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teamred · 6 months ago

Text

obvious

✩‌ merchant!qimir x acolyte!reader | fluff | angst | humor | 2.3k

SUMMARY | during an evening of drinking with qimir, he strangely asks if you've ever thought about dating your master.

WARNINGS | kissing, drinking, implications of a spicy time post-story

RATING | teen+

NOTES | again this is probably outside of canon but all i can say is ilq (i love qimir)

///

In the lower level of Qimir’s newest target of a store invasion, several drunken bottles of alcohol and used shot glasses clutter the front counter. You sit across from him on a high stool, as if you were a customer to his bartending.

Which wasn’t quite far off, since he was the one who poured and bought everything for you tonight. Qimir had called for a celebration; you had successfully raided a small village nearby, seizing all valuable goods and leaving no witnesses behind. You did it for yourself, but also for your anonymous master–the same one Qimir serves.

While you are your master’s dedicated pupil, Qimir’s tasked with being your resourceful guide. He follows you across the galaxy, always having anything you need at your disposal and knowing where to go, who to find, and how to concoct everything from anything.

Sure, he may be clumsy and occasionally overly inquisitive, but you’ve grown to like him.

So much that you're retelling the time when a female Gungan tried to fight you in a cantina on Tatooine.

“And so, it turned out they thought I was the one who stole her ex-boyfriend, but it was the human at the table next to mine!”

Qimir breaks into a smile and nearly spits out the lomin ale in his mouth. After a fit of coughing and swallowing his drink, he shakes his head fondly. He seems truly amused and fully relaxed, though perhaps mostly due to the alcohol.

A few beats pass. It's a comfortable silence at first.

But then he starts playing with the stem of his bottle, and the air slowly begins to shift. It shifts entirely when he asks the next question–

“Why aren't you like this around him?”

Him referring to your shared master.

The mixture of spicebrew, lomin ale, Corellian wine, and whatever else you had has lowered your filter completely. You answer frankly, folding out your fingers to list the reasons.

“Firstly, he needs to get me drunk. Secondly, he’s not you, Qimir. And third, disregarding everything I just said: how do you know I'm not?”

“Am I wrong?” he presses, his eyes fixed on you as he raises an eyebrow and takes another swig of his drink.

“I mean, if he eventually shows his face to me, maybe I could. But until then…”

Nonchalantly, you lift a shoulder and down the rest of what’s in your cup. After finishing, you lean back onto the counter, resting your chin in your upturned palm, and wait for him to fill your cup again.

And so he does, but Qimir becomes uncharacteristically pensive. Eyes focused on serving you, rather than on you. After pouring your drink, his playfulness with the bottle turns into a tight-fisted grip. Maybe drunk Qimir was more somber. Quiet.

“Maybe…” His voice drops to a lower, deeper register than you’re used to, his eyes avoiding yours as his mouth tightens. An index finger rhythmically taps against his bottle, like a dooming countdown. “Maybe he’s not sure if you’re loyal enough to see his face.”

The sudden slamming of your cup against the counter breaks his demeanor, and he’s back to being his usual, easily-startled self.

“Well, that frustrates the shit out of me because I respect him!” you cry, almost yelling at him.

Qimir’s gaze sharpens, giving you his entire attention, and you stare back resolutely. Readying yourself, as if confiding in him might reach your master’s ears, wherever he may be. Hell, he probably was listening with a device somewhere on Qimir, on you, or within the store.

“I obey him. I've killed for him. I’d do anything for him,” your voice slightly wavers, but you push on. “I am literally devoted to him with every breath in my body.”

There’s a sting in your eyes, but you refuse to let yourself show weakness, even if it’s just Qimir in front of you. Bringing the cup to your mouth, you let the burn scald your throat, drowning any trace of sadness or frustration.

You chug for some time. After a while, Qimir lifts a hand, but you abruptly stop drinking and interject with a tired chuckle and small smile; he awkwardly drops his hand.

The serious moment passes swiftly with a twinkle in your eye. You silently thank the alcohol for that.

“Although, maybe that's half a lie.”

In the corner of your vision, you catch the intrigued quirk in Qimir’s eyebrow, along with a flicker of anger. Barely noticeable, but it’s there, and you wonder why he would be angry.

You waggle a finger. “Keep this between us, but”—you lean in closer and drop your voice to a whisper—“I'm probably more devoted to you than to him.”

You exchange a glance, and the expression on his face shifts from seriousness to amusement, the flicker of anger completely dissipated. He mirrors your earlier stance, resting his chin in his palm.

“That's only because I help you all the time,” he says, granting you a soft smile that reaches his eyes.

This is a rare moment from Qimir, so you try your best to commit it to memory. Remembering his warm glow, the crinkles around his eyes, and how close he is to you. So close that the hint of the alcohol in his breath brushes your face, but it’s not as strong as you thought it would be.

“Well, there's that…” you admit, nodding, and you break eye contact as you say–

“But you're also my friend, Qimir.”

