This Made Me Smile - Tumblr Posts
Frisk occasionally uses their abandoned boots to house Flowey in. Flowey is not amused by this.
Oh my gosh it’s like Wally-
fluff on fluff<3
it's sweet (explicit)
genre: a fluffy lil sickfic
pairing: taehyung x reader
summary: you forgot to call out sick from your dick appointment, but he stays anyway.
word count: 4.3k
contains: no smut just fluff????? new year new me 😎 but as this is fuckbuddies to maybe-lovers and there are certainly a few references in here to sex, because of who i am as a person, it's enough that i'm tagging it explicit anyway lmao. but this is all fluff! reader has the flu, tae is a sweet sweet boi and takes care of her, it's all a bit sappy~ 🤧
A/N: happy new year!!! and a very happy belated birthday to my capricorn prince 💜 this soft little idea got stuck in my brain and wouldn't let go, and i had a lot more fun writing it than expected. plus i feel like i only wrote tae as a menace in 2022 (sorry to tae 👹) so i had to right my wrongs with this one lmao. it was a nice interlude before i jump into LDOMLT ch11 (the final chapter 😭) - i hope you all enjoy and that your 2023s are off to a pleasant start!!!
read on AO3!
~*~
You genuinely enjoy being single.
With your last relationship officially in the trash, you’ve found yourself settled into a comfortable peace. There’s no man in your life to mess up your plans, to force you to have to compromise or share anything, to suck up your energy and domestic labor like some kind of emotional vampire. You can do what you want, whenever you want, and you have a reliable rotation of both sex toys and fuckbuddies to keep you physically satisfied when the need arises.
Being single, you have come to learn, is fucking great.
Except when you get sick.
A knock at your apartment door drags you out of your DayQuil-induced slumber. You move to sit up with a sniffle before letting yourself drop back into your veritable nest of blankets on the couch, struck with the immediate recollection: it’s just the food you ordered. You’d specifically put in a request that they leave it at the door, but maybe the delivery person is just being nice and letting you know it’s there.
Except then they knock again.
And ring the doorbell.
“Jesus,” you groan to yourself, aggressively enough that you’re nearly sent into a fresh coughing fit, but you manage to choke down the spasm in your lungs as you drag yourself to standing. You cross the short distance from your couch to the front door, sure you look like death warmed over, and swing the door open.
At first, you’re certain it’s the DayQuil fucking with you.
“Taehyung?”
The corner of his mouth pulls up as he blinks sweetly at you, expressive almond eyes peeking out beneath untidy dark hair— extra fluffy today, like he’s just washed it and waltzed out of the house without any styling. His clothes tell the same story, a plain gray hoodie and joggers, creased a little like he’d just pulled them off his bedroom floor, though everything looks fresh off the runway on him.
As your eyes trail down his frame, you take in the container of ramen you ordered, held easily in one of his large hands, his long fingers hooking over the side.
His presence is typically a welcome one, particularly on Friday nights like tonight, but those are circumstances where you tend to be a little more… put together. So why is he here tonight?
“When did you start working for D—”
The food delivery service name dies on your tongue as your thoughts finally catch up with your mouth. He’s here tonight because it’s Friday, and this is what you do on Fridays. He’s here because you didn’t cancel. You’d had the thought in a drowsy half-awake state between naps, then had promptly rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow, telling yourself you’d remember to text Taehyung when you woke up.
Which of course, you did not. And so here he is, having clearly intercepted your delivery. And, it now occurs to you, having to witness how absolutely godawful you must look in your stained sweatpants, your hair surely a mess from a day spent napping on the couch.
“Oh fuck,” you mutter, quickly crossing your arms over your baggy t-shirt, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. Why that matters when you’re standing in front of a man who regularly leaves hickeys all over your tits, you’re not sure, but in this moment it somehow feels like it does.
“Tae,” you take a step back, trying to keep him out of your germ radius. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to text you. I’m super sick, I think it’s the flu. You should go.”
He frowns a little, his eyes jumping from you down to the takeout container in his hands. “This is like, barely warm.”
That makes you smile a little despite yourself. A very Taehyung greeting.
“Yeah, well.” You roll your eyes. “I pay twice as much so it can take an hour and be cold by the time it gets here. Makes sense, right?”
His dazzling smile at your sarcastic remark only heightens your own self-consciousness, and you quickly extend a hand for the container.
“Sorry to make you come all this way. Hopefully next week I’ll be back to normal.”
Taehyung nods, yet makes no move to hand over the soup he’s currently holding hostage. “You should rest. Let me heat it up for you.”
You can’t help but wonder what he expects to happen when he crosses the threshold, and that makes you heave a sigh, then quickly bury the cough that chases after it into the crook of your elbow.
Thankfully your voice doesn’t give out when you manage to answer him. “I’m serious, Tae. I’m not—” you pause, considering how to phrase it: desperate to be railed? “—you know, the way I usually am on Fridays. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight. Except maybe you’ll get sick.”
He shrugs, like there are worse things. “I get it. But you shouldn’t be alone.”
At least he’s been sufficiently warned, you think to yourself, and then you relent, leaving the front door of your apartment swung wide as you step back across the living room to promptly collapse onto the couch again. You bury your face in the blankets with a muffled groan as you hear Taehyung shut the door behind him, then make his way into the kitchen.
