#barista meet caffeine addict

[apiptosis]

Feel free to use this or add your own flair.

Concept danny meets all of the batfam's civilian identities but in the way of triggering all of their must protect instincts but in the oddest of ways.

Danny had been helping clockwork in the inbetween time and unfortunately had spent a little too long as Phantom. Due to this he had to stay in his human form for atleast 5 years. Cue danny spending his time actually following his hobbies and fixing his school work.

Jazz set out to follow her dream completing her degree in phycology at Arkam. Danny of course followed her, fortunately Gotham had the most advanced aerospace engineering program in the world

Unfortunately while he knew or could easily figure out the work, the sheer amount of projects and work pieces tired him out more than even the ghost attacks did.

The first one he meets is Tim.

Danny has always ran on caffeine but now his morning coffee he orders at the corner of the dance studio gives both the barista and the regulars heart palpitations by just smelling it. This particular coffee shop was the only place willing to make his morning coffee Death's Dew.

His order is for them to make him a 1000ml thermos about seven eighths of the way with ristretto coffee where he adds 3 scoops of caffeine powder and a smidgen of pure ectoplasm mixed in with milk.

Distantly Danny realised that the unholy concoction woke the poor zombie of a man waiting beside him with pure smell alone and the barista was mumbling about smelling colors.

Danny barely remembered to pay for his coffee as he shuffled to his morning class not realizing that he was being stalked by a caffeine addict that begged the last few sips.

A few hours later WE employees watched with mounting horror as their chronically tired boss jitter about like a speedster with Parkinsons.

It took Tim 6 days to fall asleep and the man was never allowed to visit the Dead End coffee shop unsupervised again, despite owning the business.

After everything Tim finally figured out what his family feels like about his coffee addiction and a deep rooted concern formed for the man who's thermos he stole.

[leesromanova]

dust collected on my pinned up hair

pairing: natasha x reader

warnings: angst, hurt reader, happy/hurt/guilty nat, idk they're both hurting, marrige, cursing, self-criticism, lots of feelings. (i’m sorry)

synopsis: you go on your usual coffee run and bump into your ex, who if it wasn’t for the mutual break up, would have been the one.

a/n: i love angst lol. blame my over active imagination and taylor swift. thank you all for continuing to support and read my works <3

to put y’all in the mood i recommend listening to ↴

The line seemed endless. Bodies upon, bodies of caffeine addicts waiting to be serviced.

The energy of a busy New York coffee shop at 8am was truly a sight to see for any newbie to the city—thank god, you were accustomed to the rude grogginess of the baristas and the lines to wait for your wanted—no, needed, yet still overpriced coffee.

You hear the door open again as a small bell atop of the frame is triggered by the entering customer. The chill breeze of the city winter rips through the space, making you shiver and wrap your coat around yourself a bit tighter. Cool air creeping through the fibers of the winter coat you were sporting made you need that coffee a bit more urgently.

“Next in line!” the line moved as you pulled out your phone and took a step forward. You scroll through your notifications, looking for anything you had missed in your previous peak, before feeling a tap on your shoulder. Your first reaction is to look up with a rather hostile look in your eyes at whoever intruded your non-social, pre-caffeine headspace.

“Natasha?” your eyebrows crinkle at the sight of the woman in front of you. Her smile genuine as she looks down at you.

“Hi, stranger” she says, the raspy voice bringing back memories of a not-so-forgotten time in your past. She moves her arm around you to pull you into a side hug, you accept it—a bit stiffly and pull away, taking in her appearance.

She looked professional yet still casual and comfortable, a combination that always suited her quite well—at least the version you had gotten to know in your past. Her red locks in a neat braid that swept across her head and onto her shoulder, a few framing strands left out on the sides. Her eyes were more worn on the sides—the start of crows feet present besides her lashes.

Her eyes were the same, still the same shade of captivating green.

“How are you? How have you been?” she asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Her voice coming out a bit rougher than how you remembered. Maybe it was caused by the cold air or, maybe it was just the other way the few years had affected her.

You look down and pocket your phone, “I’ve been okay, just y’know…holding up,” you watch as the person ahead of you steps forward, prompting the both of you to move up and fill the gap. You shift to the side, and make room for the redhead to stand beside you. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, stirring up memories of the past.

“How about you? What have you been up to, besides finding ways to cut-in-line at random coffee shops?” she lets out a huff of air as she turns to look at you “I was leaving when saw you…so I decided I should come and say hi," she looks at you with an amused expression.

you smile and hum in acceptance, letting her continue. She takes a breath before starting, "I've been okay—for the most part. Just trying to keep up with what life throws at me." She smiles and puts her hands in her pockets. You wonder if they were just as rough as how you remembered, or if they’d grown more calloused with time.

"Are you cold?" you ask, still looking at her now-concealed hands. She turns to look at you, you meet her eyes, and she lifts a brow "I've told you before how we Russians don't get cold," she says before continuing "that’s something you should've remembered." her voice carries as the last words enter your ears and without thinking you respond.

"I remember lots of things."

You feel the energy around you both change as the words leave your lips and you cringe as you watch her body visibly stiffen. Your brutally honest word choice must’ve reminded her of the reason why it had been so long since the two of you spoke.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

Sometime in the past 2 years

“Natasha… I just can’t do this anymore.” The words choke in your throat as you pace in front of her in the living room of your shared apartment. Every step you take feels like it’s pulling you further from everything you once wanted, but you can't stop yourself. You can barely breathe, the emotion inside you holding your lungs down. Your eyes move to look at Natasha, and everything inside you screams to hold on.

“I’ve always been here for you,” you continue, voice cracking. “Always. I kept waiting, hoping you’d open up to me, just like I did for you, bare an-and vulnerable.” Your voice cracks making you take a steadying breath before continuing, pointing a shaking finger toward her. “I put my heart on the line, expecting the same... but I never got it. And when you finally did open up... I was there. I loved you through the dark days, the lonely nights. I stayed, Natasha. I stayed through everything, and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.” Your words spill out like a dam breaking, but the anger, the frustration, the heartbreak—none of it makes the pain go away.

You want to somehow make it work, to find the missing piece that would make her open up fully. You wanted this to work more than anything. But the hard truth is, you don’t know just how much more you can keep giving without receiving the same in return. You’ve poured so much of yourself into this relationship—your love, your patience, your vulnerability—but now it feels like you’re just…empty. Every night you lie awake, hoping that tomorrow will be the day she finally opens up to you the way you’ve been opening up to her, and every day feels like another unanswered question, an in-life purgatory you can’t escape.

Your fingernails find their way into the flesh of your palms, the sharpness grounding you, but it doesn’t help.

Her heart tears in two as she watches you like this, feeling like a failure. She feels it deep inside—your hurt, your exhaustion, the years of unspoken emotions—and she knows, with crushing certainty, that no matter how much she loves you, she can’t undo the damage. You’re the one person who has always been there, who’s loved her unconditionally, who’s been so patient, so willing to fight for the relationship. She’s failed you. It wasn’t enough. Nothing she did was enough. She loved you—God, she loved you so much—but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to give you the one thing you needed most: her whole heart. Every single time you reached out, she recoiled, afraid that if she gave you more of herself, she’d lose herself in the process. She knew loving you would mean taking the risk of loosing herself within the beauty that was to love just as hard as you did. 

She doesn’t know how to love you the way you need.

She lifts her head, eyes red, blurry with unshed tears, and glances at your hands, fingers still digging into your skin like you're trying to hold yourself together, as the nails cut through the layers of flesh on your palms. The pieces of yourself feeling like they're falling through your fingers like water. She hurts seeing you like this, she knew you did it to feel control in moments where you felt that control slip away—she’d had been trying to help you stop it, to show you that hurting yourself wouldn't heal anything, but now, she feels just as lost. She feels herself drowning in guilt. 

She’s the one who’s made you feel like this, hasn’t she? 

A warm, trembling hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out of the darkness of your thoughts along with herself–trying to claw her way out of her guilt. Her touch is gentle, almost too gentle, as if she’s afraid you’ll break if she holds on too tight. She guides your fingers away from your skin, but the ache in your chest only deepens. She’s trying to fix you–to help you, not acknowledging that she needed it as well. And neither of you knew how to do it.

What’s the hell is wrong with me? 

The question cuts deeper than anything she’s ever felt. 

Why can’t I just give her what she needs? 

I love her. 

I love her so much. 

Why isn’t that enough?

“I feel horrible,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears. When you meet her eyes, they’re filled with more pain than you’ve ever seen in them. It tears through you. You wanted to help her, to make her feel loved and safe, but all you've done is hurt her. You've made her feel like she's failing, like she’s not enough, and the guilt is suffocating. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, wants to apologize, to make it better, but she knows deep down that no amount of apologies can fix the damage done. 

You swallow, but your throat is tight, your chest heavier than it’s ever been. "You’re right. You always did the right things. You said the right words. You showed me you loved me, but… I couldn’t see it. I didn’t feel it the way I needed to, and I hate myself for that. I hate that I couldn't be enough for you, Natasha." Your voice breaks at the end, a sound that rips through you, as if you're breaking apart inside. Not enough for her to give you her all. “I’m so sorry. So sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough.” Making her feel like she hadn’t been giving you enough because she couldn’t give you want you wanted—craved. The sudden realization makes you heave as you reel about you both hurting each other unwillingly—how could something so good turn into something so hurtful?

The weight of your own apology hangs in the air, suffocating, because you don't know how to fix this anymore. You don’t know how to make her stop feeling like she’s a failure when all she’s ever done is try. 

Her heart shatters as you speak. She sees the pure hurt in your eyes, feels the way you’re pulling away from her. it crushes her to know she's the one that hurt you, the one that made you feel as if you weren't enough. Every word you say is a reminder that she’s failed. She’s tried so hard to be the person you need, to show you how much she loves you, but every time she’s gotten close to letting herself go the crippling fear of falling too deep holding her back. 

“I wish I could change,” she says, voice barely audible, but you hear the depth of her regret in every word. She places her hand over her heart, almost as if trying to stop the pulsating ache there. “I don’t want you to suffer with my shit anymore. I don’t want to drag you through this anymore… but I don’t know how to fix me.” She looks at you, her tears falling freely now. “I hate that I can't give you everything you need. I hate that I couldn't be the person you deserved."

You feel every ounce of her guilt like a physical blow, and it’s suffocating. You wish there was something you could say to make her feel better, but the truth is, you're not sure if you even deserve to make her feel better right now. You've failed her too, in so many ways.

Maybe I’m not enough for her. Maybe I never was. 

The thought stings, like a shock against your skin. You can’t help but feel that maybe you’ve failed, that you’re the real reason things fell apart, not Natasha. But as you look at the redhead, her guilt hanging heavy in the air, you realize there’s not just one person to blame, there’s not only one person responsible for this. You’ve both been afraid. Afraid of fully trusting, of letting the walls down completely, of letting each other in.

And now? Now, it feels like it’s too late.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” she says, her voice cracking. “You deserve so much better than me. You deserve someone who can love you with everything they have, without holding back... and I’m not her. I can't be that person." Her eyes search yours, desperate for some sign, some glimmer of hope, but all she finds is a reflection of her own pain.

Staring at her tear-streaked face, the realization hits you like a punch to the gut: it’s not going to happen. It’s not because you haven’t tried, and it’s not because she doesn’t love you—she does, so much, and you can see it in her eyes. But love isn’t enough. 

I can’t keep waiting for something that’s never going to come. 

I can’t keep hurting like this. 

You’re shaking now, but it’s not from anger. It’s from the unbearable truth that lingers in the space between you. The love you had, the connection you both tried so hard  to hold onto, is slipping away, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

“I think…” you can barely get the words out, but they’re there, hanging in the air like the inevitable. "I think you’re right." Your voice cracks, your heart shattering with the weight of those words. You’ve known for so long, deep down, that this was coming. The back and forth, the exhaustion, the constant battle to make her open up, to make her let you in—it was destroying both of you, and it would never change. The months of fighting—wanting her to open up, to show you the real her, nothing was working as it should be. You had been fighting against something inevitable.

You run your thumb over her knuckles, trying to find comfort in the familiar motion, but it feels hollow now. “We’ve tried, Natalia,” you whisper, your heart breaking with every syllable. “We’ve tried to make this work, but I can’t keep pretending it’s going to be okay. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want you to hurt for me anymore.”

Her tears fall harder now, as if the weight of your decision has broken something inside of her. You both sit there, silently, broken and exhausted from a love that was never enough. Neither of you knows how to fix what’s been destroyed. As she looks at you, so broken, so utterly lost, she feels like she’s watching her own heart crack in two.

You both sit in silence as the sounds of the city bleed into the apartment and circle the two of you.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

“Next!” the barista’s tired voice carries through the space of the café, and makes you both turn to reach the counter. Your cheeks warm and tinged a shade of red at your earlier admission.

“Uh, can I get an iced blond vanilla late, with an extra pump of vanilla, and sweet foam with Carmel drizzle on top?” you order and look over at the redhead who was diligently staring at the side of your face.

She wondered how you hadn’t changed. Time seemed to have left you untouched. While she felt it’s weight etched into her face and mind—you were still the same. With the same coffee order, at the same coffee shop, the same you.

“W-would you like anything?” you ask, stuttering at the gaze she held.

“I’m okay,” she turns to the barista, “That’ll be all.” she completes your order out of habit as you pull out your card to pay.

the barista asks for your name and you both utter a thanks to the young woman, who doesn’t return the pleasantry as you both walk off to the side. The silence, between you both not unwanted, but definitely heightening your anxiety at the unexpected meeting.

You were not dressed to be seeing your ex at a coffee shop.

“Would you like to sit?” you clear your throat and ask, finding a table with two chairs. She smiles and looks at her watch. “Yeah—yeah, I got enough time” she says, sitting down beside you and looking out at the busy streets of the city that never sleeps.

She loved it here, her time in other continents and cities made her realize just how at home the city lights and sirens made her feel, just how at home the people in her life made her feel.

The light of the rising sun reflects off of the glass windows of tall buildings and illuminate her face. Her nose had stayed the same, the feature being something you loved about her even if she said she hated it from time to time. She turns and catches you staring. You to look away and clear your throat as she smiles warmly. She always liked that about you, so attentive to everyone around you.

Stop staring. You mentally kicked yourself for being caught.

“Y’know…you still order your coffee as if you hate the taste of it.” she teases, her hands motioning to the receipt that outlined the specific order you gave. A smile grows as you turn to look at her and laugh softly at her face of accusation. “I swear, you get the sugariest thing on the menu.” she continues, making you laugh a little louder.

Your laugh was the same–she noticed, your smile the same, but your eyes now held a few winkles at the sides as the joy spread over your face. She smiles at you then and leans back in the uncushioned, tall stool.

You roll your eyes and remove your gloves, “hey, before you tease just know you traumatized me with your coffee order,” she looks at you questioningly, making you lean in “Nat, you order a black coffee with like two sugars and call that a coffee order.” she laughs, her cheeks tinting a wonderful shade of red as she answers “It’s a legitimate coffee order y/n, that’s why they make me pay and why I made you try it.” her voice raspy as ever as it leaves her lips. “Oh yeah, trust me I know. I can still feel it on my taste buds and recoil every time I think about it.” she looks at your now very serious expression with a raised brow, and you both break into a shared cackle.

As the laughter settles, you both look at each other. Familiarity and warmth returning to your veins, you missed her. Sure, it had been more than enough time for you to get over her, but you never truly did. Everyone told you it was time to move on, but you never did, hoping, praying, manifesting that maybe one day you could fix things and reunite with the love of your life.

You went out with people, met other singles, dated—but no one made you feel what she did.

"So, how’s work?" you ask, your fingers nervously fiddling with the paper wrapping of a straw that was left on the table by some other customer. She glances down at your hands, noticing how your nails are no longer bitten or ragged, your palms free of the crescent-shaped marks that used to linger there. She smiles softly, noticing how you'd managed to break those anxious habits.

"It’s been good," she replies, her voice warm. "We got some new teammates in—I'm sure you saw it on the news." She looks into your eyes, smiling as she sees the familiar focus in your gaze. That hadn't changed either.

You nod and smile back, leaning in as she continues. "One of them is named Wanda. She's brilliant—you'd love her. Amazing sense of humor, and the best style. I know you’ve always been into fashion."

You chuckle softly, the memory of how you used to carefully pick out your outfits coming back. "That’s nice. So, you and her are close?" you ask, your voice lighter than you feel. It's easy to fall back into the rhythm with her. Conversations with her never felt draining, never like you were just filling silence. At least, it didn’t, not before everything went wrong.

"Yeah," she says, smiling shyly, but her eyes drop to her hands. And that's when you see it. The ring.

The world seems to blur for a moment as your eyes lock onto the silver band adorning her finger. Simple, yet undeniably there. Your mind races, struggling to catch up, focusing on the details—an engraving, some flowers, maybe lilies? You remember how she always loved those.

The sound of her voice cuts through your thoughts. "Y/N?"

You snap back to reality, but it feels like your heart is still racing. You blink, meeting her gaze. The concern in her eyes is unmistakable, but it's not for you. She's moved on.

“Order for y/n!” the barista yells, and you turn, smiling tightly at Nat before getting up to retrieve your coffee.

God, how had you not seen it before? Was it always there? How long ago did she become so open? So willing to let someone in, that she’d actually gotten married?

The questions hit you like a wave, crashing over your mind with unbeatable force.

You make yourself look away, desperate to regain control of your thoughts. You tuck some hair behind your ear, trying to ground yourself, and take a long sip of your cold drink, the ice crunching between your teeth. It does nothing to ease the nausea building in your stomach.