You barely breathe the last few words out in a whisper, almost as if you were ashamed to say it. But you aren’t–worry merely runs rampant as you fear rejection or something of a similar shade, despite it being just a platonic confession.

“I am?”

His reaction causes you to peer back at him. He draws his head back with a tilt, and you’ve never seen him so puzzled before. There’s a brief pause as he gives it some thought, his eyebrows furrowing in contemplation.

Then, he nods his head and his lips curl into a crooked, almost cocky, grin.

“Huh. I guess I am.”

You clutch your chest in jest and muster your best puppy-eyed frown. “Ouch, if I knew this relationship was that one-sided, I would’ve asked him for another one of his followers to replace you.”

The glimmer in his eyes reads as good-natured, but the blatant flexing of his grip against the edge of the counter says otherwise.

“You wouldn't.”

You push back, jutting out your chin and getting close to him again with a flash of a smirk.

“Oh, I absolutely would.”

You stare at each other, holding your ground.

But then he breaks the little game when he slightly drags his lower lip between his teeth, followed by a fleeting glance towards your mouth.

Your breathing hitches.

In an instant, the moment shatters when Qimir clears his throat and pulls back.

“Do you…” Qimir begins hesitantly, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing a random spot on the counter. He inhales deeply, almost as if he’s steeling himself, then continues, “Have you ever thought you and him could be, like, something more?”

“You mean…” You squint, searching for the right words. “...have I ever thought about dating my master?”

“Mm-hmm.”

You raise an eyebrow and stare blankly at him.

“You've met him, right? We’re talking about the same guy?”

Before he answers, he sips again from his bottle. You become entranced by Qimir’s Adam’s apple as it bobs with each glug. Maybe these thoughts were being filtered through beer goggles, but if Qimir wanted to know about your current ranked dating choices, he'd probably be at the top of your list.

A soft pop sounds as his lips detach from it. The word kissable flashes through your mind.

“I mean, I know he's not really the talkative type but–”

“But what if he's butt-ass ugly?” you blurt out in a screech, pressing your hands into your cheeks in your drunken state.

“He is not butt-ass ugly,” Qimir cuts in, more defensively than you expect.

You drop your hands and chortle loudly, so much that it echoes throughout the store. In disbelief, you grin ear to ear.

“I thought you said you haven't seen him before!” you say, holding out an arm.

“I—I didn't. Haven't! I haven’t,” he stammers, raising a hand and shaking his head. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “But why must you assume he's ugly?”

You groan, shaking closed fists and tapping them to your forehead. “Why else wouldn’t he take off that stupid mask?”

You glance up, seeing Qimir’s nostrils flare as he opens his mouth, but you quickly cut him off.

“And why would I like him that way anyway? All he does is just bark orders and share wise, yet oddly cryptic, phrases.”

“Hey, so do I,” Qimir retorts, flicking the tip of your nose with his finger. The force he uses makes your nose sting a bit, but you’re sure he didn’t mean to flick you that roughly. In response, you ruffle your nose petulantly.

You could definitely get used to being like this with Qimir more often.

“Yeah, but you’re not as cryptic,” you point out, “and he’d be lucky if he was half as handsome as you, Qimir.”

You lightly touch his arm, expecting him to bask in your compliment, but he catches you off guard with a chuckle instead.

“Why are you laughing at my compliment?” you ask, somewhat hurt.

“I'm just enjoying your company, my”—he hesitates for a second, as if catching himself from saying something else, before meeting your gaze—“my friend.”

The way he says friend hangs in the air, carrying an unspoken weight. He shakes his head, as if brushing off a thought, and laughs awkwardly. “I’ve gotta get used to that.”

Surprisingly, he continues to dwell on the subject of you and your master. “I mean, if you really think about it, the guy's probably lonely. Probably also likes you a lot more than he lets on and–”

“Okay, stop.” You hold both hands out. “Why are you trying to set me up with him?” You gasp, “Oh, my god–is he your brother?”

“Wow, time flies by so fast!” Qimir exclaims dramatically, quickly getting up from his stool and practically tripping on his own feet. “It’s getting late, and I’m gonna head to bed. Good night!”

In the blink of an eye, he’s already darting upstairs to his temporary bedroom.

“Qimir, answer me!” you call out. “Is he a distant cousin? You must’ve seen him before if he’s related to you.”

“Good night, my friend!” he hollers back.

“Qimir, get back here!”

“Sweet dreams! And drink some water before you go to bed!”

Even in moments like these, Qimir still manages to have the final say, his words always laced with the utmost care for you.

///

A few hours go by, the moonlight shining strongly in the night sky. In the comfort of your makeshift bed nestled in one of the corners of the store, you toss and turn aimlessly. Your mind replays everything with Qimir from the last few hours.

And then realization hits you like a sack of duracrete bricks.

You bolt upright up from the bed and switch between muffling a scream in your pillow and smacking it against your face.

How could you have been so blind to how obvious it all was?

