#i like the taste of my latte and that's the only reason i drink it

[another-atom]

i may be developing abstinence syndrome for coffee...

[dira333]

Latte me be your lover - Iwaizumi x reader

requested by @ur-local-simp - tagging @shoulmate for reasons

Haikyuu taglist: @lees-chaotic-brain

"A hot coffee for a hot guy."

You roll your eyes. Hajime just thanks the barista and steps to the side to let you through.

The very second he turns away the smile drops from her lips and she scowls at you. But you've been anticipating it, your own smile saccharine sweet.

It's like this wherever you go. They hit on Hajime until they realize he's not coming alone. Some of them are embarrassed at your sight, others... not so much. And it's not like you're his girlfriend by any means - well, except the means of where you dream about it every night - but they don't know that, right?!?

-

"Are you going to call them?" You ask as soon as some caffeine has entered your bloodstream.

"Who?" Hajime grabs your hand and pulls you back, narrowly saving you from stepping into dogshit. Ugh.

"The barista. She wrote her number on your cup."

"She did?" He furrows his brows as he inspects the little paper thing that's wrapped around his cup to keep him burning his hands.

The amount of smugness you feel when he slips it off and uses it to pick up the dogshit and throw it away is insane. If only you could go back and tell her. Also, your crush is seriously environmentally motivated. Go, Hajime!

-

"One Latte Machiatto with extra Caramel drizzle," Hajime tells you before turning back to the girl ordering. "Anything else?"

"Your number?" She purrs, completely disregarding the line forming behind her.

"What number?" Hajime asks, stiff as a board. From where you're standing you can tell how tense his shoulders are. Bless him.

"Your phone number, duh," she laughs and you have to admit, she's really pretty. Her teeth are a little too white for your taste, though, but you know she'd be Oikawa's type. If only she'd come in yesterday when you had to endure his whining for a whole shift. It's not your fault he cannot get a girl.

"Sorry," you slip up to him, press into his side like a cat. Breathe, you scream at him in your thoughts, but your smile is sweet as you hand her her drink. "He's taken."

-

"Are you sure?" Terushima asks.

"Absolutely," you tell him, willing Hajime to work a little faster.

"You didn't even give me a chance." Terushima's not above begging to get a date, it seems. "I got a tongue piercing, you know." He sticks out his tongue but all you can hear is the splish-splash-clatter of someone dropping a drink. When you turn, Hajime's already on his knees, red-faced, wiping up the remnants of what was supposed to be Terushima's coffee order.

Terushima grins knowingly back at you. "So, since I have to wait a little longer..."

"No," you tell him, stone-faced, "Never."

"Come on!" He whines. "Like, one date?" His eyes flicker to where Hajime's disappearing in the back. "We could make him jealous."

Heat errupts in your cheeks. You knew you'd been pretty obvious in your advances, but this takes the cake.

"Don't ever ask me again," you tell him through your clenched teeth, seconds away from stabbing him with a fork. "You get me?"

He laughs, carefree and easy as if this doesn't matter to him at all.

"All good, all good. Say, do you have the number of your coworker? The cute one with the blond hair?"

You harrumph. "Give me yours," you insist, "I'm not giving out Yachi's number to strangers."

"I'm not a stranger," he defends himself, "We've been in a class for more than a year. But here," he makes a whole show of it, scribbling his number on a napkin and handing it to you, "My number. Take care of it."

You snort and tuck it into your pocket, only realizing Hajime's back when he clears his throat awkwardly behind you.

-

Hajime's been distant for the past week.

It's not unusual not to hear much from him for a few days, especially during exam season. You don't think much of it at first, because even though you've been crushing on him for the better part of your three-year friendship, you both still have a life outside of each other and the hell-hole you call work.

But then you're suddenly working your Monday shift with Makki instead of him. You've never worked Mondays without him. It's the worst day to work except maybe the weekend and he had to pinky promise to never let you down when the boss asked who'd cover it - you got free weekends but still, are pinky promises nothing worth anymore?

"Where's Hajime?" You ask Makki. The guy only shrugs. But he's been Hajime's friend longer than he's been yours so you don't think he'd tell you even if he knew.

On Wednesday you work with Mattsun. And boy, does he know what's going on. You can read it in the tilt of his eyebrows, the curve of his mouth.

"Spill," you tell him, "Or I'll never give out your number to cute girls again."

"I have a girlfriend," he replies lazily. You narrow your eyes at him.

"And apparently so do you," he continues, "Or rather, a boyfriend."

You furrow your brows. "Since when?"

"I don't know..." He doesn't seem to take this seriously at all. "I'm just telling you what Iwaizumi told me."

"Hajime told you I have a boyfriend."

"Mhm," he smiles brightly. "And then he asked to switch shifts with me."

-

Hajime has the decency to look guilty. He's ducking his head and it's probably only his manners that keep him from shutting the door on you.

"Why did you tell Mattsun I have a boyfriend."

He grimaces, but his mouth stays closed.

"Hajime," you insist, voice low, "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Maybe not yet," he argues, "But Terushima..."

"That's what this is about?" You ask, "Terushima asking me out? He's done that for months and I've never shown any interest. What makes you think I would change my mind?"

"You took his number," he tells you, eyes flickering around, lips pushed forward in something like a pout. "And he's got a piercing-"

"Hajime," you say, more than just exasperated, "Girls flirt with you every time you step out of your room. If I cut contact with you every time we wouldn't be friends anymore, would we?"

He flinches a little, but he's too stubborn to give in. Yet.

"No one's flirting with me," He insists, now an angry line between his brows, "You're imagining-"

"I've been flirting with you for the past two years," you add. If you're going down, you're at least going down with everything you've got.

Hajime freezes. His eyes are wide and his hand tries to grab the door but misses.

"You- what?!"

"What do you think writing my first name with your last name means? Or writing your name on my skin pretending it's a tattoo? Or cuddling into you during movie nights?"

"You run cold!" He defends himself, "A-and... And you said my name was pretty!"

"YES!" You huff, "Because I'm in love with you!"

Hajime's mouth opens and closes without any sound coming out. Your heart is hammering painfully against your chest. One more second, you tell yourself, one more second you'll give him before you finally give up.

His hand shoots out, grabs yours, and pulls you inside before you've fully finished that thought.

"Really?" He asks, a shy smile spreading over his face. "Really really?"

"Really really really," you promise, offering him your pinky. "I swear."

-

"Wow, you've got bad taste," you tell Atsumu when he's finished his order. He balks at you, but you snicker and his twin joins your teasing.

"I'll never come to visit you at your job again," he threatens and you shrug. "Sucks to be you, I guess."

"Come on, don't be like that," Atsumu wouldn't be Atsumu if he didn't try and wheedle his way into your favorites again. His eyes flicker to the side and he grins. "Can I at least get your number?"

Hajime's chest slams into your back. You can feel his anger without turning to look.

"She's taken," your boyfriend huffs behind you. "Don't be disrespectful!"

my Kofi if you want to tip me

[korereapers]

I collaborated with the amazing @laxi0v0 for a cute little event we made in the scriddler server. This is Laxi's art about the fic I wrote, and HONESTLY HONESTLY i couldn't have asked for a better and more supportive partner. Her art is way better than I would ever dream on writing and honestly, Laxi, I'm so glad it was you bc we vibe a lot about our tastes w this ship.

The fic will be on ao3 later, but here, for you guys, before anyone else:

Jonathan takes a sip out his mug, nicely decorated with a pumpkin, the recipe of the pumpkin spice coffee perfected by him for decades. It’s warm, it tastes like fall, and it’s the start of what Jonathan considers to be the best time of the year.

It started like a small tradition for him, when he finally left home and started studying to become the psychologist he wanted to be. Halloween was to be celebrated, especially for freaks like him, abhorrent creatures that made great-granny’s skin crawl. He was proud of that, in a way. It was his moment, it still is, after all of these years, because he is still a freak, he belongs to this weather and these colors more than he belongs anywhere else. He belongs between ocher leaves and the smell of fog, the rain starting to fall over Gotham, only to leave when it’s summer again. The start of his kingdom, of the time he rules over.

Or it would be, if Edward wasn’t so adamant about going to freaking Starbucks.

He doesn’t get it, not really. A malnourished child from Georgia, surrounded by overworked kids that serve them with the most forced smile when Edward asks, yet again, for the infamous Pumpkin Spice Latte. With ice. Oatmeal milk. Whipped cream.

Jonathan wants to die.

“How is this even supposed to be spooky?”

Edward rolls his eyes, green contact lenses barely moving, as if they were starting to get glued to his irises. Which should be a bad sign, but Jonathan is, yet again, not his boyfriend’s keeper.

“Not everything has to be spooky when this time arrives, Jonathan.”

He kind of dislikes it, when he calls him by his full name. He calls him Jon when they are alone, when they are intimate, when their bodies or their hearts are entwined. He doesn’t like when he calls him Jonathan, because that means that Edward thinks he is being too bitter, complaining too much, a complete prick.

It’s not that he dislikes the stupid PSL, either, but it feels like desecrating one of his oldest traditions, and he feels as if he were betraying himself.

“Don’t you like my recipe, then? Do you dislike it so much we have to come here every single week?”

The cashier smiles at them awkwardly as Edward pays for their order, tipping the young lady generously.

“Do you have to take everything personally? I started getting here when I finally had my own money to spend. Is it that hard to just enjoy it, when I want to share it with you?”

Oh. A tradition. Jonathan distractedly drinks from his thematic glass, but says nothing.

They are really different, Edward and himself. To Edward, spending time and money like this… is almost a love language. It’s a lifestyle that he works hard to keep, having dinner in expensive places, getting coffee every time he can. Sharing it with him, because Jonathan is important to him.

Jonathan may be unable to feel fear, and his brain may be as damaged as Edward’s heart, but guilt still crawls its way into his psyche. It still makes him feel uneasy, because he cares, because he understands the feeling, because he wants to share his recipe with Edward because of the exact same reason.

He touches Edward’s hand when they sit, an apology he doesn’t utter but that can be felt in his irradiated orange eyes.

“I like it when you share time and nourishment with me.”

Edward’s expression softens, a glint of blue under the bright green contact lenses.

“Wow, when did you get emotionally aware?” his mouth says instead, and for a moment, Jonathan understands the Bat and his compulsion to punch him in the mouth.

“I’m a psychologist, Edward.”

“... right,” he mutters, his voice cheeky, still clearly a little mad, his thoughts loud. Jonathan loves that about him, his expression when he is deep in thought, when he is trying to understand something. A puzzle, a new riddle in their lives. “That recipe of yours is really important to you, too, if I’m guessing correctly.”

Jonathan nods, his eyes still on Edward’s, who seems to be feeling a little bit too shy to look at him, knowing that they are having an emotionally vulnerable moment.

“It is. I made it myself and… I want to share it with you.”

Edward does smile a little at that, his voice softer when he speaks.

“Let me try it later. I want to give it the thought and recognition it deserves.”

Jonathan’s thumb caresses Edward’s hand, his smile contagious. Like a well concocted virus.

“I would love to.”

—-------------------------------------------

Edward is pretty sure that he is (very unluckily, by the way) dating the man with the poorest taste in the world. Jonathan seems to think that he is hilarious, dressed in his usual costume, even the needles oozing toxin as he sits quietly on the couch.

There is a thing about him that Edward has always loved: how he becomes a different person when the mask is on.

They used to talk about it, back in the day, when they used to share a room in the Asylum. Jonathan felt naked without his mask, his expression dull and almost tense, devoid of what made him himself. Edward, at least, has managed to make those expressions change, the real Jon emerging from behind whatever aloof façade he tries to put on to protect himself, to pretend he is a regular human being and not the freak that makes his heart melt.

He must surely be smiling behind the mask, then. Edward can almost feel him vibrating in excitement, like a small child, and in a way, he kind of is. A reclaimed childhood, the enjoyment of a joy he wasn’t allowed to feel. He can understand that.

Still, the poorest fucking choice of a Halloween costume.

“Really, Jon? The most original idea, I have to say.”

Jonathan looks at him, and he can feel his piercing eyes even behind the mask, the expression of a predator, so dangerous it makes his face flush a little. Birds of a feather, both of them. The Scarecrow sighs, deeply, the sound distorted behind the mask. It’s creepy, he has to admit, which is probably… kind of the point.

“Like you’re one to talk, Herlock Sholmes.”

Edward gasps, indignant. His Poirot costume is nothing to be laughed at.

“Excuse me?!”

He can almost feel the smile behind the mask, because Edward knows him, he knows Jonathan is an avid reader, he knows the difference between Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle, for fuck's sake. He is doing this on purpose, to rile him up. He always is.

Edward's mind goes somewhere else, somewhere private. Somewhere where he is indeed riled up, and Jonathan touches his cheek, looking up at his face from behind the mask, Edward sitting on his lap, while long, dangerous hands go up his thigh, eyes hungry-

The doorbell rings. Edward goes back to reality, Jonathan's eyes on him as he moves towards the entrance, the tips of his ears surely blushing.

When he opens the door, he has to look down, because damn, kids sure look tinier these days. He cannot remember to be this short, this innocent, this…

Happy.

He feels Jonathan's chin on his shoulder, almost jumping in place because the man is silent like a ghost, no matter how eager he is to take part in the holiday.