“I—uh, I was looking at your wedding band,” you mutter, feeling the words slip out awkwardly. Your gaze drifts back to her fingers, the ring glinting in the sunlight. She follows your stare, quietly adjusting her hand, almost as if she’s waiting for this moment to land.

“Oh, um… yeah," she clears her throat, her voice sounding a little tighter than before. "Me and Wanda... we, uh... I proposed a few months ago,” she adds, looking down at the ring, tracing the engravings with her fingers. Finally, she meets your eyes, and for a brief second, it feels like everything you thought you knew about her is slipping away. This wasn’t the Natasha who used to laugh at your bad jokes, or the one who whispered your name in the quiet of your shared apartment, the one who whispered sweet nothings in your ear as you laid naked in bed after you’d had sex. No, this was a version of her you did not know.

“Oh.” The word barely leaves your mouth as you nod slowly, but it’s enough to echo in the silence between you two. It’s all you can manage, the word feeling too small, insignificant.

What else could you say?

You want to bury your face in your hands.

God, Y/N, think of something better. Say something better.

The words feel hollow, useless, as they form in your mind. The words don’t feel like your own. They feel forced, clumsy, like you’re trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through your fingers. You hate how it feels. You hate how she feels like a stranger to you now, someone you don’t know anymore, someone who has moved on without you.

"Congratulations," you finally say, the words coming out flat, lifeless. Your smile feels too tight, too forced. You can feel it pulling at the corners of your lips as your body instinctively turns inward, the discomfort sharp and heavy.

Congratulations? Are you fucking serious?

She notices, of course—how could she not? Her eyes flicker with concern, watching as your posture shifts, your guard rising. But it’s too late. You’re already pulling away.

What the hell did I just say?

The self-criticism is almost suffocating.

Congratulations?

You want to slap your forehead, but you settle for simply glancing up at her. Her gaze is locked onto you now, intense and unwavering. It’s like she’s trying to reach you through the growing distance between you two, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve lost her... that you never really had her.

The sound of the coffee shop fade as your own internal dialogue takes over, mocking you.

You’re pathetic, it whispers.

You haven’t moved on.

You never really let go.

You glance around the coffee shop. There’s a woman in the corner smiling at her boyfriend—no husband, the wedding ring sparkling as she holds his cheek, a group of tourists chatting loudly about going to watch some play on Broadway, someone in the backline swiping through their phone, you can see the TikTok home screen from your place in the corner of the café.

But you can’t hear them. All you hear is the hollow beat of your own heart, pounding painfully in your chest, as if it knows that this moment is the end of something—something you still thought was possible.

It feels like you’re drowning, surrounded by noise, by life moving forward, while you’re stuck here in this tiny moment, unable to breathe.

Her eyes flicker with concern, noticing how your posture shifts, how you stiffen at the words that should have felt normal, casual. But they don’t. They can’t.

There’s nothing casual about this.

Nothing normal.

Not when your heart is bleeding under the weight of a past you can’t shake, a future you never thought you’d face.

You try to steady yourself, but you can feel the walls you’ve built around your emotions crumbling.

She’s married, Y/N. She’s married. Get over it.

But you can’t.

You feel a pang of guilt. Natasha’s gaze is warm, but there’s an ache in her eyes too—something that makes your heart hurt in a different way. She’s trying. She’s not the woman you left behind. But then again, neither are you. Neither is she.

Her hand rests, trembling, on the table now. She wants to reach out to you, but she’s scared of pushing too hard. You can see it in her eyes—she’s uncertain. She’s terrified of what you might say. Terrified of making it worse. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the table, hesitant, before pulling away. She’s probably wondering if she’s done the right thing. Wondering if she was wrong to move on, to make this decision without you, without this—whatever you two were. She watches you, her gaze softening as if she wants to comfort you, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t even know where to begin. She could try to reach for you, but she knows it might make things worse.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks softly, her voice trembling slightly. She’s staring at you now, as if trying to understand what’s happening inside your head, but you don’t have an answer for her. You don’t even have an answer for yourself.

The silence stretches between you two, heavy with unspoken words, as the noise of the coffee shop crashes around you both, a stark reminder that the world keeps moving. And in it, Natasha is moving forward, and you... you’re left behind.

She regrets it. She regrets this—this distance. This moment. She wants to take it all back. To fix this. To fix you. But she can’t.

The weight of the regret hits her, and she breathes out a slow, steadying breath, her hand trembling on the table. She can feel it too, the unbearable tension between you both, the space that feels like a chasm even though you’re only inches apart.

But you—you’re the one who’s drowning, trying to keep your head above the weight of the memory and the feeling that you were never enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, almost too quietly to hear. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like this.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away for a second, almost as if she can’t stand seeing you like this, can’t bear the thought of how much she’s hurt you.

But the truth is, she’s already lost you.

And she’s the one who will never be able to move on.

Her words cut deeper than she knows, because you can’t help but wonder—does she really not know? Has she been so caught up in her own life that she hasn’t seen how much this is tearing you apart? Or is it just that she’s moved on, and this is all just… a part of the past to her?

The thought makes your chest tighten. Your breath feels shallow, and you find yourself squeezing your cold drink harder, trying to steady the storm inside. You swallow, but it feels like there’s a lump lodged in your throat, blocking any response. You want to scream, to tell her everything, to make her understand how much it hurts to see her here, happy, with someone else. But the words are gone—lost in the space between your need to cry and the reality of the life she’s chosen without you.

“Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and desperate and hurt. You didn’t mean to ask it—didn’t want to ask it—but you can’t help it. You need to know.

Natasha’s heart aches at the sound of your voice, the fragility in it. For a moment, she feels as though the floor beneath her might give way. She had hoped—hoped—that you would be okay. That this wouldn’t hurt so much. But the pain is evident, like a raw wound, and it’s impossible to ignore.

Her face crumbles for a moment, and she looks away, as if she’s searching for the right words, for something that might make this hurt less. But there are no words that can make this better. No words that can undo the last few years.

she feels a lump in her throat, the wounds she'd covered, gashes shed mended, all coming undone in this moment.

“I don’t know,” Natasha whispers. “I really don’t know. I thought I could give you what you needed, but… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed me to be.”

Her voice cracks as she says it, and she feels herself breaking inside. She knows you’re hurting, but she’s not sure what she can do to make this right. She had tried—tried so hard—to be what you needed, but she failed. And it kills her that she couldn’t give you the love and stability you deserved. The love she thought she could offer, the love that now feels so distant and ungraspable.

Your heart aches. It’s a contradiction, isn’t it? The way she sounds so guilty, and yet you know deep down that she’s not really sorry for her life—she’s sorry for the fact that she hurt you in the process of living it.

Her words feel hollow to her, and as they leave her lips, she wonders if she’s just prolonging the pain for both of you. She swallows hard, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her ring again. It’s such a small, insignificant gesture, but in this moment, it feels like the biggest thing in the world. It feels like a symbol of everything she’s lost. A symbol of a promise she made to someone else, a promise she can’t go back on.

She wants to reach for you again, but she knows better now. She knows that you’ve already made up your mind—that you’ve already closed the door on what could have been. The door that used to swing open so easily for her, but now only feels heavy and locked.

You look at her, your gaze raw, and for a second, you think you might say something else. You might beg her to take it all back. To come back. But you know you can’t. You know you have to let this go. You feel a deep ache in your chest as you realize that this is the end. The finality of it settles in, and you can’t hold on any longer.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and pull back from the table, your hands folding into your lap as you gather yourself. It’s almost like you’re physically trying to close yourself off, to shield the part of you that still hopes and longs for something that no longer exists.

“Maybe... maybe you were never what I needed either,” you mutter quietly, more to yourself than to her. The words taste bitter on your tongue, and you wish you could take them back as soon as they leave. But it’s true. Somewhere along the way, you lost her. And maybe, just maybe, you lost yourself in the process.

The words hit Natasha like a slap, but it’s the truth. She’s never been able to give you what you needed, and that realization settles like stone in her stomach. She opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something—something to fix it, to undo the damage—but the words die in her throat. They would only make things worse, only deepen the wound between you both.

She doesn’t speak. She can’t. She just watches you, helpless, as you turn away from her, the finality of your departure cutting into her chest like a knife.

You shake your head, unable to meet her gaze. The tears you’ve been holding back for so long feel close now, threatening to spill over. You can’t let them. You won’t. Not here, not in front of her, not when everything feels like it’s already slipping through your fingers.

“I should go,” you say, your voice quieter than you intended. It’s not a demand, it’s not even a decision—it’s just the only thing you can bring yourself to say. You push your chair back, standing up slowly, feeling like your legs might give out beneath you. You feel empty, but in a way, that emptiness is almost worse than the pain.

Her eyes follow you, and Natasha doesn’t try to stop you. She doesn’t ask you to stay. Her hands are folded in her lap, and she’s left with the sense that, somehow, she’s failed you, failed the both of you. She doesn’t think she could stand to watch you walk away again. The understanding in her eyes is quiet, gentle. She knows this is the end.

As you turn to walk away, you hear her raspy voice one last time. “Y/N… I still care about you.”

You stop for a moment, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You want to say something back—anything—but you know it wouldn’t change things. It wouldn’t fix anything.

You don’t respond. Instead, you walk. One foot in front of the other as you push open the door of the coffee shop, the cold New York air hitting your face like a slap. It’s sharp, biting, but somehow, it’s exactly what you need. You step into the busy street, the noise and the rush of people washing over you, but all you can hear is the silence of her absence. Is this it? You think. It has to be.

You keep walking, trying to put one foot in front of the other, but every step feels heavier than the last. You don’t know how you’re supposed to move forward—to move past her. You don’t know if you ever will.

After all, it’s never over.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

a/n: YAYY!! i was so excited to start writing this fic, it’s my drafts since October so i’m happy it’s finally out. i hope you all liked it! it was my first time writing angst and i’m very proud of it, if you guys have any constructive criticism pls give it politely:)

ps: i’m excited to see everyone’s reactions to it, please do share how you feel afterwards <3

[atlabeth]

table thief

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer's routine, thoughts, and plans are thrown off by a girl he meets at his favorite cafe --- not necessarily in that order.

a/n: i dont know where this came from but uh. enjoy this lil fluffy blurb! ill get to those 3k requests sometime. set during spence's time at caltech

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): none, all fluff

Spencer’s mind is a whirlwind of information while he stands in line at his usual coffee shop, trying to keep everything in order as he goes over everything he needs to get done. It’s a particularly busy afternoon for him, hence his coming here directly after class instead of stopping by his dorm. 

There’s a research paper for him to finish, office hours to make for his most elusive professor to get some questions answered—why she only has them open for two hours on Wednesdays, Spencer has no idea—a thousand papers to grade for the class he’s a TA for, and naturally, a coffee to give him the energy for the rest of what is going to be a long night. 

Of course, he knows he should probably try and do it without caffeine—it’s one of the most popular drugs in the world, and most people live in ignorance of their obvious addiction to it—but Spencer has decided to forgo some caution in the name of getting all his work done. 

He doesn’t really have a choice, honestly. He’s planned out this whole day meticulously, much like every other day. He packed his bag with everything he would need for the rest of the day so he wouldn’t have to make the aforementioned stop at his dorm, he picked the line with the barista that has never gotten his order wrong—and, he’s realized over numerous trips to this shop, is the fastest in the entire cafe—and his usual table is big enough to hold all of his books and papers. 

But as Spencer finishes pouring in his last bit of sugar, he realizes his meticulous plan is foiled before he can even take the first sip. 

Because his table is taken. 

The table he sat at the first time he stopped in here before class and the table he has sat at every other time since, the table that has honestly become a part of his routine and is the only one big enough for all of the work he has to get done this afternoon, is taken by some woman wearing a Caltech sweatshirt and reading a book. You’ve got your own thermos in front of you, so at least you care about the environment, but that thought doesn’t stop the flareup of annoyance inside of him. 

You have to be a student, and you have to be his age, and you have to either be oblivious or have a whole lot of nerve because Spencer has seen you around campus and in this coffee shop before. That means you know this is his table and you still took it anyway. 

“That’s my table,” Spencer says, and after it leaves his mouth he’s able to hear how stupid he sounds. It’s a table in a public coffee shop. Of course he has no claim to it—just because it’s obvious to him doesn’t mean it’s obvious to you. You probably didn’t even know. 

You look up from your book, and the second stupid thought to hit him is how pretty you are. “I know.”

He frowns. He can’t think that table thieves are pretty, especially ones with apparent malicious and knowledgeable intent. “You— you know?”

You nod. “I’m here almost as much as you are, Mr. Reid.”

“Doctor Reid,” he corrects, almost on instinct. 

Your eyebrows rise. “Doctor?”

“I have two PhDs,” he explains, though he feels even more stupid doing so as he gets on the edge of stammering. “I’m working on a third. Chemistry.”

“And already I know more about you in a minute than I’ve gotten in the past month,” you muse. “That’s why I took your table, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer frowns even more. “You took my table so I could tell you about my PhDs?”

“So I could get an excuse to talk to you,” you correct. Your smile grows a bit and you huff a quiet laugh, more to yourself than anything. “You’re a little intimidating.”

That gets him completely, his brows furrowing deeper yet. “I— I’m intimidating?”

“Well, yeah,” you say. “You’re a gorgeous guy who always looks like he’s got something to do, so I never wanted to interrupt you. But I really wanted to ask you out, so I finally decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Spencer feels like his brain is short circuiting. He’s still stuck on the intimidating comment, and he’s still kind of annoyed that you took his table, but you specifically went out of your way to get his attention and now you’re calling him gorgeous— 

Just who the hell are you? 

“You’re not busy, are you?” He’s drawn out of his head temporarily as you speak again, dazzling smile still on display. “I would get it if you were. I mean, third PhD and all.”

“No,” he says immediately, shaking his head far too rapidly, “no— no, I’m not busy.”

He just has a whole lot of work to do, work that he came specifically to this cafe to do, but you’re throwing him off of everything in the first five seconds of knowing each other. 

“Wonderful.” Your smile grows and Spencer feels his face grow hot. He finds his annoyance quickly fading, replaced with some mix of confusion and interest and embarrassment. “If you’ve got the time, I’d love to sit down and talk some. Get to know you a bit.”

And again, Spencer hardly even knows what to say. He— he doesn’t talk to girls. Girls don’t talk to him. But here you are, stealing his table and flashing pretty smiles and wanting to get to know him— wanting to ask him out. It’s all so absurd that a part of him thinks he might just be dreaming, but he’s sure he’s fully conscious. 

“Why?” he blurts out, and he would be even more embarrassed if it wasn’t such a genuine question. 

You give him a wry look. “Why what?” 

“Wh— why would you want to get to know me?” Spencer stammers. “There’s more than 2,000 other students here. There’s almost 40 million people in California. I’m no one.”

“You are Doctor Spencer Reid,” you say, looking him right in the eye. “You drink your coffee with an absurd amount of sugar and cream, you always seem to be in a hurry, you’re one of the most beautiful guys I’ve ever seen, and I want to know more about you than passing observations. That’s why.” 

For once, Spencer finds that he’s speechless. He doesn’t think anyone has ever been this blatant, this honest with him, over a matter like this. He— he doesn’t think he’s ever been asked out. Are you asking him out?

“If you think this is totally weird and you want your table back, say the word and I’ll get out of here.” Your eyes move to the free seat across from you, and you tilt your head. “But… if you don’t think it’s totally weird, there’s room for another.” 

Spencer stands there for a second, a thousand things flitting through his mind once again. On one hand, he has a lot of work to do. This is throwing off his entire routine, and even if he just spends ten minutes talking here, he’s going to have to get all his work done, and he’ll probably end up running to his office hours to make it there in time. Part of the reason that he plans things out so meticulously is so he can avoid sprints across campus that he’s most certainly not built for. 

On the other hand, he’s known you for two minutes and he’s already enraptured. He wants nothing more than to ignore that voice in his head and sit down across from you, absorb every bit of attention you’re willing to give and every word you say, and get to know this strange table thief. 

It takes another moment, but Spencer slings his bag off and takes the seat across from you. He sets his bag on the ground and his oversugared coffee on the table, and he notices the way a weight seems to leave your shoulders. 

You were nervous. Nervous to talk to him. The thought is almost laughable, that someone feels the way about him that he usually feels in every social interaction. 

“It is a little weird,” Spencer says, and he finds a small smile tugging at his lips that he can’t fully control. “But that’s kind of my specialty.” 

Your smile grows, and Spencer thinks you’re one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever seen. He has no idea how he got lucky enough for you to intercept him like this, but he’s grateful for it. 

“Good to hear,” you nod, and you let out a soft chuckle. “Sorry for stealing your table, by the way. It was the only thing I could think of to get your attention.” 

He shakes his head as he blinks a few times. “I don’t blame you. It’s a good table.” 

“It’s not really the table,” you say wryly. “It’s you. You’re very intriguing.” 

“Well,” Spencer says, clearing his throat as he tries his hardest to calm his nerves, “I guess it’s not really my table anymore. It can be our table, going forward.” 

Your eyebrows rise, and your smile is as bright as your eyes. “I like the sound of that, Doctor Reid.” 

His face burns as he tries to act casual, and he hopes you can’t tell how much he likes the sound of that. 

You start talking, asking him questions about himself and what he does and how in the world he has two PhDs already when you’re the same age, and he finds himself attached to every word—it’s an active effort to not get lost in those bright eyes of yours. 