Throwing aside your covers, you carefully and quietly tiptoe upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, with the help of a few burning candles nearby, you peek at the sight of Qimir snoring softly on his side, arms flopped in different directions; it warms your heart.

You approach and take a seat on the empty side of his bed, summoning courage to gently trace the contours of his face, following the sharp lines of his jaw. He stirs awake moments later, turning to face you directly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Qimir mumbles groggily. He rubs his eyes. “Everything all right?”

“Qimir, can you pass a message onto my master?” you ask urgently.

“Right now?” he groans in annoyance, sitting up. “Can't it wait until morning?”

“No, I'm sure you can pass it on now. It’s a pretty simple message.”

You lean in. It’s a quick kiss as your hand rests on his arm. It has to be quick, or else you might change your mind.

Plush lips press against yours. It’s still and tense for a beat, and then he replies with a slight kiss back. He’s the one who breaks away first, but he leans his forehead against yours.

“Uh, I… You want me to kiss him?” he asks in confusion.

You slide your hands to the nape of his neck.

“If you mean kissing yourself, then yes, Master.”

Like flipping a switch, Qimir’s demeanor transforms into something entirely else. His presence intensifies, exuding confidence and strength you’re unused to. His eyes darken, locking onto yours with a gaze that can penetrate your soul.

His rich, deep voice returns from before, now tinged with authority.

“Took you long enough, my acolyte.”

This Qimir—your master—moves swiftly with urgency. His grip on your body is firm, almost possessive. His kisses are passionate, his tongue exploring your mouth with fervor.

“Told you I'm not ‘butt-ass ugly,’” he mumbles, almost growling, between kisses. You giggle, but your giggle quickly turns into a moan as he presses his body firmly into yours.

“And my mask isn’t stupid. I'll have you know it saved me so many–”

You silence your master with another kiss, focusing on the present and pushing aside debates that could be saved for later.

For now, all you want is to remain in the comfort of his bed, letting the night truly begin, marking the beginning of what your master and you have unknowingly long awaited for.

#qimir x reader #qimir x you #qimir fluff #qimir fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars fluff #star wars x you #star wars fanfiction

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amongemeraldclouds · 9 months ago

Text

not being romantic

Jess Mariano may be cute, possibly charming, but he is most definitely annoying. He certainly can’t hold a candle to your secret pen pal who’s smart, loves books, and aspires to be an author. Or can he?

Jess Mariano x f!Reader

Warning: no use of y/n, mostly fluff, some angst, cursing, suggestiveness. This fic is set after he left Stars Hollow.

✿ Masterlist | 3.3k words

The cafe buzzed with the rush of customers lined up for their afternoon caffeine fix. Coffee machines droned on churning coffee as sunlight streamed through the windows and the smell of baked goods wafted through the air.

You smirked at Jess Mariano before you called the customer to hand them their drink. You proceeded to add another point to your scoreboard, waving your arm for emphasis. He rolled his eyes at your dramatics and hurried up, adding whipped cream to the drink he was preparing.

Everything was always a game with him. Who could get the highest amount of tips? Who could guess the new customer's coffee order? Who could make the most convincing foreign accent?

Today’s game was: who could make the fastest coffee order?

“You’ve gotten better,” he observed as you grabbed a cup for the next customer. “Aren’t you glad to have had an incredible instructor like me?”

You scoffed, “more like an incredible loser if you don’t hurry up with that order. Just because you taught me, doesn’t mean I’d go easy on you, Mariano,” you taunt, narrowing your eyes for emphasis.

He shook his head with a smile, “I expected nothing less from you.” He made his way to the other end of the counter to call the customer and handed them their drink.

Another busy shift flew by and before you knew it, it was time to close down the cafe.

You grabbed the scoreboard, beaming with pride. “I won! You can now call me the Queen of Speed, Barista Extraordinaire. Bow down before your queen.”

Jess looked up from where he was wiping the counter with a flat expression. “I’ll call you the Queen of Clean if you help me with these last few tables?”

You frowned at him and stuck your tongue out, of course he had a whole arsenal of retorts with him at any given moment. You grabbed the towel and disinfectant spray from behind the counter and moved to wipe down the tables. “You’re no fun, but I’ll let it slide since you now owe me a favor.”

“As long as I don’t have to help you dispose of a body then it’s fine,” he replied, eyebrow raised.

You rolled your eyes, “if I ever need to dispose a body, it would probably be yours.”

“Are you confessing to something you’ll commit? I don’t think that’s very wise.”

“I’m not planning anything,” you sighed, pinching your nose. The conversation was getting more and more off topic by the second. “You, however, will be the dea*h of me.”

“I’ll add you to the waitlist,” he nodded as he set aside the towel and grabbed the key, ready to close for the evening. Of course that wasn't the first time that line was directed at him.

“You’re just trying to avoid what you owe me. Stop deflecting, Mariano,” you accused, heading towards him to return the cleaning materials. “I need your help with my toaster, it stopped working and I can’t afford to get it fixed or replaced. Can you help me with that?”