As is typical with any man that enters your kitchen, you expect to have to walk Taehyung step-by-step through how to do everything. But, to your surprise, he asks no questions: he seems to find a good-sized pot and figure out how to work the stove all on his own, and you can hear him humming softly to himself as he goes.
Truly a credit to the male species, you think to yourself with a bitter laugh.
You collapse back against the cushions, a little too aware of the fuckbuddy in your kitchen to be able to drift off to sleep entirely. Nevertheless, you still find yourself slipping into a haze, your eyes dropping shut just to snap open again at the tap of a bowl being set down on the coffee table in front of you.
Your eyes widen as you sit up and stare down at your ramen, only to find two halves of a soft-boiled egg staring back up at you. You’d ordered from your favorite place in the city, which is easily the best ramen you’ve had in your life, but you know those fuckers charge extra for an egg. Which is why your cheap ass never orders one.
But here one is. So that means…
Taehyung drops down onto the couch next to you before you can even finish compiling the thought in your brain, but he must be able to read the look on your face. “Oh, do you not like eggs?”
“I— no,” you answer quickly. “I mean yes. I mean, I like them, I just… Thank you.”
You glance up in time to see him shrug, his mouth twisting a little, like he’s suddenly made shy by his own kindness. “Gotta get your protein in,” he offers casually, and you laugh over the steam rising up from your bowl.
He keeps a tentative cushion’s distance away from you, but you can feel his eyes watching as you take your first sip of the rich, warm broth. While you slurp it down, you tell yourself not to get greedy with Taehyung’s time: you expect this will be it, that with his act of kindness done for the day, he’ll get to his feet and be on his way. As soon as your front door slams shut behind him, he’ll probably be pulling up his text messages with one of the many other options that must be available to him.
You try to ignore the way that thought makes your stomach twist, to just eat your damn soup and not think about it. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.
But to your surprise, Taehyung leans forward and snatches the TV remote off your coffee table with a triumphant sigh before slumping back against the couch, like he’s settling in. “Do you wanna watch something?”
You shake your head as you take another sip before answering. “You really don’t have to stay, Tae. I can appreciate that I’m not a lot of fun to be around tonight. And obviously you didn’t come here to watch me eat ramen.”
Already starting to scroll through your streaming services, Taehyung runs his free hand through his hair with a knowing, slightly horny smile. “Depends on what you mean by eat ramen.”
You nearly choke on a noodle, but he’s otherwise distracted, mouth dropping open a little as he clicks into one of the options.
“Oh, I know what we can watch.”
When he pulls up A Charlie Brown Christmas and promptly presses play, you can’t help smirking. “Christmas? You’re, what, five days late?”
Taehyung’s mouth opens again, like he’s going to say something, and then he just smiles that same self-conscious smile. “Ah, I just like the music.”
His long fingers splay out in front of him, miming along to the opening melody while he adopts the faux-cool expression of a jazz pianist. You hide a giggle in another sip of broth, and he quickly shrugs the impression off, crossing his arms over his chest as if to keep his limbs under control.
“And it’s cute,” he adds, voice halfway between shy and sentimental. “The little tree.”
It occurs to you now that you’ve never seen Taehyung so… your brain can’t find the right word. He’s just different tonight.
You nod as you slurp up a strand of noodles, and you can’t deny that he’s right as the movie plays on. It’s been years since you’ve seen it, not since you were a kid, but it’s just as enjoyable now, somehow timeless. You find yourself smiling softly as you finish your meal and settle back against the couch, tugging the blanket up to your chin.
All at once, Taehyung jumps up, and you watch dumbfounded as he silently scoops up your dishes and disappears off to the kitchen. When you hear the tap switch on, your jaw drops in sheer disbelief, and you sit up again, peeking over the back of the couch to get a glimpse of him: he’s pulled on the dishwashing gloves you keep tucked next to the sink and is making short work of not just the bowl and the pot, but the takeout container too, and your various other sick-person dishes you’d regrettably let pile up. Humming to himself along with Vince Guaraldi, like it’s something he does every day.
Your head spins as you drop back down against the cushion. What is happening? Did you take too much cold medicine?
That thought only reverberates louder in your brain when he returns, still humming the last few notes of the song. This time he chooses to settle in right beside you on the couch, as if entirely unconcerned about the contagious virus running rampant in your body— he just pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped over your shoulders, fingertips casually starting to play with the ends of your hair. Like it’s that easy.
You glance up at him, shaking your head a little, and Taehyung looks down to meet your gaze. “What?”
“This is just…” An incredulous laugh cuts off the end of your sentence. It’s hard to believe you’re looking at the same person. This can’t be the man who wraps his hand around your throat as he spits into your mouth, who will keep you in his bed for hours until you’re crying from overstimulation, who fucks you so good you can hardly walk the next day.
“I didn’t expect you to be like this,” you admit, pairing the words with a finger driven gently into Taehyung’s ribs. He squirms a little. “You’re… sweet.”
Taehyung’s lips part, and then he pauses, clearly considering how exactly to answer you. His mouth turns up soft at the corners, hesitant, as if he’s embarrassed to say what comes next. And then he says it. “You didn’t seem like you wanted sweet.”