(Spencer never does make it to those office hours.)

[rambling-at-midnight]

Second Chances (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne & Reader

Summary: Your and Jason’s relationship gets off to a rocky start in that, well... it doesn't have a chance to start, because the whole universe is conspiring against Jason. Everything comes to a head when a particle collider in STAR Labs malfunctions.

Word count: 5.8k

Six days after Jason discovered your regeneration abilities finds him waiting at a coffee shop at 8:53 a.m. He anxiously checks his watch again. You agreed to meet at 9, which really means you’ll be there by 9:10. He didn’t want to drink his coffee too quickly (how long did coffee dates last? He looked it up online and the results were inconclusive) so he drank a cup at home before leaving to sate the caffeine addiction every vigilante in Gotham suffered from.

It hadn’t made him more alert. Just more jittery.

Jason’s knee jogs beneath the table. It felt too high school prom to ask what you planned on wearing beforehand, so he used his best judgment (Damian would say Jason’s judgment was never good, but what did Damian know) and wore his only pair of jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. He knows a suit is too formal for a coffee date, and his usual sweats or gymwear is too casual. You’ve seen him in all kinds of clothing, so his appearance barely even matters, but at this point he’s going to sweat through the t-shirt before you even get here.

Instead of fiddling with his clothes, Jason combs his bangs back again.

As he walked through the door, Jason’s stomach had flipped like it was freefalling. A hundred little thoughts occurred to him, like, What if the shop’s closed today or What if this is the only coffee shop in Gotham that requires formalwear?

All his fears were unfounded. In the corner, a hipster wearing a fedora sips on his iced macchiato. Two tables down is a gaggle of GCU students that look like they’re cramming for finals. No one even looked over when he sat down to reserve this table for the two of you. It’s right next to the big ornamental bookshelf in the back of the shop, so hopefully you two will have a little more privacy.

Everything should be fine.

Everything is fine.

Jason checks his watch again: 9 a.m. sharp.

Shit. Should he order you a coffee before you get here? Is that presumptuous? Jason knows your usual order, but what if you have a different one here? What if you’re running even later than normal and by the time you get here all the ice is melted and you drink sad, watery coffee to make him feel better?

He should order your drink. Or maybe he should let you order your drink, and he should buy your pastry. Jason stands, then checks his phone to see if you’ve texted. You haven’t.

There’s no line, so he has no time to ponder the decision. When the barista asks what he wants, Jason panics and orders two drinks and two pastries. He saw something on the internet the other day about how women don’t like that anymore because then they feel obligated to stay at the date, but you know that he won’t pressure you, right? Like, sure, he’s never been in a relationship before, and Jason’s pretty sure he’s been in love with you since before he died, and he also wouldn’t be mad if you moved into his apartment tomorrow and never left, but he doesn’t have any expectations for today.

He thinks you two are compatible. Jason hopes so.

He checks his watch again: 9:04. A terrible thought occurs to him. What if you sleep through your alarm and never show up?

At 9:07, Jason’s order is ready, and when he turns around with two drinks and a bag of pastries in his hands, someone says, “Hi,” at his elbow.

Jason is a highly trained vigilante. The sight of him makes criminals crap their pants. He’s mastered over twenty styles of combat.

Jason jumps and drops the coffees.

Because you’re also a highly trained vigilante, you catch them without a drop spilling. “Hi, Jay,” you say again, eyes crinkling with your smile. You look… nice. More than nice. Just like you’ve seen Jason dressed any way, he’s seen you wear anything, and you never look anything less than perfect. But he appreciates that you put in the effort today.

Jason swallows. “H—” His voice cracks. “Hey, Y/N.” He cringes internally. So smooth.

You check the labels on both drinks and tape a sip of the one for you. “Thanks for ordering. Sorry I was late. Wanna sit down?”

“Yeah, sure,” says Jason. He sits in the chair across from you, then feels awkward with his hands. Should he put them in his lap? Keep them in sight?

You, on the other hand, seem completely at ease. Your eyes flick over him as you take another sip of coffee. Jason’s whole body flushes at your examination. He busies himself with his drink.

After about thirty full seconds of silent coffee drinking, you tilt your head and ask, “So how have you been?”

“Good,” Jason says. “I’ve been—good. You know. Recovering.” Internally, he curses his twisted tongue. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” you reply. Take another sip of coffee. Maybe you’re just as nervous as he is.

Jason nods. “That’s good.”

After another brief silence, you sigh and lean forward. Your eyes sparkle, like you’re trying to share a secret just between the two of you. “This is awkward, isn't it?”

Oh, God. You’re about to tell Jason that you two are better off as friends. “I mean, first dates are supposed to be a little awkward, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes, but because you’re essentially meeting a stranger. We’re not strangers, though. I know basically everything about you, and you know all about me.”

“Oh.” The thought of meeting up with a stranger to establish a relationship doesn’t appeal to Jason, honestly. He doesn’t think he could ever love someone he didn’t know. He doesn’t think he could love anyone more than you.

You cover your mouth with one hand. “Holy shit. I totally forgot. This is your first ever date, isn’t it?”

Jason feels his cheeks flush scarlet. “Well, technically, but—”

“Yeah, hanging out with Janie Morris in the library in seventh grade doesn’t count.” You wave your hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m totally ruining your first first date.”

“I wouldn’t call this ruined,” says Jason. He asks hesitantly, “Would… would you?”

You smile sweetly. “No. I’ve just never gone on a date with someone I liked this much. I’m a little nervous.”

Jason’s stomach flips. He opens his mouth to say something, but the sound of gagging cuts him off.

Damian and his friend, the youngest Kent kid, stand in line for coffee behind an absolute dickhead wearing a Blüdhaven police officer uniform. Dickhead has his back turned to you, ordering for the ungrateful kids, and Damian’s lip is curled while Jon Kent has his tongue out and finger pointed at his mouth, pretending to retch.

“What are you doing here?” you and Jason ask at the same time, but with vastly different tones.

As soon as he pays, Dickhead turns around and grins brightly. “Hey, guys! So you’re the reason Dami insisted on getting coffee before school.”

“Did Alfred give permission for that?” you ask.

Jon shoves his hands in his pockets and whistles. Damian suddenly finds the ceiling very intriguing.

Jason checks his watch. “He’s going to be late,” he says pointedly.

Dick shrugs. “That’s okay. I was late almost every day to Gotham Academy.”

“Yes, because you were a teenage delinquent. Those of us that actually care about our academics—”

As Jason continues to argue with Dick, Damian turns to you and says plainly, “You could do so much better, Y/N.”

“Come here, Dami.” You beckon him forward, and he sidles over reluctantly. You rub at his cheek with your sleeve. Gently, quietly, so he isn’t embarrassed, you chide, “That’s not a nice way to talk about your brother.”

Damian scowls. “He is not—”

Suddenly, the cash register topples over, pushed out of the way by Kite Man’s expanding kite.

You shove the kids behind you. Jason shoves you behind him. Dick shoves all of you behind himself.

Kite Man shouts at the underpaid barista, “What do you mean no one ordered my special drink this week?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the barista says. “Nobody wants green raspberry lattes.”

“Green raspberry?” Jason asks in disbelief. “Does that even exist?”

Kite Man whirls around. “Yes, it does, and it’s fabulous!” He stands in front of the door and shouts, “Nobody leaves until you all have tried my signature drink!”

Well, of all Gotham’s rogues, Kite Man is relatively harmless. It’s probably easier to just try the drinks and tell him that it tastes good instead of fighting.

Judging by the look on your and Dick’s faces—mutual exasperation—you’re all on the same page.

Unfortunately, the hipster in the corner doesn’t agree. He throws his fedora on the ground and raises his fist in the air. Presumably he has something motivational to say about nonconformity or whatever they care about nowadays. Unfortunately, the shop’s glass windows shatter, and four men with Penguin masks and large guns enter.

“Hey!” Kite Man complains. “I was in the middle of holding these people hostage!”

A squat figure waddles into view. “Fly away now, little birdie, or you’ll find yourself between my minions and a hard place.”

Kite Man shakes his head. “Just because you buy into your bird theme doesn’t mean we all have—”

One of the goons cocks his gun.

“Fine,” he huffs, “I’m going. But I’m telling everyone that you stole my heist.”

Cobblepot rolls his eyes. “You do that.”

Clothes rustle behind Jason, and when he glances over his shoulder, your date clothes have been replaced by your Ghoul costume. How did you even do that?

The Ghoul mask has no visible eyes, but Jason sometimes thinks he can see yours through it. “Get down.”

“Ghoul—”

“All right!” Cobblepot shouts. “Everyone, hands up and wallets out. As long as you’re smart birdies, I’ll let you all fly the coop.”

“Speaking of flying, has anyone here ever seen a flying idiot before?”

Cobblepot pauses. Everyone slowly looks up, and up, until they see you perched on top of the ornamental bookshelf.

“They’re about to,” growls one of the goons. He raises the barrel of his gun, but you’re already jumping to avoid the spray of bullets, feet out and aimed right for Cobblepot’s middle.

The force of your jump sends him across the shop. You land much more gracefully, put your hands on your hips, and say happily, “Now everyone has.”

The goons open fire.

Jason flips the table up, then crouches behind it. He pulls Damian down and curls around his soft human body. The Kryptonian kid will be fine. In fact, he’s in front of Dick, doing his best to use his invulnerable skin to deflect any bullets that fly in their direction.

Jason’s teeth grind. He hadn’t brought his helmet because he’s an idiot. There are a couple knives tucked into his left boot, and one handgun hidden in his right, but bullets spew so heavily over their heads that he doesn’t think he can join the fight without his armor.

Bodies hit bodies and people grunt. A man grunts, and you cry out. You grunt, and one of the men cries out.

Dickhead finally does his job. He twists around, face twisted into a snarl, and tackles someone out of sight.

“It’s Signal!” one of the goons screams.

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and covers Damian’s when the force of the sun lights up the room. Judging by a couple screams, the goons weren’t so smart.

When Jason straightens up, two of the goons roll around on the ground, clutching their faces and screaming about going blind. Dick has the other two handcuffed, and Signal has Cobblepot pinned.

Where are you?

Jason scans the entire shop, but he doesn’t see you.

“Todd!” Damian tugs his hand. “This way.”

Jason lets the kid steer him through the shop and out the back door. After a second, he realizes that the kid is following a trail of blood.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You’re in the alley behind the coffee shop, wedged between two dumpsters. Judging by the smear of blood in front of the one meant for recycling, you collapsed in front of it, then dragged yourself between the two to hide. Blood stains your pale suit from the trail of bullets in your stomach. One of the goons managed to hit you with at least seven. They’re all in a straight line across, too, and Jason would admire the marksmanship if it didn’t mean you’re bleeding out in the middle of an alley.

You rip the fabric of your suit until the torn skin is visible. Then you reach into one wound with your bare fingers. Sharp, pained gasps escape your mouth, sounds that would be screams had you more strength.

You pull out one bullet. It rolls away underneath the dumpster.

Jason drops to his knees. As much as he knows, intellectually, that you won’t die, it’s something else entirely to watch you bleed out. “Ghoul?”

Your helmet lolls. You cough, and red stains your mask from the inside out. “Hey, Jace. Sorry. Give me a sec.”

Damian pushes past Jason. You manually push your legs out of the way so he can crouch next to you, ignoring the puddle of blood growing around his shoes. They’re black, so the stains won’t be visible.

“Hey, bud,” you say weakly. “You okay?”

Damian nods. “I am fine.”

“Fucking Gotham,” you mutter. “Not even nine-thirty…”

Someone gasps behind Jason. He whirls around, ready to defend you when you’re unable to.

Dickhead has one hand over his mouth and another over Jon’s eyes, even though the alien can probably see right through his fingers. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“S’okay,” you say. Try to give them all a thumbs-up. “They nicked my spine, actually, so I can’t feel anything.” You cough again, make a choking sound, and go limp.

Jason feels it when you die. His heart twinges, and everything in his vision goes half a shade grayer. There’s less color when you aren’t in the world.

“Oh, my God.” Dick pulls on his hair. “Oh, my God, they’re dead.”

Jason tilts his head. “You don’t know?” He looks at Damian. “He doesn’t know?”

“I don’t know what?”

“Ghoul’s healing abilities are more advanced than we were led to believe,” Damian says briskly. He pulls tweezers out of somewhere and roots around in your wounds, extracting each small bullet with expert precision.

“Dami, stop that,” Dick says. He pulls out his phone. “We need to call someone. Jason, you stop Damian—”

“He has to remove the bullets before they can heal around them,” Jason says.

Dick stops dialing whatever number he’d thought of. He stares at Jason. “What? Jay, Ghoul’s—”

“Dead.” Jason’s mouth is sticky around the word. “Yeah, I know. But not for long.”

“Whoa,” breathes Jon. “I can see them healing.”

“Okay, someone had better explain to me what’s going on right now.”

Jason opens his mouth to, but then you suck in a deep breath and sit up, patting your stomach to check that you’re intact again.

And. Well. That pretty much explains it all.

You and Jason try to plan a makeup first date four days after, just a quick lunch on your work break, but that’s interrupted by a last-minute order, and you cancel when Jason’s already outside the building with flowers in hand. Then you stop by Jason’s apartment for a bookshop trip, but find him passed out on the ground from several stab wounds, and ‘patching Jason’s wounds and ordering takeout’ doesn’t quite count as a first date. Every time Jason visits, Damian is already there with a smug smile to belittle everything he says. Your relationship deserves a proper first date, with nice clothes and the right setting, and he can’t do that simple thing for you.

Two weeks go by, and Jason still can’t take you out on a proper date. The whole universe, and especially Damian Wayne, are conspiring against him.

But tonight will be the night. Tonight, Jason set up a (fake, he doesn’t want to set the whole building on fire) candlelit dinner in his apartment. Tim has been thoroughly bribed to keep Damian busy no matter what, Cass and Babs are handling Crime Alley, and Nightwing is patrolling your usual stomping grounds. Bruce accepted all this as measures to keep Gotham nightlife on its toes, so Jason doesn’t expect any issues from him.

Tonight, nothing will go wrong.

Only two minutes after the arranged meet time, you knock on his front door, and Jason trips in his haste to answer it. He almost brings down the entire table, but his hand narrowly misses hitting the edge. Jason catches himself against the wall and wrenches the door open.

“Hey, Jay,” you beam. You’re dressed somewhat nice, not that Jason’s complaining, but now he feels overdressed in his button down. At least his feet are bare. Speaking of, where are his socks?

“Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, I—”

You stop short at the sight of the dinner. Jason swallows. Is it too fancy?

Then you snort.

Jason’s chest hurts.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you say immediately. “Just—I didn’t think you were the kind of guy to celebrate every milestone.”

“What?”

“Well, I mean, this is our two-week anniversary, right?” You step further into the room and shed your jacket. “It’s sweet, Jay, really, but it’s really not necessary. Between the two of us, I’ll probably forget our one-year anniversary, so at least you’re good with dates.”

“Hang on,” Jason interrupts. “What do you mean, it’s our two-week anniversary?”

“Um, yeah?” You give him a weird look. “It’s been two weeks since we started dating. Or did I get the dates wrong?”

“We’re dating?” Jason squeaks.

You squint, open your mouth, and check the date on your phone. You close your mouth and say hesitantly, “Aren’t we?”

“You never told me that!”

“I didn’t realize it needed to be said!”

Jason splutters. Of course it needed to be said! “I never asked you to be my partner!”

“Well, duh, but you asked me out and brought flowers to my work.” You put a hand on your hip and pop it out. “I thought we would work out the details later. Look, am I wrong? Did I interpret this all wrong?”

Jason could rip his own hair out. “I’ve been trying to take you on one good date this whole time!”

Your face is blank for a while. Then you cover your mouth too late to hide your snort. “Sorry, sorry.” Your hands flap in the air, then you give him an apologetic look and set them straight at your side. “I’m being serious. Just, hon, what about the other dates weren’t good?”

Jason bluescreens at the nickname. He’s not sure how long he stares at you, but once his brain reboots and he realizes he’s standing like a creep, he wipes his chin to make sure there’s no drool on it, then says, “I didn’t even say anything to you when I dropped off the flowers!”

“Yes, I was on call, but I appreciated the gesture.”

“Then that other time, I nearly bled out and stained your clothes with my blood.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip. “That was kind of stressful, but you weren’t in any real danger of bleeding out. I would have freaked out a lot more if that was the case. Besides, I like taking care of you.”

You have got to stop saying cute shit like that, because Jason’s whole face heats up like a tomato and he can’t muster up any real words. What is it about you that turns him into such an idiot?

“Every time I go to your place, Damian’s there.”

“Damian is literally always at my apartment. I’m afraid that you’ll see even more of your brother if you really start dating me. Since we haven’t been already.”

Jason sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as you sidle closer and grab his other hand. Your fingers intertwine with his. “I guess that was kind of stupid of me, huh?”

You shrug. “Not stupid. A little silly. But still cute.” You bounce on your toes and give Jason a look, and all he can think is Oh my God.

Because this is it.

He might have read everything else wrong, but Jason is pretty damn sure that you want him to kiss you for the first time. He might be awful, might be the worst goddamn person you’ve ever kissed, but he’s willing to practice until he’s the best.

Jason’s neck cranes. He leans down and you lean up, eyes fluttering shut, and…

Your phone rings.

Everything pauses. Your eyes open, and a crinkle appears between your brows. “I should take this.” You silence the sound, then look over the electronic screen. Jason doesn’t peek, although his Bat-paranoia is begging for him to.

