#it only works on one of our two remotes

[loona-catcher]

Do you ever just get a massive rush of nostalgia for a former special interest and now you can't stop thinking about your childhood special interest even though you hadn't thought of it in literally a decade?

Super Mario Galaxy my beloved, I am back

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

okay, umm…

[eccentriccryptid]

.

[markrosewater]

I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

[torpublishinggroup]

Monk and Robot by Becky Chambers

It's been centuries since the robots of Panga gained self-awareness and laid down their tools; centuries since they faded into myth and urban legend. Now, one returns to ask a tea monk: “What do people need?” They don’t have an answer yet, but together, they’re determined to find one. In a world where people have what they want, does having more matter?

The Bones Beneath My Skin by TJ Klune

It’s the spring of 1995, and Nate Cartwright has lost everything. Retreating to his family’s cabin in Oregon after hitting rock bottom, he expects solitude—until he finds a man named Alex and a girl who calls herself Artemis Darth Vader. And Artemis is anything but ordinary. As cultists and agents close in, Nate must choose: stay lost in the past or fight for a future he never saw coming.

Eat the Ones You Love by Sarah Maria Griffin

After losing her job and fiancé, Shell Pine moves back home and starts working at a flower shop in the mall. The flowers lift her spirits—and so does Neve, the alluring and secretive shop manager. But something sinister grows behind the scenes: a sentient orchid with a taste for manipulation, a hunger that can’t be sated, and a plan that could uproot them all.

But Not Too Bold by Hache Pueyo

The old keeper of the keys is dead, and the creature who ate her? Anatema, an enormous humanoid spider with a taste for laudanum and human brides. Now her protégée, Dália, must tend to Anatema’s memory drawers and uncover the truth behind her mentor’s execution. But there’s one problem: Anatema can’t resist a beautiful woman, and she eventually devours every single bride that crosses her path.

The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Older

On a remote, gas-wreathed outpost of a human colony on Jupiter, a man goes missing. Investigator Mossa follows his trail to Valdegeld, home to the colony’s university—and to her former girlfriend, Pleiti, a scholar of Earth’s pre-collapse ecosystems. As Mossa enlists Pleiti’s help, the two embark on a twisting path where the future of life on Earth—and their future together—may hang in the balance.

The Entanglement of Rival Wizards by Sara Raasch

Will they conjure love or evoke chaos? Two rival wizards are about to find out.

Ali Hazelwood meets Dungeons & Dragons in this enemies-to-lovers fantasy academia romcom where rival grad student wizards are forced to work together without killing—or falling for—each other.

Out on August 26, 2025!

Sandymancer by David Edison

Caralee Vinnet lives in a world of dust, where water is rare and the elements are tightly controlled. She has a secret: magic in her bones that lets her command the sand. But when she uses it, she summons the god-king who broke the world 800 years ago…and who’s now wearing her best friend’s body. Caralee will risk everything to save her friend—if her new companion doesn’t kill her first. Lucky Day by Chuck Tingle

Four years ago, an unthinkable disaster struck. In what became known as the Low-Probability Event, 8 million people died in bizarre, improbable ways. Vera, a former statistics professor, lost everything that day. But when a special agent arrives, investigating an impossibly lucky casino, Vera realizes she may be the only one who can stop another deadly improbability from happening again.

Coming August 12, 2025!

Not enough books? Check out our other list!

[silentheiss]

When Shen Yuan transmigrates in his definitely-not-favorite novel, he’s ecstatic. Sure, dying sucked, but he got a second chance! In a body that looked exactly like his, only healthy and with a perfectly good golden core, too!

He’s a rouge cultivator now, with a cool sword, enough money, long-ass hair and zero actual responsibilities!

So, all in all, Shen Yuan hit a jackpot. He travels, makes notes of monsters he sees and sometimes fights, collects rare herbs and flowers and feels just great.

He feels decidedly less great, when after defeating a Six Eyed Spider Viper in some nameless, remote village, he receives a bride as a payment. It shockes him into a stupor for long enough for the villagers to think he actually agreed, so as soon as he can talk again, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind:

“This one is already married!”

It doesn’t work as well as he hoped.

“So Nie Rong can be a second wife.” An auntie, possibly Nie Rong’s mother, waves her hand dismissively at him.

“No, no,” Shen Yuan scrambles. “This one wasn’t being clear enough. This one is not in position to take wives! He is- is, uh.”

“Master is a wife?” Nie Rong chrips, her cheeks reddened.

“Uh. Sure. Yeah.” Shen Yuan would like to leave the village immediately. A thrill of defeating a cool fucking monster wasn’t even worth the embarrassment!

“Master’s husband must be quite powerful to get such a cultivator as a wife.” One of the villagers says, eyes glinting with suspicion. “Who’s he?”

“This one’s husband is indeed very powerful.” Shen Yuan squeezes out of himself, taking a step back. “Very possessive, too.”

“How come he lets his husband travel so far?”

“Oh! It’s easy, really. This one’s husband’s harem is big enough to slip away for a week or two!”

An agitated murmur passes through the small crowd. Shen Yuan sighs, feeling the control of the situation slipping through his fingers.

“He doesn’t sound like a very good husband.” One of the aunties says. “Maybe you should divorce him and marry our Rong-er after all.”

“This one’s husband is not someone one just divorces.” Shen Yuan takes another step back. “Thanking everyone for kind words, but-"

“Oh.” Nie Rong says, eyes downcast. “It’s the Emperor, isn’t it? That’s why Daozhang can’t leave?”

“Yes!” Shen Yuan yelps before he can really think. “So you can see how the situation is difficult for this one.”

It’s a shit solution to a problem. Might be the worst, actually. But then again, Luo Binghe would never know and Shen Yuan gets a perfect excuse if something similar ever happens again.

And it does happen. Quite too often, if Shen Yuan is honest — shouldn’t all the girls belong to the protagonist anyway?!

So, Shen Yuan uses his perfect excuse: No, he cannot marry your pretty little daughter, he’s an Emperor Luo’s husband. And: No, fellow rouge cultivator, he will not share your bed, he’s spoken for!

Everything works without a hitch, until one day Shen Yuan walks into an inn where he’s been staying for last couple of days and comes face to face with the Emperor of Combined Realms, Lord Luo himself.

Shit.

[solxamber]

Royal Scandal- Ruggie Bucchi x reader

You're being forced to marry someone to take the throne you've fought your entire life for. Okay, if that's how it is, you'll make sure to choose the one person here that your dearest parents will disapprove of the most.

I really like how this one turned out!

The ballroom was resplendent, filled with swirling silks, dazzling jewels, and a sea of royals from every corner of the world. It was your nightmare, distilled into one room. You stood at the head of the grand staircase, glaring down at the crowd, feeling utterly betrayed by your parents.

You—the crown heir, a skilled warrior, a tactical genius, and the pride of your kingdom—reduced to nothing more than a prize in a political matchmaking game. It was an insult.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, grip tightening on the bannister. “They think they can push me into marriage to take the throne? They’ll regret this.”

From across the room, the usual parade of suitors hovered about, each one vying for a moment of your attention. They were all here to win your hand, though it was clear many of them weren’t here for you. The throne, the kingdom, the alliances—it was all just a game of power to them.

And then there was him. The only non-royal standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table. Ruggie Bucchi.

Ruggie was here because of Leona, and Leona was here because Falena had pawned off the responsibility of attending this ridiculous event onto his younger brother. But as usual, Leona wasn’t particularly interested in mingling with anyone. He had quickly made his way to the most comfortable couch in the room, leaving his attendant Ruggie to do all the heavy lifting—literally. Ruggie was managing Leona’s food, drinks, and handling the other guests with a sharp smile that concealed just how little he wanted to be here.

Leona had been an unexpected ally ever since your diplomatic trip to the Savannah, where your banter had somehow sparked an unlikely friendship. Leona, for all his royal airs, had grown fond of teasing you relentlessly, and the two of you exchanged jabs every chance you got.

You've met Ruggie before, during the visit. You knew of his circumstances and a wonderful plan was brewing inside you at this moment.

Ruggie wasn’t a suitor. He wasn’t even remotely interested in this ball. And yet…

A grin began to spread across your face.

Oh, this could work.

The next morning, the grand hall was packed with suitors, ministers, and your parents, all eagerly awaiting your declaration. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a sword.

“Today,” your father began with his booming voice, “our heir will announce their chosen partner. We know that this decision will aid in the prosperity of our kingdom.”

Your mother nodded, casting you a pointed look, as if to remind you of the importance of this moment. Oh, if only she knew what was coming.

You stepped forward, scanning the room with a serene smile. Your heart raced with excitement as you looked past all the anxious, hopeful suitors. Finally, your gaze landed on Ruggie, who stood in the corner, shoving the last of a sandwich into his mouth. He caught your eye, freezing mid-chew.

You raised a hand, pointing directly at him. “I have chosen Ruggie Bucchi.”

There was a deafening beat of silence before your declaration actually registered.

Your parents’ smiles froze, the air in the room turning cold. The ministers paled, their gazes snapping toward Ruggie, who was standing in the back, his next sandwich halfway to his mouth. He blinked, looking over his shoulder like you couldn’t possibly mean him. Maybe there was a “Ruggie Bucchi” that he didn’t know about?

But the world stopped when it hit that yes, you did mean that Ruggie Bucchi—the hyena from the slums of the Sunset Savanna who had no royal blood, no land to offer, no armies. Just a cunning smile and a love for free food.

Leona, sitting lazily on the side, blinked at you before letting out a sudden burst of laughter, the sound echoing through the hall. His usual smirk widened into something truly wicked as he turned to your parents with a shrug. “Well, what did you expect? You did say they could choose anyone in the room, didn’t you?”

Your parents were speechless, their faces a mix of horror and disbelief. Your mother looked like she might faint, and your father sputtered, glancing between you and Ruggie, who still hadn’t moved from his spot at the back of the room. He slowly lowered the sandwich, looking very much like he was rethinking every life choice he had ever made.

Leona, never one to miss an opportunity for chaos, leaned back in his chair and grinned even wider. “It would be a shame if you went back on your word now. After all, it was very clear—whoever they chose, right? I’m sure the esteemed royals wouldn’t go back on a promise they made to their only heir in front of all these witnesses.”

Your father’s mouth opened and closed, his face rapidly turning a shade of purple as he tried to find words that wouldn’t cause a diplomatic disaster. Your mother’s eyes darted around the room, probably searching for an escape route. Meanwhile, the ministers exchanged horrified glances, clearly trying to figure out how to spin this in a way that wouldn’t end in utter embarrassment.

Leona, of course, wasn’t done yet. “You know,” he added, casually inspecting his nails, “a promise is a promise. And from where I’m sitting, it looks like Ruggie here’s your new royal consort.” His eyes sparkled with mirth, clearly loving every second of the madness you'd just incited. “After all, we wouldn’t want to insult the future ruler’s decision, right?”

You could practically see your parents’ souls leaving their bodies.

Ruggie, to his credit, finally stopped gaping like a fish and straightened up, wiping crumbs from his vest and putting on a cocky grin, like he had totally planned for this from the start. “Welp, looks like I’m movin’ up in the world,” he said, swaggering forward, though the slight wobble in his step gave away his shock. He shot Leona and you a glance that screamed, Why are you doing this to me? But Leona just gave him a lazy shrug in response, clearly enjoying the show. And you just grinned back at him.

Your mother finally found her voice, though it was shaky at best. “This… this can’t be—”

“Oh, but it can.” your voice cut through the hall, smooth as silk and twice as smug. “You said anyone. Don’t tell me you’re regretting those words now?”

Your father visibly swallowed, realizing the bind he was in. The ministers were sweating bullets, clearly hoping someone else would step in and stop this disaster, but no one dared to speak. After all, it would be political suicide to go against a future ruler’s decision in front of a room full of witnesses.

Ruggie had now reached the front, his grin widening as he gave a quick, exaggerated bow to you, looking for all the world like a cat that had just caught a very large mouse. “Guess I’m your guy now, huh?”

You flashed him a triumphant smile, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looks like it.”

Your father, still in a state of shock, muttered something about tradition, but it was too late. The damage was done. You had chosen Ruggie, and with Leona egging on the entire thing, there was no way they could take it back without creating an uproar.

Leona, still lounging like the king of chaos he was, gave you a little salute. “Congrats to the happy couple. Can’t wait to see the wedding.”

Your parents looked like they might faint. The suitors—well, some of them looked relieved to not be part of this train wreck, but others were trying very hard not to burst into outrage. Ruggie just stood there, now fully committed to the bit, his grin as wide as ever.

And so, with your parents begrudgingly forced to accept your choice, the announcement was made. You had successfully thrown the entire royal court into chaos, and judging by the look on your face, this was far from over.

As for Ruggie, well, he was already calculating how much food he could swindle from the wedding feast.

After the uproar finally died down, and the ministers and royals reluctantly dispersed—each with their own whispers and murmurs of the chaos that had just ensued—you managed to pull Ruggie aside, away from the prying eyes of the court. His expression was still a mix of disbelief and amusement, as though he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had just happened.

“Well, that was something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve had some wild gigs before, but to be the royal consort? That’s a new one.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his casual tone, even as the situation around you felt anything but. You led him into one of the side corridors, away from the grand hall, before stopping to face him. Ruggie crossed his arms, clearly curious about where this was going. “Alright, spill it. What’s the deal here?”

You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. “I know that whole declaration just now was insane, but I had to do something drastic.”

“Yeah, drastic is one way to put it,” he snickered, leaning against the wall, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m the only heir to the throne,” you began, the frustration in your voice evident. “I’ve trained my whole life for this. The swordsmanship, the diplomacy, the studies. I’ve done it all. But my parents—” you trailed off, your voice tight with anger, “—they won’t let me take the throne unless I get married. It’s ridiculous. I don’t need to get married to rule, but they refuse to see that.”

Ruggie tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “So, what? You picked me just to get them off your back?”

“Exactly.” You smiled, but it was more cunning than genuine. “They’re too stuck in their ways to listen to reason, so I decided to make them regret forcing me into this. That’s where you come in.”

His ears twitched in curiosity, though the grin on his face was as sharp as ever. “And what exactly do I get out of this?”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice to ensure no one overheard. “I need you to play along with this marriage for a year. Just a year. By that time, I’ll have stabilized the kingdom, taken the throne officially, and you’ll be free to leave. No strings attached.”

