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kwanisms · 1 month ago

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Kinktober 「10:17」 — l.chan

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➮ demon!Chan × fem witch!Reader wc: 3.5k summary: Y/N has been practicing her summoning, hoping to finally summon a demon. Imagine her surprise when she not only succeeds in summoning a demon but he’s insanely gorgeous and wants to make a deal. genres/themes/au: smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: witchcraft and black magic, demonic summoning, demons; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this is for Nana. I hope you like it 😉 demon!Chan is hot and tbh, now I wanna summon him. Thank you for reading! Next part is shinigami!Hyunjin and it’s a bit of a departure from the general depravity of Kinktober. as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), lingerie, facefucking (f receiving), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do. Chan is a demon so he doesn’t use condoms or need to but humans should), use of pet names (babe, angel, etc.), multiple orgasms (f receiving, m receiving), titplay (f receiving), and that should be all. kinks: Lingerie + facefucking dialogue prompt: ❛❛ You look so good on your knees. ❜❜

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“Thank you! Come back soon!” you called as the door shut, the fake smile on your face falling the moment the last customer left the shop. You sighed heavily as your coworker, Hana, locked the door, flipping the open sign to the closed side and turned to face you.

“I hate working on Halloween,” she said as she stared at you. A chuckle escaped you as you started wiping down the counter. “It’s not even halloween yet,” you reminded her as she started over to where you stood behind the counter, leaning forward and placing her forearms on the surface.

“Ay!” you hissed, shaking the towel in your hand at her, waving her away. “Go get the broom and start sweeping,” you told her as you wiped down the counter again before moving onto the tables as she disappeared behind the curtain separating the kitchen from the front of the shop. You wiped down the tables one by one, lifting the caddies as you wiped away coffee spills, stains, and crumbs.

The cafe was not the most exciting job but you loved it, interacting with the public and making coffees.

Hana returned with the broom, sweeping from the back of the storefront to the counter while you returned to the counter and started closing the tills, counting the money and putting it into the bank bag to deposit in the safe.

Closing sometimes seemed to drag on and today was no exception as you did the daily closing duties and accounting while Hana finished cleaning and putting away the cleaned dishes after sending them through the dishwasher.

All you wanted to do was go home and resume your practice. The last session hadn’t gone as well as you hoped and you were hoping this time around, things might go differently. As you finished up the accounts, putting the bank bag in your purse for the deposit, Hana appeared at the door, removing her apron.

“Kitchen is all closed up, dishes washed and put away. Do you need anything else from me?” she asked. You shook your head as you shut the safe, spinning the dial and turned to her. “Nope!” you said as you got to your feet, grabbing your purse and keys. “We are all done!”

You turned off the office lights, shut the door and locked it as you followed Hana towards the front of the shop. She went around pulling all the shades down while you shut off all the lights but one in the back. At the front door, you unlocked and opened it, allowing her to exit before you stepped out and shut the door behind you, locking it.

A loud roaring drew both your attention as a motorcycle and its cyclist pulled up to the sidewalk. You watched as the rider removed his helmet and recognized Hana’s boyfriend, Daniel. “Hey Y/N,” he said, greeting you as Hana’s cheeks turned pink. It didn’t matter how long she’d been seeing this guy, he always made her blush like she had a school yard crush. It was endearing.

“Hey, Daniel,” you greeted back as he pulled a spare helmet out of one of the bags on his bike and held it out for Hana. “See you Monday!” Hana called as she walked towards him, taking the helmet and putting it on, clipping the buckle so it sat securely before climbing onto the back of the bike and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend’s waist.

“See you, Hana! Bye Daniel!” you said with a wave as he put his helmet back on and revved the engine, backing up from the parking space and starting down the street. You watched them until they rounded the corner and out of sight before heading in the direction of the bank.

Once your business at the bank was complete, the money deposited into the cafe’s account, you headed home, excited to finally be in the confines of your house as you relaxed, unwinded, and could resume your practice.

After a quick dinner, you filled the tub and grabbed your favorite bottle of wine, poured the red liquid into a glass, setting it aside while you stripped and got into the tub. The water felt amazing, the heat soothing your sore and aching body as you leaned back against the tub pillow, grabbing your glass of wine from the floor and taking a sip.

You sighed, resting your head back and stared up at the ceiling, silence filling the room and washing over you. ‘Maybe I’ll just call it a night. I have all weekend to practice those spells,’ you told yourself silently, taking another sip of wine. ‘Going to bed early sounds really nice.’

You relaxed in the tub until almost all the warmth had gone from the water. Pulling the plug, you got out, dried off quickly and wrapped yourself in a black silk robe as you grabbed your almost empty bottle of wine and glass, heading down the hall to your bedroom.

Once inside, you walked over to the bed, setting the bottle on your bedside and downing the rest of the alcohol in your glass. As you turned towards your closet, your eyes fell on the black book perched on top of your dresser where you left it the previous night, memories of your attempt at summoning flashing in your mind.

You stared at the book, eyes narrowing as you scrutinized it. ‘No,’ you said to yourself, turning away and moving to pour the rest of the wine into your glass, picking it up and taking a large sip. You sat down on the edge of your bed, one leg crossed over the other as you attempted to finish your glass.

You glanced at the book briefly, frustration bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

You’d tried for weeks now to move to the next part of your training, attempting to summon a demon. Not that you wanted to make a deal with one. You just wanted to prove you could do it.

Taking another sip, you glared at the book like it was to blame for your multiple failed attempts. As you had a stare off with the black grimoire, you downed the rest of your alcohol, setting the glass down on your bedside and getting up. “Fuck it,” you hissed, moving to your closet, pulling out a baby pink lace set and pulling it on. You slid the sheer black stockings on and pulled the black silk robe back on over it.

Back in your room, you moved over to the dresser and grabbed the book, heading out of your bedroom and into the next room over, shutting the door as you set the book down and opened a drawer of the desk, pulling out a lighter. You slowly went through the room, lighting the various candles before returning to flip the light switch off and grabbed the book once more.

This usually worked better during a storm but you figured given the close proximity to All Hallow’s Eve, the veil might be lifted enough to summon. Your last resort was to attempt on Halloween if this didn’t work. You moved to the middle of the room, a piece of chalk in hand as you knelt down and started following the guide in the book, drawing the symbols in order until you had created a summoning circle.

As you looked over the next part, making sure you weren’t missing anything, you started reciting the incantation, going slowly so you didn’t mess up the words. Every part of the ritual was important and you weren’t about to botch it and have to start all over again.

Your heart started to beat faster as you noticed the candles flickering around the room, a slight breeze swirling around the room despite the door and windows being closed. ‘Yes,’ you thought as you raised your hands up, continuing to repeat the incantation over and over as the wind grew.

As you reached the climax of the ritual, the candles extinguished all at once, plunging the room in darkness. You waited, breathing heavily as you waited for at least one candle to reignite which would mean you were successful. As you looked around, disappointment set in until you noticed it. A small candle, flame barely visible in the window across from where you knelt, flickered and danced until it was blocked.

“What the fuck?” you whispered. Your eyes trailed up upon realizing there was a figure standing in the middle of the circle, blocking the light of the candle from view but you could see the dim light dancing on the walls and ceiling behind the figure.

Your lips parted in surprise as you noticed glowing red eyes staring back at you. One by one, the candles reignited around the room, throwing the room into dancing light once more. Before you stood a man in black. He had fitted black pants, a black shirt that clung tightly to him under a black jacket. Dark brown hair fell into his eyes as he looked around, taking in his surroundings.

His eyes fell on you and a smirk crossed his features. “Well hello,” he said softly, his voice dripping with honey. “And who might you be?” You stared up at him wide-eyed before realizing he was waiting for an answer. “Y/N,” you answered quickly. “I’m Y/N.”

He squatted down to your level. “I see… and are you the one who summoned me, Y/N?” he asked, your name rolling off his tongue in the most delightful way, making your stomach flutter and desire settle in the pit of your stomach. You nodded wordlessly, staring back at him, admiring his features. He didn’t look like a demon. He looked like an ordinary man but those eyes…

“And why did you summon me?” he asked, tilting his head, the same smirk present on his face. He was enticing, enchanting, alluring. It made your mouth water. ‘Whoa, what the fuck?’ You shook your head, as if trying to shake your thoughts away.

“I uh…” you trailed off immediately. What were you supposed to say? Most who dabbled in the occult summoned demons for specific reasons, like making deals or wreaking havoc. Why did you do it? ‘To prove I could’ didn’t seem like a reasonable enough reason but you didn’t want to lie.

“Let me guess,” he said when you didn’t answer him. “To prove you could?”

Your eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping you. “Can you read my mind?” you whispered. He stared at you, his smirk widened until he burst into laughter, shaking his head. “No,” he answered. “I was just guessing.” His laughter continued for a moment longer before subsiding.

“Although,” he continued, eyes scanning your body, the front of your robe having come loose during the ritual, slipping down your shoulders and exposing the pink lace of the lingerie you wore underneath. “You seem awfully dressed up for just testing a ritual,” he continued.

You watched as his hand reached out, fingertips skimming over the lace. “Such a pretty set,” he said softly. “I’d hate for it to go to waste.” You stared back at him. “What?” you asked softly, heat coursing through your body. “Why else would you go through the trouble of dressing up in that?” he asked, gesturing to the lingerie under your robe.

“Don’t tell me you actually sleep in that,” he added with a chuckle. You shook your head. “No,” you answered. “I sleep in an old shirt and shorts.” The demon smiled. “I figured as much,” he said, shifting his weight. “So how about it? You summoned me for no reason in particular. How about we make the most of it?” You stared at him blankly. “Make the most of it?” you asked, not sure what he was getting at. He sighed, hanging his head. “Do I need to spell it out for you?” he asked. “Would you like me to peel that lingerie off with my hands or my teeth before I fuck you?”

Your heart skipped a beat, stomach jumping at his crass remark. “You’re going to fuck me?” you squeaked out. He chuckled, reaching out to caress your cheek. “If you’ll let me,” he answered. “You’re dressed for the occasion, aren’t you?” You watched as he stood up, moving to tuck his hands in his pockets. “So, how about it, angel?”

“Want me to make the most of my time here and fuck you?”

You stared up at him, breathing raggedly as he reached down to cup your chin. “You have to say yes or no,” he added. “I can’t read your mind, remember?” You licked your lips before nodding. “Y-yes,” you managed to croak out. A smile crossed his features. “Okay, where do you want me?” he asked.

You looked around the office, noticing the black futon in the corner. “One second,” you said, moving to get up but he stopped you. “Allow me,” he said, simply looking over at the futon and with a flick of his wrist, the piece of furniture pulled itself out, legs scraping against the wooden floor before it flattened.

“There,” he said with a smile, returning his attention to you. You turned back to look at him in awe. “Goddamn,” he said as he started to remove his jacket, letting it fall to the flood. “What?” you asked as he cupped your chin once more.

“You look so good on your knees,” he said softly. “You know that?”

You fought the urge to smile, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Open your robe,” he said as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark locks back from his forehead before his hands moved to start undoing his belt. “I promise I’ll fuck you real good,” he said as he undid the buckle and pulled it open, moving on to unbutton and unzip his leather pants.

“But you have to do something for me first,” he added as he undid his pants. You nodded, staring up at him eagerly awaiting his next order. “Be a good girl and open your mouth for me.”

You did as he asked as his hand reached into his pants, pulling his cock free. You stared at it, taking in the thick veiny shaft and dark red head that was already leaking. “Tongue out, beautiful,” he ordered. You obliged, sticking your tongue out. He guided the head to your mouth, letting the tip rest on your tongue, the weight heavy.

“Lick it,” he commanded. You kept your gaze locked with his as you moved your head, giving the tip of his cock a slow deliberate lick. “Good,” he cooed. “Now keep that pretty mouth open wide for me.”

You relaxed your jaw as he slid his cock into your mouth, lips spreading as more and more of his cock entered your mouth until the tip was pressed against the back of your throat. “Good girl,” he said in a steady voice as he grabbed a fistful of your hair. “Stay right there.”

He held you in place as he started to pull back, his cock sliding along your tongue until just the head was in your mouth. “Remember, keep your mouth wide open for me, baby.” You made a hum of understanding and he thrusted forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat and making you gag but he made no attempt to move. “Oh,” he said suddenly, giving your hair a firm tug, pulling at your scalp.

“Name’s Chan, by the way. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

He pulled back, thrusting again and setting a steady pace, each time his cock hitting the back of your throat and letting out a groan as you gagged, your throat constricting slightly. Once or twice, he shoved his cock into your throat, effectively fucking your throat and cutting off your access to air. He showed no mercy, fucking your face roughly until your face was stained with tears, spit running down your chin and dripping into your chest in long trails.

Your panties were soaked, your arousal seeping into the lace and no doubt dripping onto the hardwood floor but still Chan didn’t let up. He kept going, thrusting into your mouth, keeping a tight hold on your hair in an almost painful grip. “Undo your top,” he ordered. “Around your neck.”

You reached up, head bobbing with the force of his thrusts and undid the clasp around the back of your neck, letting the halter of your bralette fall, exposing your breasts. “Touch them.”

Your hands cupped your chest as you gagged around his cock again. Squeezing and feeling yourself, pinching your nipples between your fingers. The tips of your fingers touched the spit that had dripped onto your chest and you got an idea. You smeared it over your skin, swirling it around your breasts.

“Oh, so she’s filthy, is she?” Chan asked, breathlessly, pulling your head closer, forcing his cock into your throat until your nose bumped against his groin. He gave a shallow thrust before pulling your head back until his cock sprang free. You gasped, air filling your lungs. “Keep your mouth open,” he said. He forced his cock back into your mouth, thrusting faster.

“Almost,” he groaned. “Gonna cum down your throat and then gonna fuck you until you can’t stand.”

You moaned around his cock and he let out a growl, forcing his cock into your throat, fucking once, twice more before his seed spilled down your throat. He held your head in place until the last drop before he pulled back, dragging his heavy cock along your tongue.

Despite giving you a decent size load, he was still hard. “On the futon,” he ordered. “And keep the lingerie on,” he added. You got up, moving over to the futon, ignoring the ache and burn in your knees as he rid himself of his clothes and followed you. “On your hands and knees, angel,” he said, waiting for you to move into position.

As soon as you did, you felt his fingers slip between your folds, smearing your wetness as he played with your clit. His fingers moved quickly, enjoying the way your body reacted instantly. If it had been any other circumstance, you would have been embarrassed by how quickly he drew an orgasm out of you, walls clenching around nothing as he rubbed your clit.

As you started to come down, you felt the head of his cock rubbing against your folds before he pushed into your cunt, stretching your walls oh-so-deliciously as he filled you inch by inch until his hips were flush with your ass. “Fits like a glove,” he chuckled, hands moving to grab your hips tightly. “You might want to hold onto something,” he added.

“I’m not stopping until you’ve cum on my cock at least three times and are screaming my name.”

You cried out as he set a brutal, rough pace. Each thrust was hard and powerful and you could feel every vein as he throbbed inside you. It felt like he was about to blow again as he fucked you roughly, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, drowned out only by your moans and cries of pleasure.

He kept true to his word, coaxing another two orgasms out of you as he kept the same ruthless pace. Your walls fluttered around him in the aftershock of your third orgasm of the night. “Just one more,” he reminded you. “And you have to scream my name,” he added. “It’s Chan by the way,” he said again. “In case you forgot.”

“I haven’t!” you gasped, your cunt clenching around him as your body was sent hurtling towards another orgasm. “Scream my name,” he said again, angling his thrusts into the soft gummy spot that had you seeing stars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cursed. “Gonna cum!”

“Good,” he growled. “Scream my name and I’ll finish,” he added. Part of you didn’t want him to finish. You wanted to keep going all night. As your orgasm washed over you, you bit your tongue, refusing to give in to his demands. As your walls spasmed around him, he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“I told you if you scream my name, we’ll be done,” he said as his hips slowed. You glanced over your shoulder at him. “I don’t want to stop,” you said breathlessly. Chan raised a brow at your words, a smirk starting to form. “So you want me to fuck you all night, then?” he asked, punctuating his question with a snap of his hips, making you cry out. You nodded quickly.

“Yes!” you gasped. “I want you to fuck me all night!”

Chan let out a chuckle as he guided you further onto the futon, climbing on top behind you. “Fine,” he said, sliding his cock out of you and moving to lay on his back beside you. “But you take over for a bit,” he said, resting his hands behind his head. “My feet were getting tired. And besides,” he added as you straddled his hips, sinking down on his cock with a moan.

“I rather like the view.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

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zorrasucia · 2 months ago

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13. Hot Cocoa + Baking

from @carmenberzattosgf list

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Mature (2.3k)

Tags: Chocolat (2000) AU, Friends to Rivals to Lovers, Food, Curvy Reader, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Smut, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Maybe it was corny and provincial, but you always welcomed your neighbors with a batch of cookies. It was good for business most of the time too - the insurance people next door bought pastries every other day for their breakfast after you gifted them some for their opening.

So, there you were, close to the counter of the new specialty chocolaterie, box of cookies in hand, captivated by the smell of chocolate... There was so much more though: caramel, vanilla, almonds, coffee, cardamom, berries, and was that pepper...?

"Welcome to The Bear, what can I do for you?" a tall man greeted you.

"Oh, hi!" you smiled politely. "I'm from the bakery down the street. Wanted to say hello and give you a little welcome present."

You handed him the box, delicate calligraphy marking the name of your shop.

The man beamed. "That's so sweet! Pun not intended," he chuckled to himself. "Now we definitely have to give you something on the house!"

You looked at his name tag. "Richie, that's not necessary at all..."

"Nonsense. Plus, you get to see the magic happen. Cousin!" he bellowed to the back, where you assumed the kitchen was.

"Magic?" you frowned.

A blond guy with blue eyes emerged from the door and gave you a polite nod.

"What is it?" he asked Richie, he seemed irritated.

"Cookies from our neighbor, cuz," Richie offered him the open box, he was already biting into his second one. "Say thanks and do your mind-reader thing."

"It's not... Never mind," he mumbled in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Carmy Berzatto," he said and offered you his hand to shake. "Thank you for the cookies."

"You're welcome," you smiled at the sight of him eating with gusto.

"Is that piloncillo sugar?" he asked after a moment of savoring.

"Yes!" you beamed.

"Tremendous," he said earnestly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked closer to the counter and stared at you, intensely, for half a minute. "Mocha frappe, double espresso shot, whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. That's your favorite."

You stared right back, mouth agape. That was your comfort drink, no matter the weather. How did he know?

"Do we still have the nice Mexican coffee? She'll appreciate it," he asked Richie.

"Yeah, third shelf. Neat trick, huh?" Richie grinned, enjoying the shocked look on your face as Carmy went to the back.

"How does he-?"

"Fucked if I know," he shrugged. "He says it's a family thing. He never misses."

"Did he guess your favorite too?" you asked, fascinated.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "It's hot cocoa with marshmallows. He says I have the palate of a six year old but if it ain't broke..."

While Carmy prepared your drink, you looked around the shop. There were beautiful confections with crazy flavors, covered in gold leaf, almost too beautiful to eat. But there were also dollops of milk chocolate with puffed rice, humble looking and ready for a kid to devour. Truly something for everyone.

When he handed you your coffee you asked: "What's your favorite?"

Carmy gave you a tense smile. "Hope you like it. Pleasure to meet you," he said and left.

"He says it's a secret," Richie handed you a napkin, then he added in a whisper: "I don't think he has one. He doesn't enjoy things that way."

"What way?"

"Uh, the normal way, I guess," Richie shrugged. "He barely eats the things he makes. Lives like a monk. It feels like he has to make chocolate 24/7 or some family curse is going to get him. Dunno if I'm making sense."

"Kind of," you said.

You took a sip of your drink and knew you were fucked forever. No chain coffeehouse would be able to compete with this.

It had been a couple of months since The Bear opened. They had a few loyal customers plus whatever weirdos wanted to see if Carmy was as spot on with his predictions as online reviews said he was - he never missed.

You had become friendly with the staff and had developed a routine of sorts with Carmy.

It probably wasn't healthy but you saw him as a mystery to solve. You didn't know about chocolate, not the way he did, but you knew baking, you understood how comfort and love could be encapsulated in a dessert. So you tried to find his favorite, the thing that would make his heart sing like he could do to you and every other person that walked into his chocolaterie. If nothing else, you got constructive criticism from a kindred spirit on a weekly basis.

Could use less cinnamon.

Maybe with brown sugar instead?

Oh, that's good.

What about blackberry jam?

Delicious... but not my favorite.

"Anyone told you you're a buzzkill?" you said with a dejected sigh.

"Many people. Often," he replied dryly.

"Richie doesn't count."

"Point still stands," he said, wiping crumbs from the flaky pastry you had brought. "People think I'm supposed to be having fun in there for the chocolate to be good when it's probably the opposite."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Carm," you said, exasperated. "You don't have to be fucking miserable for this to work."

He took a deep breath. You had never spelled it out so clearly and it clearly struck a nerve.

"I appreciate you," he said. "I do. But I'm fucked up. And you can't fix me with pies and cakes and-" he looked at the ceiling. "You're an incredible pastry chef. And you're so fucking nice but, uh, I think we should stop this."

"This?"

"You coming here and asking for feedback on your already perfect baked goods. I don't know what you're expecting from me but you look at me with those Bambi eyes and I always disappoint you," he ran a hand through his hair. "It fucks me up."

"Right." You picked up your stuff as quickly as you could, feeling heartbroken and humiliated. You knew you probably came off as needy but you hadn't realized just how much. You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Sorry to bother you. Won't happen again."

And you left.

Weeks passed, weeks that you devoted to yourself, to feeling better, dressing pretty, baking delicious treats for happy customers, standing in front of the mirror to say nice things about your curvy body.