“Of course, anything for the Queen of Speed,” he replied.

“You forgot Barista Extraordinaire,” you added helpfully.

Jess just shook his head as if to say, I can’t win with you. He fought the smile that threatened to break across his features. Perhaps you too had your own arsenal of comebacks.

With the final turn of the key, the door swung in and you and Jess headed into your tiny apartment. It was a studio that’s three steps away from the kitchen, five steps away from the bathroom, and ten steps away from the bed. You liked to keep it simple, minimalistic. It definitely had nothing to do with the cheap rent.

“Welcome to my apartment. It’s not much but it’s home,” you said, gesturing around the place.

“It’s cozy and it’s very you,” he remarked.

You folded your arms and stared at him, “I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Let me see. Second hand furniture, potted plants around the area, and the artwork looks similar to your napkin doodles. Don’t think I didn’t notice them. It’s a mosaic of different things, but you managed to tie it all together and make it work. It’s just like you to make good out of a potentially bad situation,” he observed.

“Slow down there or you’ll end up hosting shows about house tours,” you teased. “And hey, I’ll take the compliment. Who knew Jess Mariano could be nice?”

He shrugged, “I just call it like I see it.”

You took the three steps necessary to reach the kitchen. “Here’s the troublemaker, by the way. Not you, well, aside from you,” you amended and pointed to the toaster. “Not sure what’s wrong, it just stopped working.”

He approached you and it struck you just how small the kitchen was, certainly not big enough for two. When you turned to speak to him, all the words left your mind as you realized you’re only inches away from him. Heat crept up your cheeks and you blinked.

Jess smirked at your reaction, keenly aware of the effect he had to you. That cocky bastard. He leaned in a bit closer and your breath hitched. “You know, if you just wanted me over at your place, there’s a lot of other fun things I can help you with.” You scrunched your nose and took a step back, immediately transported to the area you considered your bedroom. “If that’s your way of confessing your feelings for me, it’s not very romantic at all. Thought you’d have more game than that, Mariano,” you hedged.

“Oh, that’s because I’m not trying to be romantic. If I were trying....” he said, taking a step forward, closing the distance you tried to place between you. He brushed the hair away from your cheek, the touch so unexpectedly tender coming from Jess. You took in how soft his lips looked up close.

When he touched the side of your face, your attention returned to his soulful eyes. “...I’d do something like this,” he concluded, his breath against your lips like the ghost of a kiss. That’s all it took for him to steal the breath from your lungs.

You’re disoriented when cool air greets you again as he took a step back and the only trace left is the fading warmth from where his hand caressed your cheek. “But like I said, I’m not trying to be romantic,” he shrugged.

You cleared your throat, brushing off the lingering heat of the interaction. You ignored the pang of disappointment that hit you. Besides, someone else already had your heart, this was nothing but a silly little crush. “Well can you please try to fix my toaster?” you asked, trying to stay on topic as always.

“Sure, I have tools at home. I can take it with me and bring it back when I’m done.”

You nodded, “okay thank you. Let me just grab a bag you can carry it in.”

He scanned the room while you opened the cabinet to grab a reusable bag.

“Why do you have lots of mail?” He asked, thumbing through the pile of opened envelopes on your kitchen counter.

You mulled over the question, unsure how much you wanted to share with Jess Mariano and risk a round of his teasing. Then again, you could handle Jess. “Well, there’s this guy I really like. We send each other letters. If you really want to know what romantic is, Mariano, it’s hand written letters. No one bothers to write them anymore. There’s something sweet and sincere about it.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“I’m not really sure. I got his first letter from the bookstore I frequent, the employee handed it to me and I asked him to hand back my reply. We just kept going from there, I think the mystery just adds to the romance.”

Jess shot you a worried look. “You mean to say, you’re corresponding with a complete stranger? For all you know he’s hiding his identity because he’s a stalker or a serial killer.”

“Please, he is not. He is smart, funny, and he’s writing a book. I just don’t feel like he’s that type of person.”

“You’re going off this based on your feelings? I don’t think that’s wise or safe.”

“Jess, it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about,” you replied, having had enough of him for the day. After handing him the bag with the broken toaster, you shoved him towards the door and out from your apartment, wishing him a good night.

“That was quick,” you said as you headed out of the cafe and walked towards Jess’ apartment to retrieve your now functional toaster.

Jess shrugged, “it was no big deal, just had a few loose screws to reattach. Speaking of loose screws, how about that imaginary boyfriend of yours? Finally decide to reveal himself?”

You sighed, Jess had been on your case the whole week since you told him about your mysterious crush. Needless to say, you regretted telling him about it. “No, but he hasn’t written to me recently,” you pondered. “He must be busy writing his book.”

“Or planning your untimely demise,” he retorts.

“Jess, I swear,” you grit your teeth, “I’ll be planning your untimely demise if you don’t drop it. Why do you care so much? Are you jealous? Is that what this is about?”