Ruggie’s eyes narrowed as he considered your words. “And what do I get in return?”

“The wealth you’ll get out of this will set you up for life. I’m talking more money than you’ll know what to do with. You’ll never have to worry about another odd job or scrape together food again. After this year, you can go back to the Sunset Savanna, and you’ll have enough to take care of yourself, your community, your grandmother—whoever. You’ll never have to work again.”

Ruggie raised a brow, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He was a practical guy, after all, and if there was one thing that motivated him, it was a good deal. “And all I have to do is pretend to be your royal husband for a year?”

“Yep,” you confirmed with a nod, crossing your arms. “Think of it as the best con of your life. We’ll fake the marriage, play the part for a year, and then when it’s over, you’re free to go with a fortune in your pocket.”

For a moment, Ruggie was silent, his sharp gaze studying you, likely weighing the pros and cons of this insane proposal. “So, you’re basically hiring me to be your fake spouse.”

“Exactly.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “You know, this is probably one of the most ridiculous offers I’ve ever gotten—and I’ve been offered some weird stuff before—but,” he shrugged, “money’s money. And if it means I get to live easy after this, then I’m in.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relief washing over you. “So, we have a deal?”

Ruggie chuckled, extending his hand to you. “We have a deal. But don’t expect me to go easy on the royal kitchens while I’m here. I’m gonna milk this for all it’s worth.”

You smirked, shaking his hand. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Ruggie’s grin turned mischievous as he added, “And don’t worry. I’ll play the part of the perfect doting husband. We’ll give ‘em a show they’ll never forget.”

With the deal struck, you both walked back into the palace, the weight of the future ahead not lost on you. A fake marriage with Ruggie Bucchi—one year, just one year, and then you’d be free. What could possibly go wrong?

Except, somewhere deep inside, you had a feeling that the real challenge wasn’t in the act itself—it was in not falling for the witty, resourceful hyena at your side.

Your wedding was the most extravagant affair your kingdom had ever seen. You spared no expense, throwing the grandest celebration imaginable, just to rub it in a little more. Lavish decorations, exotic foods, and a royal procession that stretched for miles.

Ruggie, for his part, looked both delighted and completely out of place as he stood beside you during the ceremony. He leaned over at one point, whispering, “I’ve never been this well-dressed in my life. You sure we’re not overdoing it?”

You grinned, adjusting his ornate cape. “If we’re going to make them suffer, we might as well go all out.”

The priest, an elderly man with a tremble in his voice, stood before the two of you, his wrinkled hands holding the ceremonial scroll. His voice was deep, reverent, and filled with emotion—entirely too much emotion for the farce that was about to unfold.

You felt a little sorry for him, considering that he was the one who taught you the scriptures and history of your nation when you were younger, one of the only people to see you for you instead of the "heir". But you knew the next part was going to be hilarious.

“We gather here today,” the priest began, “to unite these two souls in the eternal bond of marriage.”

You dared a glance at your parents, sitting stiffly at the front row, their faces a mixture of horror and resignation. The ministers were whispering frantically among themselves, occasionally darting their eyes towards you and Ruggie as if hoping this was all a nightmare they’d soon wake up from. The absolute satisfaction you felt seeing them squirm almost made this whole ridiculous charade worth it.

But the best part? Leona. Sitting at the back, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the effort to keep from bursting out in laughter. Every now and then, you could hear a muffled snort escape him, and you had to fight the urge to look back at him. One glance, and you’d both be done for.

“And now,” the priest continued, oblivious to the brewing chaos, “the couple will exchange their vows.”

You took a deep breath, turning to face Ruggie. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly with suppressed laughter. His eyes met yours, and you could see the absolute glee dancing in them. This was going to be ridiculous.

You cleared your throat and began, doing your best to sound as dramatic and sincere as possible. “Ruggie Bucchi, from the moment I saw you,” you paused, a wave of barely-contained laughter bubbling up in your chest, “I knew you were the one destined for me. Your… resourcefulness, your… cunning, your ability to stretch a loaf of bread for days… it all captivated my heart.”

Ruggie’s eyes widened slightly at that, and you saw his lips twitch as he struggled not to laugh. You forged on.

“I vow to cherish every moment we spend together, whether it’s in the royal kitchen, watching you devour a feast meant for ten people, or in the court, where I know you’ll always have some… crafty solution to every problem.” You bit your lip, trying to keep a straight face as you added, “I promise to never let a day go by without admiring your thriftiness.”

You finished with a flourish, and the nuns and priests in the room were openly weeping, clutching their hearts as though your “love” had moved them to tears. It was a struggle to not just burst out laughing at the scene. The more you spoke, the more ridiculous it all felt, and you swore you could hear Leona snickering from the back, not even trying to hide it anymore.

Ruggie cleared his throat, taking his turn, his voice as smooth and exaggerated as possible. “Your Highness,” he began, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “From the moment you dragged me into this—” he coughed, “I mean, the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special. You’re not like other royals,” he said, the smirk on his face just barely concealed. “No, you’re so… generous. So thoughtful. Offering me all the wealth I could ever dream of—”

You gave him a small nudge with your elbow, and he winked at you before continuing.

“I vow to stand by your side, no matter how absurd the situation.” His grin widened, his voice growing more theatrical with each word. “I’ll be there when the royal chefs burn your food, when the ministers drive you mad with their endless meetings, and most importantly, I’ll make sure there’s always a way out of any mess you get into—royal or otherwise.”

The priest was dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, clearly moved beyond words by the display of "eternal love" unfolding before him. The nuns were practically clutching their rosaries, and one of the ministers was furiously scribbling notes, perhaps planning to write a memoir about this "historic" union.

But you could feel Ruggie shaking with barely-contained laughter beside you, and you knew he was struggling just as much as you were.

Leona, meanwhile, was not helping.

“Isn’t this just the most touching thing you’ve ever seen?” Leona called from the back, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stood up and clapped once, slowly. “I mean, who could have predicted such true love would bloom in the royal court? Makes you wonder why we ever doubted them.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and sure enough, Leona’s face was barely composed, his smirk broad as he leaned against the back wall. He mouthed, “Go on, keep it up,” as if he was daring you both to escalate the absurdity.

Ruggie, never one to miss an opportunity, took the challenge.

“And, in return for your endless affection,” Ruggie continued, placing his hand dramatically over his heart, “I swear to be the most diligent husband this kingdom has ever seen. I will work tirelessly—mostly to keep you out of trouble, but also to ensure that you never have to lift a finger. You’ll never have to worry about running out of your precious riches, or losing your crown jewels, because I’ll be there to safeguard every coin.”

He shot you a playful wink before finishing with, “And of course, I’ll always be ready to take off with you when things get a little too… boring around here.”

The priest, overcome with emotion, was full-on sobbing now, while your parents sat pale-faced, probably wondering what cosmic force they had offended to end up in this situation.

The room erupted into applause, and Leona, now clapping with a wide grin, leaned over to one of the younger nobles. “You’ll tell the archivists that the vows were this good, right? Might as well get all the details in there.”

Your parents couldn’t even muster a response. They sat rigidly, eyes flickering from you to Ruggie, to the now entirely tearful congregation. The sight of the priests and nuns weeping, utterly convinced by your "heartfelt" vows, was the icing on the cake. You could almost hear the grinding of your father’s teeth from where you stood, and your mother’s strained smile looked one twitch away from cracking.

By the time the priest finally declared your union, both you and Ruggie were barely keeping it together. The ceremony had transformed into a spectacle of ridiculous proportions, and you weren’t sure if anyone could really tell if the applause was genuine or just out of sheer disbelief.

When the final words of the ceremony were spoken and you were “officially” bound together, Ruggie turned to you with a grin so wide it could only be described as mischievous.

“Well, Your Majesty,” he whispered, loud enough for you alone to hear, “we really pulled it off. But I think I deserve a bonus after that performance.”

You stifled a laugh, giving him a light shove. “Wait until after the banquet. I’ll have them send extra desserts to your room as compensation.”

And with that, the two of you walked down the aisle, the very picture of an odd, unexpected royal match.

Leona gave you both a mock bow from the back as you passed by, still laughing silently to himself as the ministers and nobles exchanged bewildered glances.

The following weeks were a blur of royal duties, much to Ruggie’s bemusement. He followed you around, trying to figure out how he ended up playing the role of a royal consort.

“So,” Ruggie said one evening as he flopped down onto the couch in your chambers, “I gotta admit, I thought this was gonna be way worse. I mean, I’m not exactly cut out for all this fancy stuff, but the food? The food is incredible.”

You chuckled, sitting beside him. “Well, it’s only for a year. Then you’ll be free, and you’ll never have to deal with this nonsense again.”

Ruggie shot you a grin. “You’re counting down the days already?”

You smirked. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugged, his grin softening. “Honestly? You’re not as bad as I thought. Could’ve ended up with someone way more annoying.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him playfully. “Gee, thanks.”As the months went on, something strange began to happen. The more time you spent with Ruggie, the more comfortable things felt. Sure, it had started as a deal—a way to get what you wanted—but somewhere along the way, the lines began to blur.

Ruggie was surprisingly good company. His sharp wit and laid-back attitude were a refreshing change from the stiff, formal interactions you were used to with the other royals. He was resourceful, quick-thinking, and even though he constantly complained about the pomp and ceremony of royal life, he never once let you down.

Then there was the way he treated you. Not as a royal, not as some prized heir—but as you. He teased you, made you laugh, and shared stories about his home and his grandma with such affection that it warmed your heart.

Speaking of his grandma, the first time you visited her, she welcomed you with open arms. She was sharp-tongued and quick-witted, much like her grandson, and the two of you hit it off immediately.

“Oh, so you’re the one who roped my boy into this fancy business?” she had said with a cackle, patting your hand. “Well, you’ve got my approval, sweetheart. Just make sure you keep him in line.”

Ruggie groaned, slumping in his chair. “Grams, please…”

As the year drew closer to its end, you found yourself dreading the day Ruggie would leave. You didn’t want him to go. You didn’t want this to end.

The anniversary of your marriage was fast approaching, and your stomach twisted into knots every time you thought about it. Tomorrow, Ruggie would be free to go, just like you promised. A year of playing the perfect royal consort, and it would all be over. He’d get his freedom, you’d get the throne.

So why did the thought of him leaving make you want to scream into a pillow?

You paced your chambers like a caged animal, mentally kicking yourself. You were supposed to be a genius tactician. Yet here you were, spiraling into an emotional wreck because of one laid-back, cunning hyena.

The door creaked open, and Ruggie strolled in with his usual smirk. “You’re pacing. Never seen you this jittery before. What’s up?”

You froze mid-step, spinning to face him. Your mind was a mess of conflicting emotions. How were you supposed to say this? Should you ease him into it? Throw him off with a joke? No, definitely not the joke. He’d roast you for it.

Ruggie raised an eyebrow. “Uh, you good? You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”

You blurted out, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Ruggie blinked. Twice. Then blinked again like he was trying to reboot. “Come again?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” you repeated, feeling your palms start to sweat. You took a breath, stepping closer to him. “Tomorrow, you’re free to go, just like we agreed. But I… I don’t want you to. Somewhere along the line, this stopped being just a deal for me. I—I love you, Ruggie.”

Ruggie just stared at you, mouth slightly open like you’d just asked him to wear a ballgown and perform ballet in the throne room. Then he blinked again. “Wait… what?”

You closed your eyes. “You heard me.”

“I think I need to hear it again because there’s no way you just said that,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to get his brain working again.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I. Love. You.”

Ruggie stood there, looking like you just grew a second head. “Hold on, you’re serious?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m being serious!”

Ruggie scratched his cheek, looking away as if he was still processing. “Well, damn. Didn’t expect that.” Then he met your eyes again, his usual grin faltering slightly. “You really love me?”

You nodded, feeling your heart pound. “Yes. And I can’t imagine you not being here. Not as some royal consort, but… just as you.”

Ruggie stared at you for a long moment, before he let out a quiet chuckle. “Y’know… I didn’t plan on this either. This was supposed to be a quick gig, get some cash, eat some fancy food, and bounce. But… well, you’re not like the other royals. You’re kinda fun to be around.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Kinda?”

“Okay, fine, a lotta fun. Happy?” He grinned.

You punched him lightly on the arm. “Not the point!”

He laughed, rubbing his arm dramatically. “Ow, inflicting pain already? But nah, seriously… You’re different. And I guess I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you if I actually left.”

Your heart flipped. “So… you’ll stay?”

Ruggie let out a sigh, but there was a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I’ll stay. I mean, how can I leave behind someone who lets me sneak pastries from the royal kitchens without ratting me out?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but relieved. “That’s what you’re staying for?”

He laughed, pulling you into a loose, playful hug. “Nah, it’s one of the perks though.”

You rested your head against his, feeling your worries melt away. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Oh, you better. I’m expecting a raise and benefits.” He teased, planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

You smirked, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Benefits? What are you, my royal accountant?”

“Hey, I gotta get something outta this deal.” He grinned wider. “And speaking of, I plan on eating you out of house and home from now on. Just a heads up, Your Majesty.”

You groaned, swatting him on the arm again. “That’s already happening, Ruggie!”

“I mean even more now. You’ve created a monster.” He laughed, pulling you closer again, his nose nuzzling into your hair. “But seriously… I didn’t think this would happen either. Us. But I’m glad it did.”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth. “Me too.”

As you stood there in each other’s arms, you couldn’t help but think about how far you’d come from that deal. What started as a scheme to outsmart your parents had turned into something real, something you hadn’t expected, but something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

And as Ruggie’s laughter echoed in the room, you realized that maybe, just maybe, plans falling apart wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“Well,” Ruggie said, smirking at you. “Guess I’m stuck with you now, huh?”

You chuckled, leaning into him. “Yeah, but admit it—you love it.”

He kissed your other cheek, his voice soft but teasing. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

And with that, you knew inciting that royal scandal was the best thing you could've ever done.

Masterlist

I don't know why but this is the fic that I like the most out of everything I've written lol it was supposed me like 2k words but I couldn't stop and this was born.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Home Is Where You Are

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader (Mom!Paige x Mom!Y/N)

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: 14 hour shifts, wnba mom and a cute little 7 year old… sounds like home

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @iwasbored-okay

PAIGE’S POV

The sound of little feet hitting the floor makes me pause the show playing in the background—some rerun of Bluey, I think.

