#the bookstore and i want to go to a bar and i want to out to eat together and i want to go to cute little cafes and museums and i want | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carolmunson · 1 year

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wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #barista!steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine

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charlotteking23 · 3 months

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Hi! Your stories are hilarious and amazing! I was wondering if you could write a story about Batmom secretly meeting with Gotham City Sirens (Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn, and Dr. Pamela Isley) and for a private girls night where they accidentally cause havoc (intense barfights (harley), impromptu jewelry store heists (Selina), shady alley deals (batmom), plants going crazy (Pamela), and massive amounts of sweets being "stolen" in metropolis (batmom had to stop the others from eating everything). All of which the batfam has to clean up. They follow the destruction and see what they think is batmom's ✨️Villain Debut✨️ (not really) so they go back to the manor and they stage an "intervention" for batmom. When she gets home bruce and her boys start scolding her and the Sirens for their behavior only for the girls to share a look and burst out laughing. They reveal that they were helping batmom get gifts for each of them. They went to that particular bar because they had a well aged vintage bottle of whisky that Alfred enjoys from time to time. The "shady alley deals" were from them going to a local seedy bookstore that had been open for over 100 years to get one of the only surviving copies of Jane Austen's complete works that she annotated herself. They went to that jewelry store because they were helping to make the remaining pearls of Martha Wayne's necklace into a set of cufflinks and a tie clip for Bruce, and to turn a few of Batmom's family heirloom peices into a ring that was secretly drawn by dick to propose to Kori with. They went to that confectionery because Conner mentioned they had the best coffee brew and an "espresso cake" made with extra strong espresso for Tim. That plant nursery had specific and highly nutritional feed and supplements products for Batcow, Titus, and Alfred the cat to keep them healthy. This makes them all tear up and wholesome fluff can happen.

Sorry for the length 😅 😬

Villian Debut

Y/N slowly walked out of the house as quietly as possible, opening the manor gates and hoping in her car. She drove around the quiet streets of Gotham, it was night only those who were bad were up causing chaos in the city. It was easy to sneak out since the boys were out patrolling Gotham, and Alfred was sitting in the common room sipping his cup of tea.

Y/N drove to a secluded area parking her car near a warehouse. Upon entering she met up with the infamous Gotham City Sirens. It was a girl's night with Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn, and Dr. Palmela Isely.

"Y/n, your finally hear", Selina Kyle said walking up to Y/n and hugging her sideways. "The sirens are back together", Harley said dragging Palmela's wrist and joining the hug. "guys we saw each other last week but as much as I enjoy the hug we have work to do.

Selina was driving in Y/n's car while Y/n was in the passenger seat turning on the radio. Harley and Palmela were in the back putting their hands in the air having the time of their life.

Their first stop was the bar, One of the best bars open in Gotham City. As they walked in all eyes were on them, I mean it was the infamous Y/n L/n, Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn, and Dr. Palmela Isely. The four girls walked up to the bar all sitting down and ordering.

Everything was going fine till "Hey baby, you want to go somewhere" " The guy said laughing with his equally ugly friend while holding a beer.

"Excuse me, Do you want to go I can beat the living shit out of you", Harley said standing up and drowning her drink in one go ready to take the guy down. "Babe, You're a girl you can't take us dow-" Harley took out her bat and whacked the guy in the face before the guy could finish his stupid sentence. She repeatedly hit him all over his body aiming straight for his dick. Selina was still sipping her drink while Y/n was taking a video as Palmela Isely cheered for Harley.

Yeah, so they got Kicked out of the bar but it's okay because Harley was literally about to kill the guy. Next, they went to the "Shady Alley deals".

Bruce p.o.v

"Guy's there's trouble at a bar?", Bruce said checking the alarm.

"why a bar out of everything, I mean at least do something interesting", Jason leans on Dick whining about how bored he is.

"Jason will you shut up", Damian said slapping him.

They made it to the bar entering they saw a man on the floor beaten up badly.

"Who the fuck could do this", Jason said watching Tim check the drunken man's pulse.

"he's fine but way too much alcohol in his body", Tim disgusted quickly wiping his hands on his pants.

"What happened"? Dick said but was astonished to hear a girl had done this because he was being a pervert.

"Go boss bitch", Damian said walking up to Bruce.

" They must have left already, I wonder where this girl went", Bruce questioned dragging the drunken body outside to the emergency care.

Girl's p.o.v

"Aww, this is so boring", Harley said leaning against the bookshelves.

The girls were at the shady Alley deals trying to buy Jane Austen's complete works that she annotated. But the guy refused to sell them this piece claiming it was too precious. I mean that's why it's called shady.

"Look we need this copy now, how about 2,000 for the whole copy", Batmom said with annoyance.

"look lady, these are valuable and you don't seem like the person to take care of them", the stupid guy said.

With a loud dramatic gasp, "Oh know you didn't", Poison Ivy said dramatically.

"he's in for it", Selina said filing her nails.