“Well I’m trying to look out for a coworker, why does this have to be about me? But hey, I’ll drop it,” he relented. “Besides, I won today so you owe me a favor.”

You groaned, but don’t say anything further. He won fair and square, you were ready to accept your fate.

Jess continued, “My uncle sent some food last night and I have a lot more than I can finish myself. Help me with that before you leave with your toaster?”

“Jess Mariano,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “are you asking me out for dinner?”

“No,” he quickly said and then caught himself. “We’re not going out, we’re dining in. Besides if I were being romantic, I might bring you flowers, pick you up, take you somewhere nice. So this,” he said, pointing between him and you, “is not me being romantic.”

“And there goes Mr. Defensive,” you smirked. Of course he was not being romantic, not to you. He had a hundred and one ways to tease and annoy you but never to charm you. Still, you couldn’t help the way it killed you just a little inside.

“I swear if you tell me this is where the magic happens, I will smack your head,” you deadpan as Jess opened the door to his apartment.

“Why does that turn me on?” He teased. Your face twisted in confusion and disgust and Jess laughed triumphantly, having drawn out a reaction from you. You had no idea you were adorable, he thought.

“Just welcome to my home then,” he said.

You stepped in, admiring his cozy space. You imagined a messy home with leftover containers and soda cans strewn about reeking of old laundry and faded furniture. You had little to no expectations at all.

Instead what greeted you was a small space, similar to yours. The bed was made, blanket tucked in neat corners and the furniture, while undoubtedly secondhand, was well maintained. If anything, the mismatched pillows against the pale blue sofa and the sanded down wooden table gave it personality. It smelled like subtle household cleaners and carried the scent that is so distinctly Jess, a mixture of soap and sweat, plus a hint of cologne he would never admit to wearing.

“It’s very you,” you remarked, “and I don’t mean that as a bad thing.”

He shrugged, handing you your toaster, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Thanks again for the toaster. Now there’s only one troublemaker here in this room,” you quipped as you move towards his kitchen to help him set the dinner table.

“That’s definitely you,” he replied, handing you the plates and utensils while he moved to heat up the food from the fridge. “Hand me the glasses over there?” He asked, pointing to the drawers on the opposite end.

You nodded, setting down the plates on the table and headed towards the drawer. “Well, I’ll let it slide just this time because you’re feeding me and I can’t say no to free food. Thank you Jess,” you said, a small hint of affection blooming in your chest.

You opened the first drawer and found only papers. You were about to close it to check the next drawer when the familiar edge of stationery caught your eye. It was exactly the type of paper you smiled at for hours on end, trying to memorize each word. Curiosity got the better of you and you lifted a half written letter to your eyes. A half written letter addressed to you.

A storm of emotions struck you then: confusion, hurt, and anger. All this time. The boy who weaseled his way into your heart, who called you cute in his first letter and wanted to get to know you. Who charmed you into the romantic idea of secret identities like spies undercover. Who shared your love for books and had the best recommendations that made you feel seen like no one ever has. Who spoke about his love for writing with a passion that inspired you.

All this time it was Jess Mariano.

All this time it was a lie.

Just another one of his games.

“What about those gla—” he stopped mid-sentence when he turned back and saw you reading his letter.

“Fuck,” he exhaled softly as heat crept into his cheeks.

You looked at him, fire burning in your eyes. “Is that all you have to say, Mr. Fantastic Writer?” You huffed, trying to quell the tears that threatened to choke you.

Jess opened his mouth and closed it, wanting to say a million words and failing. You watched the war raging in his head.

“Well then indeed, fuck!” You exclaimed in frustration. “And fuck you too. I know you love your games Jess, but you can’t just go around playing with other people’s feelings.”

You retreat and grabbed your things, shaking your head. “God, I feel like such a fool.”

You threw the door behind you and was a few steps away when you realized you left your toaster. Shame and betrayal marched with you as you opened his door again and found him still frozen where you left him.

“I’m just here for my toaster, which I actually need. Unlike you, I don’t need anything from you, Jess. I’ve read and heard enough,” you said, your voice wavered at the end and tears spilled down your cheeks.

You turned away from embarrassment, toaster in hand, and ran the rest of the way home. He didn’t deserve to hear your sobbing. He didn’t even deserve any of your tears. He was just a stupid boy that your stupid heart fell for. No big deal.

The next week passed in a blur. Unable to switch shifts with anyone else, you called in sick at the cafe and lived life between your university, the library, and your apartment. Never mind that you needed the pay, you could drown in instant noodles for all you cared. It didn’t matter anyway. A broken heart never cared for a full stomach.

That Friday, you were about to call it a night when the doorbell rang. The was odd, you thought, you weren’t expecting anyone.

“You’ve got the wrong—” you stopped mid-sentence when you saw the last person you ever wanted to see, Jess Mariano holding a bouquet of flowers and books. If it were any other day, it might have sent butterflies to your stomach. Now all it did was fan the flames of your anger because it was much easier to be angry than hurt.