The words settle over you, offered quietly in the low, rich tones of his voice, and as you keep gazing up at him, it strikes you: he’s not wrong. If he’d pulled this cozy domestic housewife act on you any earlier, on a normal Friday, you would’ve sent him packing without hesitation.
That thought makes you a little sad.
You tuck back in against Taehyung’s side, trying to refocus on the TV screen as you snuggle in under the blanket. Pressed close like this, you can feel the sturdy thud of his heartbeat in his chest, at a rhythm not dissimilar to yours.
“Well, I won’t tell anyone,” you breathe, and you swear you can hear him smile.
His touch lingers as the last few minutes of the movie play on: slipping from the ends of your hair to trace over the fabric of your shirt, then sliding further up to dip beneath the collar of it. The talented fingers you’ve become well-acquainted with work their magic in a new way, pressing firm circles into the muscles of your shoulders, muscles you didn’t realize were pinched so tight until he starts to work them open.
“Fuck,” you murmur, shifting a little to allow him better access as he continues. “That feels so good.” You can’t quite help the laugh that flutters out after your words; it’s certainly not the first time he’s made you say them.
There’s a small huff of breath from Taehyung beside you, and then his hand moves up to cup the back of your neck and give a gentle squeeze. It’s a comforting motion, and just arousing enough to make you sigh a note, your eyes briefly dropping shut. When they flutter open again, you realize the movie has ended, that he’s looking down at you, a knowing smirk toying at his lips.
“Don’t start,” you warn, unable to keep your voice entirely serious. “I meant what I said, I’m tapped out for the night.”
Taehyung raises his palms in the air, as if to claim his innocence, and you find yourself instantly missing the heat of his hand on your skin. “All I was thinking is that I kinda want dessert. Too tapped out for that?”
“I’ll never say no to dessert,” you admit with a soft smile. “I think I have ice cream in the freezer.”
Something glints in Taehyung’s eyes at your words. All at once he untangles himself from you and, rather than standing up and walking the long way around like a normal human, chooses instead to vault himself over the back of the couch, as if to get your freezer as fast as possible. You tip back against the cushions, momentarily overcome with laughter, and thankfully, it doesn’t trigger a cough attack.
After a second, you cocoon the blanket around yourself, then get up to follow after him, dropping unceremoniously down onto one of the barstools tucked on the far side of your kitchen island.
Taehyung glances up, clearly surprised, then continues trying drawers until he finds the silverware and retrieves two spoons.
“Just want to keep you company,” you say by way of explanation as he hands you one, and you reach down to pry off the lid of the pint of chocolate ice cream he’s set down on the counter. It’s only as you glance up again that you realize he’s grabbed something else, too, and is continuing to rummage through your cupboards. “Wait, what are you doing?”
There’s an innocent look on Taehyung’s face as he rights himself, the handle of a pan clutched in one hand. “I found something when I was looking for the ice cream. It’s my favorite. And I thought it might make you feel better, too.”
“Uh huh,” you intone, though your mouth is already starting to tick up, endeared. “A completely selfless act, I’m sure.”
“Of course it is,” he answers with an over-exaggerated wink, flipping the pan cooly in his grip. You squint at the bag as he thuds it down on the counter beside him, then sets the pan on the stove and flips on the burner beneath it.
Hotteok. You’d completely forgotten you’d even picked the bag of frozen sweet pancakes up a few weeks ago, that you had purposefully tucked them into the back of your fridge for a particularly good— or bad— day.
“Chef Kim,” you ask, feigning the tone of a journalist conducting an important interview as you fish your phone out of the pocket of your sweatpants. “Can I interest you in some background music, or do you prefer to cook in absolute silence?”
Taehyung glances back over his shoulder at you, his grin nearly too big for his face. “How about Sinatra?”
You raise one eyebrow at the admittedly unexpected suggestion. “Frank or Nancy?”
He pauses for a moment, as if considering. “Either.”
It’s only a few taps, and then Come Fly With Me is floating out of your Bluetooth speaker, and Taehyung is singing along to himself as he drops a frozen disc onto the heated pan, occasionally turning back to deliver lines to you with an extended hand.
You roll your eyes as you drag your spoon through the top layer of softening ice cream, sucking it into your mouth in an attempt to hide the grin that’s spread over your face.
By the third song you find yourself humming along too, trying not to put too much strain on your still-weak throat. The kitchen has started to smell of sweet, toasted dough as Taehyung works diligently at the stove, and he finally flips the burner off before turning back to you, a plate in each hand and a thick pancake stacked atop each plate.
“Sous chef, will you please apply the ice cream?” he asks, eyes wide and blinking as he sets the dishes down.
Quickly playing along, you nod as you begin to scoop a healthy amount onto each plate. “Yes, chef!”
“And sous chef, do you, uh… have any chocolate sauce?”
You bite back a laugh as his roleplay falls apart as quickly as it began. “It’s in the fridge.”
Taehyung promptly turns and pulls the door open, eyes searching the shelves before he finally spots the dark brown bottle and lets out a triumphant hum. He nudges the fridge shut again with his hip before striding back toward you.
“Plating is key,” he muses. You answer with an appreciative nod and a giggle when he uncaps the sauce, then leans down close to the plates, feigning intense focus as he drizzles each dollop of ice cream with stripes of chocolate.
Once his artful design is complete, he steps back, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth as he spins one plate to admire his handiwork.