"Look I work day and night taking care of 4 children and one husband, this is the only time I get a day off so you better give. me. those. books. or else! and trust me you don't want to know what else is.", Batmom yelled grabbing the guy's collar and pulling him face to face with an angry batmom.

"here, take it pls don't hurt me", the guy said closing his eyes in fear.

"Thanks", Batmom said skipping with the books in her hand to the car.

Time Skip

"where to next", Selina said driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on her phone.

"Oh of course the jewelry store", Harley said pointing at the sign.

"Ok here's the plan Selina you go get the pearls", Batmom said looking at Selina.

"huh, why me"

"You are literally a cat, plus I am too clumsy, Harley too loud and Ivy refused to do it", Batmom said.

So Selina carefully went in through the roof slipping in where no one could see her. Walking through the store towards the back, she sees the pearls. She stops taking her white powder compact from the back of her pocket blowing some revealing lasers. If she stepped on one she could set off triggers of alarms. Manuering through them jumping over them, backflipping, crawling till she reached the glass box. opening she switched it out for a cat collar successfully taking the jewels.

Alarms are blaring, flashing red "Damn it", Selina hisses running away.

"what's that noise", poison Ivy says, covering her ears.

nevermind let's get out of here", Selina said hopping into the cars with the girls and driving away.

"here are the pearls", Selina says

"perfect", Batmom put them into a clip and some cufflinks.

Bruce p.o.v

"there's trouble at a jewelry store", Dick said driving towards the store.

As the boys came they saw the owner in complete panic.

"Thank goodness you're here Batman, some robbers took Matha Wayne's remaining pearl necklace", the owner said in a panic.

"The ones she died in", Batman's voice grew deeper laced with emotion only those who knew him deeply could tell.

"Let's look around B", Jason said looking around for clues.

Tim was trying to access the cameras during the robbery but as expected they were wiped out.

"cat hair", Batman said picking it up.

"This could only belong to one person", Damian said with a glare on his face.

"Oh, Batman they also took some other things, a diamond it was a heirloom from the L/N family, the owner said.

All the boys could think about was Y/n and how she would react to this news.

"We need to find these robbers before Ummi finds out", Damian said ready to beat the guys up.

Girls p.o.v

"How much candy are you going to eat Harley", Selina said but Harley only shrugged eating more.

Here they were at the confectionery, it was a small cafe but it looked so pretty pink, there was an outside patio and the inside looked like those 70's diner joints.

The girls sat down at a booth obviously Harley and Ivy sat together so Selina and Batmom were on the other side.

"H-hello, what c-can I get y-you, the waiter said in fear. I mean he is serving notorious criminals, he was shitting his pants.

"Hi, we need a coffee brew and an expresso cake please, Batmom said with the sweetest voice.

" Oh and a giant cake the biggest one!", Harley exclaimed. The waiter quickly nodded running away.

"Isn't that too much sugar, you are going to get a sugar high...again", Selina said crossing her arms and leaning back towards the booth.

"Remember last time, when you crashed right into the wall because you ate too much sugar", Ivy recalled laughing at the memories.

"H-here is your order t-too g-go, have a nice night", the waiter quickly left as we paid for the meal leaving a tip.

"how much did you leave"? Selina questioned as they left the cafe.

"$200", Batmom said shrugging and getting into the car.

The girl's final stop of the night was the plant nursery, It was a big white building, looking kind of spooky in the night.

"This feels like a scooby doo episode", Harley said walking with the girls.

"Okay Ivy we need highly nutritional feed and supplement products for Batcow, Titus, and Alfred the cat", Batmom said looking at all the machines and plants in the room.

As the girls walked they heard a strange growling noise, huddling together not because they were, definitely not. For comfort just in case, a crazy plant tried to eat them.

"come here plant...yes who's a good boy you are, yes you are", Ivysaid in a baby voice.

"she does the same baby voice batmom does with her kids", Selina said.

batmom protested but only got a yes you do face or the fucking lying face. Thinking now she did do the baby voice to her kids but they were all just so cute.

Harley suddenly screamed whinning she felt something touch her feet. No one paid attention and it still continued to flow Ivy. Suddenly a huge plant wraps its vines around Harley's mouth and legs dragging her away from the group.

"Hey, where's Harley", Selina said looking around.

All the girls screamed for Harley as they looked around in different areas.

Selina felt something and before she could attack the huge pant monster dragged her away. Only now there was batmom and Ivy left.

"Ivy what the fuck is going on", Batmom said but before Ivy could answer the plant monster appeared growling towards the girls.

the monster took hold of Batmom wrapping her in vines and trying to crush her. Ivy used her powers to fight it but before she could she saw a thorn.

"oh poor baby it's only hurt...oh you weren't trying to hurt anyone were you", Ivy said pulling the torn out trying to keep the plant monster calm.

After it was calm the monster let go of Batmom and cuddled Ivy. Batmom found Selina and Harley tied up, undoing the vines the three were weirded out to see the same plant monster who tried to eat them getting a belly rub by ivy.