One of the kids is wearing a Batman costume, and Edward tries his hardest not to roll his eyes, with better or worse success. Another kid is dressed as Harley Quinn, what makes him wonder if these parents are in need of any kind of psychological help. The youngest, a child dressed as Wonder Woman, looks at them with badly hidden mischief, and Edward feels tempted to just close the door.

"Trick or treat!" They ask in unison, and before Edward can answer, Jonathan drops a bag in front of them, full of who knows what, but the kids don't ask.

Such blissful ignorance.

"Thank you Mister Holmes! Mister Scarecrow!" The girl dressed up as Batman says, and the one dressed as Wonder Woman purses her lips in disgust.

"Poirot's moustache isn't like that. You're a fake."

The kid dressed as Harley Quinn laughs in response, taking the bag of candy and running away with Wonder Woman. The one dressed as Batman follows who Edward believes to be her sisters, and he blissfully thanks that they don't have any children.

"Please tell me the bag is full of drugs."

Jonathan chuckles a little, his arms around Edward's waist.

"Hershey's," is everything he says, his sudden lack of malice and evil intent a headache for Edward.

"Oh, Jon. Are you going soft on me?"

Jonathan's smile can be felt in the air, a predator, a killer awaiting their next victim.

"Me? Oh, darlin'..." he whispers against Edward's ear, his distorted voice making him shudder in anticipation. "Never."

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Oh, this fun October!

Self-Aware! BSD Characters x GN! Reader

Description: BSD's Cast First Halloween in real world! Full of cute moments. You are sure, that you will enjoy this Halloween as much as them.

Fluff

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Warning: OOC. English is my second language.

____

Pumpkin

You walked inside the kitchen, looking unamused. The room was cowered in pumpkin pulp.

In the middle of the room sat the reason for the whole mess.

Akutagawa was clutching the pumpkin remains in his hands. Rasenmon was hovering above him, its maw was covered in orange pulp.

You left him for one minute. And now, only two pumpkins from seven were left.

You rub your forehead.

"What did I tell you?"

Akutagawa looked a tiny bit guilty. Just a little. Somewhere deep inside him, Ryunosuke regret not listening to you. Probably.

"Don't use my ability for pumpkin carving."

"And what did you do?"

"Used it. It's faster that way."

Akutagawa looked at the mess he created.

"Just let me get hold of it."

Rasenmon strike forward remaining pumpkins.

***

At the end, Oda and kids will do the carving. As for Ryunosuke's pumpkins... Well, backed pumpkin is delicious.

Ryunosuke wasn't good with pumpkin carving.

But, he is good at cutting food. At least, cutting pumpkin.

______

Leaves

You were carrying red maple leaves in your hand. Red, orange and yellow leaves were crunching under your feet.

Shibusawa, dressed in kimono, was looking near you. He was twirling a single maple leaf in his hands.

"Sorry, if it's not that interesting." spoke you, looking at Shibusawa. He smiled at you.

"Don't worry, [Y/N]. It is interesting." Shibusawa looked up. "This autumn full of imperfections... And it makes it so perfect. So interesting."

Shibusawa looked at you again.

"I heard, that there is a kiosk, where you can buy pumpkin latte. Let's buy some."

He walked further down the road.

You hummed and walked after Shibusawa.

_______

Tea party

You breathe in the tea aroma. Golden, warm liquid looked magnificent.

You taste it.

"Mm! Apple Cinnamon tea. You outdid yourself, Ivan!"

Ivan smiled, drinking some of his own tea.

"I am glad, that you liked it, [Y/N]."

For a few minutes, you two enjoy the warm drink with some bubliks¹.

Warm tea was perfect for October. Especially, if you are drinking it with a friend.

_______

Candy apples

"Ranpo, for the future reference, never try to make candy apples again." sigh you, trying to tear off the caramel-coated apple from Ranpo's forehead.

Detective just waved his hand and took a bite from the apple you already removed.

"Come on, [Y/N], it's not like it was completely my fault! You opened the door when I had the plate with caramel apples in hands. You startled me and made me drop apples on me."

You licked some caramel off your fingers and tear another caramel apple from Ranpo's cheek.

"Yes... But you were the one, who added so much caramel, that apples are practically became coated in thick sphere. And you are the one, who start carrying apples before caramel hardened."

Ranpo only tool another bite.

_______

Moonlight

The moonlight was bright tonight.

Under the moonlight, fully transformed Atsushi was running. Magnificent white tiger was fast.

And you were riding on his back.

It was a spontaneous decision, but, after learning, that Atsushi manage to fully control his tiger form, you proclaimed, that you want to ride on his back.

That's why you two were here.

Atsushi stopped running and start slowly walking.

You gently scratch behind his ears.

White tiger huffs.

______

Fog

Fog was heavy. So heavy, you could barely see your fingertips. Thankfully, Herman Melville was with you.

Old man was skillful in navigating through the fog. With small compass in his hand and will your phone's flashlight, you two manage to navigate through the woods near your house.

The road were destroyed because of the rain, so you two need to walk through the woods.

Soon you will be home.

______

Haunted

The screams of terror were coming from the "House of Horrors".

A few minutes later, Nikolai walked outside the attraction, whistling a cheerful tune.

Soon, people and actors start running away from the attraction.

He was holding your left hand. In your right hand, you were holding cotton candy.

Nikolai grinned.

"It was fun, Birdy, isn't it?"

You took a bite from your cotton candy. At first, Nikolai didn't like the "House of Horrors". So, he decided to join actors into scaring people. In his own way.

"Yea. Especially, when you pretend to be sewn in half by a fake saw... You didn't..."

Nikolai immediately stopped you.

"Ketchup and red paint, don't worry, [Y/N]. So... To the next attraction?"

You nodded and Nikolai start leading you to the next ride.

______

Black cat

You turned your back on one second and Fukuzawa was already done. How you could lose him? Where did he go?

You start searching for him through the nearest shops.

You found him in the pet shop.

Local animal shelter decide to show some of their animals, dressed in Halloween themed costumes, in hopes, that they will be adopted.

Fukuzawa, man, who was almost two meters tall, was cradling a small black kitten, that was dressed as a bat.

"Good little bat..."

It was so strange to see Fukuzawa, whose expression remains stern, tickling kitten's chin.

But... Should you really take the kitten?

***

On your way back, kitten was held against Fukuzawa's chest.

_____

Spider

It was in your house...

It was terrible...

It was awful...

The spider crawl at your direction. You jumped on the nearest person and hold to them for dear life.

"DAZAI, KILL IT!"

Dazai himself looked uncomfortable.

"I don't want to touch it!"

Spider crawl closer.

Dazai, with you on his back, jumped on the nearest person.

_____

Few jumps later

______

"CHUUYA! KILL IT!"

"And how do you expect me to do it?" asked Chuuya, who, somehow, still was standing, despite the fact, that you, Dazai, Kirako, Higuichi, Pushkin and Q hung on him like grapes on a branch.

***

Tetchou was the one, who killed the spider, while Tachihara and Teruko tried to make all of you let go of Chuuya.

______

Rats

"When I was little, I start feeding some rats from the alley, that I passed on my way to school. Soon, they start bringing me little gifts. Rocks, twigs, old paper. But, one day, they brought me money. So, I gave them better food. Rats quickly learned, that if they want good food, they need to bring me money... So, Fyodor, do you think, I could train a new rat pack to bring me something good? I have a sandwich" asked you, leaning towards Fyodor.

He pinched your nose.

"Stop it. Cake is for tomorrow's party. I won't steal you a piece of it. Even if you give me a sandwich."

You stuck out your tongue.

"You are no fun."

Fyodor chuckled and patted your head.

"Let's go, Al Capone from National Geographic Channel, let's play checkers."

_____

Vampires

Today, everyone woke up because of loud noises and sounds of something being thrown around in the library.

A quick check up reveals, that it was probably Bram. No one see Count Stoker since yesterday.

Or you were being robbed.

You (because, if it is Bram, you could calm him down) and Fukuchi (because if it is a robbery, he will calm thieves down), enter the library.

For the next ten minutes everything was quiet.

Then you opened the door. You looked slightly angry.

"Okay. Confess immediately. Who in the world gave Bram "The Twilight Saga" and called it a good book about vampires?"

____

Party

The party was a blast.

Pumpkin lanterns were lit.

Everyone was wearing costumes.

Kenji, Q, Elise, Kyouka, Katsumi, Kousuke, Sakura, Shinji and Yu just returned from trick or treating and were showing, what they got.

Food was delicious. Drinks were refreshing.

You heard Kaji's voice.

"Hey, everyone, the camera is ready! Gather around!"

You were stuck in the middle of the photo, surrounded by all of your friends. You were holding Karl in your arms, Ayatsuji's cats were sitting near your legs and Fukuzawa's new kitten was sitting on Fukuzawa's head. Kaji continued.

"Okay. On three. One, two, three..."

All of you, together, exclaimed.

"HAPPY HALLOWEEN!"

And another group photo was taken.

____

¹Bublik (also booblik or bublyk; Russian: бублик, tr. búblik, plural: bubliki; Ukrainian: бублик, romanized: búblyk) is a traditional Eastern European bread roll. Like a bagel, it is a ring of yeast-leavened wheat dough, that has been boiled in water for a short time before baking.

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬

model!choi chanhee x fem!assistant!reader

you were just supposed to be his assistant, but at some point, you'd come to mean a lot more to him.

6.4k words (WHOOPS my hand slipped), technically s2l, fluff, angst if u squint, slight pining?, kissing, model stuff and first world problems 😔✨, like one curse word, barely proofread

a/n: istg it wasn't supposed to be like this ;-; it would have been longer but i got impatient </3

Choi Chanhee once made a girl cry because she had forgotten his phone in the car. In his defense, he hadn't gotten much shuteye the night prior, but Kevin liked to always remind him of that instance.

They said that was the first, true moment the tabloids began painting him in a new light.

'Choi Chanhee, Model-zilla, Hits the Streets of Paris for Fashion Week Once Again'. 'Choi Chanhee's Ex-assistants Come Forward with Shocking Experiences'. 'Satin or Silk: the Truth Behind New's Refusal to Wear Alexander McQueen'.

The last one didn't even make sense; Alexander McQueen only used silk, anyway, and Chanhee had walked in one of his shows a few years ago. Chanhee simply hadn't the time to pen the designer into his schedule since.

The one about assistants? Well, they were all entitled to free speech, but that didn't mean that he would spare them any mercy if they decided to blatantly lie about him. He could always trust Lee Sangyeon, his personal attorney, to take care of business, if and when any of his ex-employees decided that a good payout was comparable to spewing filth.

Then there was you.

Chanhee hadn't needed a new assistant in a little over half a year since you came along. Fresh out of university with a bachelor's in communication and punctuality, you waltzed into his life, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. You'd sat across from him, no-nonsense; he hired you right there. (He had not regretted it since. This was the last time he would let anyone but himself do the interview process.)

The best part about you was not that you always had his schedule memorized before he did, or that you appeared at his apartment before the car picked you both up with his favorite coffee order, or that you actually had decent taste in perfume—not… that he paid attention to what perfume you wore—but it was the fact that you could look him in the eye when he spoke to you, and you to him.

"—and you have a fitting with Chanel at five o'clock this evening right after that meeting with Maison Margiela about the perfume line. We'll have just enough time to—"

Wow, your eyes were pretty in this lighting, he thought. The two of you sat before the massive, floor-to-ceiling window in his penthouse apartment. The entire city laid sprawling at your feet while you sat across from each other at his breakfast table, eating blueberry muffins and drinking lattes.

And for some reason, all he could think about was how nice your hair looked again today, how brilliantly the shine in your eyes was from the sunlight, how impeccable your fashion sense was—even if it wasn't perfect, but that could easily be remedied. Chanhee would have to remind you to remind him to—

"Chanhee. Chanhee, are you listening to me?"

He snapped out with a flutter of his long eyelashes. He reached for his cup of coffee, delicately bringing it to his lips. "Hm? Of course, Maison and then Chanel. Did Changmin cancel our dinner or are we still on?"

A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips when he saw how your expression lightened knowing that he was paying attention. You idly stirred your latte around with a little silver spoon. "He says he's still good to go for tonight. Same place, same time."

A nod. "Good."

He nudged up the Prada sunglasses on his nose as he turned his head slightly to gaze out the open window. It was an awfully beautiful day out today. The sunlight was gentle, the skies were an azure wave of silk, sewn with clouds of white. "Yn, dearest, are we clear until the Maison meeting?"

You blinked. "Yes," you answered, checking your watch for the hour, "it's 10:32 right now."

"Mm, that gives us about five hours to refresh your wardrobe."

Your lips parted, and he smiled in amusement. There was something so adorable about your flustered state. "Excuse me?"

"Call it a little token of my appreciation," he sang, standing up from the table to deposit his empty plate and cup into the kitchen sink. "Could you call the driver to round the front?"

"Oh, uh, sure—"

"Thanks, love. I'll be back in a few," he called to you just as he disappeared into his bedroom to freshen up. You were left at the breakfast table, dumbfounded. You'd only ever gone shopping with Chanhee for him or for someone else. Not you. You were always on the clock when you were with him, and you figured he would probably take everything you bought today out of your paycheck, but…

You couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in your chest like the wings of a butterfly. This could either be the best thing that happened to you… or a complete shitshow.