“Isn’t your ringer always off?”

“Yeah, it’s, um… it’s an alarm,” you say.

You’re a terrible liar.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” You smile, but this time it looks forced. “I’ll see you later, Jay.” Instead of trying for a kiss again, you trap his arms to his side in a bear hug, then dart out the door.

Jason sticks his head into the hallway and shouts, “Are we still getting coffee tomorrow?” That was his backup plan for if something fucked up this attempt at a first date.

And something did.

You’re already gone.

He goes to your weekly coffee spot anyway in the vain hope you’ll show up. Nine o’clock passes, then nine-thirty, then ten.

After two hours of waiting, Jason has to concede that you’re not showing up.

The moment he stands, someone clears their throat, and when he looks back, Damian is in the chair across from him.

“Do you ever go to school?”

“At approximately nine-forty last evening,” started the brat, but Jason cut him off.

“Not interested in whatever tantrum you’re pitching now.”

“Sit down, Todd.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I know where Y/N is.”

Jason sits down.

Damian clears his throat again. “At approximately nine-forty last evening, Barry Allen sent a distress signal to the Justice League. Batman went to Star City to investigate, and he took Ghoul with him.”

“Why would he do that?”

“How should I know, you insufferable hooligan?”

Seriously. Victorian child. It was honestly ridiculous.

Damian lost a bit of confidence. “I am…” He bit his lip. “Worried.”

“Why?”

“I have not heard from Father or Y/N since their departure.”

Shit.

Jason shot to his feet. “Do we have a zeta to Star City?”

Damian scoffed. “Of course.”

“Good. We’re going to use it.”

“Affirmative.”

Jason drags the kid by the collar of his shirt. His bike is too far, so Jason hotwires a car and hauls ass to the Cave. Everyone else in this stupid nocturnal family is still asleep, so no one interrupts them when Damian turns off the zeta’s parental override and plugs in their coordinates. It’s a good thing he keeps a spare suit in the Cave; he hadn’t even thought to grab it from his apartment.

Jason takes a deep breath before stepping through. He’s had some time to think, so he knows exactly what he wants to say. He’ll apologize. He’ll ask to work through why you think your pain is such a non-issue that you’ll throw yourself at death headfirst. You’ll explain your thoughts, and agree to start thinking about your own health, and then maybe you’ll say ‘I love you’ to each other and kiss and live the rest of your lives happily ever after.

Jason steps into a tornado.

A metal plate zips by so close it nearly shears off his nose. Jason cries out and stumbles back, tripping over Damian as he emerges from the zeta.

“Are you sure you took us to the right place?” he shouts over the whirlwind screaming in his ears.

“Of course!” Damian yells back. “I do not make mistakes.”

“Then what the hell is going on here?”

“Unclear! The zeta should have put us in STAR labs!”

Jason stares at the big metal contraption in front of them. “I think it did.”

“What?”

He shouts, “I think it did!”

If Jason is ever going to look at a machine and think, Wow. That looks exactly like a time machine, this is that machine. It’s almost too massive to take in. And something is definitely wrong with it, unless lightning is supposed to be crackling around it and its metal plates are supposed to be peeling off.

Why had the Flash called Batman to help? What could Bruce do that a speedster couldn't?

“He’s gonna kill me for bringing Robin here,” Jason groaned.

Damian shouted, “What?”

“Nothing!”

Something yellow zips in front of them, and all of a sudden Jason can hear. His stomach just about falls out between his teeth when he pukes.

Damian doesn’t puke, although he does look queasy.

They’re now in another room in the lab. Thick glass windows separate them from the tornado. Watching the metal whirl around is kind of hypnotizing.

“Sorry,” says the Flash. “That happens a lot, actually.”

When Jason looks up, Batman and Ghoul are glaring at him. Funny how he can tell, even though neither vigilante’s mask exposes much (or all) of their face.

“Red Hood,” growls Batman, “what are you and Robin doing here?”

Jason looks past him and says to you, “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

Flash looks between you and Jason and coughs into his hand, “Awkward.”

You roll your eyes beneath your mask. “I thought this would take an hour, tops.”

“Things have gotten… out of hand,” says Batman, which is akin to someone else screaming about the apocalypse and end of all humanity.

“Two important pieces in the collider disconnected early this morning,” says Flash.

“Okay,” says Jason. “So put them back together?” Aren’t these two supposed to be Earth’s smartest heroes?

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Quantum mechanics,” says Batman. “Too complicated to explain.”

You whisper behind your hand, “He’s been trying to help me understand all night.”

“So there’s technically good and bad news,” says Flash. “Good news: the malfunction is fixable. Now. It wasn’t before. Bad news: holding the machine together while it resets will kill you of radiation that unwinds your DNA. Good news: if I vibrate at just the right frequency, I may survive.”

“Okay, great,” says Jason. “What are you waiting for?”

“For you four to get out of range of the blast zone, mostly,” Flash says. “There is a small non-zero chance that the whole building will combust.”

“Five minutes should do it,” Batman growls. “Come along, Robin.”

Instead of coming along, Damian says, “What is that?” and points over Batman and Flash’s shoulders.

Everyone turns to look.

“I don’t see anything,” says Jason. He turns around to see Damian’s arms wrapped tight around your middle. By the time Flash and Batman turn back around, the boy’s arms are crossed over his chest as if nothing happened.

“Apologies,” Damian says stiffly. “I must have imagined it.”

Batman knows his son well, and he eyes Damian suspiciously, but at that moment a piece of debris hits the glass at the right angle, and shoots into the room. Flash jumps out of the way and it buries into the wall behind him.

The tornado’s cacophony is even louder, if that’s possible. Flash blurs into motion, and the ground pulls away from Jason. When he stops moving at the speed of light, he’s crouched beneath a desk next to you. Damian and Batman are together under the desk to your right.

Jason peers around the edge. All he can see of Flash is a yellow blur darting all over the machine. For a moment the wind stops, and every piece of debris clatters into the walls, then onto the floor. Jason’s ears ring.

“Is that it?”

There’s a tremendous crash, and Flash slams into the wall. The force of it holds him there for a moment, and then he tumbles to the ground, unconscious.

Batman darts out from the desk to pull the man’s body to safety. He taps Flash’s cheek, but the man doesn’t stir.

Well, shit. How long can they wait for Flash to wake up?

You say something, but Jason doesn’t hear. He shouts, “What?”

Your hands pull at your mask, and you yank it off, ruffling your hair. Jason smoothes it away from your face on instinct.

“Just tell me what to do,” he shouts.

Your eyes close against the wind. Tears escape the corners of both.

Jason feels your gentle fingers around the edge of his mask, and he helps you remove it. “What is it, Y/N?”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “This isn’t fair.”

“We can—why are you saying this?” His eyes dart between you and Batman. The tornado in the other room is growing worse by the second, but he’s just looking at you two like some soap opera.

“Hey!” Your fingers latch in the front of his collar, and you yank Jason’s surprised mouth down onto yours. Your noses bump, and he forgets to breathe (he should joke that you take his breath away when all this is over) but it’s… It’s perfect.

His first kiss.

Damian yells, “Gross!”

You pull back. A brilliant smile lights up your face. “Hey. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jason breathes.

Metal clicks around his wrist.

Jason looks at the handcuff, not really understanding your plan until you latch the other cuff around one of the desk’s bolted-down legs. “Don’t you dare,” he says. Jerks his wrist back. The cuff clatters but holds.

“I’ve got a chance.”

“Not a good one!”

“I’ll see you in a sec.” You stand up.

“What are you doing?” Damian hollers.

“Don’t do this!” Jason shouts. He fights with the handcuffs, and they creak, but he won’t get out of them in time to stop you. Anxious desperation courses through his veins. “Y/N, get back here!”

Damian’s head whips between you and Jason. His eyes widen, and he lunges out from behind the desk to stop you, but Batman catches him around the middle and hauls him back kicking and screaming.

You shout to Batman, “Get them out of here!”

The cowled man looks at you for a long moment. Jason’s spirits rise: will Batman stop you?

But then he nods smartly, giving you permission to exit the room and enter the tornado. Batman tears the door handle off seconds before Robin hits it, banging his fists on the metal and screaming your name. He lets Robin tire himself out doing that and crosses over to Jason. “Will you fight me?”

Jason stares at his father, tears brimming in his eyes. “How could you let them do that?”

Voice completely emotionless, Batman says, “It was the most practical risk to take.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s okay.” Batman crouches and reaches a hand out. He strokes Jason’s hair twice, the way he used to when they were younger, and Jason hates the way he leans into it. “I’ll be back for you, then.” He straightens and barks, “Robin, to me!”

Damian whirls around, teeth bared in a feral snarl. “I will not leave Ghoul!”

Jason can’t hear whatever Bruce says to him, but somehow he persuades Damian to help pick Flash’s limp body off the ground. With a flourish of capes, they disappear, and Jason’s left alone, handcuffed to a desk, listening to the tornado in the next room tear apart the love of his life.

The wind crescendos.

Abates.

The building holds its breath, and then—

Whoosh.

Jason curls up into as tight a ball as possible, teeth gritted against the terrible flooding heat. If not for the shelter of an entire wall and desk separating him from the flames, Jason would be burnt alive. No one could withstand—

Jason whirls around and screams, “Y/N!” The stupid fucking handcuff, he pulls against it, and it bites into his wrist, drawing blood. “Fuck, I’m being so fucking stupid—”

Jason braces the metal chain against one of his knives and applies pressure until it snaps. Then he’s up, feet skidding over glass and metal shards, and he bursts through the door to the particle collider. “Y/N! Ghoul!” He can hear his own panicked breathing, but he can’t regulate it.

You’re okay. You have to be okay. You survived a broken neck, severed spinal cord, and seven bullet wounds to the abdomen. Just because Jason can’t find your body doesn’t mean anything. Just because the room is filled with ash and dust and dirt and no fucking body doesn’t mean anything.

Jason screams your name until his throat is raw. The particle collider is ruined, partially collapsed, and Jason slices open his palms on jagged edges trying to shove it away. Are you stuck beneath it? Jason doesn’t even know what parts were broken.

Something clatters behind him, and Jason whirls around, but it’s just Batman.

Surveying the damage, the man abruptly looks old beyond his years. He barely spares Jason a glance before beginning his own search for you.

“Y/N! Please!” Jason begs. “You can’t be dead, you promised—”

“Red Hood,” Batman says, and his voice is so raw that Jason whirls around.

There’s a pale-clothed arm in Batman’s arm. Jason gasps.

Then he sees that it’s attached to a torso.

Batman grunts and tugs, and the rest of you slips out from under a thick sheet of metal. “Oh, fuck,” Jason says hoarsely. He stumbles over the mess and falls to his knees in front of you. “You smart little asshole, you—” Jason feels for a pulse.

Nothing.

What had Flash said? The radiation unwinds your DNA? Is that something Professor Pyg’s sick experimentation could protect you from?

“Hood,” Batman says.

“No.”

“Hood—”

“Fuck off, B.”

Instead of fucking off, the older man pulls down his cowl and sinks to Jason’s level. “You’re bleeding, son.”

“It’s fine,” Jason mutters. His hands are rubbing it onto your suit, but you’re good at getting bloodstains out of the fabric. It’ll be okay. “Come on, Y/N.” His lower lip wobbles, but Jason resists the stone forming in his throat. You’re fine. You’ve always been fine.

Maybe you just need to breathe better. Jason rips off your mask, but that doesn’t help. Maybe he needs to breathe. He removes his own helmet, but that, too, makes little difference.

Physically, you look fine. Jason doesn’t see a single wound.

Of course, it would be hard for the naked eye to recognize unwound DNA, wouldn’t it?

Jason abruptly has a rush of sympathy for Dr. Fries. He doesn’t give a shit how long it takes or if the technology hasn’t been invented yet, your DNA is getting re-wound.

Then you suck in a deep breath. Your eyes fly open.

DC taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts @cliosunshine @fictionalwhor3

forever taglist

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[yogurtkags]

❝ HAPPY ACCIDENTS ❞ — kuroo tetsurou

cw. f!reader, fluff, cliche meet cute, strangers to friends to maybe more down the line — wc: 1.3k~

to cheer @nekomacheercaptain , my giftee ♡ for the hq x reader secret santa by @lale-txt

the winter breeze is brutal.

coupled with the featherlight flutters of falling snow, there’s nothing you want more than a mug of hot coffee, hot chocolate, hot anything. not hot enough to scald, not lukewarm, just right — warm to the touch of your hand and a heat that reaches to the depths of your bones and every crevice.

your gloved hands are shoved into the pockets of your coat, hanging heavy on your shoulders with a nice weight akin to a grandmother’s hug. god knows you need one right now, the colder days haven’t been kind to you and just getting yourself up and out of the house is a struggle all on it’s own. maybe some fresh air will do you some good, but it doesn’t feel like it when the snow’s crunching under your feet and soles of your shoes barely find purchase on the pavement as you take slightly faster but cautious steps towards alchemy’s brew.

the soft chime upon stepping in welcomes you with a sweet tune, the warmth that envelops you causing a sigh to slip out. this place was always a cosy visit no matter the season, a little nook that was a pleasant surprise to find and become your regular caffeine pick-me-up spot. you shoot a smile at the young barista working the counter as she greets you, walking over to a small table which is seemingly the only one unoccupied in a quiet corner.

small items prove difficult to handle with gloves on, let alone dollar bills and change as you fumble with your belongings. dusting away flits of white and gently tugging the fabric off your hands finger by finger, you drop them off on the table and turn around only to bump straight into a firm surface, eyes widening at the flash of jet black before you can stop your movements.

“oof—“ “woah watch ou—“

kuroo isn’t having the best day, well morning, the day just started. emails and emails, did i mention emails, bombarding his inbox and gods it’s his day off, do they even see his out of office notice? surely they can read.

it’s cold out and he much prefers the warmth of his apartment but alas, he is driven by a caffeine addiction. corporate norm if you will. he’s been meaning to try out this cafe since he moved here but he’s been so caught up with everything and everywhere in between that it just became a forlorn thought at the back of his mind, months passing and it still remains an untouched pin on his map.

he needs to step out and put his laptop away from his line of sight before he breaks his personal “no work on my off day unless it’s an emergency” rule, why not take the chance?

so he finds himself at the front of the line of alchemy’s brew, slipping the barista change and a polite smile, turning to find a seat while his hands warm up from a delicious hot drink, head in the clouds and lost in thought. maybe things are looking up.

until he completely fails to see ahead of him and collides into a smaller frame.

“i am so sorry!” you and the unfortunate individual that you ran into blurt out simultaneously, minds in sync to the horror of the scene in front of you, marked not by splotches of red, but a rich brown against tan vinyl.

your eyes quickly scan his clothing, letting out a held breath at its unstained appearance. finally bringing your gaze up to his face, the first thing you note is his very tussled hair, it resembles the ruffled feathers of a bird, or maybe more like a black cat that’s just had its coat aggressively petted and you can’t help but let the corner of your lip quirk up in amusement for just a split second before returning to a concerned frown. poor guy just wanted to have a peaceful morning and a hot drink and you probably ruined it.

what looks like a hot chocolate sloshes in the cup in his hands, slowly coming to a still after the sudden movement just a moment ago. what you assume was once full now stands half empty, and you meet his gaze with a wince, mustering up the most genuine apologetic smile you can, hands twiddling in nervousness.

“really, i’m so sorry about that, i should’ve seen where i was going.” you gesture towards his drink, “can i get you another—“

you visit this place regularly enough that you can easily get a new one for free and having made friends with the barista on shift today. you’d be willing to pay either way, it would be the right thing to do. you just want to move on from this situation as quickly as possible, the stares from the other customers starting to get under your skin.

he’s quick to cut you off with a panicked wave of his hand, “no, no, you don’t have to! you had your back turned to me, you couldn’t have known. if anything it’s my fault really.”

the way his eyes widen and words spill from his lips hurriedly doesn't quell the guilt, and instead makes you double down even more, unable to stop yourself from wanting to make it up to this seemingly sweet soul, lord knows you'd be on the verge of a breakdown if the same thing happened to you. “oh my god please, it’s the least i can do.”

"no, no, no, ok how about this— since we're both alone, or at least i assume you are? correct me if i'm wrong—"

the cafe's unexpectedly pretty busy on this saturday morning, a steady stream of customers and quiet chatter filling the air. there’s something for everyone here no matter the vibe or purpose, a solace standing the in midst of the cold like a crackling fireplace, a sanctuary.

as nice as the place is, you'd think no one in the right frame of mind other than yourself would be willing to get out of their warm bed and come outside in the snow — no one in your circle is at least, and you're certainly not waiting on anyone.

"i am!" you sound almost too chirpy affirming him about that and he thinks you so adorable.

"okay perfect, you can repay me with your company then."

"oka— wait what. are you sure?"

"i promise it's fine, you seem nice and i uh, would like to get to know you! i-if that's what you're comfortable with—" kuroo leaves out the part where you were settling down in the table he was eyeing before this whole thing happened, but he's slightly flustered, usually certain and sure but now thrown into a loop by the pretty girl that crash landed into his day, not that he's complaining. well other than maybe his spilled drink but that’s totally on him.

now that the initial shock is over, meeting his hazel eyes with a smile, you only just notice how pretty they are and compliment the rest of his features well, finally taking note that the man before you is actually very handsome and suddenly you're slightly bashful and even more embarrassed about what just transpired.

thankful that your scarf covers a little bit of your newly flushed demeanor, you nod with a shy smile and eyes averted, "i'd like that."

with a matching grin, he puts his cup down and pulls out a chair for you, and as you try to subtlety squint your eyes to peek at a scribbled name somewhere on his cup, he notices and laughs, a sound you think may be the music to your reddenned ears for the next hour or so. you’re not sure if the colour is still a reflection of the cold or a growing interest in this unnamed man, but who are you kidding, it’s more likely the latter.

