#need chocolate or cake or something but THERE IS NONE

[starlostastronaut]

SURPRISE TO GO

kim seungmin × reader - fluff, non idol au, coffee shop au, barista!seungmin - 1.1k

summary - seungmin spends his birthday working because his friends are busy. but are they really?

links - masterlist

yall i finally finished this. i forgot about seung's birthday and none of my drafts felt right so i wrote this quickly today. it's still 22nd in korea so i'm still on time. happy seungmin day! happy birthday my love! <333

no proofread and written in hurry. i hope you still enjoy and let me know your thoughts! <3

The bell rang above your head as you entered the small café. There were not many people inside at this hour. It was nearing the evening and the café was slowly going to sleep, people leaving and employees cleaning the emptying tables. You looked over the place, your eyes stopping at the coffee station. There he was, busy with preparing drinks and looking stupidly hot while doing it. Nope, focus, not the time for that now.

You felt it was a crime to make Seungmin work on his birthday, but volunteered anyway, when another barista called in that morning with food poisoning. When you asked why he did it, he just replied why not, the extra money was always worth it and his friends were busy anyway today.

Which was true. But not for the reason Seungmin thought. Ever since this morning, your secret group chat was blowing up with things going wrong. First the cake you ordered arrived damaged, then the restaurant canceled on you at the last minute… it was always something. Even now, you felt your phone constantly buzzing in your pocket.

You found yourself at a quiet corner table, where Seungmin wouldn't immediately see you from where he was and you took out your phone, dreading whatever catastrophe was awaiting you. Rolling your eyes at the chat name (seriously, who let Hyunjin name it?) you opened the messages.

SEUNGMINNIE'S BIRTHDAY BONANZA CLUB

sunshine baby sent a photo

sunshine baby: me and minho-hyung just saved the day!!

work of ART: wow the cake looks amazing lix

work of ART: me and changbin-hyung are almost done with wrapping the presents

work of ART: btw who's idea was it to do everything with pochacco paper? i hate that damn dog now he's everywhere 😭

devil bunny: stop being dramatic hyunjin you volunteered 🙄

DAD(dy): karaoke reservation for 7pm confirmed

DAD(dy): get your asses here and help innie with decorating

Oh. Finally some good news. You quickly responded to the guys, deciding on when to bring Seungmin to the karaoke. Checking the time, you realized you had about an hour left before Seungmin's shift ends and you need to somehow get him to the karaoke, where there is a surprise party waiting for him. Hopefully. But you trusted Chan that he can handle his six chaotic kids and nothing would go wrong again.

Deciding to make your presence known, you walked up to the counter. “Hey Seung,” you said, leaning your forearms on the counter as you checked the menu. “I'll have… whatever this is.” You pointed to the picture of this month's special drink, not daring to guess what was inside. But it looked big and complicated enough to hopefully fill some of the hour you had.

“Y/N.” Seungmin looked up in surprise, his lips immediately stretching into a soft smile when he saw it was you. He looked almost surprised to see you there. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see my favourite boy,” you smiled. “And because he's working today…” You looked up, your eyes meeting his. Looking into Seungmin's eyes was always an experience. His dark, deep, chocolate eyes held the stars of the universe in them and you often found yourself weak to the love you saw when he looked at you. Sometimes, it took all your willpower to not avert your gaze. It felt like a bright beam of the sun, blinding and warm at the same time. And you weren't backing now.

If Seungmin's coworker was here, he would have by now uttered some ridiculous comment about the very obvious tension and to get a room. Luckily for you, Jongho was cleaning up spilled coffee, facing away from you.

“I wouldn't drink that if I were you,” Seungmin chuckled. What? Oh right, you were ordering a drink.

“Why not? It looks… fun?”

“It's disgusting as fuck.” Seungmin quickly looked around, letting out a relieved sigh when his manager was nowhere to be seen. “Our manager keeps coming up with insane things, but it went downhill after the first one. I'll make you your usual?” he offers instead.

You chuckled at his answer. He was the expert here. “Sure, thank you baby.”

Seungmin winked at you and began making your usual order. Moving away to not stand in the way but to have a good view of your boyfriend still, you leaned on the counter.

You loved watching Seungmin to do just about anything. He moved with practiced ease, knowing the steps by heart. If you woke him up at midnight and told him to do something, he would excel at it half asleep. He was calm, confident and always knew what to do. It was hot.

“There you go.” Seungmin slid your drink over to you and you smiled when you saw a cookie next to the cup.

“Is this the girlfriend privilege?” you laughed, carefully unwrapping the cookie and breaking it in half. You waited for when Seungmin was free again to call him over and feed him half of the cookie as he laughed and protested he's on the clock and shouldn't. As it turned out, bothering Seungmin was a great way to pass up your time and before you knew it, he was clocking out and offering his hand to you so you could leave together.

You led Seungmin to the karaoke, making up a lie about how you wanted to eat dinner together to explain why you weren't taking the usual route back to his and Felix's place.

“Karaoke?” Seungmin raised his eyebrow when you arrived in front of the building.

“You like singing and the buffet is great?” you shrugged, pulling him inside.

You made your way to one of the rooms, leading Seungmin into the darkness. “Happy birthday Seungmin!” the guys shouted as you flicked on the light, revealing your friends, balloons and gifts wrapped in matching wrapping paper and the cake Felix and Minho made.

While Seungmin stared in shock, you grabbed your present, lining up with the guys to congratulate him. “Thank you, Y/N,” Seungmin smiled as he received the box and you knew it wasn't just for the gift.

Later you watched him unwrap the presents with a glass of champagne in hand, enjoying his reactions to the gifts of all sorts. Sentimental ones, nice ones, and Minho's. That one deserved its special category, because the way he doubled over in laughter when he saw the shorts and couldn't show you for a solid two minutes, was something you very rarely saw. His eyes sparkled, barely visible with how much he laughed and that would forever be your favourite sight.

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[inkspiredwriting]

Wedding Woes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Planning a wedding should be a joyous occasion, but for Five Hargreeves and his fiancée Y/N, it quickly turned into a battlefield of hilarious disagreements. From the moment they decided to tie the knot, every decision seemed to spark a new debate.

“Chocolate!” Five declared, arms crossed, as they sat in the office of Sweet Sensations, the premier bakery in town.

“Red velvet!” Y/N countered, her eyes sparkling with determination.

The baker, caught between the two, held up a tentative hand. “We could do a combination cake?”

Five and Y/N turned to her, then back to each other, shaking their heads simultaneously. “Nope.”

“What’s wrong with red velvet?” Y/N argued, her brow furrowing. “It’s elegant and delicious.”

Five scoffed. “Chocolate is a classic. And I don’t trust a cake that’s named after a fabric.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “What about the design?”

“Simple and clean,” Five said, envisioning a minimalistic cake.

Y/N, however, had other ideas. “I was thinking something with a little more... flair. Maybe some flowers, intricate designs—”

Before Five could retort, Klaus burst into the bakery, trailed by Diego and Luther. “Hey, lovebirds! How’s the cake tasting going?”

Five sighed. “We’re just... debating the finer points.”

Klaus waggled his eyebrows. “Why not go with a giant rainbow cake? It’s festive!”

Diego chuckled. “I vote for something with bacon on it.”

Luther just looked confused. “Do people put bacon on cakes?”

The baker looked like she might faint.

In the end, they settled on a layered cake with alternating tiers of chocolate and red velvet, topped with simple but elegant decorations. It wasn’t exactly what either had envisioned, but it was a compromise—a word that Five was rapidly learning to accept.

Next on the list was the music. Five preferred a live jazz band, while Y/N was leaning toward a playlist of their favorite songs.

“Jazz sets the mood,” Five insisted, adjusting his tie as they met with a potential band leader in their living room.

“Yeah, the mood for a 1920s speakeasy,” Y/N shot back. “We need something more modern, something we can really dance to.”

The band leader, an older gentleman with a pencil-thin mustache, interjected. “We can do a mix, if you’d like?”

Before either could respond, Viktor wandered in, carrying his violin. “Need a musician? I can play Anything you want.”

Five perked up. “Can you do jazz?”

Viktor nodded. “Of course. But I also know some contemporary pieces.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “What about ‘You Are the Best Thing’ by Ray LaMontagne?”

Viktor smiled. “I can do that.”

Five threw up his hands. “Fine, let’s have Viktor play. Just... not too much Ray LaMontagne.”

Klaus sauntered in, a mischievous grin on his face. “I could DJ! Imagine the fun we’d have with a mix of 80s pop and punk rock!”

Five stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

When it came to decorations, Five wanted sleek and modern, while Y/N envisioned a romantic, rustic theme.

“We need string lights and mason jars,” Y/N said, flipping through a wedding magazine.

Five groaned. “We’re not having a Pinterest wedding. How about something more sophisticated? Like geometric centerpieces.”

“Geometric?” Y/N laughed. “What are we, hosting a math conference?”

Lila, who had shown up uninvited but was enjoying the chaos, added her two cents. “I think you should go with a theme park idea. Imagine—carnival games, cotton candy, maybe even a Ferris wheel!”

Y/N laughed. “Actually, that sounds kind of fun.”

Five buried his face in his hands. “We’re not turning our wedding into a circus.”

In the end, they settled on a rustic-chic blend with some modern touches—fairy lights and mason jars for Y/N, and sleek tableware and geometric designs for Five. It was a mix that surprisingly worked, combining the best of both their visions.

Even the wedding invitations were a source of contention. Five wanted them to be minimalist and elegant, while Y/N wanted something more whimsical and colorful.

“This font is too boring,” Y/N complained, staring at the sample invite. “It doesn’t scream ‘fun.’”

Five rubbed his temples. “We’re not throwing a rave, Y/N. We’re getting married. It should be timeless.”

Klaus, had another idea. “Why not go with a pop-up invitation? Like those 3D books! People would love that.”

Five shot him a look. “We’re not making pop-up books, Klaus.”

Despite the disagreements, the wedding day arrived, and everything was miraculously coming together. Five and Y/N stood at the altar, their family and friends gathered around them. The setting was a perfect blend of their styles—rustic yet sophisticated, whimsical yet elegant.