“What do you think, chef?” you tease, and he nods once, decisive.
“It’s perfect.” He glances up, shooting you a grin that knocks the breath from your lungs, and you try to collect yourself as he nudges a plate toward you, encouraging you to take a bite.
You carve your spoon through the pastry, right down the middle where it’s stuffed full of sweet brown sugar syrup. The flaky layers pull apart at the impact, warm enough that you can see steam rising off of the golden dough. You pair a small piece of pancake with a wedge of ice cream on your spoon, then bring both into your mouth at once, and the contrasting mixtures linger on your tongue: hot and cold, sticky sugar chased by rich chocolate. It’s so good that you can’t help but make a soft, appreciative noise as you press your hand to your mouth and chew.
“Do you want to know something?” Taehyung’s voice pulls your attention back, and you look up at him.
“What?”
“Today’s my birthday.”
There’s a split second where you wonder if this is another imagined scenario, and then your eyes widen as you take in the look on his face and realize he’s entirely serious.
“Wait, Taehyung, really?”
He nods once, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his lips.
“I-I had no idea,” you stammer, suddenly feeling like an asshole. His birthday, and he’s here waiting on you hand and foot, while you haven’t so much as said a word of felicitations. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
As soon as the words leave your mouth, he’s waving away your apology with his spoon, then proceeding to answer around his bite of food. “It’s not like I expected you to know. I don’t really make a big deal of it.” He shrugs. “I tend to… I don't know. I get sort of melancholy this time of year. The holidays, my birthday. It’s a lot all at once. A lot of pressure. To be happy. To have everything figured out.”
Nodding slowly, you let his words fully wash over you before you respond. “I get that,” you finally murmur, working off another piece of hotteok. “Nobody ever talks about it, but I feel like birthdays are kinda weird as an adult. You have enough of them and it just starts to feel like a day, you know? Not special.”
“I usually find myself just hiding out, waiting for it to be over,” Taehyung admits.
You take a second to think back. “Yeah. I didn’t even do anything on my birthday this year.” A self-pitying laugh rises up before you can stop it. “Honestly, this whole year was such a flop. I’m glad it’s nearly done.”
Taehyung makes a face like he can’t disagree. “Hey, sometimes that’s life.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly, then reaches a palm across the table. “Can I play a song?”
“Go ahead,” you offer, pushing your phone into his hand. You scrape your spoon along your dwindling dessert, and haven’t even managed to bring the assembled bite to your mouth before the music changes— from one Frank Sinatra song to another, this one with a driving blues rhythm.
Taehyung is already on his feet, hips starting to sway. “Ah, come on. You have to dance with me.”
He’s closed the distance between you before you can even protest, his hands smoothing across the blanket still wrapped over your shoulders.
“Let me take your coat, ma’am.”
You shift off the stool and onto your feet with a smile as he unwraps the blanket from around you and tosses it toward the back of the couch, missing by at least a foot.
“Why thank you,” you tease, feigning some kind of Transatlantic lilt to your voice that makes him really laugh. “Such a gentleman.”
Taehyung turns to face you again, and then you feel his large hand pressing to the small of your back, warm even through the fabric of your shirt, and your heart stutters a little. You take his other hand in yours and let him lead, let him pull you all the way in until you can turn your head and press your cheek to the firm plane of his chest.
Frank Sinatra croons on about how you can’t let life get you down, and suddenly there’s a weight settling in the pit of your stomach.
“I feel bad, Taehyung,” you admit, and when you glance up at him, he’s looking right back down at you. “That you’re here with me tonight.”
“Why?” he asks, like he really doesn’t know.
“Because,” you shake your head. “I don’t know. There’s a million better places you could be. I can’t even give you birthday sex.”
“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to,” he answers simply, then leans back, guiding you under his arm for a spin.
A little giggle bubbles up in your chest, catches on the first syllable of your reply as you twirl. “A-are you sure?”
Taehyung nods, thoughtful, when you come back to center again. “This is a good reminder that… I like taking care of people. It’s been a while since anyone’s let me.” The hand holding yours gives a gentle squeeze, and you can’t help but squeeze back.
“Well, thank you for taking care of me,” you answer softly. “You did a good job. Pretty sure I’m on the mend already.” You blink up at him through your lashes, and the way his eyes are fixed on you makes your heart squeeze, too.
It’s nearly overwhelming, taking him in like this, close enough that you can see every stray beauty mark kissed over his handsome features. Fluffy-haired, big-dicked Kim Taehyung— who would’ve thought?
Taehyung’s adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows, and you feel a sudden rush of heat all over, one you don’t quite think you can blame on a fever. It hardly even occurs to you that the two of you have come to a complete standstill now, barefoot in the middle of your kitchen, Taehyung’s palm pressed to your back, the fingers of your joined hands now shifting to lace together.
“Taehyung,” you’re breathing his name before you even realize it. “Would you… want to stay here tonight? Like, sleep together, literally?”
The smile that flashes over his face is nothing short of brilliant. “Yeah, okay.”
Your voice dips a little lower, teasing, as you smile back. “I really do think I’m feeling better, so. Maybe in the morning I can take care of you, too.”
Taehyung’s fingers brush the length of your jaw, then reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you continue.
“I’ve got this spray that makes my throat totally numb, so.”
