — shes trying her best ur honor

alcokinesis  — she cant conjure it or anything, she’s just immune to it ffff

BIO POINTS — cw: drug use ( full biography here )

her mom raised her by herself bc dionysus the party god was out of the picture immediately. she never told mia she’s a demigod & it was always just “ wow ur so talented ” or “ aww u got a green thumb ! ” but when she saw him claim 13 y/o mia by placing a weird hologram over her head while she slept, she knew she had to spill da beanz & tell her kid

ofc mia thought her mom was jus playing sum weird acting exercise w her bc her powers r so lowkey she could highkey just be a Mortal but insert sad whistle, the realizashun & the claiming meant heightened monster threat !! so yea ,,, one ended up chasing her a couple days later rip 

aside from the trauma, mia was ok. mostly bc she ended up cryin for dionysus like any child would n lo & behold he came & helped !!! as he should. nywy she made sure to go to summer camps every year after that but mostly just for protection purposes

she lowkey rlly hates this whole god business esp now that shes grown lmfao deadass thinks she got a bad deal bc life threats arent sexy !!! went to eonia eventually bc its Too Much Man. she just wants to go back to work and her life w the mortals w/o worryin for her life. would deadass fade her father if she could. may or may not be majoring in greek mythology to figure out the logistics of it all out of spite, who knows !

PERSONALITY

not ! a Drama Queen  —  dont get me wrong, shes hella Extra in the way she moves n acts sorta like shes always bein captured on film. is quick-witted & playful & can be a huge tease/flirt if she feels like it, but miss her w Real Feelings ! totally not sentimental. srsly she will try to rationalize away everything and is just,.,., not good w it. so soz folks, we just keepin it breezy here

ugh, she’s an Actress — aka she can act like she cares tho ! shes very much into keeping ppl on her good side. shes friendly n palatable to everyone bc its how shes been trained & while it doesnt seem fake, its def diff when its genuine

The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known —  lemme circle back to the first one, ok so shes good w emotions but only in theory. does intense character work with her roles so she thinks that counts as her having eq when rlly shes just emotionally stunted, projecting n repressing like an idiot

blonde, skinny, rich, & a lil bit of a Bitch — shes only a bitch inwardly or to ppl she trusts enuff to let in on the gossip. if anyone full on opposes her or becomes real emotional, then this lil diva will rear its superiority complex head n snap a lil. will most probably do it v underhandedly n w a smile but it will be Brutal

girls just wanna have FUN ! — shes the child of da party god, so ofc she a true party girl. officially off the rails when she parties. inhibitions ? we dk her. can be insensitive in that case bc smtms its truly no strings attached, tis all abt the fun. likes company a lot & it doesnt even have 2 be loud or particularly abt her, she just likes having people around n the escapism of it all. will make friends with everyone n make sure they have a jolly fun time guaranteed at dionysus parties 

Work Hard, Play Hard — real responsible when it comes to work and commitments and if she trusts/likes u enough, she’ll give it 2 u straight, no bs. def thinks Calling Out is an act of love but maybe does it a lil too harshly smtms. v much into efficiency, sentiments be damned. not the feely words type. will sit next to u or party w u or even pay 4 ur therapist if u need sum1 to talk to. she will Be There while u work thru it, so long as u dont expect her to change n be all emotional n stuff

if she seems a lil contradictory thats bc she kinda is. tis the good ol nurture vs nature. her ma’s a real no nonsense chick n her pops is a frat guy drama geek greek god whos rlly into cottagecore so u get this lil blonde bitch whos sorta teetering on the edges

OTHER INFO  — cw: drug use ( full headcanons here )

re her career, she achieved pegot status when she was 18 aka she truly b dat bitch. shes not super mainstream famous tho, more like indie sweetheart, film snobs/critics fave typa gal. if ya want a trajectory she started w baby commercials then a sitcom from 4-10 ( think modern fam’s lily ) then it was off to the big screen & the stage ! 

mia has a lil bit of a drug habit. its not abusive or dependent, but it is a staple whenever shes parties bc alcohol is useless 2 her. started a lil young too bc hollywoo. primarily uppers/hallucinogens. she smokes weed a lil more liberally but the rest is mostly just an on occasion thing ( which, ngl, is a still a lil problematic when u party a lot rip )

after she got claimed, mia ended up going to demigod camps in a lot of diff places n countries, depending on where production would take her. there was never an established place, more like wherever was nearest when they wrapped up shooting bc monsters afoot n wutnot  

she was always homeschooled but she still managed to go to a prom and homecoming bc party is life. that makes eonia uni p much her first chance at having a normal educational environment & experience and even then its anything but. still tho this is her moment !!! im lit rally begging her to get a personality that isnt her internally rolling her eyes going “ its not that deep ”

might put up a bio/stats page if im feelin sxc but i wud jus like the records to show that mia stoeger is a bi sxc babe bc me ? write a het ? no grassy ass.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS — cw: drug use ( full connections here )

omg danny devito i love ur work ! 

,,, p self explanatory sdkjfs sum1 who loves her work ! it can be lowkey/highkey fangirl to a civil admiration

OR alternatively, y/m can Not Be a fan of her work. they might think the storyline of the projects she takes on r too out of touch n highbrow yada yada yada, but yes, we love to see either of it ! 

summer camp sweetheart !  

someone she met when at camp when they were teens ? doesnt matter in what country/city, but mia was only visiting so it was truly a one summer romance typa thing. bc she was younger, im thinkin 13-17 or w/e she was probably sweeter n a lot more emotional then. was it either’s first puppy love ? first kiss ? first “ relationship ? ” idk, do yk ? truly, so many possibilities. nothin set in stone just hmu bub 

summer camp pals ! 

p much the same as above but make it Platonic

party buddies !

or druggie pals. either way works but she wud luv it if theyre both xoxo

friends w benefits !

most probably ( but not limited to ) sum1 she met at a party skdjhsjk is it exclusive ? is any1 starting to develop feelings ? im down 4 nthing n evrything

alexa play true friend by hannah montana !

give mia her college bestie ! her confidant who knows her feels and can call each other out viciously with no ounce of resentment. we stan the friendships !

omg i love ur skirt !

that is the ugliest effing skirt i've ever seen. lmao basically sum1 mia pretends to like or acts civil w but rlly ,,,, Cannot Stand for w/e rzn   

im p much braindead rn but those are just sum ideas !!! ofc the usual staples like the pals, enemies, wutnots are also v welcome we love to see it. if u also have a wc that u think mia would fit in, id luv to know more ! there are also a couple more detailed ones here, but pls feel free to shoot me a msg n we can get 2 plotting x 

( * wipes brow * how did i type so much n say so little rip. mia is also a completely new muse so pls b patient n if i fuq up from time to time, pretend u do not see >.< nywy thnx 4 readin, sweets ! feel free to hmu here or at discord if ya wanna <3333 )

FULL INFO  ||  EONIA TASKS 

[frogscroaking]

That Ask Trend!

I wasnt tagged i just wanted to try it ! :)

1. Nicknames: Peaches! Or Georgia peach... i love them both. Started because the day i was born my aunt said id be “sweeter than a georgia peach”. A lot of people call me george and i dont mind.

2. Zodiac sign: Cancer

3. Height: 5’5”

4. Howarts house: Probably Hufflepuff. Used to be ravenclaw

5. Last thing i googled: “Josh Widdicombe and James acaster” because i wanted to know how tall james was

6. Favourite musicians: very very hard... well start with Vampire Weekend, Childish Gambino, Cream, Grateful Dead, Cage the Elephant, Decemberists, John Mayer, Unknown Mortal Orchestra. I really dont know it jumps all over the place.

7. Song stuck in my head: some studio ghibli theme :)

8. Following:27

9. Followers:0 (just made my blog yesterday lol)

10. Do i get asks: obvs no. If u wanna, send me your name and ill make u a playlist!! Always wanted to do that :)

11. Amount of sleep: either 12 or 5, rarely in between. Bad i know.

12. Lucky number: 11

13. What im wearing: my fav sweatpants and a sweatshirt i got in a thriftstore that kinda matches. Im sleepin

14. Dream job: run a small farm and B&B. Or interior designer. Who knows.

15. Dream trip: anywhere with my group of friends tbh. Id love to visit rural italy one day though.

16. Favourite food: Pad thai 🤤🤤

17. Instruments: piano, cello and tenor sax! Dont worry im not a band kid lol.

18. Languages: english and french

19. Favourite songs: goodie bag- still woozy, unbearably white- vampire weekend, emoji of a wave- john mayer, friend of the devil- grateful dead, I hear them all- old crow medecine show, 2 arabesque- debussy, is it wicked not to care?- belle ans sebastian, and i have to cut it off there

20. Random fact: ive never broken a bone!

21. Aesthetic: flowing skirts, quaint lil cottage, sun setting over a lake, sun-kissed skin, picking flowers, pink clouds at sunrise, used bookstores, sheep in a grassy field, big sweaters, a beat-up favourite book, kikis delivery service, lasting love, hot cup of tea

#get to know me #get to know the blogger #vampire weekend #lets be friends!