As they exchanged vows, Five couldn’t help but smile at Y/N. Despite their differences, their love for each other had only grown stronger through the process. It was clear that, no matter the debates, they were perfect for each other.

When they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause, and Klaus, predictably, started a slow clap that turned into an impromptu chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Five’s siblings had their mishaps—Klaus accidentally spilled champagne on Viktor’s suit, Lila got into a friendly wrestling match with Allison over the bouquet, and Luther accidentally triggered a sound system malfunction that blasted “Never Gonna Give You Up” at full volume during the toasts.

At the end of the night, as they danced under the twinkling lights, Five pulled Y/N close and whispered, “You know, despite all the chaos, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Not even the part where we almost had a bacon cake?”

Five chuckled. “Not even that. Well... maybe a little.”

Y/N laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, Five Hargreeves. Even if you have terrible taste in cakes.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arms around her. “And I love you, Y/N Hargreeves. Even if you have questionable taste in everything else.”

As they swayed to the music, surrounded by their chaotic but loving family, Five realized that the debates, the compromises, and the occasional disaster were all part of what made their love story uniquely theirs.

And for Five and Y/N, that was all they ever wanted.

[countrycrackheads]

sugar service

pt. 1

cw: didn’t proof read this, cussing, writing practice. best of luck.

“Hot damn!”

“Smash, smash, smash, uh… yeah, him too. Smash.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh as the other waitresses eyed your table. The three of you were waiting at the hostess post on a particularly slow day. The only customers was your table of four. Some older guys your friends just couldn’t seem to get enough of.

“Please,” you mumbled. “They’re old enough to be our dads.” Your eyes flicked up from the magazine in your hands to your coworkers. The three girls were giggling and occasionally glancing over their shoulders.

“Yeah, that's the best part!” Your coworker, Rona replied before glancing back again. “Older guys are experienced and typically have pretty big… savings.” She grinned at you, her eyes narrowing coyly.

“God-!” you scoffed, choking down your surprised guffaw. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Ignoring their giggles and teasing, you push yourself off of the wall you were leaning against to approach your table. Your eyes roamed over the four men, taking in how their shirts clung perfectly to their muscles. A few gray hairs here and there, but their physiques certainly made up for their age.

Caught up in your ogling, you slammed your hip into the corner of their table. The oldest of the men quickly grabbed the edge of the table to steady it.

“Fuck…” Your hand immediately slapped over your mouth in shock, remembering that you were in front of customers. The men chuckled, eyeing each other before turning back to look at you.

“Careful there, sweetheart. Can’t ’ave a pretty little thing like you bruising up,” one of the men, a particularly dashing man with a mohawk, chastised you. His eyes scanned yours before slowly raking down your form.

Letting out a shaky sigh of relief that they were cool and not some uptight old asses, you smiled. A genuine smile, not the customer service lip curl you were so used to doing. “I would like to apologize for that, gentlemen.” After a few seconds, you quickly added, “Please don’t tell my manager.”

With languid waves and laughs, they shook their heads and sipped their beverages in amusement. “There ain’t anything to tell.” A man with a scarred face stared, boring his eyes into you. He seemed to be deep in thought before giving his head a slight nod—something the other men quickly noted.

“Thank you.” You took a deep breath now that the anxiety of possibly losing this shitty job passed. “Is there anything I can get you, gentlemen? Drinks, dessert?”

“Your number?” He looked at you expectantly, a handsome man. The youngest of the bunch, no doubt.

Dealing with flirty old customers was a piece of cake. It’s what got the tips going. But typically they were vile old men you would never touch with a 10-foot pole. These guys were quite palatable. Very palatable.

“Well,” you laughed nervously. Perhaps Rona had a point. These men had a way of making a girl’s tummy flutter like it never has before. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you that, sir.”

“Kyle.”

“Pardon?” You blinked at him, furrowing your brows.

“Call me Kyle.” Another dashing smile sent butterflies thrashing in your belly.

“None of that sir shit. Makes us feel too damn old.” The men grumbled with bitter chuckles. “Johnny.” The man with the mohawk dismissively pat your hip, gripping the tender flesh of your forming bruise. “That old sap is John. And the brooding fella is Simon.”

“Piss off,” Simon grumbled, certainly living up to the broody title.

An amused giggle shook her shoulders, your hand subconsciously resting over Johnny’s. “It’s lovely meeting you all. So how about that dessert?” You inquired, grabbing the paper centerfold that listed off the desserts of the weeks. “The chocolate chunk brownies are pretty good and the cheesecake here is lovely paired with...”

The men rose from their table, completely ignoring your rambles. “That won’t be needed, love.” John’s hand rested on your shoulder, perhaps a bit too close to your chest.

“You give us a call when you’re ready.” Johnny stood beside you, his breath flicking against the shell of your ear. His hot, tipsy breath made you shiver and recoil.

Kyle only chuckled, gracefully slipping a business card into your pocket. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be working.” There it was again. That dashing smile that turned your knees into jelly.

“Give us a call.” Simon grumbled from the table. Glancing at him, you noticed the thick wad of cash he was leaving behind on the table.

“Sir, that’s too much.”

“Enjoy your tip.” Johnny pat your hip dismissively, sauntering away shortly after. John and Kyle followed behind him.

In complete disbelief, you nervously laughed. “Holy shit…” You shakily picked up the wad of cash left behind on the table. Simon quietly stood behind you, casting his shadow over your body. His eyes slowly raked down your back.

“See you ‘round,” he mumbled, not surprised as you jumped out of your skin in shock at his presence. Moments later, he was out of the place, nothing left but an empty establishment.

With shaky fingers, you plucked the business card out of your pocket.

Sugar Service Call (555)141-6157

[throneofsmut]

Sweet Little Prince

Dorian Havilliard x Reader || WC: 1.9k || Warnings: None

Summary: Dorian finds out he has a son he didn’t know about. Based on this req.

A/N: Whoever req this i hope you like it. Idk if this is what you expected but it’s what came to mind.

****

Your son had finally fallen asleep causing you to let out a relieved sigh as you brush back his raven-black curls from his face.

A smile gracing your lips before placing a kiss on his forehead and quietly making your way out of his room, heading down stairs back to the kitchen.

You find Rowan putting the chocolate cake into the oven to bake.

“You finished it?” you ask as you step up beside the oven. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I didn’t know how long you’d be.” He replies without looking over his shoulder at you. “And I know you want to get the recipe just right for his birthday tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

He gives you a nod before rising to his full height again and moving to the sink to wash his hands. “Your sister wants to talk to you.”

“About what?” You lean on the island that’s in the middle of the kitchen.

Rowan turns around facing you as he dries his hands. He doesn’t say anything until he’s done and places the damp towel on the counter. “About you being Queen of Terrasen and ruling beside her. Together.”

You shake your head, brows furrowed, “Since the war ended, I think I made it pretty clear I don’t want to be Queen.”

“Why?”

“I told you, why already. You, Aelin and Aedion. I don’t want it.”

“Tell me again.”

“Rowan—“

“Tell me.”

Letting out an annoyed sigh, glaring at him for a moment before telling him. Again. “I don’t want to rule. I don’t want a crown or a throne. I have no taste for duty. I’m not suited for it.”

He crosses his arms across his chest. “Have you ever considered that, the best ruler, might be someone who doesn’t want to rule?”

A small chuckle slips through your lips earning a glare from him. “No, I don’t. Because I don’t want it.”

“Your sister just thinks that—“

Aelin walks through the front door of your cottage, “I just think that, it’d be safer for both of you if you moved into the castle and were crowned. She reaches the two of you in a few long strides. “You would be Queen and he”—your son—“would be the crowned Prince.”

Now it’s your turn to cross your arms across your chest. “He’s technically already a prince and I’m capable of keeping us both safe here—in our home. We don’t need to be in the castle.”

Your sister’s—your twin’s— face softens and she walks up to you. “I know he is,” she says gently. “I know you are. . . but please think about it. And if you don’t want to be Queen here, what about Adarlan? Dorian keeps asking about you.”

“Aelin,” you sigh, “you’ve been telling me to ‘think’ about it for two years now and I don’t want it. Or Adarlan’s”

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can your son’s voice cuts her off.

“Mommy?” he calls out. “Mommy, where are you?”

“Coming, baby,” you call back.

Aelin steps back and you make your way upstairs to his room. As soon as you walk into his room he sits up in his bed. “I hear Aunty Aelin and Uncle Wowan, downstairs.”

“Did they wake you up?” You ask as you sit on the side of his bed.

He nods his head, rubbing his eyes—one sapphire blue and one bright ashryver blue, ringed with gold—“Can I say ‘hi’?”

You breathe out a small laugh, nodding, “You can say ‘hi’ but then you have to go back to sleep.”

He nods his head and lifts his arms for you to pick him up.

You head back downstairs with him in your arms. His head resting on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around you.

Aelin and Rowan both walk up to meet you, closing the distance. “How’s my favorite nephew?” Aelin coos.

“He’s your only nephew,” Rowan points out. Which earns him a glare from your sister.

“Say ‘hi,’ baby.”

“Hi, Aunty Aelin. Hi Uncle Wowan.” His little voice is still thick with sleep.

They both greet him back with loving smiles.

“Why are you awake, little prince? We trained a lot today.” Rowan asks him as he brushes a rogue raven-black curl behind his little pointed ear.

“I hear you and Aunty Aelin and I wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” Aelin praises.

Your son smiles, his cheeks dimpling, and he turns to look at you. You can’t help but beam at him in return. Your own cheeks dimpling too.

He lightly tugs a golden blonde lock of your hair before whispering—not so quietly—“I go sleep now?”

“Yeah, baby.” You chuckle before giving Aelin and Rowan a quick look and they nod back at you.

And as soon as you’re done tucking him back in he’s sleeping. You kiss his forehead before heading back down stairs, “Sweet dreams,” your whisper into his night filled room.

“Fireheart!” Rowan scolds your sister as she shoves a forkful of steaming chocolate cake into her mouth.