You had tried and failed to make Carmy see how much better his life could be if he let himself enjoy things, actually savor his chocolate instead of finding four things that were wrong with it upon his first bite. Only now you realized how similar you two were, both wanting to fix things that were probably best left alone. Carmy wasn't a recipe you could perfect and he wasn't your anything really to worry about.

It wasn't lost on you, the metaphor for everything you had been doing - his lithe body and your slightly overweight one, and how much you wanted his toned biceps on either side of your head as he panted above you, letting himself lose control for once. As you indulged in these fantasies, your fingers deep inside your pussy, you wondered whether he ever desired stuff that way. You pictured him, eyes rolled back in bliss, while he held you, and you came with a cry.

You were closing up for the night, cold wind ruffling your hair and your skirt.

"Hey."

You turned to see Carmy, blue apron underneath his wool coat.

"Hey," you said curtly, avoiding his glance.

"I, uh, I've been wanting to talk to you..." he said.

"Okay? Can you make it quick? I have to get up at four in the morning," the prickly part of you woke up at the sight of him.

"Listen, you don't need to do it if you don't want to but-" he handed you a paper bag with The Bear's logo on it. "I was wondering if you could make pain au chocolat with this?"

You received the bag cautiously. "How many?"

"I only need two," he mumbled and you scoffed. He knew - he fucking knew how hard it was to make the dough and that you couldn't just make two. "You can keep the rest of the chocolate," he offered.

"I'm still gonna charge you full price," you warned him.

"Of course."

You eyed him suspiciously, his bright eyes and open hands, his overall apologetic manner...

"Fine. I'll come by tomorrow after I close."

Maybe it was pride but you didn't try the pain au chocolat with Carmy's chocolate. Not one bite out of the entire batch you had baked. It would, of course, be excellent and you didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Here you go," you handed him the box, all pretty with a ribbon and a blank card ready to be gifted.

"Thank you," he gave you a shy smile. "Wanna sit down? I'll make you hot chocolate."

His shop was empty - only half the lights were on, and the sign at the door read 'Closed'.

"Come on," he insisted, his blue eyes pleading and you sighed in defeat, sitting by the counter next to him.

He served two cups of hot chocolate and plated the pastries, one for you and one for him.

"What are you-?" you started.

"When we first met, you asked me about my favorite," he explained. "Then you started bringing cookies and pie and muffins and it was so nice. I'm not used to nice things. And you were getting close. So I pushed you away and I Iashed out. I was an asshole."

"Yes, you were," you took a sip of your chocolate. He would be so much easier to hate if the things he made weren't so tasty.

"I'm not asking to go back to the way things were if you don't want that. I just hated how things ended," he nudged the plate towards you. "This is my favorite."

The pastry you had baked with the chocolate he had made.

"You haven't even tried it," you challenged him.

He took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring, a moan stuck in the back of his throat. You squeezed your thighs at the low, delicious sound.

"Fuck. That's perfect," he declared. Your heart beat faster. "Try it."

You took a bite. It was cozy and delicate, the rich chocolate caressing your tongue.

You nodded. "What a way to put my chocolate supplier to shame."

Carmy smiled, taking another big bite. "I'll give it to you for free if you keep making these."

You blushed at the double meaning and turned away.

"Fuck, that sounded awful. Sorry," Carmy said after a beat.

"It's okay," you laughed. You turned to face him, he had a giddy smile on his face that made him look younger and prettier.

"You have a-" he pointed at your lip but then he reached over and rubbed at your lower lip, wiping some leftover chocolate. He brought that same finger up to his mouth and sucked it clean. Your stomach dropped and you could feel yourself getting wet.

Carmy stood up, you could see his pupils dilate the closer he got, see his eyes linger on the low cut of your shirt.

"I thought that if I stopped seeing you, I would be able to focus," he whispered, his breath tickling your face. "I have never been so fucking distracted. Just thinking..." he kissed the side of your face, open mouthed and hungry. "Kept thinking of things I'd say to you, recipes I could share and shit like that," he mumbled, his hands ghosting over your thighs, playing with the hem of your skirt. "Thinking about your hands, kneading, working, and how they'd feel," following his lead you placed your hands over his chest, caressing his sides. He groaned. "Thinking about your body. Every part of it..."

"Touch me," you practically begged, moaning in satisfaction when he squeezed your breasts over your clothes.

"Imagining how sweet you'd taste," he panted against your lips, letting you close the small distance left, tasting his own chocolate in your mouth as he devoured you. You pulled on his hair, desperate to return every bit of passion he was giving you.

"Carmy," you gasped and brought him closer, opening your legs and scooting to the edge of your seat. His hard cock rubbed against your center, his hands were everywhere.

"So soft," he said, kissing down your neck to your chest. He palmed your breast with one hand and squeezed your hip with the other, guiding you to grind against his erection.

"Fuck," you cursed. "Like that."

You tugged on his hair, getting a low groan in response. You took the opportunity to shove your tongue inside his mouth and kiss him with all the hunger you had for him. He bit your lower lip and you moaned.

"You even sound sweet," he said absently, a desperate rhythm building between you.

"I thought of you too," you said, looking into his blue eyes, squeezing his ass to bring him closer. "Thought how'd beautiful you'd look when you came - all sweaty, your eyes on me."

"Fuck," he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic. "Can't wait to take you home. Fuck you properly. Fucking taste you..."

You could feel fireworks inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing, grinding desperately against Carmy, biting on his bicep to muffle a cry of ecstasy.

"Oh, my God," you gasped for breath as he chased his release, you grew pliant in his embrace, carding your fingers through his hair, legs shaking around his waist, your underwear soaked.

"Fuck," he froze and exhaled hard, his nose tickling your neck. "If you feel this good with your clothes on..."

You giggled. "Come on," you kissed his temple. "Let's close up shop."

#chocolat (2000) is such a banger of a movie - the catholic guilt of it all... AND juliette binoche? possible bisexual awakening...#ANYWAY this is probably the most ME thing i've written on here - i know the header of the blog says self indulgence but this is FOR me #hope you guys enjoy it nevertheless 💜😌#bearblrpromptober #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto fanfiction

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missmimii · 5 months ago

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☕︎︎ －𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 | 𝐂 - 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Chris stumbles upon a bakery that holds much more than just a sweet treat, the one behind the counter being the sweetest of all that varies.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. none! Just tooth rotting fluff and a whole lot of a Chris’s terrible pick-up lines

✩－𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 • I thought of this yesterday when I was in a bakery near my house, saw the cutest interaction between the girl behind the counter and a customer ♥︎

୨ৎ － The sickening smell of cinnamon and icing sugar engulfs the triplet’s nose, as well as flour tickling his nostrils as the ceiling fan above swooshes the powder around the room. Squeak, his shoes emit as the rubber bottoms make contact with the freshly mopped floors of the bakery, a faint smell of almond floor cleaner entering his nose.

☕︎︎－ Chris felt some variant of comfort from the small bakery, a soft melody playing in the background of bustling that came from behind the counter. The glass that held an array of sweet treats was void of any fingerprints or skids, along with the sleek marble counter that held a sparkle from the sunlight coming in the window.

୨ৎ － Though his finger did itch to tap the bell aside the cash register, he didn’t want to come off as a nuisance. Was anyone even here? He pondered, gaze of curiosity tipping off into the back of the shop to catch a glimpse of anyone. Hm － he thought to himself, seeing nothing but a cloud of smoke that smelt of vanilla stream from one of the ovens.

☕︎︎ － Atop the oven sat a stained pair of pink oven mitts, before a hand reached out to lift them. Chris’s lips parted a little as the girl emerged from the other end of the kitchen, manicured hands slipping the mitts on her hand one at a time. “Talking about my girl －my girl,” She hummed softly to the music, pulling the oven open, revealing a medium sized baking tray.

୨ৎ －Assuming she’d felt the heat of Christopher’s gaze on her seemingly unflattering state, she slowly averted her own eyes to the cash. The girls eyes widened as she took in the sight of a brunette male, wondering just how long she left a customer waiting. God, her boss would’ve ripped her a new one if he’d saw. “Uhm－one second mister!” She hollered in the direction of the man, feeling rather rattled while rushing to arrange her messy kitchen.

☕︎︎ －The mouth watering aroma of vanilla and cinnamon infused the whole bakery as she gently plopped the metal sheet atop the oven, tossing the pink mitts onto the counter beside. If he had been else Chris would thought the delightful smell was a candle, just from how surreally perfect it’d smelled.

୨ৎ －The boy that was once drawn to the little shop out of feigning something pure sugar, now found himself craving something rather beautiful. Chipped red nailed hands dip into the running water as she gathered suds of soap across her hands. Tap, tap, tap. Chris watched with admiration as droplets fell from her skin as she flicked the faucet off, swiftly pulling the hand towel off the hook to dry her wet hands.

☕︎︎－ Dozens of baking ingredients were aligned upon the surfaces on counters, flour and drizzles of frosting covering almost every inch of the area. The triplet’s lips fell up into a small smile of muse as he watched the girl struggle to push the stray hairs framing her face away, refusing to use her clean hands. Goodness, how he wanted to gently tuck the feathering strands behind her ears.

୨ৎ － Chris opened his mouth to let the stressed girl know he was in no rush, but was cut off at the sound of a wince. “Ouch,” the sound of a feminine hiss echoed from behind the store, making his eyebrows fly up with both concern and confusion. Was she .. a head popped from behind a corner, a sheepish look on the timid girl’s face as she looked at Chris. “so sorry.” She winced, before she disappeared once again.

☕︎︎ － “Ouch, ouch, ouch － ow,” The pained girl fumbled with the tap until it turned cold, sticking her left hand under the running rush of water. Ah － Her shoulders fell at the contact, the cold sensation soothing the burning pain on the end of her index finger. Never once has she burnt herself in the three years she’s worked in a bakery. She just shook her head incredulously, flicking the water off.

୨ৎ －Chris’s face was still coated in perplexity when she’d finally rushed from kitchen, his hand that he’d been running across his jaw halting in place as she threw him a warm smile. “I’m so sorry about that. It’s usually so slow on Sundays － and I must’ve not heard the bell ring when you walked in because of the hand mixer.” She rambled, hands waving around has she expressed her sorrow.

☕︎︎ － “Your hand,” He interrupted, making the girl’s eyes meet his. Her hand .. what?－ “I don’t think I- oh.” She let out a small sound as the males hand hesitantly prompted to grab hers, the warmth of his palm pressing against her wrist as he turned her hand over. “Yeah.. it happens often.” Chris’s hooded gaze lifted from her pink finger, meeting her eyes. Liar, he thought to himself. “hm,” Obviously not being willing to express the fact he knew the falsified confession, he withdrew his touch.

୨ৎ － She cleared her throat, lowering her injured hand to her side. “Did my bad work ethic allow you enough time to choose something?” She half joked, cheeks warming as he chuckled. “Nothing here,” Chris admitted, nipping at his lip as he flicked his gaze down to the various baked goods. “though I did spot something quite delicious behind the counter.”

☕︎︎ －She blinked at him while processing the information, feeling her lips twitch with a small smile as she saw the flirtatious grin placed upon his lips. “Oh.” Chris hummed, lifting an eyebrow. “The rolls.” Huh? Chris watched as she nodded in understanding. Rolls? “I just put a batch in before you walked in － whenever that was.” She murmured to herself, shaking her head softly.

୨ৎ － “uh-” Just as she turned her back to go fetch the goods, the boy spoke again. “What ‘rolls’?” Her eyebrows knitted together with confusion before she answered. “Cinnamon rolls.” She said in a matter of fact tone, turning back around. She smiled to herself as she walked back through the arched doorway, finding the way Chris’s eyes light up almost cute. Cinnamon rolls did sound good..

☕︎︎ －He stood there patiently as she shuffled around in the kitchen, bending his neck a bit to catch sight of something she was getting into. Chris made a sound of amusement as she vigorously whisked together something in a metal mixing bowl, splatters of a cream white icing hitting the cylinder sides as she stirred. Did she really not get my pick up? Chris felt slightly defeated, having thought that the flirty sentence had been quite smart of him.

୨ৎ －Chris quickly stood upright, attempting to hide the clear fact he was peering into the girls kitchen, as she gleefully stalked back into the main room. “It’s a little warm still, so the frosting might seep into the cake a teensey bit.” She fiddled with a striped pink box, sheet of clear plastic cut out in the middle showing a glimpse of the fluffy golden brown roll. Steam glazed the clear part over, the treat having been freshly baked. Chris’s mouth practically watered as he watched the icing slowly slide down the sides of the roll, creating a delicious puddle of sugar below the bun.

☕︎︎ －Her pink tipped fingernails gently tied a pink ribbon around the the box before softly nudging it across the counter to the boy. His eyes slipped up to hers, finding her leaning on the edge of the island while staring at his reaction, her bottom lip tucked lusciously between her teeth. Holy － was my heart pounding so damn hard because of the nauseating scent of sugar, or the sight of this unworldly woman? “Well now I feel bad undoing something so pretty, baby.” Her heart exploded, butterflies pressing against her gut at the pet name.

୨ৎ －Chris gently tugged at the silk ribbon, the thin piece of fabric falling from the box, his fingers unfolding the opening at the top. “Hm~” She watched with curiosity as he hummed in delight, the cloud of steam that flooded from the box engulfing his nose. Vanilla, cinnamon, brown sugar, butter － as well as the slight hint of the cream perfume coming from the girl across. Shakily lifting the treat from the box, being cautious not to drop it, he brought it to his lips.

☕︎︎ －Oh god － Christopher’s eyes had slowly slipped shut as soon as his teeth sunk into the soft baked good, moaning oh so softly as the sweetness set off every tastebud on his tongue into a frenzy. “Holy fuck.” He muttered, savouring the taste of a whipped like vanilla frosting swirling around his mouth as he chewed. Chris finally allowed his eyes to peek open, his gaze automatically focused on her.

୨ৎ －He watched with intent as her lips parted, tongue sliding across her bottom one as she looked between his lips and blue eyes. The muscles in his jaw clenched with every chew, eyelashes batting admirably against his flushed cheeks as he brought the tip of his middle finger to his lips. Chris looked into her eyes with desire while dipping the end of his finger into his lips, swirling his tongue around the skin to gather the sugary liquid.

☕︎︎－With a small plop, he placed the treat back into box, all while keeping his eyes on her. “You’ make that?” He asked, tilting his head while peeking his tongue to lick the corner of his mouth. God he could still taste that fucking frosting. At her timid nod, he felt his lips curve up at the corners. “It almost curbed all of my cravings.” Chris shamelessly admitted.

୨ৎ －She felt her breath get caught in her throat as she heard the husk in his tone, the two hands she hand placed on the marble counter squeezing around the surface tightly. Chris effortlessly twisted the cap from his water bottle before tipping back the refreshing liquid with content. “Sweet, huh?” She laughed softly, hair getting caught on her eyelashes as she looked down for a moment.

☕︎︎－Chris felt his lips tip up around the cap as he pulled the bottle away, breathing out a soft laugh at her words. “Very,” her cheeks flushed, giggling softly. She’s so .. effortlessly perfect, Chris thought to himself, tilting his head as he look across to the girl. “not nearly as sweet as you though.” Oh－her eyes widened.

୨ৎ －Maybe it’s because she’d never got hit on during work －or at all for that matter, but she found herself dumbfounded by his bold flirting. Because he was flirting .. right? She suddenly felt unsure of his motives, clearing her throat as she sent a quick smile his way. “Thank you- really.” She impulsively added the last part as a whisper, her fingers raising the brush away the hairs in her face, before stopping. Ah －I need to wash my hands.

☕︎︎ －She jumped, startled as two calloused fingers brushed the irritating flyaways from her face. “here,” Chris murmured gently, looking into her eyes with a unknown emotion as he tucked the tendrils behind her pierced ears. “Oh.” She breathed out, the smile that gleamed across her lips unable to be fought. “thank you.” She uttered.

୨ৎ －Chris nodded softly, leaving a prolonged beat before he stepped back from her. He cleared his throat, cheeks warming as he felt the aftermath of his action’s overcome him. Was that too bold? I could’ve made her uncomfortable. “Well ..” The girl’s eyes flicked up to his at the sound. “Can I get your name or somethin’? To remember you of course.” Chris quickly added on, seeing her eyebrows fly up.

☕︎︎ －She silently nipped at her lips for a second as she resisted the temptation to allow a grin to spread across her lips. “Hm..” He lifts a brow as she drawled out the sound, her hand toying with the ribbon from his box. Within seconds his eyes widened, her hand reaching out and entrapping his own.

୨ৎ －She leaned forward, belly resting on the island as she took his wrist into her palm. Chris opted to stay quiet, feeling a little too happy with the feeling of her touch. Her fingers skillfully threaded the pink ribbon around his wrist, gently pulling the two ends to finish off her signature bow. “There,” he looked down at her, seeing her big smile as she finished the work. “try forgetting me now.”

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #writers on tumblr #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #Christophersturniolo

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sailortongue · 1 year ago

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Sweet Tooth

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

wc: 4.5k

summary: spencer finds himself frequenting a local donut establishment for more reasons than one. his sweet tooth isn't limited to just pastries and he bets you'd taste delicious

cw: oral (fem receiving), fingering. pls pls pls let me know if i missed smth but i think those are the only major things

------

It was widely known that Spencer was fond of overly sweet coffee, but his sweet tooth was not limited to just his morning pick-me-up. The team had recently wrapped up with a rather grueling case, and he thought he’d surprise them all with donuts that morning. So there he was, in the local donut shop, staring at what must have been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The way the early morning light shone in through the windows and illuminated you was truly breathtaking. Try as he might, he stumbled over the order, embarrassing himself in front of you and surely ruining his chances of you liking him.

You could tell he was flustered, so you did your best to suppress your giggles. He was cute. Very cute. This was the first time you had seen him come into the store, and you were hoping it wasn’t the last. He paid for his order and you boxed it up, receiving a shy smile from him as you handed it to him. “Thank you,” he said, before turning and walking out quickly, the bell above the door chiming.

It was a little over a week before you saw him again. He greeted you with a “good morning” as he walked in and approached the counter.

“Good morning!” you said back cheerily, glad to see that he had returned. He scanned the selection of confections before selecting a chocolate donut with sprinkles.

“Huh, I thought you’d be more of a donut hole kind of guy,” you said, trying to make conversation with the handsome man.

He laughed a bit and shook his head. “No, chocolate and sprinkles are definitely the best. They've been my favorite since I was a kid.”

“Oh yeah? I think if I was to pick a favorite it would have to be the apple fritter.”

Not missing the chance to learn about you, even if it was just your favorite donut, he asked, “Why that one? Not that it's a bad choice, but most people seem to prefer the chocolate and glazed.”

You laughed and Spencer swore his heart melted right then and there. “Well, they're my dad’s favorite. And every time he had one he would split it between us. So not only is it delicious, but it reminds me of my childhood.”

He smiled at your wholesome reason and before he could stop himself he said, “That’s really cute.”

You blushed, consumed with the thought that he considered something about you was cute, even if it was something so minor as to why your favorite donut is what it is. God, you didn't even know his name and there you were, developing a crush. Your eyes met his, and you were awestruck at how warm and inviting they looked. He had these expressive brown eyes that you could get lost in if you allowed yourself to. You shook your head from your thoughts, realizing you were probably freaking him out. He was just here for a donut and here you were staring at him like some creep. You hadn’t even bagged it for him yet. Pull yourself together you chastised yourself internally, finally breaking eye contact and doing your job like a normal person.

When you handed him the bag he briefly glanced down at your name tag. “Thanks, Yn,” he said, giving you a small smile. What a pretty name, he thought.

“No problem, have a good day…” you trailed off, hoping he would introduce himself. It was only fair since he knew your name.

“Spencer,” he filled in for you.

“Spencer,” you repeated. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

–❀–

Next time turned out to be three days later. You were back in the kitchen, not expecting a customer to be there so early until you heard the bell chime. “I’ll be right there!” you called out. You quickly rinsed your hands and were still drying them on a towel when you walked out to see a familiar mop of brown hair. “Spencer! Good morning!”

He chuckled, “Good morning, Yn.”

“Chocolate with sprinkles?” you asked, remembering his favorite.

“You remembered?”

“You’re beginning to become a regular, and I make it a point to memorize those orders.”

Spencer’s smile dropped a bit, somewhat disheartened that it was something you did for all customers and not just him.

You didn’t notice the slight change in his expression and continued, deciding to take a chance. “Plus, it’s hard to forget the cute customers.”

Spencer’s face instantly flushed crimson, all logical thought leaving him. So much for his high IQ. His mouth opened and closed again, desperately trying to formulate some sort of response. But Spencer couldn't even think straight. His thoughts were in a flurry and every single one was about you.

Seeing his reaction, you backpedaled as fast as you could. “I’m sorry. That was too forward of me. I don’t know why I said that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“It’s perfectly alright.” He cut off your frantic apology. “You didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I’m actually quite flattered that you find me as attractive as I find you.”

It was your turn to be speechless. When his words fully sunk in, you couldn't stop the wide smile and giggle that bubbled forth. This man was going to be the death of you. “So, uh,” he started nervously, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I was wondering if I could get your number?”

You beamed at him. “Yes, of course!” You went to the register and rang him up, writing your phone number on his receipt before handing it to him. He dialed it into his phone, and you heard your phone ringing faintly from the break room where you had left it. “There,” he said. “Now you have my number, too.”

–❀–

Your morning rendezvous with Spencer quickly became the highlight of your week. He was always dressed professionally, and you finally decided to ask him where he worked. The two of you talked about nearly everything under the sun, so you were shocked when you came to the realization that you didn't even know what he did for work.

The next time he came in, you practically ambushed him with your question. His eyes widened in surprise, “Oh, I’m an agent with the BAU. Did I not tell you that?”

“No, you did not. What’s the BAU?”

“It stands for behavioral analysis unit. It’s a department of the FBI. We analyze the unsub’s-”

“Unsub?” you interrupted.