You slammed the door close but Jess stopped it with his outstretched arm. “Are you trying to get yourself injured?” You accused and you hated it, how much you still cared.

“Please, I just need to talk,” he said, pain and sincerity etched in his handsome face.

You sighed and let him in, not wanting to cause a scene at the hallway. “You have five minutes,” you held up your hand for emphasis.

“Fine, five minutes,” he breathed, steeling himself. "Here’s a story for you: I met this girl working at a cafe. She’s smart and quick witted, she never runs out of comebacks. Her smile makes my day and I needed to see more of it so I came up with these games. And damn it, I looked forward to going to work every day because of her.

There was a nagging at the back of my mind to get to know her better. I wanted her to get to know me too, but I have a track record of screwing things up so I sent a letter. Just one couldn’t hurt, right?

Clearly, I underestimated her. One letter was never going to be enough. I loved hearing about her dreams, her stories, the inside jokes we created along the way. Without meaning to, I fell for her. I fell for you. It was never a game for me, all of it was real. Is still real.

When I heard you liked your secret pen pal too, I didn’t know if I should reveal myself or just disappear, let you forget me. Of course, I screwed things up again. I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you but clearly I have. Would you give me a second chance? I’m not good at this but I want to try."

He’s breathless by the time he ends his speech and you take a moment as the words settled in. No wonder he discouraged your interest in your secret pen pal, which also turned out to be him.

You sighed, “you really screwed it up.” Your heart broke all over again only to come back whole together because he did like you. All those silly gestures he brushed off really did mean something. And the boy you loved through letters and your cafe crush turned out to be the same person.

You pondered his question. The way he went about it was all wrong, but a second chance might be worth a shot. “Fine, we can start over, but you’ll have to make it up to me. You owe me unlimited favors.”

“I'll fix all the toasters you need,” he said, presenting you with the bouquet of flowers and books.

“Oh you’ll have to do more than that. I have a broken bulb on the ceiling, the heater needs fixing, and the microwave will definitely break tomorrow,” you taunted him, accepting his bouquet nevertheless.

He just smiled, “I have a lot to make up for, but I’ll do it for you.” He moved closer to you, bringing the bouquet to rest on the kitchen counter, so he can wrap his arms around you. “You’re worth it,” he whispered in your ear and you hugged him back, fighting off the delicious chill that ran through your back from his words. Being in his arms felt so right.

“You like me,” you sing, teasing him like a child and you enjoy the way his chest rumbles against you as he laughs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Besides, you like me back.”

You removed yourself from his hug, already missing his warm embrace. “I never said I liked you,” you teased.

Mock hurt danced across his features, “what’s not to like?”

You laughed at his arrogance, the need to touch him overwhelming everything else. “Fine,” you relented, “we can call it even.”

You closed the distance this time, “just to be clear, this is you being romantic?”

He smirked, wrapping his arms around your waist again. “Yes, this is me being romantic and I will show you so much more,” he said, bringing his lips to yours with a thousand unsaid promises you were about to discover.

✿ Masterlist

Author's note:

✿ When I came across a Jess Mariano fic, I just knew I had to write one too. Jess and his sarcastic ass in a (sort of) rivals to lovers trope, heck yes. ✿ Thanks to my lovely wife @pizzaapeteer for encouraging me to write this all those weeks ago ♡ ✿ Published this fic from a cafe, very on brand for the story.

#jess mariano #jess mariano x you #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano fluff #jess mariano imagine #gilmore girls #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

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The Man 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You think you remember. Or at least you’ve convinced yourself that you do.

You go through the painstaking steps as the dark presence looms across the counter. The man walks along, just on the other side of the machines as you steam the milk. Toffee nut, yes, you’re pretty sure that was it.

You put it all together, step by step, hands shaking. Your lips move as you talk yourself through your work silently. You can do this. You still feel how the man scratched you through your shirt when he grabbed you, your skin fiery.

You give one last look to the foam and send a prayer up to whatever deity will hear it. You slowly move to the till and place the cup down. You wet your lips and clear your throat.

“Almond, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” you declare, voice quavering as you stare at the bristle across the man’s upper lip. “Mr. Hansen.”

He clucks and leans on the counter, hooking one foot behind the other. He wraps his hand around the cup and slides it closer to himself. He stares down into as you fidget. You glance around at the baked goods.

“And a cinnamon bun?” You suggest but before you can carry through on the offer, a splash of liquid washes over you, hot despite the layer of steamed milk.

“Oat milk,” he crushes the empty cup in his large hand and throws it at your face. You sputter and blink as the foam drips down your cheeks.

“Sorry, sir, I’ll make it again.”

“Fucking right, you will, sweet lips,” he growls and stands straight, crossing his arms.

You pull the bottom of your apron up and wipe your face. You bend to pick up the empty cup and turn away. Your eyes sting and you wiggle your tingling nose. It’s fine. You can do this.