She spits it out before even chewing it and you frown. “That bad?”

She shakes her head, brows furrowing sadly, “No. It’s too hot.”

“I told you to wait,” Rowan grumbles.

“Anyways,” you drawl out. “Why’d you come so late, Aelin?”

“My meetings ran long today and I had an unexpected visitor come.” She blows on a new forkful of cake to cool it down. “They’re going to be visiting for the week.”

You arch a brow, “Who?”

“A friend.”

Your gaze slid to Rowan, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I’ve been here all day.” And he was right. He’d been here since the morning teaching and training your son because the raw magic he’d inherited from his father began showing.

And a two—practically three—year old with raw magic and fae ancestry needed to be taught control early it seemed.

Also because fae males—even half fae males were deadly. Rowan and Aedion knew that so they came and helped you teach your son control. Fenrys and Lorcan had given up after your son had learned to summon fire and burned off their eyebrows.

Aelin groaned as she chewed a new bite of cake. “Good?” you asked. She nodded, still not finished chewing her first bite before getting another. “Are you still going to be able to make it to his birthday tomorrow?”

She gave you a look as if to say, Obviously, before finally telling you with words. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Your sister and Rowan said their goodnights and Rowan had to practically drag her out because she was still trying to eat the chocolate cake. So to make it easier for both of them you just told her to take the whole thing with her. Her eyes glinted as soon as the words left your mouth.

You woke up early the next day to get everything ready for your son's third birthday and you had practically finished setting up and getting ready by the time Aedion and Lysandra came to help set up.

An hour later the rest of Aelin’s court—your little family—arrived.

Everyone was enjoying themselves and eating while your son and Lorcan and Elide’s daughter played together while Evangeline watched over them.

You got up from the table to go get the cake, still needing to frost it and add the candles.

Aedion rose with you, “Do you need help?”

Giving him a small smile as you gestured for him to sit back down, “No, I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be quick.” You reassured him.

Setting the cake on the counter that was in front of the window where you could still see your son playing with his cousins. He was conjuring fishes with his water magic and making them dive in and out of the lake in front of him. His cheeks dimpled as he laughed along with the girls.

You were so distracted by your son and the cake that you didn’t hear anyone walk in until they called your name.

“Y/n?” He called.

You stilled as your heart dropped before slowly turning around. The frosting spatula clutched so tightly in your hand your knuckles were white.

“Dorian,” you breathed.

He was still as beautiful as you remembered him. Tall, tan skin, sapphire eyes and raven-black hair. But, he was broader now—more muscular. And in place of the black collar that was around his neck the last time you saw him was a pale line.

“Why— How—“ he stammered.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m visiting. . . I got here yesterday evening and Aelin said you were all celebrating a birthday and invited me.” You were going to kill her.

“You settled.” He pointed out, his eyes taking you in.

Even though he wasn’t necessarily asking, you responded anyway. “Yes.”

“How? You’re twenty, I thought you weren’t going to settle for a few more years.”

“I didn’t think so either, but, uh, I actually settled while I was pregnant.”

Dorian’s face flickered with so many different emotions before he schooled his features and simply asked, “Pregnant?”

“Yeah. . . and not only did I settle but my son’s magic made me fully fae.” You didn’t know why you were just telling him everything. “The healers don’t know how either, but him being half fae confirmed it.”

“Son?”

“It’s his birthday today,” you told him.

Dorian’s mouth opened, but before he could say anything your son’s laugh drifted all the way back to the cottage and cut him off. His sapphire eyes shot to the window and he sucked in a sharp breath.

There was no denying the resemblance. He knew he was the father of your son.

His gaze turned back to you and there was so much pain and regret in his eyes but hope too. Maybe even love. “Why didn’t you tell me?” was all he said though.

“I was going to,” you admitted. “But before I got the chance to,” your voice cracked, “your father ordered you to kill me when he found me trying to talk to you.” A tear rolled down your cheek and he stepped closer to you and wiped it away. “So I ran. To keep us both”—your son and you—“alive.”

Your words weren’t malicious, just honest.

“You don’t remember?”

His eyes were still on you as he shook his head before looking out through the window again. “I missed so much,” he whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry.”

Dorian pulled you into a hug, “Don’t be. You’re both here. Safe and alive. That’s all I care about.” His words made you cry harder and he only held you tighter and kissed the top of your head.

You both were so caught up in your own world that you didn’t hear the little footsteps that bounded into the kitchen.

“Mommy?” Your son called and you and Dorian pulled apart.

He walked up to you and you crouched down to get to his level. “Why you crying?” He asked, his small hands wiping away your tears.

“I’m just so happy, my sweet little prince.”

He smiled and turned to look at Dorian. “Are you mommy’s friend?”

Dorian chuckled as he crouched down too, tears welling up in his eyes, as he looked at a small version of himself. “Yes. Her best friend.”

Your son smiled impossibly wider and stuck his hand out towards him and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Dowian.”

Dorian looked at you and this time a tear fell. He cleared his throat, taking your son’s hand, “Hi, Dorian. My name is Dorian too.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Cookies III

Laura Coombs x Reader

Summary: Laura comes home to something she doesn't like

Meeting you had been the greatest accident of Laura's life.

Something that she mused about all the time when she drove home from practice.

It had been snowing earlier in the day, the whole city covered in a soft, white fleece of snow that had Laura's toes freezing in her football boots all practice.

That snow had turned to hail on the one day of the year that Laura had to walk home from training because her car was getting serviced. Originally, she thought that it was snowing and she'd always enjoyed snow even if it made her toes so cold that it was like they were about to freeze off.

Then the hail hit and she was left without an umbrella and freezing cold toes. The hail got harder and harder and Laura was forced to take refuge in whatever the first shop she came across was to wait it out.

You called it a coincidence. She called it fate.

She'd stumbled into the bakery you owned and fell in love on the spot. You were behind the counter, boxing up the pastries that hadn't sold that day when she came sliding in.

You'd welcomed her in, guided her to the back and turned on the oven for her to prop her cold toes in front of to warm up.

You'd baked her a cake at that moment, a big one that tied her over until the hail was done and she could make it home for dinner.

Although she never exactly made it home for dinner. She took you to a restaurant instead, somewhere halfway between cosy and fancy where you spoke about everything that came to mind and earned her your number in return.

She returned to the bakery almost every day to help you lock up and walk home.

Now, you had nearly four years of marriage under your belt and a dog going through the teenage years.

"Hey, Butterscotch," Laura greeted the dog as she stepped through the door.

She hung up her coat and slipped off her shoes, freezing suddenly when she noticed the amount of shoes lined up next to yours. She wildly looked up at the coat rack where coats she recognised hung up over your own.

The voices coming from the kitchen were also recognisable and she stormed into the room.

Her teammates were scattered around.

Lauren and Esme were both sitting at the table while Sandy and Jill were actually sitting on the table, each of them munching on warm cookies with half-melted chocolate chips inside.

Leila and Laia were stroking Butterscotch (the traitor), who had happily trotted straight up to them and flopped onto her back for belly scratches.

Kerstin, Bunny and Jess were sitting up on the counters while Alex and Kelly were both standing by the mixing bowls, listening closely to your instructions.

"How," Laura said through gritted teeth," Did you all get here before me?!"

"Must've taken a detour," Alex said dismissively," Why, Coombsy, unhappy to see us?"

"I see you all for hours at training," Laura replied, arms crossed over her chest," I don't need to see you at my house. What are you doing here?!"

"Baking," Chloe said," What does it look like?"

Laura grumbled something unintelligible under her breath before swiping a hand over her face. "Obviously. But why? None of you are bakers."

"Chloe had an idea," Kerstin admitted, swiping a finger through the batter and sucking it off with a pop," About selling cookies and cakes and stuff at the games to raise money for charity."

"It's not really special if they're store bought," Chloe carried on," So Alex called the best baker we know and here we are."

"Don't worry, baby," You told your wife, pealing away from supervising the mixing to pull her into a hug," They're all going to be put to work eventually. Maybe you can make some of them help you clear out the backyard shed while everything bakes."

Most of the team go wide eyed.

You'd be complaining about the messy shed for nearly two years now and Laura kept putting off sorting it out until she had help and, with her whole team here, it look like she had all the help she needed.

"Excellent," She said, eyes alight with the idea of getting revenge for the invasion of her house. "Esme, Lauren, there's boxes in the garage. Kerstin, Leila-"

"You can't take Leila," You cut in," I've got her down for making my filling. And you can't have Laia either because she's meant to be making my cupcake frosting."

Laura nodded. "Okay, Jess, then. You guys can get the shovels out. Move it girls. Let's go!"

Alexa and Chloe snickered and Laura whirled on them.

"Don't start laughing now," She said," Because I'm coming back for you two as soon as you're done."

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[wonyowonyo]

Flavors of Love (M. Sana X M! Reader)

My first 3rd Gen Girlgroup oneshots, and it's none other than my lovely bias Sana! Nothing much to say here, and as always hope you all enjoy this one!

The bustling urban neighborhood was alive with the clamor of a thousand voices and the mouth-watering aromas of street food. Amid the chaos stood two food trucks, locked in a fierce battle for culinary supremacy. On one side was Sana's 'Sweet Eats,' a vibrant truck adorned with pastel colors and whimsical designs, offering the most delectable desserts. On the other side was Y/N's 'Savory Bites,' a sleek and modern truck serving up irresistible snacks that could make anyone's mouth water.

Sana and Y/N were the talk of the town. Their rivalry had become legendary, with each trying to outdo the other in flavor, presentation, and customer service. Sana's desserts were a symphony of sweetness, with intricate decorations and bold flavors that left customers in awe. Y/N's snacks were a carnival of savory delights, with perfectly balanced spices and innovative combinations that kept people coming back for more.

Despite their differences, the two had one thing in common: their unwavering passion for food.

It was early morning, and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. Sana was already hard at work, preparing her famous macarons. Her assistant, Momo, a bubbly young woman with a passion for baking, was by her side.

"Morning, Sana! Ready to take on Y/N today?" Momo asked with a grin.