“Unidentified subject. So what we do is analyze the unsub’s actions and behavior and create a profile to better understand how and why they do what they do. This is what allows us to determine the identity of the unsub and arrest them.”

Your jaw had dropped open during his explanation. The guy you’d been casually talking to turned out to be an FBI agent. Cute and badass.

Becoming shy from the attention, he changed the subject to something he’d been wanting to ask you. “So, Yn, would you be interested in meeting somewhere other than here? When you're not at work and I don't have to go to my own job?”

Your face flushed with heat, and your heart pounded in your chest. “Like a date?”

Trusting that your hopeful expression was a good indication, Spencer nodded. “Yeah, like a date.”

The bright smile you gave him at his confirmation would live in Spencer’s mind for the rest of the day.

“I’m free this weekend,” you suggested.

–❀–

And just like that, it became a routine for Spencer to visit the shop at least once a week. He began to find himself getting up earlier and earlier each day just so he could stay and talk with you for longer. The physical attraction was instant from the first moment he saw you, but now that he was truly getting to know you he was falling and falling fast. You had this light about you that Spencer couldn't put into words, even with his impressive vocabulary.

Reid’s highly observant coworkers were quick to notice his frequent morning donut runs. He never ate them at the shop, choosing to use that time to visit with you. Instead, he waited until he got to the office so he could enjoy the sweet goodness with his daily cup of coffee. And today was no exception.

“All those donuts are going to catch up with you one day, Reid,” Prentiss teased. “You can't be skinny forever.”

“So be it. She's worth it,” replied Spencer, taking another bite, sprinkles falling onto the napkin he’d placed on his desk.

“She?” Morgan raised his brows, a grin spreading across his face as he turned in his chair to face the young doctor.

Spencer’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on his food, trying to figure out a way to take back his slip of the tongue. “I meant they. They’re worth it. The donuts.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. So what’s her name?”

Spencer sighed. “Yn.” That was all he said as he pulled his paperwork towards himself. No point in denying it when they were already certain.

“Woah, woah, you can't just leave it at that! Tell us about her. What's she like and how did you meet? Spill everything.”

Spencer merely took another bite of his donut, a smug smirk on his face for withholding the information his colleagues were so curious about.

For the rest of the day, Morgan and Prentiss attempted to convince Spencer to divulge his sweet secret. After another failed attempt, it finally hit Morgan, and he had to admit he felt very silly for it. He waited until Spencer left on his lunch break before he approached Emily’s desk.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked.

“What’s up is that Hotch should probably reconsider our positions on the team,” he joked. “The donut bag. It’s in Reid’s personal mini trash can under his desk. All we have to do is look at it real quick and we’ll know exactly which shop he goes to!”

Emily laughed, amused how it took so long for one of them to think of that. “Then what are we waiting for? Let's go dig in the doctor’s trash.”

They both stood and went over to Spencer’s desk. Morgan reached under and pulled out the small trash can, plucking the crumpled bag from the top. As he flattened the bag back out, a voice startled the two of them and they spun around in unison, like two kids that had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Why are you two digging in the kid’s trash?”

“Reid has a girl in his life and if he wont tell us then we’re gonna find out ourselves. She’s either a regular at this place—” he held up the bag, displaying the logo for Rossi to see, “—or she works there.”

“Hm. I see. Carry on, then,” was all he said before continuing on his way.

The younger agents turned their attention back to what they were digging for. “Meche’s Donuts,” they both read aloud.

“Pretty sure that’s close to Reid’s place. Y’know, I think some donuts tomorrow morning would be great, don’t you?”

“Now that you say it, yeah, donuts would be good. Meet you there at 8:00?”

“You bet.” He recrumpled the bag and replaced the trash can as it was.

When Reid returned, he didn't notice the look his friends exchanged and was none the wiser.

–❀–

The next morning, both Emily and Derek got up earlier than usual and met in the parking lot of Meche’s. They approached the building, and Derek held open the door for Emily, the bell chiming to notify you of a customer’s arrival.

“Good morning!” you greeted like usual.

They returned your greeting as they neared the counter, both of their sights narrowing in on your name tag: Yn.

“Has a guy named Spencer Reid been here today?” Morgan asked, never one to beat around the bush.

“No, do you know him?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, we’re friends of his. We noticed that his sweet tooth has been getting the better of him lately. Lots of donuts,” he smirked, gesturing down to the transparent display. “Pretty boy had a bit of a slip up and told us that it was because of a girl, but wouldn’t tell us anything else. So we decided to do a bit of sleuthing.”

“And here we are,” finished Emily. “I’m Agent Emily Prentiss and this is Agent Derek Morgan. Promise we’re not creeps, this is just the first time we’ve known him to have a crush on someone and we wanted to know what you looked like. He’s got good taste at least.”

You laughed good-naturedly, “Don't worry about it. We have a date scheduled for this weekend actually.”

Emily ooohed like a schoolgirl. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I’m dying to know. What is Spencer’s idea of a date? Bet he takes you to a bookstore.”

“Or a foreign movie,” interjected Morgan. “With no subtitles, so he can whisper the translations in your ear.”

–❀–

Saturday

You were getting ready for your date with Spencer when you heard your phone ring. The caller ID told you that it was Spencer calling and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I was just calling to let you know I’m on my way.”

“Ok, perfect! I’m almost done getting ready. You remember the address?”

He laughed. “Of course I remember. There’s not much I don’t remember.”

“Oh, my bad Dr. Reid. We can't all be super geniuses with an eidetic memory.”

The two of you talked and joked with each other until Spencer told you that he was parking and would be up in a moment to meet you at the door. All you had to do was quickly slip your shoes on and you were ready.

Three sharp raps sounded from the door, and you peeked through the peephole before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

He seemed stunned for a second, just taking in your appearance. “Wow,” was all he could think to say. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look very handsome,” you returned the compliment. And he did, as always. He was probably the only guy you knew who could pull off a sweater vest. He may dress like an old man, but damn did he make it work.

Turns out that he picked out some hole in the wall diner you’d never even heard of. But he swore by their food and claimed it was some of the best in town. Also that they made a mean bread pudding. A broad smile overtook his features when he saw your eyes light up at the mention of the dessert. He’d recalled from a previous conversation that it was your favorite and had made sure to choose a restaurant that had it on the dessert menu.

The meal was spent indulging in a lively conversation about all of your favorite books. He even suggested a book exchange; he’d load you his favorite, and you’d loan him yours. Though you did warn him that you might have to pick up a new copy first, as yours was particularly old and practically on the verge of disintegrating in your hands.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he said.

“No, it is!” you insisted. “The last time I read it I looked down and there were a bunch of particles on my lap from the pages.”

After picking up the check at the diner, Spencer informed you that there was a movie he wanted to take you to. “It’s a Russian movie, and I’m not sure if there’s subtitles or not, but I can whisper the translations for you. But I definitely think you’ll enjoy the plot.”

You thought back to what Morgan said when he and Emily visited you. Morgan: 1, Emily: 0.

Turns out, there were, in fact, subtitles. However, Spencer claimed those weren't very accurate to the tone of the movie and chose to give you his own translations anyway. In order to not disturb other movie goers, he had to lean in to whisper, so close that his lips would occasionally brush the shell of your ear. If not for the fact you were already sitting, you thought your knees would have given out. The low timbre of his voice traveled straight from your eardrum all the way to your core. You tried to pay attention to the movie, you really did, but the gentle rasp of Spencer’s voice in your ear had you beyond distracted. He was so close. Between the close proximity and his voice, your panties were quickly becoming uncomfortably sticky which led you to squirm in your seat occasionally.

Spencer, the hyper-observant profiler that he was, noticed your pitiful attempts to adjust the way you were sitting. “Are you ok?” he asked, interrupting his translation mid sentence.

“Yes!” you answered hurriedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You cleared your throat nervously and hoped he would let it go. You could see a slight frown form on his face before it looked as if a metaphorical lightbulb went off over his head.

He resumed his position near your face, once again whispering to you, but not translations this time. No, this time it was as if a switch had flipped inside the sweet man you’d become so fond of. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you like having me so close to you. Isn't that right, Yn?”

The way he whispered your name so sensually had your heart beating out of your chest and your breath hitching in response. His laughter came out as a huff, trying to stay quiet. “Think you can wait until the end of the movie?” he asked with a suggestive lilt to his words.

You both knew the answer, but you pretended to think about it in an effort to spare at least some of your dignity. “No,” you answered with your head down, almost ashamed at how easily Spencer had riled you up.

“‘No’ what? Use your words, sweetheart.”

To hell with your dignity. “No, I can't wait. I want you now.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat as he stood. He led you out the doors and to the parking lot, heading straight for his car.

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment.” he answered swiftly as he put his hand on the back of your seat to back out of the parking spot.

The ride to his apartment was spent mostly in silence, both of you tense for all the best reasons. At one of the red lights he’d made the bold move to relocate one of his hands from the steering wheel to your left thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth and gently squeezing it every now and then. Every squeeze sent a bolt of electricity to your center and you were getting needier by the second.

–❀–

As soon as his apartment door shut behind him, his mouth was on yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. With both hands on either side of your face, he licked the seam of your lips impatiently, wanting nothing more than to taste you. You obliged, and his tongue snaked its way into your mouth, intertwining with yours. He groaned into the kiss, unable to get enough of you. Pulling away from your lips, he kissed down your jaw and neck slowly, deliberately. Taking his time to leave dark marks in his wake. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “You have no idea what this perfume was doing to me at the movie. Could barely even translate for you,” he mumbled into your skin.

“Bedroom?” you asked, near breathless with anticipation but not particularly wanting to get fucked in his entryway.

He led you through his apartment to his bedroom where Spencer wasted no time reconnecting his lips to yours, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, prompting you to sit. Before you could lay down, his hands tugged on the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get this off of you, hm?”

He made quick work of the cloth and tossed it aside “God, you're so pretty. Lay down for me, sweetheart,” he said. You flushed and did as he told you, scooting yourself higher up on the bed before laying your head onto his pillows. He removed both his sweater vest and shirt before eagerly crawling atop you. He propped himself up on his elbows, his face aligned with yours. You impatiently leaned up to kiss him again, and you could feel him grinning into the harsh kiss before kissing you back. His hands wandered across your body, settling on your breasts. You moaned into his mouth and pressed your chest further into his large hands, your hips bucking up, seeking the friction you so desperately wanted.

He chuckled, removing his hands from your breasts to your hips and holding them down, preventing you from moving them and eliciting a whine from you. “Patience, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Promise.” His voice was low and gravelly, his lips pressed against the skin just under the skin of your earlobe. He suckled the skin lightly as one hand came up behind your back, unclasping your bra and giving it the same treatment he gave your shirt. He pulled back and groaned at the sight of seeing you half naked beneath him. This felt like a dream come true to Spencer and it was taking everything he had to not throw his inhibitions out the window and ravish you right that second.

He groped your bare chest for a moment before leaning down to lick a stripe between them. He placed feather-light kisses across your skin, his hair falling over his face and tickling you where it brushed. His trail of kisses led him to one of your nipples, which he took in his mouth, sucking lightly. You gasped when he used his teeth to pull on it slightly. “Spencer!”

While his mouth was busy with one, he had a hand on the other, tweaking the bud between his nimble fingers. You raked your hands through his hair, holding him in place. The tug on his roots had Spencer groaning into your chest and increasing the intensity of his ministrations and suckling you more and more fervently with each tug of his hair and sweet moan from your lips. Satisfied, he released your bud with a slight pop and switched to the other side, determined to make you squirm and beg for him before he touched you properly. The hand that wasn't on your breast lowered from your waist to your hip, massaging the supple flesh.

“Please, Spencer,” you begged, needing so much more than he was currently giving you. You were aching for him, panties soaked with evidence of your want.

He released your nipple and tilted his head to look at your face, both of your pupils blown wide with lust. He cooed at you, “What does my pretty girl need? Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You!” you cried. “I want you! Please, Spencer!”

He groaned, the sound low and guttural. “You already have me. I was yours from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” Your eyes softened from his words, and you watched him as he tilted his head back down, tracing his nose down your abdomen as he lowered himself further down the bed, his hands caressing your sides as he did so. He placed a chaste kiss just above the waistband of your bottoms before hooking his fingers under it. “May I?”

You nodded frantically, and he placed another kiss in the same spot as he pulled your shorts and panties down together, tantalizingly slowly. Finally seeing you completely bare before him had him nearly cumming in his pants on the spot. You were so perfect and he wanted to make you feel so good that the only name you knew was his. He ran his hands up your thighs and settled his head between them. “You're absolutely dripping for me, sweetheart.” Spencer was practically panting from the lust flowing through his veins. He placed a chaste kiss to your clit before tentatively licking your cunt. You let out a strangled moan, his hot tongue not providing near enough pressure.

“Don’t tease me, Spence,” you mewled, your hands weakly trying to push his head back down where you needed him.

“Savoring, baby, not teasing. I don’t want to forget a single moment of this.” With that said, he licked a broad stripe across your pussy, much more confident than the first time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked harshly, groaning into you. You cried out his name, grip on his hair tightening. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he said breathlessly before diving back in, slurping at you like a man starved. He hummed with bliss as he continued to eat you out, the vibrations adding to the stimulation. “So sweet, baby, oh my God,” he praised. He lifted your legs and placed them over his shoulders, pressing himself further into you as he wrapped his arms around your thighs.

It was all you could do to keep from screaming his name as he continued to lick and suck at the most intimate part of you. You thrashed in his hold, overwhelmed with the pleasure he was giving you. He tightened his hold on your thighs, holding you open so he could continue to drink you in. He swore he would never be able to get enough of you. If this was the last thing he ever did then he'd die a happy man.

“C’mon, sweetheart, cum on my face. Give it to me. I want it,” he grunted. Without warning, he plunged a finger into you, causing you to cry out. He added a second finger shortly after, and he relished in the way your walls were squeezing around his fingers. You were so close and it was all because of him. With his fingers thrusting in and out of you and his mouth on your clit, you were finally pushed over the edge, cumming with a scream of Spencer’s name. He didn't stop until you were practically shoving him away, the overstimulation becoming too much. His face was covered in your juices, and you watched with rapt attention as he licked his lips before wrapping them around the two digits still covered with your wetness, sucking them clean and groaning at the taste as he did it.

Yeah, Spencer Reid definitely had a sweet tooth.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut

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punkypiscesell-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Like a sun, shining late at night

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie works in a coffee shop where you have been coming for the last few months. The crush from the first time he ever saw you is bubbling over on the hottest day of the summer.

warnings: Frankie and reader are in their twenties, small town vibes, pining, fluff, kissing, no use of y/n, reader has no pronouns and wears a dress, the picture in the header is just for the visual and isn't an indication of the reader's skin color. Not beta read.

word count: 9.3k

notes: Happy Frankie Friday! I wrote this for @secretelephanttattoo 's secret springs creative challenge and it's purely self indulgent. I'm graduating from university next month and the idea for this fic came from that. This also falls more in to the first week's theme, but I didn't have time to finish this until now. I hope you'll enjoy!

Dividers by saradika

”Frankie, can we switch, I need a break,” his coworker whines in a hushed tone, leaning against the wall. She has the gift of puppy dog eyes that she has perfected over time and uses only when absolutely necessary. No one can say no to her.

Frankie dries his hands on a too wet hand towel; the break doesn’t come a moment too late. He just finished cleaning the cabinets in the kitchen that’s more like a shoebox than an actual kitchen.

Their boss was right. Times like these, when waves of customers aren’t pushing in through the door, is the perfect time to clean. The narrow space of the shoebox-kitchen in a heatwave is an experience Frankie wouldn’t mind skipping though.

His skin is sticky and little droplets of sweat have formed into big splotches of wet fabric on his t-shirt, stretched across his shoulders and upper back. The electric fan in the cramped corner is barely functioning and begs to be replaced in a weather like this.

“The kitchen is all yours,” Frankie gives the damp rag to the younger coworker and sees her eyes light up when he relieves her from the front of the coffee shop. She might handle the humidity a bit better, at least she has enthusiasm to immediately push the damp cloth against the fridge door and find something to furiously scratch off.

Only a couple of tables are taken under the exhausted ceiling fan circling warm air in the cozy café. More people are sitting outside by small round tables under pastel striped umbrellas.

The pink lemonade they make daily from the boss’ recipe is sweating with ice in most customer’s cups, easing the effects of a seemingly endless spell of sweltering heat. The town center has fallen quieter as people are either enjoying their summer holidays by travelling or spending their time at the beach not too far away.

Frankie can’t blame them. Anyone would escape the temperatures in this weather. The ones who are brave enough to stand the scorch from the concrete and minimal shade from any dry trees lining the streets have made their way to cafes with cold drinks and ice creams. The amount of different fresh baked goods, bread and pastries, that are delivered daily have been cut in half just because people are more interested in something light and cold.

The sounds from the street flow into the coffee shop in waves through the open windows and door. Frankie says pleasantries to the few people who come and go and leave their tables for him to empty. He does a few turns outside to bring a straw for a child who dropped his to the ground and to wipe the artisan gelato off the table when someone accidentally knocked over their bowl.

There’s easy music playing from the speakers. They lull him into staring outside, at the people in their airy clothes and sun on their skins. There’s nothing else for him to do other than wait for someone to come in or leave.

The sweat that pushed through earlier sits against his temples and back like a second skin. It’s not going to dry until the sun has set and the night sweeps through the town with cooler air. He listens to the laughter from people sitting outside and the screech of seagulls somewhere nearby.

Some kids skateboard past the café, a few on rollerblades. Few cars drive towards the coast at a crawling pace, pumping out music that shakes the glasses on the shelves lining the walls, turning people’s heads, while some nod to the beat.

This morning, when Frankie got out of the shower with his hair still dripping wet and his skin too stubborn to dry even after toweling, he looked at a t-shirt hanging on the back of a chair. It’s still newly crisp and in need of a few washes. The neckline isn’t worn and stretched from overuse yet, like his usual clothes he wears to work. He has his t-shirts and jeans, and sometimes a cap that his boss always reminds him to take off.

That isn’t the case anymore. He pulled the new t-shirt over his head and decided today would be the day. If you were to come by the coffee shop, that is.

He leans against the counter, doodling on a piece of old receipt; another order of pink lemonade and a sundae. The customer is enjoying them under the shade of one of the pastel umbrellas while reading a book.

Frankie’s curls are enjoying the heat and humidity, the salty air blowing in from the coast making him look like he shouldn’t be standing behind a register in a coffee shop but at the beach by a lifeguard station overlooking the waves. They fluff every time the ceiling fan manages to flutter the air with something that resembles a cooler breeze. A strand tickles his temple, immediately remembering your fingers against his forehead. It was just a simple touch.

“There’s a dandelion seed…” you mumbled last week, when you reached for him over the counter. He was making your drink, focused on pouring the milk into the mug, when like you would’ve done it a hundred times before, your fingers caught the fluff and stayed against his temple a second longer.

“All gone,” you said and continued your story about painting a wall in your childhood home deep green, like nothing had happened.

Frankie drops the pen against the stone counter and touches his fingers against the spot where yours had been. His heart gives a thump and another, the thought of you like cotton candy in his mind.

Everything changed when you walked into the coffee shop with a canvas bag flung over your shoulder.

It was the end of March. The day was grey and windy and people were looking for comfort inside the warmth of the café. It looked like it would rain at any moment, the air even smelled like it. The first time this spring.

You unraveled a thick scarf from around your neck and stopped by the door to take in the café. You took note of the few empty seats and tables, most taken by people working or by those who were on their lunch breaks.

Frankie could only stare at you, with his head going blank, until you took a step forward and you smiled at him. A joyful, eye crinkling smile that comes out easily and stays on your cheeks for a long time.

There was something else to it as well. It wasn’t just the smile that left him dumbfounded. It was the way you lit up from inside first, your skin glowing, your eyes sparkling even on the grayest of days like you held stars in your soul. It was enigmatic, electric, magnetic. Frankie immediately wished to experience it again.

You made your way to the counter and asked Frankie what he’d recommend for lunch.

“You new here?” He asked when he had written down your order and given it to someone working in the kitchen that day. He got to making your drink, a mocha that you gracefully asked to be made with more milk and sugar.

“Oh no, I’m from here but I moved away for college. I don’t get to visit as often anymore as I’d like. But now my last couple of courses are online and I could come back home to finish my thesis.” You took a deep breath and laughed out of nowhere. “That must’ve been exciting for you to hear.”

Your brow arched with the edge of your mouth. He could’ve listened to you read the ten different tea options they had and then he would’ve asked you to repeat them. He would’ve still been hungry to hear your voice more.

“It’s okay,” he said and turned awkwardly from you to steam the milk to hide the blush that crept up to his cheeks. The heat of it burst in waves that showed up across his skin in red splotches.

The milk got done too fast. He thought of anything cold, anything mundane, that would make his blood stream calm down. Just another customer, just another damn customer, he repeated to himself.

He poured the milk gently on top of the chocolate syrup and espresso, folding the foam in on itself to make a pattern on top of the drink. He had made it hundreds of times before, a skill he was proud of, yet now his hand was trembling, and the lines got muddled.

The mug barely made a noise when he set it on the counter, even though his attention was on you eyeing the fat cookies on top of the display cases. You read each label of the options carefully; chocolate chip, white chocolate and cranberry, macadamia and walnut, raisin, triple chocolate, salted caramel, cinnamon and brown sugar, –

“I’ll take one of those lemon and blueberry cookies as well, please.” Your smile got softer when you turned back to him.

“I hope you enjoy it,” he could only say, unsure if he meant the café or the lunch you were about to eat. The cookie looked massive on the small plate he placed next to the coffee mug, reaching high with blue swirls. He was mesmerized by the spark in your eyes and the unsaid mischief in your voice.

You stood in front of him, quiet. Your brows rose slowly and the longer the silence stretched, the more you looked confused.