Oat, half blond, half regular, toffee nut, cinnamon on top. The smell of espresso and syrup clings to you as you make the death march back to the till. You set the cup down without a word.

Mr. Hansen, Lloyd, the boss, whatever he is, considers you as he lifts the drink and examines the careful leafy art in the foam. He turns it and inhales the scent, some of the foam catching in his mustache. He takes a breath as if about to dive into water and has a taste. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he pulls the cup away from his mouth. He hums. Does he like it?

Splash.

Another searing dousing and you stand there with a gasp, shaking off the dredge of his displeasure.

“Mr. Hansen, I--”

“First thing’s first. Shut the fuck up. You talk too much,” he tosses the cup. Bonk, right off your forehead. “Second, I changed my mind. Get me a mocha. Extra whip.”

You nod and keep your head down. You pick up the cup and stand, nearly slipping in the puddle around your feet. You dispose of the empty cup and go to the coffee machine. You begin your new task, hands clumsy and trembling. You add the whipped cream and return to the till. You put the cup down and grab onto the counter to keep from sliding through the liquid at your soles.

He lifts it and you wince, bracing for another deluge. He repeats the same deliberate examination. You swallow tightly as he samples your work. This time he doesn’t make a noise. As he lowers the cup, you flinch and take a step back.

He cackles, “relax, cupcake.”

You stare at him grimly. You flick your lashes and blow out your nerves. You hide your shaking hands behind you.

“Now you know who the fuck I am,” he says, “clean yourself up and get back to work.”

He grabs a package of the cookies along the small shelf beside the till then turns on his heel and struts to the door. You watch after him, damp and dripping. As the door opens and closes, you turn to face the mess. You sigh and go to grab the mop; you can clean the floor but you can’t do much for yourself.

You work at soaking up the excess then spray cleaner on the floor and wipe with paper towel to prevent it from getting sticky. As you work at sopping up the errant droplets from the counter, the door behind you swings open. You glance over your shoulder as Bre sweeps through.

“Alright, your turn--” She stops short as you face her. “What happened?” Her face slackens with dread and shock, “what did you do?”

“It was Mr. Jansen—Hansen,” you correct yourself, “he came by and--”

“I told you not to talk to him,” she hisses.

“I... I didn’t have a choice. He wanted a drink and--”

“Fuck. Fuck! What did he say? What did he do?” She snaps.

You recoil at her accusatory tone, “he... he threw coffee in my face? He took some cookies? I don’t know? He just... said now I know who he is. I didn’t really understand--”

“You don’t. You don’t understand. You don’t get it.”

You frown and cross your arms, “I’m sorry, Bre, I did my best--”

“Not good enough. You think it’s all fun and games. It’s not. That man is dangerous. Not just here, everywhere,” she shakes her head, “you’ll see. Out there, on your own. Give me your apron.”

“What?” You murmur.

“Get out. I’ll call Maurice and let him know it didn’t work out.”

“What? No, you can’t--”

“I am. Give me your apron. Now.”

You pout and sniffle. You reach back behind you and unlace the apron and lift it over your head. You hold it out to her, “it’s wet--”

“Just go.”

You hang your head and turn away. Your eyes begin to stream before you even get through the door. You grab your stuff from the backroom and give one last look around. You got fired. What are you going to do?

You fold your jacket over your arm and sling your bag from your shoulder. You let yourself out into the alley and head down to the street. You stop at the end and cover your face, sniveling behind your hands as you lean on the brick. You don’t want to go back home. You only just got there.

“Whatsa matter, sweet lips?” The low drawl is followed by a loud slurp, “bad day?”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #the man #au #drabble #mob au #series

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muzacopack · 5 months ago

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Exploring the Leading Products Packaging Company in Dubai

In the bustling city of Dubai, where commerce thrives and innovation is at its peak, finding the right products packaging company in Dubai is crucial for businesses aiming to make a lasting impression. Whether you're launching a new product or rebranding an existing one, the packaging you choose can significantly impact your brand's success. In this blog, we will delve into the importance of quality packaging and highlight why selecting a top-tier products packaging company in Dubai is essential for your business.

See more- https://muzaco-pack.blogspot.com/2024/07/exploring-leading-products-packaging.html

#custom ribbon printing #custom disposable coffee cups #printed paper napkins #printed sandwich wrapping paper #food packaging services #products packaging company in dubai #customized printed carry bags

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packagingbypolymer · 7 months ago

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Compostable Coffee Cup From Packaging By Polymer

Our Double-Wall Coffee Cups are made from recyclable and compostable paper with a lining of PLA. The Cups are used for hot drinks and prevent hands from burning. These Cups are perfect for coffees, hot chocolates and much more. The double lining makes them leak-proof and can be used in conjunction with our disposable Plastic Lid. Visit our website: www.polymeruk.com and Browse your preferred size of coffee cups.