Ashton’s been asleep for about two hours now.

We’d done the whole bedtime routine—bath, stories, warm milk, even extra snuggles in his Star Wars blanket.

I’d kissed his forehead and tucked him in like always.

So hearing the pitter-patter of those socked feet at almost 11 p.m. makes my heart race a little.

I sit up, stretching an arm over the side of the bed just in case he makes it all the way to our room.

Sure enough, he appears at the doorway, hair tousled and his little pajama shirt clinging to him like he’d just been sweating in his sleep. His stuffed frog, Franklin, dangles from one hand.

“Mommy?” he says in that sleepy, trembling voice that makes my chest ache.

“I’m here, baby,” I say instantly, scooting back and pulling the blanket up.

He doesn’t hesitate. He practically leaps into the bed and wiggles his way under the covers beside me.

“Did you have a bad dream?” I whisper, brushing some curls off his forehead. He nods and curls into my side like he’s still unsure if I’m real.

“I… I dreamed you were gone,” he mumbles, clutching Franklin tighter.

“Like… both of you were gone, and the house was empty, and it was raining inside. The TV was on but it was all broken.”

I pull him even closer.

“Oh, bubba,” I sigh, kissing the top of his head. “You know we’d never leave you, right?”

“I had to run down the hall to make sure you were still here,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper now. “When I saw you in bed, I felt better.”

I blink a few times, heart full and breaking all at once. “Well, I’m here. And you’re safe. Mama’s just working a long shift tonight, remember?”

He nods again, but he doesn’t let go of me.

“Wanna watch something with me?” I ask softly. “We can put on Disney Junior.”

“Bluey?” he murmurs.

“You got it.”

I grab the remote from the nightstand and flick it to Disney Junior. The screen lights up the room in a soft glow, and Ashton settles in, cheek resting on my arm as the opening theme plays.

“Mama’s gonna be home when you wake up,” I tell him.

“I know,” he whispers, and I hear the exhaustion finally start to take over his voice. “I just wanted to be with you…”

“I always want to be with you too, bub.”

He falls asleep like that, one small hand tucked against my side and the other wrapped around Franklin.

And even though it’s late and I’m a little sore from practice earlier, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Y/N’S POV

The hospital hallway smells like antiseptic and black coffee, and I can’t tell anymore whether the hum in my ears is from the lights or from being on my feet for fourteen straight hours.

It’s 4:47 a.m.

The overnight shift is brutal.

Worse when it’s back-to-back with another one tomorrow. But someone’s gotta do it.

And truth be told—I miss my family so much it aches.

The only reason I got through tonight was because Paige sent a selfie around 9 p.m. of her and Ashton cuddled on the couch, both wearing their Dallas Wings hoodies, eating popcorn and making faces at the camera.

I live for those pictures.

I live for them.

I glance at my phone again while changing out of my scrubs in the locker room.

Paige B.

“He’s in bed. We watched Bluey and ate too many Oreos. Love you.”

sent 11:13 p.m.

I smile, small and tired, as I slip on my hoodie and head toward the parking garage.

The drive home is blurry.

My body aches, but my mind is running on one track: I need a shower, I need my girl, and I need to kiss my son good morning even if he’s still asleep.

The front door creaks as I push it open, and I’m extra careful with the key.

The house is quiet, dark, but I hear the faint sound of a TV still running somewhere—cartoon voices, soft and steady.

The hallway to our room feels longer in the silence.

And then I see it: the glow of the TV playing Bluey, Paige curled up under the blanket, and Ashton snuggled tight against her, his little hand still gripping Franklin.

God, they’re beautiful.

Paige is facing him but I can tell she’s not in a deep sleep.

It’s that kind of half-rest she always falls into when she’s waiting for me.

I backtrack to the bathroom, turning the water on low and hot, tiptoeing through the routine to avoid waking anyone.

The shower hits my skin and I wince.

But not from the hotness of the water.

It’s been a long day.

A brutal one.

I just want to scrub the hospital off of me and crawl into bed between the two loves of my life.

I’m just washing my arms when I hear the door creak open.

“Ma?” Paige’s voice is soft, raspy, still half-asleep.

I turn and smile as she steps in, blinking through the steam.

She doesn’t say anything else.

Just steps in behind me, arms sliding around my waist as her cheek presses to my shoulder.

“You should be asleep,” I murmur.

“I don’t fully sleep when you’re not home,” she says, and I feel her lips kiss the top of my spine. “How was your shift?”

“Exhausting,” I admit, leaning into her touch.

“Let me help,” she whispers.

She takes the loofah from me gently and begins washing my back, slow and tender, like I’m made of glass.

Her fingers trail behind each motion, pressing soft, familiar circles into my shoulders, down my spine.

Her lips kiss just below my neck.

“I missed you,” I breathe.

“I missed you more,” she counters.

The water runs warm between us, and it feels like the whole world fades for a minute.

There’s no hospital.

No overtime.

No sore muscles.

Just her.

Her touch.

Her love.

After a few more minutes, we rinse off, dry each other in soft, tired silence, and slip back into bed.

Ashton hasn’t moved an inch.

He’s in the exact same spot—except now, his hand is outstretched slightly, like he was waiting for someone else to return.

I slip into the bed and press a kiss to his forehead.

Paige pulls the blanket over us and slides in behind me, her arm wrapping around both me and Ashton.

Her chin rests lightly against my shoulder.

“TV okay?” she mumbles, eyes already starting to flutter closed again.

“Perfect,” I whisper.

The screen glows in the dim room, playing a soft, familiar theme song.

And even though I’m bone tired, my heart is so full it could burst.

Later That Morning. After I had only a few hours of sleep and the sun is peaking through the curtains more.

I’m now half-awake when I feel little fingers tapping my arm.

“Mama?” Ashton’s voice is tiny.

I blink open my eyes. “Hey, bub…”

“You’re home!” he beams, climbing over Paige to smush himself into my arms.

I pull him close, pressing my nose into his curls. “I’m home.”

“I had a bad dream,” he mumbles again. “But Mommy let me sleep with her. She said you’d be back.”

“She was right.”

I glance over and see Paige still half-asleep, smiling into the pillow.

“Wanna watch Bluey again?” I ask him.

“Only if you stay with us this time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I hold him tight, Paige’s hand finding mine under the blanket.

Disney Junior keeps playing.

And just like that—we’re whole again.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 pocus

synopsis: when you're a no-show for your scheduled merienda, katakuri begins to worry. little does he know you're right in the middle of a Big Mom hunger pang, and she seems to be craving your specialty...

cw: fluff, comfort, angst if you squint, katakuri is katakuri, katakuri DOES NOT PLAY ABT YOU, you have six children together, you're relative to his height, you're a baker.

a/n: i know katakuri's not part of my usual content but i'm rewatching wci and i'm inspired sue me <3 besides the man is FIONE

"Patissiers!"

"Yes, sir! We're on our way!" the patissiers bellowed, running at full speed with their large doughnut cart in tow. "We come with your treat for the day!"

Shifting his weight on his legs, the Sweet Commander crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching intently as the small men scurried toward him, the three of them a dark blue blur against the checkered pink of Brûlée's Mirro-World.

"Our selection today is truly special! Lady (y/n) said so herself!"

"I think you'll find it most appropriate!"

"For a man as perfect as you, each treat is made from the perfect ingredients!"

The first one hoisted a huge chocolate-frosted doughnut over his head, beaming proudly.

"We purchased the finest Corioli cacao we could find on the black market and combined it with milk from a cow grazed on a Sky Island whose life was free from stress and woe! The resulting chocolate is rich and ideal to dollop atop this giant doughnut!"

The second one lifted up a chocolate doughnut with strawberry cream, smiling widely.

"And for this one, we whipped the highest grade cream, which we received fresh from the great Minister Opera himself. The icing is meticulously decorated and topped with a strawberry to make this masterpiece a feast for the eyes, before it becomes entombed within your grateful belly!"

The third one raised a yellow doughnut, topped with decadent powdered sugar, slightly wobbling.

"We also prepared a doughnut topped with a sugar favored by Celestial Dragons, which brings out the spiciness of the Meylon Cinnamon baked into its dough, along with this and that and the other thing, too, of course!"

Together they twirled, utterly elated by the fine work you curated.

"And it is all thanks to Lady (y/n)'s unparalleled baking prowess! It is a true honor and privilege to work alongside her in the kitchen! So please enjoy this sublime sweetness!"

But, sadly, Katakuri had completely tuned them out.

Their entire explanation went completely unheard, the Sweet Commander more concerned with your absence than anything else.

Brows furrowing, his eyes quickly flicked around the cart, failing to sense your presence anywhere remotely nearby.

'(y/n)...'

It was routine that you join him for his merienda's everyday, rain or shine.

The patissiers would roll you in along with his ginormous bushel of doughnuts, your smile blinding as you greeted and joined him inside his mochi shrine.

There, you would feed him your sweet treats and whisper sweet nothings as he recounted his day to you, and you yours, resting in each other's embrace as you relished the little time together you two were able to make within your busy lives.

It was the only time of the day the man looked forward to.

And it was being tampered with.

"Where is she?"

His voice was like a wave of ice extinguishing any sort of jovial mood the chefs had established, replace their joy with potent fear.

Instantly, a frigid shiver rolled down their spines, their little bodies going rigid with terror.

"W-Well, you see—!"

"We are sworn to secrecy by the Lady herself!"

"She ordered us to remain silent about her whereabouts as not to disrupt your merienda!"

"We—!"

Abruptly lunging forward, Katakuri yolked up the first chef by the collar of his uniform, the man letting out a fearful yelp as the Sweet Commander pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He allowed his Conqueror's haki to flow freely from his body, blanketing the entire space under an immense and overwhelming pressure—so much so that it knocked the other two chefs out cold.

His tone was deadly serious, and leaving no room for argument.

"Where. Is. My. Wife?"

"Mocha, honey, keep stirring that curd!" you instructed, frantically, as you added the yeast to the second batch of doughnut scald. "Don't stop 'til it's nice and fluffy!"

"Yes, mama!" your young daughter nodded, expression determined as she fervently mixed the large vat of lemon filling, despite the growing weakness in her arms.

She had been stirring vigorously for the past thirty minutes straight, and there was only so much an eight year-old girl could take.

"We're running out of time!" Soda exclaimed, worried, as he peeked out the window, the rumblings coming from outside shaking the foundation of your large bakery. "Grandma's gonna be here any second!"

"We're working as fast as we can!" Cocoa grunted, finally finishing the third batch of dough.

"I don't understand!" Latte squealed, running to assist her little sister in stirring the curd.

"She was all the way on the north side five minutes ago! How did she get here so fast?!" Frappe added, following after.

"Anything's possible for your grandmother when it comes to dessert," you huffed, finishing up the fourth batch of dough. "I've learned that the hard way."

"Well, we're losing ground fast! Daifuku just got sent flying!" Chai exclaimed, his little eyes wide with horror as he watched his uncle soar through three buildings.

"That's it. I gotta go help," Soda quickly turned, storming toward the door.

"Absolutely not!" you shut down, instantly. "Nothing can stop your grandmother during one of her hunger pangs! You'd be needlessly putting yourself in danger!"

"I have to do something! I'm a minister!"

Soda was your firstborn son, the eldest of your six children and the pride and joy of the Big Mom pirates.

He was a prodigy, his power already nearing that of a Sweet Commander at the young age of twenty-one—he happened across the Fizz-Fizz fruit at a very young age, turning himself into a Carbonation-Man

With a bounty of 850 million, he was powerful enough to be asked out on his own solo missions, as well as join his countless aunts and uncles on their expeditions.

And to put the icing on the cake, he had set the record for youngest minister, having been appointed as the Minister of Fizz two years prior.

Your son was progressing in leaps and bounds, his dream of taking after his father coming to fruition more and more with each passing day.

But... where he took after Katakuri in prowess, he also took after him in his all-encompassing sense of duty.

"Stay here! Keep working on the doughnut!" he exclaimed, rushing out of the bakery. "I'll try and slow her down!"

"Soda!"

"Big brother!"

But he was already gone, leaping into the air to assist Smoothie.

"Mama, mama! The curd is finished!" Mocha reported, running over to tug at your dress.

"Good job, honey," you nodded, patting her on the head. "All right, kids, this is the moment of truth! Your brother's buying us some time so we've gotta hurry!"

"Right!"

"Chai, go get the other two batches of dough out the chiller!"

He nodded, quickly running to the back to go retrieve it.

"Latte! Frappe! Start combining the dough we have out here!"

The twins rushed toward the large bowls, already starting to dump them out onto the flour-covered counter.

"Mocha, go make sure the fryers are hot, then come back and help your brother combine the first batch!"

"You got it, mama!"

She turned and sprinted to the back room, running as fast as her little legs would carry her.

"Cocoa, you're with me! We're gonna finish up the glaze you started earlier!"

"Got it!" Cocoa nodded, running over to the bowl of half-finished glaze she had set aside.

"(y/n)!" Brûlée frantically exclaimed, popping her head out of a mirror in the kitchen. "It's getting bad! Mama's heading right this way!"

"I know! I know! We're moving as fast as we can!" you huffed, frantically stirring the second bowl of glaze.

"Well, it's not fast enough! Mont-d'Or wants to know how much longer this is going to take! This whole island is about to get leveled!"

"If Mama gets a mediocre doughnut then this island really will get leveled!" you scoffed, brows furrowed. "This is my specialty! Just let me handle this and everything'll be—"

"MAMA! GRANDMA'S HERE!" Mocha shrieked, trembling with terror as she stared out the window.

The Yonko's footfalls began to thoroughly shake the bakery, knocking over sacks of flour, breaking tables, and completely destroying shelves.

"No! It's too soon!" you gasped, quickly putting down the bowl and rushing toward the door. "Cocoa, take over! You know what to do!"

"Wha—?! Mom!"

"Don't stop working!"

Frantically, you burst out of the bakery, eyes wide to see that Big Mom was—in fact—right at your doorstep.

"I WANT MY DOUGHNUT! BRING ME MY LEMON DOUGHNUT NOW!"