He pauses, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, but he can’t quite keep a straight face. “Fuck, why is that so sexy?”
You’re laughing against his lips when he kisses you.
Was reading a chat fic when I thought of this lol
Shuichi: This is my best friend Kaito and He's an Ally! Say something Kaito
Kaito: Ally!
shout out to whoever preezy on chatie is-
(if you ever see this the chat fic was amazing!! ^^)
this is so shit i need [remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health] mouse bites to live
OMG YOU ARE FINALLY BACK!!! Honest speaking I thought you were dead cuz you went mia all of a sudden! Hope you doing well and I am so glad that you are on tumblr again, it’s been a while and kinda missed you 😗
( I've never really interacted with you cuz I’m quite shy but I really enjoy your writing and decided to just make the first move and welcome you back hehe )
HI OMG sorry i'm getting to this so late but AHHH i'm so glad i was missed, truly it mean the world to me
and i'm glad you enjoy my writing :) that means a lot also, considering i was unsure about my skills at first. i hope to see you interacting more and please never hesitate to reach out to me for anything :) i'm all ears bro <3
Does this belong on my page? Well shit I guess now it does. Eh don't worry I love all my fans 😄😜
Today I found out I share a birthday with sailor moon ✨
Honestly with how today is ending this has really cheered me up
Hihi E !! 😁 Just dropping by to wish you a wonderful Wednesday !! 💖
Hello!! Thank you! that is very nice of you💕 i hope you had a wonderful wednesday as well :D💕✨
Pseu, thank you for turning my prompt into this gem, I truly love it! I’m really happy that you had fun writing it :). And yes, if you’d like to write a sequel for this someday, I’ll look forward for it too^^
Hi pseu,
I really enjoy your writings, thank you for sharing them with us! For your last sling, if possible, I would like to request a modern-AU drabble with SLBP Shigezane:
- post-COVID (Can’t wait. I’m not sure where you are based, but while lots of others are slowly recovering, we’re still getting wrecked here Europe -.-)
- strangers that see/meet each other for the first time
- she is a grad student in the small town and becomes interested in him but has difficulties keeping eye contact
It would be great, if these bullet points could inspire you to make something with them!
SHIGE! 💕💕💕 You have given me so many good, cozy, perfect tropes in this ask, I’m gonna add coffeehouse (screeeeeeeeee!), and hope hope hope it is to your taste! Also hope you are doing okay. Big socially distant hugs from me to you. 💕 Let’s dive into a world where this is not a THING anymore…
Now that this is done I need to say OH MY GOD I can’t stand how much I love this, I definitely want to write MORE MORE MORE of these two! Thank you so so much, vyperignon! Cut is for length, this is very soft and sweet and omg it might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written brb cryinggggg
(Requests are closed, readers, but I have a lot to fill in July! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)
Your aunt made you the scarf. It had been a half graduation, half going-away present, and she gave you several months ago. A scarf given in summer… someone in your family surely knew a bit of predictive kitchen wisdom about that.
“To keep you safe,” she said tearfully when she pressed it, folded and tied with twine, into your hands. And then she’d crushed you into a hug and whispered “Any time you feel lonely, put it on and squeeze yourself. You will never be so far from home our love can’t find you.”
And you’d both burst into tears.
Your family is small and more tightly knit than any scarf. You love them. You miss them. But you have loved being in a new place all on your own, where no one knows you or any member of your family. You have explored the curious little town and made a few friends among the other researchers who are visiting or working at the manuscript library for the term. You have been here three months now, and have another half year to go before your research/work contract is concluded.
And you’re happy. When it begins to get cold, you pull the scarf out of your tiny chest of drawers for the first time. Video chats with your family and all your research have kept your heart plenty full, too full to be lonely. But the yarn really is as soft as love around your throat as you walk to the library.
You didn’t put on gloves, though, so your fellow researchers insist you get something warm to drink on the way home. And wear gloves the next day. You tell them it’s not a long walk, you’re fine... and then Mara, the other woman there on a research assignment (she is younger than you but has the glare of an ancient queen), shoots you a look. You value your life, so you relent. She narrows her eyes at you and you insist you relent. You all go back to work, to the quiet chatter and scratching and typing of your notes on manuscripts and ephemera. You wonder for the hundredth time why this archive is here, in the middle of a pleasant nowhere, but mostly you are glad you found it and were able to get this post.
You haven’t been lonely, but you really haven’t done anything this… socially mundane in awhile. The coffeehouse your coworkers recommended, Omori, is doing slow but steady business and you spend your entire time in the line hoping for someone to come up behind you. You hate being the last person in line, it always makes you feel like you are giving a hard time to the person who has to help you or ring you up (or make your drink). And here you’re not a regular— oh no, you realize, you just saw the lights on and didn’t even check the hours on the door, and it’s ten past six now, what if you’re keeping them?
These things are swirling around in your head (with the possibility of just making a run for it and pretending to have a panicked conversation on your phone as an excuse for leaving) when you are the only person left in line.
“Hi! What’s your name?” asks a smiling baristo, ready to key your order onto a tablet mounted on the counter. This itty bitty town, where the buildings are all still stone and wood, keeps surprising you with sleek technology in unexpected places.
“Lavender latte,” you blurt out. Oh, god.