There was something odd about walking into one of Chanhee's go-to leisure shopping stores—Dior—with the mindset that you were supposed to be shopping for yourself. Chanhee had asked the driver to pull up to the Dior storefront even as the regular paparazzi camped outside.

Your eyes gazed longingly at the Macy's across the mall.

Chanhee followed your gaze with a little scrunch of his nose. "Absolutely not," he clicked his tongue, dragging you out of the vehicle and to the sidewalk.

The press already dubbed you a "miracle" for being in his employ for longer than a day. But when they got shots of him literally hauling you into the Dior… you could imagine what they would all claim now. This was going to be a whole lot of cleanup, but you had learned after months of working with Chanhee that he was way tougher than he looked. He also didn't mind biting back.

When the two of you were safely stowed away within the guarded interior of Dior, you breathed easier.

Straightening, you greeted the staff members with a shallow bow, who did the same to both you and your boss.

Chanhee wiggled his fingers in silent greeting, then beelined for a white, quilted blazer on a mannequin. A worker scrambled after him to talk about the piece while another stuck by your side to make small conversation.

"How was your morning?" They asked you pleasantly.

"Oh, it was quite nice! How was yours?"

"Pretty quiet," they smiled. They were about to say something else when both of you were interrupted with Chanhee calling your name.

His eyes were pinned to you from over the rim of his sunglasses. Draped over his arm was a tapered coat of some sort, a dress, and… oh, god no. "Yn, come here."

You could already hear your wallet crying. "Chanhee, I literally cannot afford a single thing in here—"

He pressed a palm between your shoulder blades and steered you in the direction of the dressing rooms. "That's besides the point because I can afford them; that's what matters."

Surprise made your footing falter. "Huh?"

"Silly Yn-ie," he teased, "did you think I was gonna bring you all the way out here to not treat you?" Before you could say anything else, he was shoving the items into your arms, and your body into the grandiose space of the Dior dressing room. He winked over his glasses. "Now hurry and put them on. I wanna see!"

He ripped the curtain closed, and you stood there for a moment.

In your hands were the jacket, the dress, and a pair of shoes that probably cost you more than your entire bank account combined. You blew out a puff of air, just as you heard a staff member offer him a glass of champagne on the other side of the curtain.

"No getting out of this, Yn," you muttered to yourself, then began hanging everything up."

Chanhee was no stranger to the effect he had on people. In fact, he wielded it like a dagger. It was how he had gotten so far in this industry in the first place other than his immaculate good looks, of course. The face of an angel and an attitude of the devil—at least, that was what one article had said about him. He quite liked it, actually.

There was something wholly different about his effect on you as you stood beneath his scrutinizing, heated gaze, as you tried on piece upon piece. He loved being able to unabashedly stare at you, to take in your flustered expression as you did little spins for him in the outfit of choice. For once, you couldn't look him in the eye, and when you had done so once, it had been when his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

It wasn't just the champagne he was tasting.

It was the next morning when you appeared in his home at 7 o'clock sharp, as usual, but with a new accessory hanging off your arm. It was one of the more low-key purses he had bought you yesterday—and to be honest, it was actually one of his personal favorites. It was a Chanel one, of course, and it complimented your pant suit quite nicely.

"Morning," you chirped, handing him his cup of coffee as he stumbled out of his room in a silk robe and with a yawn widening his mouth.

Chanhee smiled at the sight of you, graciously accepting the coffee from you. He leaned against the countertop next to you. "Good morning," he murmured lowly, peering at you over the rim of the cup, taking a languid sip.

He sighed as the caffeine began working its magic. "How are you this morning, dearest? Have a good night?"

You had set your purse down on the island, then moved away from him only to go check his refrigerator to see if he needed anything restocked. Always so attentive. "I had a good night. How was dinner with Changmin?"

"Lovely," he said fondly. "I see you are putting my gifts to use." His fingers danced along the gold chain draped along one end of the quilted leather.

He swore your cheeks flushed, but then again, his eyes had never tricked him for a second. "Ah, yes. Thank you so much for yesterday, by the way." The fridge closed softly, and you grabbed an apple from the basket on the counter to wash and munch on. "I really don't know how I can repay you—"

Chanhee dismissed you immediately, his wrist flicking outward. "Pfft, none of that. I told you it was all a token of my affection," he grinned, propping his chin onto his palm across the island counter from you. "And gratitude," he added. "I don't say this to just anyone, Yn, and I don't buy just anyone all that stuff—but I did it because I appreciate you."

Your chewing slowed and you swallowed. "Oh."

He said it so easily. God, was he lucky to have met you.

Knowing he had successfully rendered you speechless once more, he laughed lightly, deciding to change the subject. "What's today's schedule like?"

You immediately straightened; this was something you knew like the back of your hand. It was much more up your alley.

As you ran him through his activities today, you failed to notice the difference in his posture, the softer smile on his face, and the way his eyes could not leave you for a moment, not even to drink his coffee.

Grueling was an understatement. Today had been one of the worst days of your working existence under Chanhee's employ. You'd endured rough days and nights before, but today, it seemed to have been hassle after hassle after hassle. You probably got around thirty-thousand steps by how much you ran around trying to find emergency kits and emergency outfits and running to the emergency dry cleaner's.

As much as the fashion world enthralled you, sometimes you wondered how anyone could survive it.

Chanhee was just as maxed out as you were by the end. It was maybe three in the morning by the time the two of you collapsed into the backseat of his driver's car. Streets were barren at this time in the ungodly hours of morning, and your joints ached every time you breathed.

Chanhee was quiet as well as he leaned his head back against the headrest to allow his body some rest. He just barely managed to get through that last shoot—clearly the directors had no clue what they were doing, he thought with a dead look in his eyes. That was how he felt—dead. If it hadn't been for you swooping in with a creative direction…

You were brilliant; that much he was certain of. Without you, that shoot might have dragged on for another couple of hours, or Chanhee would have just walked out. Usually, he had a good sense and eye for things, but with everything that happened today, for once, he didn't have the energy to yell or direct.

He needed to treat you to brunch tomorrow, if he was even able to wake up in time—

His inner thoughts halted when he felt a sudden weight fall upon his left shoulder. He froze up.

Your head had slumped onto his shoulder, eyes closed and no doubt deep asleep. Your bangs had fallen out from the bounds of your ponytail and draped across your face as you slept. He could smell the Miss Dior on you with this proximity.

Chanhee smiled to himself, taking his other hand and brushing the hair from your face and gently caressing your cheek. "Cute," he murmured.

By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of his complex, Chanhee had made a couple of executive decisions.

He lightly roused you from your sleep, cooing into your ear, "Come on, Yn-ie. Let's get you to bed, hm?"

You hummed, lifting your head from his shoulder with a yawn. You rubbed your eye with no care for the makeup smudging. "Chanhee? Why're you still here?"

Normally, the driver would drop Chanhee off first and then you, especially when it came to late nights like this. But… what… was happening?

Chanhee helped you out of the car, thanking the driver while mustering up a kind smile for him. "You're too tired, love. I'm taking you upstairs to my place."

"Wait, I can't—" but you weren't physically protesting; your body ached and ached and ached. But this was your boss, your employer. This wasn't professional.

"Yn, you're exhausted," he countered, buzzing into the building and helping you inside.

You couldn't argue with him anymore. You just wanted your face to hit a pillow and be out for the night. "Okay," you mumbled, letting him press your face into his shoulder on the ride up the elevator.

"Good girl," he sighed. He tilted his head back against the elevator wall, one arm wrapped around your middle and the other cradling the back of your head. Just a little longer, then the both of you could finally get some well-deserved rest.

You would argue you had seen Choi Chanhee at some of his best and worst moments. He was one of the most beautiful human beings on this planet, and yet, none of the prior moments could even compare to when you stumbled out of his bedroom to the sight of his back to you as he fried eggs and ladled waffle batter into the maker in the kitchen. He had a big T-shirt hanging from his lean frame, as well as a pair of loose pajama pants on, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for everything to cook.

Even at ten in the morning, the light pink waves of his hair looked immaculately styled. You almost forgot he hadn't gotten a perm in awhile.

The panic of waking up in his sheets instead of yours had faded when you recalled your conversation with him just seven hours prior. He had managed to wrestle you into an extra set of sleepwear he just had lying around (Gucci, nonetheless), before he deposited you onto his bed, then promptly curled up outside on the living room couch.

You swallowed. Now what?

It was then that Chanhee turned around with an innocent look on his face. You watched as it melted into something softer at the sight of you. "Good morning, dearest," he beamed, "sleep well?"

Drowsiness lingered at the corners of your eyes, but you somehow managed a nod. "Yeah, how about you?" You asked him quietly. Actually, that had been some of the best sleep you'd ever had. Something about his sheets with high thread count and the smell of Chanhee lingering on everything. But you weren't just about to say that to him.

"Well enough," he replied. He waved you over. "Come sit; breakfast is almost ready."

Your eyes widened a smidge. That was for you? Now you really needed to go home. "Ah, I appreciate it, but I've practically overstayed my welcome—"

He sent you a look. "Yn, come have breakfast with me."

You caved. Because at this point, you'd already screwed yourself over. And breakfast really did smell nice; what was the difference between Chanhee making you breakfast and you bringing him breakfast from the café down the street?

(You didn't even want to go home, as much as your logical brain was trying to urge you towards.)

So the two of you breakfasted, and for a moment, you could forget, for once, that you were just supposed to be his assistant.

Some things changed after that morning, and Chanhee found himself getting you to stay over more and more often. Even if he had to come up with something stupid like "You haven't watched the 2001 New York Fashion Week rerun?" For some reason, you bought into all his excuses, and even though he knew it was probably because you were always attentive to his needs, a part of him liked to fantasize that you felt it, too.

The pull.

Something had shifted after that morning when he made you breakfast and the two of you ate together at the breakfast table. Sleep had lingered in your eyes, and your hair was a mess, but it was soft and beautiful and… he'd never been so in awe at someone's "I woke up like this" look.

His heart had leapt at the sight of you in those pajamas with that subtle pout to your lips.

God, he thought he might sweep you into his arms and kiss y—

"New. Chanhee. Choi Chanhee—"

He blinked, lifting his eyes from his menu to meet Changmin's. "Hm?"

Changmin wrinkled his nose at him, adjusting the sunglasses seated atop his head to hang from the collar of his dress shirt. (How it managed to hang with two buttons popped open, Chanhee chalked it up to fashion magic.) "You're awfully quiet today. What, tabloids finally shut you up?" He joked.

Chanhee rolled his eyes. "One of these days, I swear, they will render me speechless with their ridiculous delusions," he muttered airily, half-heartedly skimming the menu again.

He and Changmin were seated at their usual booth in their usual restaurant at their usual time. It was their weekly dinner together, something they had kept up since their university days in order to keep themselves grounded. They, of course, touched base with all of their university friends often, but the two of them were two peas in a pod. They even refused to let Sunwoo in on these weekly dinners specifically (something the younger friend was undoubtedly salty about).

Changmin could figure out when Chanhee was occupied with something other than the present. Usually, he was all up and out of his seat dealing out gossip or what torture he and you had been… oh.

Changmin cocked his head to the side, nostrils flaring slightly as he tried and failed to suppress a sly smile. "How's Yn these days?" He asked nonchalantly, lowering his eyes to the menu in front of him even though he always got the same thing every time.

To his credit, Chanhee didn't even react. "She's lovely as always. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno," Changmin drawled, "you haven't gushed about her like you usually do. I feel like you hang out with her more than me."

Chanhee raised a brow at his friend. "She's my assistant; of course I'm going to spend more time with her."

"Yeah, but—"

"And she's a lot more agreeable most of the time."

"Hey!"

Chanhee grinned in impish delight. "You asked."

Changmin sent him a stink eye, huffing as he raised his hand up to summon a waiter. "Yeah, whatever. Okay, but you literally refused to go out with me the other night, and when I texted Yn if you had a schedule, she said that you two were at home!"

That got his attention. Chanhee pursed his lips together, sheepishness peering through his smile. "In my defense, she hadn't seen New York Fashion Week in 2001."

"You hated that year, Chanhee."

"Exactly."

Changmin sighed to himself, and just as he was about to add on, a waiter came by to take their order. Once that was done, Changmin laced his fingers over the table and leveled his friend with a pointed look.

"Just admit that you like her."

Oh, Changmin. If only you could hear the rapid palpitations of his heart when you called him out like that. Chanhee blinked innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he swallowed.

It wasn't even two days later that Chanhee had you staying a little later at his place, once again. There was something jazzy and vibey playing in the background, while Chanhee finished up plating dinner and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. You were over at the small table by the window pouring wine into twin glasses, your hair pulled haphazardly out of your face (for the most part) with a pearl-studded claw clip from Chanhee's personal PR box.

(You blatantly refused, but he then reminded you that he couldn't even use the clip himself.)