“Should I wait for the sandwich and pay after or…?” You finally asked and it got Frankie to shake back into action.

“Fu –,” he caught himself just in time to not swear in front of you, even though it made that beautiful smile spill onto your lips again, this time accompanied with a light giggle. His wish came true. Your laugh was just a tip he didn’t expect to get, much more valuable than money in that moment.

“You can pay now, I’ll bring the sandwich to you,” his mouth barely kept up with the words and the moment was over so fast that he wasn’t sure what he had actually told you. But you dug out your wallet and your card and he was tapping on the register to get the right amount charged which he checked twice before you paid.

You accompanied your generous tip with a soft thank you before you collected your drink and cookie off the counter. There was another customer behind you already, forcing Frankie to focus. From the corner of his eye, he saw you sitting by the windows, peeling your coat off and hanging it on the back of your chair.

You sat down and for a fleeting moment he could’ve sworn that you were watching him, still with that smile on your face. When he was done with the customer who came after you, you were already typing on your laptop.

You stayed for hours. So long in fact that Frankie’s shift ended, and other people came in for their evening shifts. You ate your lunch, got another coffee and the same cookie after a few hours, and then kept on sipping on the drink even when it had gone cold long ago.

Your brows were pulled together and at times you leaned closer to read something on the screen of your laptop. You wrote fast. Your fingers flew against the keyboard and at times you stopped just to keep your fingertips hovered over the letters before you kept on going. The sound got drowned out in the steady ambient chatter of the café.

You had a notebook next to you where you wrote a few words here and there. When the café was fairly quiet, he could hear you clicking your pen a few times, then tap it against the half-filled page. A soft, muffled rhythm against the paper.

You rolled your shoulders back and bent your neck from side to side. Every once in a while, you looked out the window, at the darkening day, and the first drops of rain against the glass.

After that day you became a regular at the coffee shop. Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday Frankie could expect you to come by. Sometimes you came in early and spent the whole day there. Some other days you came in later and left early, but every time you had lunch and then typed away on your laptop.

Some days you looked more tired than some other days, and some other times your smile was a little dimmer than the others. It still fell on your face easily, but it wasn’t as wide or as energized as he had seen on you usually.

When the days were getting warmer and the sun stayed hung on the sky a little longer, you didn’t come to the coffee shop for two weeks. Frankie was doing his shift, waiting to see you that Tuesday like he normally would. To hear you tell him about your weekend, to hear your voice at all.

His shift ended and you didn’t show up. It left him empty, like something was missing. You had become such a constant at the café that when you broke the pattern, the day seemed off. Maybe you were sick, down with a cold that everyone seemed to have as winter shook from the trees and sunshine forced leaves to bud on the branches.

Then you didn’t come by the next day either. With his coworker Frankie tended to the constant stream of customers who came and went steadily in and out the door. When there was a break, he could only watch the cookies that managed to stay crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. There weren’t many left anymore and your chances at choosing one were getting slimmer every time the door opened, and it wasn’t you who walked in. You didn’t.

When the weekend rolled around, there was a hollowness in Frankie’s chest. He was missing you, as terrifying as that was to admit to himself. He missed seeing you sit at one of the tables by the window where you could watch people as an escape from your work. He had never asked what your thesis was about, how it was going or what made you choose the topic. In that moment he regretted it.

Frankie missed the way you paid attention to what was happening around you. You listened to others, and you started to say hi to some of the other regular customers. Until he noticed you weren’t only paying attention to them but also him.

Sometimes he caught you staring, watching him do his job, follow his moves as he made drinks for customers, wrote down orders and listened to answers for his polite questions about how their day was going. In the beginning, you hastily turned from him in an attempt to not get caught even though he always already had.

He could see you smile when he entertained a toddler by making faces at her while her parents were choosing what to eat. Your brow furrowed and you shook your head when he listened to an older lady shamelessly hit on him.

And then one day you didn’t turn from him when he caught you staring. You stopped hiding your interest in what he was doing. Your cheeks caught the smile on your face and then you got back to your own work.

All those looks, all those smiles, made him want to say he was done for the day and come sit and people watch with you even if you wouldn’t have watched other people, only him.

The next Friday, after another whole week of not seeing you, Frankie didn’t have high hopes for you to show up that day either. It was possible that you had grown tired of the place, of the same sandwich you took every time, the mocha that you usually ordered twice, or the one or two cookies that you always got after careful consideration. Or maybe you were finished with your thesis. Maybe you had left the town again and he was wasting his days daydreaming about you.

The line was long, and the kitchen was overflowing with orders. Frankie had just finished typing one more and had it register in the kitchen when he lifted his gaze to find you standing in front of him.

You didn’t look like yourself. You held your canvas bag in a death grip on your shoulder and you were inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth, steadying your breath as best you could. You avoided looking at him and you hid under your clothes.

Your voice was sunken and without your usual animation, the fall and rise of your tone was gone. You didn’t make conversation. You didn’t ask how Frankie’s day had been or if anything unexpected had happened, like you normally did.

“I’ve just had a bit of a hard time lately,” you dropped the façade completely without actually saying anything. You only had to see Frankie’s face once to read the worry from the furrowed brow and the seriousness in his eyes.

His mouth was in a tight line, and he tried to understand you without asking you a serious question. He never had; he didn’t think it was his place even after weeks of friendly banter.

As he was preparing your order, your distress crawled under his skin as well. You opened the light jacket you wore over your sweatshirt, you flinched from the hiss of the espresso machine, and you stood there making yourself as small as you could.

In that moment he decided to get to know you better, to do something about the thump in his chest when you opened the door to the café and to the shivers that ran up and down his back when you stood close enough and he could smell your perfume.

So far, Frankie was harboring a crush across the café, a stolen glance here and a playful look there, an attempted flirty tone in his voice on questions that were too basic to incite any interest or a spark in the corner of his eye. You had captured him without you knowing it, and without him knowing what to do with the swell of happiness every time you were around.

You tried so hard to seem like yourself, but you were on autopilot. You ordered your usual coffee and sandwich. You stared at the foamy milk on top of your mocha. He put too much effort into his attempt at making the leafy shape perfect, only to mess it up and then mess it up even more when he wanted to fix it.

You didn’t say a word about it like you would have if it was like any other normal day. He noticed the short-bitten nails and cuticles on your hand when you paid for your order.

“I’ll bring it to the table,” Frankie told you, watched you nod once and drag your feet against the floor to your usual table. You sat there, staring out the window, your head tilted, and your mind elsewhere. Frankie took heavier steps than usual to alert you, but placing the sandwich in front of you still spooked you out of your head. You tucked your hands between your thighs and let the last bit of steam evaporate from your coffee and the grilled sandwich sit untouched until the fillings looked sad and undesirable.

There was finally a break in the flow of customers. Frankie’s head was buzzing, and his feet were tired. The breather couldn’t have come any later. Yet he didn’t take his break. Instead, he was drawn to observe you like you were a magnet to him. Whatever he was doing, he always made note of you. Something was missing.

“Could I get one of those big cookies?” A customer asked and it clicked instantly in what else was off.

“I didn’t order this,” you told him when he placed the thick chocolate chip cookie next to your laptop that you had managed to get out of your bag. He saw the screen; a text editor open with a margin full of notes and different parts of the text highlighted with red.

“it’s on the house,” he gave you a soft smile, hoping it would ease at least some of the anxiety that had made you look ill while reading through the document on your laptop. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see you burst into tears at any moment.

You thanked him without any sound actually leaving your throat before you got back to reading. He was bothered by the state of you. It made him turn on his heels and take those two steps back that he had put between the two of you.

“Can I ask you something?” He didn’t stop himself to consider before he asked the question, but it got you interested. You looked at him straight in the eyes for the first time the whole day and waited for him to continue.

“Why haven’t you ordered the chocolate chip cookie before?” The cakey cookie draws both of your attention to it and the question takes you by surprise.

“Because I knew I’d like it the most and wanted to save it for something special.” You picked it up and cracked a piece from it. Even Frankie could smell the buttery richness laced with the caramelly sweetness from the brown sugar the baker had once told she uses.

The chocolate was in big chunks, some broken, some sticking out from the piece between your fingers. Instead of taking a bite, like Frankie thought you would, you set the piece down on the small white plate and fixed your attention on him.

“I didn’t know you had noticed, or kept book of what I ordered.” The words came out like a question, but there was nothing for you to ask. You just stated the obvious.

It made the peaks of his cheeks blush instantly. How much more of a creep could he even sound like, asking you about your order. “No one’s ever noticed,” you said a little quieter. Your tone made it sound like you weren’t talking about the cookie anymore. The words held much more weight to them.

“I hope I didn’t overstep any lines, it’s just that you’ve become a regular here, orders are easy to remember after a while.” Frankie watched you break the cookie into even smaller pieces, some of the chocolate falling on the plate.

“It’s okay,” you assured, and a hint of your smile faded across your face. He would’ve missed it if he blinked but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He never can.

“Tell me if you need anything else.”

You ordered one more coffee that day. You didn’t stay as long as you normally would, but when you closed your laptop, you looked a bit calmer. Your shoulders weren’t pulled to your ears anymore and you seemed to be able to breathe without much effort again. You seemed relieved. You waved him bye from the door when you left and the corner of your mouth rose just the slightest, telling him that you’d be okay.

The next time you came in, the next Tuesday, you opened the door and immediately when your gaze landed on Frankie, you glowed. You gave him a chipper, “Hello!” and ordered your usual mocha and sandwich, this time with the salted caramel cookie.

“So, how long have you worked here?” You asked him while he was pouring milk into the steaming jug. After that he gave you pieces of himself to you, answers that were insignificant in context, but they created an image of what he was like.

He told you that he hadn’t worked at the café for that long, but it was a job that he enjoyed. He took care of his mom, which made you ask if she needed to be taken care of. “She’s just getting older,” Frankie smiled to you. He valued his time with his mom, especially after his dad left when he was still young.

At the same time he gently asked you questions too, usually over the counter when he was carefully making your drink and hoping it would last a little longer every time so you’d have more time to answer.

When you came in, he continued the puzzle of you, collecting your words into his memory. How you moved out of the town when you felt the time was right, nothing really holding you back. You went far, but still came back to see old friends and family every few weeks. How you ended up wanting to come back for the rest of your studies, knowing this would be the last time before you’d need to properly start a career and wouldn’t have time to visit as often as you normally would.

There were moments when you would’ve probably spoken for a long time. About your plans for when you were done with your thesis, what festival you were going later this summer, what you still wanted to experience before becoming a full blown adult. “I don’t know why, but I want to go to the beach and have someone cover me in sand.” You laughed when you said that, shook your head and continued, “The problem is that I don’t want to be washing sand off me for a week after that.” It made Frankie crack up as well.

You would’ve told him anything. But then the mocha was ready and he had to set it on the counter and it cut you off immediately. It was like an axe to your words, cutting them short and making you laugh before you collected your thoughts and said, “We’ll continue from here the next time.”

As spring turned into warm early summer, the sun stayed up a little longer and the birds started to sing more as a sign of their little nests getting full, you smiled even more. There was levity in your steps, almost like you could’ve taken one last one and then flown away without looking back. You swapped your long sleeved shirts and jeans to tops and flowy, lighter pants and dresses. There was a glow on your face from the sun and when it rained, you welcomed it with open arms to enjoy the smell of summer arriving.

Every time you came to the café, you brightened Frankie’s day. Seeing you brought a smile on his face, warm richness to his voice, and his eyes always glinted when they found your brightness. You started to call him by his name and every time you said it out loud, he wanted to hear you say it more.

“Frankie!” You exclaimed when you reached the counter after standing in line for a moment. He had already seen you and you had given him a wave of your hand before you got back to tapping on your phone.

“Frankie!” You approached him when there was a break in the stream of customers coming in. You switched in which hand you held your empty water glass in every few seconds. He reached for it but you pulled it back.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you began and cleared your throat. “I have these tickets…”

“Hi, could I ask for something to be changed in my sandwich order?” A middle aged man wearing a pressed suit cut in and pushed you from the counter. You took a step back and gave him all the room he needed. Your shoulders deflated and you stood awkwardly, shuffling from one foot to the other. Frankie listened to the customer while his attention slipped to you.

“Thank you, and sorry,” the man apologized to you before he went back to his table by the corner where he had spread all his stuff.

“He was in a rush,” you joked flatly, staring at the glass in your hand.

“What did you want to ask me?” Frankie took in the nerves on your face and softened his voice. You avoided his attention as he tried to ease the strained energy between the two of you. Instead, you offered him your glass.

“Could I get some more of the raspberry and lime water, the container over there is empty,” you waved your hand towards the water station. Your voice was flat, admitting defeat.

Frankie wanted to know what you had in mind, what tickets you were talking about, he would’ve pushed for it. There was no chance for it though, the moment was over. You took your glass with a quiet, “Thanks,” and returned to your seat, burrowing your head in your work.

“Frankie, are you serious?” You once asked, when you saw the new cookie flavors. White chocolate and strawberry, lemon and raspberry, coconut and ginger, and one that you wanted to save.

“Frankie?” You asked with a lower voice when there weren’t many customers around. He leaned forward instinctively. “Can you watch my stuff for a moment? I have to go make a call.” You waved your phone in the air. He nodded, all words lost when he was lost in your eyes in the closer proximity. He came to collect your empty plate and wipe the few crumbs off the table, and then stood by all your stuff like that was his job.

“Hi Frankie,” you said with mischief in your voice when you leaned against the counter. You didn’t have to tell him your order anymore. He knew it like he was the one ordering it.

“The carnival’s this weekend.” You swallowed after stating the fact.

“That’s what I’ve heard.” Everyone knew the carnival season was starting, information about it was plastered all over the town.

He could see the question on your lips, how they opened and closed like you were about to say something. You wet them with the tip of your tongue. Your eyes flicked to the shelves and machines behind Frankie, too nervous to look him in the eyes.

“Are you going?” You tapped your fingers against the speckled stone counter.

“Yeah, with some friends.” Immediately the hopefulness drained from your eyes even though the smile remained.

“That sounds fun. I hope you have a good time.” Whatever you had really wanted to say, or ask, drifted from reach. He wanted to believe you had planned to ask him out but chickened out at the last second.

“Are you going?” He rushed to ask when you refilled your water.

“Maybe.” You bravely held onto the smile even though it was slipping, cracking to show the disappointment that was already lacing your voice. You still waved him goodbye before you left, but you rushed off in a way that he hadn’t seen before.

Frankie straightens his t-shirt against his shoulders and sips at his water bottle. There’s only a couple of people left in the café and closing time is ticking closer. His coworker clatters something in the kitchen, but soon she’s whistling again to the music that she can hear through the speakers.

You would’ve come already, if you were to come to the café today. A sweltering day like this, wasted in a café, didn’t seem like something you’d do. “I can’t wait to hang out at the beach and do nothing all day,” you once said and even the thought made relief flood your smile.

“Frankie, can you come and help me a bit?” His coworker calls. Even though she was only supposed to clean the fridge, she has extended her task to include the cardboard boxes on the top shelves, with different types of napkins inside them. One is balanced against her chest, the other she’s barely able to hold on the shelf.

“I tried to wipe the shelf behind them but didn’t think how heavy they are,” she grunts as Frankie secures the box from her hand. “Thanks,” she sighs.

“And you cleaned the fridge already?” He asks, expecting to see the stuff inside it organized. The door opens to a fridge that looks incredibly like it hasn’t even been touched.

“I’ll get to it right away!” His coworker pushes the door back closed, and him out of the kitchen. “Thanks Frankie!” She hollers but doesn’t get an answer.

“Hi Frankie,” you say, in your strappy short sundress, sunglasses pushed on top of your head. Sweat beads against your forehead. Your skin glistens from the heat and the sun cream he can smell from far away. Sweet peaches.

You have a flower-patterned fan in your hand which you wave towards your face. The space between where your collarbones meet under your neck is wet with sweat trailing towards the neckline of your dress.

“Hi.” He combs his fingers through his hair and takes the necessary steps to meet you by the counter. The question he had on his mind for you this morning drains out of him. He can’t ask you out. He’s convinced it would be weird, it wouldn’t be appropriate. You would probably run away without a second thought.

“I’ve never seen this place this quiet before,” you wonder out loud. The cooler air that you fan against your skin wafts towards him with every push of your wrist. At the same time he can smell you more, that sweet sunscreen that takes him back to his childhood. The hot days when the sand under his feet was too hot, the sunscreen sticky on his skin and the salty water slipping into his mouth with every push of his arms.

“What can I get you?” Frankie asks, not wanting to assume you’ll go for your usual this time.

“Lemonade and…” You look at the cookies and stop in front of the one that you still haven’t tasted. “One of those triple chocolate brownie cookies, thanks.” You fidget with your dress while he pours plenty of ice into a takeout cup and drenches them in the tart lemonade. He chooses a cookie that looks the biggest and fattest.

“You’re not working today?” Frankie asks when he sees a smaller canvas bag on your shoulder and how it’s not bulging with contents as your usual canvas bag does.

“I actually finished my thesis.” You focus on digging out a couple crinkled five dollar bills and push them into the tip jar.

“Congrats.” What else is he supposed to say? His chest fills with disappointment. You said it long ago. You were here to finish your studies and now you’ve done it.

“Thanks.” The silence between the two of you stretches and teases the lines of discomfort. The look on your face matches the bittersweetness on Frankie’s face.

“You’re probably leaving soon then?”

You turn to look at the sweating cup on the counter and swirl your straw through the ice. You nod before you open your mouth, “Yeah, in a couple of weeks. I’m on holiday until then.”

“I’m happy for you,” and Frankie truly is. He saw how much you worked in the past few months. You’ve earned to have a breather before you’re thrown into work. “I hope you’ll come and visit again.”

“Of course.” You smile that genuine smile that is nothing but you. It’s the first thing that lights up your presence and the last thing he has seen in the past months when you’ve left through the door to go back home.

You take your lemonade and wrap your cookie in a napkin, leaving the plate on the counter, and head outside, under the shade of the sun umbrella. You watch people pass by and bask in the heat while slowly fanning your face and chest. The sun is finally sinking lower and the lower it gets, the faster the temperature seems to ease up. Frankie’s coworker finally emerges from the kitchen, just as it’s time to start closing up. You’re still sitting at the front while Frankie sweeps the floors.

“Hi!” He hears your cheerful voice say to someone. The edge of the broom clatters against one of the table legs, his attention on you and the small child you’re talking with.

Your muted voice carries into the café, the rise and fall of your excitement clear in your tone. You’re showing him something while his mom stands next to you, they’re both listening to your words intently.

Frankie continues sweeping, wanting to be done with work and get out of the sweaty cafe. The child’s high pitched inhale is clear and demands Frankie to look outside again. The air is full of rainbow colored soap bubbles. Some are smaller than the others but they all gleam in the golden sunshine.

The warm breeze carries them easily away from you before you blow on the soap bubble wand again and a burst of new bubbles escape into the air. The child follows the bubbles until they burst in the air. You offer the dripping wand to him, which he takes carefully into his small fist. He blows on it and the bubbles burst straight against your face. You pull back in laughter, wiping soap off your face.

“Frankie?” His boss calls for him, forcing him to meet her in the back.

The back alley is scorching hot, the sun trapped between the brick walls. Frankie drops the trash in the dumpster and takes his bike, the seat hot under his palm. This is the worst time to have his truck at the mechanics, and the only thing on his mind is driving with the windows down.

The air gets immediately cooler when he steps out on the street, the sun umbrellas closed and drooping in the light breeze. One of the seats isn’t empty.

“Don’t tell your coworker I stayed here even though she told me to leave.” You stand up and take slow steps to him. You take your sunglasses off and fidget with them, bathed in gold. You stop right in front of him and your smile pulls crows feet to appear next to your eyes.

Frankie is lost for words. Seeing you here, while he’s not in the café, is different, even though nothing has changed. Your closeness, the shy glances that you try to hide in the sun shining in your eyes while you don’t cover them with your sunglasses awakes those deep thumps in Frankie’s chest again. He’s even more confused when you put them in their case, and the case in your bag, no intention of shielding your eyes.

“Did you forget something?” Frankie’s voice is unsure, full of doubt on why you would’ve stayed after the closing time.

“I wanted to ask if you’re busy?” You swing your canvas bag next to your leg and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. As he stands in front of you, he could swear it’s just the two of you on that street, bathed in the dark rays and the refreshing breeze that the day has been craving for hours. There’s salt in the air, blowing in from the coast.

“No?”

“Would you like to go to the beach with me?” Your voice shakes gently in a way that someone might mistake it for you being cold. Frankie’s heart flies heavily in his chest, the sound in his ears dizzying him into questioning if he heard you right. You beat him to it.

You switch your weight from one sandalled foot to the other and grab your bag with both of your hands. The uncertainty is back. You try to keep on smiling, but it falters the longer he doesn’t answer.

“Forget it—” You raise your hand in the air and are ready to wave it in the air to dismiss your question completely.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Frankie snaps out of his reeling head, shutting you up in an instant. His hands sweat against the seat and handle of his bike. His mouth is dry and the pit of his stomach is filled with butterflies.

How long he has contained them, but you broke the jar with one question, filling him with the good kind of anxiety. He knows that whenever he gets nervous, he shuts down. Just like the first time he saw you, the first time you visited the café, his shyness takes center stage in how he acts. He gets quiet, his brain short circuits. No one else has been able to do that in a long time, no one else but you.

This time, seeing you standing in front of him practically radiant in the setting sun and by your happiness, he doesn’t want to lose any second of that to his reserved being.

“Hop on,” Frankie tells you gently.

“What?”

“I’ll ride us there.” He emphasizes the words by climbing on his bike, the seat still too warm even through his shorts.

“Okay,” you laugh and push your bag on your shoulder. Frankie offers you his hand, yours slotting with it like it has always belonged there. What he doesn’t expect is your other hand to land on his shoulder, holding on dependently as you swing your leg over the rear rack. You squeeze the muscle there, your fingertips digging into the tightness under his skin.