"This was the best girl's night ever", Harley grinned hugging the girls in a group hug tightly.

Tonight was a roller coaster, but it was fun, especially with the girls. They got in trouble with the Authorities twice no doubt the infamous Batman and her kids had already heard about the incident. But it was a memory you look back on and laugh at, doing it with those you love.

Batmom signed slowly entering the dark mansion seeing that no one was awake.

Suddenly the lights came on frightening Batmom seeing all her kids and Bruce looking at her with disapproval in their eyes. It's like looking in a mirror.

"Hi, how was everyone's night?", Batmom said trying to diffuse the situation.

"Mom, you were out with the villains Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and Selina Kyle again", Dick said crossing his arms in sadness.

"yes, but I had a good reason-, Batmom tried to explain but Bruce interrupted her.

"Y/n, you girls got in a bar fight and stole jewelry and other things", Bruce said trying to keep an emotionless expression. He couldn't believe his innocent wife could do all of this.

Soon all the kids started to talk at the same time, asking questions of all sorts. It was getting too much for Batmom wishing now she stayed with the girls for another hour or so.

"kids, you give the girls a chance to explain what happened", Alfred said as you gave him a grateful nod.

you took a deep breath before sharing a look with the Sirens before laughing out loud with the girls all clutching your stomachs. They reveal that they were helping Batmom get gifts for each of them. They went to that particular bar because they had a well-aged vintage bottle of whisky that Alfred enjoys from time to time. The "shady alley deals" were from them going to a local seedy bookstore that had been open for over 100 years to get one of the only surviving copies of Jane Austen's complete works that she annotated herself. They went to that jewelry store because they were helping to make the remaining pearls of Martha Wayne's necklace into a set of cufflinks and a tie clip for Bruce and to turn a few of Batmom's family heirloom pieces into a ring that was secretly drawn by dick to propose to Kori with. They went to that confectionery because Conner mentioned they had the best coffee brew and an "espresso cake" made with extra strong espresso for Tim. That plant nursery had specific and highly nutritional feed and supplement products for Batcow, Titus, and Alfred the cat to keep them healthy.

"see you big goofs all this was a big misunderstanding all the things we did were for you tonight", Batmom said to her family with tears in her eyes holding all the girl's hands.

"Don't worry Ma I never doubted you for a minute, Jason said smiling at his Ma.

"Really, Because when you first heard about Mother Time with the SIrens you were crying out that your Mother betrayed me", Tim said looking smugly.

Jason only huffed at Tim crossing his arms in annoyance before Damian came up and hugged his Ummi burying his head in her chest.

When Damian released his Ummi, Bruce walked up to his wife kissing her with so much passion. Bruce couldn't believe his wife did all of this for him and his kids. Oh, how he loves her.

"I love you", Bruce said quietly for only her to hear.

"I love you more", Batmom whispered back pecking his lips.

"Heyyy, who's up for a sleepover", Harley said shouting while hugging the sirens.

Oh Boy

#batman #batfam x batmom #batfam x reader #batmom #batmom imagine #batmom imagines #batmom!reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #tim drake #harley quinn #catwoman #selina kyle #pamela isley #poison ivy #harleen quinzel

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betty-bourgeoisie · 1 year

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The thing I find most concerning about the sudden and rapid declines of platforms like Twitter, Reddit, and to a lesser extent Discord and Facebook, is the loss of digital third places that will result from it.

[Definition: a Third Place is a space outside of work or the home that you spend a significant amount of time in. Usually a social gathering place like a church, library, park, or gym]

It's a known issue that physical third places are disappearing. Cities, malls, and shopping centers have cracked down hard on loitering, resulting in a lack of public space for people to just hang out in. Parks exist, but their use is usually dependent on weather conditions. Church attendance has been in decline for decades for a lot of reasons I won't get into here. Libraries exist but they're not a good place to talk with friends. And pretty much every other third place I can think of (bars, game stores, bookstores, coffee shops, etc) requires you to spend money if you want to be there. None of these are new observations, smarter people than myself have written whole books on the loss of in-person third places.

Social media has been filling in the gap left by these third places for the last couple of decades. As physical space has become less accessible we've migrated online to find community - and especially during COVID, social media was really the only place you could socialize with others. None of this is new information either.

But the current issue, that I've seen very few people talking about, is that companies are starting to price and bully people out of those digital third places the same way they did with physical third places. The difference is that it's happening much faster, and usually at the whim of just one or two people. These are not broader sociological trends slowly shutting down social spaces like what we saw with the decline of shopping malls. There will be no slow adjustment to another social medium. We are seeing individual billionaires making a choice in real time to monetize people out of some of the only public social spaces we have left.

I've seen people bemoaning the loss of information that comes with these sites collapsing, but personally, I am far more concerned with the loss of social space. Don't get me wrong, social media of all kinds is an absolute nightmare, but for many people (and especially for teenagers who have more restrictions on where they can go and what money they can spend) online space is one of the only places they can reliably go to socialize.