Sana smirked. "Always. We have to make sure our desserts are perfect. The customers expect nothing less."

Just across the street, Y/N was busy prepping his ingredients for the day. His best friend and sous-chef, Eunwoo, was helping him chop vegetables for their signature sliders.

"Think we can beat Sana today, Y/N?" Eunwoo asked, glancing over at the pastel-colored truck.

Y/N chuckled. "We don't need to beat her, Eunwoo. We just need to be the best at what we do. Our food will speak for itself."

As the day progressed, the lunch crowd began to gather. People lined up at both trucks, eager to taste the delicious offerings.

"Two chocolate lava cakes and a strawberry tart, please," a customer ordered at Sana's truck.

"Coming right up!" Sana replied with a smile, her hands moving deftly to prepare the order.

Over at Y/N's truck, a group of friends was debating which snacks to try.

"Those sliders look amazing," one of them said.

"Yeah, and I've heard the spicy wings are to die for," another added.

Y/N overheard and grinned. "Why not try both? I promise you won't be disappointed."

The friends laughed and placed their order, excited to taste Y/N's creations.

By mid-afternoon, the competition between Sana and Y/N was in full swing. The aroma of sweet and savory delights filled the air, drawing even more customers.

Sana glanced over at Y/N's truck and noticed the long line of people waiting. She frowned and turned to Momo.

"We need to step it up, Momo. Let's bring out the new recipe for the salted caramel cupcakes."

Momo nodded and quickly got to work, her hands flying as she mixed the ingredients.

Meanwhile, Eunwoo was helping Y/N plate their famous nachos when he noticed Sana's truck bustling with activity.

"Looks like Sana's got something new," Eunwoo said, nodding towards 'Sweet Eats.'

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Let's see if we can surprise her with our new truffle fries."

As the evening approached, the rivalry between the two food trucks became more evident. Sana and Y/N exchanged glances and smirks, each determined to outdo the other.

During a brief lull, Y/N decided to approach Sana's truck. He leaned against the counter, a playful grin on his face.

"Hey, Sana. Heard you got something new today. Trying to keep up with me?" he teased.

Sana rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. "In your dreams, Y/N. My salted caramel cupcakes are going to be the talk of the town."

Y/N chuckled. "We'll see about that. Just wait until you try my truffle fries."

Momo watched the exchange with amusement. "You two are like an old married couple," she said, laughing.

Sana and Y/N both blushed and quickly looked away, their competitive facade momentarily cracking.

Among their regular customers were Mr. and Mrs. Kim, an elderly couple who had lived in the neighborhood for decades. They were well-known for their friendly demeanor and love for good food.

"Good evening, Sana dear," Mrs. Kim greeted as she approached 'Sweet Eats.' "We'll have our usual, please."

"Of course, Mrs. Kim. Two lemon meringue pies coming right up," Sana replied warmly.

Over at 'Savory Bites,' Mr. Kim was chatting with Y/N.

"You know, young man, I think your sliders are the best in the city," he said with a wink.

"Thanks, Mr. Kim. That means a lot," Y/N replied, genuinely touched.

The Kims were just two of the many regulars who frequented both trucks, enjoying the delicious food and the friendly rivalry between Sana and Y/N.

As the day came to a close, both food trucks began to wind down. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood. Sana and Y/N were exhausted but satisfied with their day's work.

Momo and Eunwoo were chatting nearby, discussing the day's events.

"Do you think they'll ever admit they like each other?" Momo asked, glancing at Sana and Y/N.

Eunwoo laughed. "Not a chance. They're both too stubborn. But it's fun to watch them dance around it."

Sana and Y/N exchanged a look, both aware of the unspoken connection between them. Despite their rivalry, there was a mutual respect and understanding that went beyond their competitive banter.

As they packed up for the night, Sana approached Y/N's truck one last time.

"Good job today, Y/N. Your truffle fries were amazing," she said sincerely.

Y/N smiled. "Thanks, Sana. Your salted caramel cupcakes were pretty incredible too."

They stood there for a moment, the tension between them easing. For now, the rivalry was set aside, replaced by a shared appreciation for each other's talent.

As they parted ways, both Sana and Y/N couldn't help but wonder what the future held for their food trucks���and for their unexpected connection.

————————————————————

The annual food festival was the highlight of the year for the neighborhood. Food trucks from all over the city gathered to showcase their best dishes, and the competition for the 'Best Food Truck' title was fierce. Sana and Y/N had been preparing for weeks, each determined to claim the coveted prize.

The festival was in full swing, with music playing, people laughing, and the smell of delicious food filling the air. Sana's 'Sweet Eats' was a hit, with people lining up for her famous macarons and decadent chocolate cakes. Y/N's 'Savory Bites' was no less popular, with his signature sliders and spicy wings drawing crowds.

The rivalry between Sana and Y/N was on full display. They exchanged glares and snarky comments, each trying to outshine the other. But beneath the surface, there was a grudging respect for each other's talent and dedication.

The morning of the food festival was a flurry of activity. Sana and Momo were setting up their display, making sure every dessert was perfectly arranged.

"Make sure those macarons are front and center, Momo. They need to catch people's eyes," Sana instructed.

Momo nodded, adjusting the trays. "You got it, boss. We're going to knock their socks off."

Across the festival grounds, Y/N and Eunwoo were busy grilling sliders and arranging their signature spicy wings.

"Think we're ready, Eunwoo?" Y/N asked, wiping his brow.

Eunwoo grinned. "Ready as we'll ever be. Let's show them what 'Savory Bites' is all about."

As the festival progressed, the judges began making their rounds. This year, the panel included renowned food critic, Elena Martinez, local celebrity chef, Marcus Lee, and the beloved neighborhood mayor, Mrs. Robinson.

Elena was the first to visit 'Sweet Eats.' She sampled a macaron, her eyes closing in appreciation. "Exquisite. The texture is perfect, and the flavors are bold yet balanced."

Sana beamed. "Thank you, Ms. Martinez. We strive for perfection."

Next, the judges moved to 'Savory Bites.' Marcus took a bite of a slider, his expression thoughtful. "Impressive. The spices are perfectly balanced, and the meat is tender and juicy."

Y/N nodded. "We use a special blend of spices to enhance the flavor."

As the evening wore on, Sana noticed the judges heading towards Y/N's truck again. She frowned, feeling a pang of anxiety. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she approached Y/N's truck.

"Hey, Y/N. How about a friendly wager?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "What kind of wager?"

"Whoever wins the 'Best Food Truck' title has to treat the other to dinner," Sana suggested, a challenge in her voice.

Y/N smirked. "You're on, Sana. Get ready to lose."

Just as the festival was reaching its peak, disaster struck. The entire area was plunged into darkness due to a sudden power outage. Panic spread through the crowd, but the food trucks had backup generators that kicked in, providing some relief.

However, the storage tent where all the supplies were kept was not so lucky. Sana and Y/N found themselves trapped inside, surrounded by boxes of ingredients and supplies.

"Great, just what I needed," Sana muttered, folding her arms and leaning against a stack of flour bags.

"Yeah, because being stuck with you is my idea of a good time," Y/N shot back, rolling his eyes.

Sana shot him a glare. "You could lighten up a bit, you know."

"Me? Lighten up? That’s rich coming from you," he quipped, crossing his arms defiantly.

They stood in silence for a while, the only sound the distant murmur of people outside and the occasional creak of the tent.

After what felt like an eternity, Sana broke the silence. "So, why food trucks? Why not a restaurant or something?"

Y/N glanced at her, surprised by the question. "I like the freedom. No fixed location, no overhead costs. Plus, I get to meet new people every day. What about you?"

Sana shrugged. "Same here, I guess. I love the creativity and the challenge. Every day is different, and I get to make people happy with my desserts."

"Even when it means competing against me?" he teased.

"Especially when it means competing against you!" she shot back with a laugh.

They both chuckled, the initial hostility giving way to a tentative truce.

As the night wore on, they began to talk more freely. They shared stories of their early days in the business, the challenges they had faced, and their dreams for the future.

Sana leaned back against a crate, her eyes sparkling. "I dream of opening a bakery one day, a cozy spot where people can come and enjoy my desserts. Something special."

"That sounds amazing, Sana. You’d make it a warm, inviting place," Y/N said, genuinely impressed.

Y/N spoke of his desire to start a culinary school, where he could teach others the art of cooking and inspire the next generation of chefs.

"Teaching is a big responsibility," Sana mused. "You really think you could handle it?"

"I could if I had a great assistant," he winked, causing her to laugh again.

To their surprise, they found that they had a lot in common. They both came from humble beginnings, had worked hard to get where they were, and were driven by a deep love for food.

As they talked, the atmosphere in the tent began to change. The rivalry that had defined their relationship started to fade, replaced by a growing connection. They laughed and joked, shared their hopes and fears, and found comfort in each other's company.

At one point, Sana reached for a box of supplies and accidentally brushed against Y/N's hand. They both froze, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through them.

"Sorry," Sana said, pulling back quickly, her cheeks flushing.

"It's okay," Y/N replied, his voice softer than usual. He could feel his heart racing.

Sana’s gaze fell to the ground for a moment before she looked back up at him. "You know, you’re not as unbearable as I thought."

Y/N smirked. "And you’re not as sweet as your desserts."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside the tent seemed to disappear. There was something there, something that neither of them had expected but could no longer ignore.

Just as quickly as it had gone out, the power came back on, flooding the tent with light. Sana and Y/N blinked in the sudden brightness, the spell broken.

"Well, there goes our moment," Sana said, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Yeah, back to reality," Y/N sighed, forcing a grin. They quickly gathered their supplies, the mood shifting again as they realized what had just happened.

As they stepped out of the tent, the festival atmosphere buzzed with life once more. But the tension between them had transformed; the fierce competition was now mixed with an undeniable chemistry.

————————————————————

The days following the festival were filled with hilarious and heartwarming encounters as Sana and Y/N tried to navigate their new dynamic. They still competed fiercely, each trying to outdo the other, but there was a new layer to their interactions.