“Wait,” you say, and pull your hand back from his. Frankie misses the contact immediately, the imprint raising moisture from his palm. Your sandals scuff against the ground and the bike sways just a little as you find at least somewhat comfortable seat.

Your both hands are pressed against his shoulders, hanging from him awkwardly. Your hands are hot, gripping to him, and it makes his head spiral.

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” but you don’t sound sure at all. Immediately when the bike bumps on a crack in the pavement, no matter how much he tries to avoid them, you let out a sound somewhere between a screech and a yelp, your hands shaking and your balance flailing. Frankie’s feet are against the ground immediately.

“Okay, this won’t work. Wrap your arms around my middle, it’s more secure.” You don’t say anything for a beat, he only hears a light chuckle.

“More secure you say?” The meaning isn’t lost on him. You could understand his words in many ways, what wrapping yourself around him would imply, and apparently you stuck with exactly the one that suggests something else than riding a bike.

“You know what I mean,” his voice cracks with unintentional humor.

“Do I?”

“Yes, now just trust me.” You fix your chuckles and sigh out. Your breath fans against his back. You lower your hand from his shoulder, drag it against the muscle closest to his spine, and leave a trail of sparks that burst into goosebumps all over his body, every nerve ending awake and alert. Your hand rounds against the softness of his side, and over to his middle.

“Is this okay?” The question is full of uncertainty even though you’re trying to hide it under the smile he can hear in your voice. His confirmation gives you enough confidence to bring your other hand on him as well, tightly wrapping around him, securing you against him.

“You want to try again?” Frankie hears the drop in his voice and the slight tremble that your closeness causes. He can’t trust his voice at all, when you squeeze closer to him, your chest glued to his back.

“Yes.” You lift your feet off the ground and Frankie gets to pedaling.

You let out a squeak as the bike twitches into movement but relax against the broadness of Frankie’s back. The blowing breeze cools your skin and brings much needed relief for Frankie to keep his focus on the street and not in your hands that twine together around him in such confidence that it makes his stomach drop.

In the traffic lights you drop your feet against the ground at the same time as Frankie does and pull them back up when the light turns green. The salty water gets closer with every turn of the wheels. Streetlights flicker on and a deep blue mass swells across the sky behind you.

The sun colors the horizon in rusty yellows and oranges, the deepest parts already red that fade into the nearing night. Seagulls laugh somewhere up above, and the breeze turns cooler towards the sands that you’re already waiting to have under your feet.

You squeeze Frankie’s t-shirt into your palm, to hold onto him and to keep him close. There’s not much traffic around, some cars here and there, and the quieter it gets the more Frankie can hear the nerves talking to him in his head. For all he knows this could be a dream, after months of pining after you.

You gasp out loud when you see the sea. The horizon bathes in the last sunlight, wispy, blue and purple clouds swirled in like in the cookies you’ve been eating. Your hands untangle around Frankie and rest softly against his back. You’re pulling back, letting go, and the emptiness is already settling in with how he misses your touch.

Your feet brush up against the sandy ground and you’re off his bike, off him, drawn to the ocean. The metal chain clangs against a railing as Frankie locks his bike to it, eager to follow after you.

You stand in the ocean, the waves splash against your ankles, and you look like a vision. Frankie sits further back in the warm sand. His toes bury deeper in, and the remnants of the heat keep him grounded. He doesn’t care if it gets under his clothes and if he’ll find it for days to come. It’ll be a reminder of this night.

There’s a bonfire that crackles and sparks embers into the air, some people around it laughing. They’re making smores, the burnt smell of sugar wafting through the salt for a second. You point out a boat in the distance, the lights clear against the darkening sky. The waves crash in mellow waves against the sand, leaving white fine froth on it.

A fancy restaurant by the beach has a live band playing easy jazz, the sounds from the soft saxophone and the piano drifting towards the water. You stand in the foamy waves, watching your feet get devoured by the dark that ebbs and flows.

Frankie holds on to your bag and sandals and watches you against the rusty sky. He could watch you until it was completely dark and even then, he could make out the silhouette of you against the night sky.

“I’ve always loved the sea,” you say with your voice somewhere between a whisper and a soft sigh when you make your way back to dry land, like you were dreaming and wouldn’t want to break the spell or wake up. You don’t hesitate to sit next to Frankie, your thigh brushes against his.

“Thanks for coming here with me, I didn’t know if you’d want to.” It’s easy to lose himself in you. In the gentleness of your voice. Now in the warmth that pulls him in closer to you, searching for more contact with you.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, I guess… I guess I’ve been scared that I’ve read you wrong.” You swallow and lick your lower lip between your teeth. He might not be the only one who has been shy this whole time. Your confidence comes and goes, sparks every few moments and then gets replaced by a timidness that holds you back. You can’t face him. You can barely let your voice be heard over the lapping waves and the music from the restaurant.

“How do you think you’ve read me then?”

“That maybe…” You stop yourself. You play with the hem of your dress. The fabric bunched against your bare thighs. “I’ve been a bit scared to be forward, maybe, just because I wasn’t sure what you thought of me. That maybe I was reading the signs wrong, it wouldn’t be the first time, you know. That maybe, possibly, you might… I don’t know…”

Listening to you try to wade your way to the point through the waves of your nerves is endearing, while it’s also pushing Frankie to smile. His crush for you is pulling it out of him with the heat that spreads from his chest up to his neck and cheeks.

“I mean I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while,” You finally admit and the crush he has been holding onto blooms into a garden. “And I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes but I had to ask. I had to know if maybe… you would’ve wanted to ask me out as well.” The words are out. You drop your hands and everything you wanted to say is now out in the open. It doesn’t erase the butterflies that flutter somewhere between the two of you, but finally having the truth out does bring out a safe peacefulness, something he can lean on.

“Hmm,” he hums out a breath. Words have left him completely. The warmth of your skin close to his is reminder enough for him to keep his head focused, his eyes on you and his heart from flying from him. He moves his leg just a little to get it pressed against yours. You’re waiting, your eyes on him, your body turned towards his.

“I wanted to ask you out the first time you came to the shop.”

The words take you by surprise. A smile spills on your lips. You try so hard to contain it, but hardly manage to keep yourself from laughing out loud.

“Why didn’t you?” Your eyes are tearing up, either from the breeze or the release of nerves. One lands on your cheek. Frankie is quick to reach his thumb out and catch it. The tear rolls down to his palm, heavy and beautiful, leaving behind a streak that gleams in the last rays of the sun. He closes it into his hand and spreads it onto his skin with his fingers.

“I’ve never been good at seizing the moment or being brave. I didn’t want to be a creep.”

“So, you’ve let me be a creep? Watching you work, coming in every other day?”

“But you’ve been working.”

“My thesis has been done for a while. If I was there only for that, I would’ve stopped coming about six weeks ago.” Laughter bursts from you and Frankie in disbelief. The more you laugh, the more the indifference he convinced you were feeling reveals to be plain blindness.

You press your forehead against his shoulder, a gesture he doesn’t expect but also isn’t surprised by. You’re in his space, on him, never breaking a boundary, but wanting to absorb him as much as you can.

“What have you been doing then?”

“Applying for jobs, reading different forums and articles, sometimes nothing.” He holds his hand out and like earlier, yours fits against it like it belongs there. It’s not just a simple touch anymore though. It’s revelation of what you’ve been hiding. It’s hope for something to come out of it. Whatever will happen might just be a short fling. Or maybe it’ll be the beginning of something Frankie hasn’t had before.

Frankie takes you home. The energy is different as the night has fallen above the town. The air has turned balmy promising a mighty thunderstorm in the coming days. It doesn’t stop you from pressing yourself against his back, sticking to him with your arms around him. He doesn’t mind it, neither do you. You only push in closer and hold on tighter.

“Thanks for the ride home.” You fix your dress and stand in front of him. Your eyes drift to his lips, and you wet yours.

“Sorry for the uncomfortable seat, I’ll have my truck back next time.” Your reaction is worth every word. The soft smile, the drop of your gaze, the hand that reaches for his and twines with his fingers loosely swaying back and forth.

“Next time,” you repeat back to him, the words hanging as a promise in the air. They’re wings to his heart that soars into a fast beat, excited for whatever’s to come and nervous of the same prospect.

“I better get going.” Your eyes still flit to stare at his lips.

“I’ll wait here, make sure you get home safe.”

“The door is right there.”

“I’ll still wait.” You reluctantly let go of his fingers and take a step back, then another before you turn from him. Frankie rests his hands on his thighs and waits. You dig your keys out and stop. Maybe you don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

The sound of your sandals against the concrete is loud in the quiet. You have a new kind of bravery in your steps when you come back.

“Would it be completely inappropriate if I kissed you?” Frankie’s heart is in his throat. He shakes his head, giving you permission to step even closer.

You lean in but you don’t rush into it. You bring your hot palm against his cheek, and further in to tangle your fingers into the hairs at the base his neck. Your first move is to press your forehead against his and take a breath.

Your chest rises and falls steadily when you close your eyes. He presses all the details of your face into his memory from such close proximity. Your lashes, the faint lines next to your eyes, the plumpness of your cheeks, the curve of your mouth which you breathe a heavy sigh from. Your nose nudges against his, as a final sign for him to throw away his insecurities.

Your lips press against his slowly, so soft it leaves room for so much more. Your kiss is a breath and Frankie needs to chase it to keep his lungs filled. It’s easy to deepen the kiss, to have your lips slot with his, to feel the tip of your tongue tease his bottom lip just to test how he reacts.

You press in closer, just to get Frankie to pull you in even more. The bike under him wobbles as he moves to hold you closer, from you pressing your weight against him, yet somehow, he’s the most secure he’s ever felt in anyone’s embrace. A sighed out moan vibrates in your throat and your hand tugs at the curls on his head. And then it’s over.

Too soon, yet just at the right moment. He wants more, his body craves you, and the blown out pupils in your eyes under the orange street lights is enough to tell him that he’s not the only one. You lick the moisture from your lips, the signs of his mouth from around them, and pull your hands back. The smile that he has learned to want to see appears again, this time with the heaviness of unadulterated lust on your skin. You’re an ember in front of him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you pledge and give him one more soft touch of your lips against his. Frankie doesn’t want to let your lips go and chases after them with the kiss still on his lips. You giggle and pull away.

Frankie’s hand slides from the back of your thigh, right under the hem of your skirt and slips off your skin with heat etched onto it. His fingertips are sensitive from holding onto you so tightly, from wanting to have you.

You give him one last look from the door, and you fix your dress on the thigh he was holding. Your own fingertips brush against where his hand was resting, excited and like it was his place to touch. He hears your tender laugh accompany the wave of your hand, before you disappear from view. He brushes his fingers through his hair with the hand he held you with, the scent of your sunscreen tattooed on his palm now forever etched to his memory.

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grannyandgrandpascreations · 27 days ago

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Have A Hamm's Day Kitchen Dish Towel

Have a Hamm’s Day Flour Sack white Kitchen tea towel is a perfect unique gift for the Hamm’s Beer Bear Collector or perfect bar towel! This towel is a unique gift for any Hamm’s Beer Lover!

Flour sack dish towels are called “flour sack” because they are modeled after the thin cotton bags that flour and grain used to be packed in, which were re-used as towels. The thin cotton yarn and the looser weave make for a towel that’s extra absorbent. You can even air dry your salad greens; the super absorbent nature of flour sack towels makes them great for drying delicate greens. Also, flour sack towels are lint free! Which means no more fuzzies on your wine glasses when you wipe them dry!

Flour sack towels are also softer and significantly larger than a standard kitchen towel….and more towel is always a good thing! You can use these towels for drying, wiping, cleaning, or dusting and they can be used for fun decorations.

Each flour sack kitchen towel measures 28 in. x 29 inches (Product dimensions L x W x H – 28 x 29 x 29 inches). They are 100% cotton, durable and absorbent. These are flat woven towels; they are perfect for cooking or baking and can safely be used around food such as covering dough for rising or as a food strainer. These towels also double as a kind of strainer or cheese cloth; the fine weave means you can strain sauces and broths through a flour sack towel to clarify them. Flour sack kitchen towels are sturdy, highly absorbent, dry quickly, and are designed to stand up to most any cleaning job. The towels easily withstand frequent washings and are made for repeated daily use.

The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!

Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

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Have A Hamm’s Day White Kitchen Towel. Great kitchen décor for the Hamm’s Beer or Hamm’s Bear Collector. This kitchen towel is available in one different writing colors. Granny & Grandpa’s Custom Creations also offers a Monthly Kitchen Towel Subscription Box…..check out our Kitchen Towel Subscription Box.

We are all a little bit of a mess in our own way, especially in the kitchen, which is why you can never have too many kitchen towels! Granny & Grandpa’s Custom Creation kitchen towels are attractive, affordable, update your kitchen décor with Granny & Grandpa’s kitchen towels and they make GREAT gifts! Our kitchen towels only come in white, but our designs are in many different colors.

Each flour sack kitchen towel measures 28 in. x 29 inches (Product dimensions L x W x H – 28 x 29 x 29 inches). They are 100% cotton, durable and absorbent. These are flat woven towels; they are perfect for cooking or baking and can safely be used around food such as covering dough for rising or as a food strainer. You can use these towels for drying, wiping, cleaning, or dusting and they can be used for fun decorations. Flour sack kitchen towels are sturdy, highly absorbent, dry quickly, and are designed to stand up to most any cleaning job. The towels easily withstand frequent washings and are made for repeated daily use. The flour sack kitchen towel is a quality item with versatility and utility, we offer everyday designs and special occasion designs. Our flour sack towels are a great gift idea and very inexpensive!

If your desired writing color is not shown, please reach out to us at [email protected], as we would like to be able to accommodate your desired writing color to the design. Our Kitchen Towels are only available in white. Writing colors do vary.

Care instructions: Machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

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sycamorelibrary754 · 1 year ago

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Guardian Angel

Chapter 2: My Guardian Angel

Summary: Your first day back at work after recovering from your sprained ankle was normal, until it wasn’t. It turns out your first encounter with Wanda wasn’t your last.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This is the last purely fluffy chapter for a bit. Angst and adversity is on the way.

Guardian Angel Masterlist

Once your doctor confirmed the sprain, you found yourself hobbling around your apartment for the rest of the week, with a small ice bag or a heat pack wrapped around your swollen ankle. Being cooped up inside your apartment was not your cup of tea, and you grew restless with each passing day. You tried to distract yourself by streaming every movie you could think of, but the boredom persisted. Finally, when you were able to walk more comfortably with the help of an Ace bandage, you felt a sense of relief. By the following Monday, you were eager to get back to work and resume your normal routine.

After graduating from college, you decided to open up The Candy Bar, an old-fashioned sweet shop that seemed like a dream come true. Your shop sold every kind of candy you could imagine, various ice creams, and had a soda fountain on site. In addition, you also made a handful of homemade treats inspired by candy recipes passed down from your great-grandfather, such as caramel-covered chocolate turtles, peanut brittle, and fudge.

"Would you like to tell me what happened again?" Your friend and business partner Harper asked you with a gentle tone while restocking the ice cream bins. The dark-haired girl with freckles had been your closest friend since college.

“I walked up to the counter to get my coffee, and suddenly, these two boys crashed into me. Before I knew it, a redhead rushed up and started talking non-stop. Honestly, I have no recollection of what she said. I think they were words. She was so beautiful that I blacked out.”

“This could only happen to you,” Harper teased.

“She helped me back to my apartment, got me some ice, and left. Then I sat there speechless for the next ten minutes.”

“She’s like your guardian angel! Like those stories you hear about mysterious strangers showing up in your hour of need and then disappearing as quickly as they came.”

You always admired Harper's optimism and belief in fate, even if you didn't believe it yourself.

“It doesn’t count if the guardian angel’s kids initiate your hour of need,” you replied.

*^~^*

Throughout the day, you diligently tended to your quaint little shop as a steady stream of customers flowed in and out, filling the air with the irresistible aroma of chocolate and sugar. The vibrant interior was a feast for the eyes, with a mesmerizing display of candy in every color of the rainbow, swirling and twirling around the store. As you looked down, the black and white tiled floor seemed to beckon visitors, guiding them like a yellow brick road toward the front counter. Here, an impressive arrangement of fudge and peanut brittle awaited, flanked by the refreshing soda fountain to the right and the tempting ice cream display freezers to the left. Finally, your customers' eyes would inevitably fall upon the charming vintage sweets display, which sat proudly on the back wall just beneath the menu.

In the late afternoon, the rush subsided, and you started preparing the homemade soda syrup for the soda fountain. Although it was a tedious process, it was still one of your favorite activities. While in the back kitchen, you heard the bell ring above the entrance.

“I’ll be right with you!” you shouted.

You wipe your hands off on a towel and walk back to the front of the shop.

“Welcome to The Candy Bar! How can I—”

As you turned around, your eyes fell upon the customer, who instantly caught your attention. She stood there wearing a pair of sleek black leather Chelsea boots that hugged her feet, complementing her light wash jeans and a white cable knit sweater. The long brown heather overcoat draped over her shoulders added a touch of sophistication to her ensemble. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back, framing her face perfectly. The sight was nothing short of mesmerizing.

“Help you,” you trailed off softly. “Wanda?”

“Y/N? Oh my gosh, what are you doing here? I thought about you all week! Are you okay? How is your ankle?” She rambled. It's so adorable that you want to squeeze her.

"This is my shop," you said proudly. "Thanks to your help, my ankle is much better now. I can't thank you enough for your assistance the other day," you added with a self-assured tone. Despite feeling a bit nervous, you managed to express yourself clearly and coherently.

“It's amazing!” Wanda exclaimed. “It reminds me of the candy stores from old TV shows.”

“As a child, I loved watching TV shows that featured charming, sweet shops where the characters would gather for root beer floats and candy.”

Wanda slowly turned around, admiring every inch of the decor as she exclaimed, "I love it!"

"Thank you. How may I assist you today?" you said with a professional tone and a raised eyebrow.

“I am searching for a sweet treat for my boys' birthday,” Wanda said

“Ah, the junior middle linebackers,” you joked. “How are they doing?”

They're good," she giggled. "I think they're finally starting to feel comfortable here.

“You just moved to New York?” you inquired.

“Actually, we just moved back to New York from a small town in New Jersey," Wanda said hesitantly. "I used to live here for work, but this is a new experience for Billy and Tommy. It's been challenging for us all to adjust to the change.”

You thought to yourself, 'The three of them.' You decided to file that information away for later.

“Well, welcome back!” you declared. What business are you in?”

“Public service,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck nervously.

“I'm not surprised! You've come to the right place, Wanda. Let's find something special for the birthday boys,” you said, rubbing your hands together. “How old will they be turning?”

"Eleven, I can't believe it," she said while running her hands gently through her hair.

“Let me think for a moment," you said, scanning the shop before guiding her towards the candy displays at the front. Your gaze moved over the colorful containers of candy, and you relished this part of your job. You picked out an assortment of sweets that you thought Billy and Tommy would like, including malted milk balls, jelly beans, peanut butter cups, chocolate-covered gummy bears, whirly pops, and some of your homemade fudge. As you began to package the candy, you offered a few pieces to Wanda to try.

“These are delicious, Y/N. I’ll have to stop them from eating it all in one sitting.”

"Wow, that's the best compliment you could give me," you said with a wink.

Wanda observed you working and couldn't help but smile. You were fully engaged in the deceptively simple task with unwavering focus, exuding the unmistakable radiance of someone who loves their job. It was magnetic.

You eagerly revealed your surprise with a broad smile by exclaiming, "Tada!" Wanda's eyes lit up with excitement as she saw the two beautifully crafted gift bags you held out to her. The bags were adorned with bold red and white stripes, and each one was elegantly personalized with the names of Wanda's boys written in a stunning gold calligraphic font.

“Wow, this is amazing! How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

You waved your hand dismissively and said, "It's on the house.

“Oh no, that's very kind of you, but I couldn't,” Wanda said.

“I made one for you, too, as a way of returning the favor for helping me last week,” you said, placing a third bag in front of her.

You could feel your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage as you extended your hand towards her with the small gift. She looked up at you with a grateful expression, her warm touch on your hand making you feel appreciated. "This is so generous, y/n," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you so much. I won't forget this." Despite your nervousness, you managed to smile back at her, hoping she couldn't hear the sound of your heart pounding inside your chest. The moment was etched in your memory, a testament to the power of a kind gesture.

It's my pleasure," you smiled. "Please tell the boys I said happy birthday.

"I will," Wanda assured, locking her gaze with yours. Her beautiful green eyes caught your attention once again.

I hope… I hope I see you again soon,” you stammered.

“I hope so, too,” Wanda smiled. Your eyes lingered on her as she picked up the three candy bags and left your shop.

For the second time in two weeks, you watched the woman leave. A few moments later, Harper joined you at the front counter.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“My guardian angel.”

*Chapter 3 coming soon*

Tag: @automaticdinosaurtaco

#guardian angel #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #scarlet witch #the avengers #mcu #fluff #comfort

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foreverrandomwritings · 1 year ago

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🍨Bowl of ice cream: rooster and peach

Just Peachy

Summary: Bradley visits you at work and stumbles upon you in a peach sized predicament.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x afab!Reader

Warnings:Super fluffy, brief mention of frisky business, one curse word, that's all?

Word count: 1105

Masterlist Taste of Twenty-Five Masterlist

The sweet smell of peach was the first thing Bradley noticed when he walked into the little bakery. He stood by the door scanning the shop as he tucked his aviators into his old academy shirt that was a bit too small on him but made his biceps look devine so he refused to part with it. He took in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes briefly the smell of all the different sweets overtaking his senses.

“She’s in the back you weirdo.” The brass voice of your younger sister flew his way. His eyes snapped open glancing in the eighteen year olds direction. He felt the smirk coming upon his lips as he sauntered around the customers that were milling about the store. He lifted the counter top and slipped through the opening before speaking to her.