In a country like the U.S. where the federal government is calling loneliness an epidemic this is actually a much bigger concern than I think a lot of people realize. How many people have more online friends than in-person ones? What happens to rates of loneliness as social media platforms become inaccessible and people lose those connections?

Obviously, the preferred answer is that people will go make more friends in person, but remember that in-person social spaces have already been severely limited. This is not the easy option that you might hope it is.

My actual call to action on this is to fucking fight to get your in-person third places back. Talk to your local representatives about repealing loitering laws - organize protests or ballot initiatives about it if you have to. Work with rotary clubs and parks departments to fund new public restrooms and park shelters. If there are places in your community that provide free workshop spaces/ game nights/ art walks/ etc go to them and support them financially when and if you're able. Go to your local library and check out a book so they get more funding! I know this shit can be boring, but things are only going to get worse if people don't have places where they can connect with each other. We can't keep letting capitalists take community spaces from us.

#reddit #twitter #social media #third places #long post #196 #rant

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stars-interlude · 2 months

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biker bf scara w fem reader who goes all soft n submissive — after work hours of reader, he goes to pick her up n surprises her to a secluded area where he fucks her to da brim !!! public sex yippie!!

- 🪭

Biker boy!

A/N: added a little bit of spanking heh and i went for more of a book girl x bike boy vibe i hope that’s okay 😓

Working at your bookstore was always fun but it could be really tiring at times too. Something that always brightened your day was when your boyfriend Scaramouche visited you. It was a hot day and you were sitting on a stool behind the checkout station, with not only the AC being on but as well as a fan blowing on you. The bell of the door jingled and it was no other than your boyfriend “hey baby” he kissed your cheek before he started speaking again “how’s everything going?” he asks you the same thing almost every time he comes in “just the same old things, but at least it’s friday so we can hangout later” he smiled at your words “well then i’ll come pick you up later then” Scara gave you one more quick peck on the lips before he left the store and rode away on his bike. As the hours passed and you stacked books on cases in your plaid brown pleated skirt and a short white t-shirt, you wondered where Scara would take you. When it was finally time for closing you walked out locking the door to see Scara waiting for you sitting on his bike. You walked over to him and got on grabbing onto his waist like you’d usually do when you ride with him “no hello woww” Scara complained “well you said we have to go somewhere so no time to waste” as you two rode you realized that the he was taking you to was a bar that you guys go often to on your friday nights. When you finally made it there instead of going through the door Scara takes your hand and he pulls you into an alley behind the bar instead “Where are we going?” you asked worried he pulled you close and whispered “cmon let’s have a little fun, let’s fuck right here behind the bar what do you think hm?” you could feel Scara’s breath on your neck “Really, Scaramouche here?” you glanced around to make sure no one was watching “Why not?” he wrapped his hands around your hips and pulled you closer so your bodies were right against each other and you could feel his cock straining against his cargo pants “Why? Cause someone might hear us” he laughed “not if you stay quiet we won’t get caught” he flipped you around so your hands were on the wall and he flipped up your skirt and quickly pulled down your panties “your dripping i thought you didn’t want to do this, naughty girl and i thought you were all innocent” he said this before he let a hard spank to your ass. You then let out a loud whimper “Scaraa pleasee” he chuckled “what are you asking for so loudly use your words like a good girl” he rubbed the spot he just smacked soothing the pain “fuck me.. please “ you confessed to him “There we go, good girl” Scara pulled his cock out and placed it at your entrance before he trusted into you. He let out a low groan “fuckk so tight baby” Scara picked up the pace of his thrusts and he started to rub your clit in quick circles. You let out a loud moan “you don’t them to hear us” with how fast he was going you could feel close to your climax “ngh Scaraa ‘m gonna cum” you squealed out not to long after you gushed all over your boyfriend’s cock “oh god [name] gonna fill this pussy up” a few more thrusts and he shot strings of white cum inside your pretty cunt “soo good for me, lets go back to my place and have some more fun. what do ya think?

A/N: YALL I DIDN’T KNOW THAT THIS WOULD BE SO LONG I WROTE THIS ON MY COMPUTER SO IT DIDN’T LOOK THAT LONG TILL I WENT ON MY PHONE HELP anywhoo i hope you (🪭 anonie) liked this idk even know what came over me ngl

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche genshin impact #genshin smut #starsinterlude #🪭

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callsign-joyride · 6 months

Text

Slice of Your Pie - Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: Bob moves into your neighborhood and you bake him a pie as a welcome gift. He comes over to thank you for it, and doesn't end up leaving your house until morning.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x f!reader

Content warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), fingering, grinding, unprotected p in v (reader is on birth control), fluff

The nieghborhood that you lived in was small enough that you always knew when someone was moving in. You were enjoying your coffee on your porch when you saw a few trucks pull into the recently sold house right nextdoor. A few people stepped out of the first car, and some good looking guys got out of the moving trucks. You tried to subtly watch as they unloaded things into the house before walking down your driveway to get the mail. As you were checking the stack for anything that might’ve been junk mail, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’m Bob. My friends are helping me move in, but I wanted to introduce myself before you went back inside,” he said. You smiled and introduced yourself, tucking the mail under one of your arms to shake his hand. You learned that he was in the Navy, and that he loved Star Wars. That fact made you smile, since your pajamas were currently a Princess Leia shirt and athletic shorts.