His smile (already horizon-wide) widens, and he nods at you as if you say it’s okay, try again when you’re ready. No rush. He slides a paper cup off a stack and makes some notation on the side and waits, radiating calm and patience. You don’t think you’ve known anyone so unrelentingly warm since your earliest years of school, when teachers loved their entire classes.
You’re still embarrassed when you correct yourself, but he doesn’t say a single thing about it. He asks for a few details about your drink without asking you to repeat anything you’ve already said. Any milk preference? Earl Grey, right, or did you want coffee? And then takes your card. You know you are safe, and he’s been nothing but kind, but your hand is still a little trembly when you present the plastic.
“Your scarf is nice,” he says softly. Somehow his voice is just loud enough for you to hear every word over the ambient sounds of talking, clinking, and coffeehouse music. You are both leaned a little bit forward, him over the till, you over the counter, and it sends a slow but mighty wave of intimacy over your body, safe underneath your clothes. You need to thank him but you can’t seem to make the word come out.
His nametag flashes when he hands your card back. Shige! :> with the sideways smile and all. When you look up his actual smile is a tilted but perfect curl, and he looks like he wants to say more but you just give him a quick smile of your own (the one for nice strangers), and step away, not wanting to hold anyone up. Just in case they’ve come in behind you while all this has been going on.
“What’s your name?” He calls.
You repeat it, slowly, and add on a soft “I told you,” disappointed that after all that you still didn’t manage to make yourself understood.
He opens his mouth, looks at the cup with consternation that is, okay, when you are honest with yourself, absolutely adorable. “You did! My bad!” He laughs and rubs his arm with his free hand. “Sorry,” he offers. When he ducks his head the curious mousy silver-brown of his hair goes glossy in the spotlight that’s trained on the ordering counter.
And when his face comes back up from his little bow or whatever that was, he’s ever so slightly pink, so you believe his apology. You feel embarrassed at how nice it is to be able to unsettle someone else for a change, and you keep your grin invisible by holding the back of your lip with your teeth. There are plenty of seats open, so you take one near the pickup end of the bar and wait. You scroll a few times on your phone, and send your brother a photo of the view out the coffeehouse windows. You know he’ll show it to your mom. He texts back right away and you get lost in comfy banter. This place smells nice, the chair is cozy, and your scarf really is soft. You feel really happy. Maybe you’ll dare to come here again sometime. You do have a kettle, and a surprisingly fancy stove, and a spacious minifridge where you could keep milk to make your own drinks. But a latte from a coffeehouse is always such a treat.
“Hey,” Shige! :> says softly from a few steps away. “Got your drink. Didn’t want you to miss it.”
He sort of kneels to hand you your drink, and the courtly gesture and the size of his biceps take you by surprise. Even softer, like he’s worried about frightening you, he says “Here ya go,” and only when you have a two handed grip does he pull his own hands away.
His hands match his biceps. Your heart flutters appreciatively, and you don’t meet his eyes, but you don’t manage to keep your grin hidden at all because your smile pulls your lip right out from between your teeth. You wonder what the curve of it looks like, if it’s as nice as his. Even the toothy smile he’s giving you now is charming.
And that’s the first night you’re charmed by Shigezane.
You don’t learn his name is Shigezane (:>) until your third visit to the coffeeshop, though, because when you go back for a second visit the next morning, it’s much busier. Cheery, sweet Nadeshiko~❀ takes your order and compliments your scarf. When you ask for a lavender latte, her warm brown eyes flick up at you discerningly for the quickest of looks, but if it was anything she covers it with the sunniest smile yet and asks what size you want. You order a medium. In the morning rush, you grab your drink when your name is called and get out of there. So it’s not until you’re down the street that you suspect you might have been given a large.
You plan to go back that night, even if just to put a little extra in the tip jar.
A chorus of hummed approval greets you at your desk in the library. You lift your cup for them to see, along with your gloves. Mara gives you the severest thumbs up you’ve ever seen in your life. You return it, unwilling to even think about what would happen to you if you didn’t.
You tell them it’s a nice place and there are a few happy Told you!s from the peanut gallery as you set your drink on the chair beside yours (you’d never risk the documents you work with), take off your coat and scarf and gloves, and sink into the pleasure of your research. This really is a plum gig: you like your work and you have a comfortable cohort of fellow researchers. You’re given plenty of time each day for all your tasks and ample breaks. You just forget to take them, some days.
It’s awhile before you remember to have some of your drink, and the first sip is good: spicy-sweet and deep, but mellowed. It feels just right for what you are doing. But the one from last night was better.
At 6:05 you are reading the chart on Omori’s door that says they are open until 8:00 PM every day. But when you look through the glass, there’s no one waiting at the counter. And there’s no one behind it, either. The only thing that seems worse than being the last person in line is being the first and last person in line, making someone show up just for you. So you step away from the door and sort of… lean from foot to foot, outside the window, trying to figure out what to do. You could just run in, shove a few bills in the tip jar, and go. You don’t actually have to order anything. You don’t. That’s not too weird, is it? You just want to do something nice, but what if it’s too nice, so nice it’s weird?
At 6:07 there’s a cheerful jangle of the bell over the door. Shige sticks his head out, :> and all, and says, “It’s chilly, wanna come in? We’re open! Want a muffin?”