“it’s kuroo, well—my name’s kuroo.”

it surprises yourself that as you sit across kuroo, this man that you just accidentally met in the middle of a cafe on a wintry morning, you think that there's nothing more in the moment that you want than to make him laugh again.

gen taglist. open (link to form) @wyrcan @urslytherin

networks. @the-all-stars-network @houseofsolisoccasum

notes. hi~ it’s been a while~ i’m a little rusty, so cheer, i hope you like this and to everyone out there, happy holidays ♡

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[4am-enha]

pouring.

description/tags: heavily inspired by a scene from the kdrama “something in the rain” on netflix. reader is basically a coffee addict who meets someone new in the cafe on their break, but there’s a rainstorm outside. heavy on acts of service jay in this, cheesy romantically suggested gestures, rain, umbrellas, proximity, catching feelings, old fashion love.

genre: fluffy, fluff, & more fluff!

pairing: jay x reader (y/n), gender neutral reader.

warnings: none that i am aware of :P

wc≈ 2.3k, one shot format

preview: “The tension between you was so thick, you could almost suffocate. But maybe it was just you getting in your own head. This didn’t have to be a slightly intimate interaction, he could just be being friendly.”

You were on a no-caffeine streak for a while now. Almost a week. Maybe it wasn’t really that impressive, but a week of no coffee for you was never heard of before. You were actually really proud of it and began bragging to people how you hadn’t touched a drop of caffeine, and how you intended not to touch any for at least a month.

But that all came crumbling down today. You were so sluggish, it was actual torture to not drink any coffee this morning. What really did not help were the strangely dark clouds outside and the type of air that just fills you with grogginess for the whole day. Winter was approaching pretty fast this year, so that would explain this type of weather. These days, it felt like it was dark when you left for work, and dark when you returned home.

All your progress, ruined, before it had even really gotten somewhere just for one cup of your favourite pick-me-up drink this morning. Was it really worth it?

Absolutely.

To be completely honest, you did hesitate for a moment about it outside the door of your favourite regular cafe, but as soon as that beautiful smell of coffee beans hit your nose, and the warm embrace of the cozy cafe ambiance with just one-half step inside of the building hugged you- you were completely convinced it was all going to be more than just a little worth it. You actually physically felt yourself hold back an urge to skip inside with excitement.

“Please hold it for me!” A man's voice urged from behind you. Of course, you held it for him. He was quite tall and looked very neat and put together. Well, ignoring the slight panic in his eyes and the messy bundle of things in his arms.

“Thank you! I’m sorry, my bag has just come loose and I'm trying to hold all the stuff in,” he laughed nervously as he walked past you into the cafe.

“No problem,” you laughed lightly back.

You approached the pale, slender cashier who immediately recognized you, “Y/n? It’s been a while. Where have you been?”

“It’s only been a week, Sunghoon, don’t be dramatic,” you joked.

“Well, what can I get you? The usual?”

“Yes please!” You beamed.

He smiled, “Alright! Cash or card?”

You pulled out your card and handed it to the barista, zoning into empty space as you waited for the payment to go through.

“Oh, do you have another card? This one declined.”

“Oh my gosh, what?” You took the card back from him, realising you had brought an expired card with you. You were so tired this morning, you didn’t check what you had picked up before you left for your break. You felt around your pockets for a minute, but deep down you hopelessly knew you had left all other cards and cash in your bag which was sitting pretty under your work desk.

By now, there were a few customers behind you. You didn’t want to make things complicated.

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to cancel my order-“

“Allow me,” the guy you had held the door for earlier came forward from behind you in the line and tapped his card against the machine.

“Oh my goodness, no! Please cancel that!” You panicked and yelled at Sunghoon, the barista.

“Wait, don't! Please, let me pay for it. It’s nothing, really!” The generous guy joined in with a panicked response.

“But-“

“Okay not trying to be rude here guys, but can you decide. Please?” Sunghoon pleaded. He was not paid well enough for this and other customers were already mumbling and grumbling amongst themselves in line.

You looked at the stranger with an apologetic face, but he only continued to reassure you that it was okay. He really insisted on paying. You nodded at Sunghoon in approval of not cancelling the payment after all.

Sunghoon then continued to take the man's order, leaving you and the stranger standing awkwardly beside each other waiting for the drinks to be made.

“You really didn’t have to do that you know,” you began, breaking the silence.

“I wanted to,” he smiled and paused for a moment, “what’s your name by the way? I don’t believe I have ever seen you around here before.”

“Oh really? That’s a surprise. I’m always out and about, and as for this cafe I’m kind of a regular,” you smiled.

He hummed in understanding, “I could guess by the way the barista seemed to know you.”

You laughed, “Yeah, I suppose it's a little obvious.”

“And your name?”

“Oh sorry, it’s y/n. How about you?”

“You can call me Jay.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jay.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, y/n,” he held out his hand for a handshake, but you misunderstood and gave him a high-five instead. It took him by surprise, but he laughed it off.

“Oh I'm so sorry I thought you were asking for-“

Jay interrupted you by suddenly shifting his hand to complete your high-five, “No need to be embarrassed, I’ll take a high-five too.”

You laughed about it together and then began some more small talk for a few remaining minutes discussing the usually boringly common topics like work, and how long you’ve lived here, except you actually enjoyed it more than you expected to. You were glad that you had made the choice to ruin your caffeine-sober streak today. Meeting new people was refreshing.

But since your job practically required you to talk to new people every day, and this was something you did daily- maybe it was just Jay that was refreshing. He was actually very intriguing, and not just because he was admittedly pretty to look at. You couldn’t really put it into the right words, but something about the way he talked and used so many unique minor expressions really caught your attention. He was so polite too. Attentive. Thoughtful. A nice outcast from the stereotypical modern type of men you were used to seeing everywhere these days.

Either way, this random interchange completely altered your day into something ten times better than it had originally been.

Coincidentally, your drinks were ready and called at the same time. Jay carefully passed you your drink while picking up his own, being cautious to not accidentally burn you with the hot cup. You thanked him once more and both headed out toward the door. Jay held it for you this time, arguing that it was only equal for him to do so since you had held the door for him on the way in.

Your smile quickly faded as you noticed the heavy rain that had begun a little while ago pouring down in front of you. You hadn’t noticed it right away because of the cafe marquee that slightly protected the street and kept the outer entrance dry. You sighed, staring in disbelief that you were going to have to spend the rest of work today in soaked clothes.

“Something wrong?” Jay questioned upon seeing your face flush with worry.

He made you jump a little because you had sort of expected him to be gone by now. You thought he had left immediately when you had exchanged some final thank yous and goodbyes at the door on the way out. When actually, he had stuck around for a minute to see you off.

“Oh no, it’s just that I have to walk in this horrible weather,” you replied defeatedly.

Jay thought for a moment, “wait here.”

You widen your eyes in confusion and surprise as you watch Jay run straight into the rain, completely soaking himself and his coffee within seconds only to disappear around the corner for a few minutes.

You kept checking your phone for the time, wondering if he was even going to come back or if you should just leave. You didn’t even know what he was doing or why he had asked you to wait here.

Meanwhile, Jay was rushing around the local mini-store for umbrellas. Finally, when he found them he picked up the closest two. One for you, and one for him. But then, he looked at the pair of them and put one back with a cheesy smile that showed that he had some sort of motive behind the peculiar decision.

Eventually, Jay returned, walking toward you in the rain, holding a single closed umbrella with floppy drenched hair, clothes tightly stuck to him, and a bright smile. It made your cheeks feel warm as you smiled shyly back.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, “you’re ridiculous and insane. You went into the rain to fetch an umbrella?”

“It would appear I did,” he laughed lightly too, handing you the umbrella.

“Why did you only get one? You should take this,” you tried to hand it back to him but he refused and pushed it away with a frown and disapproving shake of his head.

You tried again, “Please, you’ve already done a lot for me this morning. It’s not that bad, I can dry off at work.”

“Let’s share it then,” he suggested, taking the umbrella and holding it up for the both of you, “you said earlier that your workplace was the same way as mine anyway.”

“Oh, well alright then,” you felt yourself blush involuntarily as you began walking very closely, side by side together.

At first, it was awkward and a little uncomfortable, but that feeling didn’t stick around for long. Jay made conversation here and there, making it easy to follow along and it made you feel more confident about being almost attached by the hip to someone you met under an hour ago. Sometimes it would fall silent, but it was a comfortable silence. You would both drift off into your own thoughts for a minute or two.

You had no idea what Jay was thinking about, but you wondered if maybe he was thinking similar things to you. Maybe the situation just wasn’t awkward at all to him, and you were just overthinking it. You couldn't help but be curious about what he thought of you. Hopefully, you made a good impression, and hopefully, he was as comfortable as you were right now.

It was just now that you were noticing how good he smelled for the first time. He smelt as clean and fresh as he looked. His cologne was potent through his wet shirt.

He smelled expensive.

You also noted how tall he was beside you. After some sneaky glances here and there, you saw how sharp his jawline really was. It was as unreal as it had looked from a distance.

When you went to glance over at him again, he caught you. Instantaneously, your eyes snapped forward to avoid it, but he was already softly chuckling upon catching you staring.

“If you have questions, you can ask them, you know,” he laughed.

You laughed in embarrassment, nodding.

Jay began to elaborate, “It's just because you were looking-“

“I thought I saw a bug,” you lied with rosy cheeks.

“You’re a bad liar.”

“No really, I’m telling the truth!”

“Okay, I’ll believe you,” he smiled, seeing right through your attempt to cover up your obvious stares.

The tension between you was so thick, you could almost suffocate. But maybe it was just you getting in your own head. This didn’t have to be a slightly intimate interaction, he could just be being friendly.

As if you were an open book and Jay was reading your mind, he looked over to you.

“You keep drifting out from under the umbrella. Isn’t your shoulder getting wet?”

“A little but it's fine,” you shrugged.

“Come closer, I won't hurt you” he went to put his arm around you to pull you in but he hesitated, “may I?”

You could swear that your face was painted red with blush now, but you nodded anyway and let it happen. He was ever so gentle, making sure he wasn’t pushing it too far. Keeping his arm around you but loosely just in case you might change your mind.

You continued to walk like that together with uncontrollable smiles plastered on each of your faces until you reached the outside of your work building. It was such a peaceful moment that you would surely hold onto it for a very long time after the fact. It had been a while since you felt this rush of emotion that you were so sure had left you years ago.

The rain had cleared up now, spitting slightly still, but nothing compared to what it had been. Jay walked you up to where it was sheltered so that you wouldn’t have to get a single drop of rain on you. You felt bad that he was still very much soaked, while you looked as if you hadn’t been outside at all today.

“Thank you, again, Jay,” you stood in front of him.

“No, thank you, y/n.”

You fiddled with your hands a little, looking down, “perhaps, could I take your number so that I can pay you back later?”

Jay chuckled, “You can have my number, but you’re not paying me back.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, handing him your phone anyway to type in his number.

You then both briefly waved goodbye and you began walking into your building, hiding a giddy smile.

“Y/N!”

You turned quickly to the sound of Jay yelling your name and ran back towards him.

He held out the umbrella to you, “Take this. It’s yours now.”

Without argument, you took the umbrella and waved goodbye once more. You didn’t turn back this time, but you could feel Jay’s eyes on you- watching to make sure you got in with no problems before walking away himself.

Later on, you found yourself staring at the brightly coloured umbrella leaning against your work desk.

You drifted into the thought of the umbrella and a certain guy, with a smile lingering on your lips.

note: as always, any feedback/notes are appreciated~!thank you so much for reading!! i hope you have an amazing day/night ^^ finally, i got another singular member one shot out. i kinda liked this one. let me know what you guys thought of it. also, don’t forget to tune into orange blood nov 17th! WHOS EXCITED (I AM).

[strafepanzer]

haze | h.shinsou

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: mentions of shinbaku, fwb shinsou x fem!reader, no naughty stuff but 18+ conversation nevertheless, implied quirk usage

▸ ▸ ▸ word count: drabble-sized

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: playing with blog formatting and inserting into shinbaku. more to come probably! no edits

The smell of his favourite brew and the soft jazz wafting from the speakers make Shinsou feel somewhat at peace. Despite the time of night, you've agreed to meet him at your usual hangout: the cafe across the road from the apartment building you both live in-- neighbours, nothing more.

Never anything more. Not really.

You're in pyjamas: a worn gudetama set that he knows is soft as shit, a cardigan for warmth, and socks and slides. Cute, honestly. Any other occasion he'd make a joke at your expense, but it's 10pm and he did only text you 39 minutes ago to see if you were available.

It was a shit shift, but you seem to understand that he doesn't wanna unpack it, content just to be there with him, passively enabling his caffeine addiction.

Rather than being on him, however, your attention is on the TV mounted from the ceiling near the counter. It's muted, but there's no doubting the hero flinging himself through the sky in a series of explosions and a blur of black and orange, and there's no mistaking the stars in your eyes.

"You got a crush?" He asks, popping the lid from his takeaway cappuccino and licking at the chocolate sprinked froth.

"Huh? No!" You laugh, eyeing Shinsou off as he replaces the lid.

But there's a flush there, an embarrassment that wouldn't be there if he were wrong.

"You do, though. I can always tell." He teases, but he's right. He knew when you had the hots for the new barista 6 months ago, and he guessed about that hopeless crush you had on your tutor in college when the two of you ran into him at that bar last year.

"Doesn't matter. That guy is way outta my league." You sigh wistfully, eyeing the television longingly.

Shinsou snorts. "Bakugo?"

"No, his dad." You roll your eyes.

Shinsou chuckles, "he's not, though? I feel like people put that asshole up on a pedestal too much. He's just a dude."

A very hot, very famous pro-hero who Shinsou sometimes crosses paths with.

You give him a look and take a sip of your drink before placing it on the table. "What are you not telling me?" You narrow your eyes before your voice lowers conspiratorially. "Did you fuck him?"

Shinsou loves how fast your brain works. "Maybe he fucked me."

Your eyes light up. "Oh my god, I've indirectly slept with him?"

"Okay, this is beginning to hurt my ego."

You snort, an action Shinsou is absolutely smitten with. "I'm torn between wanting to know all of the juicy details, being jealous, and being mad you didn't tell me sooner."

"You don't tell me every person you sleep with." He shrugs, pulling a melodramatic gasp from your pretty lips.

"I do!" You're offended, brows pulling together and eyes wide. "You're the only person I've slept with in two years."

He blinks. This is... a surprising turn of events. That's as long as you've been hooking up.

Your fingers idly play with the condensation dripping from your drink, eyes downcast. He's hurt your feelings, and that hurts his. He's torn between smoothing it over and over-explaining, his too-tired-yet-wired brain jumping from A to B and back to A faster than he can actually compute.

Sometimes he forgets people aren't as free with their sexuality as he is.

"It..." he starts, growing frustrated with himself. "It happened twice. I don't think there was any reason, he didn't seek me out the first time or anything. And it's just sex, honest."

This isn't what he planned to talk to you about. In fact, he was sure he never wanted to tell you about the two of them ever, but his brain and mouth are clearly at war.

When he cautions a glance up at you, you meet his eyes with furrowed brows. He lets you process, feels that fast brain of yours tick, tick, ticking. But you dont say anything; no jests, no jokes, no cheeky predictions.

"I didn't ask you here to talk about Bakugo," he begins, trying to lighten the mood a little. "I just wanted to hang out. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise, it's not like we're exclusive." You mumble just loud enough for him to hear. "You... like him, then?"

If it were socially acceptable to cackle like the witch from HR Puffinstuff, he would. "Like him? Babe, you meet him once, and I promise that little crush you have on him will fizzle away to nothingness."

"Mean!"

"He is! Extremely so!"

There's a soft smile on your face now, and it calms Shinsou some; he takes a drink from his coffee, savouring the bitterness as washes over his tongue.

There's a comfortable silence that follows, the kind that usually occupies the two of you in his lounge room as you both scroll on your phones and half watch shitty Netflix shows. It's crazy to him that you've hidden your crush on Bakugo so damn well, then again, he hadn't quite been forthcoming with his connection to the pro-hero.

A few moments pass, and you're slurping the last of your drink through the straw, shaking the ice around and tilting the cup so you can get the dregs.

"Is he bi?" You ask, trying to sound casual. Trying.

His interest is piqued, nonetheless. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean, I know I'm convenient, and you're up for anything, but does he exclusively sleep with men?"

Wow, okay, a lot to unpack there, but he explains: "I don't think he does, but the stuff we do might not be up your alley, sweetheart."

"I can--" you begin, too loudly. "I can do butt stuff, Hitoshi." You level with him seriously, voice lowered.

He can't help the hyena-esque howl that bubbles up his throat. "This is not a conversation for here." He spares a glance over your shoulder to the barista fussing about with the coffee grinder behind the counter.

You follow his line of sight, before your large, hopeful eyes are once again on him. "Can I come over?" You whisper, before taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

He's once again torn, mind not knowing where to latch: your teeth in your lip, the "butt stuff" comment, you practically calling him a slut.

The possibility of explaining the ins and outs of how Bakugo begs Shinsou to use his quirk on him.