One afternoon, while setting up for lunch, Sana caught Y/N glancing at her. She smiled and waved. "Enjoying the view?"

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "You wish! I was just... checking on my competition."

"Right, keep telling yourself that," she teased back.

They found themselves thinking about each other more often, wondering what the other was doing, and looking for excuses to talk. Their banter became more playful, their glances lingered a little longer, and their rivalry took on a new, more personal dimension.

However, confusion and mixed signals abounded. One day, Sana might seem distant, focusing solely on her work, while the next, she’d be laughing at Y/N’s jokes and leaning in a little too close.

One day, as they both waited in line for coffee, Y/N caught her eye. "What’s it gonna be today, Sana? Another one of those fancy frappes?"

Sana smirked, crossing her arms. "Actually, I was thinking of getting a plain black coffee. You know, to fuel my superior baking skills."

"Plain coffee for plain competition?" Y/N shot back playfully.

Sana leaned closer, a mock-serious expression on her face. "Don’t underestimate the power of simplicity."

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the familiar spark ignite again. But as they bantered, an undercurrent of tension lingered, complicating their every interaction.

However, confusion and mixed signals abounded. One day, Sana might seem distant, focusing solely on her work, while the next, she’d be laughing at Y/N’s jokes and leaning in a little too close. Y/N, too, found himself caught between wanting to keep things professional and feeling an undeniable pull towards Sana.

————————————————————

Enter Mina, a charismatic food blogger with a massive following. Mina had heard about the legendary rivalry between 'Sweet Eats' and 'Savory Bites' and decided to feature them both on their blog.

"Hey, Sana! Hey, Y/N! I'm Mina, and I run 'Foodie Frenzy.' I'd love to do a feature on both of your trucks. How about a joint interview?" Mina suggested, a camera in hand.

Sana and Y/N exchanged a look, the idea of working together both exciting and nerve-wracking.

"Sure, Mina. We'd love to," Sana said, her competitive spirit shining through.

"Let's do it," Y/N agreed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

The joint interview turned out to be a huge success. Mina's questions were insightful, and their followers loved the dynamic between Sana and Y/N. The interview ended with a challenge: Mina asked them to create a fusion dish together, combining their strengths.

"Why not?" Sana said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It could be fun."

Y/N nodded. "Let's show them what we can do."

They spent the next few weeks working together, experimenting with different flavors and techniques. They argued and laughed, challenged each other and supported each other, and in the process, grew closer than ever.

But the closer they got, the more complicated their feelings became. Sana found herself getting jealous when Y/N talked to other women, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation when Sana seemed overly friendly with male customers. Their confusion and mixed signals reached a peak one evening after a particularly heated argument over a recipe.

"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?" Sana exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Me? You're the one who insists on doing everything your way!" Y/N shot back, his eyes blazing.

They stood there, breathing heavily, the tension between them almost tangible. Suddenly, Y/N stepped closer, his voice softer. "Sana, why do we keep fighting like this? There's something here, something more than just competition."

Sana's eyes widened, her heart pounding. She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, the words stuck in her throat. "I... I don't know, Y/N. Maybe we're just too different."

Y/N looked at her, his expression pained. "Maybe. Or maybe we're just scared to admit how we really feel."

The following days were filled with awkward silences and longing glances. Both Sana and Y/N found themselves replaying their argument, questioning their feelings and what it meant for their future.

One night, Sana couldn't sleep. She decided to take a walk and found herself outside Y/N's food truck. To her surprise, the lights were on. She hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door.

Y/N opened the door, looking surprised but pleased to see her. "Sana, what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about what you said," Sana confessed, her voice trembling. "You're right. There's something here, something I've been too scared to admit."

Y/N stepped aside, letting her in. "I've been thinking about it too. Sana, I... I think I'm falling for you."

Sana looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "I think I am too, Y/N. But what if it doesn't work out? What if we ruin everything?"

Y/N took her hands in his, his gaze steady. "We'll never know unless we try. I don't want to spend another day wondering what could have been."

With that, they leaned in, their lips meeting in a gentle, tender kiss that sealed their newfound connection.

As their relationship blossomed, Sana and Y/N began to dream of a future together. One night, as they sat in a cozy café, Y/N brought up an idea.

"Sana, what if we combined our talents and opened a place together? A bakery and snack shop where we can create amazing fusion dishes and share our passion with the world."

Sana's eyes lit up with excitement. "Y/N, that sounds incredible! 'Sweet & Savory Bites'... a place where we can be partners in every sense."

The next few months were a whirlwind of activity as Sana and Y/N poured their hearts and souls into establishing 'Sweet & Savory Bites.' They found the perfect location in a bustling neighborhood, renovated the space to reflect their combined styles, and crafted a menu that showcased their unique blend of flavors.

They worked tirelessly, supporting each other through the challenges and celebrating each milestone together. Their friends and family rallied around them, offering help and encouragement every step of the way.

————————————————————

A year later, Sana and Y/N stood outside their brand new establishment: 'Sweet & Savory Bites,' a combination bakery and snack shop that had quickly become the go-to spot in the neighborhood. Their dreams had merged into one, and the community had embraced their unique blend of flavors and their inspiring story.

As they cut the ribbon, surrounded by friends, family, and loyal customers, Sana and Y/N exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Their journey had been filled with competition, collaboration, and connection, and it was only just beginning.

"Here's to sweet and savory," Y/N said, raising a glass.

"To sweet and savory," Sana echoed, clinking her glass against his.

And with that, they stepped into their future, together.

[cottonlemonade]

Plan B [part 2]

word count: 1490 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

part 1 for context

Of course your staff had immediately informed you about the display from the day before when you came in the following morning. The barista even showed you a few snapshots he had taken with his phone and as much as you hated to admit it, you would have loved to have been there to see it in person. Pictures didn’t really do him justice, you thought. “Should I send those to you, manager?”, the barista asked with a knowing smirk. When you didn’t say anything but just stoically walked past him into the kitchen, you were glad when your phone buzzed a few seconds later and a small flood of pictures appeared in your chat. You cleared your throat and got to work.

Despite his regular appearances the last couple of weeks, the guy didn’t show up again the next day. Or even the day after that.

“Maybe he actually finally gave up?”, the waitress suggested with a shrug. She was counting the receipts while the barista helped you clean the espresso maker.

“I hope not. What else are we gonna do for entertainment around here?”

“How about your job.”, you suggested.

The barista let out a theatrical groan, which earned him a dish towel to the face.

At this point, a week had passed since the last time you saw the guy and although you found your thoughts wandering to his handsome smile every so often, you decided it was most likely for the better.

It was late in the evening and the café was closed for the day. The sky was gray and obviously brewing up something unpleasant so you wanted to make sure to send your team home as quickly as possible.

Soon enough, after hugs and waves goodbye, you locked the glass door from the inside and went to the kitchen to prep food for the next day.

You had just started to mash up a bowl of overripe bananas when a soft knocking made you look up and glance through the serving hatch.

The wind outside brushed past the shops with a low whistle and you could make out a very familiar shape in the dim light of the streetlamps.

More excited than you’d like to admit you made your way to the door.

“Sorry, I’m late.”, the guy’s voice was muffled through the glass.

You pointed to the Closed sign with a raised eyebrow. He put his hands together in a silent plea.

With a very big eye roll you grabbed the keys from your apron pocket and opened the door a handwidth.

“Hi.”

“Hey there.”

“I need a cake.”

“Goodbye.”, you closed the door again.

“Please!”, he called.

You shook your head and gestured to your ear to signal you couldn’t hear him.

He thought for a moment, then took out his phone and began to type something. A few seconds later he held the screen up against the glass.

Forgot to get cake for friend’s birthday.

You pulled a notepad from your belt and wrote “unfortunate” in response.

Low rumbling of thunder made you both look to the horizon. A few moments passed in which he threw you puppy dog eyes. You sighed loudly and unlocked the door again.

Not a minute too soon. With the click of the lock the first heavy raindrop hit the windowfront.

“Thank you.”, he said with a grateful smile.

“Don’t mention it. But you will have to live with what’s left of the day. The ones for tomorrow still need to be decorated.”

He followed you to the counter, having the decency to look apologetic as you waved him to come along further to check out the cakes in the fridge.

He chose a white chocolate cake with strawberries and you carried it back to the front to pack it up.

“How has your last week been?”, he asked as you worked.

“Uhm, I made my best cinnamon rolls yet and finally found my TV remote. So pretty good, I’d say. How about you?”

“Not as good as yours apparently. Pretty busy. I had to do some traveling and give a bunch of presentations. Sorry I couldn’t come by to bring up that counter you keep on the blackboard.”

You closed your eyes and made an indefinable noise. You'd have to talk to your staff about the concept of discretion.

“Technically, that means I owe you at least one.”

“Oh, please don’t.”

He swaggered closer and, leaning on the counter, considered you for a moment.

You held his gaze, expecting the worst.

“Wait, I… actually forgot what I wanted to say."

You tried not to smile but were betrayed by your pursed lips.

"Gotta be honest, of all your flirting so far that has been the best one."

He gave you a half smile.

"How about you don't see it as flirting. See it as me just being extra friendly to someone extra beautiful."

You scoffed but couldn’t stop a short sort of giggle escaping your lips.

After a moment’s pause he added, now with genuine sweetness, "Go out with me. Just once. I promise it'll be fun. And really, what's the worst that can happen?"

"Where do I even start?"

"Okay. But besides that, the worst that can happen is that we realize we don't have anything in common."

You looked at him, your head slightly tilted in thought.

"Like, what are you doing tonight after work?", he suggested.

"Well, I’m meeting some friends."

"What will you be doing?”

“A museum has a science night we wanna check out.”

“Oh! Really?”, he asked excitedly, dropping his flirtatious manner completely. And sure enough this little piece of information carried you through the subject of scientific fun facts to books to hobbies and so on. The rain had lessened significantly but an hour later he was still there, sitting on a chair at the kitchen island, talking while you worked, peppering in little compliments here and there but keeping it mostly pleasantly fluffy.