[malodorousmalcontent]

Stereoplasm Review: Part 1

So. Stereoplasm. I'd heard about them. I'd checked them out. But I really only got interested in them when I started getting very invested in making custom scents - i'm an avid writer/roleplayer, and making scents based on my characters is basically the dirtiest siren's call for me. I had gotten one from The Little Book Eater that I was very happy with. It was time to try a different one from another house.

I'm not gonna write too much about the process of ordering from Stereoplasm, because i've already massively raved about it here. So. You can just read that if you wanna know those deets. No, for this, i'll just be diving straight into a few of the scents I got: my five custom samples, and the animal of the month scent I received, Rubecula.

SAMPLE 1 (PERFUME OIL) || Black tea, pink sugar, tea rose, sandalwood, teak, heather, white grapefruit E.O., light grass, pink pepper, tonka.

The black tea at the very front of this one makes this scent start out very, very sharp, and pretty dang soapy, with an edge of sour grapefruit. It's not a 'hot' black tea note, either: i'd say it's more like black tea that's been cooled to room temperature, or maybe just straight tea leaves. The sugar's there, rounding out the grapefruit, and underneath it is a lush, smooth, floral sweetness, which I assume is the tea rose. It's nice - some rose notes can go overly perfumey or hairspray-ish, and luckily, this isn't one of them. No wood notes, though, but woody notes tend to get lost on my skin unless they're VERY strong or it's a real simple perfume.

After maybe an hour and a half of wear, this one begins to fade, and I have a hard time really picking out the particular notes from that point: it's a little fruity-sweet, very femme, and pretty leafy-soapy. The fruitiness almost smells... Tropical? Weird. Maybe it's the tonka working some magic.

tl;dr: Sharp and soapy tea and citrus with a hint of sugary sweetness and lush, smooth rose. Gets a fruity-tropical smell on the drydown.

RATING: 3.5/5. Not bad, but a little bit too much on the soapy side of tea for me.

--

SAMPLE 2 (PERFUME OIL) || Ruby red grapefruit, white tea leaf, pink sugar, jasmine & tea rose accord, lotus, sweet grass, pink grapefruit E.O., blackberry.

G R A P E F R U I T. Hard grapefruit. Rich, sweet, juicy, sour, deep red grapefruit that's been sugared just enough to make this feel... Punk, almost. Hollywood cerise with neon yellow splattered over it. It's absolutely delicious. That ruby red grapefruit note is, seriously, to die for: if you're gonna get a custom with grapefruit in it, i'd probably suggest this particular note. The florals are there, but they're very light and delicate, and come out more with wear: they're very smooth, not powdery at all. There's a little bit of green-ness in this, too - it's well-blended so it's hard to pick out in particular, but my sister could smell it pretty well, and I think it's the tea leaf.

The grapefruit eventually fades away and just leaves that elegant and smooth jasmine + tea rose accord, with an undercurrent of that grass note - which is nice, sweet and green and very unmistakably grassy smelling - and just a little bite of bitterness from a very realistic blackberry note.

It's got hellllla sillage - i'll catch whiffs of it all the time while it's wet, and I know my boss could smell it from a good few feet away. It can last up to 6-7 hours on me, but probably starts to fade around the 3-4 hour mark

tl;dr: RICH sugared grapefruit with gentle florals that dries down to an elegant, smooth floral with a hint of grass and bitter blackberry.

RATING: 6/5. I love this. It's beautiful, rich, perfectly meets the mood I was trying to get, transformative, complex while not getting lost in its notes... It's just SO GOOD. This is the one I ended up getting a full size of. It's awesome. *kisses fingertips*

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SAMPLE 3 (PERFUME OIL) || Carnation, tea rose, earl grey, pink sugar, spruce, feminine-woods, white grapefruit E.O., teak, pink grapefruit E.O., pink pepper.

This smells like a rich, velvety, smooth flower that's been coated in powdered sugar, with some hints of citrus - it's not quite reading as grapefruit to me, so I think it might be bergamot from the earl grey note. As it dries down, the powderiness goes away, and that nice, juicy, grapefruit note comes out - not as rich as sample 2's red grapefruit, but probably a bit more realistic; you can almost smell the white filmy skin that covers the grapefruit, y'know?

...Aaaand... This has me craving grapefruit, so i'm gonna just, go, uh... Eat a grapefruit.

.....

.....Okay, back from grapefruiting. (This is not a bit. I actually did this.)

I tend to lose most woody notes on me, as mentioned before, but my sister tried this on and amped the spruce pretty hard: it gave everything a bit of that evergreen minty scent. This lasts for about 3 hours before fading down to a soft, candy-like sweetness.

tl;dr: Sweet-smelling powdery florals amped up with sugar and a citrus edge that dries down to realistic grapefruit, then a simple fruity-candy smell.

RATING: 4/5. I'm not huge on powdery, but this was nice, and that grapefruit E.O note is hella good. Very realistic. Realistic enough to put me on a grapefruit kick.

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SAMPLE 4 (PERFUME OIL) || Musk, dark plum, pink sugar, black tea, white grapefruit E.O., sandalwood, pink pepper, a drop of teak.

This starts out like, 80% plum, dark and cold and lightly tart, with just a little hint of sugar and just enough of a 'drinkable', watery-smelling quality to identify the black tea. Sometimes I can catch whiffs of the musk - sharp and humid - but not too often. As it dries down, the grapefruit comes out, nice and sour but not sharp or astringent, kind of a delicate grapefruit, and the tea is WAAAY more noticible: smooth and green and like, vaguely soapy in the way that tea can be. Not as soapy as Sample 1, tho. I'm also getting the pink pepper, which i'm really excited about! It makes my nose tingle without smelling overwhelmingly, well, peppery. I've had much more experience with black pepper, and this is so much lighter. If I really huff at it, I think i'm picking up... The sandalwood? It's a dusty, warm wood, but very faint, under everything else. Makes a good base for all the other colder notes.

When it dries down, I get a smell that's kind of like tart, tangy bubblegum, and then eventually, an indistinguishable creamy sweetness.

The scent is pretty light - detectable, but not super strong or filling the room. It lasts for a pretty long time, though: I put some on last night and could smell sugary sweetness on my wrists come morning.

tl;dr: Dark, cold plum and sugar with a hint of musk that dries down to drinkable-smelling black tea, delicate grapefruit, a faint base of warm sandalwood, and a sparkle of pink pepper.

RATING: 4.5/5. My second favorite of the scents, but it doesn't quite match the mood I was going for, and a plum note that swings bubblegummy isn't my cuppa tea.

--

SAMPLE 5 (PERFUME OIL) || Green tea, pink grapefruit E.O., bamboo, white grapefruit E.O., hot pink sugar (stronger), sunflower, driftwood.

I've already got a name picked out for my custom, but if I were to pick this one, i'd pick something else, and it would, quite simply, be 'pink tea' - because that's what it smells like. At the forefront, unmistakeable green tea - smooth, but decidedly herbal, and not particularly soapy - and pink sugar. I'm testing this wearing it on the inside and outside of my wrists, and it smells different - I assume because my skin on the outside of my wrist is drier, so it's fading more quickly. On the inside, i'm getting a gentle floral sweetness that I can't quite place. On the outside, a woody base, and very subtle... I assume white grapefruit note.

Lookin' at the notes... Yep, this smells about as Green with Pink as those suggest. I don't really have much more to add on it: green tea and green notes with sugar and grapefruit that dries down to a subtly sweet sunflower with a woody driftwood base. OH - it fades kinda fast. Within two hours I could barely smell it. ...But maybe that's because i've just gotten grapefruit juice all over my hands and it's overpowering everything.

I've been, uh. On a pretty big grapefruit kick while writing this.

tl;dr: check that last full paragraph, i've basically got it there.