“You’re mighty bold today I see.” He and your sister had a nice back and forth relationship. The closest thing to a sibling bond he’s ever had. She had been working in your bakery for a couple months now, needing some money and a part time job while in college.

“You were scaring off all the customers standing by the door with your creepy pornstache.” She kept her voice low and gestured towards the door of the shop with the hand that wasn’t writing on a small chalkboard sign. He glanced at the words briefly, noticing something about peaches but not really focusing on what it said.

“Hey, you said the stache looked just fine.” He held a hand over his heart and she rolled her eyes dramatically. The dramatic eye roll was one of the things you both had in common.

“Get out of here, I’m sick of looking at your face.” He scoffed but did as she said, turning around and finding his way into the kitchen. He spotted your form quickly, huddled over a cutting board, knife in hand. He was quiet as he snuck up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle as he pressed himself into your back.

“How are you doing today, hot stuff?” His nose was buried in your neck before you could respond. You giggled lightly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your neck.

“I am just peachy.” You giggled at your own joke as you looked down at the peach in your hand. He peered over your shoulder and let out a small laugh as well.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you but I thought you were working late today.” You had set down the knife and the peach in your hand. You grabbed the towel tucked into your apron and wiped your hands off quickly. Bradley stepped back a foot letting you turn around. You leaned your back against the counter and gave him a sweet smile.

“I did work late, it's already seven.” His eyes flicked to the clock hanging on the wall across the room. Your eyes got wide in return quickly flipping your wrist over to check the time on your watch. The bakery didn’t close for another hour and a half but you were still surprised at the time.

“Oh my. I didn’t even realize it was getting so late. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with all these peaches for hours.” You gestured around the room and that’s when Bradley noticed the insane amount of peaches crowding the space.

“This is an awful lot of peaches babe.” He held his lips together tightly trying to hold in a laugh at the bewildered look on your face.

“I’ve already made like ten peach pies, a couple dozen muffins, two cakes and a dozen scones.” You threw your hands up in emphasis, eyes widening every so slightly.

“Is there a reason you have so many peaches?” He was genuinely curious, typically when you had a big order of anything you’d let him know. He however hadn’t heard of any big orders involving peaches from you recently.

“If someone hadn’t distracted me while I was ordering produce last week I wouldn’t have ordered this many.” Your eyes narrowed at him, cheeks heating at the memory of last week, shifting on your feet.

“You weren’t complaining last week.” He had a cheshire grin on his lips now. You had been in the office when he came in last week. Clad in his flight suit and a black t-shirt that hugged him in all the right ways. Things had gotten a little heated and had left you distracted while you were putting in your orders for the week. So instead of the twenty peaches you wanted to order for a few muffins and scones you had planned to bake you had received two hundred peaches.

“Since you’re the one that put me into this mess you are gonna help me out of it.” It was your turn to have a large smile on your face. His eyebrows shoot up at the mischievous look in your eye.

“Go wash your hands and grab an apron. You're gonna help me cut up some of these to freeze.” He groaned loudly as the words left your mouth. He didn’t actually mind helping however, it reminded him of all the times he would help his mom and grandmother in the kitchen growing up.

“Can I at least have a kiss first?” He puckered his lips at you and you looked as though you were contemplating whether or not you were gonna kiss him. He was about to complain before you stood on your tiptoes to land a quick kiss upon his lips.

“Now get to work.” He gave a mock salute and made his way to grab an apron hung up by the sink. He tied it quickly before washing his hands and coming to stand beside you again.

“How’d I get lucky enough to get such a take charge girlfriend?” The question was rhetorical and you both knew it but that didn’t stop you from answering him as you passed him his own cutting board, knife and bowl, the carton of peaches sat between you.

“You have a really nice ass is all.” You shrugged at him nonchalantly giggling at the way his nose scrunched up.

“Good to know that’s all you needed.” He looked at you however and instead of the smell of peaches taking over his senses it was the way you were looking at him. Your eyes held so much love and adoration it was all consuming. There would never be a day that he wouldn’t remind you just how lucky he was to call you his.

A/N:This has taken forever to write and I am so sorry. I am hoping to get to the rest very soon. Thank you all for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @kmc1989 @eternallyvenus @loving-and-dreaming

#m's taste of twenty-five event #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw oneshot #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick oneshot #fluff

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kirschteinoir · 4 months ago

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[5] you're here, that's the thing.

post-timeskip osamu miya x reader.

❝he brought his other hand, not yet blessed by you, to cover his eyes as he waited for his cheeks to cool and his heartbeat to become steady again.

this was going to be a long summer.❞

when life in the city becomes overwhelming, your grandmother decides to sign you up for a summer in the countryside working at onigiri miya, the best onigiri place this side of hyogo! you're not the biggest fan of the early starts and long hot days at first, but your attractive new boss may change your mind...

wc; 5.4k

[ending things with a bang (or a kiss in this case)! also i have no idea how sports commentary works so my bad if it's inaccurate. cameos from literally all the hq characters who went pro + kuroo lmao]

chapter masterlist.

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙁𝙄𝙑𝙀. 𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 - 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙮𝙚𝙩 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣.

for the last two weeks, you and osamu had been avidly watching the olympics - especially the men’s volleyball events. after the revelation in july had thrown you off your feet, osamu had steadied your uneasy world by filling you in with everything you’d missed since you’d left him and atsumu behind all those summers ago. unbeknownst to him, it was a comfort to you to know that he’d grown up well and that his relationship with atsumu had remained relatively the same since your childhood. you were happily surprised when osamu had told you that he’d played on his high school volleyball team as an outside hitter, with atsumu as the setter.

onigiri miya became overwhelmingly busy during this time too. you found yourself lost in the sounds of the sports commentary and the chatter of the customers as they chowed down on osamu’s revered rice masterpieces. as they tried to spark a conversation with the boss, he would don his signature lazy smirk and make a dig at atsumu. even with the jokes, you knew osamu couldn’t be prouder of his brother and you always smiled to yourself when you saw how animated he became whenever he talked about ‘tsumu making it to the national team.

the sun still blazed above you even at eight in the evening and you wince in discomfort, sweeping the sweat from the base of your neck with a napkin and trying your best to focus on counting the change in the register. you didn’t see osamu steal glances at you as he mopped the floor, almost breaking the handle in two as he tightened his grip on it. you were oblivious to how he would swallow thickly and tilt his cap to hide you from his view, cheeks taking on a rosy hue.

on the day of the japan vs argentina game, you’d opened shop an hour early. even then, there was a small crowd of people waiting outside as you’d rocked up to work. you greeted them with a smile of gratuity, promising them that they would be able to escape the morning heat soon.

osamu was there even earlier than you and you greet him cheerfully as you entered the kitchen. he's practically elbow-deep in a large bowl of rice, his hands working deftly to make thrice more onigiri than usual. he nods in your direction, watching as you hang your bag up on the makeshift hooks he’d installed a couple of months ago and press your apron to your front, going to tie it in the back.

“wait-” he starts and you pause, looking up at him with expectant eyes.

“everything okay, ‘samu?”

he looked troubled and nervous but also… shy? you swore you could see a blush forming but you couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.

"i- uh… i have a gift for you.”

your interest was properly piqued now and you threw your apron onto the countertop, skipping over to him in excitement. he seemed to fidget more as you close the distance and you can’t help but feel concerned. you stop a few paces away from him.

“a gift?”

he nods, pulling off his plastic gloves to rinse his hands under the tap for a few seconds, before wiping them on his towel. his movements were more deliberate than normal and you wonder again why he seemed so tense. in the end, you chalk it up to the game and decided not to make it personal.

you watch on eagerly as he reaches into his own bag, bringing out a heap of black fabric. as he brings it over to you, your eyebrows quirk and he's somewhat hesitant to pass it into your outstretched hands.

“just for today. y’know, for the game,” he mumbles.

you take the fabric from him and the waft of his detergent has your heart stuttering against your ribcage. he watches you intensely as you unfold, revealing a black jersey with white accents and letters. you had conveniently opened it so that the front was facing you: your gaze field of vision was obscured by the number ‘11’ in white block print and you turn it around to read the lettering on the back: ‘inarizaki high’.

you gasp as you realise what you’re holding.

“this is-!”

“yeah,” he interrupts you breathlessly. “my high-school jersey.”

the two of you stand in silence, trying to comprehend the situation. osamu seems to realise that you don’t know why he’s suddenly presented you with a relic of his short-lived volleyball career.

“the number is the same as ‘tsumu’s. eleven,” he points out somewhat dumbly and he internally smacks himself for sounding so tactless. you nod slowly and a smile creeps onto your face; osamu’s heart feels like it’s about to leap out of his throat.

“jeez, thank you, ‘samu! i’ll put it on right now.”

his mouth hangs open as he watches you race into the storage room to change. his cheeks are uncomfortably hot as his mind runs a little too wild for nine in the morning and he gulps down some water from the tap to cool off, pulling himself back together. he waits for you like a dog, nervously toeing the linoleum with his sneakers.

“tada!”

he hears your voice first and has no time to prepare himself when you appear in the doorway, hands clasped proudly on your hips. his jersey is a little too large on you but clearly you aren’t bothered by this in the slightest as you proudly show it off. you even do a spin for him, pointing at the lettering on the back.

“whaddya think?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

osamu just stares at you. if he were a cartoon, you’d probably have to pick his jaw up off the floor. he hates how unaware you seem to be of the effect this is having on him and he feels like he’s going to choke if he tries to speak. was the kitchen always this hot? he needs another drink.

“uhhh… osamu? earth to miya osamu?” you say, cautious of his stoic response to something you thought would please him. did you look bad? was he already regretting lending his precious jersey to you? you shrank into yourself a little, suddenly self-conscious.

“anyway, than-” you attempt to ease the tension that had settled

“ya look good.”

his words catch you off-guard and you clam up immediately as your cheeks begin heating up.

“o-oh. thanks…”

his lips flicker into a smile before the kitchen is plunged into an awkward silence. your mind scrambles to think of something, anything, to say but one glance at osamu’s crimson cheeks (and the way he’s trying so hard to hide them from your prying eyes) has your words falling short and your own pulse quickening.

the beeping of the rice cooker snaps you both into reality again and you wipe your clammy hands on your apron. osamu jolts in surprise, remembering that he's standing in the kitchen of his shop only thirty minutes before opening. he nods at you from across the room, wasting no time turning his back to you. you take this as your cue to tidy the shop floor instead of linger in the kitchen unhelpfully, absentmindedly dusting surfaces that osamu had gone over already.

every time you moved your arm, the soft fabric of osamu’s jersey would brush against your skin, wafting the woody scent of his cologne up to your nose like a rolling tide. your cheeks heated again and you scold yourself - today of all days, keep it together!

it didn’t take very long for the place to become packed, the very building itself coming alive whenever the floorboards would creak or the curtains would sway, beckoning customers inside. the television was at full volume and yet the chatter of the diners threatened to drown it out.

the place collectively holds its breath as the commentators introduce the jpn vs arg match. you slide a plate of umeboshi onigiri towards shinsuke, who’d taken the day off especially for the game. he smiles at you gratefully, cheeks rosy as he takes his first bite.

“...great team here today, japan have really put their best foot forward!”

“most certainly! the roster includes some big names from the leagues and i think today’s match will be a close one. not to mention this team has been trained by none other than iwaizumi hajime! after interning under takashi utsui, the father of ushijima wakatoshi, hajime is a force to be reckoned with.”

“i’ve heard that iwaizumi and oikawa, of the argentinian national team, were on the same high-school team! i wonder if there’s any rivalry there…”

laughter ripples around the room.

“with the japan national team in good hands, let’s introduce some of the players! jersey number one and possibly the current best opposite hitter in the world, we have ushijima wakatoshi! he’s joined by his previous teammates of the schweiden adlers, korai hoshiumi and kageyama tobio, jersey's five and nine respectively. what a place for a reunion!”

“they’re not the only ones reuniting on the court today. several members of the MSBY black jackals are here to represent japan. outside hitters kotarou bokuto and sakusa kiyoomi, jersey’s four and fifteen, as well as setter atsumu miya, jersey eleven!”

osamu suddenly appears beside you and kita, grinning wildly as atsumu’s face flashes on screen with a smile. the whole room erupts into cheers and whoops at the mention of the other miya twin and some even clap osamu on the back, their fingers grazing over the number1 printed on the back of his shirt.

“repping ‘tsumu’s number too, huh?” kita mumbles to you softly as he eyes your top with familiarity. you grin, nodding proudly.

“yep! that snotty little brat has come so far!”

the rice farmer laughs, wolfing down the last of his onigiri. osamu watches from his peripheral vision, biceps flexing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“hey, don’t do that!” you whisper, brushing against the material of his compression sleeve. “you’re hiding the number!”

immediately he brings his hands to his hips, puffing his chest out instead. you bite back a smile.

“there’s no shortage of incredible opposite hitters in this line-up! shoyo hinata, from asas sao paulo, formerly of MSBY black jackals and kageyama tobio’s high-school teammate, is jersey number ten!”

osamu leans down to mutter into your ear.

“we played those two one year at spring nationals. they were a freak duo, f’sure,” he chortles and kita nods in agreement, his lips pursing into a line at the memory. you laugh along, feeling flustered by his closeness.

“not only does japan have a strong offence, but their defence is nothing to laugh at! with yaku morisuke, number seventeen, and motoya komori, number nineteen, argentina definitely have a tough game ahead of them. now for an exclusive court-side interview with kuroo tetsurou of the JVA…”

kuroo’s interview was mostly lost on you as you found yourself swimming in volleyball terminology, some of which osamu patiently explained to you. you would nod along, only half-understanding, and he would laugh affectionately at your cluelessness.

suddenly, the camera pans to atsumu, who’s doing some last-minute stretches. he regards kuroo with familiarity before turning on the charm for the camera. you hear osamu scoff beside you but when you look up at him, he’s grinning uncontrollably. even kita is failing to remain stoic, laughing at atsumu’s unrefined charm.

“if ya ever in hyogo, go ‘n visit onigiri miya! and make sure you tell the owner that i sent-cha!” atsumu announces, waving a little at the camera. osamu pretends to be unimpressed but you can tell he’s secretly preening at the shoutout.

“and say hello to the pretty new employee too!” the blond twin finishes with a wink, before walking back to the rest of the team.

suddenly, every pair of eyes in the building is fixed on you and you feel yourself crumbling under the intensity of it. someone whoops and osamu groans loudly, apologising on atsumu’s behalf.

“sorry y/n. i may or may not have mentioned ya in my last phone call t’him,” the brunette tells you and you shake your head, telling him that it was nothing to apologise for. thank god atsumu didn’t mention that he actually talked about you non-stop.

“well, alright then, thanks atsumu!” kuroo says, turning to face the camera with a lazy smirk. “i can personally vouch for onigiri miya though, osamu is a wizard in the kitchen. now, let me introduce the starting line-up…”

the electric atmosphere of the court seemed to seep through the glass of the screen as the small onigiri shop all the way in hyogo burst at the seams with energy. osamu swelled with pride as he watched his twin set up perfect, medal-winning spike after spike. he never strayed far from your side either, turning to you to celebrate atsumu’s performance almost reflexively. in those moments it would feel like it was just you and him in the room, everything else drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your chest as your gazes connected and his smile would widen into something you only saw in romance movies.

hardly a week had passed since the game when things were already back to normal. occasionally a customer would mention the game to osamu and they would discuss it in solemn tones before the next person would enter.

“yo, y/n! ‘samu!”

it was right before closing when the sing-song voice of japan’s national setter easily commanded your attention. you jump up at the sound of your name from where you're crouched behind the counter refilling the pile of plastic carrier bags and your head appears over the edge of the counter almost comically as the one and only miya atsumu slides into a nearby stool, a lazy grin on his face.

“a-atsumu?” you breathe, shocked that the charismatic face from the dusty television screen was now in front of you. it was jarring how much he looked like osamu, even though you knew they were identical twins. but evidently it’d been a while since you’d actually seen them both in the same room.

“y/n-chan! it’s been a while, yeah?” he drawls and you pull a face at the cutesy nickname, like you’d remained friends all your life and this wasn’t the first time you were seeing him in person since you were five or six.

“we’re the same age, idiot,” you mumble, slipping around the counter to give the blond an affectionate bear hug. similarly to osamu he towers over you as he squeezes you back, pleased to be reunited with you again. he almost ruffles your hair but chooses to rest his chin atop your head, fearing you'd disapprove of the former option.

“no fraternising with the customers please.”

osamu’s usual scolding tone has hidden mirth as he appears from the kitchen, slinging a towel over his shoulder. his expression of mock annoyance quickly melts into one of happiness as he grins at atsumu.

“hey 'samu! how ya been, bro?” atsumu asks, clapping his brother on the back. “business as usual?”

osamu shrugs half-heartedly, downplaying his recent boom in business.

“yer lil shoutout at the game was funny,” he replies. you nudge his side playfully before turning to the blond.

“he means to say ‘thank you’,” you say, mildly surprised at how little the miya dynamic has changed since you last saw them.

atsumu just barks a laugh, stretching his arms languidly as he sits back down. as osamu flips the sign to ‘closed’, you duck back behind the counter.

“what can i get you, ‘tsumu?” you ask, slipping on a plastic food glove and grabbing a serving plate.

atsumu pretends to ponder his options, rambling about all the new flavours osamu added whilst he was away training. the twin in question merely shakes his head, plopping a plate with three special onigiri down in front of his brother. you didn’t recognise any of them from the display cases and realised osamu loved atsumu a lot more than he ever let on.

“the miya atsumu special,” he comments, pushing the plate further into atsumu’s outstretched hands. “on the house, of course.”

“of course,” the blond echoes, digging right into his specially curated treat.

you bite back a laugh at how voraciously atsumu devours the onigiri in front of him - the plate had barely touched the counter before they were gone. you almost felt inclined to clap as atsumu licked his fingers clean, soaking in your praise. osamu, on the other hand, only looked mildly disgusted as he swept the plate back to the kitchen.

“idiot,” he mumbled as he walked past the two of you and you laugh again.

“tasted even better than the last time,” atsumu comments after a moment.

as sharp as always, the setter had noticed your rosy cheeks and the longing look you'd sent after his twin before he’d disappeared through the curtains. you raised a brow at the sly grin on his face, wondering what he was calculating now.

“he’s never made me my own onigiri before. you’re lucky,” you tell him, folding your arms over your chest as atsumu shrugs and pretends he isn’t proud of the fact he was the only one with a special recipe, courtesy of osamu himself.

feeling sufficiently fed, the blond stands up and swoops down to pick up his gym bag. he makes a small huff as he hoists it onto his shoulder, despite his lithe arms and broad chest indicating that he lifts much heavier weight on a regular basis. still, the noise is cute and you can’t help but smile as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sports jacket.

“you on your way already?” you ask, your voice softening as you realise you hadn’t really gotten a chance to catch up with your childhood best friend and now he was going to disappear on you much like you had done to him all those years ago. karma, you supposed.

“yep. i wanna go before ‘samu comes back out so he won’t make a big deal out of it,” he snickers, carding a hand through his fringe to keep it out of his eyes. you thought the blonde really suited him, and it made it miles easier to tell the twins apart - a deliberate decision.

“pfft, i wouldn’t struck ‘samu as the emotional type.”

atsumu shakes his head and scrunches up his face as he mulls over the best way to explain it to you.

“i don’t mean in that way… it’s more like he’ll make me feel guilty for leaving already? He offers with another jerk of his shoulders, the movement appearing uneven due to the bag weighing down his right side.

“then…don’t go yet?” you offer, looking at the blond over the counter with your hands slightly clasped in front of your chest. he suddenly becomes bashful, probably not expecting such a blatant desire for his presence. he can't deny he adores your attention though, grinning as as his cheeks pinken.

“ya drive a hard bargain y/n, but i gotta head back to tokyo early tomorrow morning anyway. the olympics ain’t over yet!”

you throw your hands up in defeat, acknowledging your lesser power over the authority of atsumu’s hectic life as an olympic athlete. returning his smile warmly, you reach into the back pocket of your trousers.

“at least give me your number before you go! when i head back to tokyo we should catch up properly.”

something flickers across atsumu’s face as he notices your definitive choice of language but as quickly as it’s there it’s gone and he’s back to his usual smug self.

“sure.” he taps his number into your phone and takes a blurry, dimly lit selfie to set as his contact icon. “see ya, y/n!”

onigiri miya feels uncharacteristically quiet as atsumu disappears into the humid evening and you feel as though this is a good a time as any to close shop. your thoughts are interrupted by osamu's voice thundering from the kitchen.

“did that bastard just leave?!” he yells, squinting into the distance at the ghost of atsumu’s figure. you muffle your laugh with your hand and nod.

“yep. he did it on purpose to avoid you, i’m afraid,” you reply, much to osamu’s chagrin. he makes a ‘tch’ noise and goes to turn back towards the kitchen. however he remains rooted to the spot beside you for a moment, his fist clenched awkwardly by his side. you wondered what had hardened his expression so suddenly.

following his gaze with your own, you land on the tearaway paper calendar hanging by the entrance of the kitchen. august was fast coming to close, signified by the rows of red crosses staining the paper. the 31st was circled, with the words ‘last day at OM!’ written in your own handwriting. embarrassment washes over you as you think about how osamu must’ve perceived your childish excitement to escape from something he was dedicating his entire life to. when you realise how late into the month it is already, the feeling of returning to your lonely, cramped apartment that you had no real attachment to was not a pleasant one.

the realisation of your changed mind hits you like a truck and you grip the counter to steady yourself, world spinning as you confirmed what had become a fact to you since time had gone on: you don't want to go back to tokyo. you want to be here in hyogo serving onigiri to sweet old customers and you wanted to do it with osamu.

with osamu.

you feel compelled to reach for him now, his nickname leaving your lips softly.

he knows you caught him eyeing up that red circle, an ugly reminder that his time with you was always going to be limited. he knew he was being childish as he maintains a cold front with you.