Chanhee didn't often think about sharing his life with someone, but it was moments like these—moments when he heard you hum under your breath, moments when the two of you could laugh about the day over dinner, moments when you weren't just his assistant but someone closer—that he could indulge himself. He wasn't a very domestic person; since childhood, he dreamed of places far away from home, seeing sights and experiencing cultures… but if he could come home to you? And experience this every time?

Suddenly dinner was over, and you were collecting dirty dishware and glasses to bring to the sink to wash.

"Yn-ie, hey, I can wash those—"

"No, no! You made dinner; I am washing dishes," you asserted, pushing him away from the sink when he tried to come up to you.

Chanhee broke into a laugh, coming up behind you to set his hands on your shoulders and rub the upper parts of your arms. "Okay, okay. Thanks, love," he said. He didn't even think before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and walked off to go to the bathroom.

Your cheek tingled where his lips had been, and you turned the faucet on to drown out the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears. What was happening?

You felt like you were floating on air as you hummed to the music and washed the dishes, with the ghost of Chanhee's lips left lingering on your cheek. It served as a reminder of your growing affections for him. This was dangerous, dangerous territory, and yet… it was thrilling. It was new, bold, and delectable. It was Chanhee, for goodness sake.

He was the man you saw crying drunkenly over a cat video on TikTok, the man who lended you Gucci pajamas and his bed for the night. He was on the face of every magazine cover, always excited when you could read his mind about a certain piece of clothing. Everyone in the world wanted to be him or be with him. He was so out of reach, yet right in front of you.

Maybe it was the wine making your head buzz with this wave of unmitigated sentimentality.

You finished up with the dishes, drying off your hands with the towel hanging on the oven door. Chanhee sang your name out from somewhere deep inside his bedroom, and you followed his voice to his location.

He was seated on the rug in the middle of his walk-in closet, the white LEDs washing you with light. It was a far cry from the darkness of his bedroom and the warmth from the kitchen. Chanhee patted the spot next to him on the carpet, where he had a smattering of PR gifts littering the floor around him.

Curious, you lowered yourself next to him. "Are we sorting through PR stuff?" You asked, already making a mental catalog of all the things he'd probably want to keep and the things he'd want to donate.

Chanhee hummed his dissent, rising onto his knees and shuffling over to you. Your eyes widened as he stopped close to you and you held your breath. He raised a pair of twin diamond drop earrings from Tiffany and Co to your earlobes, eyes narrowed in consideration.

"No," he muttered, dumping the earrings into their box, then digging out another.

You scrambled to delicately put the earrings back into their proper holdings. "Chanhee, what are we doing?"

"You—" Chanhee returned with a pair of sapphire earrings this time, performing the same ritual as before, but this time smiling, "—are going to sit still and look pretty for me. I am going through the PR stuff for anything nice."

"Anything nice?" You parroted in disbelief. It wasn't like he just threw a pair of diamond earrings into a box like it wasn't nice, or anything.

"I've never seen you in pearls before," he said offhandedly. From a black velvet bag, he withdrew a string of pearls clasped at the end in gold. His mouth parted in awe, and you suddenly thought of how cute he looked. Chanhee, oftentimes, was attractive and elegant and spellbinding—but this Chanhee was adorable.

He eyeballed it around your neck, then moved to clasp the collar onto you. He brushed the stray strands of hair away from the nape of your neck, gently grazing the pads of his fingers along the warm skin there. The action sent a shudder down your spine, and you were reminded of the cheek kiss from earlier.

"There," he murmured, coming back around to inspect you from the front. "Looks much better on you than it would on me."

You scoffed, reaching up to touch the cool pearls seated on your collarbone. "I disagree wholeheartedly."

He had turned around to go digging again, but the grin he threw over his shoulder at you was a certified heart stopper. "Then we'll just have to go get me a matching one."

"This is the last time I'm letting a company get me lunch," Chanhee grimaced as both you and he feverishly dabbed at the sauce splattered on his cream silk blouse.

One of the interns working on today's interview and shoot had come to deliver him his lunch when you noticed that the sauce lid on top was a dark red and not the usual light mayo Chanhee always requested beforehand. That, as well as the fact that the lid wasn't fastened all the way. Suffice to say that when you were about to point it out, said intern became flustered at Chanhee's side profile and spilled his lunch onto him.

You made sure to send the intern away before Chanhee could react.

"This was the Burberry one Haknyeonie got me," he whimpered in devastation as he took in the mess of dark brownish-red on his chest.

"Hey, it's okay. The cleaner I usually go to can fix it up," you said, biting your lip and assessing the situation. You gave a sigh, straightening, then swiping at the dampness on your forehead. "For now, you'll have to change into something else."

Chanhee pouted. "I promised I would wear this one for the interview…" He glanced back over at the clothing rack in the far corner of the dressing room at the dozens of options he had, as well as the backups you had brought, when all he wanted was to wear the shirt Haknyeon had given to him.

You wondered how long you had until the interview. You wondered how fast you could run to the dry cleaners and how fast they could fix this, if only to make that pout on Chanhee's face go away.

He pursed his lips. "I'll change into the YSL one," he resolved, standing from his vanity chair to go grab the YSL blouse from its garment bag. "Y'know," he said to you as he disappeared behind the changing divider, "we'll probably see something about this in the tabloids sometime tomorrow, depending on how bored the press people are."

You leaned back against the vanity counter, mentally noting the time. Hair and makeup would be here soon since the interview was set for half past noon. Chanhee would have to wait until afterwards before he could eat lunch. You frowned, "It wasn't your fault, Chanhee."

"I know." You saw him drape the dirtied Burberry blouse over the top of the divider and you walked over to take it down and inspect the damage yourself. "But it doesn't have to be my fault."

Unfortunately, he was right. The press would do anything for a juicy story, even if that meant twisting the facts just a little. You abhorred those stories; you always saw Chanhee's eyes glaze over like a shield at the "model-zilla" headlines, when in fact, it had little to do with Chanhee's "attitude". You wondered if someone would blow up his reaction to this out of proportion—he hadn't said anything to the intern before they ran out of the room in tears, but you supposed if you had spilled coffee on someone with as much name power as Chanhee, then you would also freak out.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, leaning slightly against the divider. A weight sank into the pit of your gut; you felt pathetic. These were one of the few things you couldn't just fix for him.

You thought you felt him lean back against the divider on the other side. "Nothing to be sorry for, dearest. It's just a shirt."

It wasn't just a shirt. It wasn't just the tabloids.

Chanhee, being the professional he was, carried on through the interview and subsequent photoshoot with elegance and grace. He wasn't in a bad mood, save for the slight melancholy in his smile when the intern's superior came by to apologize profusely and offer to have the blouse dry-cleaned for him. Chanhee politely declined—he only trusted one person with his items.

When you and Chanhee finally made it back to his penthouse suite, the sun had disappeared into the seams of the horizon, hoisting a bejeweled night into the sky. Chanhee collapsed onto the couch face-first while you dropped everything on the floor by the door and made a beeline for the refrigerator.

"I'm making tea," you declared.

Chanhee raised his head slightly. "Me too please."

You got the electric kettle started and brought out two porcelain mugs. While you waited for the water to finish boiling, you fished your phone out of your pocket to check your messages to see if the dry cleaners had alerted you yet as to the status of the blouse. On the way back, you had swung by to get the shirt to the dry cleaners. Hopefully it would be done by tomorrow morning so you could go pick it up.

Chanhee shifted and adjusted his positioning on the couch. He sat upright, leaning his cheek against his fist. "Yn-ie."

"Hm?"

"I'm lonely over here."

You huffed air out of your nostrils in a silent chuckle, but obliged him and went over to the couch. He raised his arms up toward you, making grabby hands and pouting. "You're lonely?" You repeated in amusement, slotting yourself next to him and allowing him to curl into your side.

"Well, not anymore," he said into your shoulder.

The apartment filled with the sound of water bubbling on the stove and the muffled sounds of the city outside the window.

With nothing said, you could imagine for a second that this was not your job, but your life instead.

You felt him move a little, his arms wrapping around your stomach. "Thank you," he murmured, "for everything."

Your chest tightened. "Of course," you replied simply. Because doing all of this for him was as easy as breathing air now. Taking care of him had become as easy as breathing air. It was just that simple.

He was quiet again, fingers fidgeting with the cuffs of your blazer. Something lingered in his mind.

"Yn…" He slowly brought himself to sit up straight, one hand braced on the cushion space between your bodies and the other on the back of the couch. His face was so close—you could see the baby pink hairs falling in his eyes, the bits of glitter on his eyelids, the length of his lashes brushing his cheeks. But there was something wobbling, shimmering in his irises like the ripples in a pool of water. "I think we need to talk."

Your voice was trapped in your throat. He was going to fire you. He was going to tell you that all of it had been a lie. He was going to—stop. Stop freaking out. You knew him. You knew him better than what the people on the outside only claimed to know about him. You gulped. "Okay."

Chanhee brought his hand up toward your face, but instead stopped short, his hand dropping. He wet his lip, head ducking for a second before meeting your eyes again. "You know how much I appreciate everything you do for me, right?"

Oh no.

You nodded shallowly, hands clasped in your lap. "Mhm."

"And you know that I would rather hurt myself before ever hurting you?"

You didn't like where this was going. "Chanhee—"

His eyes shuddered. "Just—just listen for a second. I promise I'll let you speak, just… I just need to get this out."

"I can't really think straight," you croaked. His cologne—god his cologne. You would die suffocating in his cologne, but he was so close and yet so out of reach.

You thought you saw hurt flash across his face. "Oh. Uh, I'm sorry—" He was leaning back now, and you were internally hitting yourself. You'd never heard Choi Chanhee stutter before.

You resisted the urge to say "come back". Come back, where you could pretend that he was yours. Shit, this had gone too far. "Chanhee, I think I have to quit."

Alarm shot his eyes wide open. "What?"

"I can't keep working for you because I have feelings for you," you blurted, staring him straight in the eyes. "I have to quit because the feelings—the want—I have for you are so strong and precariously unprofessional. And I'm sorry, because this was the best job I could've ever gotten, but—"

Chanhee grabbed your face and crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. Shock had you freezing, but it wasn't long before you held him close and let him wholly devour you.

When he pulled away, his forehead was pressed against yours, the space between your lips near nonexistent. His hands were still cupping the sides of your face and his breathing was slightly labored; all either of you could feel, hear, smell, taste were each other.

"I love you," he whispered, almost inaudibly you thought you'd imagined it. But then he said it again, "I love you", and everything…

Everything settled.

"How could you?" After all, you were just… you. It seemed impossible that someone as high as he was could love someone like you.

His reply was simple, paired with a sweet return to your lips. "How could I not?"

You stood outside the massive, sky-piercing high-rise of Vogue headquarters, your heart pounding in your ears and your fingers drumming nervously against the seam of your dress pants. In about twenty minutes, you would be in the topmost office of the building interviewing for a chance to become CEO Anna Wintour's newest personal assistant.

"Well?"

You glanced over to your left where Chanhee stepped beside you, asking the driver to make a loop around the building and meet him back here in a few minutes. His hair, freshly dyed a silken midnight black, had grown slightly to mullet-length; and this morning, he was clad in a pristine white suit set in a classy contrast. A pearl collar sat on his defined collarbones like it was a throne. Beautiful, as always.

There were reporters lurking around here somewhere. That definitely didn't make any of this better for you.

You released a breath. "I've got this, right?"

He passed you a gentle, yet teasing grin. "Hey, you survived me. How much worse can she be?"

That made you crack a smile.

The two of you stood side by side staring up at the building for a moment longer. After you had quit being his assistant to instead be accepted as his partner, you and Chanhee worked to find you a new gig. You received about a hundred dozen job offers from lesser brands and big names when they all heard you were leaving Chanhee's employ on good terms. Anyone who survived Chanhee, and left with a stellar recommendation letter, was a hot commodity.

Chanhee reached for your hand, squeezing your fingers slightly. "Breathe, darling. You'll be in and out and hired before you know it."

He turned you around so you faced him. His tongue stuck out between his lips as he adjusted the pearl necklace around your throat, then the lapels of your jacket. "Wow," he breathed out.

"Huh?" You hummed with a smile in your eyes.

"You still take my breath away."

A nervous laugh fell from your lips, and Chanhee swooped in to taste it—that, your laugh.

"I love you," he murmured against your mouth. Nevermind all the press and paparazzi, or Anna Wintour, or anyone. This was just you and him, even for a little. You could imagine the headlines, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.

Your tongue swiped over his bottom lip to catch the last bits of him. "I love you, too."

There was a cunning glint in his eyes, offset by the soft smile on his face. "Okay, this is it. Call me if you need anything."

You began walking toward the entrance backwards. "What if I need you?"

His smile widened. "I said call me, didn't I? Anytime, anywhere." I'm yours.

tbz m.list

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[jaidens]

I Find Myself Running Home To Your Sweet Nothings

pairing [s] : jake seresin x reader

warning [s] : nothing much

a/n [s] : requests are open

Jake was a man of many deserving titles.

He was a Captain in the United States Navy, and he held his own Top Gun classes to teach graduates. He was highly respected and was understood to be hard as well not understanding if you had messed up and would have killed your team of pilots. However, who would have known the big and scary Jake Seresin was a family man? Jacob Seresin, the same guy who yells and the room goes quiet, carrying his sleeping daughter in his arms while he packs up the items he chose to bring to the park. The same guy who puts Barbie Band-Aids on his daughter’s knee whenever she jumps off a swing and scrapes her knee against the wood chippings.