“Hurry up, Bob! This couch isn’t gonna unload itself!” Someone yelled.

“That’s Coyote. I gotta go, but it was nice talking to you.”

“Wait, Bob, do you like pie? I can make you one if you want.”

“Sure! Key lime is my favorite.”

“That’s perfect. I have a lime tree in my backyard. Oh, and my lemon tree occasionally hangs over your property so feel free to pick a few lemons whenever.”

“Thanks! I have a really good lemonade recipe so I might have to take you up on that.”

You went back inside and looked at the recipe in your grandmother’s cookbook and realized that you didn’t have the right limes for the pie. Getting them was easy, though, it just took a trip to the grocery store. The good thing was that it was a Saturday, so you had the day off from running your family’s business. It was a bookstore and cafe, and all of the pastries came from your grandmother’s cookbook. There had been talks of turning it into a bar at night, but that was going to be a long process.

Making the pie only took about forty minutes, but you had to let it cool in the fridge for at least a few hours. All of the moving trucks were gone, now replaced with a few cars in the driveway. You could hear laughter coming from the backyard, and it made you happy, because the last neighbors were close to the end of their lives and didn’t have guests over very often.

You were able to drop the pie off at around 6, and Bob had mentioned that everyone was getting ready to eat and that it would be the perfect desert. He even invited you to join the cookout, but you had already ordered a pizza and the delivery driver was on their way. You exchanged numbers before you went back to your house so that you could keep talking. Once you had disappeared from ear shot, Fanboy started talking about how hot he thought you were.

“Don’t make it weird. She probably has a boyfriend or something,” Bob said.

“I don’t think so. She spent her day making you a pie. A day that she could’ve spent with her boyfriend, might I add,” Phoenix said.

“But that’s the neighborly thing to do. Bring the new neighbor a pie or casserole. My mom always did it for our neighbors.”

“Most people aren’t working on Saturdays. I’m just saying that if I didn’t have to work and I had a boyfriend or girlfriend, I’d be spending my day with them. Anyway, let’s try this pie.”

Everyone had a slice of it after they finished with dinner. Even Hangman, who didn’t really like desert to begin with. Rooster thought it was so good that he kept coming back for seconds and thirds, soon passing out on Bob’s couch from all of the food that he ate. Bob waited for mostly everyone to leave before he texted you to see if you were still awake, since it was almost midnight. To his surprise, you responded that you were still awake, and you got too invested in your book so you lost track of time. He was at your door within five minutes, and you had a different set of pajamas on.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you for the pie that you made. My friends and I thought it was delicious.”

“You’re welcome! Would you like to come in for a drink? I was just about to pour myself another glass of wine.”

“Sure.”

Bob followed you inside and took his shoes off by the door. You poured him a glass of wine before sitting on the couch and using your phone to play soft music. As you got to know each other more, you discovered that you had a lot in common, and you were both single. The dim lighting of the living room, combined with the wine and music, made the sexual tension stronger. He told a bad joke, but you started laughing anyways. He used that as his moment to gently kiss you.

You were into it right away, pulling him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck. He groaned into the kiss as he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you started grinding on his hard cock. He broke the kiss for a moment to take his shirt off, and you quickly followed. He put his hands on your tits as you continued to grind on his cock.

“I’d love to continue this, but can we go to your bed? I’ve never really been a fan of having sex on a couch,” he said. You chuckled and grabbed his hand, leading him upstairs to your bedroom. He laid you on the bed, continuing to kiss you as he took your shorts and underwear off. He rubbed your clit and started to finger you while you were moaning and writhing underneath him.

“God, you’re so wet,” he said.

“It’s all for you. Holy shit, it feels so good,” you moaned.

Once he figured out that you were ready enough for him, he took his shorts off and threw them by the bed.

“I don’t have a-,”

“I have an IUD and I’m clean.”

“Okay. You ready?”

You nodded and felt him slowly push himself into you. You moaned in pleasure and pulled him down to kiss you as he started thrusting faster. You could tell that he was close as he started rubbing your clit so that you could both release at around the same time. The fire in your stomach was burning hotter until you finally released, and Bob quickly pulled out before releasing on your stomach. He rolled over and reached for the box of tissues that you kept by your bed before cleaning both of you up.

“Do you want to stay the night?” You asked. He chuckled and nodded his head, cuddling with you until both of you fell asleep. When you woke up the next morning from your alarm going off, Bob was still holding onto you.

“I have to be at work in an hour and a half,” you said.

“Oh, okay. Do you want me to make you something to eat or some coffee?”

“No, I usually have my breakfast at work. Thanks for the offer, though. Do you want to shower together?”