"Mama!" you shouted, protectively extending your arms out in front of your beloved bakery. "Your doughnut is almost ready! Just give us a little bit more time!"

"WHERE IS MY DOUGHNUT, GIRL! BECAUSE ALL I WANT IS MY DOUGHNUT!"

"We're making it as fast as we can! We just need a few more minutes to get it just right! You have my word!"

"Mom, no!" Soda called, eyes wide with fear as he watched from a distance. "Get out of the way!"

"(y/n), forget it! It's no use!" Smoothie exclaimed. "Run!"

"No! I will not let her destroy everything we've worked for!"

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

In an instant, you were encompassed by an ominous aura, the feeling not at all foreign as you had witnessed the power countless times before.

'Soul Pocus...'

"IS IT LIFE?! OR TREAT?!"

"NO!" Soda shouted, about to rush toward you before Oven and Smoothie grabbed him up, holding him back.

"Not life or treat!" Opera winced.

"She's gonna steal her lifespan away!" Galette cried

"Mama, you can't! She's family! You'll get your dessert soon enough, just hold on!" Mont-d'Or attempted to reason.

"Mama, have mercy!" Smoothie exclaimed.

Brows furrowing, you stood strong, not budging an inch as she stared you down.

"I'm sorry, Mama! But it's just not ready yet!" you stated, cooly.

"Oh, you're gonna be sorry!" she bellowed, her glare intensifying. "I SAID... LIFE OR TREAT!"

Now, on any other day—where it was just you and your troop of bakers—you would have certainly had your soul ripped right out, the fear of your mother-in-law too great to fight off.

But this day was different.

This day... your children were thrown into the mix.

If Big Mom killed you before they finished the doughnut, then they would certainly be slaughtered right alongside.

And with your husband away on the outermost islands of Totto Land, and Soda held back by his uncles, there was no one else left to protect them in that outcome.

So... it didn't matter if it was Kaido, or Big Mom, or whoever.

You were willing to fight off all the emperors at once if it meant keeping your babies safe.

Your brows furrowed, all your fear seeming to dissipate into nothing, molding itself in the shape of pure, unwavering determination.

She wouldn't lay a finger on your children.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

Lunging forward, she attempted to grab your soul, but was thoroughly shocked to find that nothing had appeared in her grasp.

Your soul was perfectly intact.

"Your grandchildren are working diligently to bring the doughnut to perfection! If you could only wait just a little while longer!"

"Not necessary!" a familiar voice cut through the tense air, putting you at ease almost instantly.

"Look! Up there!"

"It can't be!"

"But it is!"

"It's...! It's...!"

"IT'S KATAKURI!"

As he soared through the air—humongous doughnut in hand—everyone watched with awe and relief, your husband a marvel to watch as he valiantly swooped in to save the day.

"Mama! Open wide!"

Using his Mochi-Mochi power, he launched his hand forward, harshly shoving the decadent doughnut into his mother's mouth, effectively halting her Soul Pocus.

For a moment... there was a pause.

The entirety of Whole Cake Island stood still, waiting with bated breath for Big Mom's reaction.

"Mama mama! How delicious! This is the best doughnut I've ever tasted!"

Together, everyone let out a unanimous sigh of relief, some even falling out on the floor.

"Mama is successfully subdued! I repeat! Mama is successfully subdued!" Mont-d'Or announced into his transponder snail. "Let's switch gears toward repairing damage. Toot sweet!"

"Lady (y/n) did it!"

"The island is saved!"

"That's our (y/n) for you!"

"Perfect as ever!"

"Oh, thank, God," you exhaled, breathless, as Big Mom's aura finally released you, allowing your legs to buckle.

"(y/n)!" Katakuri quickly landed next to you, catching your limp body before you could fall. "Are you all right?! What happened?!"

"Your mother happened," you sighed, allowing your head to drop against his chest. "One of her hunger pangs."

His eyes widened, a future where things could've gone very wrong flashing through his mind.

"And you didn't call me? I told you to make me aware when a situation like this occurs," he asked, tone rising—more out of fear of what could've been than actual frustration.

"It was time for your merienda... and you've been working so hard lately," you muttered. "I thought you deserved a break from all this."

"Not when it comes to your safety... or the children's," he shook his head. "You all are my utmost priority. More than my merienda."

Realizing your miscalculation, your cheeks warmed, suddenly feeling foolish.

"Sorry, Kuri," you sighed, allowing yourself to melt into his touch. "I dropped the ball, didn't I?"

At the nickname, Katakuri flushed under his scarf, eyes averting from your adorably apologetic expression before he turned even more red.

"I'm just glad you're all right," he caved, all will to chide effectively oozing from his body. "Rest for now."

"Mom!" Soda exclaimed running toward you both. "Are you all right?! That was insane! I've never seen anyone withstand Soul Pocus before!"

You scoffed, shaking your head.

"I assure you, I wouldn't be able to do that again in a million years."

"Soda, ensure your sisters and Chai are all right. Then send for cleanup within a bakery," Katakuri ordered, starting off in the opposite direction. "Assist Mont-d'Or in heading the repair efforts. I'm leaving this mess in your hands."

"You got it!" he nodded, turning around to join the Minister of Cheese in his work.

"Wait... Kuri, I have to help, too," you started, attempting to sit up.

"You have done enough," he denied, tightening his hold on you. "They can take things from here."

"But—"

"No buts... You'll be joining me for the rest of the day."

Confused, you raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"Joining you? ...For what?"

Knowingly, he glanced down at you, heart pounding against his chest once again at the sight of your perfect face.

How he got so lucky, he would never know.

"We still have time for our merienda. If... you're all right with cold tea?"

Warmed by his shy kindness, you were unable to fight the smile rising to your lips, his ears burning with embarrassment in the adorable way you loved.

He was cute when he wasn't acting all tough.

"Iced tea's perfect... Lead the way."

[haologram]

pink stationery ❤️‍🩹 w.jh

synopsis: everything with junhui has been a step towards something, but neither of you are very clear on what when it comes to the other. genre: co-workers to lovers ; angst, fluff. pairing: office worker!wen junhui x fem!reader word count: 7.9k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: it's stupidly vague and i'm sorry for that. minimal swearing, i guess? mentions of eating and food. they're just stupid what to listen to: starstarstar - dosii ; take me - miso ; say yes - seventeen ; heart burn - sunmi ; i was made for lovin' you - kiss. author's note: i'm going to be honest, i've been having a really hard time with life and i just wanted to write something regardless of deadlines and expectations. i also don't care if it makes sense, i just wanna write. i love my collabs, though, and they will get done. i just want to be vague and mysterious and stupid for a moment in time and not worry. welcome our beloved junhui to the haologram blog <3 i've missed him so dearly. [star dividers] by @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr, and thank you to cam for the bar name! enjoy!

HE SMELLS LIKE LUMBER SOMETIMES.

He smells like the tree trunks he chops for firewood at his cabin on the weekends, and he picks up pinecones. He dusts them off and examines them, and the best one is always promptly delivered to your desk by lunchtime on Monday afternoons. 

That was the extent of your relationship with him, and really, any of your co-workers. He’d never spoken a word to you (not that you could remember, anyway) but has somehow figured out that you like pinecones. Particularly not ones that smell like cardboard boxes from the home section at Marshall’s. 

No one speaks to you unless they need something, and rarely does someone need something from you as a person. 

No invitations to drinks after work – you see them enough as it is. You hang up on remote meetings without saying much of anything, and you’re usually the first to leave the call without so much as a goodbye. Your emails and short and dry, signed off with only your name. You avoid the catered lunches provided by whatever restaurant your company paid out and stick to wedging yourself into the sixth-floor storage room with your package of fruit snacks and a sad turkey sandwich. There was a pink chair in the corner that you liked and tried multiple times to convince Mike (the janitor) to let you have but he refused. 

You do not make eye contact during breaks, and you don’t stop by the break room for coffee or complimentary muffins. You lied about why once, when you were asked by a coworker – and absently claimed a gluten allergy, only to be seen eating bread a few hours later. That coworker hasn’t spoken to you since, and you don’t think she plans to. 

But him? 

He started talking about two years ago, a year after you joined the company. He started talking too much, you could argue, but he would say it’s just enough. 

He’s too friendly, you thought. He dropped by your desk with a warm cup of tea every morning, if not your precious Monday morning pinecone. He slid a soft, lemon-blueberry muffin under your nose with a soft smile every once in a while. He asked you to lunch, to drinks, and he always sent you a separate follow-up email after remote meetings when he could very well just add your tasks to the bottom of the mass list he always sends in the group mail. 

He was just above you on the corporate ladder, but you felt no pressure to answer him in terms of social interaction. He didn’t make it a point, either – he just existed in your vicinity, and only came into your space when you allowed. Quite like a cat, you are. 

He told you about his life, quietly, calmly. He told you about how he learned wushu growing up, and how he played piano. He told you about how he got the cabin as a gift from a friend who was moving abroad, unlikely to return and much less spend time in the quiet woods surrounding your town. He told you about his late-night snacking habit, about his cat, Luna. He told you about his best friend, Minghao, and how he was the best man at his wedding a few years ago. 

But above all? 

He listened to you.  

He looked at you like every word from your mouth held weight, carefully nodding along to your mumbled stories of troubled childhood. He listened to you talk about your favorite dish, your favorite color, even your theories about how middle children suffer the most. He laughed at your wry jokes, the dry humor – though he would bite it back at the deadpan comments you’d make during department meetings. 

He always sat next to you in those department meetings. His knee was always just barely brushing yours, the soft material of his slacks making your skin prickle as it touched your bare thigh. He’d pass you doodled notes on his pink stationery with My Melody on the edges. He always adjusted the hem of your skirt down subtly when you stood up and pushed your chair in after you skirted around it. He waited until you’d gathered all your materials to leave, walking alongside you back to your desk even if his was across the office. 

And it made people wonder what about you had his attention so deeply. 

You’re not interesting to any of them, you never had been. You’re a liar (about a gluten allergy, of all things) and the kind of quiet that made them feel stupid if you looked at them for too long. They felt like you were judging them, when really – you were hoping they’d speed up their long-winded questions to end the painfully awkward social aspect of you fixing their problems. 

Sometimes, he’d send you home early to help you escape their judging eyes. 

He’d send you an email – the subject line usually only taken up by “🏠?” The body usually contained nothing more than a new picture of Luna, but you always appreciated it. 

He’d be looking over the edge of his monitor to watch you hear the dreaded Outlook ding, your eyes slightly lighting up at the sound before really brightening the moment you saw it was him. You’d look over the edge of your monitor, raising a brow that didn’t hide your shy smile as you sent him an email back before quietly packing your bag and slipping out of the office. 

It was always just a meme you’d found during your lunchtime Pinterest scroll – one you’re sure he’d seen you add to your shared board. 

Because, of all things, he’d chosen to first share his Pinterest with you. You saw his dream home, vintage cars, cool jewelry and the stupid memes he liked you send you in the middle of the night when he was thinking of you. 

You still reread that text, he sent it over a year ago. 

MESSAGE FROM: Wen Junhui ♡  [2:32AM] of course i think about you.  [2:33AM] i think about you all the time. after breakfast, when you try to sneak out of the office to hide in that storage room upstairs. even outside of work, sometimes i see things i think you’d like. but i mostly think about you now.  [2:34AM] i think it’s a comfort that you pass my mind before i go to bed. or maybe just an association i've made with the fact that i check our board every night to see if you’ve added anything.  [2:35AM] but...i prefer the former, honestly. goodnight, y/n. sleep well. ♡ 

You added the little heart to his contact name that same night. 

Granted, things between you and him never went further. He talked to you, he walked with you around the office, he gave you many ways to contact him outside of work even if you never texted him first. He shared moments of his day with you if you missed work or worked from home – which was rare and always worried him. He would send pictures of a lone pinecone sitting on your mousepad if you weren’t there when he delivered it, followed by whatever random emoji he felt fit the mood. Sometimes it was a hazelnut, sometimes it was a cat. 

Sometimes, it was the heart wrapped in a bandage. 

You tried not to overthink it. 

But it was hard not to notice the whispers about him. 

How a lot of your coworkers talked about him, and how cute he is. How sweet, smart, gentle. How he’s soft-spoken until he’s around his friends, even though you knew that his best friend was just as soft spoken. He worked two floors down, Xu Minghao. 

You met Minghao and his wife (and the rest of their shared friends) the first time you were ever invited out for drinks – and the first time you ever hesitated to say no. 

Junhui managed to get you right in the nick of time, too – right as the clock struck five. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to log out of your programs when he leaned over the wall of your cubicle with a twinkle in his eye that made your chest ache. 

“Have a drink with me. My friends are coming, too, but you know. I’ll be there.” 

And you had more than a drink – you had a good time. You had three blood orange margaritas and a sip of his beer, but it was like you were shining brighter than a million suns. You let yourself sink into the soft vinyl of the booth, surrounded by him and his scent and his friends. You let yourself talk, out loud and with gusto about everything. You were uninhibited, and you remember how they all warmly smiled as Junhui pushed your hair out of your eyes as you talked about how there was no way the megalodon shark was extinct. 

He walked you home that night, the two of you a little too tipsy to navigate the train or drive. He walked on the sidewalk closest to the street and held your pinchy heels in his fingers, letting you skip around and complain about the humidity. He only smiled, his hip bumping yours every once in a while, when you swayed a bit too far. 

When you got back to your apartment, he waited against the railing in front of your doorstep to watch you step inside. You remember hesitating before asking him if he wanted to come in for a nightcap. 

His eyes widened, and for a moment – he considered it. You saw how his eyes flickered to your lips, before he cleared his throat. 

“Maybe another night. Thank you for coming out with me tonight, I hope it wasn’t too overwhelming.” 

It hadn’t been, but his soft rejection was certainly disappointing. You shook your head then, staring at him for a split second more before speaking. 

“It was nice. I’d...I’d like to do it again, sometime. Just us.” 

You smiled softly, before giving him a curt nod and slipping into your apartment before he could respond. You leaned against the door, sliding down the cool wood before hearing him utter a soft goodnight. 

Since then, the two of you had gone for drinks over and over again – just the two of you, and with his friends. When it was just you, he’d talk about everything and anything under the sun. But when it was with his friends? 