Heavy lidded eyes drop down to your chest, tits pushed together as you lean against the tabletop to be a little closer to him. "Yeah, you're coming over."

[catboygirljoker]

Org 13 cafe orders? Drink, pastry, both, just getting the whole beans, whatever

imagining this in like. vague modern au

Xemnas: americano. piping hot. usually if someone gets a drink that hot it's because they're gonna take it to the office and it'll cool down on the way, but he starts drinking it as soon as it's in his hand.

Xigbar: black coffee, two extra shots, asks them to fill up his enormous tumbler that keeps it hot all day. brags every time about how it keeps it hot all day. also sometimes gets like a protein spinach smoothie or a wrap with bean sprouts in it or something

Xaldin: usually gets a black tea, different ones from time to time. sometimes gets a chocolate croissant or a similarly not-overly-sweet pastry.

Vexen: unsweetened iced coffee with almond milk, including in the winter.

Lexaeus: doesn't really like coffee or tea. might get hot chocolate or a cider or something if he goes to a cafe with someone else. also might get a cinnamon roll or somethn

Zexion: hot chocolate or mocha latte, warm not hot. if the cafe isnt crowded he spends all day there.

Saïx: for himself, iced americano. will sometimes come in with orders for everybody at the meeting he has in fifteen minutes.

Axel: doesnt go to many non-chain cafes because they close before he wakes up at like 2 pm. gets an iced coffee with a stupid amount of caramel syrup. remembers the names of everybody who works at places he frequents and will notice if he hasnt seen someone in a while.

Demyx: goes into a non-chain cafe and ask if they have frappuccinos. they never do but he always wants to ask. does get a sweet iced coffee or a fruit smoothie and always tells the barista they did an amazing job and it's the best drink he's ever had. tips as much as the drink costs.

Luxord: has a pretty strong sweet tooth, you might be surprised. hot latte with extra sugar and coffee cake on the side. plays magic: the gathering in the cafe with friends on weekends.

Marluxia: strikes me as the kind of person who likes to taste different coffees and pairs them with different things and pays attention to the tasting notes and such. will sometimes have a cup in-house but usually prefers to make his own—probably the one who comes in to just buy beans.

Larxene: latte, blond roast, extra shot. (blond roast is more caffeinated—she's lowkey addicted to caffeine.) she'll also get a cheese danish or some other savory pastry.

Roxas: hot chocolate or a smoothie, because caffeine makes him sleepy and he won't like the taste of coffee until he's older. also gets a chocolate chip cookie and dips that in the drink.

Xion: unsweetened lattes, iced in the summer, hot in the winter. has like, a specific sandwich she really likes, and if theyre missing an ingredient for it she looks so sad youd go to the ends of the earth to go get the sun dried tomato pesto she deserves.

[cho-aaacho]

(Flufftober 2023) Coffee Shop/Book Shop

Main Masterlist I Archive of Our Own

Flufftober 2023 Masterlist I Prompts List

Tags : Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Coffee Shops, Flufftober 2023, Reader is genderless

(Flufftober Day 23)

"Tell me if you need something. I hope you like our new cake. It's my new recipe!"

"Thanks."

The aroma of a luxurious cup of coffee wafted through his nostrils, wrapping him in romantic vibes. The heavenly jazz music whispered in his soul, floating him away to the seventh heaven.

Piers gingerly cradled his cheeks, his skin feeling the warmth that only shyness could evoke. He rarely talks to strangers, but when he is with you, it's something else. It was a moment when he could feel his heart melting, fluttering like dove wings, and blossoming like a sunflower.

"Should I tell the truth to my cute little barista there?" He was debating his feelings.

The chocolate cake before him waltzed seductively upon his taste buds. The sweet touch of the chocolate invaded his mouth, surpassing even his wildest expectations.

This cake is a masterpiece, and it was baked by your delicate hands. Oh... Piers is so addicted to your skillful hands.

He couldn't help but giggle like a teenager each time his sight line was set on the curve of the cake. Everything around him changes drastically; it feels like he is trapped inside a cubicle full of daffodils. 

The cake was wrapped in rich chocolate with a bright red cherry on top. Don't forget about a tiny little message written in white chocolate that graced the plate.

Have a nice day (◠‿◕)

Piers scanned the coffee shop, and eventually, his eyes set on you. He found your presence gracefully and stood behind the counter, adorned in a black polo shirt and a maroon apron that kindly wrapped your curves.

Sipping his coffee, he couldn't help but accept the romantic scene in front of him. His focus was only on you as you engaged in conversation with a fellow barista.

Piers didn't know what you were talking about, but he was hoping that he could join that conversation, to hear his first name escape from your sweet lips, to gaze at him with shy glances and giggle at his joke.

"You know, you look like a dumb stalker when you do that?" Jake's teasing voice interrupted as he sipped his iced coffee. "Why don't you talk to that barista about your pathetic love? Your obsession annoys me."

Piers' eyes widened; his hands were trembling. Something inside his head was spinning like a commuter line as if he had consumed too much caffeine.

"Are you stupid, Crazy Bald? I'm not you! My cute little barista is probably terrified of you. You shouldn't come here and disturb us!"

"What?! How—" Jake's anger flared, boiling his head with anger. He clenched his fist as if ready to punch the air.

Jake sighed. "Listen, Shorty. Firstly, I'm not bald—clearly, I have hair, don't you see that? Secondly, Chris Redfield has requested that I pull you out of this goddamn coffee shop. I have no time to listen to your puppy love story."

After hearing Jake's nonsense fill the atmosphere, Piers has a terrible urge to punch that face. It feels like Jake's existence was a big mistake that God made. He couldn't hold himself from yelling at that kid or bumping his car into Jake.

Piers knows very well that he always hates Jake so much, and his hating is unreasonable sometimes. 

Piers feels like falling into a black curse after seeing Jake in the same coffee shop and engaging in a cute conversation. All of this is frustrating him. However, he tried to calm himself in front of you. He didn't want you to see how bad-tempered he was when he was with Jake.

"Jake, where are you going?"

"Toilet," Jake replied casually.

As Jake walked away from their table with confidence, he headed toward the counter to meet you. His eyes are catching a sparkle in your eyes, and he is talking casually to you with a different intonation than he always does to Piers. As his explanation arrived in your ears, you were caught off guard. You almost fell off, and it made Jake freeze for a moment.

"WHAT? Are you sure, sir?"

"Shorty—eh, I mean Piers asking you to date if you are free. But he's too shy to talk to you. So what do you say? Is it a yes or a no?"

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Coffee Shop [Reader x Spencer]

Spencer's picture is credited to @lightningcrashes The other photos are mine.

Prompt: Characters get the same coffee order. They both reach for it at the same time, aka, when the reader and Spencer order the same, oddly specific coffee order, and the reader can see that Spencer is struggling and tries her best to be someone he can lean on. This story is more about Aaron and Spencer’s relationship than anything else and it deals with Spencer’s drug abuse problem (the reader is just kind of there). 

Category: Angst/comfort/whump

Word Count: 4.7K

Content Warnings: Depiction of drug abuse (Spencer and Dilaudid), addiction,  near overdose, brief mention of Tobias Hackel’s episode, mention of depression (and seasonal depression), suicidal ideation, mention of therapy/therapists, canon typical violence, suicide by cop (unsub), mention of child abuse (in the past), Narcan is given, hospitals. 

A/N: I’m going to say a lot here. Please bear with me. I didn’t love how the show handled Spencer’s drug abuse in seasons two and three. It felt like his issues were just “solved” in season three by movie magic. That never sat right with me. So I had the idea for this one shot to provide a possible scenario that addresses Reid’s abuse and Aaron’s response to that problem. This is written as a platonic relationship with the reader. Aaron is acting like a dad to Reid here. I tried to make the depiction of drugs and drug abuse as accurate as possible, but if you see that I am totally off on something, please let me know in a direct message or comment. I’ve never written something like this before so I hope it’s okay. This takes place soon after season 2 episode 17 “Distress.” 

If at any time you need to stop reading this story, please do so. My writing is not worth your mental health!

The literal prompt came from @imagining-in-the-margins and her amazing Meet Cute Writing challenge, though this is less of a Meet Cute and more of a possible friendship situation. 

Lastly, and on a more positive note, if you liked this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_l/n_ = your last name 

The coffee shop tantalizingly close to _y/n_’s apartment was packed today. Maybe it was because of the rain, or the fact that it had actually started to feel like fall in Virginia, and seasonal change just intrinsically called for a nice warm beverage. _y/n_ would normally dread being in a space this packed, but she’d had a good weekend and there was a soft hum of voices that made her feel oddly secure. She was grateful, however, that she had woken early enough to stand in the line and not be stressed about getting to work on time. As she made it to the front of the line, the barista, Belinda, looked up at her and smiled. “The unusual?” Belinda asked. _y/n_ nodded and said, “The usual, please.” _y/n_ pulled out her card and rewards punch card; she was two drinks away from a free beverage. _y/n_ often found rewards programs a waste, but with how often she found herself at The Press coffee shop, it was a no-brainer. _y/n_ stood by the far wall where there was actually a comfortable space to stand. There lights weren’t so bright and the music was softer as she waited for her drink. Even though it had been a good weekend, she was still tired. The feeling seemed to linger with her. _y/n_ wondered if her seasonal depression was pressing its way back into her life. _y/n_ closed her eyes and added calling her therapist’s office and making an appointment to her mental task list. Over time _y/n_ had learned that letting these emotions of melancholia fester was only a portent of emotional pain in the future. 

The sound of her drink being called snapped her back to herself and her surroundings. _y/n_ moved through those also standing and waiting for their own caffeine fixes. When she finally made it to the counter she reached out for her creme brulee late with a double espresso, but she wasn’t the only one who was reaching for the cup. _y/n_ assumed that the man, who looked oddly familiar, was reaching for the cup next to hers. She was wrong. Their hands brushed together as they both reached for the latte and an unexpected warmth ran up her arm. _y/n_ turned to look directly at the slender, tall man trying to get her drink. She cleared her throat and said, “Sorry I think that’s mine.” The man looked down at her and swallowed, before replying, “No, I’m sure it’s mine. Sorry, I’m going to be late for my train.” With that, the man reached forward, took the contested drink into his slender hand, and moved as quickly as he could to the front door. _y/n_ watched him go with her drink and tried to pinpoint where she knew him from. It took a second, but once was out the door she remembered and facepalmed. ‘Of, course,’ she thought. The man lived on her floor at the apartment at the other end of the hall on the opposite side of her unit. She wondered if she would have to will to confront him later. That was if she even saw him. The man seemed to be gone for days, sometimes a full week at a time. In the evenings when she came back from work sometimes he would be going out with his normal shoulder bag. Other times when she was returning late from getting drinks with friends, he would also ride the elevator up with her. In these cases, he had a duffle bag with him. In essence, he didn’t seem to hold a normal schedule. 

With the mystery of where she knew the man from solved, _y/n_ sighed and got ready to get back in line. _y/_ knew that Belinda would understand and not make her pay again for a new drink. Just as she was getting in line, the woman making the drinks called out, “Large creme brulee latte with a double espresso.” This stopped _y/n_ in her tracks. She was the only person that she knew who ordered that drink. Was it possible that the man really had also placed the same orderer as her? _y/n_ moved back to the counter and waited a few minutes just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. When it was apparent that no one was getting that cup, she moved forward and took it from the counter. She looked at the name on the cup and it most certainly wasn’t hers. It read: S. Reid. In the end, it didn’t really matter, she had her drink and it had just been an accident. And now she knew that someone on her apartment floor had the same taste in coffee as her. _y/n_ looked at her watch and realized that she needed to get a move on if she wanted to get to work on time. 

That evening the lithe man was nowhere to be seen, as she let herself into her apartment. _y/n_ wondered what she did for a living. As _y/n_ moved inside, she pondered that maybe he was a professor of some sort? Or a public speaker who was required to travel often. The man certainly seemed smart enough for it. When she had overheard his phone calls riding up or down the elevator he always spoke fast and used some of the best cadences she had ever heard. Much of what he had been saying went way over her head. However, as her thoughts turned to who she assumed was S. Reid, she thought about the small changes she had noticed about him over time. It wasn’t like she was spying on him, but his mannerisms and odd comings and goings had drawn her attention. She supposed that he was around her age, maybe a year or two older. When she had first moved in around a month and a half ago and seen him for the first time, she had wondered if she could strike up a friendship with him. It would be nice to have a friend in the building. Someone to gossip with about the loud neighbor across the hall. Or someone to grab their package for them from the mail room fifteen floors down. However over the little time _y/n_ had lived there, she had seen S. Reid change -- withdraw into himself. It reminded her of herself, and how she really just wanted a friend. As _y/n_ set her bag down on the sofa, she pulled out her phone and tapped in her therapist’s office number; she felt like she needed a good cry. 

Reid struggled during the next case. Emily’s comments and his own harsh reply were plaguing him like the need for his next hit was plaguing him. The chills and sweating kept him cold much of the time which meant he had to wear more layers which just made the sweating worse. Then there was the irritability at everything from the team to the bright lights and the goddamn fact that he had to roll and shift so many layers of clothes to find his vein to get the needle under his skin. Spencer knew he was taking more each day and knew that it was going to be harder to find the illicit substance without having to go to the same dealer. This was something Spencer had avoided doing up to this point. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to become a ‘regular’ because if word got out, or the ring got busted, there was no going back from there. Even if he did his best to use another name and paid in cash, he just knew it would be the end for him. He could already feel things becoming the end for him. Like it was lurking behind each corner of the industrial warehouses the team was currently investigating. Looking for an unsub that, ironically killed via lethal injection. It would be funny if real people's lives were not in the balance, and yet here he was playing with his own life each time he shot up. 

Back at the precinct, Spencer moved quickly to the men’s restroom. The ache in his joints and the inability to sleep knawed at him to the bone. He wanted to trash and scream and curse, and suddenly, before he could stop his hands from shaking while he took out the glass vial and unsteadily pushed a clean needle in, sucking up the pleasure-poison, Reid was in heaven again. The weight that was lifted off his shoulders was so immense that he sank down onto the toilet seat and put the cap on the medicine before he dropped it on the floor. The sound of the door opening and Hotch’s voice asking, “You in here Reid,” had the younger man pulling at his sleeve and hiding his secret in the inner pocket of his shirt. When this was done. Spencer flushed and walked out of the stall trying to look like he was in control. Spencer cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be back in the briefing room in a moment.” Hotch’s eyes found Reid’s wild, frenzied ones, and Aaron nodded. As the Unit Chief made it back outside, he thought about the very difficult conversation he was going to have to have with Reid. Aaron was berating himself for having his youngest subordinate’s drug problem go on so long undressed, and he was going to have to face the consequences of not acting sooner. 

The case had ended in as much of a climax as possible. The unsub took his final victim's life and realized that he wasn’t getting out of this without a lengthy prison sentence. Instead of facing the consequences of the law, the man decided to let the cops end him, and he finished his life on his own terms, which was cruel given the fact that those he had killed weren’t given that option. As the plane landed everyone got out and moved tiredly toward the bullpen. The flight back had been awkward. Given Spencer’s new ‘behavior,’ the team was on edge. After what had happened with Hickel and Reid, the team was shaken. Clearly, Spencer was changed. It was as if the team was waiting for other shoe to drop, and the suspense was nearly unbearable. As everyone got into the building, and up to their floor, ready to go to their own homes or apartments, Aaron called Spencer up to his office. Reid stood nervously in the neat space, as Aaron said, “Can we meet tomorrow at three p.m.?” Spencer froze for a moment, knowing this conversation would come eventually. Spence nodded and tried to sound like everything was okay, while internally he felt like his guts were being pulled from his body. He cleared his throat at replied, “Of course, Hotch. See you then.” With their meeting set for tomorrow, Aaron dismissed Reid. As Spencer rode the elevator down to the bottom floor of his building, he wondered if there was anything worse than the concept of ‘tomorrow.’ 

The meeting time came and Spencer sat down. His heart was pounding in his chest faster than he could keep up with. Aaron sat across from him with his brows pulled together, showing his concern. Reid shuffled in his seat for a moment before Hotch pulled his attention saying, “Reid. Spencer. You know what this is about?” Spencer’s head dipped in shame, indicating that he did and that he wasn’t comfortable having to confront it. Aaron let out a breath asking, “What is it you're taking? Dilaudid?” 

After Hankel had been killed the team had gone to the hospital. The doctor at the hospital had explained how Spencer had been drugged with the schedule II drug. There was a serious discussion about how Dr. Reid would need to have a safe place to withdraw and the possibility that addiction could be a problem without careful treatment. Hotch had done everything he could that the medical professional had suggested to support Reid in his recovery. However, Spencer was a grown man, and he couldn’t stop or overstep into his agent's personal life. It became clear early on that Spencer was still using a substance, but Hotch didn’t know what the drug of choice was. Of course, he had an assumption. Aaron’s first instinct had been to protect Reid from the system that would certainly terminate him if they found out about his problems. Now, as Aaron looked over Spencer's sallow, twitchy form, he wondered if he had made a mistake in not just addressing the problem as soon as he had clocked it. 

After a long silence, Spencer replied, “It’s the same.” Hotch nodded and said, “I’m sorry Spencer. I’m sorry that I haven’t said anything until now.” Reid’s breathing picked up and he looked over at his boss, asking, “Are you firing me?” And here was the crux of the issue. Aaron didn’t know what to do really. This wasn’t a scenario that he had planned for. Hotch replied, “I’m not sure Spencer. But I think you should take some time off to get some help. I’ll help you if you need.” Hotch was sincere in his concern and willingness to do what he could to get his friend into a better place. Part of Spencer could understand this. The other half of him, the half half-crazed for another high was screaming that he shouldn’t let go of the pleasure the drugs brought him.” All Spencer knew was the BAU. It was security, family, and a place where he could be himself. And part of him, an irrational part of him, felt that now that he had changed, the team didn’t want him anymore. 