Bob nodded his head and followed you to the bathroom. The shower was intimate, but not sexual, something that you enjoyed.

With your bag over your shoulder, you stepped outside of the house and walked to your car.

“I really enjoyed last night. Maybe we could go out on an actual date next time, though,” you said. Bob started blushing, and he stammered out a “yes” while nodding his head. You chuckled and got into your car to go to work. The day went by quickly as you did multiple things around the little bookstore. Not very many customers came in, but it was a Sunday, so people were usually doing other things. You heard the bell of the door ring as someone walked in, so you finished putting copies of Frankenstein on the shelves before heading to the front of the store.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” You asked as you walked to the register. Bob was standing there, smiling.

“I didn’t know that you worked here,” he said as he tried not to laugh.

“I own the place, it’s my family’s business.”

“Oh, nice. I guess I’ll have to come by more often, then.”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

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gene-nine · 1 month

Text

night at the museum (j.p x fem!reader)

hi !!! this is my first pic post so please don't bully me.

pairing: james potter x reader

synopsis: your good friend james invites you to go on an "unauthorized" trip to the museum with your friends.

warnings: not proofread :)

words: 2385

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you knew James Potter. everyone did.

only, you had the ‘wonderful privilege’ (as he liked to call it) of being his friend. this duty of yours involved watching quidditch games you didn’t particularly care about all that much (with Remus as decent company), struggling to pay attention in class because all this kid does is talk, and, as you’ve found yourself now, going on adventures through the city outside Hogwarts.

when James first started apparating off the Hogwarts campus with Sirius, you had told him he was an idiot and that he was going to get in trouble. after the fifth or sixth time, you became intrigued. even Remus and Peter had begun accompanying them, which meant that it wasn’t entirely the wreckless free-for-all that usually followed Sirius and James around. James hadn’t ever actually invited you to go with, but he hadn’t invited Lily, Marlene, or Mary either, so maybe it was just a guy thing. regardless, you started (not so subtly) asking James about what kind of stuff they did when they went out.

“and why are you suddenly so interested?” James chuckles quietly from beside you in potions. you were supposed to be taking notes, but you had stopped listening a while ago.

“you guys always come back so talkative and happy, i was just wondering what you got up to.” you feign being nonchalant, looking up at the chalkboard for the first time in 10 minutes and scribbling something down in your notebook. you can’t let him know that he’s been the more academically productive person between the two of you.

“i mean, usually we just go to bars. we followed Remus to a few bookstores one time. Sirius found an antique shop he liked, bought a jacket there once,” he whispers back, still taking notes, “why? jealous you haven’t been invited?” he taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“no. i was just curious.” you roll your eyes, but it’s no use. he knows you’re interested.

“what happened to ‘you’re going to get caught, James’ or ‘this is such a stupid idea, i can’t believe Remus is going along with it’?” he mocks in his best (worst) impression of you. you scoff in annoyance.

“nevermind, sorry i asked.” you raise your hands slightly in surrender.

“we were actually going to go this weekend. Lily said there’s a cool museum out there and Remus seemed excited. wanna go?” he finally looks in your direction, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

“sure. but only if the other girls are invited. i don’t want to have to babysit.” you can’t let his ego get too high, knowing you wanted to go with him. he mutters back, something between a ‘mhm’ and ‘yeah right’. the rest of the lecture goes by in silence and you can finally focus, except for the incessant thump on the leg of your chair as James swings his feet (an annoying habit you’ve grown to ignore).

by the time the weekend rolls around, the museum was all you, Lily, and Remus could talk about. apparently, it opened in the early 1600s and has roughly 20,000 paintings (statistics that Lily had found in some library book). you were more excited to get out of the stuffy castle, the fall air not quite making it through the stone walls.

James insisted upon leaving the castle at 7:00 a.m., claiming that’s the best time to apparate without McGonagall seeing you. James and Remus were at the meeting spot at 7 sharp, with you, Lily, Marlene, and Mary arriving shortly after, and Sirius and Peter getting there at 7:10. the feeling of apparating never improved. it felt as if every molecule of your being was shrunk down and shoved forwards simultaneously. even though you’re apparating by holding onto James (you have yet to learn how to on your own), you’re still terrified of getting splinched. no matter how many times he assures you it won’t happen.

you appear a few blocks away from the museum, all a part of James’ plan supposedly. as the group walks, James slows to walk beside you.

“pretty cool, huh?” that cocky grin on his face taunting a silent ‘i told you so’. he earns a gentle shove, but there’s nothing fake about your excitement. you hadn’t spent a lot of time outside of Hogwarts during the actual school year, and the fall season is certainly not disappointing. despite the early hour, there are people walking on the sidewalks in scarves and boots. some carry a warm drink in hand, and James can hardly miss the way your excitement peaks at the sight of a dog and their owner passing by. it feels more magical than the school grounds ever did.

“it’s incredible.” you reply genuinely. you can’t even think of a banter-ish comment to respond with. James swings an arm around your shoulders casually as the group is about to cross the street towards the steps of the museum.