When you eventually parted in front of the café, Kuroo hesitated, obviously thinking about how to say Goodbye. In the end you both settled for slightly awkward smiles and went your separate ways.

He had an extra spring in his step as he arrived at the restaurant, incredibly late but incredibly happy. His friend accepted the cake with a tipsy, somewhat off-key belt of “Happy birthday to me!” and pointed to a free seat next to Kenma.

"Someone's looking chipper.", his former setter commented and accepted a slice of birthday cake, “Why did you leave me here alone?”

“You’re hardly alone, Kenma-kun.”, the older one said vaguely, "I had to pick up the cake first. I only remembered when I was already at work."

"So… is it from that little café?"

Kuroo shrugged, but was unable to hide a grin.

His friend lifted a brow. Originally, Kuroo hadn’t meant to talk about it. About how he didn't expect you two to actually have so much in common, about how funny you were, how smart and how gorgeous you looked even after a long day at work. How you practically made him beg to get into the café at all and how easy it was to talk to you once the ice was broken. It took him a few minutes to finally stop gushing.

"Sounds like a very promising night.", Kenma said approvingly, hoping he’d finally be free of his friend’s whining about why you wouldn’t go out with him, "So you got her number, then."

Kuroo's dreamy expression fell at once. "Oh.”

The sun glistened on the streets still soaked from last night’s rain but the air smelled fresh and you hummed to yourself when you thought about the previous evening. As you unlocked the cafe’s front door you heard someone calling your name and turned around.

Your stomach dropped when you spotted Kuroo on the other side of the road, waiting to cross safely.

“Good morning.”, he said, a little out of breath but with a winning smile.

“Good morning. What brings you by so early?”

“I have a full day today so I wouldn’t be able to come by otherwise.”

You tried hard not to look too pleased.

“I was wondering, if - I mean, I forgot to - Could I have your number?”

Pretending to think about it, you opened the door.

“Do you want that on a to-go cup?”

“That would be easier to brag with.”, he said, nodding thoughtfully and stepping in behind you.

While you prepared his usual, Kuroo watched you closely and you weren’t sure if the pink in his cheeks was from his jog here or something else.

When you handed him his tea a few minutes later he stood there, looking you up and down with his cheeky grin.

You squinted in suspicion.

“You look even cuter than usual today.”

“Get out before I charge you double.”

He lifted the cup and winked. “Talk to you later.”

[listofwhyyouloveher]

how would the greasers react to the reader not eating anything all day? like, normally the reader is always snacking and just loves to eat in general, so when they don't eat the gang knows something is off!

Summary: The Outsiders reacts to reader not eating.

Warnings: Not eating, mentions of diet/calorie counting, mentions of eds

Author's Note: none

PONYBOY CURTIS

Pony likes to eat with you, just having a nice conversation over a good meal with you is the best feeling

He's a little shocked when you don't accept the snacks he gives you, tries to chalk it up to you not liking them

But his worry got the better of him and he asked why you weren't eating because he genuinely was upset

If you tell him ur on a diet or calorie counting he'll get so annoyed, tell you that you don't need it and that he just wants to eat with you

JOHNNY CADE

Johnny likes to eat too, he loves going to the drive thru with you and ordering milkshakes and fries and js having a good time

He automatically noticed when you stopped eating because when he asked if you wanted to go, you refused

Is constantly pestering you to find out why, he feels a little rejected and thinks he did something wrong

When he learns why you're not eating he's so upset, he tells you that eating is how you literally survive and that he can't live without your drive thru dates

SODAPOP CURTIS

Soda really likes giving you candy, small mints he stole from work, a lollipop he got from a store anything really

Loves to share candy with you and is obviously very saddened when you reject it because he finds it to be like a love language of some sorts.

Gets pouty and doesn't talk to you until you either accept the candy or tell him why you didn't take it

Feels like such an asshole when you tell him why and asks if he made you insecure or something because he thought you were the most gorgeous person ever and that you shouldn't feel a need to change yourself.

STEVE RANDLE

Steve secretly likes to cook, he's been learning for a little bit and really likes when you taste test what he makes

This day he made one of your favorite dishes, trying to perfect it, and was shocked when you refused

He's asking if you want him to make something else or if you wanted to eat out and does a double take when you say no

He's genuinely pleading with you to eat because not only does he want validation but he's nervous that you're going to make not eating a habit

TWO-BIT MATHEWS

Two likes to do little activities with his sister and baking is one of them, he really likes making cookies and cakes with her

He'll always bring you whatever they've baked and really likes to see your reaction to them.

When you reject them he's a little hurt and he doesn't know how to tell his sister that you didn't want it

When he finds out why he's a little relieved that it's not because of his and his sisters baking skills but he still tells you that it's important to eat and gives you the food

DARRY CURTIS

Darry obviously makes you chocolate cake, whenever you come around he'll give you a slice or two

He asks you why you didn't want the cake because you usually really like it and asks you if you want something else

He's a little surprised at your answer but he understands, he tells you that there are better ways to eat healthier and diet

He's not helping you with a proper diet and food schedule and he's doing it with you so you're not alone in it

DALLAS WINSTON

Every date that Dallas takes you on involves food in some way, whether it's the drive thru or the movies

He's a bit pissed off when you don't accept the food he gets you because he literally got it (stole it) for you!!

He's pestering you until you tell him why, i.e. not letting you sit, nudging you, trying to make you eat it

He gets even more upset when you tell him why, telling you that he worked hard to get you that food and you better eat it or he'd be mighty pissed at you

[levisrations]

Modern! Levi x reader fluff

Warnings: none? A cat wearing a birthday hat? Certainly a lot of mistakes.

Levi has gotten cakes on his birthday, but always store bought. This year you baked and decorated it yourself. First year of your relationship you took notes of his favorite flavors and searched for a recipe online that blends in his favorite flavors into cake. You didn’t wanna make him a simple vanilla or chocolate cake, you wanted him to feel seen, even with something as simple as cake.

He gets home from work, and you’re waiting for him in the kitchen with the cake, a few balloons, his presents and a homemade banner. You and your shared cat even have hats on! As soon as he steps in the kitchen looking for you he stops in his tracks, shocked. No one besides his mother has done something like this for him. At most he’s been taken to a dinner with some friends but nothing more. To be honest he hated the attention but he’s the best man you know and he deserves this level of attention at least once. And it’s just you and him in your home so he’s not being ambushed. Well and your cat, who’s being surprisingly good with the hat on right now.

Levi can’t come up with anything to say, he’s just so surprised. He knows this took some time especially that cake. He hasn’t cried in a long time and it’s the first time since he’s felt the need to cry out of happiness in god knows how long. So he just hugs you tight, mutters his “thank yous” and “i love you so much” into your neck. Now you’re crying for real. You tell him how grateful you are for him, glad he exists and glad you know him, especially in such an intimate level.

He opens his gifts, a nice watch, some very comfortable and expensive sweatpants (Levi likes good quality stuff, he rarely shops for himself for that reason) and a nice whiskey. He loves them all, gives you a big deep kiss, hand behind your head keeping you there, then a bunch of little kisses all over while you giggle. He also gives the cat a kiss on the head.

You both sit and eat the cake, he loves it. While you eat you talk about your days, you tell Levi the plan of watching whatever he wants on the couch, after a nice long shower together, and he puts in his new sweatpants and you both cuddle with your cat on the big ass couch you bought for the place, and fall asleep hours later under some warm blankets.

[saramelaniemoon]

♡ previous ♡ ♡ next ♡

Eddie has always been the agreedable one in his previous relationships.

This afternoon you showed up in the trailer with the cake like every Saturday. The day before, Eddie had been wondering what you were going to bake this time. Maybe a chocolate chip brownie or cheesecake or those little cinnamon cookies? All your pastries were delicious. However, when you took the cake out of the container, he froze.

Carrot cake. A cake made of carrots. The worst vegetable the world has ever seen. If it were human, it would be Jason Carver. Eddie was sure that the carrot was responsible for at least half of the evil in this world. Once, in his dream, it chased him with a roll of newspaper, beating him like a bug.

He knew it was a good boyfriend test day. You tried very hard baking that cake, mentioning that Eddie wasn't getting enough vitamins, which was obviously not true because he was getting all the vitamins he needed from the tomato sauce on the pizza. However, telling you about his distaste for this devil vegetable would make you sad, so he bravely decided to eat this carrot-tainted cake. Hardening a smile to his face, he ate mouthful after mouthful, praising your baking. Your smile only widened. In his imagination, Eddie was like a knight with a sword protecting you from all the sorrows of the world. He was going to eat even another piece for you. Well, maybe next time. After eating a large portion, he thanked you and you both went to his room to watch the horror movie Steve had recommended for you.

***

He never complained about anything and agreed to everything, which is why he didn't understand how your first quarrel happened. It all started when you came back from the kitchen with two cans of soda.

- Eddie bear, why was Wayne surprised you ate the carrot cake I made?

- I don't know what the old man meant sweetheart.

- He said you blame carrots for all the evil in this world.

- It's a dramatic exaggeration.

- And that's why it sounds like something you said. Babe, why didn't you just tell me you don't like it?

- I don't understand why you're mad. I didn't mean to upset you.

- Eddie, you don't have to pretend that everything suits you. I won't be mad that you don't like something I made. I'll be mad that you're forcing yourself to eat it because of me. Promise me you won't make me happy at your expense ever again.

- I cannot promise you that darling. I'd even eat peas for you. And peas are not vegetables but plants from hell.

- Eddie...

- Okay, I promise if I don't like something, I won't force myself to eat it. But what about the rest of the cake?

- Don't worry, I saw Wayne took care of that.

- Not surprised. This man would eat anything after his shift.

- Hey! It wasn't that bad! But you'll be okay with beetroot cake, right? - you tested him.

- Sweetheart, we need to discuss your making vegetable cakes problem - Eddie said starting to tickle you.

***

The next week, you surprised him with a giant carrot-shaped brownie that didn't have any veggies in it. Better to eat such vegetables than none at all.