They really liked you, enjoying the excitement that they never saw in the office. One of them, Kwon Soonyoung in finance, offhandedly mentioned that they hadn’t known you and Junhui were friends until he started mentioning you at random moments. Your face had felt hot as the rest of them giggled and agreed, with Minghao’s wife letting it slip that ‘random moments’ meant any time he could. 

“Yeah, he brings you up a lot. Oh, Y/N likes this. Y/N would love that. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. It’s so cute.” 

You don’t remember Junhui refuting it, but you remember the flustered blush that settled in his cheeks after that. Things between you and him didn’t change, though.  

Until they did – one month, three days later, Junhui got a girlfriend. 

It was like he had vanished entirely – gone were the warm cups of tea on your desk, the muffins, the pinecones. No more invites to lunch or drinks with him or his friends. No longer did you receive emails asking if you wanted to go home early, no more pictures of Luna, no more separate follow-up emails outlining your tasks after remote meetings. 

None of it really bothered you, until you realized that your shared board hadn’t been updated by him in a while. Then, you noticed it, truly – he'd unfollowed you. Pinterest, Instagram, even Spotify. Spotify! 

He didn’t sit next to you at department meetings, either. No more passed notes, no more pushing your chair in. And he rushed out right after, not bothering to even speak to you. 

And people noticed. 

You hadn’t realized that by allowing yourself to associate with Junhui and his friends, you became more than a blip on people’s radar. People knew your name; they knew your face. The girls gossiped about what he could possibly see in you, unaware that you were reapplying deodorant in one of the stalls. Men speculated about your relationship status, wondering amongst themselves if you were open-minded – while they stood outside for a smoke, making you scrunch your nose in disgust at them for more reasons than one. 

People knew you – his friends, still said hello in the hallways. Minghao, gave you warm smiles and extended invites to drinks that you’d swiftly decline – with excuses of working late, of being tired, or whispering that time of the month. He always nodded, smiled...but you knew he didn’t believe you. 

Once you realized Junhui was avoiding you for what you believed was a girlfriend, it took you less than twelve hours to get back to your reserved demeanor. As long as you didn’t make noise in your cubicle, no one came around – and people realized then that your gaze wasn’t mean to intimidate or judge, but to time. You didn’t want to talk to anyone you didn’t have to, more than you needed to – and that was bothersome to most of them. 

Of course it was; in their minds, they’re great. 

They’re a catch, they’re fun to be around. 

But they’re not him. 

They’ve never cared to ask you a single thing about yourself beyond your relationship status and where you got your shoes. You always just stared until they left or mumbled something about the local DSW. 

Things with him never returned to the easy friendship you thought was starting to form, even as you rung in the new year at the company party. It made you sad. 

Maybe because you had a bit of a crush on him, actually. 

You thought a little too hard about the meanings behind his messages, the pictures of his weekend retreats to his cabin that he insisted you were always welcome at, especially if his friends were there. You missed the shared memes, the shared playlists, the way he’d sometimes find you inside the sixth-floor storage room, sitting on the dusty pink chair that always made him smile a little too fondly. 

You liked Junhui, more than just a cubicle crush that you could discuss with your girlfriends that you didn’t have. 

But he had one. One that meant more to him than you ever would, even with the way he opened his heart to you. 

You thought about what he shared with you – videos of him playing the piano at Minghao’s wedding for his first dance with his wife. He shared his presence and comfort, often walking you home and your hands always brushed. You felt like a schoolgirl every time you’d tuck your hand into your pocket. You once got caught in the rain together and stood under the bus stop before he fished his headphones out of his pocket and gave you one. 

He played starstarstar by Dosii as he pulled you out from under the safety of the bus stop, and the two of you walked to your apartment instead. Hand-in-hand, soaked to the bone, with the string of his headphones forcing even more proximity that made your cheeks heat. 

You don’t remember who interlaced your fingers. If it was you...you’re still happy. It means he was okay with it, maybe he wanted to. 

If it was him? 

He definitely wanted to. 

However, it’s all filed in your memories now – because you look over your monitor to see his brows fixed in concentration as he types across his keyboard, with you not even a blip on his radar. You watch carefully as he reads his own words over and over, before his eyes flicker up and meet yours. 

You’re not surprised when his shoulders sag for the umpteenth time, and he looks away. 

Like he wants to say something. Like he wants to talk to you, but the words get caught in his throat and he can’t seem to get them out. It’s been a year since you’ve spoken, and you would’ve forgotten the sound of his voice if he wasn’t your co-worker – but you never forget that night last spring, drenched in the rain. 

You would’ve kissed him; you could have kissed him. 

It’s spring, again. 

You walk to the train station after work in silence, with nothing playing in your headphones for the first time. You sit in between an elderly couple and a lone high school girl absently staring at a long thread of messages on her phone. They’re all left unanswered, and she repeatedly fills the text box with words before deleting them and starting over. 

You feel like that girl – except she’s brave enough to ask for answers and you’re gripping your purse in a claustrophobic panic. 

It’s a Wednesday in summer when you finally get tired of waiting for answers. Almost a year to the date when he first asked you to get drinks with him, you get an idea. 

Have a drink with me tonight. 

That's all it says. 

You stand over the copy machine, the sticky note you scribbled on moments earlier folded neatly in your hand. You wrote and rewrote it at your desk, your hands trembling and smearing the ink. You had to walk past his desk to submit the paperwork you were making copies of, and you planned to slip it onto his mousepad on the way back to your own. 

You don’t get a chance to do that, though. 

Your eyes are closed when you hear the copy room door open, but you don’t bother to look up as that same woodsy smell fills your nostrils. 

He doesn’t speak, but you know it’s him.  

You know, from the smell of lumber and the click of his shoes and the tension that makes you feel suffocated as you peer over your shoulder. He’s silent, thumbing at his own paperwork. He only glances up when he feels your eyes on him, but this time, you don’t look away. 

His jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie slightly loosened. You’d stare if it wasn’t against girl code to ogle someone else’s man. 

You turn, fully facing him as your last copy gets stapled by the machine and slides out. You gather them in your arms, before holding them to your chest and holding the sticky note out to him between two fingers. He glances at the hot pink paper, swallowing carefully before reaching for it. 

You give him a soft smile, before spinning on your heel and heading out of the room without a word. 

You’re moving at lightning speed to get out of the office before he can get a chance to catch up with you – shoving your copies into your manager’s hands with a rushed run-down of the day’s events and outages. You thank her with a bow, before beelining for your desk and yanking your purse out of the bottom drawer. 

You make it to the elevator without him noticing you, your eyes catching a flash of his white shirt and the hot pink paper unfolded in his hand. 

You feel your phone buzz in your hand as you reach the lobby. 

NEW! Message From: Wen Junhui (WORK)  [5:32PM] where? 

It’s nearing seven when he finally has the courage to get out of his car. 

He’s been sitting in front of the bar for ten minutes, hoping to see you walk by. If you’re late, you won’t notice that he is. 

Message From: Y/N ♡  [5:35PM] at dizzy’s  [5:35PM] 6:30? 

He waits another three minutes, watching the corner before his hand finally grabs the door handle and pulls. 

He sees you almost instantly, sitting quietly at a booth in the back. You’re not in your work clothes anymore, instead wearing a soft red dress and your hair is pinned back. You’re smiling at the waiter, who seems to be really interested in talking to you as he slides a margarita on the table. He holds the menu out, only for you to shake your head. 

He watches your glossed lips shape around the words: I’m waiting for someone. 

Him. He’s the someone. 

He wants to be the only one. Ever. 

He tongues his cheek as the waiter nods, patting the vinyl of the booth above your head. You lean your head back slightly, closing your eyes as your forefinger picks at your thumb’s cuticle. A nervous habit of yours, one he’d picked up on the first time he spoke to you. 

About pinecones, actually – but you don’t remember that at all. He doesn’t know what possessed him to bring them up – but he learned, through your hushed whisper in the elevator that morning – that you liked them. You like pinecones, because they are so diverse while all still being the same thing.  

He hadn’t understood it then, but he did now – albeit differently. 

He was like the pinecones, because he tried to show you that he liked you in so many ways...through the invites to drinks, the lunch, the shared memes. 

The pinecones. 

Sliding warm tea on your desk and lemon-blueberry muffins, to cracking jokes and passing notes to you on his pink My Melody stationery. To pulling your hair out and brushing your hair out of your face, to letting his friends embarrass him by practically outing his interest in you every time they got together with you and him for drinks at this very bar. 

To walking you home, even in the rain, just to spend a little more time with you.  

Only to realize that it was futile, because you didn’t see him that way. 

You didn’t see him as more than a friend, but he’s not brave enough to tell you why you should. 

“Hi.” 

Your voice is smooth as he finally slides into the booth opposite you, his skin warming at the sound of it. He clears his throat, giving you a curt nod as he adjusts himself in his seat. He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to the side before feeling guilt begin to settle in his stomach. 

“Sorry. I was...” 

He gives up on coming up with an excuse, only running his hand through his hair as you nod. Your manicured fingers stir your straw in figure eights, the flash of an heirloom ring you never take off catching his eye. “I’m sorry.” 

“For?” Your eyes are curious, before tilting your head. “Being late? It happens.” 

He shakes his head like he doesn’t know, before clearing his throat again when the waiter swoops in to save the day. He internally thanks whatever God is out there as he asks for a beer, earning a scrunch of your nose as the waiter nods and leaves once more. 

You don’t say anything as he shifts, only stare. Maybe through him, maybe into him. 

He doesn’t mind the warmth of your gaze. He never has. 

“I didn’t know getting a girlfriend meant you’d treat me like I never existed.” You start softly, his eyes widening as you purse your lips. “I understand creating distance, because there is someone new. Someone who could perceive you and I as something more, when it’s not.” 

“I...I don’t know what to say.” He admits lamely, the shock of you thinking he has a girlfriend not yet settling into his bones. “Who told you I have a girlfriend?” 

You only shrug, taking a quick sip of your drink before shaking your head. 

“Does it matter?” 

He blinks, when the waiter slides the beer bottle on the table as he passes by. He touches it, the glass cold as he tongues his cheek. 

If this is a way to get over you, by getting you believe there is someone else when there isn’t -- he’ll take it. He’ll take it because then it means he never has to tell you how he feels, and he’ll never have to face the way you reject him so kindly. 

“I guess not.”  “Mmh.” 

You trace circles into the side of your glass with your thumb, before another smile graces your lips. 

“Are you happy?” 

How could you ask him that? 

Of course he’s not happy.  

He hasn’t had a proper conversation with you in an entire year, and he’s been too much of a coward to admit that he wants more. He wants to kiss you in the elevator, in the break room, in the storage room on the sixth floor during your lunch break. He wants to hold your hand on the way to department meetings, under the table at drinks with your friends, on the walk to your apartment before you pull him in for a good night kiss. He wants to come into your apartment for a fucking nightcap without knowing he’ll say too much and lose any chance of ever being more to you. 

So instead, he pulls away. 

He stops talking to you, he removes you off every social media platform he can think of, so he doesn’t have the urge to peek at your dream home board on Pinterest, or the way your dream wedding is so similar to his. So he doesn’t have to be subjected to the cute outfits you post on your Instagram story before you leave your apartment for work, even though he’ll just see it when you arrive and he’ll have to take a deep breath so he doesn’t scream about how nice you look.  

So he doesn’t have to know that you’re listening to the playlist he made for you to stay calm in the packed morning train on the way to work. 

On the way to him. 

“No.” 

Your eyes soften, your brows scrunching in that same worried way they do when you’re listening to someone explain their problems to you at work. You nod, that comforting look of understanding glazing over your eyes. 

“Can I ask why?” 

He doesn’t bother responding, his mind racing as he thinks about all the pinecones sitting in his car, the ones that he’s deemed perfect enough to place on your desk but hasn’t been able to. He thinks about the way you slip out of the office and how your heels sound as you sneak upstairs to the sixth floor during lunch. He thinks about when Mike caught him off-guard by coming down to his desk and saying that you liked a pink chair that was in the storage room and kept asking about it. 

A pink chair that used to belong to him, when he first got the company a few months before you did. 

He sighs, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and sliding two twenties on the table. 

“No. It’s better if you don’t.” 

He doesn’t allow himself to look at you as he slides out of the booth, his hand gripping his suit jacket much too tightly for it to go unnoticed. You don’t stand, only nod as you take another sip of your drink. 

“I hope it gets better. Have a good night, Junhui.” 

He fights back tears as he makes his way out of the bar, your understanding look stuck in his mind as he drives home. He doesn’t bother looking at the pinecones in his backseat or changing the playlist that blares through his speakers when he connects his phone – a playlist you made for him, for his long drive home from work. 

You’re in everything he holds dear to him. The music, the cabin – even if you’ve never been there. You know him, everything about him that is worth knowing in his eyes. 

Except the fact that he’s in love with you, and that he’s a liar. 

JUNHUI ISN'T AT HIS DESK ON THURSDAY. OR FRIDAY.

The whispering starts on Monday, with lots of wayward glances towards you and you almost want to go down to Minghao’s desk and ask if Junhui is okay.  

But you don’t -- you glue yourself to your chair until lunch time, only to see that the pink chair you loved is no longer in the storage room. Mike tells you that the original owner took it out on Wednesday night and offers a soft apology. You shake your head and say it’s okay, before turning around and going back to your desk. 

You arrive at your desk on Tuesday morning to your desk chair missing. There is a warm cup of tea on a coaster, and a cranberry orange muffin in front of your keyboard – but none of it distracts from the sudden pop of color next to your mousepad. 

A plastic pink storage box. 

You don’t bother to put your purse down as you crack the corner up, and your eyes widen as you realize it’s full of pinecones. There’s an envelope attached to the underside of the lid, and you pluck it off carefully before leaning against your desk. You peel it open gently, only to see the familiar pink My Melody stationery. 

Junhui. 

You ignore the urge to look up at his desk to see if he’s watching you over his monitor, feeling eyes from your co-workers trickling in as they spot the pink box. His handwriting is scrawled in purple ink across the stationery, and your heart sinks as you take in the slightly smudged words. 

My Y/N, 

I’m sorry about Wednesday. In fact, I’m sorry about the past year that I’ve gone without speaking to you. I have no excuse, only an explanation that probably won’t make things any better but will certainly give you some clarity. 