#Double-Wall Coffee Cups #Printed Coffee Cups #Custom Design Coffee Cups #Hot Cups And Lids #Branded Disposable Cups

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anirudhagroindustries · 10 months ago

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#Eco Friendly Products #disposable drinking straws #paper straws in bulk #ripple paper cup #Customized Paper Cup #Disposable Paper Cup #wooden cutlery

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autistpride · 8 months ago

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Autism Acceptance

Prompt 11: Coffee shop AU

Wordcount: 1000

@wolfstarmicrofic

Remus had trouble finding work. He put in applications everywhere, for any position, because he was desperate. Despite passing all his courses and gaining the required GCSE’s, he bombed his interviews. So he had told his parents that he would take a gap year instead and get some work experience. Only no one called him for an interview and the few that had, turned him away within minutes.

After nearly two months, Remus finally came clean to his parents about his lack of employment. His mum had to hold his dad back from giving a few of the places he applied a piece of his mind. Never one to allow Remus to give up, Lyall decided he would open up his own coffee shop and hire Remus as an employee.

Everything moved quickly and soon The Full Moon Cafe opened its doors. A small quaint little hole in the wall shop that mixed coffee, library, and children’s playground together. One corner of the shop held a little indoor climbing structure, slide, and foam floors for children. The other two walls were covered floor to ceiling in books that people donated. The last wall housed the single unisex toilet and the tiny kitchenette space. It also had the counter and display case that showed off the day’s delicious baked goods that his mum made fresh every morning.

It took Remus some time to get used to the position and how to make all the different drinks, but everyone was patient with him. By the time his gap year was over, Remus was a pro and asked to stay on instead of trying for university again. He had learned all the regulars names, memorised their orders, and even went so far as to have them ready for when they walked in. Remus hadn’t encountered a rude customer or a confusing order once, that could also have to do with the fact that it was a fairly small town and everyone knew everyone. No one came into the cafe that didn’t know Remus was autistic, at least not until Sirius Black.

The bell dinged over the cafe door and the prettiest guy Remus had ever seen walked in one after the other. Remus had never seen anyone like them before. They were total opposites yet so oddly the same.

“I’ll have an iced Ristretto, ten shot, venti with breve. five pumps vanilla, seven pumps caramel, and four Splenda poured not shaken, but placed into a trenta cup so it doesn’t splash out the top.”

The look on Remus’ face must have betrayed him because the man looked at Remus and immediately changed his order. “On second thought, I’ll just have a tea.”

Remus nodded and rang the man up, asking for his name.

“Sirius. Yes I am serious. Sirius, like the star,” the man said while pulling his hair back into a scrunchie he apparently kept in his pocket.

Remus wrote the name on the cup and poured the hot water into it, placing the loose leaf tea into a disposable tea bag and setting it into the cup to steep before handing it to Sirius, the star.

Sirius nodded his thanks and set up at a small table near the entrance.

For the following four days later Sirius came back, once again ordering a tea and nothing more. Remus didn’t work weekends, instead his friend James took those shifts. James played football with the local club and attended courses at university during the week, so he took all the weekend shifts.

Remus couldn’t get Sirius out of his head all weekend and when he showed up for work on Monday, Sirius was there right at opening.

Another week went by and Remus and Sirius had started to talk more, just general pleasantries and small talk. Sirius never ordered anything more than tea and sometimes a pastry. Remus knew he could make complicated orders and he knew Sirius knew after two weeks sitting in the cafe and listening to some of the complex requests from customers that came in, but Sirius never asked for his original order again.

That third week, Remus had Sirius’ tea ready by the time he walked in every morning, not unlike the other regulars. Yet what Remus never said was that Remus practised at night after the shop closed up. He was determined to get Sirius’ original order right. It took him another week to manage it, and when he did he cheered and danced around the shop.

Monday of the fourth week, Remus handed Sirius his order when he showed up. Sirius looked at the cup confused.

“Remus this isn’t a tea” he said with his brows furrowed and his nose scrunched up.

Remus shook his head no with a grin, “no its not.”

Sirius took a tentative sip of the drink and his eyes widened in surprise, stormy grey meeting golden.

“You made my order.”

Remus nodded, proud of himself.

Sirius took another drink and moaned as if he was drinking the best thing he had ever tasted.

The noise was absolutely obscene in Remus’ ears and his ears turned dark red and his cheeks flushed.

“Remus this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. You remembered something I told you like a month ago and you, you practised this didn’t you?”

Remus simply shrugged like it was no big deal.

Sirius set the cup down on the counter before leaning over the counter and wrapping his arms around Remus in the most awkward hug Remus had ever experienced, and he experienced a lot of awkward hugs.

When Remus didn’t return the hug Sirius dropped his arms and stuttered through another thank you and practically ran to his usual table, forgetting his drink on the counter.

Remus looked down, seeing the cup, and bit back a laugh before walking it across the cafe to him.

“Oh fuck thanks,” Sirius mumbled.

“Hey SIrius?” Remus asked, “can we try that again?”

Sirius smiled and nodded.

#mauraders #wolfstar #my writing #autistic remus #actually audhd

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