“make sure you lock the register this time, y/n.”

his sharp tone strikes you like a dagger and you physically recoil from him, your throat squeezing.

“wait, osamu! i have something to tell you-” your tone is frantic as you feel him slip further and further out of your grasp.

he ignores your pleas, brushing past your outstretched hand as he enters the kitchen. overcome by helplessness, your feet are rooted to the spot and anxiety starts infecting the rest of your sound mind like black ink blotching a perfectly written letter right at the very end.

no, you weren’t going to let him leave you behind again this time.

as you gather the shreds of your courage, your fingers shake and you untie the apron from around your waist, throwing the coarse fabric on the counter as you stalk after osamu, yelling his name again as you enter the kitchen.

“osamu! wait!”

but the kitchen lights were off. part of you considered that he might be hiding from you in the dark but you knew there was a limit to his immaturity. still, you check every crevice of the room and even the storage room in case he’d decided to fold himself between the piles of ingredients. it was quickly becoming apparent that he was nowhere to be found and now you were genuinely worried.

“osamu?” you call again, more agitated than before. there was no response except for the wind whistling through the back door, which was slightly ajar.

you continue onwards in your search for your childhood friend-turned-boss-turned-crush (again), stumbling into the august evening air. you grimace when you already feel perspiration on your forehead as you look for osamu in the dim light.

it quickly becomes evident that you have no idea where you are on the OM premises, evident by the way you stumble about. you curse as you end up down some alleyway, a shiver running up your spine as you squint at what you hoped was the streetlight across the road from the shop. the gravel crunches underneath your sneakers as you walk towards it hopefully.

“gah!”

you jump as your shoe hits something and a strong hand reaches out to grab you before you can faceplant the ground. you recognise it as osamu’s and visibly relax, taking a moment to compose yourself and stand up to your full height again. the lighting was abysmal here and it didn’t help that osamu seemed to purposefully stand in the shadows where the artificial glow of the streetlight could only smooth over his cheekbone and the side of his nose.

“samu? that you?” you ask, even though you know it has to be him. who else would be sulking in the hidden alleyway by onigiri miya? He was upset at you, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“did you lock the register?” he mumbles gruffly and you have to fight the urge to laugh at his ridiculousness. you try to find the playful glint amongst the stone-grey irises you had become so familiar with these past four months.

“yes,” you breathe with a chuckle. “yes i did.”

he nods at your response, his hair rustling from the small movement. once again, the silence swallows you both as you stand opposite him. his hand is still clutching your upper arm, the only sign that he was truly afraid to let you go again. you fold your arms over your chest to emphasise that you were going to stay here and talk to him. he seems comforted by that and loosens his grip ever so slightly.

“why’d you go cold on me?” you finally asks, your tone cautious at the risk of upsetting him again. he huffs quietly before answering, his eyes cast at something behind you.

“dunno. was silly of me though. m’sorry y/n.”

your heart melts at how apologetic he sounds and you reach out to touch his cheek, your hand trembling as your skin meets his.

osamu sucks in a sharp breath not expecting you to touch him, but he doesn’t pull away and allows his cheek to be caressed by you, easing the pout on his lips just a little.

“c’mon ‘samu, don’t you think i haven’t learnt a little bit about you after working by your side for four months? we both know what’s on your mind…” you sigh, alluding to your upcoming departure back to tokyo.

“yeah… yeah."

his head tilts towards your hand again, almost as if he were nuzzling it. however the movement is constrained, showing some internal conflict and you wonder what he’s thinking right now.

“d’ya have to go? y/n, i really like having you around,” he mumbles, allowing a sliver of vulnerability to bleed through his words. his hand tightens around your bicep again, tugging you a little closer than before.

“actually,” you laugh, and osamu wonders what could possibly be so funny. “that’s what i want to talk to you about.”

eyes immediately dart towards yours and his mouth falls open slightly. he stares at you intently in a silent plead for you to put him out of his misery, his eyebrows furrowing beneath his fringe. you have to clear your throat softly before you continue, flustered by how helpless he looks before you, hanging onto your every word.

“i-i want to stay. here in hyogo.”

the soft flesh of your upper arm is at his mercy as he tenses and relaxes his hand, making sure he hadn’t misheard you. your own hand drifts from his cheek to his jaw, barely grazing the skin there as you take a deep breath.

“i want to keep working for onigiri miya too. if you’ll let me i mean-”

“yes,” he breathes quickly, interrupting you. you stare at him in shock and he quickly composes himself, eyes darting away from yours for a moment.

“o-okay then. i’ll stay at onigiri miya. there’s nothing for me in tokyo, anyway, and i really like it here with my grandma. goodness knows she’ll need someone to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble,” you smile, finally relieving your shoulders of the weight of your decision to stay in hyogo. you're lighter than air now, never feeling more sure of something in your life. “thanks for installing the doorbell for her, by the way. and the security camera, too.”

osamu chuckles despite himself, nodding as he accepts your thanks. then the same desperate look from before settles across his features again.

“are you sure? that you want to stay here and work for me?” his voice is barely a whisper. “with me. work with me,” he corrects himself.

you grin, your fingers splaying across his chin in a feather-light touch. it’s like you’re making sure that he's in front of you, that he won’t bolt away from your advances again.

“can i get a promotion?” you ask and he smiles again, your index finger brush over his bottom lip as he does so.

“if that means you’ll stay, then yes.”

you giggle a little, the sound mingling with his bated breath as his eyes flicker across your features, comparing the 'you' in front of him to the one from four months ago, and even the little brat he knew in childhood. his heart soars and he feels as though he may fall to his knees in prayer any second now, especially when your hand cups the back of his neck, pressing into the strong muscles that had been built from years of high-school volleyball with inarizaki and now the physical labour that came with running onigiri miya.

you see his expression fall a little, his eyes flickering again to the wall behind you, and gently tilt your head in a silent desire to know what is bothering him.

“‘samu?” you murmur, your worried expression mirroring his.

he flinches, startled by your voice even though you had purposefully kept it soft for the opposite outcome. for some reason he’s struggling to maintain eye contact with you and your fingertips warm up as they brush over his pink cheeks.

you’re about to utter his name again when his large hands suddenly move to cup your face. his calloused fingertips press tenderly into the softness of your skin, savouring the pillowy feeling of your entire face fitting sweetly into the palm of his hands.

“s-sorry y/n…” and you wonder what on earth he could be apologising for at a time like this. “but i need to kiss ya right now. like real bad.”

his brazen admission has your own cheeks darkening, practically glowing in the fluorescent light that was swallowing you both. your mouth hangs open in a mixture of shock and want, and osamu can’t help but groan inwardly at the sight. he begins leaning in, still muttering against your mouth.

“i can’t hold back anymore. yer just too cute-” he breathes, his thumb shifting slightly to sweep over the edge of your bottom lip. you can just about squeak his name out in response before he closes his mouth over yours.

the kiss is a mixture of sweetness and something else and you grip at the collar of his shirt as he kisses you with fervour only a miya twin could have. his hands still cage your face in a display of desperate possession and even as his lips envelope yours, he's still afraid that you would slip through his finger again, seeping into the cracks in the road as you find your way back to tokyo. his lips push against yours slightly harder at the thought and you have to stand on your tiptoes to gain some ground back from him.

your head begins to spin with the lack of oxygen flowing to your lungs but you don’t care - the only thing you were concerned about was the feeling of osamu’s lips melding against yours and his thumb holding your chin to firmly guide you against him.

when you sigh his own name into his mouth so sweetly that his grip on you tightens, movements growing sloppy as he chases and chases your saccharine lips, you can confidently conclude that it never hurts to do something new.

[thank you for all the support on this mini series! it's been very enjoyable to see your reactions to each chapter hehe. also my requests/ask box is open if you want to leave anything! <3 ]

about me.

ao3 link.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #hq fanfic #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #osamu fluff #osamu x reader

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pfhwrittes · 1 year ago

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i’m so deeply sad at the moment that i’m surrounding myself in fluffy fluffy fics and just hoping for a soft landing for myself but when i try to write it’s just either a) minimal effort or b) so fucking sad

like i’m trying to write a retail hell au with the tf141 boys but yeah. anyway have some notes under the cut about where i’ve stuck the boys so far.

so imagine with me that for whatever reason tf141 end up working in B&Q (home depot for those of you over the pond)

gaz works in the kitchens, bathrooms and bedroom department as a designer/consultant. why? because he’s pretty and can charm anyone into an upsell. oh you came in to get a quote on cheap sanitary ware (toilet, sink, bathtub/shower)? suddenly the customer (“client, they’re always clients. sounds better y’know?”) walking out with a £2000 order containing new tiles, a waterfall shower head, walk in shower array, £120 basin taps, a new towel warmer and a beautiful mirrored cabinet. you love watching him work because he’s just so charming and personable. always shoots you a wink from behind the computer too.

simon works stockflow. he’s in the warehouse or yard exclusively. smashes through deliveries and stock at a rapid pace and then stands in the yard smoking. no he doesn’t need any help, fuck off. leave it alone you’re going to fuck up his system. incredibly territorial over the yard/warehouse and only lets john, soap, gaz in. has a hand written sign pinned by the doors “NO ENTRY UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. ESPECIALLY FOR YOU.” the store a manager takes it down periodically. simon puts it back up. nods at you when you pass the entrance to the warehouse but doesn’t speak. coincidentally he seems to be by the entrance shuffling delivery notes or paperwork whenever you walk past.

soap technically works the interior decorating department. technically. he loves working on the paint mixing desk and flirting with all the women that come up looking for just the right shade of whatever trendy colour has been advertised in home and gardens this season but will absolutely wander off to go bother price/gaz/simon/you whenever he feels like it. constantly being called for on the tannoy system “this is a staff announcement could john mactavish please return to the paint desk, customers waiting. that’s john mactavish to the paint desk. thank you”. you’re positive he ignores the first tannoy call just so he can hear you get more exasperated on the second and third call you put out for him.

price is the hardware, electrical and plumbing supervisor and technically the stockflow supervisor. barely ever steps foot in the warehouse aside from a quick check in because he knows simon has it covered. hates management meetings and always finds himself something time critical/difficult to put down when he knows there’s one coming up. a constant presence on the shop floor. always the first supervisor to respond to the tannoy when a customer is kicking up a fuss at the customer service desk. always seems to know where you are, whether that’s on the customer service desk, serving customers on the checkouts or putting away go backs in various aisles. checks in frequently with a little smile and a “alright love?” before moving on to whatever task he can do to keep him out of the store manager’s sights. reminds everyone to take their breaks regardless of whether or not they’re technically part of his department.

#pfh rambles #retail hell au #kyle gaz garrick #cod fic #please excuse the typos i’m tired and sad #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #sr #jm #jp #kg

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cupidjyu · 2 years ago

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he's hopeless!

juyeon x reader

genre: nerdy-shy-loser juyeon, coffeeshop!au, attempt at humor (im not funny), fluff, teasing, flirting, hyunric cameos, juyeon is SUCH a loser notes: i absolutely suck at writing kids so im sorry i couldn't implement that in the ending TT, i hope you enjoy this it was very fun to write!!! <333333333 also pls ignore any typos because i make very embarrassing ones word count: 3.1k

having a bad day was the least desired thing on your bucket list, yet it seemed to have happened multiple times this week. at this point, you were losing hope in ever obtaining happiness.

“you’re being dramatic,” hyunjae, your coworker, would say. “you literally just spilled a drop of coffee.”

working at a small coffee shop, you were bound to have bad days. though you enjoyed your job, it could be a bit frustrating. first, you had to deal with an extremely rude customer. she was a middle-aged lady who yelled at you simply for getting her name wrong. you had clenched your jaw dealing with her. then, you spilled a whole cup of mocha and the towels had run out so you had to run across the whole place, just to clean up the mess, leaving you breathless.

“i mean,” you grumbled. “all i do is do my job. i want to have a normal day, is that so much to ask for?” you complained to hyunjae, angrily wiping at the counters as he stared at you with amusement. “this isn’t funny, jae.”

“i never said it wa-”

you were both interrupted by the sound of the bell, signaling a new customer. you didn’t bother to look up, but you felt your coworker nudge you by the shoulder.

“isn’t that your favorite regular?” he jerked his head to where there was a tall man approaching the counter. your eyes brightened and you practically threw the towel at hyunjae, making him scramble to catch it.

“maybe,” you smirked slightly. “my day just got ten times better.”

“good luck with that,” hyunjae jested as he left into the kitchen.

juyeon smiled at the sight of you as he walked over in a sort of awkward manner.

“hi,” he said, his voice deep yet usually quiet and calm. you loved the sound of it.

“hey, my favorite customer,” you smiled, leaning over the counter and tilting your head. “i missed you.”

he immediately blushed, his cheeks flushing red, which you couldn’t help but giggle at. he was wearing his usual sort of attire: a long, dark overcoat to accompany him in the cold weather and your favorite thing, which was the cutest thin-framed silver glasses, perched on his nose.

he was the epitome of your ideal type. the nerdy type, you liked to call it. you loved the awkward type of people who were kind, had glasses, tall, fluffy hair, and a pretty, cat-like face. your ideal type was juyeon.

“why weren't you here yesterday?” you asked, frowning slightly. you thought for a second and let out a dramatic gasp. “don’t tell me… you were sick!” his eyes widened and he immediately shook his head no but, you ignored him. “i would have tooken care of you, you know.”

he choked on air, blinking at you, “what? i’m sick!” he fumbled over his words. “i mean, i- i’m not sick. you don’t have to take care of me…” he mumbled, his ears red now. “i was actually… at a florist shop.”

“you sure?” you scrunched your nose at him, teasingly. but it was then that you noticed one arm which was always behind his back. you looked at him. “so what’re you holding?”

instead of answering, he just stood there frozen. you stared back at him with confusion. and then suddenly, a whole run-on sentence was being forced out of his mouth, his words fast and hard to comprehend.

“i was window shopping and i stopped at this florist shop and i got this rose since it reminded me of you so-” he was blushing even more, if that was possible, as he shoved it in your hands.

“oh-” you stuttered, trying to reply but he was already turning on his heels and hurrying out of the place. “juyeon!” but he was long gone. you peered at the rose in your hand. it was white and beautiful, shining in the afternoon light. you sighed, disappointed that you couldn’t thank him for it.

juyeon leaned against the wall, heart beating fast. he took a deep breath and pulled out his phone to text eric.

juyeon: i did it

eric: did you say anything after?

juyeon: …

eric: u ran away didnt u

juyeon: …….

eric: you’re hopeless

juyeon: i know

he set his head backward, slightly hitting his head against the brick wall, making him flinch. his heart was still thumping and it has been for a while. juyeon is, to put it simply, hopelessly in love with you. he thought that you were an angel when he first walked into that coffee shop and he couldn’t help but fall further when he met your kind, yet teasing personality. oh, juyeon was so in love with you.

he just hoped that anyone else won’t notice how bad he has it for you. he really hoped.

“he definitely likes you,” hyunjae stated, walking out of the kitchen. he must’ve been spying on the conversation this whole time. this was his sort of entertainment.

“i know,” you sighed, smiling as you twisted the rose between your fingers.

hyunjae looked at you, surprised. “wait, what? you know?”

you shrugged, “yeah, it’s kind of obvious, no?” you gently placed the rose down, making a mental note to bring it home and put it in a pretty vase.

“and you don’t do anything about it,” the taller man deadpanned, looking at you with interrogating eyes.

you groaned, peering out the windows in hopes that he would come back, “look, i’m figuring it out okay?”

the next day, for no particular reason, you decided to change up your outfit and hair, since where you worked didn’t require a certain uniform. you didn’t think too much of it. at most, it would be hyunjae’s annoying remark, “are you here to impress anyone?”

when juyeon walked in at the usual time, you noticed how wide his eyes were as he walked over to the counter to order.

“hey juyeon,” you waved, smiling sweetly. “want the usual? iced americano?”

he was frozen, again. his lips were parted but without speaking a single word.

“...juyeon?”

“hm?” he blinked. “yes, yes, sure. whatever you want-”

“this is your order,” you deadpanned, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“ah,” he laughed sheepishly, fumbling with his own fingers nervously. “right, you just… you look nice today.”

you paused, your hand floating in midair over the cash register. you started to feel your face get hot because frankly, he was never usually this bold.

“o-oh,” you smiled, cursing at yourself for stuttering. “thank you.”

“actually!” he blurted out, a bit too loud, making some customers turn their heads. he cringed and quieted down. “are you- are you… um- are you free this weeken-”

you were practically leaning over the counter, so excited to say yes to his offer of a date but then-

your phone rang with a text message. juyeon inhaled a sharp breath as he glanced at your lit-up phone nervously. you chose to ignore it and turned back to him, waiting expectedly for him to ask again.

but instead, he coughed awkwardly.

“you must be busy,” he pursed his lips, adjusting his glasses. “right, see you tomorrow!” and then he was running away again, just like before.

“wait!” you called out to him. people turned their heads again, making you duck your head in embarrassment. you frowned and looked at the text message. it was from hyunjae.

hyunjae: chocolate is on sale at this store. u want?

you slammed your phone down and cursed your beloved friend in your head. there goes your chance of going on a date with him.

you: i hate u

hyunjae: what the hell

eric: did you ask them?

juyeon sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

juyeon: i chickened out

eric: !!! 🤬🤬🤬🤬you really are hopeless

juyeon is hopeless, you concluded.

so, you decided to take matters into your own hands and actually do something about his horrible pining. you knew that if you didn’t, there would be absolutely no progress.

“he’s a loser,” hyunjae would tell you.

“a cute loser,” you would reply back.

the next day, in his coffee cup, you very neatly wrote your number along with a small, short message.

i’m not that oblivious ju, give me a call sometime <3

again, the tall and attractive man strolled in. this time, he wore once again, that same long overcoat that complemented his tall height.

“hey!” you greeted happily. “i got your order ready early.”

he looked at you surprised. you smiled, he really did look like an attentive cat.

“thank you,” he gently spoke. you always loved the way he spoke. it was soft and could make almost anyone relax just at the tone of it.

you were about to hand the cup to him before you quickly snatched it away. he let out a small bewildered noise as he looked at you with slight confusion.

“say juyeon…” you looked at him mischievously.

“hm?” he hummed, his voice wavering a bit at your intense eye contact.

“you like someone, don’t you?”

you could see all the color drain from his face. his face twitched with anxiousness as he struggled to keep eye contact with you. “me?”

“who else?” you giggled.

he was a nervous wreck, as he rapidly wiped his sweaty hands on his clothes. “liking anyone?” he adjusted his glasses again: a nervous quirk of his. “no- i- just… i uh- no i don’t.”

you smiled, “are you one hundred percent certain?” you handed him the cup without letting him answer. he gulped as he was about to turn around.

“juyeon.”

he whipped around.

“i’ll see you later?” you winked, making him flush red.

“tomorrow, right?” he asked. “since i’m a regular here.”

“no, no,” you shook your head. “perhaps… outside of this coffee shop for once?”

he blinked, not processing your words. but then it did after a few moments, his body going rigid.

“wait, what?” he squawked, his voice oddly high-pitched. but you had already left to prepare another order.

as he was walking out of the door, he went to take a sip of his drink. in the corner of his eye, he noticed some handwriting on the side of his cup in thick, black marker.

he read it.

and just like that, he was hopeless again. he dropped his coffee on the ground. but he didn’t care for that, as he fumbled for his phone. his hands were shaking too much, so he chose to call his friend instead of texting.

as soon as he picked up, juyeon rambled.

“eric, eric, eric, eric.”

“what?” eric whined. he must’ve been in the middle of something.

“i won the lottery,” juyeon spoke excitedly.

“wait, actually? how much money?”

juyeon didn’t bother to correct him.

“i got y/n’s number.”

a beep sounded through his phone. eric hung up.

sometime later on in the night, you were relaxing at home, watching some random show on the TV. the drama was just getting good but then, you suddenly got a call from an unknown number.

you didn’t usually pick up calls from unknown numbers but you had an inkling of who it was. so, taking the risk, you picked up the call, bringing the phone to your ear.

you chose not to talk first until you heard something.

“hello?” spoke a deep voice on the other line. you brightened, sitting up in bed. it was definitely a familiar voice.

…

“juyeon?”

immediately, a muffled scream sounded through your phone's speaker. you fell back onto the bed, kicking your legs with laughter. it took a while for juyeon to speak again as you could still hear him freaking out. you even heard a glass object fall to the ground, making you wince.

he took in a deep breath, “so, i saw your number on the ice cream–i mean—the coffee cup! and…”

“mmm?” you waited patiently.

“i thought that i’d give you a call because you’re really nice to me,” he rushed his words once again, his sentence almost incomprehensible.

“oh!” you smiled giddily to yourself. “of course.”

there was another scream.

when you were sure he was finally calm, you decided to rush things forward a bit. or actually, a lot.

“yes, juyeon,” you giggled. “i’d love to go out with you. make sure to text me the place and time.” without letting him give a reply, you hung up and laughed evilly to yourself.

meanwhile, juyeon simply stared at his phone. then, he let out an oddly pitched squeak as he threw his phone on the ground. then, he climbed into the sheets of his bed to kick his legs around, covering his blushing face with his large hands.

after a few more minutes of freaking out like an insane man, he jumped out of the bed, tripping over the blankets. he was almost about to land face-first on the ground if it weren’t for his hands catching them. he scrambled for his phone which he was very glad didn’t break after being thrown.

and no, he didn’t text the place and time just yet. instead, he called eric.

“whaaaat,” eric whined. “i’m in a game with sunwoo. can’t this wait?”

“we’re going on a date,” juyeon exclaimed, his heart thumping faster and faster.

“really?” juyeon could hear eric’s controller fall to the floor. “what? that’s amazing! where do you plan on going?”