I pulled away because I knew things would get too much for me. I’ve got a weak heart, and I can’t take rejection well – so I figured I’d cut ties first. It never worked, cutting contact with you; I found myself constantly missing the sound of your voice. I wanted so badly for you to reach out first, but I should’ve known better than to expect that when I was the one who wedged my way into your life. Our friendship was fun, and I miss listening to playlists with you during the walks to your apartment, but it simply can’t be anymore. 

I like you so much, it’s painful to be around you and know you don’t feel the same. 

I wanted to kiss you that night last spring. The rain and everything, it felt like a movie. Maybe that’s corny, and maybe it’s too forward but it doesn’t matter anyway because nothing will come of this. I’m sorry, for being too much of a coward to ever explain this to you in person. And for telling you now, through a letter written on stationery.  

With this, I’ve got to admit something; finding out that you think I have a girlfriend when you’re all I’ve been able to think about since that first day we spoke is insane to me. Where do you get your gossip from? Is it a subscription? Unsubscribe effective immediately. 

Speaking of effective immediately, I’ve taken a new position at a new company. So not only am I a coward for confessing this way, but also because I’m running away from it all. I don’t think I could handle not going home to you, even after seeing you all day. I’m not equipped for the agony of a silent, one-sided office romance that you read about in books. 

I recommended you for my position. Don’t worry, people won’t talk to you nearly as much as they do now; but still...have fun, yeah? 

I hope you enjoy these pinecones, for whatever you might end up using them for – and the pink chair. Funny, it belonged to me when I first got to the company. That’s why Mike never gave it up, but he told me you liked it so I figured you should have it. 

Now it belongs to you! Quite like my heart. 

Have a good day, Y/N. I’ll miss you. 

Always and forever yours,  Junhui ♡ 

Your chest aches as you realize all the opportunities have slipped through your fingers. 

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Wen said he’d like for you to have this.” 

Mike startles you as you see the pink chair being rolled behind your desk, the fabric pristine and the small stain from spilled coffee at the edge is gone. Your fingers flit across the headrest, before you look at him with tears in your eyes. 

“Guess he changed his mind, huh?” 

He only smiles, nodding his head before turning on his heel and leaving. 

You look at the cup of tea. It’s still hot, so it must’ve been placed recently. You glance over at his desk; how vacant it looked. Almost like how your chest feels after having your heart ripped out. 

You don’t really notice that you’re moving until you’re in the elevator, nervously nibbling on your lip as you frantically press on Minghao’s floor number while balancing the box of pinecones on your hip. It feels like an eternity as the damn thing jostles, and you nearly trip as it finally opens on the third floor. You beeline for Minghao’s desk in the back, only to see him quietly arriving with his headphones slid over his ears and his wife’s lipstick still stamped on his cheek. 

He glances up as he feels your presence behind him, his eyes widening before a smile graces his lips. 

“Y/N! What brings you down here?” 

“Where is he?” You blurt, your hand still holding the note. He raises a brow, sliding his headphones off and onto the desk as he takes a seat in his desk chair. 

“Where is who, sweetheart?”  “Junhui.” 

His lips form an o-shape, making him nod before he shrugs. 

“Why should I tell you?” 

You gape at him, almost losing your grip on the box on your hip. 

“Because you obviously know, and if you care about me–”  “Tell me why I should tell you, Y/N.” 

You huff, your cheeks hot as you tap your foot. He tilts his head, an expectant look in his eyes before he speaks again. 

“I do have work to do, you know.” 

“Because I need to tell him that I...” You choke on your words, scoffing out a humorless laugh as you feel your eyes sting with tears. “Because I need to tell him that he’s an idiot.” 

“You can text him that, you know.”  “I’d rather die than text him how I feel.”  “So, you admit you feel some type of way about him.” 

He grins, slim fingers typing his password into his computer. You scowl. 

“I never said anything of the sort.” You argue, and Minghao gives you a look that says, really bitch? 

“You like him. It’s obvious to all of us, everyone in this office.” He reaches for his water bottle, his fingers aptly flicking the cap open. “So, admit it. Admit you have feelings for Wen Junhui, and I’ll give you the information you want.” 

You look at the crumpled stationery in your hand, your heart swelling slightly at his handwriting. 

My Y/N.  Always and forever yours,  Junhui ♡ 

“I love him.” You mumble softly as you stare at the paper, not catching how Minghao’s eyes widen. “I’m in love with him, Hao.” 

A single tear rolls down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away, before looking up to see Minghao looking at you with a soft glaze over his eyes. 

“I expect you and your boyfriend to get drinks with my wife and I this weekend in exchange for this.” His tone is warning as he reaches for a pen, his hand swiping a sticky note off the pad. You nod, ignoring the way your cheeks heat at the idea of Junhui being your boyfriend as he holds out the green paper. “Here, leave that. I’ll keep it safe, so you don’t have to lug it around.” 

He holds his hands out for the box, and you hesitate before carefully placing it down. You open the corner, taking one of the pinecones out with a wince as he raises a brow before you shove it in your purse. 

“I can explain.”  “Over drinks this weekend. I’ll work out your attendance with your department manager.” 

You smile gently, glancing down at the sticky note. It’s an address to an apartment building. 

“Thank you, Minghao.”  “Go, sweetheart. You’ll get caught in the rain if you stay any longer.” 

And you go. 

You don’t bother waiting for the elevator, practically flying down three flights of stairs. You sprint out of the lobby, nearly slamming into yet another of Junhui’s friends, Joshua, before yelling an apology over your shoulder. You make it outside, holding both pieces of paper in one of your shaking hands while the other fishes your phone out of your purse. 

A fat raindrop falls on the screen as you map out how far the address is, and you almost welcome the cool water falling onto your cheeks as you run to the train station. 

NEW! Message From: Hao  [8:02AM] day 1 of my best friend being a traitor. how is working from home, you bitch? 

Junhui snorts as the message comes in, settling carefully in his desk chair. He feels a bit alone as he texts back a simple, I’m sorry; the usual soft chatter of the office replaced by the sound of his aircon blasting. Everything feels too casual – his white t-shirt tucked into his blue jeans, the softness of his house slippers instead of his usual heavy dress shoes. He feels like he’s waiting for a lunch date with one of his friends, rather than signing into work for the day. 

He looks over the edge of his monitor, no longer seeing your warm eyes looking back at him; but a cat calendar flipped to July. He rolls his shoulders back, sighing inwardly when his phone buzzes incessantly on the desk.  

Your contact photo fills the screen. 

INCOMING CALL FROM: Y/N [PLEDIS] 

He feels the entire world stop. His breath is caught in his throat, and he suddenly can’t feel his limbs. He watches the phone ring until the call fails, nearly falling out of his chair as he stands up and grabs it. His hands are shaking too hard for him to press the missed call notification, only for you to call back again.  

His chest is tight as he shakily breathes out, his thumb swiping across the screen to answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“I wanted to kiss you that night, too. I have never once though back to that night and didn’t feel regret knowing I didn’t kiss you.” 

You sound slightly out of breath, and the sound of rain is loud in the background. He feels his stomach drop to his ass; feet rooted to his spot in his office.  

“Y/N, I–”  “You don’t have to say anything. Just come outside.” 

He blinks as the call ends, staring at his reflection in the dark screen.  

You’re outside. 

“Shit.”  

He nearly stumbles as he darts out of his office, beelining for his coat closet and shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers. He grabs the umbrella that leans against the frame of his front door, not bothering to grab his keys as he fumbles with the lock and throws the door open. A rumble of thunder startles him as he quickly shuts the door behind him, his fingers trying to fiddle with the umbrella when he hears your voice echo through the complex. 

“Junhui!” 

He glances over the railing, his eyes darting all over the courtyard before spotting you a few feet from the stairs. You’re wearing the black dress you wore the first time he’d spoken to you, and the attempt to wear open-toed shoes was ruined by the rain. 

“Wen Junhui! Get down here!” 

He feels laughter bubble up in his chest as he realizes you’re completely drenched, your hair is stuck to your face and your dress is practically dripping like the clouds above. 

“You come up! It’s pouring out here!”  “No, you have to come down here! I came all this way, it’s only fair!” 

He can’t really see your smile from where you are, but he can hear it. He can hear it and it’s like the rain doesn’t matter. It’s like this very moment proves he was an idiot not to overthink all those intimate moments between the two of you – the way your eyes would light up at his stupid emails, the way you’d let his hands linger on your neck or ears after brushing your hair out of your eyes. All the playlists, all the similarities down to the fact that you both want marigolds for your dream weddings. 

The way you interlaced your fingers that night last spring, and he’s so glad you did. 

“Junhui!” 

He shakes his head, dropping the umbrella on his doormat before sprinting to the staircase, hearing his heart pounding in his ears as he barrels down the stone steps.  

“What...what are you doing here? You’re going to get sick, I...” 

He trails off as he realizes you’re staring at him with a sparkle in your eye he can’t swallow. Your smile is all teeth, and he feels his chest ache as you shrug innocently. You take a step closer, tilting your head. 

“I thought you wanted to kiss me.” 

He feels his cheeks hot, and he absently runs a hand through his hair. 

“You’re drenched, Y/N.”  “I was that night, too. We both were.” 

You shrug again, before stepping out from under the stairwell back into the rain. You hold your hand out, the rain pelting it as he hesitates to take it. You wiggle your fingers, making him tongue his cheek as he takes it, letting you pull him out into the rain. You hand slides up his arm and cradles his jaw gently, and he fights himself not to lean into it but ultimately fails.��

“I told Minghao I’d tell you you’re an idiot.” 

He snorts, “Is that on his behalf or yours?” 

“Mostly mine, but I’m sure he has his own things to say about the matter. A year, Junhui? A whole year.” Your lip is jutted in a pout, and he sighs as the rain starts to soak in through his shirt. His hair is starting to stick on his forehead, and your hand swipes it back. 

“I’m sorry. I know that it’ll never be enough to say it, but I truly mean it.” He gently touches his forehead to yours, his heart warming at the way you peer up at him through wet lashes. “I don’t blame you if you don’t forgive me, either. It was a shitty thing to do.” 

He hates how your eyes soften, because he feels his knees grow weak as your other arm loops around his neck. He tentatively wraps his own around your waist, pulling you closer and he swears he sees your smile grow shy. 

“I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t think hearing you out would be worth it.” You say softly, and a rumble of thunder makes you both flinch. A laugh escapes you, before your thumb strokes his cheek gently. 

“Is this still like last spring?” 

He smiles softly, “No.” 

“Did you ever think this would be the first time you get to kiss me? Like this?” 

He laughs, “No.” 

“Is it better, though?”  “Considering I’d hoped we would’ve gone on a date—”  “Say yes before I regret coming all this way.”  “Yes.” 

Neither of you move, but he feels it. He feels the same feeling of want he did that night, the same feeling of yearning that floated off you without a single word. You tilt your head up, your nose brushing his lightly . 

“I’m really cold.”  “I told you to come up.”  “This is more romantic.”  “I hope you know ‘romantic’ can also cost you three sick days at work.” 

“You’re worth all my sick days, Wen Junhui.” You mutter, pressing your lips to his. He can’t help but smile into it, his arm tightening around your waist as his other hand cups your face softly.  

All the warmth from your eyes, the bashfulness of your smiles, the kindness of your heart is too much for his heart to handle. He can’t believe you’re really here, in his arms...your lips so, so soft and eager against his. 

“We have to go inside. You’re going to get sick.” He forces himself to pull away, his heart melting at the way you chase his lips slightly. You frown, and he can’t help but press a chaste kiss to your pouted lip. “We can kiss all you want inside the apartment, I promise.” 

You don’t seem embarrassed at all as you smile at the mention of it, even if he feels his own cheeks grow hot as you nod. He feels his entire chest swell slightly as you interlace your fingers with his and pull him towards the stairwell, biting back his giddy smile. 

YOU SMELL LIKE LUMBER SOMETIMES.

You smell like the tree trunks he chops for firewood at his cabin on the weekends, and you roast his marshmallow for him – despite Minghao’s teasing.  

He still picks up pinecones. He dusts them off and examines them, and the best one is always promptly delivered to you at lunchtime as he drops by the company to whisk you away. The lunch invitations that once meant you’d be holed away in the storage room with a less-sad turkey sandwich from the deli down the block, now meant you’re getting bombarded with kisses before he finally lets you get out of his car with your to-go cup of iced tea. 

That wasn’t nearly the extent of your relationship with him. Now, he has a photo of you on his desk at home – and you have one of the two of you together on yours. Your pink chair is complimented often by your coworkers, and you’ve apologized to Diane for lying about a gluten allergy.  

Though you’re back to being under the radar, people notice the changes. They notice that Junhui, who no longer works alongside them, is still frequently in the lobby – but he’s picking you up. He’s kissing you; he’s spinning you around and calling you, my love.  

No one speaks to you unless they need something, and rarely does someone need something from you. 

But Junhui? 

He can’t help but need you every single day. He slips his pink stationery love letters into your purse before you leave his apartment on Sunday nights, even if he’s begged you to stay the night just one more time. He accepts invites to anything that means he can bring you with him -- drinks with Minghao, lunch with his mother, even a weekend trip that was meant to be strictly business, but he spent most of the time that he wasn’t presenting glued to you in the hotel room.  

Junhui doesn’t let you take the train anymore. Junhui takes your shy offers for a nightcap that usually end up with you kissing him breathless on your couch off two glasses of wine. Junhui, of all things, holds your hand on the table at drinks with his friends that are now yours, too.  

Junhui listens – to your complaints about work; to your theories about birthstones and how whoever chose them was clearly biased for September to have the sapphire; to your sweet whispers as you slip your hand down his shorts late at night, and the whiny moans of his name that slip from your throat when he’s pinned you against his mattress. 

But above all? 

Junhui loves you.  

Unabashedly, uninhibitedly and irrevocably. 

haologram © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[starrdream]

Babysitter

Single dad!Anakin x female!reader summary: After babysitting his kids for a while Anakin thinks he might like you more than they do. includes: fluff

It started with a favor.

Anakin Skywalker wasn’t the kind of man to ask for help, but between work, responsibilities, and raising two wildly energetic children, even he had to admit he couldn’t do it all alone.

Anakin wasn’t expecting much when Obi-Wan recommended you.