RATING: 4/5. Nice, with some excellent notes, but not quite what I was lookin' for.

--

RUBECULA - ROBIN (PERFUME OIL) || Wild blueberries, wet garden mud, nag champa and vintage musk.

At first: Blueberries, and it's a pretty good blueberry note. I don't like blueberries. Everything about them tells me they're gonna be nice and tart, and then they're way sweeter than I want. Even the sour ones are sweeter than I want. Every blueberry muffin i've ever eaten, i've wanted it to be delicious sweet vanilla complimented by tart zingy blueberries, and every single time it's been a heartbreaking too-sweet disappointment.

And, unfortunately, this is true for this too: it's just... *shakes fist* TOO REALISTIC

But, really, it's very warmly sweet as blueberries tend to be, but also with an edge of tartness that comes out after a few minutes that I big appreciate. It's a very true blueberry scent. Underneath it is a hint of that mud note, which is surprisingly clean for, well, mud - it's like... A gentle earthiness, and a WHOLE lotta wet, like wading through the cool water of a marsh. Every now and then I get something that smells sort of dank and spicey, which I assume to be the nag champa, and then there's the vintage musk, which... Alright, so, it's hard to tell whether it's the blueberries going powdery or the musk, but i'm getting something that smells like makeup powder. I'd say that that powderiness is sort of ever-present, all encompassing everything else. It dries down, basically, to powdery blueberries, and lasts for-fuckin'-everrrr. I was still smelling it into the next morning.

This is pretty, but just a bit too blueberry-sweet for me.

tl;dr: warm, sweet and slightly sour blueberries, powder, and a subtle wet earthiness, with very vague whiffs of spicy, dank nag champa.

RATING: 4/5. Once again, a well-crafted scent with great notes that just isn't quite my jam, because i'm a blueberry hater.

--

Stay tuned for part 2 of my Stereoplasm reviews, which is gonna cover Libatious Leprechaun, Green Gremlin, Gone Gnome, Lights Across the Sky, Scorpling, and two scents that I picked up in a swap: Kindling and Selasphorus Calliope.

#perfumes #perfume reviews #Stereoplasm #custom samples #Rubecula

[scarlet-morbidity]

I saw Marilyn Manson and Rob Zombie the 11th

I know this is a late post but I’ve been lazy as fuck. Anyway the concert took place two days before my birthday and I went with my mom lol (not embarrassed about it) She loves Zombie and I love Manson so it was a great shared experience.

A band called Deadly Apples played first and they were pretty fucking good and I highly recommend them, especially their song Self Inflicted Oppression which is a heavy and angsty call out of Chritian hypocrisy and the persecution complex many Christians seem to have. All around this band had great energy and brought the until then docile crowd to life. I actually wish they’d played more songs. They’re from Canada and it was their first time playing in the U.S in over eight years. Manson and Zombie personally picked them and that is bad ass. I hope they grow in popularity.

After Deadly Apples Manson hit the stage and opened up with Irresponsible hate anthem. I was disappointed in how little the fans chanted with him “We hate love we love hate” and Manson uttered a word of annoyance at the lack of enthusiasm too, but it didn’t stop him from barreling into the song at full force. It was truly mind blowing and he was absolutely perfect and totally on point with his aggressive screams and bombastic delivery of lyrics. No song sounded half assed or phoned in, the dude was fucking owning it at every turn. Unfortunately he only played a lot of the old hits and not very many of his newer songs. Only played two or three from Heaven Upside down and Deep Six from the pale emperor. But despite that, it was still a fucking bad ass show and I loved every minute of it. I screamed so much and so loud my throat was sore for days after.

Once again I was kinda disappointed in the crowd cause the majority of people with the moderately expensive seats were an abundance of middle aged biker folk just waiting for Zombie to come on. Most of the Manson fans sat way in the back on the grassy hill because they’re younger and no doubt couldn’t shell out the money for better seats. 

Zombie came on and he was full of energy bouncing all over the place doing high kicks and mid air splits as he sang to his songs on a stage that was by far the most flashy and aesthetically pleasing stage I’ve ever seen. He put on a hell of a show but Manson was still my favorite even if his stage production was way more stripped down than it usually is. The second to the last song he had Manson come join him on stage to sing their duet cover of Helter Skelter, which they released publicly just hours before the concert. Manson hugged John 5and that was pretty beautiful.

So much more I could say and the fact that this was the first day of the twins of evil 2nd coming and it took place a the very same venue they fought at five years ago made it all the more sweeter to see them paling around on stage and sharing their energy to give a spectacular performance. I’m so stoked still that I got to see them play that cover live for the very first time ever.

Overall it was just an amazing experience and will likely be the best concert of my entire life. I wish I could have got pictures, but my phone’s camera is a piece of shit :/

#marilyn manson #Rob Zombie #twins of evil

[milkymacchamoon]

I always see that you reblog matcha things, but I just don't know what that is! What is matcha, if you don't mind explaining?

Matcha is made from green tea leaves that are ground up into fine powder. It has a kinda grassy, sometimes bitter flavor and goes really well with sweeter flavors. It can be mixed into hot water, milk or cake batter - there are so many ways to enjoy it! If you’d like to try some receipes with matcha, I’d recommend Ochikeron’s channel on YouTube - she has made some awesome videos about dishes with matcha like these delicious Matcha Green Tea Cookies :D

#ask milkymaccha #Anonymous

[diamondsareapearlsbestfriend]

One Flower to Another

Undertale/Cuphead crossover; Flowey & Cagney Carnation; G; 3.8k

(or: I have no idea what I’m doing but have some asshole flowers hanging out | on AO3 )

The moment Flowey opened his petals, he knew that reset had gone wrong.

He was back to his regular form, drained from the incomparable rush of power the six souls had sent surging through him just seconds ago. But he could feel a different kind of energy, from somewhere high above; something bright and strong and unfamiliar, yet pleasant, warming him to his empty core.

Instinctively, Flowey felt himself leaning into it, stretching up on his stem and tilting his face up into the soothing sensation. It felt so good for a moment his eyes fluttered closed again with contentment, just basking in the warm rays of the...

The sun.

The realisation tore his eyes wide open, and he jerked back so fast he almost yanked himself right out of the ground. No, no way, he couldn’t be – had he somehow jumped this far back in time, or even forwards? He’d never done that before – or was it the kid? But they were nowhere to be seen, as he twisted around wildly, scanning the area: it was just Flowey, rooted in the middle of a wide, open, grassy field, the gentle breeze on his petals and sweet birdsong floating through the air.

It was almost disgustingly picturesque, like something out of a storybook – this sure wasn’t how he remembered his briefest of times on the surface. There were no screams ringing in his ears, no twisted, malicious words and weapons and magic assaulting him from all sides as he struggled to defend himself, clinging desperately to the last remains of his best –

“Whoa there –“ Flowey’s existential crisis – well, if he’d been capable of having one – was rudely interrupted as something sharp bumped against his stem. “Watch where you’re going, squirt!”

“You watch it,” Flowey snapped back automatically, as he twisted his stem around to get a look at the clumsy idiot who’d almost trod on him – only to freeze when he found himself staring right into the unimpressed scowl of another flower. A much bigger flower; he towered above Flowey on a thick, thorny stem, leafy arms folded and head cocked as he regarded him with irritation and a sprinkle of intrigue written across his golden orange-framed face. He was what Asgore probably once would’ve called “a most impressive specimen”, and Flowey had never seen anything like him – monster, flower or human.

“I mean – hey there, buddy!” he quickly amended, flashing his friendliest smile as curiosity stirred somewhere deep in his roots, and it wasn’t just the nutrient-rich soil he’d been deprived of in the Underground. “Just a friendly reminder, one flower to another – maybe keep an eye out for the little guy in future! We’d look like a real pair of prize fools if you ended up squishing me into a petal pancake, huh?”

“That so?” The flower had a low, scratchy voice and sharp eyes that seemed to assess and dismiss Flowey in a glance, with just the slightest glint of suspicion. “Funny, ‘cause I know just about every flower round these parts, and I ain’t ever seen the likes of you before.”

“Boy, that is funny! Then I guess you don’t know every flower after all,” Flowey couldn’t resist pointing out with a high-pitched, slightly squeaky giggle – he wasn’t intimidated, of course, it took a lot more than some overgrown doppelgänger to spook him, but he was starting to wonder whether the doctor might have paid another visit to Asgore’s garden while he’d been gone.