Jake, your lovely husband, wakes you up with kisses and soft touches that lie on your skin for years to come. Jake Seresin who loves his sweet girls and gives kisses to his daughter’s head before she tackles school for the day to come. The Jake you fell in love with who drinks Pumpkin Spice Lattes the day they get released at Starbucks. The one who yells and screams at The Longhorns winning a football game. Jake Seresin, the man who has a heart big enough for hundreds of people that he carries with him every single day he lives. The guy who adds extra sugar and creamer to his coffee because of the bitterness of it.

You're in love; you're completely sure of it. The baby on your stomach that weighs on you is another reason why. The small boy sits on your chest, sound asleep with a hat on his small head and a one piece swimsuit. Your daughter and Jake are in the ocean, catching waves with their boogie boards as you stay back with your song, Theodore. He's small and tiny, only two months old. The heat of San Diego pushes through the canopy you have set up, making you sweat and Theo as well. You stand up and push against the beach chair and walk to the shore of the beach. The sun is high in the sky, the sunglasses you wear barely do much to stop the burning in your eyes.

The water is much cooler, but it only does so much to help the heat that radiates from Theo and the sun at the same time. Jake has a, particularly sleepy, Lily in his arms as she yawns. “Everyone is getting sleepy, huh?” You say as your children are laying against their father's toned chest as he pushes his hair back. He's hot and handsome, the water that drops done him gets you undeniably hot inside. “Lemme hold Theo.” He tells you and talks the s boy in his arms, lying him on his arm and head against his bicep. Lily and Josie start walking back to the tent and sit down, eating the snacks you had packed for them.

“He was so hot whenever he was laying on my chest. I had to get into the water.” Jake laughs and gives you a kiss against the lips. He smells and tastes like the ocean and salt water, as you almost gag at the taste. “Let’s get maybe.. 2 bags and take them to the house. We're allowed to keep the canopy and stuff on here because it's our private beach.” Jake tells you and you nod, taking Theo back in your arms as you watch Jake pick up things and put them in bags and pick them up gracefully before beginning to walk up the beach. Lily is talking with Josie about what they were going to watch on Netflix whenever they got back and you smiled happily. This is what you needed. A family. A caring family with people who have learned to live and support one another.

Jake is taking the things upstairs and you follow after him, before Theo starts to get fussy and upset about being in the heat and not his bed. Jake, a father of many years, quickly resumes his role and takes care of his son. “I love you.” You say as you watch him hold Theo in one arm and the bags in the other. “Love you too honey!” He shouts from your bedroom and you walk into him. The Jake Seresin you know and love, the one who changes diapers and gives raspberries to Theo’s stomach as he does so. It was a reprise of his Father's role for a new baby, and he was in it very well. It was the total he took more seriously than the Captain or the King of Darts at the bar. A father. A man who has children he loves and cares for them.

It was love and that is exactly what you loved. The domesticity makes you smile and stand on that edge of the doorway as you listen to whatever he has been saying. You love him: and he loves you. So much more than everyone else.

[mymegumi]

selene hihi darling, for your ask game can i request megumi and a “meet ugly” > < just some sort of frenemies thing — idk why i think megs would hate us at first glance 😭

no bc why do i feel like i’d see him in public n bully him bc i thot he was cute. i be doing that to ppl i like bc idk how to deal w my emotions 💀 ty for req pretty thing n i hope u enjoy hehe lowkey longer than i intended but is ok lul

send me a char + a prompt, n i’ll write ~100 words!

megumi thinks he could burn you to the ground with a single glance right now.

you’d just taken his coveted caramel mocha latte off of the starbucks counter—and drank from it, no less—but now, you’re trying to pawn off your stupid black coffee on him. he’s insulted to think that he even looks like the type of person to enjoy a coffee black, because he’s tired but he doesn’t hate himself.

“um, no, i want my drink.” he deadpans, watching you with a wary eye as you move his cup of coffee towards your lips again. “i paid, like, thirteen dollars for that. how much was yours?”

“okay, first of all, who the hell spends that much money on a coffee,” you scoff, handing over his drink with an indignant look, “and second of all, i paid a reasonable five dollars for mine.”

he rolls his eyes, but takes a sip from his drink and almost melts into the floor. he’d been needing his daily boost of caffeine and you had been the only thing standing in his way. “exactly. i’m not about to take your shitty black coffee and let you take my eight dollars of hard-earned cash.”

you eye his coffee, scanning up and down the cup with a quick look as you sip gingerly from your hot cup now. “well, hypothetically, if i asked you what you ordered, would you tell me?”

he rolls his eyes—just typical you’d steal his coffee, try to steal a couple bucks off of him inadvertently, and then try to ask what his coffee order was. it was like some sort of meet-cute gone wrong. “caramel mocha latte with almond milk.”

you scrunched your nose up. “almond milk? why not just drink whole milk, or oat milk.”

“i don’t know, it tastes best with almond milk.” he wants to stamp his foot on the ground in protest but he sighs, looking around at the people filtering around you, trying to sneak past the both of you as you bickered to get their own coffee orders. “if we’re gonna argue, can we at least sit down while we do it?”

you motion to a free table, putting your bags and coat over the back of one of the chairs and gesturing for him to take the other one. sitting down, he’s realized he’s argued himself into a sort of date—at least this is what gojo would consider a date, and megumi’s not sure if he’s the best model for scale.

“oh, by the way,” you tilt your head to look at him and furrow your brows, “what’s your name again? i saw heard it when the barista called our names, but i forgot it.”

“megumi,” he says idly, knowing that this won’t be the last time he sees you, and being weirdly glad that it won’t be, “what about you?”

[bothoutsiders]

if you’re still taking requests, maybe identity porn? or just mutual pining fluff!

hey anon! this is my first time trying identity porn, that's why it took me so long. also jason's undercover name is john as in john doe. it was fun trying this new trope, thank you for the experience!

--

From all the odd jobs and undercover cases that Jason had gone through - nothing compared to this one.

It was probably one of the easiest and clean jobs he had ever had though. While the pay wasn’t that good, he could enjoy some peace, the AC and at the same time, study his target. His tasks were simple; he was in charge of the music, cleaning his work area and making fun, colorful beverages that were so popular nowadays. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but he honestly kind of enjoyed making lattes, smoothies and sweet-fruit drinks. Not as much as getting rid of the garbage of Gotham, of course, but for a day-job, he thought it was a pretty nice change of pace.

The clients were all types of different people. Guys in a suit coming for their boring americano, teens coming for lattes and smoothies, young adults for tea, milkshakes and more. It was interesting.

Jason even had fun the day he convinced an old stoic man to try something sweet. Men have to like bitter things, the client had said. Jason snorted, did some convincing and made up ‘scientific’ and social explanations about it before handing him a strawberry latte.

He couldn’t help but grin the moment he saw the client’s face change from deadpan to surprise and then some embarrassment for actually liking it.

It was good that he didn’t get bored when his target wasn’t around. The people were friendly and he was enjoying his time, but still, this job in particular was hard for one specific reason.

“It’s getting late.” He neatly folded a cloth and wiped the surface of the counter.

There was no response. Of course.

“If you don’t pack your things I’ll kick you out without them.”

There was still no response. Besides the music in the background, he could hear some fast typing. This was how his evenings went most of the time.

In past jobs he had dealt with drunkards, with abusive bosses, awful customers, annoying and nosy coworkers, but this? This was something he never expected to happen to him.

“Okay, that’s enough Timothy.” He could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he made his way to Tim’s table. He knew he was good at pretending nothing extraordinary was happening, but deep inside he was panicking only because he was talking to him.

Even if Tim was ignoring him right now.

“I’m gonna close soon so I need you to leave. Go home and have some real sleep.” He said resting his elbow on the table. He wasn’t into touching without consent so even if he wanted to be annoying to Tim, he didn’t dare to do such a thing. “Are you listening, monkey?”

Tim looked up at him a bit surprised but as soon as the words sunk in, he looked at his watch. “It’s already closing time?” He began to whine but almost immediately he changed his mood. “Before you kick me out– look!” With a big smile on his face, he was quick to take his phone, unlock it and shove it into Jason’s face.

“How many times have I told you to stop doing that?” He pushed the phone away and tried to focus his eyes on the screen. He already knew what he was about to see. “What’s that ugly thing?”

“John. You really have bad taste,” he frowned slightly before he’d swipe right and smile again. “There are more photos! I took them last night.” It was clear that Tim was proud of it.

“Are you … friends with that guy?” Jason didn’t look him in the eye, pretending that the idea of Tim and Red Hood being friends made him nervous. This kid had so many photos of him on his laptop and phone, it was crazy. And honestly? Jason was flattered. “He’s a menace.”

“He’s not!” Tim was quick to defend him. “I know that he carries guns and he kills people but he kills the bad ones! That terrible people won’t be coming back to keep hurting others. Most of you are fans of Batman even if the cops hate him, right? Well, Red Hood is my Batman.”

There was a small smirk on Jason’s face. He bothered Tim about this only because he liked to hear all the nice things he had to say about Red Hood. It wasn’t often that he would find someone who thought in such a positive way about him. “You’re a crazy little guy.”

“Nah, I’m just telling the truth. He’s funny too.” Since the very first time that they met, Tim didn’t hide his ‘admiration’ for Red Hood. He’d spend his evenings at the café talking about how great he was, how Red Hood had saved him once and how they would talk some nights and even let Tim take his photos. 

“So you hang out at 3am with a criminal only because he’s fun?” He huffed. “Tim, you gotta meet new people. People your age and you’ll see there’s more funny, safe people out there that you can meet during the day. I’m sure this is why you spend your evenings here, consuming all that caffeine.”

For Jason it was love at first sight, but Tim? Tim was too blind with how great Red Hood was that there were days Jason would even get jealous of himself. He blamed it on his night job and how tired he could be after patrolling the city and then coming to the café without much rest.

“There’s no one at home, I would rather spend it here where I can eat and drink and then get ready for the night.” He replied as he took his time to put everything in his backpack.

“You’re not a vigilante like him, Tim. Be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, I always make sure not to get in his way.”

“So how is your little fan club going?” The day was slow and there weren't many people at the café, except for Tim who was close to the counter, and a girl in a corner, buried in books and looking like she might explode if someone dated to interrupt her.

Jason decided to change the music to something relaxing for studying.

“It’s okay. I don’t share all my photos though.” Tim wasn’t looking at him, he was still busy with his laptop. By now Jason knew that if it wasn’t him doing homework or talking to his friends, he was busy with his Red Hood fan club.

“You don’t?” He was confused. He thought that was the purpose of those photos, to share them and make it obvious who was Red Hood’s favorite.

“Mm no.” Tim looked at him and after a big pause, he decided to confess. “I don’t like sharing. I even have a couple of selfies with him, but I don’t post those. They are only for myself.”

“But you showed them to me.”

“Yes, but I didn’t send them to you, it’s different.” There was a light shrug before he’d focus back on his laptop.

“Do you print them as posters for your bedroom?”

Tim didn’t reply, only looked up at Jason.

“You do, don’t you?” He grinned. “I can’t believe you’re obsessed with that stinky guy. You’re into bad boys, huh?”

There was a cute blush that spread through Tim’s face instantly. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“Yeah, I mean I guess being a criminal and killing people is something good people do.” Jason shrugged, a smirk still on his face. “What is so cool about him? Does he even do the laundry?”

“Everything is cool about him,” Tim frowned slightly but after a moment of wondering what to do, he sighed and closed his laptop, focusing entirely on Jason. 

Oh, he was getting serious.

“Look, he’s amazing. He’s someone you can talk to and has good advice, he is kind and worries about everyone. Yes, killing is bad but he’s a good person. He does this to stop innocent people from getting hurt or murdered.” He spoke as if he was pleading for Red Hood’s life. “He has a nice voice even if it’s kind of muffled under his helmet, and he makes sure I get home safe. He has this kind of humor that I actually find funny and he has big hands and his thighs are…”

“Oh wait, wait. Hold on.” Jason lifted his hands. “I don’t want to hear about your fantasies. I get it, you like him that way but are you sure he isn’t like someone who is trying to fool you? Pretend he is cool and then he shows his true colors?”

“I’m sure he isn’t pretending. He’s not a nice guy. He’s kind and a real man.” Tim said this looking him in the eye.

Maybe Jason felt something like butterflies in his stomach and something warm blossoming in his chest. 

Maybe. But who knows.

“What about guys who help elderly people with chores or do their groceries shopping? What about those who help kids find their parents when they are lost and cook meals at shelters?” It wasn’t that Jason wanted Tim to stop liking Red Hood, he only wanted to have a chance too. Maybe mentioning some of the things he had done and still does would help his case.

“Good for them?” Tim arched an eyebrow.

Jason was about to complain but the bell over the door chimed, announcing a new customer arriving. When he turned to look, he saw it was his target coming in and oh, right, I’m working-working. 

He looked at Tim one more time and sighed dramatically. “Okaay, okaay. I’m glad you found the one. Just make sure to get home safe after you see him.” It was a bit silly that he would like to bother him about it and then get jealous when he would hear all that admiration Tim felt for Red Hood, but it was somehow addicting.