♡ next ♡

*traumatized Eddie boy after waking up from being chased by carrot*

[inkspiredwriting]

Shadows of the Past

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves was no stranger to nightmares. The years of apocalyptic desolation and time jumps had left indelible marks on his psyche. But tonight, as the shadows of his past clawed at his mind, the terror felt different—more intense, more suffocating.

In the dead of night, Five’s body tensed and jerked, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. He was trapped in a nightmare, reliving the horrors of the apocalypse, the loneliness, and the endless struggle to survive. He was running, always running, but he could never escape.

Y/N, his wife, slept peacefully beside him until she felt the bed shaking from his restless movements. She woke up instantly, her heart clenching at the sight of Five thrashing in his sleep. She had seen this before, knew the torment he endured, and she knew what she needed to do.

“Five, wake up,” she said softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t respond, she shook him a bit harder. “Five, it’s just a dream. Wake up.”

Five’s eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, he looked right through her, still caught in the grip of his nightmare. Y/N cupped his face with her hands, her touch firm yet comforting.

“It’s okay, Five. You’re safe. I’m here,” she murmured, her voice soothing and steady.

He blinked, the terror slowly receding as he focused on her face. “Y/N?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You were having a nightmare.”

Five took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. “It was the apocalypse again. I was alone… I couldn’t find you.”

Y/N pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him as if to anchor him to the present. “You’re not alone anymore, Five. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He buried his face in her shoulder, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him. “It felt so real.”

“I know,” she whispered, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “But it’s over now. We’re safe.”

They sat like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the silence of the room broken only by their steadying breaths. Y/N knew how much Five struggled with his past, how the weight of his experiences bore down on him, even in sleep.

After a while, Five pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m always here for you, Five. No matter what.”

He gave her a small, grateful smile. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You traveled through time and survived an apocalypse,” she teased gently. “I think that earns you a bit of happiness.”

He chuckled softly, the tension easing from his body. “You’re my happiness, Y/N.”

“And you’re mine,” she replied, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

They lay back down, Y/N curling up next to him, her presence a comforting shield against the darkness. Five wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as if to ensure she wouldn’t disappear.

“Tell me something good,” he said quietly, needing to hear her voice to keep the nightmares at bay.

Y/N thought for a moment, then smiled. “Remember the day we went to that little café, the one with the amazing chocolate cake?”

Five nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “How could I forget? You got chocolate all over your face.”

“And you laughed for the first time in weeks,” Y/N added. “It was a perfect day.”

“It was,” Five agreed, his grip on her tightening slightly. “Thank you for being here, for being you.”

“Always,” she whispered. “Now try to get some rest. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Five closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her body against his, the steady rhythm of her breathing. The shadows of his nightmares receded, replaced by the comfort and love that Y/N brought into his life.

As he drifted back to sleep, he knew that no matter what his past held, as long as he had Y/N by his side, he could face anything.

[12freddofrogs]

Post-canon oneshot; gen; a family discussion which does not end with any assassinations, which is potentially a new record

Tarvek dropped the pile of papers on top of Martellus’ desk, picking up the ink pot in the same gesture to avoid it spilling.

Martellus’s quill (because of course the man still used an actual feather quill; he was too theatrical to be practical and Tarvek couldn’t even mock him for it because Martellus absolutely knew about Tarvek’s own collection) paused in midair where he had been in the middle of working. “Good morning, cousin.”

“Good morning.”

“And what’s this?” Martellus took his ink pot back to rest his quill in it.

“You tell me.”

Martellus picked up the first page, flipped through the second, and then rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so suspicious.”

“I don’t know whether I’m more offended you thought a fake wall with such an obvious trigger was enough to keep it hidden, or that your newest plan to assassinate me involved framing Cousin Elias.”

“That shelf isn’t where I keep any actual secrets; it’s just meant to be a convenient place to keep things in reach.”

“Right, the real secret desk is attached to the third storeroom on the second level, with the switch at the eighth brick to the left.” Tarvek waved his hand dismissively, and was pleased to note the flicker of annoyance in Martellus’ face. Good. “That’s not my point. Elias is an idiot.”

“Which is why he makes an excellent scapegoat.”

“Hardly a believable one.”

“It’s not like I would want to sacrifice Uncle Kurt to the Heterodyne’s vengeance.” Martellus rolled his eyes and started rearranging his papers back into order. “I’m not currently planning to have you assassinated.”

Tarvek raised an eyebrow and gestured at the papers.

The thing was, Tarvek had willingly walked into the Refuge of Storms. He and Martellus needed to make some normal, ordinary negotiations about the current treaties, and Tarvek had agreed to go visit.  Martellus hadn’t actually tried anything in the year since they broke the time stop over Mechanicsburg, and although there had been the usual stream of assassins Tarvek was reasonably sure none had been from this specific cousin. They were almost getting along.

Well, the wine at dinner last night had been drugged, but to be fair Tarvek had also mixed his own poison into Martellus’s slice of an actually delightful cake. It would have been almost ruder not to have at least one poisoning. Neither had been a serious attempt.

Martellus sighed. “I’m concerned that you might have an actual accident one day.”

“Were you thinking an experiment gone wrong or perhaps a slip and fall down the stairs?”

“Either. Any. I’m not being euphemistic; I mean accident.”

Tarvek frowned. “What?”

“They happen sometimes.” Martellus spread his hands in exasperation. “Have you ever actually looked into Aunt Cathrin’s death?”

“Why bother? That was clearly Natalia’s —” Tarvek trailed off as he realised what Martellus was implying. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“You think her carriage genuinely just—”

“It has been known to happen.”

“But Natalia—”

“Genuinely mourned her.”

“You can mourn someone and still have them killed!” Tarvek protested. “She had the most to gain!”

“Firstly, the fact that someone else gained more doesn’t mean that the person with the second-most to gain couldn’t have done it,” Martellus said, infuriatingly condescending. “Or third, or just a petty grudge.”

“That I’ll concede, but—”

“And secondly, sometimes the carriage wheels are genuinely made badly, and a driver just happens to hit a pot hole at an unfortunate angle.”

It was indeed possible, but Tarvek was having trouble – although, Natalia had seemed genuinely distraught, and he remembered thinking at the time that he’d never considered her a good actress. Maybe he should send her a box of chocolates or something.

“But thank you for demonstrating my point so clearly.” Martellus tapped at the paper. “In our family honest accidents, as rare as they are, are not actually believed.”

“So you decided to frame my hypothetical, accidental death on Elias in order to—” Tarvek left the question open.

“I’m concerned that if you were to fall down the steps tomorrow, the Lady Heterodyne would methodically go through the family, one by one, removing organs and testing creative death rays, until she found someone she believed the culprit. And, unfortunately, I would be the top of the list.”

“Don’t be silly, cousin. It’s Wulfenbach who keeps torturers on his payroll, and unlike Agatha, his rooms remain in perfect working order,” Tarvek said, as if Agatha’s dungeons were not kept well prepared at all times. It wasn’t like she wanted it.

Martellus shook his head. “I’m sure between the two of them they would very successfully wipe out the entire Valois line.”

“Unlikely. Agatha likes Violetta.”

Martellus wrinkled his nose, probably irritated at the image of Violetta as the last surviving heir of the Storm King. Violetta would probably stab him for that, as if she also wouldn’t be horrified at the idea. Tarvek had once offered to help her figure out where she was in the line of inheritance, and she punched him enough times he’d burnt the calculations he’d already finished. Somewhere in the seven hundreds, although he hadn’t added the new children born since then.

The whole concept was amusing, but unrealistic. Despite everything Martellus had been around for, he’d never actually gotten to know Agatha – or maybe he understood she believed in justice, but Martellus himself didn’t fully understand what justice meant. If Tarvek died tomorrow, Agatha and Gil probably would go on a rampage to find who did it, but they wouldn’t kill anyone without proof.

He could explain that to Martellus, but Martellus having a vested interest in Tarvek staying alive was so much more useful.

“Don’t frame Elias. Aunt Henriette is a far more realistic choice.”

“Aunt Henriette has the subtlety of a rampaging construct with rayguns for arms; how is that more realistic?”

“Or, currently, the Countess of Mount Peuckert.”

“You can’t use this as an excuse to have your enemies dealt with post-mortem.”

“Why not? By definition my current enemies are the most likely to have me assassinated.” Tarvek smiled, mostly because he knew it would annoy Martellus, and turned to leave. “And I already sent a message to Agatha that you were planning to assassinate me and frame Cousin Elias, so I doubt he’s that believable anymore.”

“What?” Martellus stood up abruptly, barely catching his ink pot before it fell.

Tarvek plucked the quill from the desk for absolutely no reason other than Martellus couldn’t stop him. “I’ll go send her an update, shall I?”

“Yes. Now. Do that.”

Tarvek raised an eyebrow.

Martellus scowled. “Please.”

“Since you asked nicely.”

Martellus waited for Tarvek to leave the room before slamming his head against the back wall.

Tarvek, paused outside the door as was his usual habit, had to bite back the urge to laugh.

He really did need to write that letter. The Refuge of Storms was close to Mechanicsburg, and it would take no time at all for a horde of Jägermonsters to arrive. Tempting as it was to let them get close enough for Martellus to see, that seemed more likely to terrify the castle staff.  Not to mention it would waste Agatha’s time.

Although it was nice to consider that next time Martellus started testing the boundaries or generally being obnoxious, Tarvek merely needed to fake his own death. He’d tell Agatha and Gil first, of course, they’d never forgive him if he didn’t, but they would love the chance to act the avenger. Martellus would realise it soon enough, but the lie didn’t need to last to give Martellus nightmares. If Tarvek planned it well enough, he could probably get one of his spies in the same room when Martellus heard the rumour to get a picture. Maybe come up with some excuse for it to be Violetta, she deserved it. Though she might prefer to stay with Agatha so she could help with the potential threatening. Tarvek could workshop it later.