He knew it was idiotic, but the thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one – the last one, the special one – felt...strange. He tore his eyes from the other flower’s piercing gaze to look around the meadow – there were more flowers peeking out from the grass, but none of them seemed to be sentient. Keeping his tone casual, he continued: “And these parts, um...that’d be…?”

The flower snorted, resting one hand on his stem to make a grand, sweeping gesture with the other. “Inkwell Meadow, boy. Where’s it look like?”

“So this is the surface.” The name didn’t mean anything to Flowey, but it was confirmation enough to begin the infinite questions blooming in his mind. What timeline was this? How did he get here? Could he go back? And just where was everyone – he’d watched the entire Underground burning in despair plenty of times before, but this ending...This was new.

It got a chuckle out of his new pal, though, his hard-faced, long-nosed demeanour relaxing a little, as though he’d decided Flowey wasn’t a threat (ha – that suited him just fine for now).

“Well, yeah. Hate to break it to ya, kid, but you’re not gonna grow up big and strong by hidin’ your face away in the ground now, are you?” Smirking, he held out a long, leafy hand before Flowey could respond. “But where’re my manners? Name’s Cagney. Cagney Carnation.”

“Howdy!” Flowey beamed back – something was telling him he wanted this guy as an ally rather than an enemy for now – as he looped a vine around the offered hand, and they shook. Despite his delicate leaves, Cagney Carnation had a strong grip; if he was the doctor’s doing, he thought idly, maybe she’d finally perfected the recipe. Although again, it wasn't like he was jealous of the bigger flower like some wimpy loser. “I’m Flowey! Flowey the...flower.”

Cagney nodded, releasing the vine to pluck at his top petals as though tipping a hat. “Well, now, Flowey the flower – since you’re obviously not from around here, what brings you to my patch? Sprung up for pollination season?”

“Uh...huh! You betcha!” Occasionally snooping through Asgore’s gardening books hadn’t helped him figure out every part of the whole flower deal, but it was his best shot at holding the other flower’s attention long enough for a conversation he hadn’t had fifty times already, and Cagney grinned wickedly, revealing sharp, pointed fangs.

“Might be tough out there for a little weed like you, but here’s a tip. You wanna get yourself a spot right over by the –“

“Cagney!”

They both jumped as a new, higher-pitched voice pierced the air, and Cagney’s smile disintegrated in an instant.

“Raspberries,” he muttered.

“We know you’re around here somewhere!” came another, almost identical but distinct voice.

“You can’t hide forever! C’mon and fight us like a man!”

“Well, you probably could, but um...don’t, please?”

The sly smile respawned just as quickly on Flowey’s own face, as he cocked his head in curiosity at this interesting development.

“Golly, am I interrupting something? Someone on your trail, Cagney the Carnation?”

Cagney huffed a irritated sigh, flapping a hand at him in a shoo gesture but otherwise preoccupied with looking for something in the distance, his eyes darting from side to side. “Those two mugs have been on me all day. And believe me, I’m not the type of guy who enjoys knockin’ a couple kids for six – I’d be down at the old clip joint if I was – but…” He paused as something like regret flickered over his features, and for a moment seemed to soften his whole face into a totally different one – sweeter, sadder. Then he shook his petals and it hardened again. “Guess they’ll just have to learn the hard way when not to go pokin’ your beak into other folks’ business. Anyway.” With that, Cagney uprooted himself, stepping out of the ground and onto two long, skinny but sturdy-looking leg-leaves. “I’m gonna make tracks, and you’re not gonna tell anyone you saw me.”

“What, leaving already?” Flowey frowned – but he’d barely even started getting the dirt out of the other flower, and there was clearly more to dig for. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re scared of some…”

Cagney wasn’t even listening to him – wow, rude – as he strode past Flowey in a flash, heading in the direction of a nearby forest. “I’ll put in a good word with Rumor for ya!” he called back over his shoulder, before disappearing somewhere into the thick mass of trees.

Flowey sighed, drooping a little – just a bit longer, and he was sure Cagney had been starting to warm up to him – but he didn’t have long to ponder before his petals perked up again at the sound of fast approaching footsteps through the grass.

He squinted as presumably the two mugs in question stumbled into his eyeline; these were a lot smaller than Cagney, and more human-shaped – except for their ridiculously big heads, which he realised as they drew closer were actual teacups, complete with a handle and matching brightly coloured stripy straws. Seriously – were they giving out double shots of DT to any old object now?

Whatever they were, they were in an awful hurry, faces flushed and panting a little as after searching all over the area, they made a beeline for Flowey. He plastered on his most innocent smile, tilted his head questioningly and waited.

“Hey, mister!” The cup with the red-striped straw waved at him, stepping forward with a purposeful, almost challenging glint in his cartoonishly huge eyes. “Have you seen Cagney anywhere? Cagney Carnation? Tall, orange, kinda cranky when he hasn’t had his nap…”

“Looks a little like you, actually?” the other one joined in; slightly softer spoken, he had a big blue nose to match his shorts and straw. Flowey had an urge to squeeze it to see if he squeaked – maybe later. “Except, well, bigger…”

“Tougher.” Red nodded.

“And meaner.”

Oh, they had no idea. A long-forgotten spark of excitement tingled from Flowey’s petals to his roots, and he had to restrain himself from wriggling with glee at the realisation of what he’d just been handed: two brand new toys, wide-eyed and naive and irresistibly breakable. They might not literally be on a plate just yet, but they sure looked like they should be.

“Carnation, you say? Hmm…” He scrunched up his face as though deep in thought, glancing from side to side before wriggling his stem in an approximation of a shrug. “Nope, sorry, can’t say I’ve seen him. It’s just me here, Flowey! Flowey the flower!” He winked and waved a leaf. “And now you two. Who’d be…?”

“Well, I’m Cuphead,” Red beamed as he slung an arm around his pal’s shoulders, chest puffed up all proud like a prize fighter, “and this here’s my brother, Mugman!”

“Hiya!” Blue smiled shyly and waved, while Flowey just about suppressed a snort – brothers, of course. This was too rich.

“Those are some swell names! Heh, I’d have sworn my d – I mean, the king christened you guys himself.”

The cups exchanged a puzzled look, painted-on smiles fading first into confusion and then suspicion. “So,” Cuphead said, arm falling from around his brother to fold defensively over his chest, “King Dice sent you, huh?”

Interesting – whoever that was, it sounded like the big guy hadn’t made it in whatever screwy timeline this was, either. The thought, as expected, didn’t stir any emotion in him, except mild satisfaction that at least he’d made something stick. Flowey stuck out his tongue playfully in response. “Who, me? Nobody sent me, silly! I’m a free flower, just here for whoever needs me. And ‘scuse me if I’m wrong, but you guys sure look like you could stand to see a friendly face.”

Neither looked totally convinced, but Mugman offered him a tentative smile. “I guess you are about the friendliest flower we’ve seen all day,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his handle. “Or at least...the first that hasn’t started shootin’ at us yet.”

“Gosh, I find that hard to believe! You two cute little crockeries?” Flowey widened his eyes, the picture of tender concern to mask his glee. There had to be a story here, and boy was he going to enjoy getting them to spill one way or the other. “What sort of pickle could you have possibly gotten yourselves into? Hey, you never know, I may even be able to help!”

Mugman’s face brightened. “Gee, you really think you could –“

“We don’t have time for that,” Cuphead interrupted, simultaneously cutting off the hopeful note in his brother’s voice and very close to the end of Flowey’s patience. “We just gotta find Cagney before…”

“Before what?” Flowey blinked, keeping up the innocent facade, but he could feel the tension building, magic itching under his petals to summon some friendliness pellets in case they decided to make a break for it. But for now he had something better at his disposal: Toriel’s most damning ‘not mad, just disappointed’ face. “Oh, no…I sure hope you wouldn’t be thinking of starting any trouble with old Cagney?”

Bingo: Mugman bit his lip, wringing his straw in his hands as he cast an anxious glance at his brother, while Cuphead’s frown deepened and he took another step closer

“What’s it to ya?” he retorted, bending down to get right in Flowey’s face – all the better to see the (pretty pathetic to start with) tough-guy act crack almost instantly as he straightened up, shifting from one foot to the other. “Listen, we...Cagney knows what we need, alright? It’s nothing personal. Just...business.”