“Sure.” He hummed happily, a light blush still on his face as he opened his laptop to start typing again.

Jason smiled, hoping that one day Tim would like him too, and not only one version of himself. Maybe one day.

[bluehoodiewoozi]

DRABBLE MARATHON #9:

JOSHUA HONG + morning coffee

0.5k words /// genre: fluff /// warnings: food mentions.

You loved Thursdays. Not because you liked what you had planned for the day nor because of some general sentiment. There was one very specific reason for your liking of Thursdays: those were the days your boyfriend worked the morning shift at your favourite coffee shop.

“Hi,” you smiled brightly when it was finally your turn to order, “it’s me.”

Joshua couldn’t help but return the gesture, his eyes crinkling as his smile stretched wide. “Hi, baby. What can I get for you today?”

“Surprise me?” 

He rolled his eyes at that. “So that you can tell me how bad my taste in coffee is again?”

“Why else?” you teased, leaning forward against the counter to briefly press your lips to his. “I trust you completely.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I still can’t believe they even let you near the coffee machine.”

“And here I thought I could have one morning of not being bullied by my own lover,” he sighed dramatically before tapping away on the computer. “A cinnamon latte coming right up. That’ll be–”

“How much for a boyfriend discount?” you interrupted him, eyes glinting with mischief that he knew all too well. 

He chuckled. “Let me see. How big of a discount do you need today, my love?”

“Can I get it free?” you wondered, not really meaning it – it was just fun to get on his nerves every once in a while and test his saint-like patience. You were, of course, fully ready to pay the full price.

But Joshua was full of surprises and that only made you love him more. “Give me a hug and I’ll consider it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, you’re serious? Like… serious?”

“Would I ever lie to you, baby?” he laughed, more than amused by your reaction. “So, do we have a deal?”

“You’re paying for my drink?” you asked to clarify.

He nodded. “If you give me a hug.” 

Without another word, he lifted his arms, gesturing for you to meet him at the edge of the counter. Still dumbfounded, you just did as told. Your arms wrapped around his waist just as his did around your shoulders, his face coming to rest against your head. 

He sighed happily. “This is nice. I should do this more often.”

“Ask me for hugs in public spaces?” you joked and unwrapped yourself from his embrace, rushing back to your original spot. “Do I get my coffee now?”

He watched your actions with a pout. “One more hug and I’ll buy you a muffin too?”

You were unimpressed this time. “One hug is all you get, mister. I want my coffee.”

With a theatrical sigh, he turned to the coffee machine. Through the noise of grinding coffee beans, you heard him mumble, “I can’t believe I love you.”

[ayyy-pee]

Strangers in Love

Chapter 1

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Summary: It's been five years since you've seen Kento, the divorce leaving you to pick up the pieces of your life alone. When a chance encounter brings you both together again, will you be able to find it in you to trust and forgive him?

Genre: Divorce AU

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Divorce, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Arguments, Ex-Husband Nanami Kento

“ Ngh , fuck you taste so good.” Gojo moaned before you. You watched as his tongue darted out to lick thick white cream from his lips, leaving a wet sheen behind. “God, I swear I could eat you forever.” He continued, hands coming up to caress gently.

He sighed lovingly as he dipped his tongue through the creaminess again and again. You couldn’t pull your eyes away. It was so…gross.

“Satoru.” You called out to him from across the table.

You were both seated in the new cafe you had been dying to try. You were so excited for this place to open, but you didn't want to go alone for reasons you weren’t comfortable acknowledging yet. Satoru finally had a morning free, so you invited him to check it out with you before you headed to work. 

However, it totally slipped your mind how much of a slut your friend was for sweets. Not much had changed since high school. He was still the same sweet toothed, messy eater he had always been and while you admired his consistency, you’d be lying if you said the absolutely lewd moans and smacking noises he let out while licking the cream out of the folds of a swiss roll weren’t embarrassing.

“What?” He asked, blue eyes beaming as the early morning sun cast its glow on him. In this light at this table next to this very large window, he almost looked like an angel. His shockingly white hair fell into his eyes and you reached forward to push his bangs back for him before they got doused in whipped cream.

“You’re so disgusting when you eat. Can’t you use a napkin at least once?”

“Baby-“

“Don’t call me that.” You interrupted, knowing Satoru ignored your request the moment it left your lips and would be calling you baby again in about three minutes.

“Why don’t you worry about your nasty black coffee and your sort of sweet honey almond bread and I’ll worry about enjoying this delicious swiss roll and my morning cookie milkshake with extra whipped cream on top.” He grinned, pretending to shiver in disgust at your breakfast and you tried to ignore the pieces of oreo stuck in his otherwise incredibly white teeth. It was a mystery his teeth weren’t filled with holes. As long as you’d known Satoru, you only knew him to eat desserts for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You often wondered where it all went to.

You looked down at your cup of black coffee. You didn’t actually know why you ordered this. You were more of a latte type of person, but the smell of the coffee beans roasting and the sweet scent of vanilla and honey wafting through the air made you feel as though you needed to balance the sweet with something a bit more bitter. You weren’t Satoru after all. An entire plate of sweets and a milkshake before 8am was sure to send you straight to the emergency room.

As you zoned out watching Satoru tongue fuck his pastry, you heard the telltale ding of the cafe door - a sign that another customer had entered. You paid it no mind, instead reaching forward to once again push Satoru’s bangs back. He smiled goofily as he leaned back in his chair and began drinking his thick milkshake like it was water. 

From your peripheral, a head of blonde hair caught your eye. You cast a quick glance over and immediately regretted it. Your entire body stiffened, back straight as a rod in your seat. You knew that head of blonde hair. At one point in time, you knew that head of hair better than anyone else’s. And you knew that face. That face with its unmistakable jawline your lips used to ghost over, those unnaturally sharp cheekbones your hands used to caress. That face that belonged to so many memories - both joyous and painful - that you kept tucked away in the deepest crevices of your mind. It was your ex-husband. It was Kento Nanami. 

You reached forward, trying to still your shaking hands and grabbed your cup of coffee, downing it all while ignoring the burn in your chest from the heat. You needed to leave. Now.

Your eyes darted around rapidly for a sign of any exit aside from the main one. You wanted to avoid him if at all possible. You hadn’t seen him in five years and you were hoping to keep it that way. You thought he left the city and yet, here he was leaned over in front of the display case, eyes roaming over the options. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you felt your shoulders sag slightly in relief while your mind betrayed you, wondering if he still ordered the same nasty tart parfait topped with strawberries. He always loved having that before work every morning.

Stop.

You squeezed your eyes shut, reminding yourself that this man who you used to find your limbs tangled around almost every night was now virtually a stranger to you. You didn’t know him anymore. You made that choice.

—————-

5 Years Ago

You checked the clock hanging above the kitchen sink again before letting out a frustrated sigh. 10pm. Your eyes cast down, taking in the sight of your empty plate and your husband's cold, stale food across the table from you. He missed dinner again by more than a few hours. No call. No text. He just didn’t come home for dinner. You’d lost count of what number dinner this is.

Quietly, you gathered your plates and discarded any leftovers into the garbage disposal, washing the dishes for the night. It wasn’t like he was going to touch any leftovers. Knowing him, he would come home, say maybe four words to you before showering and going to bed.

When did it get like this?

You and Nanami were good friends in high school - bonding over being two loner kids in their awkward emo phases. After graduation Nanami moved away, opting to go to a university outside of Tokyo. You stayed behind. You kept in touch, both growing out of your emo style and attitudes and becoming adults. The distance truly made your hearts grow fonder. You found yourselves talking all day, every day. If you weren’t talking on the phone, you were texting, sending each other selfies and videos until one day, Nanami moved back.

He wasted no time showering you with affection, letting it be known he felt more than friendship for you. And you couldn’t deny you felt the same. Casual dates turned into more romantic affairs. Eventually you moved in together and soon after were engaged. 

Your marriage to Nanami was great at first, the honeymoon phase lasting longer than you suspected was normal for most couples. You were both so deeply in love with each other you couldn’t see straight. And then Nanami got a new job as a salaryman and that’s when things began to go downhill.

One particular night, you found yourselves entwined in bed after hours of love making. Tracing circles on your bare back, Nanami sighed.

“I hate my job.” He confessed so quietly you almost didn’t hear.

“Then leave, Kento.” You replied. The last thing you wanted was for him to suffer somewhere he wasn’t happy.

“I can’t just up and leave y/n. That would be foolish. I need the experience to be able to find anything better.”

He always looked at the bigger picture whereas you were impulsive, more likely to throw caution to the wind and never look back. Nanami grounded you while you encouraged him to let loose. A perfect balance.

“But Ken, if you’re unhappy, you can leave. We’ll figure it out. I want you to be somewhere doing something you enjoy.”

“You know what I would prefer?” He asked, kissing your forehead sweetly before running his fingers through your hair. You shivered at the touch, sighing happily.

“What’s that?”

“To be on a beach in Malaysia with you. I want to have enough money saved up that we can retire early and live our lives carefree on the water. Could you imagine?”

You lifted your head from his chest to meet his gaze, your heart fluttering when you saw the sparkle you had missed for some time dancing in his eyes.

“You want to be a beach bum?” You snorted. He responded with a soft pinch to your side, making you yelp.

“Of course not. I would like for you to lounge on the sand while I enjoy a good book next to you. We won’t have to worry about money or loading our train passes or about waking up early in the morning to squeeze in cafe time before going to work.”

At this, you stuck your bottom lip out, pouting. “What? I love our morning cafe time before work. You don’t?”

Nanami chuckled, a sound reserved only for you within these walls of your shared home.

“Of course I do, my love.” He leaned forward, kissing your bottom lip tenderly. “I just have other dreams for us. I see a different life for us - outside of the hustle and bustle of Tokyo. I’m going to get us out of here.”

Your mind raced with possibilities at Kento’s words. The world was vast and there were plenty of places to go, but Malaysia definitely sounded like a dream come true.

“Ok, baby. Malaysia it is.”

That was years ago. You were pulled from your trip down memory lane at the sound of the door opening. You glanced back up at the kitchen clock. 11:33pm. You heard Nanami’s agitated sigh before you saw him, fingers laced through the knot of his tie as he pulled it loose. He entered the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and sipping it. He startled when he saw you at the kitchen table, most likely expecting you would be asleep.

“Welcome home.” You muttered.

He hummed in acknowledgment, taking the seat across from you. In the dark light of the kitchen, you could see how tired Nanami was. The years had not been kind to him. His eyes housed dark circles beneath them, his lips downturned in what seemed to be a permanent frown these days, the light you so longed to see again long gone.

Most days were like this - you waiting for Nanami to come home from work until it became so late you fell asleep. He never thought to call or text, though you had asked him plenty of times before to do so. Not to keep tabs on him, but to let you know he was safe. And to be considerate of you. He never got around to doing it and most of your texts to him went unanswered. On some nights in the quiet of your bedroom, when the loneliness assaulted you, you wondered if he was having an affair, if there was another woman in the picture. You were embarrassed to think that you became so insecure in your marriage that you found yourself looking through his things one day. You found nothing to confirm your suspicions and so you let it go.

Dinners were spent mostly alone save for the times you went out with a friend to grab something, your heart not able to handle another night of cooking for two and eating by yourself in silence. Long gone were your morning cafe dates, Nanami opting to get up even earlier than you had before to get to work. His reasoning started out as “This is for Malaysia” and soon became “I have deadlines to meet. Surely you’re capable of getting a muffin on your own.” followed by the soft click of the front door locking.

No goodbye kisses, no shared meals. You couldn’t remember the last time you had touched each other outside of awkward bumps trying to maneuver around one another.

“Y/n.” Nanami’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back to the present.

“Yes?”

“I said I’m going to go shower and go to bed. I’m quite tired and I need to be in the office early tomorrow. Goodnight.”

And with that, he stood and left to the bedroom without so much as a glance back. You felt numb, your hands balling into fists in your lap. The built up frustration and loneliness you had been feeling the last few years were bubbling up and boiling over. You needed to say something to your husband. It could not stay this way forever.

With newfound determination, you entered the bedroom to find Nanami already under the blankets in bed, his back facing away from your side of the bed. You climbed in next to him, wrapping your arms around him. He sighed and you braced yourself for the rejection your advances were so often met with.

“Y/n, I’m exhausted.”

You ignored him, pressing soft kisses to the tender spot between his shoulder blades that only you knew about. You were met with a quiet groan from the blonde man before you. He shifted slightly, still trying to resist.

“Make love to me, Kento.” You placed another kiss to that same spot, running your tongue lightly over it. “Please.”

Nanami groaned again, louder this time and turned over to face you. “It has to be quick.” He murmured. “I’m very tired.”

While you felt heat pool in your core at him accepting your advances fairly easily, your heart couldn’t help but hurt a little bit at how he seemed to only be doing this to appease you, not because he truly desired you.

You felt Nanami’s weight press against you as he climbed over your form. His lips came down to find your pulse point on your neck, making you gasp out into the darkness of your bedroom. The sound caused Nanami to react, a moan escaping his lips as he continued kissing and sucking on your spot.