“just you wait.” he whispers in your ear and you smile wide.

one thing you hadn’t expected from a Muggle museum was security. Wizarding museums didn’t need any, all the protective measures were covered with magic-blocking spells and tracking enchantments on every person and work of art in the building. but this museum had metal detectors and security guards the moment you walked in. even though security gave the group a long look (an even longer one at Sirius), you were able to get through without any problems. once your day passes were bought, you were off.

Lilly drags the group to go see a painting about Romeo and Juliet she had read about. it took one gross comment from Sirius about the ‘nakedness’ of Juliet before Marlene grabbed the collar of his jacket and dragged him off into another section. museum guidebook in hand, Mary leads the group to a section of landscape paintings by some artist named Francis Lynch.

“says here he completed nearly a hundred works before his untimely death in 1825 when he was bludgeoned to death by his wife...” Peter reads from over Mary’s shoulder, “cheery.”

“she probably went crazy from all the paint fumes in the house.” James snorts from beside you, earning an elbow to the ribs.

“hey! this one looks just like you, Prongs!” you exclaim to James, pointing at another painting of a doe in a meadow.

“if this is your way of telling me i’m majestic and a natural beauty, then compliment taken.”

“you wish.”

you wander off, loosely following the group through the giant rooms. you stop in front of a huge painting called Orpheus and Eurydice. it depicts Orpheus reaching for a glowing Eurydice as she’s pulled back down to Hades.

“remind me how this myth goes again?” a voice asks from behind you. you turn to see James, staring up at the painting with the same look of amazement you had been showcasing a few moments prior.

“Orpheus travels to the underworld to beg Hades to let his soulmate, Eurydice, leave and return to life. Hades agrees, but only if Orpheus can lead her out without turning around to make sure she is still following.” you explain. you had always been interested in greek mythology, and James is often nosy about what you’re reading.

“and Orpheus turns around.” he adds, “i don’t understand, though. why would Hades give Orpheus a challenge he so easily could have completed? you know, if he wasn’t a loser.” you snort.

“i don’t know. i think it’s the perfect impossible challenge. Hades knew he wouldn’t have bee able to do it if it was him and Persephone. plus, if Orpheus didn’t love her enough to turn around, he wouldn’t have loved her enough to go to Hades in the first place.” you’re both silent for a moment.

“would you? turn around, i mean. if it was the love of your life.” James air quotes that last part.

“i don’t know. would you?” you turn to face him.

“i don’t know.” he responds simply. you both pause for a moment to stare up at the painting that outdates you both by centuries. you slowly shift your gaze to the boy next to you. his hair is messy from him constantly trying to fix it everytime a girl his age walks by. his Gryffindor sweater sleeves are pulled down over his hands slightly due to the low temperature in the museum. his glasses are still slightly tilted on his face from his most recent prank that pissed off the Slytherin Quidditch captain, who then punched him in the face. Pomfrey was able to fix his nose up just fine while his messed up glasses rested in his pocket. Magic could only fix them so much, so now they fit his face all weird (you still think it’s endearing). you eventually realize that you’re staring and decide you need a change of scenery.

“come on, lets go see the sculptures. i need to see something not two-dimensional.” you grab James’ hand and take off towards a staircase going upward. you practically skip up the stairs before James has to tell you to slow down. still walking hand in hand, arms swinging obnoxiously, you two peruse through the sculptures. some are abstract, and you can see James trying to figure them out, his head tilting to the side with his tongue sticking out slightly before giving up and moving to the next. you can hear Marlene and Lily yelling at Sirius for something in the room next to you, so you head in there. turns out he had tried using a transfiguration spell on a ceramic tiger. Remus, Mary, and Peter weren’t far away, assessing some sculpture made from wood and nails. you drop James’ hand and skip over to Lily, throwing your arms around her shoulders from behind.

“how goes it?” you ask, casting an amused glance at Sirius, whose wand has been confiscated by Marlene.

“other than Sirius trying to cause a mauling in the museum and Peter nearly knocking over a multi-million dollar vase, pretty okay.” she responds, “i got to see the Ophelia painting i was interested in.” she adds excitedly.

“i showed Moony a painting of a wolf-looking creature and he was not amused.” Mary adds from her spot at the wood sculpture.