“Uh-huh.” Flowey raised an eyebrow – the cracks were showing, all he needed to do was poke them a little. “You could say it’s none of my business, but...sounds like you might be in some bad business, boys.”

“We – we don’t wanna fight him!” Mugman blurted out, tugging at his straw so hard a few drops of mysterious white liquid spilled free. “I never wanted to fight any of ‘em! I said, didn’t I, Cups – maybe we could just talk about it, convince them to give us the con–“

“Mug,” Cuphead placed a hand on his shoulder, quiet but firm as the unmistakable shadow of guilt fell across his face. “don’t – it’s okay.” He turned to fix Flowey with a defiant, protective glare “We don’t gotta tell this weed anything. C’mon, let’s just go – we’ll get Cagney later.”

Honestly, if he’d been capable of it, Flowey almost felt sorry for them. They probably thought they’d be stronger together, when all they were really doing was laying bare their biggest, most glaring weakness for anyone to snatch and twist and break right before their little pie-slice eyes. That was where family got you – and wasn’t Flowey lucky that he hadn’t been troubled by such idiotic sentiment in too many timelines to count? Now he was having way more fun.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” he pouted in mock hurt. “And here’s me trying to lend a helping leaf! How’s about you shut your sweet little cuphole, buddy…” Flowey’s grin grew more menacing as his bullets finally rose from the ground to surround them in a neat circle, blocking all paths of escape, “before I break it off for you.”

Cuphead scoffed; he nodded at Mugman, and Flowey spotted some kind of magic glowing in their clenched fists as the pair stood their ground. “Think we’re scared of you? We’ve been knocking out way bigger and tougher flowers all day.”

At that, Flowey started to giggle, and he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t want to stop, hysterical whoops ringing through the trees, wracking his stem, pulling at his face until he felt it melting into his favourite horrific visage, and he savoured every second.

“Oh, my friends,” he sing-songed, voice loud and distorted, crackling with static, “you’ll never meet another flower like –“

The first shot cut him off as it just grazed the side of his petals – bright, hot, concentrated magic, but it felt different to any he’d taken in the Underground, and the zing of something genuinely new and exciting only made Flowey laugh harder, but not too hard to weave in between the several that followed it in rapid succession.

Clearly it wasn’t these kids’ first time at the rodeo, either: they were fast and nimble on their comically oversized boots, jumping and dodging Flowey’s first few waves of bullets while firing straight back from their fingers. It stung when they bounced off his petals or stem before he could dodge, but not enough to put a real dent in his HP. He toyed with them a while, keeping his attack patterns simple, teasing them with the slim possibility of escape while he waited for the perfect opportunity to snatch it away.

“Whoopsie!” he giggled, lashing out with a strategically sprouted vine just as Mugman landed; it curled around a skinny porcelain ankle and tugged, bringing him crashing to the ground with a startled cry. “Careful there – wouldn’t it be such a shame, to see a perfectly good teacup shatter to pieces?”

“Get off of him!” To Flowey’s increasing amusement, Cuphead fell for the ruse hook, line and sinker, his fire slowing and aim growing sloppy as he made a grab for his brother’s flailing hand while Flowey dragged him aimlessly along the grass like a rag doll.

“Aw, Red, feeling left out? Don’t worry…” Flowey let the vine uncoil from around Mugman and he clasped Cuphead’s hand, struggling back onto his feet – just before either had time to dodge the much thicker, stronger vine emerging behind them. Flowey gave Cuphead a generous smack and he tumbled spectacularly right back into his brother, their heads colliding with a pleasing crack, “there’s plenty of LOVE to go around for everyone! This is getting kinda annoying, though…” Pulling them apart, he went for their shooting hands, more vines snaking around their arms as he wrenched them behind their backs, earning satisfying squeals of pain. “Did no one ever teach you boys…” He yanked roughly on their arms to get the point across; up, down, side to side, like a pair of pitiful dancing puppets, “that it’s rude...” Magic bullets fired haphazardly into the air, landing on the ground, past the trees – everywhere except Flowey, until he whirled them around so that their arms were trapped at a painful angle, aimed squarely at each other so neither could shoot without hitting the other right in the mug, “to point?”

Dangling the cups off the ground, Flowey amused himself watching them struggle against his vines, smirking at the way their faces contorted with pain as they thrashed and kicked and yelled unconvincing threats that he’d better let them go right now, or else…

“Or else? Gosh, I’m just itching to see how you guys plan on getting out of this bind,” Flowey taunted. “Go ahead, call for help – but wait, isn’t just about the whole forest out for your heads? Just imagine what’ll happen if one of those bigger, tougher, meaner flowers comes along…”

“Well, well, well, fellas.” A familiar drawl interrupted his monologue as a long shadow fell over them. “None of you ever heard the saying ‘pick on someone several times your own size’?”

Flowey swivelled around to see Cagney observing the scene with a crooked half-smile, his eyes flicking from Flowey to Cuphead to Mugman with a somehow simultaneously amused and displeased gleam; one that gave him the impression that Cagney Carnation wasn’t particularly fond of sharing his toys.

Before any of them could speak, he breezed past Flowey, hooked a leafy finger around both cups’ handles and lifted them clean off their bodies with a soft pop. Damn, the fun they could have had if he’d realised that was an option; he didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed when they remained both alive and visibly relieved at finding themselves out of the fire and into the frying pan.

“Knew you’d come crawlin’ back,” Cuphead grinned, way smugger than a disembodied drinking vessel who’d been seconds away from having his porcelain butt handed to him had any right to be.

“Boy, Cagney, I never thought I’d be so happy to see ya!” Mugman beamed up at him, cheeks colouring a little as he let out an awkward giggle. “Not – not that I wasn’t always happy to see you, I mean, before all –“

Cagney clinked their heads together, shaking his head in exasperation and what looked suspiciously like a glimmer of fondness as they yelped. “Couldn’t leave you running around tearin’ up my patch, boys.” His gaze drifted over to Flowey, left clutching their squirming, headless bodies; it might have been a tad unsettling, if you were the type of crybaby to get spooked by that sort of thing. Reluctantly, he let them wriggle free as Cagney set their mugs back on their shoulders, not even bothering to stick them on the wrong bodies, which would obviously have been way more fun. Meaner, Flowey’s nonexistent butt. “I see you’ve already made a new friend here.”

Flowey smiled sunnily as the cups rubbed their newly reattached heads, shooting him glares (Cuphead) and almost hilariously hurt puppy-dog eyes (Mugman).  “Kept ‘em nice and distracted, just like you asked, pal.”

“And then some.” Cagney stroked his lower petals thoughtfully, until Flowey swore he saw literal lightbulbs flash in his eyes. “Y’know what, if you guys like the taste of defeat that much, fine, let’s go again. But – let’s get one thing clear...” He held up a finger, stern gaze sweeping over all three of them. “I don’t wanna see anyone fighting dirty on my turf. Got it?”

Cuphead and Mugman nodded eagerly, and Flowey felt a slight shiver run down his stem as Cagney’s eyes lingered on him – just the cold, obviously, with his big old lion-head of petals shielding him from the sun.

“Yessir, Mister Carnation!”

“Fair and square!”

Flowey was just about ready to retire for the day, sneak off to the sidelines to watch this scene play out, but right as he was about to retreat back into the soil two slender, deceptively strong leafy fingers curled around him instead.

“Where’d you think you’re going, buddy? Nothin’ fairer than two on two.” A tiny squeak he hoped the other two hadn’t heard might have slipped out as Cagney caught him by surprise as well as by the stem, his grin sharper and more predatory than ever as he winked at Flowey. “Help me out, sprout – one flower to another.”

“Well, if you insist…” It didn’t sound like a request, but Flowey supposed there were worse binds to be in, as he smirked knowingly at the cups. “If a tough guy like you can’t handle a couple of mugs on your own, guess it’s down to little ol’ me to finish the job.”

He smirked back at the cups as they glanced from Cagney to Flowey and back again: Cuphead yanked up his shorts, Mugman took a gulp of whatever was in his head, and both had something blazing in their eyes Flowey recognised. It was the look of someone who’d struggled, maybe even died a good few times, but had too much to lose, was too brave or stupid or determined or all three, to consider giving up. Well, if that was how they wanted it, who was he to deny them another delicious defeat?

His plan might have glitched up a little this time, but, Flowey thought right before the bullets started flying from both sides: the game might just have started to get interesting again.