Mortification that he might have seen you acting like a Weeble Wobble is shoved to the side in your brain by a different mortification when your stomach loudly grumbles. He flashes you a smile that makes the rest of you grumble that he’s not your boyfriend, and then you grumble at all of yourself to not be stupid and move your feet to the door.
“I brought lunch today,” you say quietly. Why are you telling him this?! You can’t stop yourself. He’s like a hummingbird feeder and your rapid heart can’t resist the allure of his bright reddy-pink apron. “I just… forgot to eat it.” You think you were probably too quiet for him to hear you.
“Well, that happens,” he says, holding the door all the way open. “You can eat it in here, if you want. What were you working on?”
His attention settles on you as warmly as the soft heat inside the coffeehouse. You give him the elevator speech about your work at the library and your research. It always makes you a little nervous to try and explain what you do, but the walk to the bakery case is the best (sort of) elevator ride you’ve ever had.
He’s still listening thoughtfully when you reach the glass in front of all the treats. It’s sparse but not totally empty. When you do a little nod and say “And that’s pretty much it,” Shige says “I bet it’s not,” and then taps on the glass and adds excitedly, “These are all my Gramps’ recipes.”
Please don’t tap (unless you really have to) says a sign on the case.
He catches you reading it. “I really had to,” he says seriously. You know you can’t handle looking at his eyes for more than a second at a time, but you chance it then and his whole face is so obviously hoping you’ll laugh that a giggle just tumbles out of you. Like the whole world is a safe landing mat for you to cartwheel on.
You can’t look at his eyes again, but his grin is so big you think it must have almost closed his eyes entirely. He slips around the side of the case and uses a pair of shiny copper tongs to pull out three muffins. He puts them carefully on a small tower of plates. Then he freezes. “Are muffins… okay?” he asks. “I just realized I didn’t actually ask.”
You did ask, you think. I just didn’t answer. You wonder if he’s phrased it that way on purpose, to be polite and make you feel un pressured. Or if he forgot. He doesn’t seem like the type of person who would forget, and he seems a lot like the type of person who would tilt his phrasing to favor another person’s comfort.
“Yes,” you say, and you murmur that they look good (because he seems so proud, and because they do). And then your stomach rumbles again.
“My feet are tired,” he blurts out. “Wanna sit?”
You look at his face and immediately move your gaze off the eagerness in his eyes. But you do nod.
Shige uses the tongs to point to the table by the window where you were standing. “That’s the best spot,” he says. “Be right there.”
He says your name very softly, like he’s testing it in his mouth and in your ears. You try to walk to the table instead of running. Or dancing. You tell your hummingbird heart to shut up.
When Shige gets to the table, he has a little tray with the muffins (on two plates) and two glasses of water. And napkins. And straws. And a fork and knife. And several packets of wet naps, the ones with blue and white packaging.
“Prepared,” you say before you can stop yourself. He’s only being very nice. He laughs, and it sounds entirely unoffended.
“Got me,” he says. The tray pops up when he shrugs and he swears under his breath, trying to keep the glasses from spilling.
You have a clumsy, good-hearted brother. You grip the tray handles with him on instinct and slowly pull it down to the table. The glasses wobble less stupidly than you did outside. Nothing spills.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. You wish you could look right at him so he could see you mean it. “See? Fine. Thank you for the water. For everything.”
You let go and sit, but he’s still standing, holding the handles. Is he upset? Embarrassed?
You chance a look at he’s just staring at you, with his mouth open. He doesn’t look embarrassed or upset, he looks awed.
“I have a kid brother,” you say, hoping that is enough to explain. You shrug even though you swear you are not a shrugger.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, finally letting go of the tray. He slowly takes his apron off and folds it over the back of the chair opposite you and then sits. He’s rubbing his hands together like he’s in a daze. Then he seems to snap out of it and go all quick and bright again. “I have a cousin,” he says, plucking up a glass of water and setting it in front of you. He holds up the muffin plate. “He loves these things. Hidden sweet tooth. Have one, please. You can have them all if you want.”
You have one and a half muffins (Gramps’ recipe is good). He eats the rest. You talk about your brother and his cousin and your other family members.
Fall is a fast change here, and it’s dark before you realize it even though you’re right by a window. You don’t… want to leave. You don’t want to check your watch and see how close it is to closing time. You don’t want to keep him, but you don’t want to let him go.
One more thing. Just tell him one more thing, and then head home, you tell yourself.
You tell him you came by that morning and met Nadeshiko, and that she was nice. And that she might have given you a bigger drink than you ordered.
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. You can tell when he’s grinning now without even looking at his face. It seems like he grins whenever he’s awake, to be honest. “She told me. Did you like it?”
You still can’t meet his eyes, but you grin, too. “I came back to put more money in the tip jar,” you tell him.
“It’s on the house, doll,” he says softly. “It was on purpose. Don’t worry about that.”
You tell him you’re a worrier, as a joke, and when you realize your words you nearly gasp at yourself. People know it about you once they get to know you, but you don’t… say it. Ever.
“Yeah, well, I worry about you,” he says, sunny tone ushering away all dark clouds. “Gimme just a minute!” He stands up and fetches the tip jar and sets it down in front of you, then turns his back. You pull out a big tip to cover the muffins, too, and clear your throat when you’re done.