“She’s very good with the younglings,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin had narrowed his eyes. “Is this one of your schemes?”

Obi-Wan had only smirked. “Just give her a chance.”

And that was how you entered his life—just a temporary solution, a babysitter for Luke and Leia so he could handle Council meetings, missions, and the endless responsibilities that came with being a Jedi and a father.

“Y/n showed us how to balance without using the Force!” Leia said one night, practically bouncing in her seat at the dinner table.

“Yeah!” Luke added. “And they said I might be a really good pilot one day!”

Anakin frowned, feeling an irrational surge of… something. “I told you that.”

Luke shrugged. “Yeah, but Y/n said it cooler.”

Anakin scowled. Ridiculous.

Then, it got worse. Because suddenly, everything was about you.

“Y/n would let us stay up later.”

“Y/n said that’s not how the Jedi Code actually works.”

“Y/n could probably beat you in a fight.”

“Can Y/n be our new mom?”

That last one had nearly made Anakin drop his drink.

And yet, somehow, he found himself putting up with it.

Because for all the ways you annoyed him—your smirks, your effortless way with the twins, the way you never let him get away with anything—he found himself looking forward to having you around.

A little too much.

It wasn’t just the twins, either. Ahsoka liked you. Which made things so much worse.

“She's great,” she had said one afternoon, using the Force to stack training remotes.

Anakin had glanced at her. “Who?”

Ahsoka blinked at him, unimpressed. “Seriously?” She scoffed. “Y/n, obviously.”

Anakin huffed. “You’ve barely trained with her.”

“I did actually. And, I don’t need to train with her.” She said. “She's cool. And she doesn't treat me like a kid.”

Anakin crossed his arms. “I don’t treat you like a kid.”

Ahsoka smirked. “You absolutely do.” Then, before he could argue, she added, “Besides, you like her.”

Anakin faltered. “I—”

She grinned. “You do.”

“Snips.”

Ahsoka laughed, hands on her hips. “When are you going to do something about it?”

Anakin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You and the twins are going to be the death of me.”

Ahsoka just smirked. “Not my fault you’ve got terrible game.”

It wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand realization, no major moment of truth.

It was just… you. Sitting across from him late one night after the twins had gone to sleep, nursing a cup of tea, looking so at home in his space.

He should have been exhausted, but instead, he found himself watching the way the light caught the curve of your face, the way your presence settled something deep in his chest.

And just like that—he knew.

“I need your help with something,” he said, setting down his drink.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “It’s about Luke and Leia.”

Immediately, your posture straightened, full focus on him. “Are they alright?”

He smirked. “They’re fine.” Then, after a pause, he added, “They just won’t stop talking about you.”

You laughed. “They do tend to go on.”

Anakin tilted his head. “So I figured, maybe it’s time I see what all the fuss is about.”

You blinked. “What?”

He exhaled, bracing himself. “Let me take you out.”

A slow smile tugged at your lips. “Are you saying you trust the twins’ judgment?”

“Absolutely not.” He huffed out a chuckle. “I trust mine.”

Hope you guys like it

[kythed]

roomate!geto x reader

it's 1am, and geto suguru is freezing. he's got a hot water bottle, a comforter, and two thick blankets, yet he's still shivering like a naked mole rat in midwinter.

why am i so fucking cold? geto thinks, feeling ridiculous as he rubs his legs together like a giant cricket. he wonders if he's inexplicably lost fifty pounds in the night and his body is shutting down. or maybe the apartment has been magically transported to a remote arctic wasteland.

"suguru?" the door creaks open, and geto sits up, squinting at your face, illuminated by the hallway light.

"oh, hey," he says, pulling his blankets up to his chin. "you okay?"

"yeah," you say, slipping into the room and closing the door behind you. geto reaches over and flicks on his bedside lamp. "i think our central heating switched off. it's, like, unbearable."

you look small and vulnerable in the yellow lamplight. so different from your usual put-together state. geto raises an eyebrow at your penguin-patterned pajama pants, and you flush.

"a gift from my grandma, asshole," you say, straightening your tank top. geto tries not to dwell on how thin and semi-see through it is.

"mhm," he says, flashing you what he knows is a charmingly ironic grin. he shifts under his covers. "yeah, it's cold. i honestly don't know how i'm gonna fall asleep again."

"well," you say, glancing down at your feet. you're uncharacteristically bashful. "i was thinking, maybe—and it's totally okay if you're not comfortable with this—i was wondering if i could sleep with you? just for the body heat. my room is, like, super cold and—"

"you wanna sleep with me?" geto repeats, just to see you squirm. he knows he's being a little mean. but he can afford to be, especially when he already knows exactly what his answer is.

"not like that," you're quick to say. you blush harder. "i mean, obviously. obviously i would never—"

"aw," he says with a melodramatic pout. "never ever?"

the two of you have teased each other like this before. joking that you'd get married if you were both still single by 40, bringing each other as plus-ones to various work events and telling coworkers you'd been together since high school—but somehow the teasing felt very different when you were both in various states of undress.

"maybe if you got a haircut," you say with a small smile, rubbing the chicken skin on your arms. geto feels his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "anyway. please? can i sleep here? just for tonight."

"sure, kid," he says, pulling back the covers for you. he knows you hate it when he calls you that, but tonight you don't protest. "c'mere."

you slip in, instantly curling up against his side. geto feels his whole body thrum when your ice-cold skin presses up against his. his body automatically wraps around yours, tugging your waist closer, slipping his arm beneath your head. he's never been this close to you. it feels wrong, but it also feels natural.

"better?" he says, lips brushing the back of your neck. he feels you stiffen a little at his warm breath.

"much," you say. you pull his arm tighter around you and nestle into the curve of his body. "and just so we're clear: no funny business."

"i wouldn't dream of it," he says, voice low. you smell so good. so you. he feels something instinctive, something evolutionary in himself say this is it, isn't it? "as i've said many times before, you utterly repulse me. we could never be more than roommates."

"never ever," you say, and as you do, you bring his knuckles up to your lips and press a warm, soft kiss on them. geto bites back a gasp. he's suddenly very aware of his t-shirt and shorts being the only barriers separating his body from yours.

"get that haircut, suguru," you whisper, so soft he almost doesn't catch it. "then we'll talk."

"okay," he whispers back, then, closing his eyes, he settles into the bed, with you in his arms. slowly, slowly, his breathing falls into step with yours: inhale, exhale. inhale... exhale. (just before he drifts off, he makes a mental note to call the nearest salon tomorrow.)

[gotta-winwin]

Can I request a full oneshot on that dino when accepting an award like shouting out his wife and watching the internet explode and the members reaction to him I NEED THIS it got me kicking my feet and giggling just by thinking this 🛐🛐🛐 HAHHAHAHA

btw I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS!! 😘

hehehe omg ofc! i was kicking my feet and giggling while writing this dino has no business looking THAT fine and bias wreaking me( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) thank you so much for both requesting and enjoying my work!

where's the trophy... he just comes running over to me <3

masterlist fic that prompted this oneshot

word count: 1.4k tw/cw: idol!dino x wife!reader, childhood friends to lovers, public shoutout, a whole lot of sap, seungkwan clowning dino a/n: writing this just makes me want to see svt with their s/o in real life (we know these boys aint single bro)

It's a quiet and unassuming day until you're reminded that today is the MAMA awards. It didn't help that the award show wasn't hosted in Korea this year, leading to you being stuck on your couch, hands quivering as the show began.

It had been a tough yet rewarding year for Chan and his group mates, and you had been lucky enough to see it all. You felt proud that even with the distance, you had always been the first person Chan would call for anything.

Headlining Glastonbury? He had shined brightly onstage and even brighter during your video call, where he took you through his day, making it feel like you had been with him every step of the way.

Tour? He was texting you in between songs, updating you on the tiniest things despite you scolding him that he needed to concentrate on the show. He just couldn't help it, his mind immediately drifting to you whenever something remotely interesting took place. Baby, DK's pants ripped onstage just now. He'd text you, shoulders still shaking from laughter. Coups hyung got barked at again. Whatever tidbit it was, Chan's name lighting up on your screen was a warm embrace compared to the lonely nights without him.

It'd all be worth it now, you thought, as you let out a gasp of joy when Seventeen's name was announced as Artist of the Year. Your hands were still shaking as you picked up your phone to record the moment.

Chan's face glowed on your tv screen as he walked up with his members to accept the award. You couldn't help but remember how he used to look - kidish, tiny, cute and juvenile. You recalled how drastic the change had been, as you both matured and grew together, leading you to realize how hot he looked - so built and handsome. Yet it was the bubbly glow that stayed with him despite aging that you loved the most.

"Thank you Carats!" Your husband raised the trophy proudly into the air. "You know...I was the only one who didn't get to speak when we won a daesang last year..."

You couldn't help but scoff endearingly at how sassy he could be while receiving an award you knew would make him sob to you later.

"Ever since our debut," He continued, staring at you through the tv screen. "My dream was to be an artist that would remain in history."

You could remember that, even now, years later.

"I'm going to make you a promise." 15 year old Chan had told you, on the rare chance he had gotten a break from training. He had taken the two of you to the park in between Pledis and your house.

"Promise me what?" You had replied, lips feinting a small smile as you watched his eager expression.

"That one day, I'm going to be an artist that will stay throughout history." His face was full of raw determination. "And that you'll be right there with me. On top of the world. One day, I'll be an artist you can be proud of."

Seems like he kept that promise.

"And those feelings..." He continued speaking into the mic. "Those feelings will continue as we go into the future with Carats." The crowed cheered at his words.

You could tell from his face that something was up. He had that mischievous look that would only come out whenever he was about to do something to tease you.

"And..." He took a pause, smiling at the dramatic effect it had caused. "Well..."

You half wanted to reach through the tv and smack him, as your heart raced in anticipation. You had ran through his speech with him on video call days ago. This wasn't part of it.

"I once made a promise to someone," He finally said aloud, and you knew immediately what he was doing, mouth dropping in both surprise and realization. "A long time ago, when we were both very young, I made a promise that I would become an artist she could be proud of." He smiled bashfully at the memory of both the moment and the person. "I also promised her that she would be there with me, on top of the world."

You had to sit down, your legs failing you.

"I kept my promise, didn't I?" He said into the mic, and you could tell he was speaking just to you. "I hope you're proud of everything I've done, my lovely, patient wife. Only you could've stuck by me for fourteen years." He added the last part teasingly. "I love you." He raised the trophy in his hands. "This- this is for you." Pausing, he corrected himself. "Well- for you and the members." He smiled sheepishly at the boys behind him. "It is our award."

Dino had gotten Seungcheol's approval minutes before the award show began, begging the leader to let him shout out his wife. "Please, please, please, hyung." He had pleaded, trying to convey that this was literally his lifelong dream. "I've always wanted to do that. Just drop a bomb into the world and walk off." Seungcheol could only sigh, staring at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. He nodded, although he knew it would inevitably create a media frenzy for the company to clean up. "Go for it." He patted their maknae on the back. "Not my problem, not my mess."

Jeonghan had been kept blissfully in the dark until he was watching their acceptance speech live. The further Dino's speech went, the further his jaw dropped. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Dino was shouting out his wife on the stage at MAMA awards, accepting an AOTY award. Immediately after, he calls Dino up, scolding him for not telling him sooner and admitting it was a baller move.

Joshua had been busy trying to comfort a near-tears Seungcheol, Dino's speech barely registering in his ears. He's blissfully confused when the crowd goes bonkers, yelling into DK's ear to tell him what on earth happened. He's proud of Dino, acknowledging that their maknae has grown up to the point that the world now knows he has a whole wife.

All the way in China, Jun's watching the show live on his phone from his trailer on set. The connection is spotty, leaving his members in pixels and full of lag. Thankfully, the only clear part is Dino's speech, leaving Jun in deep shock and a little wounded. He wished he had been there for that.

Hoshi's loud ass gasp is the only thing fans can hear from the crowd other than their own screaming. It's clear on his face that he's flabbergasted - leading fans to speculate if he even knew Dino had a wife.

Wonwoo can't help but let out a hearty laugh once the weight of Dino's speech sinks into his bones. He knows the media and fans are going to have sooo much fun with this. He feels bad that you're now in the spotlight and hopes Dino got your permission beforehand...did he?

Very busy trying to will his tears away, Woozi's shocked out of his feels, tears evaporating at the sound of Dino's voice and the word wife. He's shocked, but happiness takes over when he realizes this will overshadow the fact that he's about to ball on global tv.

Minghao's just got that goofy shocked expression on his face as he registers the moment. He's smiling from ear to ear, basking in the joy that's radiating off of Dino. Who is he to stand in the way of Dino finally showing off his love?

Mingyu is over the moon. Having been your biggest supporter, he's elated you and Dino are finally going public. The fact that he's currently onstage accepting a daesang is completely thrown out of his mind, replaced with the joy of seeing Dino thrive.

Poor Woozi has DK's arms wrapped around him as if DK's trying to suffocate the man. He can't contain his excitement and joy at the reveal, accidentally using Woozi as a stress ball. He tackles Dino as they walk offstage, yelling about how CUTE that was and how lucky you are to have each other.

Seungkwan's stunned into complete silence. He's lowkey judging (just a little bit) at how insane Dino is acting right now - knowing this is bound to stir the pot online. He's the first one to tease Dino, going as far as clowning him during his own speech. "I once made a promise..." Seungkwan fails to keep a straight face as he clowned Dino's speech to his wife. "And I-" He's kicked off the mic by Dino before he can finish.

Vernon simply nods in approval as he watches Dino finish his speech. He respects the confidence and craziness to do such a thing, especially with how dating was basically a taboo for them as idols- and bros hard launching a whole ass wife!

[spookysanta]

Chapter 1: The Suite Life

Ongoing tags:

[Modern Romance] [Slow Burn] to [Fireworks [Black!Reader] [Younger!Reader] [Reader is That Girl] [Obsessed Michael™] [So Much Eye Contact] [Vacation Fling] turns into [Something Real]

Potential TW/CW: [Swearing] [Light Sexual Tension] to [Eventual Smut]

i couldn't help myself y'all. i'm TOO excited about this fic. i have the first four or so chapters written so you'll get more very soon! enjoy my loves. make sure to sign up for my tag list and send some prompts to my ask box if you haven't already!

-

It started with sunlight and silence.