#undertale #flowey #cagney carnation #cuphead #mugman #crossover #undertale fanfiction #cuphead fanfiction #??? i have...no idea... #my fic

[vivianrstuff-blog]

New Post has been published on Healthy Cooking Review

New Post has been published on http://healthcookingreview.com/nutribullet-vs-vitamix-s30-say-what/

Nutribullet vs Vitamix S30: Say WHAT?

Hi, Lenny Gale of Life is NOYOKE.

I get a lot of questions about health and wellness.

And this one was really weird.

I got a question, "Can you compare vitamins to neutered bullets?" And, I'm like, what is that? Sure? Like, there's really no comparison.

Neither of them are really useful.

But.

Oh.

I know.

People really want to know the difference between Vitamix and Nutribullet.

Ahh.

Okay, I can do that.

[music] So what do I think of the Nutribullet? Well, it's not a Vitamix, but from what I hear, people love 'em.

And it's usually for these five reasons.

One, they're super small.

Two, they're really easy to clean.

Three, they're portable.

Great on the go.

Four, they're really affordable.

Like under a hundred bucks.

Five, the infomercial! It's magical.

The nutrient extraction, the benefits.

Everything about it make it seem like such a great product.

So, yeah, people like 'em.

The only criticism is they crap out.

Like, they literally stop working.

If it's within a year, sometimes you can get Nutribullet to fix it, but their one year warranty really only covers manufacturer's defect.

Knowing this, Nutribullet owners usually take one of two paths.

Path one: They'll just get a new Nutribullet.

And that's great! Cause they loved their first one.

And path two: They look to Vitamix to see if they can find something similar.

Path two usually takes a little bit of research.

Or, sometimes you can just do a free in-home trial.

But people who have owned a Nutribullet and then tried a Vitamix usually say the same 10 things.

I'm gonna tell you all 10 things and demonstrate what they're talking about when people are comparing Nutribullet vs Vitamix.

Just one quick note: This comparison, Nutribullet vs Vitamix wasn't really relevant until recently when Vitamix released its on-the-go models the S-Series.

The S-Series is a Vitamix with the same goals as the Nutribullet.

Super small.

Super easy to clean.

And super portable.

Now let's get to the fun stuff.

Let's take the Vitamix and the Nutribullet in the kitchen and show the 10 things that Nutribullet owners generally say after they've tried a Vitamix.

So one of the first things I hear when people tell me they upgraded from a Nutribullet to Vitamix is that my kitchen is so much less cluttered now.

The Nutribullet comes with 12 pieces.

Aright, let's open up the boxes and I'll show you what I mean.

So now that they're all unpacked, it's really clear that there's a lot more pieces with the Nutribullet than there are with the Vitamix.

And, we'll talk about the quality of each of those pieces in a little bit, so stick with me.

But what's most important is when you're not using them.

And when you're not using them, the Vitamix is a lot more compact.

I can get the Vitamix down to three pieces.

Watch.

Container, blade assembly, portable container, tamper.

Drawer, cabinet, counter.

Three pieces.

But the Nutribullet, I can get it down to I can make three pieces.

One.

Two.

Three.

But then I'm still left three additional pieces, one of which is a blade.

Aright, I just want to add one thing, one thing that would really bug me in my kitchen is these things don't really stack.

The next thing I hear all the time is, "It's so clear that The next thing I hear all the time is that it's so clear that the Vitamix is not made overseas.

" The Nutribullet, it comes with a two-prong, flimsy power cord.

And, it's made of a lot of plastic.

Cheap plastic.

And that includes the drive socket.

Now it looks really nice.

But the Nutribullet only comes with a one-year, limited warranty.

So it's clear that it's not built to last.

The Vitamix, on the other hand, there's a pedigree behind the name Vitamix.

And this model is no different than a full-sized model.

It's made with the same engineering and quality, and it's evident.

I mean, you look at the heavy duty, three-prong power cord.

You look at the containers that are made with a double insulated material.

And all the important pieces are made of a hardened, stainless steel.

I mean, it's so clear that this is a quality machine, it comes with a five-year, no-questions-asked, full warranty.

I mean, this thing is built to last.

So another thing I hear all the time is that the whole food green drinks are better.

Why? It's because blend quality.

Yeah, the Nutribullet can definitely make green drinks.

But when they're made in a Vitamix, they look different and taste better.

You can hardly taste the greens.

Watch.

I make this green drink for breakfast or a snack.

And it's so awesome because you can pack so many servings of fruits and vegetables into just one glass.

Now since we're using whole fruits and vegetables, we're not gonna waste a single nutrient.

Now, the Nutribullet can do this, too.

But the result that we can get from the Vitamix is a much more finely processed drink.

And what that means is we're gonna get more nutritional value from every ingredient.

Plus, it looks and tastes so much better, so kids are less likely to say, "Yikes!" Aright, so we got everything loaded up in the Vitamix and the Nutribullet.

We're gonna run each for 30 seconds on 10 speed and on the one speed that it can run, and see what we get.

[blending] Okay, aright, let's pour 'em out and see what we got.

Okay, so here's the drink with the Vitamix.

Looks kinda nice.

So this one might not look, these actually look the same.

They look the same.

Okay, this one's fine.

This one has a, like a grassy aftertaste.

And I had to kinda chew a little bit.

So the consistency is definitely different.

And, I wouldn't say that this one, that either of them taste better.

But, the one made in the Vitamix tastes less green.

I put them both through a sieve.

And while they both kinda sat there for a minute, after I pushed them through, the drink made in the Nutribullet left all this pulp.

Now, if the goal is a drink that has the most nutrient extraction and that tastes good, I think the answer is clear.

And the berry smoothies, they taste better, too.

Why? Again, this is blend quality.

The Nutribullet does a fine job of processing berries and seeds.

But in a Vitamix, you're literally able to taste the insides of those seeds.

And for you, that translates to more nutrient extraction.

Watch.

So this berry smoothie is one of my favorite smoothies of all time.

It's the Peanut Butter and Jelly smoothie.

In it is a little bit of almond milk with a tiny bit of protein, I like 100% liquid pasteurized egg whites.

Frozen strawberries, frozen raspberries, a little bit of ice peanut butter, and a little bit of stevia to make it sweeter and bring out all the flavors together.

And since we're using the portable container, we're gonna add all the frozen ingredients first, followed by the softer ingredients and then the liquid.

Aright, so we're gonna blend for 30 seconds and see what we get.

[blending] They're pretty.

They're really pretty.

I like to touch 'em.

That's kinda weird, but I do.

See how this one is kinda shaking? Not a huge deal, but this is definitely shaking.

This is totally stuck.

[blending] Aright, we're gonna pour 'em out, have a sip, and see what they look like when they separate and after they've gone through a sieve.

Mmm, it's pretty.

That's definitely pretty.

And tasty.

Wow, it's my favorite.

There's a reason it's my favorite smoothie.

One of my favorites.

Looks pretty, too.

Aright, I'm gonna try this one first.

It's really really good.

There are some seeds floating around.

In my mouth.

This one, the one over here is like more like harmonious, I guess you could say.

Okay, well, let's put them through a sieve and see how they really did.

Aright, so both smoothies definitely left some seeds.

But the seeds left from the Nutribullet are full, unbroken seeds.

And there are a lot more of them.

So I get it.

When people say they like their smoothies made in a Vitamix their berry smoothies made in the Vitamix better, it makes sense.

They're less gritty.

And they don't have to chew them when they drink 'em.

Both of these machines are designed to be used on-the-go.

But the Vitamix takes the portibility to a whole other level.

Let me show you what I mean.

This is one of my favorite blended drinks.

It's a chocolate breakfast protein shake.

It's got banana, peanut butter, almond milk, oatmeal, cocoa powder and a little bit of stevia to bring out all the flavors.

Now they're gonna come out basically the same.

But what's important here is seeing how each of these perform on-the-go.

We're gonna go fast.

[fast-motion sounds] [dropping] Good catch.

[fast-motion sounds] Okay.

[blending] Okay, taking the drink made in the Nutribullet is really easy.

You take the blade off the container.

And now you have two choices.

You can use this lid, which prevents spills, but, you can't really drink out of.

Or, you can use this lid, which makes you, allows you to drink comfortably.

The problem is you can't really drink and travel at the same time.

This is like walking around with a coffee mug without a lid.

[birds chirping] The other problem is that the container is quite large.

So it makes it very difficult to put it into a standard-sized cup holder.

The handle also gets in the way, too.