This part of his brain continued to tease and taunt him and made sure he felt that the reason Hotch was suggesting he get help was because of his capture and torture, not the fact that he was using illicit substances on the job and putting the reputation of the whole team on the line. Spencer said, “I can do this job Hotch.” Reid was pleading, and Aaron could see the panic in his eyes and said, “I’m not saying you can’t. I just think you need some time. What happened to you was traumatic, and I think you’re still dealing with the long-term effect of that.” Spencer felt like his world was crumbling, and he couldn’t see that Hotch wasn’t letting him go, or even judging him, just trying to reach out. 

Since taking Dilaudid, Reid was finding it harder to keep control of his words and emotions. He would say things unbidden, as he had with Emily. He could feel it happening again. He tried to strangle the words in his throat, but they came out, harsh and piercing, “Just because your father took drugs and beat you doesn’t mean that I’m going to start doing that with anyone.” The words hung in the air for a second, Spencer could see the hurt in Aaron’s eyes at bringing up and using such painful memories to him. However, after a second, the emotion was replaced by disappointment and concern. 

Spencer took a breath and murmured, “Hotch, I…” Aaron filled in the blank and said, “I know. I know you didn’t mean that. Please, Spencer. I’m worried for you. Let me put in the paperwork for a leave of absence. Just for a week. I can email them to you and all you need to do is sign and send them back.” Wordlessly, Reid nodded his head, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. For the first time that day, Spencer felt the great care that Aaron was showing him. He put his head in his hands and began crying, sucking in air between sobs. The fact that Aaron was willing to actually say something. To address what he was doing hurt, and he felt shame for doing what had. But Hotch wasn’t showing shame or embarrassment in his expression, just care. Hotch stood from his side of the desk and moved to Spencer, placing a hand on his shoulder to provide a comforting touch. Reid turned into Hotch’s touch and eventually, the sobbing abated. Hotch pulled back and said, “We’ll help you with this. I promise. I want to see you back here at your best, and I recognize that hard, and it takes time. But I think it’s worth it if we can have you helping us at your full ability again.” Spencer nodded and said, “Thank you, Hotch. I’m sorry.” Aaron nodded his head no and replied, “Don’t be sorry. We’ll work through this together.” 

There were a few more minutes of conversation between the two men. Spencer agreed to what Aaron had suggested and he left Hotch’s office feeling better. The feeling didn’t last. It had been over six hours, and he was starting to feel the urge again. By the time he got back to his apartment, the feeling was overwhelming. Aaron’s supportive and encouraging conversations warred with his need to be free from all his feelings and concerns. The shame and need bubbled up in him as he walked with an urgency to the men’s restroom at the lobby of his apartment complex. It hurt like a brand to not even be able to make it up to his room to find release. Spencer slumped against the wall as he let the drugs enter him. He hadn’t even looked carefully as he inserted the dosage into his body. For a moment everything stilled and nothing mattered. Reid was grateful that the lobby was mostly empty, as he got into the elevator and rose to his floor. The lights from the city blurred as if he had permanent astigmatism. It was beautiful, but dizzying to look at. As the elevator doors opened, Spencer stumbled to the end of the hallway. He made it past one of the other residents on his floor and to his front door. He reached into his shoulder bag for his keys and found the cold metal under his fingers. Reid pulled his keyring from his bag and attempted to fit the metal into the lock. He attempted the simple motor function twice but missed both times. He suddenly felt dizzy and weak and felt his body lean against the door as if it weren’t his own. 

_y/n_ watched as her odd floormate, who apparently got the same coffee order as her, moved out from the elevator. She noticed that he was not well, as he stumbled past her. He just nearly avoided running into her. One of his sleeves was up, and she could see for the first time the puncture wounds and bruising in the veins of his left arm. _y/n_ bit the inside of her mouth. Somehow S. Reid had never seemed like the type to engage in drug use. However, she realized that anyone could be struggling with anything, no matter what they looked or acted like. She had seen her fair share of pain and loss due to substance abuse. It seemed that no matter where she found herself. the impact that The War on  Drugs and The Opioid Epidemic was never far from her door. But it was never far from anyone’s door given the impact and dramatic spike in desire for drugs over the past decade. When the soft sound of metal hitting the carpeted hallway got to _y/n_, she looked over and found the man slumped against the door. His face was pale and his breathing shallow. Given what she knew about the man now, she felt that something really bad was happening. _y/n_ rushed over to him and said, “Hey, can you hear me? Are you alright?” In a non-lucid state, Spencer made a soft nondistinguishable noise. _y/n_ picked up his keys and unlocked his door. She found the light switch and then helped the man to a chair. His eyes were bloodshot and pupils were retracted so much that they nearly looked like a pin point. _y/n_ knelt down and said, “Hey, Reid, is your name Reid? Can you talk to me?” At hearing his last name, Spencer seemed to find some awareness but not much. 

_y/n_ had seen this type of behavior once before and that time it had been too late. She wasn’t letting this man go too. _y/n_ rushed to her own apartment and found the drawer she was looking for. With the nasal spray in hand, she moved back to the man’s apartment. She helped Reid to the floor. At this point he was barely breathing. Looking over him, _y/n_clearly said, “I’m going to give you a dose of Narcan, and I’m going to stay with you until help arrives.” Reid gave no response, nor did he say ‘no’ to what she said. With this in mind and the fact that it was clear that he was overdosing, _y/n_ took the cap off of the Naloxone and moved the applicator into the man's nostril. _y/n_ pressed the trigger. After the medication was inside his system, she moved him into the recovery position so he could breathe better. Next, _y/n_ called 9-1-1. The paramedics arrived quickly and because _y/n_ had been the one who had found him, she went with them to the hospital to give any information she might have. This wasn’t how _y/n_ had planned on spending her Thursday night, but it was worth it if her neighbor would live. She would do it again in an instant. After twenty minutes, the hospital administrator found Spencer’s emergency contact. 

Hotch was in bed when he got the call. He picked up the phone and said, “Agent Hotchner. Who is this?” When he heard the response on the other end of the line, he was up in an instant. He pulled on some sweats and a shirt and he was headed to North Central Hospital in under five minutes. Hotch moved to the reception desk. The nurse sitting behind the desk asked for his name, and Hotch said, “Aaron, Hotchner. I’m here for Spencer Reid. I’m his emergency contact.” The woman nodded and looked in her system before saying, “Yes. Good. Mr. Hotchner, Dr. Reid is with the doctor right now, and we’ll send the doctor out to give you updates. If you like. you can sit in the waiting area.” Hotch nodded and asked, “How was Dr. Reid found?” The nurse looked at him and said, “A woman in his apartment found him and administered aid. She’s actually sitting on the far wall.” Hotch looked over and saw _y/n_. Briefly, he turned back to the nurse and said, “Thank you.” Aaron was worried and scared for his friend. After the conversation they had earlier today that seemed to have gone in a positive direction, Spencer’s problem seemed to have come to a head in a more public fashion. Hotch considered that keeping Spencer’s problems ‘in-house’ versus having it be public was better or worse. But in the end, it didn’t matter. None of it did as long as Spencer was okay. Aaron wished he could do more than wait for news, but there wasn’t. He had refrained from calling the team apart from Rossi and Derek. He felt that the fewer people that knew about this right now, the better it might be for Spencer’s career. 

Aaron moved next to the woman who had found Spencer, and she looked up at him. She seemed concerned. She had been picking at her nails and looking at the door that headed to the ER. As Aaron approached her, he said, “Hi. My name is Aaron Hotchner. I understand you found Spencer Reid at his apartment? I’m his friend? Thank you for getting him help” The woman was relieved to know that there was someone there for her neighbor. She stood and extended her hand saying, “I’m _y/n _l/n_. I’m sorry your friend is going through this.” Hotch nodded and took a seat next to _y/n_ who also sat down. Aaron turned to look at _y/n_ and asked, “May I ask what happened? Where did you find Spencer?” _y/n_ replied, “I was headed into my apartment, and Spencer was trying to get into his unit as well. He didn’t look well, and I noticed the marks on his arm. He kind of fell forward and I went over to see if I could help. I noticed the signs of overdose and did what I could to help.” Aaron nodded and said sincerely, “Thank you for that.” Hotch was deeply grateful that someone had been around to help Spencer when he needed it this woman hadn’t acted as a bystander but actually did what she could to help. Aaron saw so many people just walk by when people were in distress in his job, and knowing that there were people willing to stand up and do something gave him a tiny bit of hope in this terrible situation. They continued to speak briefly before a member of the staff let her know that she could leave. Before _y/n_ went, she gave Aaron Spencer’s keys and asked if she could give him her number and that if he would text her if Spencer was going to be alright? Hotch agreed and took down her number. He thanked her once more and as she walked out the door, he could see Rossi coming into the bright, fluorescent-lit hospital space. 

_y/n_ called a cab and as she moved back toward her apartment. The lights on the streets glistened and cast colorful shadows on the puddles on the road. It had just recently rained. _y/n_ sat back and thought about how ugly and cruel life could be. What taking drugs could do to a person. The face of her floormate's friend came to mind at how concerned he had looked. Sometimes the media liked to make drugs look fun, sexy, and a good time, but that just wasn’t the reality. Sherlock came to mind. The man was a genius and an addict and people loved him! And what wasn’t to love? Because the show never really gave the audience the chance to see what those substances he took would do to a man like Holmes. Then there was Euphoria and its teen angst and bisexual lighting, and even if the show got the drug part right, it didn’t change the fact that the world looked beautiful and that every character was hot. Reality was much, much, sadder. As _y/n_ thought over her own lived experience she hoped that Spencer would get better. Now that she had had this interaction with him she would be sure to get to know him if she could. So he knew there was at least one person in his building that was there for him if he needed it. 

Back at the hospital, Aaron talked to Rossi about what to possibly do for Reid and the team. After another twenty minutes, the doctor came out and told both men that Spencer would be alright. That he had made it. After the doctor had given them the relevant information, a nurse led him back to Spencer’s room. Reid looked up from his bed and the shame painted over his face. As Hotch stepped forward, he saw how ragged Reid looked. Spencer could only manage to say Aaron’s name before he turned to look away. Aaron pulled up a chair and sat down saying. “I know Spencer. I’m right here.” And he would be there, and so would the team. The future looked murky right now, but Hotch was going to fight for Spencer. Fight for him to be on the team and for him to be well. Because Spencer was the smartest person he knew, and he cared deeply for his friend. He was going to do everything he could to keep him in his life.

[remeberm3]

morning brew | k.m.

⎯⎯ a timeless soul navigates the soft glow of a quaint coffee shop, enchanted by a vibrant girl who brings light to his shadowed existence.

Warnings: just fluff, ginger (comming from a redhead)

Every morning, Klaus found himself stepping into the downtown coffee shop, the familiar jingle of the door announcing his arrival like a longstanding ritual. This cozy sanctuary nestled between a flower shop and a bookstore transcended the ordinary—a perfect blend of warmth, aroma, and life. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet allure of pastries, creating a haven that felt surprisingly comforting for a man like him, who had traversed centuries shadowed by darkness and loss.

Yet, it was not the coffee that drew him back day after day. No, it was her. Each morning, there she sat, a striking vision in the corner by the window, her fiery ginger hair catching the sunlight and illuminating her delicate features. She captivated him in ways that were inexplicably profound.

Klaus often observed her lost in a novel, her eyes dancing with the words on the page and her lips curving into soft smiles that made his heart flutter as if it had suddenly taken up archery lessons. But why was he just standing there like a lovesick puppy? He was Klaus Mikaelson! The infamous hybrid of horror and charm, and yet here he was, playing wallflower at a coffee shop.

“Mornin’, Klaus!” the barista called cheerfully as he approached the counter.

“Good morning. Place my order, will you? I feel particularly charming today,” he replied, flashing a grin that often melted hearts and shattered egos.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? Let’s see that charm in action, Mr. Mikaelson.”

As he waited for his cappuccino, his eyes inevitably drifted back to her. She is sitting at her usual corner table, completely unaware of the chaos she had unintentionally unleashed within him.

༊*·˚

Days turned into weeks, and as Klaus approached this daunting task of striking up a conversation, he often thought of how beautifully she held her book—like a sorceress wielding an ancient spell. But today felt different. The café buzzed with chaotic energy, laughter spilling from every nook, and the aroma of brewed coffee teasing the senses.

In a moment of reckless abandon, Klaus resolved to embody his confidence. Just as he gathered his courage, the door swung open, and she rushed in, inadvertently bumping into him, her books teetering precariously.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, her wide green eyes meeting his with an innocent sweetness that knocked him off-kilter.

“Not at all,” Klaus said smoothly. “I’m perfectly capable of being knocked over by a beautiful girl. It’s sort of my thing.”

She blinked, caught off guard, before a grin broke over her face—an adorable sight that made something twist pleasantly in his chest. “Oh, really? Is that how you woo all the ladies? By standing around and waiting to be clobbered?”

“Touché,” he replied, enjoying the playful banter. “I usually go for the more dramatic entrances, but I’ll save that for another day when I’m feeling especially… theatrical.”

She laughed, the sound bright as the sun streaming through the window. “I’d love to see that someday, Shakespeare. But until then, I’m just curious. What brings you to this heart of caffeine addiction daily?”

“Well, I come for the coffee, of course,” he replied with mock seriousness. “But mostly for an opportunity to meet fascinating people.” He gestured to her, a smirk playing on his lips. “And you seem to top my list.”

Her expression shifted to one of surprise mixed with curiosity. “You really have a flair for words, don’t you? Trying to charm me already?”

“Absolutely,” he replied with a charming grin. “It’s practically second nature by now. Though I must admit, I could use a little practice. Since you’re clearly a captivating force of nature, how about granting me the honor of joining you for coffee?”

“Only if you promise not to put me to sleep with your boring stories,” she teased, crossing her arms with a playful smirk. “I’d prefer my mocha without any unintentional snoozefests, thank you very much!”

“No promises,” he said, caught slightly off-guard yet intrigued. “Think of it as a riveting horror stories with a sprinkle of romance.”

“Consider me intrigued,” she replied, her laughter ringing like the sweetest chime.

༊*·˚

As they settled in at the nearby table, the conversation flowed like the rich coffee they sipped. Klaus felt an odd exhilaration wash over him as he shared pieces of himself, revealing fragments of his life that he had long kept buried, hesitant to let anyone glimpse the darkness that loomed behind his facade.

“I’ve traveled the world,” he began, his voice low yet inviting, “from the bustling streets of New Orleans to the romantic canals of Venice. I’ve witnessed empires rise and fall, and I’ve survived every single catastrophe.”

“Wow,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You must have some wild stories rattling around in that ancient head of yours! So tell me, does it ever get exhausting being a bona fide relic from a bygone era?”

“Not when I find amusement in charming people like yourself, bright spark,” Klaus replied, his smirk deepening as he leaned in, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. “But I assure you—there’s plenty of chaos involved. I’ve lost count of how many existential crises I’ve had over bad coffee.”

“Oh, please! I can’t imagine a guy like you having crises,” she said, leaning back and throwing her head back in laughter. “Your life sounds like a movie I’d binge-watch while devouring ice cream! Or sharing the remote…”

“Sharing the remote, eh? Now that—” Klaus paused for emphasis, tapping his chin—“is an act of bravery I’m not sure I can endorse.”

She raised an eyebrow, a challenging spark in her eyes. “Careful, Klaus. You don’t want to make me think you’re actually afraid of something.”

“Afraid? Never. I’ve only sharpened my fangs—and my wit—over the centuries. But spending an evening sharing the screen might demand a level of courage I’m unsure about,” he continued, an exaggerated look of concern crossing his features.

Their laughter filled the café, and Klaus leaned in closer, feeling a magnetic pull between them, a connection deeper than he had experienced in centuries. When the time came to leave, Klaus felt a pang of disappointment wash over him, bittersweet.

“Would you allow me to see you again?” he asked, his gaze steady and sincere.

“Sure, but this time—no bumping into me, vampire kung fu style, okay?” she replied, a grin spreading across her lips.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, his heart lifting the weight of his darkness ever so slightly. “Let’s go for an adventure next time, and I promise to attempt less of an entrance.”

As they stepped out into the soft light of the morning sun, the world awakened around them, casting a golden glow on their path, illuminating the possibilities unfurling between them. Klaus felt as if the universe had conspired in his favor, sending him a beacon of hope in the form of a human girl—a delightful spark illuminating the shadows he had grown to know.

[sazed-s-faith-crisis]

Okay guys I am spreading myself too thin. What fic should I work of (spoiler alert all of them are some degree of Marzed)

Okay below the poll are summaries and pros and cons

Name: ?

Summary: Basically yeah its Marsh and Sazed with kids. Sazed's literally TWO shards, he can make/spawn/create some kids that are biologically his and his husband's. (also adoption)

features:

a very cute tiny steelrunner who likes to abuse her powers

Kelsier being the irresponsible fun uncle

TenSoon giving rides to toddlers

Marsh and Sazed being sleep deprived

Sazed discovering the wonders of caffeine for the first time and slowly forming a dependency

2) Name: Gold Doesnt Heal All

Basically an au where Harmonium doesnt make Atium. Instead one last small piece of atium found extends Marsh's life until mid era 3. When Marsh dies Sazed loses his shit and becomes Discord. A mix of scenes involving not just Sazed losing his shit, but also Marsh and Mare being friends in the beyond

features:

Lawful evil discord!Sazed that I have legitimentally had a lesbian friend jerk off too???

help I dont know if thats good or bad

Kelsier getting bitch slapped

Great fic to just sob too

fluff in the beyond (meeting past dead characters!!)