His hands roamed your body slowly, fingers deftly finding your hardened nipple and tweaking it. You moaned softly at the sensation, your body already going into overdrive after having not been touched in so long. Nanami’s body reacted as well, his hips coming down between your spread legs and pressing his clothed length against your throbbing core.

You loved Nanami. You longed to feel close to him, to feel your bodies tangled in the sheets the way they often were when you first began dating, when you were first married. However, in this moment, you were so nervous . Why were you so nervous? 

Nanami pressed himself against you again, groaning as he brushed his lips across your jaw. Your heart was beating so hard, so fast you thought you were beginning to feel lightheaded. His fingers slid down from your nipples to the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up for better access to your wet folds. Your breath was coming out rapidly, the blood rushing so quickly through your body you could hear it in your ears.

Your mind raced with memories of the last few years. Your wedding, conversations had in this very bed, the many nights of empty plates sitting next to full untouched ones, the intense sadness you felt overwhelming you everyday. You thought initiating sex with your husband would bring you closer, would make you feel the tiniest bit of desire from him. But it all felt wrong.

As Nanami’s lips hovered over yours, your breaths mingling with each other, you felt your throat close up. Your eyes were warm with the onset of tears and as he moved closer to press his lips to yours you choked out a quiet “stop” before he could reach you.

Nanami froze above you. You couldn’t see his face in the dark and you were thankful for that because you knew there was no turning back from what you were about to do. You would no longer be able to touch him or call him if you felt the urge. You would not be in this position again after this. This was going to change everything.

“What’s wrong?” He sighed out irritably and you knew it was because he was tired that he was being grumpy with you. Regardless, it gave you the resolve you needed to say it.

“I-I want a divorce.”

———————

Present Day

“Y/n…” A distant voice called out to you. You didn’t respond. “Earth to Y/n. Hello?” A pale hand came up to cup your cheek. Your eyes snapped down to the hand then to the face of whom it belonged to.

“Satoru.” You gasped. He swiped his thumb across your cheek and it was only then you realized your face was wet. You had been crying.

“You okay baby?”

Your brows furrowed. “I told you don’t call me-“

“Y/n.”

Another voice spoke from behind Satoru. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You looked up, coming face to face with who you wanted so badly to escape from. Nanami stood behind Satoru, a paper bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. You saw him glance down at Satoru’s hand still on your cheek and you slapped it away.

Satoru spun around in his seat and looked up, smiling brilliantly as he caught on to the current situation quickly. “Oh! What’s up, Nanamin? Haven’t seen you in awhile. Thought you kicked rocks to Michigan or whatever.”

Nanami cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I did leave the city for a bit, but I’m back now.” His eyes were glued to you and you forced yourself to look away, staring into your empty coffee mug.

Satoru hummed. “Well, Y/n was just heading out anyway. She needs to get to work. Right, baby ?”

You bit back a retort at the pet name, simply thankful to Satoru for giving you an out. 

“Right! I should get going or I’m going to be late. Wouldn’t want that.” You stood, gathering your purse and dumping your untouched bread onto Satoru’s plate. You were met with a scowl from him.

“Great running into you, Nanami. Um, welcome back.” You murmured. “Maybe we can catch up later.” And you fought back a wince at the fake offer that now hung in the air between you both, praying instead that the earth would open up and swallow you.

You moved around Nanami who was standing as still as a statue and made your way to the exit, waving back at the kind employees who yelled for you to visit again. You rounded the corner quickly, ignoring the ding from the cafe entrance behind you and the quick footsteps approaching.

“Y/n!”

Your body tensed again as you came to a stop on the sidewalk. You turned, coming face to face with your ex-husband again. He was breathing quickly, his coffee dripping down the sides of his cup as though he had truly hurried after you.

“Next week?” He questioned. You gave him a look of confusion.

“What?”

“Next week. You said maybe we could catch up later. What about some time next week?”

Your heart was in your throat now. Why? Why would he want to meet up? You had nothing to talk about. Unless he wanted to tell you about how amazing his life is now and how he has a new wife he loves and kids and - 

“So, are you ok with scheduling some time for then?”

You shook your head. “Oh. Um, sure.”

He smiled that tiny smile he used to do when he felt shy and your body reacted against your will, heart pounding harshly in your chest. He almost looked like the Nanami you knew from high school, sans the side bang. “Ok. Is your cell number still the same? I can text you and we can iron out the details.”

You nodded. “It’s the same. Yep, just text me. I have to go.” You didn’t wait for a response before turning on your heel and hurrying to the train station. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of the same air space as Nanami.

You took a seat on the train, doors shutting shortly after. A vibration from your pocket alerted you to a notification. You pulled your phone out, seeing a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: It’s Kento. It was very good to see you again if only for a short while. I look forward to speaking with you later on regarding catching up. Have a good day at work.

Sliding your phone back in your pocket, you let out a long sigh, thinking long and hard about what possible plans you would be making with your ex-husband.

[nouearth]

obsession.

bart allen x male reader headcanon.

wc: 0.6k. genre: angst. warnings: obsessed!reader, stalker!reader, possessive!reader.

a/n: sorry it's so short (and sucky). ;; i've honestly been in a slump and i constantly feel like my writing isn't that good, LOL. it's been hitting hard the past few weeks, but maybe i just need to get some inspiration.

request: anon.

—it was dumb of you to feel this way. 

—pathetic, if you were to insult yourself. you already have many times, so once more wouldn’t hurt.

—jealousy was not a vocabulary in your book. in your world, you trusted your partners, as they had trusted you. thankfully, every one of your relationships had ended on mutual terms. 

—you were even still friends with a few of them.

—so, the fact that you were possessive over bart sent tremors to the spine of your book. 

—it snapped, cracked, and allowed the loose pages to be carried by wind and drafted somewhere into the ocean. 

—pages of feelings, deep and dizzying ones that kept you up all night until you had vertigo. and even when you were sick of those feelings, it only made you want him more. 

—as if bart allen could pacify the swirls of your mind, or find the missing pages to your book. whether he could or couldn’t, it wouldn’t matter because he would be yours now. 

—he’s mine.

—you remembered thinking that to yourself when a girl that you’ve seen before, two times now, batted her pretty eyelashes, licked her pretty lips, bounced her pretty hair at bart.

—it was the same ordeal. rinse and repeat, and it always caught him in a laugh, a gleeful smile.

—you wished it was directed towards you, curated solely for you. 

—he’s just being nice. you convinced yourself.

—bart is only for you.

—you didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. the only reason you did was because the barista called his name.

—bart. what an interesting name.

—since then, he’s hooked you like bait. 

—iced caramel macchiato, you muttered one day. 

—it was his usual. an extremely sugary drink, but considering bart always looked like he came in after a run, it was a reward that he treated himself to at least twice a week.

—and twice a week, you’d come. wednesdays and fridays. 

—you’ve been wasting more money than ever, sipping on poorly brewed coffee that you could brew better at home.

—but it was worth it. all worth it.

—to see bart.

—always chipper, always tipped, and always…

—always had that girl come in and steal what could’ve been his dedicated attention towards you.

—you balled your hand into a fist, watching from your usual corner. 

—he doesn’t fucking know you. can’t you see he’s uncomfortable? leave him alone.

—your breath hiked when her hand gently rested on his shoulder in the brief moment they shared a laugh.

—you wished you and bart could too. 

—you swallowed hard on the fifth day, when the girl handed her phone to him.

—you wished you had his number.

—you breathed harder when on the sixth day, he no longer visited the café anymore because he had no reason to anymore.

—you wished you were his reason. 

—another week passed, and you would wait every day now.

—anxiously and desperately as you gulped down bart’s favorite drink.

—it was the only way you could remember him.

—be a part of him.

—and the drink had never tasted so bitter until the last week.

—the last day.

—they held hands as they entered the café.

—one honey latte, please.

—all right, and for you, sir?

—uh, can i get one chai tea? that’s your favorite right, babe?

—for the very first time, you didn’t wish for anything.

—instead, you left, threw your drink in the trash, and grumbled.

—for the very first time, you’d take your wishes into your own hands and squeezed them into pulps, into demands.

—you.—will.—be.—mine.

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[allsadnshit]

The whole reason I got into oolong was because when I stopped being able to drink coffee I was pretty depressed because the routine and care put into a cappuccino was so sacred to me and had been for a long time in my life as a ritual every day with myself so I just sort of latched onto matcha since it was becoming popular to carry in shops around 2019-2020 and really felt saved by being able to have a new ritual in place and for a while it was really great cause I love the health benefits and the intricacy of making it but then I sort of hit a wall again this spring where I've been feeling really hungry for closeness with my taiwanese heritage and I was trying to figure out how to incorporate it more rather than a Japanese tea, so I ended up just googling what the most harvested tea in Taiwan is and they are well known for their oolong! But I like tea lattes in the morning which is not a popular thing for oolong or how it's typically served (it's not available like that in any shop near me, matcha is definitely still king) so when I finally found a Taiwanese oolong that was ground into a powder form I got it for myself hoping to make it into my new sacred ritual every morning and fell in love with this robust taste instantly and it's made me feel so close to Taiwan and my mom and myself and brought me endless joy just waking up knowing I'll get to make myself a drink that's from my own heritage and something I've found a very personal connection with rather than just hopping onto a trend

Oolong has been around for centuries obviously, but now I get to make a home for it in my own life as a barista and although it's not traditionally drank as a tea latte, it feels like the perfect and very personal merge between who I am as someone who's dedicated themselves to latte art and milk steaming bar culture, who's transitioned to only drinking tea, and is Taiwanese American! It all fits so well and I hold it incredibly dear to my heart.

[herzgeist-writes]

As Sweet As Honey

A/N: A little something that has been lingering on my mind for ages and dusted up in my drafts for way too long. Oh and the header isn't mine!

Content: A short story for fem!reader who needs some wholesomeness with a hint of spice right now - something in between chai latte and mint chocolate to get the senses going

The song that inspired me to write this

Winter's night - often one's reason to overthink for hours and drowning in rhapsodies.

Law's fingers fidget around the coffee mug's handle, subsequently setting the cup aside - feeling strained and depraved, in need of something refreshing. Anything really.

He doesn't mind a bit of company for a change, instead of lingering in his office, glued to the books and papers piling up in towers on his desk.

Each step taken grows heavier, the cold chilling the surgeon to managable extent, yet enough to make him zip up his blue feather coat.

Feathers, that tickle his chin whenever he goes, each step taken reminding him of a man he wished was still among you.

Across the submarine's deck, his black shoes clack upon the wooden impact below. On his way to the local inn, where his crew decided to linger for tonight, the Captain's mind spins around you - when was the last time he saw you?

Felt like ages ago when he heard your delightful voice, hence his uncharacteristic longing of finding you.

The inn is less crowded than expected, only Shachi, Penguin and Bepo remain. Perhaps a few strangers here and there, but all in all the calm is more appeasing to Law's preference.

"Where are the others? Have you seen (Y/n)-ya?"

He asks Bepo, seemingly the last person approachable, for he didn't drink any mind fogging bevarages. What about Shachi and Penguin? Well, alcohol got the better of them, for they knocked their heads against the bar counter, snoring off in the distance. Thus the bear speaks:

"The others have moved on to the next tavern across the street. And (Y/n) should be around here somewhere. Oh, check out the common room in the back, Captain!"

The mink's ears wiggle and twitch in thoughtfulness, considering on wether to join the search for you, or not, however Law insists on going on his own.

What a strange place to be, the inn's taste in furniture bringing up more and more questions. The so called common room resembles a library, tall shelves filled with books and scrolls, for anyone to read and indulge in. It looks inviting, drawing the aloof man in like a moth to the flame.

"Captain! What are you doing here?"

Your voice reaches the surgeon's ears, eliciting a shiver down his spine. Seeing you seated on a couch in the corner, all cozy and wrapped up in a blanket, he accompanies you and lets himself fall into the plush cushions.

"Needed a break from work, so I thought I'd check in on you guys."

"Guys? But you're here with me."

"I trust Bepo's word. He told me the others roam the night life and get their heads ready to hang over tomorrow. They should be alright. Probably."

Listening to your Captain's adorable excuse, you take a sip from your cup. Steel eyes flicker to your lips, fixated on the cherry coloured skin earning more sarutation by the hot liquid flowing over it.

Desire begins to roil inside him and he clears his throat:

"Coffee?"

"No, warm milk and honey. Would you like to have some?"

"It's not exactly the healthiest bevarage to drink on late hours . ."

"Come on, only one sip. I swear I'm not contagious. Besides, it's better than alcohol."

As if you read his mind, he gives in to your cute pout and puffed up cheeks, frowning at him in a rather ridiculous way. It's almost able to earn a low chuckle out of Law.

So he does as offered and lets the warm liquid entice his senses, which it does to your surprise, noticing a spark of relish in those dark circled eyes.

"Good?"

"Unexpectedly."

"Let me get you a seperate mug then."

Before you're heaving yourself off the couch, inked hands hold you in place by grabbing onto your wrist. No words are needed for you to understand, that he wants you to stay, not in need of another cup.

Another set of hours pass by far too quick for both of your tastes and the warm milk in the jug gets emptier by the minute. Not to mention the honey jar, the golden delight basically vanishes into thin air.