Okay, time out.

Quick fact check.

When I was editing this video, I wanted to be certain that what I was saying about the cup holders was accurate.

So I tested the cup holders for each on a new car, an old car, and because it's on the box of the Nutribullet, my scooter.

The old car definitely did not hold the Nutribullet cup.

The new car, because the cup holders were made for coffee mugs, they fit fine.

And my scooter, well, it fit, but I wouldn't really recommend riding around with it because it didn't go all the way down.

The Vitamix's portable container, on the other hand, fit perfectly in each one.

[insertion] [insertion] [insertion] Taking the drink made in the Vitamix to go is really easy, too.

It's designed so you can do everything that you need it to do with one lid.

Watch.

Take the blade off of the container, and put the lid on, which has a leak-proof seal.

Screw it on.

And now, you can throw it in your bag, or open up like this and sip it out of thepoor spout which is a lot like a straw.

The container also has this handy hook to put it onto a bag.

And, it's double-insulated so what goes in cold, stays cold.

So cleaning both of these machines is a breeze.

When you're done, take the blade and rinse it under some hot water.

Put it right in the top rack of the dishwasher.

When you're done with your drink, rinse it out when you're at the gym or at the office.

That way, when you get home, it's a lot easier to just throw it in the top rack of the dishwasher with the blade assembly.

All components of both of these machines are completely top-rack dishwasher safe.

Except, of course, the base motor.

So the next thing I hear all the time when people upgrade from a Nutribullet is that the Vitamix literally replaces their food processor.

To show what they mean, I'm gonna make one of my favorite recipes, it's called Detox Salad.

It uses some hard vegetables.

Cauliflower, carrots and what is this, cabbage! For this detox salad, I'm gonna use the 40 ounce container and the tamper to gently push the ingredients down into the blade to get us a more efficient blend.

I'm also gonna use the pulse function about eight to ten times to get us that desired consistency, the same that we would get in a food processor.

Now we're gonna try wet chopping technique and see what we get.

[blending] The wet chopping technique, that's the first time I've ever done it and it worked.

It was great.

So, I'm gonna use that technique on the cabbage and the carrots.

[blending] Done.

That was awesome.

Check it out.

[draining] That's like, I feel like that's quicker than a food processor.

Maybe it's about the same.

Aright, carrots, we're doing wet, too.

Here we go.

[blending] Done.

So using the wet chopping technique, I got the exact consistency I was looking for in the Vitamix.

Now, let's take a look at what we can get in the Nutribullet.

Now, there's only one speed in the Nutribullet, so I'm not really able to control it as well.

But we'll see what we get.

Is that fair? [blending] Wow, okay.

Okay.

So that's good to know.

When you push it down there, it starts going, and it kinda locks in, so I wasn't able to stop it right away when I wanted to.

Um, so let's see what we got.

Okay, these are too small for the consistency we need for the Detox Salad.

But let's see if I can get 'em to be a little bigger by stopping the Nutribullet a little earlier.

[blending] Okay, it was a little scary trying to stop it after just a brief second.

It kinda didn't really want me to.

But, okay.

I think we might have got our result.

I mean.

Let's see.

So you can see that the consistencies are similar but over here with the Nutribullet the small pieces are too small.

And there are some large chunks kinda left over.

Okay, so we're gonna try the cabbage now and the goal is to get a consistent, medium-sized chop.

[blending] Okay, so, I mean, this actually pretty good.

But we're dangerously close to having a vegetable smoothie with how tiny some of these pieces are.

And I think the big thing here is what I'm seeing is there is a lot less control with chopping with the Nutribullet.

Okay, let's give the carrots a try.

To be fair, the Nutribullet doesn't actually claim to be able to chop vegetables, but we're giving it a chance because we're putting it up against the S30, which can.

[blending] Okay.

Case and point.

Like, I couldn't stop it there.

Whatever.

It's carrot pulp.

Okay, so both machines chopped, technically.

But, over here with the Vitamix, I had much more control and was able to get the consistency that I was looking for for my Detox Salad.

Over here, really the only way to salvage this would be to turn it into a juice.

People rave about the frozen alcoholic drinks that they can make in their Vitamix.

Tonight, I'm having a luau, and I'm gonna make frozen mango daquiris.

Aright, so we're gonna put all the ingredients in, blend 'em up and get this party started.

Aright, we've got mango, pineapple, lime, rum, and ice.

So you can see that I've added the ingredients opposite, and that's because I'm going to flip the Nutribullet container so everything will be layered the exact same.

Aright, so we're gonna blend each for about a minute and see what we get.

[blending] Aright, let's pour 'em out.

Oh! Look at how smooth that is! Oh, it smells so good! Can you see it? Oh, it looks amazing! This could be good, too.

Okay, also looks really good.

Which is great.

This one's similar.

But if you get real close, you can see almost, like, little ice balls.

They taste so different.

When you take a sip off the top-half of the one made in the Vitamix, it still tastes like a daquiri.

But, when you take a sip from the top-half of this one, it kinda tastes like mango pineapple stew.

Nothing like a daquiri.

Okay, so I'm gonna give them both one good stir, and then see what happens after about three minutes.

Let's just say I go for a swim.

Aright, we let 'em sit for a little bit, and they both definitely separated.

But the one over here separated a little more.

The Vitamix one looks different, tastes better, and tastes just creamier.

I definitely would prefer to serve it to this one, but I'm gonna drink them both.

Beyond alcoholic drinks, people love their Vitamix because it helps them entertain.

I'm gonna make a restaurante-style salsa.

But people also tell me they're making guacamole, artichoke dips, roasted red pepper hummus, all of which are equally as simple to make.

Or, my personal favorite, and it's on my blog, you can check it out, it's called Cashew Queso.

So good! We're gonna use the 40 ounce container, and if you're wondering about the yield, that's about the same as about two or three store-bought hummus containers.

So if you really like salsa, texture is so important.

So you need to be able to have complete control over the consistency.

I know that the Vitamix is gonna be able to handle this really well by using varying speeds and the pulse function.

The Nutribullet only has one speed, so it probably won't be able to create the desired texture that we're looking for, but we're gonna give it a shot.

So I've loaded everything up except for about half of the tomatoes that I'll add at the end in hopes to have a varying consistency throughout the salsa.

[blending] Okay.

Two pulses wasn't enough and then three I couldn't take it off.

So you can see that is tough to, like, kinda have the control you're really looking for.

This looks okay.

But it's a little, it's definitely over-processed.

But, let's see what happens Let's put the second batch of tomatoes in.

Let's see what we get.

[blending] It's pretty good.

Um, I'd say that the small stuff is a little too small, kinda like a juice texture, and the big stuff is, I guess it's where we'd want it to be.

Probably a little too big.

But, nevertheless, this probably tastes okay.

Here's a big, here's a couple of big chunks.

So, I've added everything to the Vitamix, And we're gonna start by pulsing it about two or three times.

Once that's done, we'll add the rest of the tomatoes to get that varying texture.

I'll use the tamper if I need it to push ingredients into the center for that desired even consistency for this first batch.

[blending] Okay So that was about ten pulses.

But, it looks frickin' awesome and we still haven't even added the second round of tomatoes.

So you can see how everything is chopped, kinda like big chopped pieces.

That looks frickin' amazing.

And, it's pretty clear when you kinda compare.

Can you see the difference? Aright, so like my salsa a little bit chunky, so we're gonna add that second round of tomatoes to get that varying consistency, that varying texture that we're looking for.

[blending] Look at that.

That looks amazing.

I need to have some right now.

[crunching] Are you recording this? Because this is better than any other salsa I've ever had.

And when we start our garden and have fresh tomatoes, and fresh jalapenos, and fresh onions, it's gonna be mind-blowing.

This is so good.

Wow.

This will probably be fine-tasting.

But, like, you wouldn't want to serve it.

It would be kinda embarrassing.

This is, like, a different color.

[crunch] No! It's not good.

Well.

No, it's not good.

That tastes like tomato juice.

Okay, the results totally speak for themselves in color and consistency and even taste.

But, if you take a look real close, the salsa made in the Nutribullet is over-processed, it's kinda like a juice and it even has a frothy layer to it.

The salsa made in the Vitamix is, looks restaurante-style with varying texture and a vibrant, incredible color.

And, I tried it off-camera, and I'm gonna try it again, but it is phenomenal.

Look at this.

[crunching] Wow.