(lerati)

3) Name: ?

As canon compliant as I could get fic about Marsh and Marasi going to this interplanetary coffee shop and its short 250-750 word chapters of Marsh and Marasi talking and Marsh dropping random parts about his past (Marasi is very concerned) Also End of chapter bloopers with Wax and Steris and Marasi

features:

Marsh adopting Marasi. Very cute

BISEXUAL MARASI!!!

A kandra named TaLeen who has chronic ADHD, swears a lot, has a crippling caffeine addiction, and is in general really sweet, but sucks at her job of being a barista

Marsh being Marasi's gay uncle (Marsh and Saze are married <3)

Marsh teaching Marasi how to scam people with cards

Did I mention TaLeen?

4) name: ?

smut

Yeah its just my 4 various ficlets of just Marsh and Sazed fucking because of trauma recovery therapy yk?

features:

smut

[jojolalas]

[Poll Fic] Playing with the new update which allows polls on reblogs. Each part will have a poll on how the story should progress <3 once the fic is finished I'll post the entirety to ao3.  Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru  Synopsis: Gojo was already late to meet Shoko but in true Gojo fashion he stopped for an overly sweet coffee first. He had every intention of grabbing his coffee and being on his way, but there's someone there who looks familiar. (Childhood Friends AU x Coffee Shop AU) Current Rating: T, may go up depending on votes. 

The air was sharp with the threat of snow, cutting through Gojo's hoodie with each gust of wind. His lack of a winter coat earned him a few curious looks on his walk but his brisk pace prevented anyone from making an inane comment. The very last thing he wanted to do on his day off was make boring small talk about how he preferred the cold air of winter to the suffocating heat of summer. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he cringed, knowing who it was without looking. Shoko had practically begged him to third wheel with her and Utahime, and if he was going to spend his day watching those two pretend to not be into each other then he needed some caffeine and a lot of sugar. 

Shoko [9:45] Where the fuck are you? 

Gojo smirked, picturing the annoyance on her face as she paced in front of the museum. They agreed to meet before Utahime arrived to spare Shoko ‘the embarrassment’. 

Gojo [9:45] Coffee :D :D Want anything? 

Gojo sent the text as he pushed open the doors to his favorite cafe, the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeting him instantly. The cafe was a few blocks out of his way today, but it wasn't like the few extra minutes mattered, he was already late. The interior was cozy, blinds drawn and the lights dimmed to a soft warm glow to create an intimate atmosphere . The air was filled with the dull hum of chatter, conversations all low enough to be unable to pick out individual words. 

He wondered if he should feel guilty about being late to meet Shoko, but he was doing her a favor. Actually, the real favor would probably be in ditching out on her and forcing her to spend time alone with the woman she’d been obviously pining over for close to a year. 

As he patiently stood in the short line, his pocket vibrated once more, and he pulled his phone out with a smirk. 

Shoko [9:48] You're an addict :P Ugh, may as well grab me a black coffee since you're already running late. 

Gojo [9:48] Five bucks you've got a cig in ur mouth rt now! 

Shoko [9:49] Your point? 

Shoko [9:49] You're already late, don't you dare stop to flirt! >_> 

Gojo rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond to her. He couldn't help it if people found him insanely attractive and sought out his attention. A little voice that sounded suspiciously like Shoko reminded him that 'you don't need to flirt back'.

His eyes flitted around, wondering if today would be the day someone caught his eyes instead of the other way around. Despite the reputation he'd inadvertently earned around the office, he didn’t go out searching for his dates. If an attractive person sought him out, who was he to say no? But he rarely saw them a second time. Call him picky, but most people just didn't check the imaginary boxes for him to consider a serious relationship. Not that I even know what those boxes are.

What would Shoko do if I ditched her for a hot piece of ass? Or better yet, if I brought someone to the museum to ‘double date’. Gojo chuckled to himself, imagining the look of horror Shoko would have in either scenario. 

Long black hair in his peripheral grabbed his attention and he zeroed in on the man at a small table along the wall near the pick-up counter. The man sat facing the wall, and Gojo raked his eyes down the man’s wide shoulders and the defined muscles of his back. His hair was loose and flowed beautifully down his back like a silken waterfall.

“Next?” The barista at the register loudly called and Gojo snapped back to the moment. He quickly stepped up, not even slightly embarrassed that he had been staring and missed that it was his turn.  

“Good morning,” he greeted with his most charming smile. “I don't think I've seen you here before, you must be new.”

She nodded, giving him a shy smile. “My second day.”

“Ah! Well, I'm sure we'll be great friends in no time! I’m here allll the time!” He winked before taking pity on the poor blushing girl. “Ok, so, easy order first: a large black coffee. Make it decaf.” He chuckled to himself, Shoko would never know. “And also a large iced quad-shot soy latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup, two pumps of caramel syrup, one pump of hazelnut syrup, one pump of cinnamon dolce syrup, one pump of toffee nut syrup, one pump of white mocha syrup, and a dash of sea salt. Can you top it off with whipped cream, caramel drizzle, and cinnamon powder?"

Halfway through Gojo slowly relaying his order another barista came over to help the new girl. Gojo smiled politely when the seasoned barista rolled his eyes, “I wish the boss would just let us add your usual to the menu to save us the hassle.” He patiently walked her through the order and then left her to finish. 

Gojo winked, thanked her, and paid with the addition of a generous tip before strutting over to the pick-up counter. His attention quickly returned to the man he'd checked out before. Now that he was closer he could see the man's profile; strong jaw, gorgeous eyes, and a long neck which stirred something deep in him. While Gojo didn't date often, he wasn’t one to ignore the pull of lust…

Shoko would kill him. 

She didn't have to know.  

He could just ask for his number and hook up with him later. That seemed like the mature middle ground he should be striving for. Right? 

The man shifted, leaning forward over his laptop, hair falling like a curtain to block his face from view. It moved like silk, and Gojo’s fingers itched to run through those locks to feel for himself. 

As he watched the man typing away on his laptop, the ghost of sharp eyes and a gentle smile tickled the edge of his memory. Childish laughter as he rolled down a grassy hill, ruining his brand new school uniform but not caring because his best friend was with him. It was the last real memory Gojo had of his childhood Geto Suguru. They had been inseparable since preschool, spending every moment possible in and out of school in each other's company. Geto's family moved away when they were twelve. Gojo only found out at school; no goodbye, no warning, just an empty desk, an empty house, and an empty space next to Gojo. 

How long had it been since he'd been reminded of Geto Suguru? It's funny how someone he'd once declared never to forget hadn't crossed his mind in so long. Ten years was a long time to hold onto a childhood friend who’d forgotten you, yet Gojo didn’t mind, the good memories outweigh the bad. 

He shook himself from the memories and back to the task at hand. Hot man- cafe- coffee on its way. Gojo weighed his options in a fraction of a second and took half a step towards the stranger, determined to at least exchange a few words before dashing off to rendezvous with Shoko. A loud voice broke up the quiet atmosphere before his foot hit the faux wood tile.

“Are you fucking stupid or something?” 

Gojo tilted his head towards the commotion, his brows furrowing in concern. The new barista on the register looked like she was about to cry as a man leaned toward her with an aggressive posture. He was tall, muscled, and had several tattoos on his face and neck. What a douche.

“Sir- I-”

As the barista started to defend herself the man sneered and jabbed a finger in her face. Gojo rolled his eyes at the unnecessary aggression, pausing for a moment, torn between the desire to intervene and the reluctance to get involved. The other baristas working were skilled at de-escalating hostile customers, but something about the man put Gojo on edge.  

Poll options for part 2:

Gojo intervenes with a joke Gojo grabs Sukuna's hand and pulls it away from the barista’s face Gojo ignores it and goes to flirt with the hot stranger

All roads lead to stsg, some just include more angst.

[moon-is-a-cryptid]

Smitten’s coffee

Warnings: none

Gender neutral 🖤

Slightly different than bakugous and kirishimas brands not proof read at all 🤌🏻

Hitoshi shinsou Has his own coffee brand, being a hero who mainly works in the late hours of the night because of his insomnia he drinks a lot of coffee. so his PR team brought it up one day maybe he could make something out of his coffee addiction. Bringing forth the coffee brand “midnight coffee” the coffee perfect for night owls, it comes in three roasts “will to live light roast” “midnight motivation dark roast” “sleep fighter medium roast” the coffee brand became big with cafes, and shinsou made an effort to not charge the normal coffee price to cat cafe’s. He felt like they had enough money to spend on taking care of the cats.

Naturally when shinsou married, he married someone who was also a night owl. So you usually worked night patrols just like shinsou. On theses shifts you usually stocked up with redbull, monster, rockstar- really any energy drink that you liked that you could get your hands on. Always mindful of how much caffeine you drink, because in the early hours of the morning, when the sun comes up over the horizon and your patrol handoffs are just out of reach, your phone will ding, exactly 6:46am at the end of each shift

Toshi😴🐈‍⬛:

‘Coffee at Smitten’s ?’

You smile down at your phone, he asks the same thing at the same time every shift. You two managed to correlate your patrols to be the same time and nights for this reason. Even made it so one of you was on either side of the city, so you two could meet in the middle once the night was over. Shooting him a message back

‘you know I’d never miss it 🖤’

7am rolls around and after you give report to Jiro, letting her know all of the ups and downs of what had happened the night before and what areas to watch more closely than others. You make your way towards the center of the city where smittens is located, not even bothering to go back to your agency to change from your hero uniform. The bell that rings is all to familiar once you open the door to the small cafe, you two meet here after every shift shinsou claims it’s just because he likes that they use his coffee but you know better, it’s his favorite because it’s where you two met. The smell of fresh brewed coffee hits your nose as you feel your body relax, the barista smiles at you, speaking in a voice as warm as coco on a winter day “he’s waiting for you in your regular spot” giving a small nod to the barista, you head down the hall to see shinsou sprawled out in the room on a beanbag chair, he hadn’t bothered to change either, two cups of coffee sitting on a low table next to him. His eyes are shut and his breathing slowed, a fluffy grey cat known as Ash sits atop his lap, eyes also closed and purring so loud it’s surprising you can’t feel it through the ground. ‘long shift?’ you say, shinsou’s eyes open every so slightly. His voice smooth like sweet honey softly rings through the air as he responds with a ‘yup’. You grab your coffee sitting down in a bean bag next to him, immediately a calico cat named Muffin runs up next you demanding to be loved. For the next hour you and shinsou unwind drinking coffee, talking about your shifts before ultimately deciding it’s time to go home. Before you leave you notice paparazzi had gathered around outside, someone must have tipped them off that pro hero Mindjack and his s/o were seen entering this cafe. You two hardly go out during the day so the paparazzi were eager to jump on the chance to see you two. You knew you two would be the topic of next weeks article.

Exiting the shop hand in hand you two are immediately bombarded by cameras and questions, you speak up being the omnivert of your relationship and being the more awake one at the moment. ‘Mindjack! (Your hero name)! Is this your usual spot?’ ‘Why did you two choose this coffee place’ ‘did you two just get off shift?’ You turn to answer each question ‘Smitten’s cafe is one of the personal favorite of mindjack and I! We met here after we both had patrolled one night, they even serve his brand of coffee’ you said holding up your coffee cup ‘mindjack’s midnight coffee hits the spot after a long night of protecting the city, Especially when it comes from Smitten’s cafe’ you smile a signature smile and pull shinsou through the crowd making your way home.

Like you predicted, the next week on your day off Jiro sends you a picture of you and Hitoshi on the cover of a magazine. You two are holding hands with the coffee cups with Smitten’s cafe in the background, “Rare siting of mindjack and s/o seen after patrols! See page 6 for more” You smiled at the next photo, it was a picture of page 6. someone -you’re assuming the person who tipped them off- had submitted pictures of you and shinsou in your hero uniforms playing with kittens inside the cafe, your favorite had been one that was Ash snuggled into shinsous neck by his binding cloth. They had interviewed the barista that was working that day as well

“Mindjack and (Hero name) are always so pleasant when they come in! The cats love them so much, they also make monthly donations to us and other cat cafe’s across the city to help us take care of them. Muffin and Ash seem to have each claimed a favorite out of the two” the quote was lined up with a picture of you two laying on the floor with muffin and ash your chests, hands interlocked. Your quote came next “We met here at Smitten’s, where they serve Mindjacks midnight coffee, it always hits the spot after a patrol” with a picture of you holding a Smitten’s coffee cup. With a small add on how to get Mindjacks coffee. Making shinsous Email blow up with order requests until they were out of stock if each flavor and strength.

The next patrol you and shinsou did your regular of going to Smitten’s after the patrol was over, but once you two entered the shop the barista who’s voice was usually soft let out a squeal “you two! This place has exploded since that article got published! People came here and almost all of the cats have been adopted, people are loving the coffee so we will need a new shipment soon and don’t worry, your favorites are still here” she beamed up at you two and handed you your usual coffee. Making your way to the back there were definitely less cats than usual and more people. Sitting in the bean bag chairs you notice two cats are still there and running for your laps. As you two set down the adoption papers on the coffee table labeled “ash” and “muffin”

See:

Strawberry Energy for kirishima's brand

A spicy challenge For Katsukis brand

Tag list 🏷️: @scandalous-writing

Masterlist📃

[boywithlcv]

Champagne Problems | JSUH.

Summary: Johnny suh knew one thing. Y/N knew nothing.

tags: established relationship, Angst, gn!reader, barista!johnny, film major!reader, sad sad Johnny.

Wc:

A/n: part one! Also the first part of my BLONDIE series! Based off of Taylor songs sing she’s coming to Canada <3.

‘You booked the night train for a reason.

So you could sit there in this hurt’

✩

December 28th.

Four hours after the final goodbye.

the weather was anything but nice. the type of chill that nipped at peoples skin as it devilishly danced through the air.  The tall man didn't mind it though, he'd felt worse than some pinches from jack frost. The bustling sound of trains coming in and out of the station along with the crowd of passengers that left the vehicles carts. everyone going from one place to the next.

Though johnny, didn't quite know where he was going.

He knew he was going far, far away to hide away from whatever vendetta the world had against him. He felt as though he must of broken glass, the superstition his mother would warn him about when he was younger. though he's sure it was just because she didn't want to clean up any glass that johnny would've easily broken. though the superstition followed him to adulthood as he found himself a very superstitious person. come to think of it... he did break a glass bowl a couple months before, if that made any difference to his feelings about this situation.

Yes, the situation johnny suh found himself in.

the situation he thought he would never find himself in. because he was so sure, god why was he so sure?.

But it lead him to, standing alone. at an ungodly hour of the night, just so people wouldn't see the tears that fell down his cheeks. late night train full of people too tired or in too much of a rush to notice the tall man weeping away his sorrows over his lost lover. it also gave him time to sit and think, overthink or under think. it didn't matter. as long as he could sit in his hurt as dusk turned into dawn.

the hurt that was caused by his once muse, yn.

He wishes he could take everything back, maybe he wouldn't have been so stupid. A young barista falls in love with the film major. maybe it was a set up from the beginning, since the minute yn stumbled into his coffee shop looking as if they didn't know what sleep was. but yet johnny thought they looked beautiful.

He wishes he could take back when he made the first move. everyday yn would order the same thing, a basic black coffee. something johnny would always poke fun at. a drink he thought was reserved for older men and the occasional caffeine addicted mother. and every-time johnny would make it as a chuckle left his lips. until the seventh time they ordered, after a month of watching them for hours in his shop. he wrote his number on their napkin along with a J.

He wishes he could take back the way he smiled at his phone for the next week and a half like an idiot, every text he re-read a million times and could probably resite by memory.

He wishes he could take back the first date. which led to the second. the fourth. the eighth. the final.

he wishes he could take back letting them meet his family, letting them move in with him, letting them befriend his friends.

he wishes he could take back the last 47 hours.

johnny suh wishes he could take back loving yn.

[littlemisskittentoes]

seven(ish) sentence sunday

as always, a massive thank you to the ever-lovely @kiwiana-writes and @blueeyedgrlwrites for the tags!!

i'm tagging some more fellow writers under the cut

fun fact, henry is a baker/barista in sarah's rbb! here's a tiny taste

“Still just with sugar and cinnamon?” Henry asks, head nodding towards the heavy machine over his shoulder.  “Americano, actually. Extra shot, if you have it.” Apparently, that’s all it takes. Henry looks at him with shining eyes and the smile from their childhood and Alex’s heart stumbles over itself in his chest. Henry has always been beautiful, even from that very first meeting. But he’s never been more resplendent than now, looking at Alex, smiling for Alex, after the long years Alex has spent searching for that same beauty in other bodies. “Still just as much as a caffeine addict, I take it,” Henry jokes with him so easily, even while he slides open the back of the cooled display case and reaches over for a white paper bag. 

tag, you're it! @read-and-write- @happiness-of-the-pursuit @inexplicablymine @affectionatelyrs @leojfitz

@gayrootvegetable @gay-flyboys @songliili @anincompletelist @firenati0n

@cactusdragon517 @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @getmehighonmagic @thesleepyskipper @junebugclaremontdiaz