[mvngo-muffin]

[ picnics with ➼ txt ]

a/n: hey! i've been mia for months, sorry...things have been hectic. but i'm trying to get back into writing! fyi yeonjun's is heavily inspired by "let's go picnic" by george!

genre: fluff

pairing : txt x f!reader

warnings : none!

soobin ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you were both set to go for a day trip to the beach tomorrow, and he knew this would be the perfect way to end the day together

he spent the day preparing foods that were easy to transport to the beach: gimbap, cut fruit, small sandwiches

he arranged the food neatly into boxes and packed it into a cooler the next morning without you knowing

after a long day of swimming, playing in the sand, and enjoying the warmth, the two of you went to wash up

as you showered, soobin set up the blanket with the food and some flowers he had bought

"y/n, are you done?" he asked, peeking into the room you two had rented for the day

"yup! let's go find a dinner place." you replied, walking out of the room and back onto the beach

you gasped at the spread in front of you, the evening sun setting in an array of colors behind it

"soob, what's all this?"

"just for you," he responded, holding onto your hand as you made your way to the blanket for dinner

yeonjun ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

yeonjun was packing up after practice, sighing in exhaustion

he hadn't seen you in so long; he really missed you

he slipped his headphones on as he left, a song beginning to play

let's go picnic, with a girlfriend the lyrics sang to him

it was as if a light bulb went off

he rushed out of the practice room and made his way to the nearest market, picking up precut strawberries and clementines, sandwiches, some soda, and of course, a small cake

groceries secured, he called you from the car, making sure you were at home

he reached your house and rang your doorbell, immediately engulfing you in a tight hug when you answered the door

"what are you doing here, jun?"

"thought we could have a nighttime picnic in your backyard," he responded, pulling away from the hug and showing you the bag

you spent the rest of the night curled up in blankets, eating your snacks, and watching the stars with the love of your life

beomgyu ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it was finals season, and you had been busy with work and school for weeks

every night, you'd come home exhausted, and beomgyu felt bad asking you to go out on a date after you were so tired

you had sent him a tiktok a few days ago of a couple out on a date for a picnic, and he decided that even if you both couldn't go to the beach or lake, you'd have a picnic regardless

he spent the day preparing food: chocolate covered strawberries, your favorite sandwiches, and even some homemade brownies

about 30 mins before you got home, the sun was already setting...and it was raining (gyu forgot to check the forecast..)

but nevertheless! he persisted, and set up a blanket and cushions on the (covered) porch along with candles and the food

the moment you got home, he rushed you to change into your comfortable clothes, telling you to wear something warm

he brought you to the misty backyard porch, and you were overwhelmed with love at the effort he had put into the picnic

you both settled down, enjoying the food and the sound of the rain, cuddling together as you kissed his cheek every five minutes out of gratitude

"thank you, gyu"

"what's to thank me for? if my girl wants a picnic date, she's getting one"

taehyun ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

saw some couple on a picnic while driving by, and knew he had to do it with you

(he actually has a note on his phone of date ideas to do with you)

would prepare for days for the picnic, making sure he has all of your favorite foods and snacks ready

makes more food than needed, and even bakes a small cake for the two of you

neatly organizes everything in a cute basket

comes prepared with a waterproof picnic blanket, sweatshirts, and tons of napkins

luckily, the day of the date is warm and sunny! you both spend the afternoon by a river, soaking in the sun and each other's company

the date is full of giggles and reminiscing on memories while wrapped up in taehyun's strong arms

as you watch the sunset before packing up, he leaves a peck on your head and whispers a sweet, "i love you"

hueningkai ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

so excited when he sees the date idea on social media!

goes all out and makes strawberry sandwiches, onigiri with little penguin faces on them, apples cut to look like rabbits, etc...

packs everything in bento boxes and grabs a picnic blanket before impulsively going to your house, texting you a short, "come outside"

you're surprised to see him, bags in hand, as you leave your home

"kai, what are you doing?"

"taking you on the cutest date"

the two of you walk over to a park nearby your home and settle down near a small pond, enjoying the food and throwing breadcrumbs to the geese

kai looks at you, adoration in his eyes and makes sure to take some photos of you feeding the birds to save for himself

you both talk about anything and everything, and pack up a few hours later, heading back home, hand in hand

[tocinoandkamatis]

can you really blame me?

your sat in your office chair, hunched over the same paperwork again and again until someone had offered you a box of chocolates.

it was your boss- your oh so incredibly hot boss. you dont know why but youve always had a thing for him.

so you thank him- taking the chocolate in your hands and popping it in your mouth.

only for a few minutes later, your left feeling uneasy, hot and bothered.. uncomfortably shifting in your seat and biting your lip. sighing, you pick up your mirror and- well your flushed. pink cheeks and lips with neediness written all over your face. your mind wanders- why? what did i do? i was only ever focused on the paperwork- and then it snapped the chocolate.

you stare at the trashcan and dig out the cover plastic of the small treat, you read it and- 'aphrodisiac'...there imprinted with heart dots for the i right on the back of the wrapper.

and to make sure.. you ask your boss.

and thats when it happens. your lying on his desk with your top buttons undone and your trousers slung over your heels. his big fat cock bullying into your cervix in an excruciating pace. you dont really know whats gotten to this- really, you dont. you just knocked on his office to ask about something and the next second you sat on his desk, his greedy hands trying to tug off your clothes as fast as he can.

your crying and moaning clenching down on him, milking him completely dry. his hand cover your face as an attempt to shush you up- not that he doesnt want you to scream his name. its just that his grandfather is outside right now, talking business with other important men.

but my god he cant stop. hes completely drunk in pleasure- maybe due to the aphrodisiac? but you may find he never ate that chocolate and this event is only because of his need for you.

so your clawing at his back, arching yours as he thrust into you as deep as he could. youve came- what, two times? your sure this would be your fourth. your shaking and moaning but he doesnt stop.

"you like that sweetheart? hm? you like the way im fucking ya hard?"

he grunts as he burries his nose into your neck. you cant do anything but let out a string of whines and whimpers. nodding frantically as his movements get sloppy and uncoordinated, a shrill sign of his impending release. a few things had fallen off the desk but at this point, none of you cared.

"fuck- so tight and warm, just 'f me"

he groans, his small noises laced with a small whine and high pitched whimper as he comes. his hot sead spilling inside of you while your eyes roll to the back of your head.

and finally, he manages to catch his breath and pull out.

"such a pretty little pussy..."

he sighs and presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

but your left wondering 'what the fuck just happened and what the fuck is happening?' because hes now in a meeting- pointing out the proposal of his company and back to his serious and cold character.

seriously? did he not just wreck me? you wonder how strong this guy is because- well your still sensitive and shaking slightly and he just looked like he just had cake and coffee at his favourite restaurant.

my thoughts are occupied on the past events though... but then again can you really blame me?

kuroo, geto, osamu, aizawa, kyoya ootori, kenma, nanami

[1-800-papaya]

Southern Caffeine (RI)

Jay Halstead x Baker!Reader Warnings: None i think

Author note: As always, feedback is greatly appreciated

Lemon Drops Cafe and Bakery. Big bright yellow and white letters read, and slight lemon decals surrounded the sign. Jay checked his phone before entering the shop; Hailey had insisted that the ex-army ranger get the morning coffee from the new bakery since the one in the break room was utterly broken. Pushing the glass door open, a light twinkle of a bell announced Jay’s presence. A head popped through the doorway that seemed to lead to the kitchens.

“I’ll be with you in a second.” A southern drawl stunned Jay.

The inside of the bakery was just as cozy as the exterior. Clusters of yellow chairs were pushed into three wooden tables, each bearing a yellow and white lemon tablecloth and varying-sized pillow. Along the opposite wall rests a series of tall displays, most filled with either what smelt like fresh loaves or display cakes. Turning more towards the counter, Jay noticed that in between the large coffee machine and the small portion of the counter dedicated to the register was a large display cupboard partially filled with cookies, cupcakes and some savory treats. Along the wall behind the counter, Jay could see an assortment of coffee bean bags that looked like they had yet to be packed away in the above cupboard and potted plants. The bakery overwhelmingly filled Jay with a sense of calm, and he loved the welcoming, cozy, homely environment that Hailey had sent him into.

A young woman soon walked out of the kitchen doorway and greeted Jay warmly. Her Y/H/C was haphazardly thrown into a bun, and a yellow ribbon wrapped around the tie. She wore a white short-sleeved shirt beneath a pale yellow apron and chocolate brown pants. Her apron was covered in white dashes of flour and smudges of frosting and chocolate. The pin on her apron read Y/N, a sticker of a small bundle of lemons decorating the rest of the pin. When Jay’s eyes reached her face, he took note of the imperfect splash of flour that dusted her cheeks and the bright smile that graced her features.

“Good Morning. What can I get ya?” Her voice was perfectly airy and sweet, like the melody of his favorite song. For once, the voice wasn’t dull or uninterested; instead, it sounded like she genuinely wanted to be covered in flour dust and chocolate smudges at nearly 6:30 in the morning.

“Four large double shot coffees and Hailey Upton’s usual.” He recited the order that Hailey had given him only ten minutes earlier. Jay moved to open his wallet to pay when Y/N simply shook her head.

“No need to pay, it’s on the house.” Her smile was blinding as she moved further down to the coffee machine, Jay following.

“At least let me tip you or something”, Jay argued as the women moved expertly around the small area, quickly making the coffee’s and packing a small box full of freshly baked treats.

“Please, this is the least I can do for you guys”, she spoke, “Besides, that would be breaking my own rules” " she said, pointing towards the large poster plastered above the register. Jay followed her finger and shook his head as he read the sign.

‘Cops, Firefighters, Doctors and Nurses, drinks and treats are on the house, No exceptions!!’

“My dad was a ranger and taught me the value of first responders, so when I started my business, I made it a rule that those who protect us, normal people, from our stupidity would never have to pay. Plus, I make enough profit to cover it anyway.” As she pushed the box and cup tray towards Jay, she gestured to the jar on the counter next to the register, “But if your conscience won’t let you leave without leaving a tip, then here, donate to this month’s charity, the Chicago police fund” Jay practically swooned over her smile this time. pushing a few large bills into the jar, Jay left the cafe with a dopey smile and a mental promise never to get coffee anywhere else.