So I hear a lot that people are really excited about being able to make their own nut butters now that they have a Vitamix.

A lot of times, they say they've tried in a Nutribullet, but it kinda turned out messy and not the way they expected.

If you've ever made your own nut butters, you know how amazing they are compared to store-bought.

So much fresher and flavorful.

And that's because there's no additives or preservatives.

Just all natural, whole-food ingredients.

This is cashew butter, and I'm using raw cashews.

But you can use any other kind of nut like peanuts or almonds to make your own.

I'm making a sweet spread with cinnamon and honey, which is really good on a muffin or as a dip for fruits, or kinda like a snack sandwich with graham cracker and banana! You can substitute other spices for a more zesty spread for rich flavors for things like peanut sauce or a marinade! For this cinnamon cashew butter, I took two cups of cashews and soaked them for a few hours.

I'm gonna add three tablespoons of honey and a little bit of cinnamon.

Aright, let's try in the Nutribullet.

[fast-motion sounds] [blending] You wanna get close? I don't think it's really happy with what we're doing to it.

It smells like burning.

Like, big-time burning.

I'm gonna stop it.

Woman: It's smoking.

It's smoking.

Lenny: It's smoking.

It's smoking.

That's bad.

Wow.

If you could smell the smoke.

Oy.

So, now, I get when people say it got kinda ugly Aright, we're gonna load up the Vitamix and see if we can make some cashew butter.

[fast-motion sounds] Okay, so you want to make sure the lid is on tight.

We're gonna use the tamper to push the nuts into the blade.

You don't have to worry about the tamper hitting the blade because it's designed to not make any contact.

We're gonna start on variable speed 1 and go all the way to 10.

After about a minute, we're gonna hear a loud chugging noise.

And, that's a good thing.

We'll slow it down to variable speed 8 to get a creamy consistency that we're looking for.

Here we go.

[blending] You can really smell the aroma of this fresh cashew butter.

The cinnamon and the honey and the nuts is amazing.

And the consistency is creamy and incredible, too.

Since there's no preservatives or artificial additives, you can store what's leftover in your fridge for about a week.

Aright, admittedly, it's not really fair.

The Nutribullet is not made to make nut butters.

But, when people say they're so excited about making nut butters, this is what they mean.

And, I get it.

It's awesome.

I can't stop eating this stuff.

People get a blender for one reason.

And that's to live a healthy lifestyle.

But there's one thing healthy people don't like to give up.

And, that's dessert.

Fortunately, with the Vitamix, you can have your cake, and eat it, too.

Aright, we're making a strawberry lime sorbet.

And this recipe is actually from the book that you get with the Vitamix S30.

There's a bunch of 'em just like that in here, but you can really make sorbet with any type of frozen fruit that you have.

I love sorbet because it's dessert, but it's dessert, but it's dairy-free and pretty healthy.

We're gonna use the tamper to push the ingredients down into the blade.

Now, the Vitamix is powerful enough to handle rock-solid fruit.

But, we want to make sure we're at variable speed 10, because when we're there, that activates the fan to keep the Vitamix from overheating.

[blending] Beautiful.

You'll know it's done when the consistency is even and smooth.

But, when you open up the lid, first of all, it smells amazing, but you can see the four-sided vortex, sort of like a clover that's created by the blades pulling the ingredients down.

Come take a look.

It's really cool.

Aright, so here it is.

Strawberry lime sorbet.

And it looks amazing.

The consistency is just about sorbet-like when it comes out of the Vitamix.

But if you want it a little harder, you can pop it back in the freezer for a couple minutes.

This is so good.

Aright, you wanna know why this is great? Because this dessert is sugar-free, it's dairy-free, and there's no added anything.

It's just.

NOYOKE.

Homemade salad dressing are on a completely different planet than anything you could buy in a store-bought bottle.

And when people switch over to the Vitamix, they're able to easily emulsify citruses and vinegars with oil.

And that's really the basis of any salad dressing.

Aright, I'm gonna start by adding my citrus.

So a whole, fresh grapefruit.

I'm gonna add a little bit of honey to sweeten it up a little bit.

A tiny bit of apple cider vinegar.

A little hot pepper.

Just a dash to give it a kick.

And then, a couple shakes of salt and pepper.

[pepper cracking] Okay.

So, we're gonna put the lid on.

And the plug in.

And we're gonna blend for about 20 seconds on variable speed 5.

And this is gonna get everything mixed up, but it's still gonna leave a little bit of a texture.

[blending] Okay, then I'm gonna turn it down to variable speed 1.

And take the lid off.

And add our olive oil to let the Vitamix emulsify the liquid.

[blending] Wow.

It smells amazing.

[blending] And then after about 20 seconds, you turn it off.

Aright, so we have this amazing vinaigrette with a little bit of texture from the grapefruit.

My plan is to put it over an arugula salad with some nuts and some berries.

But you could even use this as a marinade for fish.

This stuff is incredible.

Check it out.

This is amazing.

Look at this.

So I just want to point one more thing out.

You can actually use the to-go container and the lid to store this salad dressing in your fridge for up to a week.

Or, if you're bringing a salad to a dinner party, keep the dressing separate from the lettuce, and toss it when you get there for the freshest, most delicious salad.

So the other week when I was in Puerto Rico, I had the best soup ever.

It was so smooth and rich and unbelievably flavorful.

And so, I asked the guy, "How did you make this? It's so good.

" And he says, "The secret is to puree everything.

" So what does that mean? That means that everything goes into a commercial-grade blender.

And, a majority of the time, that means into a Vitamix.

Now, pureeing ingredients for restaurant-quality soups is a lot of times just the first step.

But, Vitamix machines are known to actually be able to make soup start-to-finish.

Cold water and vegetables into hot soup in about six minutes with one container.

And that's what I'm gonna show you how to do today.

Okay, so I just tested the Nutribullet to see if it could turn liquids hot through friction alone.

I ran water in it for about seven minutes.

And, it worked.

But, the problem was that I could feel, it was almost burning hot on the outside.

And the other thing was when I opened it up and took the blade off, it actually popped.

Like, there was so much built-up energy it made a noise.

Kinda scared me.

I don't think that the Nutribullet is meant to do this, although it did decently well.

Aright, I know the Vitamix can handle this because it's designed to make hot soup.

The motor is strong enough where it won't burn out.

The container is insulated so it won't burn my hands.

And the top is vented so energy can be released.

I'm gonna make a recipe called Louisiana Gumbo It has a whole bunch of vegetables and some chicken and sausage and rice.

I just made it up and it's gonna be frickin' delicous.

Aright, I loaded everything in and it's beautiful, it's colorful, it's nutrient-dense.

I've got some chicken broth.

Actually, you can use vegetable broth or just water and a bouillon cube.

I have some tomatoes, onions, yellow pepper, red pepper, celery, garlic, salt, and a little bit of cajun seasoning.

And this is the basis for any soup that you make in the Vitamix start-to-finish.

Okay, I just changed the name of this recipe.

It's called, "Lenny's Louisiana Chicken Sausage Gumbo.

" We're gonna turn it to variable speed 10 and let it run for five or six minutes and it's gonna be amazing.

Here we go.

[blending] So, it will kinda pull everything down.

Right now, there's still some, you can still kinda see some tomatoes and celery.

[blending] Okay, so we let it run for about eight minutes, and the machine actually turned itself off.

Probably a safety precaution because it doesn't feel like it's overheated.

Let's take the lid off and see we get any steam.

It feels warm, but not burning.

You see the steam? Let's check the temperature.

So, it's like 145 degrees.

So, it's delicious.

I poured a little bit out into the cup to make a little bit of room for our meat and other ingredients.

So what we'll do is add our chicken sausage, our chicken, and we'll put in a little bit of rice.

And what we'll do is use the pulse function.

[blending] Okay? Voila! Gumbo.

Aright, here it is! Lenny's Louisiana Chicken Sausage Gumbo made in a Vitamix start-to-finish.

I think it's lunchtime.

Yum.

This is so good.

So another thing I hear is, "What took me so long to get a Vitamix?" Well, I'm not here to tell you, "I told you so.

" I'm here to tell you that you're doing great, and I'm proud of you.

Life is NOYOKE.

For Vitamix savings, recipes and recommendations that you won't find anywhere else, visit my website lifeisnoyoke.

Com You can type it into your browser, or click the link below.

Source: Youtube

#Blender: #Nutribullet #S30: #Say #vitamix #vs. #What