“i know exactly,” juyeon replied with pride. “it’s at this beautiful restaurant.”

“that’s great, i wish you luck. just make sure that you dress wel- juyeon?”

juyeon was still rambling on and on, “...and our wedding! our wedding is going to be at-” the man was interrupted by yet another beeping noise.

eric hung up again.

sunwoo: where’d you go

eric let out a disappointed sigh, thumping his head on the keyboard, making it type a bunch of random letters.

eric: WLK@J#J$&%^

sunwoo: what

eric: juyeon’s such an odd guy i cant deal with him

sunwwo: why what happened

eric: love happened . hes already thinking bout marriage

you took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of your clothes with sweaty hands. you didn’t know why you felt so nervous all of a sudden. it was just juyeon, the guy who would come into the coffee shop with a bright smile each day. he’s the guy who would quirk his head when he was the slightest bit confused and he’s the guy who would blush adorably when you so much as complimented him. he’s the same guy who-

okay so maybe that’s why you were so nervous.

juyeon showed up right on time with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. he was dressed nicely, his hair actually styled, making him look so charming that you felt your legs go weak. he spotted you and smiled, giving a cute wave.

he handed you the flowers and even mumbled a quiet, “you look beautiful” so that only you could hear it. then, as the gentleman he was, he pulled out the chair for you to sit.

“these flowers also reminded me of you,” he explained with a sheepish smile.

you smiled softly, “thank you.”

the date went well. it went so well that you were sure that you would never have such an amazing one like this. you felt comfortable with juyeon and besides his shy personality, he was a very calming person to be with. though he still fumbled with his words cutely sometimes.

“can i try your glasses?” you leaned over the table with interest.

“oh?” he couldn’t help the smile growing on his lips. “sure.” he took them off, wiped the lens, and handed it to you. but instead of actually putting it on, you were frozen with disbelief as you peered at juyeon with a shocked face.

“y/n?”

“it’s crazy how you look good with or without glasses,” you gazed at him in awe.

he didn’t say anything, just blushed furiously as he shoved them in your hand.

“just… try it on already,” he muttered. and so you did.

“so?” you posed. “what do you think?”

“wow, you look great,” he said with a horribly obvious nonchalant tone of voice. you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. he was squinting, trying to look at you. ah. you mentally slapped yourself. he probably has bad eyesight.

“you can’t even see my face can you?”

“nope.”

after the date, you didn’t want to leave. you wanted to stay with him for the rest of the night, talking about whatever topic. but much to your dismay, the two of you were now stopped in front of your house.

he walked you to your front door as you clutched the flowers in your hand.

“this was so fun, ju,” you said with utter sincerity. you looked at him with a wide smile which he returned, his eyes soft on you.

“it was for me too,” he softly replied.

and then it was silent. with your heart thumping, something came over you as you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

his eyes widened and his mouth clamped shut to conceal the surprised sound escaping him. he gulped as he whipped his head to the side to avoid your teasing eyes.

“you…” he was at a loss for words as his ears turned red, this time not from the cold weather.

“bye, juyeon,” you giggled, pushing him playfully to turn around.

“w-wait,” he stammered. he swiftly turned around and leaned down. he paused just at your cheek before slowly pressing his lips to your skin. you couldn’t help but laugh at the feeling.

“see you tomorrow,” you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his waist. his arms came around you, holding you tightly.

as he was walking back, he paused to wave at you with a lovesick smile. you waved back with the exact same grin. and then you witnessed him trip on the sidewalk. you winced.

you: you’re right he is a loser

hyunjae: told you so

you: i love him

“hey,” you plopped next to him on the couch as you immediately went to rest your head against his chest.

“hi my love,” he naturally said.

“oh?” you turned to him with a sly smile. “pet names now?”

he smiled shyly, “what about it?”

“remember when you couldn’t even have a conversation with me back then?” you poked his cheek.

his glared with an adorable pout, “look that was way before…”

“are you saying you’re not shy anymore?” you teased.

“yes,” he confidently said. and without a word, you leaned in and pulled him into a slow, passionate kiss. when you pulled away, you could see his cheeks were tinted pink once again as his breath stuttered against your lips.

“liar.”

#the boyz reactions #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #tbz fluff #tbz imagines #juyeon fluff #juyeon x reader #requests 💞#fics 💞

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temptingfatetakingnames · 9 months ago

Text

The Last Steve Harrington Part 15

AO3 Part 1 Part 14

Steve woke up Friday morning feeling fully recovered. He had spent the last few days with aching muscles so it was a huge relief to get out of bed without pain. He was glad because they were having a barbecue tonight to send off Johnathan, Argyle and Nancy who were heading back to the city tomorrow. Nancy was out of school for the summer but Johnathan needed to get back to his business and Argyle only had so much time off from his job.

He and Johnathan hadn’t got too close while he was home. Steve was hesitant to reach out and the feeling seemed mutual. They talked a bit about his photography business and Steve told him about Family Video. Mostly they talked about how much customer service sucked and how crazy people’s demands were. Steve didn’t mind that they hadn’t managed to bridge the distance between them. He was still overwhelmed with the kids, Robin, Eddie, Hopper and Joyce. Him and Nancy were… okay – parting on good terms at the very least. They would have time to get to know each other better.

Inhaling deep, he let the breath out slowly.

He had time.

Joyce was already busy in the kitchen when Steve walked downstairs. Johnathan and Argyle were probably still sleeping and he figured Hopper had already left for work. Will and Eleven were eating cereal like little zombies at the table. They both looked up, cheeks full, and smiled as he sat down. He had been really excited to tell everyone about Stephanie and the parallel universe he had learned about but had promised Robin he wouldn’t say anything without her, so he had been waiting. Patiently. Very patiently waiting. He couldn’t wait to see Dustin and Eddie’s faces.

“Morning, Steve,” Joyce said as she turned around, wiping her hands on a towel. “How are you feeling?”

“Really good actually. All better.”

She came over and settled a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad! But take it easy still, hmm?”

Steve nodded and looked away from her kind eyes, reaching for the cereal box. She patted his shoulder and moved back to the kitchen counter where various vegetables were waiting to be chopped.

“What’re you two up to today?” Steve asked the kids.

“Shopping with Max. I want a new dress for the party tonight.”

“I’m helping Dustin with Cerebro.”

“Sounds fun,” he said and smiled at them.

They both nodded and went back to shoveling cereal into their faces as fast possible.

“Bye!” Eleven shouted as soon as she finished drinking the sweetened milk from her bowl.

“See ya later!” Will said as he scraped his chair back from the table and ran out.

Then it was just him and Joyce. He looked over at her furiously chopping vegetables and could tell that she was stressed. There was going to be a lot of people coming over and she probably had a lot she needed to get done before they arrived.

“I’m gunna shower and then I’ll help you get ready.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Oh, I’m fine! You should rest.”

“I’ve rested enough. Let me help, Joyce. Please.”

She set her knife down and turned fully towards him. Her hair was a little wild and her eyes were tired. She worked too hard. He didn’t know what she saw on his face that made her relent but she softened and said, “that would be great. Thank you.”

He nodded and noticed a small smile on her face as she turned back to her vegetables.

On his way to the bathroom, he grabbed a towel out of the linen closet. He hung it up and turned on the water before he looked at himself in the mirror, his good mood disappearing in a flash. He hated his reflection. It was difficult to meet his eyes, but he forced himself, bringing his face closer and closer to the glass until he could see every detail. He never knew how much people saw Steve or saw him. He hated it.

“Fuck you, Steve.”

Stepping back, he removed his clothes and took in the ruin of his chest next. His wounds had healed but it still hurt to look at them. He ran his fingers lightly over the raised and jagged marks on his side. Most of them looked better, whatever the doctors had done to clean them up had worked but… Not these. There had been nothing they could do for these. Too much had been bitten away… and too much time had passed.

A reminder that not everything could be made better or wiped clean. That some things just stayed…jagged. Broken. Ugly.

Turning away from the mirror, he quickly stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water would soothe away the awful pit in his stomach.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon were spent cooking with Joyce. He was quiet at first, still stewing in ugly thoughts, but she was slowly able to coax him out of it. She was just so damn happy, despite everything they had to get done and he found it hard to maintain his brooding in the face of her joy.

The kitchen was warm from the oven’s heat so they opened the windows to let in a lovely cross breeze. They talked a lot and laughed a little and moved around each other with a comfort that Steve had never experienced before. He and Max used to cook together sometimes, but her energy had been chaotic in the kitchen. She didn’t like to listen to instructions and Steve always had to clean up her messes, not that he had minded…much. He had missed cooking with someone else. He had missed cooking.

Johnathan and Argyle came down and had breakfast before they left as well, off to enjoy their last day in Hawkins.

When they were finished making all the food that Joyce had planned Steve asked if it would be alright if he made chocolate chip cookies. He had perfected his recipe over the years and they were his favourite thing to bake.

“Of course!” Joyce replied enthusiastically. “How did you learn to cook like this?”

As he gathered the necessary ingredients Steve explained, “my parents were gone a lot so I learned how when I was pretty young. Simple things at first, but I got better over the years.”

“What did you make?”

“So much pasta! Boil noodles and heat up some sauce? It was the easiest thing I could think of. It was a real game changer when I figured out the barbecue in high school.” Steve chuckled a little to himself. “I think I made burgers or hot dogs every meal for two weeks.”

Joyce didn’t laugh. “You were alone that much?” she asked instead.

He shrugged. “My dad was always gone on business trips and my mom went with him. I was fine, they always left plenty of money.”

As he started to whisk the dry ingredients together, he felt Joyce’s gentle touch on his shoulder.

“They shouldn’t have done that, Steve. I’m sorry you were alone.”

He blinked down at his bowl. It felt like such a long time ago now, living in that big empty house. He remembered the first time his parents left for a week at a time. He was thirteen and scared, but just like anything else – it got easier with time. And he wasn’t always alone. Freshman year, he met Nancy, Johnathan and Barb. Then the kids and Eddie and Wayne and Steve spent less and less time in that big empty house.

But… even with how full his life became with the family he chose there was still a hole in his heart from his parents. He didn’t think they were malicious or bad people… they just didn’t care. Too busy living their own lives to worry about his.

“No,” Steve agreed. “They shouldn’t have.”

Joyce gripped his shoulder tighter and he reached up to pat her hand.

After a moment, she slipped away and started tidying up the kitchen as Steve made his cookies, feeling that hole fill up a tiny bit more.

---

Max and Eleven came back first, but they disappeared upstairs with their bags after both exclaiming how delicious the house smelled. He and Joyce smiled at each other, nibbling on still warm cookies. Johnathan and Argyle arrived next, Nancy in tow. Joyce quickly put them to work setting up the tables and chairs outside. Hopper walked in the door with a loud exclamation of how long and tiring his day had been, leaving to shower just as Will called to say he was getting a ride with Dustin in a bit.

All of the cooking was done so Steve went back to his room to change. Opening the middle drawer on his dresser, he stared at the options. Joyce had taken him shopping the first week he moved in, getting him everything he could possibly need. Most days he didn’t give a shit about what he looked like… but today felt different. He wanted to look good.

He grabbed out a pair of jeans and the collared button up shirt that Joyce had insisted she get for him. It was dark blue and made of a light material that felt amazing on his skin when he slipped it on over his head. He tucked it into his jeans and cinched his belt as he moved into the bathroom. His hair looked good and healthy but he hadn’t tried to style it since –

Well, since everything.

He grabbed the hairspray Dustin gave him and got to work, trying to remember just how he used to make it look so effortless. It took longer than he would like to admit and it wasn’t exactly how it used to be, but it was close enough. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back and couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

He looked like –

Himself.

His skin was tanned from spending more time outside. The shirt showed off his arms, and the jeans hugged him in all the right places, and his hair fell perfectly, curling just a little onto his forehead. He looked…good. For a brief moment he considered ruining it – messing up his hair and taking off the nice clothes.

“Hello, Steve,” he said instead.

Joyce was back in the kitchen, wearing a red sundress, when he went downstairs. She was mixing cut up fruit and sprite into a large pitcher.

“Would you get the ice trays out of the freezer?” she asked as she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw him and she froze.

Steve clenched his jaw as she walked over to him, emotion filling her eyes as she racked her gaze over every inch of him. Her hands patted his shoulders, smoothing the fabric of his shirt.

“Oh, Steve,” she said with a watery smile. “You look great.”

The doorbell ringing saved him from having to respond, and he ducked out from beneath her hands and went to answer it.

Standing on the stoop was Robin and Eddie. He must have caught them having some kind of argument because Robin had her arm around Eddie’s neck and was in the process of hitting him in the stomach. They both froze as Steve opened the door and he fought back a sigh, taking in the two of them. Robin was wearing jean shorts, a nice summer blouse with a vest over top of it covered in buttons and a weird hat that was tilted sideways on her head. Eddie was decked in his usual attire of black jeans and a faded band t-shirt. Judas Priest, Steve could barely make out. They looked back at him, eyes wide and he hoped with his entire being that they wouldn’t comment on his appearance. He didn’t think he would survive the day if everyone looked at him like they had seen a ghost.

“Your hat looks funny.”

“It’s a beret, Steve.”

He blinked at her. “Your beret looks funny, Robs.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and released Eddie from her headlock.

“No Wayne?” Steve asked as they moved inside.

“He’ll be by in a bit. Wanted to drive himself so he didn’t have to wait for me and Robin.”

Steve nodded and they walked through the house to the back door. Johnathan, Nancy and Argyle had done a good job getting everything set up outside. Tables were lined up against the house, covered in the food that he and Joyce had spent the day cooking. A few umbrellas were scattered around with lawn chairs under them, offering a place to sit and hide from the sun and a stereo played music at a reasonable level.

Eleven came out of the back door in a light blue dress that ended just above her knees and had a white bow around the waist. It wasn’t what she usually wore, going for comfort and utility most days to keep up with the boys. Her hair was still short but she had curled it so it framed her face nicely and Steve could see a hint of makeup on her cheeks and lips. She was holding the pitcher of fruit punch, with Max just behind her holding the cups. She was wearing baggy shorts with a striped tank top. Her hair was long and wavy down her back and she had the same hint of makeup on as Eleven.

Everyone trickled in slowly over the next hour and the yard filled with the people who had been brought together by The Upside Down. There were a few awkward moments when he said hello and they took in his appearance for the first time, but they moved on quickly, probably noticing his discomfort. The gremlins fell on the food like ravenous little beasts, and conversations broke out in small groups. Hopper and Wayne were busy at the barbeque, talking about sports. Murray was with Joyce and Nancy, discussing his latest conspiracy theory. Eddie was trying (and failing) to convince Johnathan to change the music station. He was sitting with Robin under one of the umbrellas when Argyle came over.

“How are your feet, my dude?” he asked.

Robin quirked an eyebrow as a smile took over Steve’s face at the secret question.

“Still uncomfortable, but a little better every day.”

Argyle nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Better every day is the best we could hope for.”

“You should get new shoes if they bother you that much,” Robin said looking at his very normal sneakers.

He and Argyle traded a glance before they burst out laughing.

“You’re right, Robs,” Steve said, still smiling. “But they’re really not that bad.”

She pursed her lips at him but her eyes were soft. A large gust of wind blew through the backyard, causing laughter as paper plates were torn from unsuspecting hands, hair was whipped into faces and mouths, and hats were tossed off heads. Steve smiled, watching the pure chaos as everyone ran around trying to catch everything and put it back where it belonged.

“That came out of nowhere! There hasn’t been any wind all day,” Robin said with a bit of laughter in her voice as she went to find her hat.

Sorry. Her beret.

Every time she got close, the wind would pick it up again and move it just beyond her reach. Steve watched her struggle for a moment before he went to help. The wind was still tossing things around and it proved especially difficult to pin down. After a few minutes, they were breathless and laughing as it continued to escape them. Robin had her hands on her knees, taking a rest as Steve ran half bent over so he could scoop it off the ground.

It came to a rest at Eddie’s feet and Steve skidded to a halt, falling back on his ass in an attempt not to tackle the other man. He looked up from his position on the ground to see Eddie haloed in sunlight and beaming a dimpled smile down at him, holding out a hand to help him up.

Pretty, Steve thought and felt his cheeks warm. He shook his head quickly and grabbed Eddie’s hand, letting him haul him back to his feet. Once he was up, Eddie bent back down to grab Robin’s beret and Steve rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment. Hoping Eddie didn’t notice the redness in his cheeks.

“I can understand Robin having a hard time catching this, but not you,” Eddie said to him with a smirk. “That was painful to watch.”

“I heard that!” Robin said as she came up on Steve’s side, reaching out to grab her beret out of Eddie’s hand and angrily positioning it back on her head.

“That was crazy, it felt like the wind was out to get us.”

Eddie snorted and a targeted gust whipped his hair wildly into his face and he spluttered as a bunch of it went into his eyes and mouth. Steve and Robin laughed maniacally as he attempted to get it under control again.

“Told you!” Steve said, still chuckling.

Eddie squinted at them, holding all his hair in his hands. As suddenly as it came, the wind disappeared, creating a moment of stillness and silence. Johnathan, Nancy, and Argyle came over to chat about their trip back to the city and Steve settled back a little to listen. He could tell that they were all going to miss each other and that it had been a long time since they had all got together like this. Like a family.

He couldn’t help but wonder about the parallel universes out there – If they were all having a backyard good-bye party too – and if they were… how different it felt because he wasn’t there. Which brought his thoughts to the Eleven’s he had met and if they were just then telling everyone about him – passing on his message.

He couldn’t wait anymore. Robin was beside him and he gave her a little nudge and raised his eyebrow in question when she turned to look at him. She caught on to what he was asking and nodded excitedly.

“I had another Eleven visit,” he began, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Who told me about a very different universe from ours.” Conversations drifted off as they all came closer to listen.

“Most of the Eleven’s I’ve met have all been pretty similar, but this one – ” he trailed off, letting the suspense build. “Well, he showed up at Family Video when me and Robin were working.”

“He?” Hopper asked with surprise.

Steve and Robin nodded and everyone’s eyes widened.

“And he wasn’t the only one who was different. Their Robin is a boy named Rob and their Steve was a girl named Stephanie.”

“Wait… so, we were all – ?” Dustin started and then coughed. “Opposite genders?”

“Yup!” Robin replied with a pop.

Their minds were as blown as Steve was expecting. They all started talking at once, asking about their alternate selves and their names. He and Robin made them guess, just like Eleven had. Most were easy – Max, Mike and Erica figured theirs out right away. Some took longer than others and by the end there were only three names they couldn’t figure out – Dustin, Wayne, and Eddie, as predicted.

“There is no female equivalent to Dustin! It has to be an entirely different name,” Dustin reasoned.

“Almost every name we’ve figured out has followed the same pattern. There must be a girl’s name starting with a D that we haven’t tried yet,” Will replied firmly.

“Argyle was Gayle though,” Nancy said. “Maybe there isn’t a pattern.”

“Daisy!” Joyce suddenly guessed.

“My alternate mom, or dad I guess, better not have named me Daisy…” Dustin muttered.

“Winnie!” Murray suddenly called out from the side, pointing at Wayne.

“Correct!” Robin yelled like they were playing a game show.

“Oh, Aunt Winnie!” Eddie said and draped himself across Wayne in a dramatic fall as his uncle rolled his eyes.

They all continued to guess girls’ names that started with D and E, but they were quickly running out of ideas.

“Dus-tin, Dus-tin,” Erica was quietly repeating to herself. “Tin. Tina. Tina?”

“Yes!” Steve exclaimed with a smile, only a little surprised that she had managed to figure it out.

“Tina!?” Dustin spluttered.

Lucas nudged him in the shoulder playfully and Mike bellowed out a laugh.

“Shut it, Michelle.”

“You shut it, Tina!”

Steve immediately regretted giving the kids this ammunition to use against each other. He knew that Michelle, Tina, Willa, and Laura were going to be hurled around as insults for the foreseeable future. They all quickly turned back to trying to guess Eddie’s name, going through all the same options as Steve and Robin had tried a week ago.

Robin looked over at him and he nodded, they weren’t going to get it. Even though Gayle and Tina didn’t follow the letter pattern, those names still had some connection to the originals. Lucy Munson just had to be different, just like Eddie Munson, Steve thought.

“It’s Lucy!” Robin exclaimed.

“Lucy!?” Dustin repeated. “That doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“That’s what we said,” Robin and Steve said at the same time.

Eddie had gone eerily quiet beside them. Steve hoped he wasn’t self-conscious about the name, Steve thought it was pretty.

“Who doesn’t love Lucy?” Eddie said with a sudden grin.

“Better than Tina,” Dustin muttered and everyone laughed.

---

The whole day had been so good.

The sun had shone brightly and there was delicious food and laughter and Steve joined in like he would have before and it was… good. Easy. He felt like himself again. When he finally went to bed that night, it was with a lingering smile on his face.

But –

He really should have known better.

Part 16

@just-a-tiny-void @mx-jinxous @child-of-cthulhu @awholedamnmesstbh @phoenix0bird @bookworm0690 @estrellami-1 @a-gae-af-racoon @nailbatandfreak @novelnovella @meela86 @lenathegay @vampireinthesun @penny00dreadful @questionablequeeries @espressopatronum454 @r0binscript @seths-rogens @fruity-nerd @sani-86 @n0-1-important @swimmingbirdrunningrock @ellietheasexylibrarian @manda-panda-monium @paintsplatteredandimperfect @viridianphtalo @goodolefashionedloverboi @13catastrophic-blues @newtstabber @queenie-ofthe-void @tinytalkingtina @hbyrde36 @whole-moods

- So sorry for the delay on this one! -Bit of cliffhanger here, I hope the next chapter wont take me as long - I do have a good portion of it written up already and HOOO BOY. -As always, please tell me your thoughts and feelings! I love hearing from you all!

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #multiverse #angst with a happy ending #slow burn #the last steve harrington

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