It is the cozy and fuzzy spreading in your head, feeling as if influenced under the tangy effects of alcohol, in a more serene matter nonetheless.

With a book in hands, you turn the pages, your digit following the black imprinted letters. Law leans in, curious about the literature you are soaking in, his warmth engulfing you almost completely.

Until now, you haven't noticed that the Captain inched nearer. Legs touching and rubbing up against eachother. The closeness is electrifying - or is it your imagination? He already has taken on the scent of honey, opting you to inhale deeply, leaving you tongue tied.

"What kind of honey is this anyway?"

"I was told it is lavender, made from the inn keeper's own bee keeping."

Reaching out for the jar, his adorned fingers sling around the spoon and he leads it to his mouth. Delighted, he hums and praises the sweetness and flavor.

"May I try as well?"

Without a comment he takes another scoop and again licks off the sticky goodness. You aren't certain, yet it dawns on you that, according to this gesture, he is about to do something unexpected.

His face approaches yours, though in hesitance, lips slightly parted like a bow, ready to shoot it's shot. Law lets his digits graze along your cheeks, down your jaw and finally your neck. For his hand now rests on your nape, he gently pulls you in.

Tilting his head to grant further access, the kiss forms into a deep and longing affection. A surprised squeak escapes you as the sensation of honey enriches your mouth, combined with the cautious ask for entry of Law's tongue.

You hook your arms around his neck and recognise his body trembling and shivering by your touch. To confirm your theory about his nervosity, you press your chest against him, the faint of his racing heart beat noticable.

Syncronizing to his pace, your heart nearly pounds out of your throat and Law bites your lower lip in response to your interim mewlings. Tongues glide along another, savouring the sweet of honey, the appealing sounds enhanced by the stickiness.

Besides honey, you identify the smell of desinfectant and amber musk, oddly enough. All your senses go in overdrive, arroused by his hands on your curves, digging into your plush.

As he pulls away, you whimper in abandonment and he purrs:

"What do you think?"

"A-About what?"

"The honey . ."

Twirling his raven strands, you withold a dreamy sigh and flutter your doe eyes at him. Law lets out a shaky breath in your stead, comprehending your inuendo and brings his lips to yours again, this time with more force.

The kiss turns fervent fairly quick, as he drags you onto his lap, feeling down your back and squeezing your behind seductively.

"You're unbelievable."

"What makes you think so? Pray tell."

In between desperate gasps for air, the both of you nibble on eachother's sensitive skin and he whispers, stuttering almost:

"You beguile me with the simplest of things. Do you know how adorable you look while reading? Or how god damn appealing you are when smiling?"

"Oh am I now?"

His hands embrace your waist and the highly agitated man, in more than one way, pulls you even closer:

"You are as sweet as honey and it drives me insane . . you vixen."

"Quit your complaints Captain and give me another taste."

The tasting lasted longer than anticipated . .

[thegodmother007]

My New Neighbor

This is my first time really giving writing G/t content a try. The concept is that this is a newly integrated world where both Giants & Humans co-exist...or at least they try to as much as they can.

TRIGGER WARNING: This story will eventually contain violence, angst, threat of death, swearing, dark humor, adult themes like sex & drugs, racism, classism, sexism etc. Do not say you have not been warned

Chapter: Prologue - The City of Epherton  

My heart was in my throat as I watched…no felt them walk by the coffee shop I was ordering a chai latte in. I looked around to the other patrons in the coffee shop to see that no one else in line seemed to notice it as much as I did. I looked around the café while I waited for my name to be called, to see how others might be reacting to the tremors but everyone was still preoccupied with their own drinks, the works on their laptops or even chatting with friends. It was like I imagined the tremors that emitted from the floor, but I know I hadn’t, not in this city. As my adrenaline levels lowered, I focused on keeping my breathing rhythmic & steady, trying to keep myself looking cool & collected, like I belonged here.

“CAIN!” Yelled the middle aged ginger woman sliding my chai latte across the counter to the pick-up area, spiking my blood pressure once more. However, looking at my drink made it a lot easier to calm down, as I had something else to focus on. I could immediately taste the warm cinnamon & cloves taking the first sip which got a relaxed, deep sigh from me; one I had been holding onto for the last hour. The train ride in was anxiety inducing as it was, but to actually be here, was a whole new experience. As I exited the coffee shop, I put my sunglasses on & pulled my beanie down, keeping my eyes straight forward in an attempt not to gawk at the enormous humanoid figures across the street. This is my first time visiting Epherton, so I did not want to make any trouble for myself by offending anyone. 

Walking down the street & to my appointment, I could not help but allow myself a glance or two at the giants that seemed to surround me & the other Humans who walked the sidewalk. When I did look up, I could feel my stomach drop into my shoes, watching these giants boldly exist in front of me, an embarrassing reaction to something it seems most humans here have become okay with. I could see people, no, giants, ignoring us who walk across the street, laughing and having lives like regular people. It was weird to watch them like I was some fly on the wall, but reminded myself very quickly not to be caught staring at them, per the suggestion of all my friends and family. For every 10-Humans, there was only 1 giant, so although we outnumbered them 10 to 1, it did not matter in my eyes. One giant could take down hundreds of Humans if they really wanted to, and many have. It is why this city is so special, because it allows for an integrated existence for both Humans & giants. It is the first of its kind to ever exist, “Epherton: A City of the Future” many called it, but I deemed it a place I would circumvent until I no longer could & today was the day I could no longer avoid it. 

So then, why am I here at all? Well, the housing market is garbage & I am a 21 yr old who can’t afford much. This town is full of young people, giant & Human alike, looking to plant roots & start lives of their own. Like so many others in this city, I am looking for affordable housing & I am weighing my options by exploring the Integration Housing Program that Epherton is offering. I am not unique in my reason for being here, from what I am observing, but I am unique in my attitude towards them. However, that is something I plan on keeping to myself for now. After about a 20min walk, I find myself at the Human entrance of the government sanctioned apartment building where I will be inquiring about the Integration Housing Program. I looked at the other side of the property, which was sectioned off with a 10ft concrete wall, but that hardly would stop any giant if they wanted to just step over it. I look to see giants coming & going on the other side of the property. There is a man holding the apartment door open for a giantess who has her hands full with a box of some sort, there is a gardener who is trimming some trees which are being used for décor & a giant man smoking on his balcony. It was pretty humdrum activity for beings who were easily towering at 60-85ft respectively. I shuttered a little bit before steeling my nerves once again, reminding myself to play it cool if I want a chance at this program. I opened the door to a fluorescent-lit office space with a wall lined with bronze lock & key mail boxes, a buzzing from the ventilation system & a shiny waxed floor I could almost see my reflection in. I approach the front desk with a false bravado & cheap smile “Hello, I am here for a 1:00pm apartment tour for Cain Wagner?” The front desk attendant, a portly, older man with a graying mustache and balding head sits up with a smile “Welcome to Hedge Heights, I will be your guide this afternoon!” 

[izzytown]

back by popular demand, i have yet another strange LOTR headcanon post. i present to you all, a sequel to “the fellowship reacts to kombucha,” titled: “the fellowship’s starbucks orders.”

for context, just started my job as a starbucks barista about three months ago, and trying to figure out what drinks the fellowship would order has been at the forefront of my mind. i will be providing their opinion on coffee and then their starbucks order.

aragorn: this bitch thrives off of black coffee, how else is he supposed to rule the kingdom of gondor?? he’s a dunedain, so while he probably limits his caffeine intake for health reasons, he definitely is the type to go into Starbucks and order a dark roast, black. and if there’s no dark roast brewed atm, then a hot americano.

legolas: this man. this pretentious-ass elf, oh my god. no coffee for this woodland elf, although he seems like the type—he’s a tea-drinker, let’s be real. and although i think his soul would give out if he even dared to walk inside a starbucks, he would be the type to order a “medicine ball” unironically.

gimli: obviously gimli is a coffee drinker, have we seen him?? he’s a coffee enjoyer, but not a snob—wherever he can get a cup, he’ll get some coffee, whether it be a local shop or a stbux. he’s definitely more drawn towards darker roasts, and i have an unexplainable feeling that gimli orders a venti cappuccino, extra dry, with an extra shot. he brings legolas with him, who rolls his eyes when gimli orders. hipster blonde tea drinker forced to go with his gruff coffee drinker boyfriend. they’re in love your honor

gandalf: gandalf has to take care of four hobbits, an elf, a dwarf, and two men—all of which are temperamental and argue NONSTOP. his caffeine intake is unlike anything anyone has seen. coffee is not about the taste for him, therefore he has no specific “order.” if he needs a quad americano, he’ll get one. if he just needs a pike, he’ll get a pike. he has no shame. he has become a notable regular simply from the one time he ordered a ten shot latte—he also tips a LOT. he is adored by all the baristas, and they’re also probably scared of him

boromir: he likes coffee, but he just kinda drinks whatever is available to him. he doesn’t have a caffeine addiction, but every daily starbucks run brings him closer to getting one. i feel like boromir is that guy who gets a salted caramel cream cold brew, or a red-eye. no in between. he probably gets an irish cream cold brew during the holidays.

frodo: frodo…doesn’t love coffee. correction, book frodo LIVES off of coffee, but I think for movie frodo, coffee isn’t his favorite thing. he probably gets dragged to starbucks with merry and pippin once, and doesn’t know what to order, so he just goes for a hot chai tea latte. this starts an addiction, especially once he realizes that starbucks is a nice place to read and study. he’s always polite to the baristas and makes sure to tip extra, if he can spare it

sam: bless his little gardener heart, he cannot afford starbucks. he definitely has a morning cup of coffee with cream to fuel his caffeine deficiency. if he joins frodo to hang, or is dragged along with the other hobbits, he’ll get just that. plain coffee with a splash of cream, nothing fancy for him. he also tips extra, and if frodo’s drink is made incorrectly, he huffs and puffs and politely asks the baristas to remake it. frodo insists they charge him, but sam and the baristas fight against this.

merry: oh merry…(movie) merry likes to believe he enjoys coffee, but realizes very quickly that he only likes it when it’s covered up by the flavor of pure sugar. he cycles through quite a few regular drinks at starbucks, some of which include the mocha cookie crumble frappuccino, an iced white mocha with sweet cream cold foam and caramel drizzle, or maybe a hazelnut latte with two extra pumps (to cover up the bitter coffee, obviously).

pippin: pippin does not like coffee. period. does he have a caffeine addiction? yeah, but his sugar addiction is probably worse. like merry, he has a handful of go-to drinks, depending on the weather, the day, his mood, etc. any of the creme based fraps, especially vanilla bean and strawberry, tickle his fancy. he also gets a strawberry acai lemonade with no inclusions (chunks don’t sit well with him), or occasionally a blended strawberry lemonade. he also buys an entire backpack full of pastries every time he goes, so he has a snack for the road, for home, for dinner, for dessert, for—

[utilitycaster]

@wanderingbasilisk replied to your post “my totally biased opinion is that the black moss...”:

...do you perchance have that recipe, and would be willing to share it? 👀

​I do (thanks past me for never deleting my texts), and have asked permission to share, and it has been granted.

2 c flour (all purpose)

1 c sugar (white granulated)

1 stick (8 tbsp) butter

3 tsp baking powder

2 eggs

1/2 c cocoa powder

1 tbsp heavy cream

1 c beet juice

matcha powder (straight matcha powder - not sweetened matcha latte powder) and turmeric to taste; I believe the recommendations were 1 tbsp matcha and 2 tbsp turmeric.

The recommendation was to do a matcha creme patissiere for frosting but for some reason creme patissiere consistently eludes me so I'd do a matcha-flavored, light on the sweetening version of your go-to cupcake frosting. I think I did a not-very-sweet whipped cream, honestly. The recipe he recommended, if you are a better pastry chef than I and wish to try, is this one (matcha pastry cream only although if you feel like making pate a choux as well, I support this endeavor)

Edited: realized I did uh. not provide any details on the making thereof bc they were not in the screenshots. basically, standard cupcake rules:

Cream together butter and sugar

Beat in eggs

Add the dry ingredients, mixed together, a little at a time; alternate with the remaining wet ingredients (ie, the beet juice and cream). Essentially, find and follow a normal butter-based chocolate cupcake recipe except put matcha and turmeric in with the flour and sub in beet juice and cream for the milk/buttermilk.

Bake at 350 F (180 C) for 20-ish minutes, do the toothpick test as needed.

Notes:

You do want straight up beet juice that isn't mixed with various other fruits, and this can be a pain in the ass to find. I don't have a solution here, just a heads up.

Once you have used a cup of beet juice, you will have a bunch of beet juice left over. You can either use this to make even more cupcakes, or you can make a very lazy borscht (which is what I did) or you can just drink it. I don't know your life.

You can leave out the heavy cream and swap butter for margarine if you are dairy free, which my brother and his friend did test, but egg-free versions were not tested so if you are vegan/have an egg allergy you'll need to play around with your go-to substitutes.

Similarly, should play well with your go to gluten-free all purpose baking flour.

Recipe was developed prior to Jester's Isharnai cupcake scene (hilariously, in looking back through my texts, I received the recipe the Friday after that episode aired) so no guarantees on efficacy re: hag distraction