Not the kind of silence that meant emptiness — the kind that followed laughter, that stretched long and lazy across a hotel suite still buzzing from the night before. The kind that came with tossed throw blankets, a mostly-empty wine bottle on the counter, and at least three half-packed suitcases sitting open like they’d lost a fight with joy.

You stirred first.

The clock read 9:06.

Your bonnet was barely hanging on. Your phone was wedged beneath your thigh, still buzzing with unread messages and group chat chaos. You blinked, stretched, and reached for the remote with one foot before flopping back dramatically onto the pillows.

From the other bed, Tati groaned. “Who the hell opens curtains before ten?”

You smiled into the blanket. “We did. Last night. For the moonlight.”

“Corny,” she mumbled. “You’re corny.”

“You were crying at 2AM about how the sky looked like velvet.”

She sat up. “You were crying at 2AM about how this is the first time we’ve all been in the same room in six months.”

A pause.

You blinked at her.

She blinked at you.

And then you both smiled.

“Okay, but I was right,” you said.

“You were disgustingly right.”

By 10:00, all five of you were awake — sprawled across couches, floor pillows, or standing in the kitchen in sleep shirts and socks, laughing over bad hotel coffee and one suspicious mimosa someone found in the back of the fridge.

Was and Tati flipped through brunch spots on their phones, Jae played DJ from the Bluetooth speaker, and Kris kept reapplying lip balm like they were filming a reality show.

You were on the floor, legs stretched out, drinking something you hadn’t identified yet.

“So,” Nas said, looking up from her phone. “We hitting the strip today or saving our energy for tonight?”

“What’s tonight?” you asked.

Tati turned from the mirror, one brow raised. “Somebody booked us a spot at that rooftop bar downtown.”

Jae nodded knowingly, “With the floor-length windows and the impossible cocktails.”

“And the DJ who looks like he knows three languages and only speaks in bass drops.” Kris pointed a manicured finger your way.

“Oh that place,” you said, lips curling. “The one where the hostess stares through your soul if your heels aren’t at least four inches.”

“She’ll have to fight me,” Tati muttered, slipping on lashes without looking. “I brought platforms.”

Getting out wasn’t a rush.

Just the slow settling of women who’d worked too hard, cared too deeply, and were finally allowed to be soft for a few days. You painted your toes while Kris pinned your hair. Jae filmed you all on her phone saying “cheers” with coffee cups and sleepy eyes. Tatti rummaged through her duffel to find a partner to her lone earring that she had to wear. Nas turned on a playlist labeled “vacation softness,” and by noon, there was a distinct shift in the air.

The kind that said: we’re here. We earned this. And something’s about to happen.

You just didn’t know what yet.

And by late afternoon, the suite had turned into a cloud of heat and getting-ready haze.

The Bluetooth speaker was working overtime. The bathroom counter looked like a glam bomb had gone off. You were in front of the mirror, curls wrapped in satin and lashes fanned out on a napkin, deciding between two tops that technically weren’t even yours.

“Go with the black one,” Kris called from across the room, sipping something pink in a wine glass. “No shade, the other one gives Homecoming Lite.”

“Homecoming Lite is cute,” you argued, holding it up again.

“It’s cute if you’re looking for a 4. We’re dressing for tens tonight.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t disagree.

By the time the sun slipped below the skyline, the five of you were glowing — skin glazed, edges laid, eyes sharp. The hallway smelled like setting spray and expensive perfume as you clacked your way toward the elevator, full of nerves and body oil.

“We look good,” Jae said, turning her camera on selfie mode.

“We look dangerous,” Tati corrected, popping her hip.

You smiled into your glass. “Let’s act like it.”

The rooftop bar looked like something from a movie.

You stepped out of the elevator and onto a floor of glass and gold — panoramic windows, shadows moving in silhouette, music vibrating through marble and champagne. A warm breeze swept in from the open terrace, and the bass rolled through your chest like a second heartbeat.

You felt it immediately — eyes on you. Heads turning. A shift in the air.

This city moved fast. But tonight… you moved faster.

“Table’s over there,” Nas said, pointing to a curved velvet booth with perfect view of the DJ and the skyline. “The hostess said we’ve got bottle service for the first round.”

“So what you’re saying is we’ve peaked.” Kris reasoned with a nod.

Jae, the resident party girl, smiled evilly, almost rubbing her hands together like a supervillain. “Let’s start with tequila and see what mistakes present themselves.”

It was close to midnight when you noticed him.

You were at the edge of the terrace now, cooling off with your drink in hand, hair lifting slightly in the breeze. Your friends were dancing, half-laughing, caught up in the music, and you were lost in your thoughts — until the hairs on your neck stood up.

You felt it before you saw him. And then you did see him.

Across the terrace, by the bar.

Black shirt, low taper, a perfectly lined cut, that effortless posture like he wasn’t trying to impress anybody — and failing miserably.

Michael.

He didn’t move at first, but just watched. His eyes were dark, and his expression was unreadable.

You couldn't help but away... But you looked back.

And he was still watching.

He made his way over slow — deliberate — weaving through bodies like the room wasn’t even crowded. You felt your stomach flip once.

Then twice.

“Hi,” he said simply. Deep. Calm. Like the start of something.

You tilted your head. “Hi.”

Michael smiled. “You from here?”

“Nope.” You replied cooly, popping the 'p'. The name of the game was keeping your cool. Because here he was, smelling like the most expensive cologne out, towering over you, eyes trained on your gaze.

“Visiting?”

You nodded. “Girls’ trip.”

His eyes dropped for just a second — to your lips, then back. “Well… I’m glad you came.”

You raised a brow. “Why?”

“’Cause otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here about to embarrass myself.”

You blinked onece, then smiled. “You shoot your shot like that with everybody?”

“Only the ones who can make me forget my drink order.”

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[sc0tters]

Comforts and Kisses | Will Smith & Macklin Celebrini

summary: when the sharks lose another game there is only one person Macklin and Will want to see, you.

request: yes/no

warnings: throuple, minor to minimal swearing

word count: 1.09k

authors note: hello loves! this is our first attempt at a throuple that had nothing to do with a threesome and I have to say that I actually really enjoyed this little piece, so if you saw my post I am tempted to turn this into a drabble series so let me know if it is something you guys want because it would be driven by what you guys want to see. this is apart of the one shot wonder event which still has space for requests if you are interested!

The boys were feeling rough after the loss. 

You already knew they were coming straight to yours after the game after you couldn’t make it, needing to get course work done. They always felt like they didn’t do as well when you weren’t in the crowd. Nevertheless, they understood that your studies took priority “baby?” Macklin called out as he opened the door to your apartment “living room!” You got up, not entirely sure where your boys wanted to go. Sometimes they’d arrive, desperate for a shower, sometimes it was dinner, and other times it was just wanting to hold you. 

Their footsteps were heavy against your floorboards “shouldn’t have left your door unlocked.” Will clicked his tongue, seeing you in one of his hoodies “didn’t know if you guys had your keys.” You explained that Macklin was notorious for forgetting his key at yours. 

But whatever potential argument was about to start, was cut off when you saw how the younger boy’s cheeks were tear-stained “sweet boy.” You sighed, opening your arms for Macklin to walk straight into them. 

He instantly melted into your touch “we played like shit today.” His words made you frown when your fingers ran through his hair “you tried.” You shook your head “you both did.” Will didn’t often need to be comforted by you but that didn’t mean that he didn’t like to be acknowledged. 

Your way with words often made Macklin feel better “yeah maybe you should tell your dad about that.” Your dad was the coach of the team so Will sometimes took his anger out on you “yeah I’ll make sure to bring it up during family dinner and I’ll even tell him that I’m fucking two of his players.” You scoffed, hating how the blonde would let his feelings about your dad choose how he reacted to you sometimes. 

Will felt his lips push into a thin line “please don’t fight.” Macklin pleaded, running his fingers along you the waistband of your shoulders “not tonight.” His words were soft while he kissed your collarbone. 

You both felt bad looking at the younger boy “you’re right.” You ran your fingers along his cheek before pulled him into a kiss. Macklin felt your tongue run along his lower lip before you pulled away. 

His cheeks were red, making you smile “I am sorry.” You apologised to Will, watching him rake his fingers through his hair “me too.” He motioned to you to come closer to him. 

Will couldn’t help but sigh “it has been a rough week.” The boys had lost three games on the bounce so they were looking forward to a few days off “how can I help you?” Will loved how caring you always were and he made that known as he kissed your forehead. 

A smile formed in Macklin’s face seeing you two okay again “I honestly just want to forget about the last few days.” Will’s confession came as you pressed a peck against his lips, assuming that he meant sex “you wanna pick a movie for us Mack?” The offer made his teammate’s eyes light up. 

Will squeezed your hand “maybe later for that, Mack has been talking about a cuddle all day.” Your cheeks turned red feeling the older boy kiss your earlobe as he whispered his words to you. 

Macklin sat on the couch with the remote in his hand as he stared at the screen “don’t go sitting anywhere that isn’t right here baby.” He patted the side of the couch next to him as it was your usual spot “you coming with us?” It was a two-seater couch but they often found themselves sat resting against you as you’d play with their hair. 

Will nodded, sending you a smile when he sat down before he pulled you into his lap “fast and furious baby?” You asked watching Macklin press play “you okay with that?” He never wanted to disappoint you so he was constantly double-checking. 

You softly smiled tapping your chest “c’mere.” Macklin didn’t need to be told twice as he rested his head on your shoulder “thank you.” He kissed your neck, not entirely sure how else to please you in that moment. 

Will mimicked his teammates actions as he too begun to nip at your neck “fuck.” You caught your lower lip between your teeth as you arched your back against the couch “you good?” Will reached, watching Macklin lean up to your lips. 

The younger boy teased you, letting his lips dance over yours “thought I was meant to be making you both feel better?” You breathed wanting to pull Macklin closer to you. 

And the younger boy wasn’t going to stop you from that as his lips grazed yours “you being here makes us feel better sweet girl.” Will cooed seeing how his words made you smile “shush it’s getting to a good part!” Macklin grumbled, shooting the both of you a glare before he rested his head back on your shoulder. 

The boy brought your hand into his hair, emphasising what he wanted from you “bossy.” Will mouthed making you smile as you kissed the younger boys head. The blonde ran his fingers over your thigh, he knew he should have been watching the movie but still feeling a little irritated, he loved how you looked in his hoodie. 

His eyes staring at you made your thighs press together “such a pretty girl.” The blonde boy mumbled resting his head on your other shoulder, opting to behave for the night as his hand sat on your stomach. Softly, he pushed your hoodie up to reveal your skin. He knew your stomach was sensitive and he played into that when he looked up at you. 

Macklin was just watching the movie, occasionally turning his head to kiss you ��stop it.” You warned Will after he had been the one to turn you down earlier “I just wanna feel what my hoodie has got to feel all day.” Will whispered into your ear with a smirk. 

His calloused fingers were rough against your soft skin “don’t remember telling you to take it.” It had been in his own closet, so you took it when you were over having out with them “looks so much better on me, though, don’t it?” You winked blowing him a kiss before Macklin sucked at his teeth. 

The brunette reached up to grab your jaw with two of his fingers “watch it doll.” He ordered wanting you both to shut up because at least then you focus on playing with his hair. 

[andyoullhearitagain]

Every Starfleet Uniform Ranked By How Annoying The Sleeve Is To Sew, Part 2

Part 1

6. TOS Men's Uniform:

Here we have 1. Quite a severe curve 2. with a zipper in it 3. an invisible zipper at that 4. with pattern matching through the zipper at the collar

5. in velour (slippery). Woof.

7. Disco:

OK we've got two points of pattern matching, but they don't have to be too precise because they've got this round shiny striped piece between them. Of course that piecing means we're basically setting a sleeve in twice, but I will concede that the stretch will be more forgiving than a woven would be. Add in the piecing on the bicep and two different sticky rubber-y fabrics for further difficulty. 

8. TNG Version 2B and Voyager:

All the work of a tailored sleeve with an added inverse corner in an intersection of four seams.

PLUS two points of pattern matching, which is very tricky in an armsyce because you're trying to get the pitch right. You can see in TNG they often have trouble with it and have either a jog in the pattern matching

or too much ease in the wrong place to force the pattern to match.

They seem to have figured it out by Voyager though. I'm also fairly certain they have raglan shoulder pads in them instead of regular ones, which isn't really harder I guess but is a bit odd (no shade, they're incredibly flattering).

9. DS9/ TNG Movies:

All the difficulties of the TNG armscye and now we've added trim, meaning we really have four points of pattern matching instead of two. I could be persuaded that the contrast pieces are applied over the upper sleeve piece instead of pieced, which is easier than what TNG is doing.

10. Enterprise:

I think this is regular raglan sleeve and not some kind of half raglan/half set in sleeve like we see in TNG. Either way it's a bit easier than the TNG sleeve because the trim and yoke are applied on top and top stitched. But we've still got that mitered corner in our bias trim and our four points of pattern matching on the shoulder seam. And then we've also added like four zippers!!!

11. Picard:

What did the stitchers do to this designer? FOUR inverse corners (I guess at least it doesn't intersect a seam this time) PLUS the piecing at the cuff, PLUS all the pattern matching at the armscye, and all in stretch (I think). The only reason it's not the most difficult sleeve is because it looks fairly flat and I bet if you do a nice tight hand baste you can get everything lined up on the first try. Also this is not strictly speaking part of the sleeve but those little corners in the yoke? Good grief.

12. TNG Version 2A:

Never in my life have I seen an armscye like this. What is this even called? How do you construct it? I suppose I would sew the sleeve pieces together, set them in the armscye, then sew the raglan/yoke pieces together at the shoulder seam and then stitch them all the way across the front and then all the way across the back. But good grief. The ONLY other sleeve I could find remotely like this is this 1940s Simplicity pattern (it's on ebay if you want it).

With a few added seams you can imagine what these pattern pieces must look like.

13. TNG Version 1:

All the malarkey of 2A except you've got to do it in spandex. I'd pick wool any day. We also have a second yoke (?!) so now we have to do that little inverse corner TWICE and also add piping. Never in my life have I done an intersection of piping correctly the first time.

And then on top of all that it's ugly. Terrible sewing experience. Worst sleeve in Star Trek *bangs gavel*.