He clears his throat and keeps his back turned. You lift the tip jar to put it back in his hands, but he’s clutching half of a pink index card and a sharpie, so there’s no room. He sort of jiggles his hands side to side and you smile and set the tip jar down and take the card and marker from him. When he sighs in obvious relief you do not manage not to giggle.
If you need a latte, or a muffin, I know a guy!
(He likes to do other stuff, too.)
-Shigezane
What you assume is his number is written underneath. It’s definitely not the number for Omori, which you spent plenty of time looking at before he opened the door.
He makes you laugh again when he gropes around for the tip jar and you push it into his hands. “You’re a lifesaver,” he declares, and whisks it away. “I’ll tell Nadeshiko, but she’s definitely going to keep making you larger drinks,” he says over his shoulder. You just squeeze the warm stiffness of the pink card and then tuck it into your wallet where you can’t forget it. He comes back with another half an index card. It’s the other half of the one he gave you, if you’re not mistaken. You notice he doesn’t sit down and you wonder why.
“New program,” he declares, tapping it with a broad fingertip you try not to stare at. “Feedback cards! You can tell us if your drink isn’t right, or draw a picture. Or, y’know. Leave something else. If you want. I’m gonna go start taking down shop but hang out as long as you want, okay? Don’t feel like you have to run off.”
You spend a few minutes at the table, finishing your glass of water and tidying things on the tray and thinking of what kind of feedback you might like to leave, exactly. When you take everything over to the counter, there’s a new, empty fishbowl beside the spot for dishes. A pink index card is taped to it with “FEEDBACK! :>” written on the card in hasty marker.
You put your dishes where they belong on a little cart, and the trash in the bin. And your half an index card in the fishbowl.
“Thanks,” Shige calls from behind the counter, audibly grinning. You grin right back, give him a nod, and turn on your heel to go gather your things and head out.
And that’s the second night you are charmed by Shigezane, and how you give him your number (and he gives you his). You hide your smile in your scarf the whole way home, and the cold air cannot touch you.
At the end of my rope and it keeps getting longer like some sort of clown handkerchief bit?
I live how the snow's ability to confuse zombies, yeah Winter can be really be useful against the zombies it can slow them down
Are first I expected to zombies will attack him but nope they did something better..... by shoving the snow in their mouth like him and oh my gosh yes! Winter is beautiful!
Yo Sammy! You can use the zombies to clean the raod from snow!
Prompt: snow zombies
Snow zombies. This is going to be fun. 😆😆
————
It was cold. Colder than usual.
For the dead this was strange. They were naturally cold beings.. but this was too much. Many zombies were outside when the snowing had started, and many survivors had taken to watching the undead react in confusion to the bizarre weather through binoculars. They couldn’t deny that it was pretty entertaining.
Sammy groaned. He didn’t like this. Being cold felt natural to him, but this is beyond freezing. Strange white things fluttered down from the clouds. Landing in his hair and on his face when he stared up at them. What were these things? They made him shiver more than usual and they seemed to be everywhere.
Several zombies nearby were huddling up together in a group. Trudging through the whiteness together trying to search for a meal. Sammy’s instincts instructed him to join the small band of wandering undead. During the walk he spotted what appeared to be some infected children, poking and prodding at the snow. Seeming just as bewildered about the strange white powder as he was.
Feeling his curiosity grow, he crouched down to try and touch the whiteness. His hand came back freezing and covered in the stuff. He groaned uncomfortably at the sensation and wiped his hand on his bloodstained clothes.
So touching it might not be the best idea.. what about eating it? It didn’t have a smell, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t food right? Maybe he’d have just a small taste. Scooping a pile up with his already frozen hands and shoving it into his mouth.
Nope. Too cold!
The former music-director spat it out. Way too cold. Definitely not food. That was a disappointment.. he was so hungry and he hasn’t seen even a single survivor today. It was almost like the food was hiding from him and the others..
There was a confused gurgle close by and Sammy turned to see that the zombies he had been traveling with had witnessed him try to eat the snow. They watched him curiously.
Apparently whatever he did, seemed to interest the rest of the undead. A few moaned questioningly while another few copied what he did. Shoving a small pile of snow into their mouths before spitting it out after realizing it wasn’t food.
Suddenly the rest of the dead started doing it too. Even the little undead children nearby started trying to eat cold, fluffy, white stuff that fell from the sky. What had he started? Sammy barely knew what any of this stuff was anyway.
Soon after everyone had finished trying the snow, they soon went back to whatever it was they were doing before. Huddling together and shuffling around searching for survivors. While Sammy continued to watch the mysterious white specks gently rain down. It may have been unpleasantly cold.. but for some reason Sammy found them to be pretty. Deciding to stay outside a little longer so he could watch them fall.
It almost seemed familiar.. had he seen these white things somewhere before?
————
Hey! Thanks for sending me this prompt! It was fun to do! Sorry if it isn’t very good though! I kept getting distracted by the TV in my room. Sorry about that! I tried my best to make this good! I hope you like it! 😅
🥹
ONE OF MY FAVORITE ARTISTS DREW MY SILLY OL' OC. 💛
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A humble offering...
before I inked and colored it ⬇️
Let's all collectively agree to ignore the fact that one eye is bigger than the other 👍
EXCLUSIVE: BEGIN RM’S VERSION