“can we just visit the gift shop already?” Sirius whines. at this point, you all had been walking around for the better part of an hour and to be totally honest, the gift shop had been at the back of your mind the whole time. after a chorus of enthusiastic agreement from everyone, Mary leads the group to the bottom floor where the shop is (she won’t let anyone else use her map). once in the gift shop, everyone disperses. Peter goes looking for the station where he can fill up a little velvet bag with tumbled rocks. Marlene finds an umbrella with the pattern of a famous painting on it. Lily and Mary find t-shirts with the name of the museum on the front and a painting on the back. Remus finds a pin to put on his bag and a set of museum postcards. Sirius gets a stuffed animal dinosaur with a museum branded backpack on it. Last but not least, you and James get matching green dad hats with the museum name embroidered on the front.

flaunting the new merch, James leads the group (with you on his back) out the doors and back into the autumn air. Mary convinces a random woman to take a group picture of you all in front of the museum on her new camera. she excitedly hands the camera to Peter to take a picture of her and Lily in their matching t-shirts before taking it back and taking a picture of you and James with your hats. despite your protests, James won’t put you back down, but insists upon giving you a piggy-back ride all the way to the café he wanted to hit up before he left.

he finally sets you down as you all enter the café. the orders are as follows: James gets one hot black coffee, Lily gets a chai latte, Marlene gets an iced green tea, Mary gets a hot earl gray tea, Peter gets an iced coffee, you get an iced matcha, and Sirius insists he isn’t thirsty but orders a chocolate chip muffin. drinks (and muffin) in hand, everyone wanders down the sidewalk towards the bookstore Remus likes which happens to be next to the antique shop Sirius enjoys. everyone splits up, Remus, you, James, and Lily entering the bookshop and the rest following Sirius. Remus and Lily disappear into the classics section while you wander towards fiction and fantasy. James follows you through the shelves, picking up random books and scanning over the synopsis before putting them back. you decide against getting anything and head outside while James checks in on Remus. eventually, James joins you and you both wait outside for everyone else to be done.

tired from all your adventures, everyone decides to apparate back to Hogwarts (Remus a few books heavier). the evening ends with everyone sat in the common room talking around the fireplace, James next to you with your legs slung over his lap as you lay against the arm of the couch.

“was that worth whatever punishment you might’ve gotten for going?” James teases to you, knowing damn well how much fun you had.

“shut up.” you retort back, not able to hide the smile on your face. James shifts a bit on the couch to grab something from Remus’ bag on the floor.

“oh yeah, got this for you,” he says casually as he hands you a hardcover book. it’s a book on the Orpheus and Eurydice myth. “figured you could figure out for yourself whether you’d turn around or not.” James’ smirk is unmistakable in the firelight. you’re not sure whether the heated feeling in your face is from the fire or from James. you flash him an appreciative smile.

“careful Prongs, someone might think you actually listen to me when i talk.” you half joke, looking over the book’s front pages.

“who says i dont?”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #marauders #harry potter #james potter fic #james potter x fem!reader #james potter blurb #the marauders era

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roseharpermaxwell · 6 months

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RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs - Part Three

I'm back with more! Dive into some recently-read AUs with me below.

pixel perfect by rizcriz. G, 1k. Alex is looking over the directions with barely contained glee, and Henry—Henry’s looking at Alex. He’s pushed into the wall of the Photo Booth when Alex suddenly leans forward and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket.

“We are so doing this,” Alex says excitedly.

The corner of Henry’s mouth twitches. “Oh?” He asks, watching Alex pull a ten dollar bill from his wallet. “And here I thought you’d only pulled us in here to make out a bit.”

Or, Alex and Henry are in love in a photo booth.

Total Eclipse by @myheartalivewrites. T, 1.2k. Alex is not sure what the fuck is happening here.

“And if you only hold me tight…”

A man—probably the most beautiful man he has ever seen—is up on stage in this karaoke bar, absolutely murdering Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart and he’s pretty sure the guy is crying and it’s one of the most horrifying things he’s ever seen and Alex cannot. Look. Away.

all we are is skin and bones by @indestructibleheart. T, 1.3k. Alex didn't plan to push Henry Fox into oncoming traffic.

it might be worth it for once by blueberriesandcream. G, 1.6k. quick little alternate scene. what if alex's protective streak had made an appearance when zahra found he and henry in their hotel room?

We've Got To Stop Meeting Like This by @everwitch-magiks. M, 1.9k. Alex books an Airbnb studio with a shared bathroom. The other studio is occupied by a man with lush pink lips and impressive personal hygiene — really, he’s super diligent about lathering and rinsing. Alex would know, seeing as the lock to the bathroom is seriously unreliable.

Or: the Airbnb romp you didn’t know you needed.

exclusive member deal by stutteringpeach. T, 2k.

Alex: "Let me take you on a date."

The date: Costco.

beyond measure by T, 2.1k. alex and henry host nora, june and pez for weekly fellow travelers watch parties.

tonight, they're watching the series finale. it comes crashing down on henry, and alex is there to catch him.

Couture of the Juicy Variety by ronans. G, 2.1k. It's Henry's birthday and his work crush has what some may call a wardrobe malfunction.

Adrift by TuppingLiberty. T, 2.2k. Alex works in the Texas Department of Justice as a research attorney. He's been low-key flirting with his downstairs neighbor Henry for the past few months. Unfortunately, he works himself sick and ends up at Henry's doorstep accidentally.

you all over me by @dumbpeachjuice. E, 2.3k. When Henry organises an evening of group sex, he never expects to meet a gorgeous man he wants to marry and have children with.

Or, a meet-cute at a sex club.

something more, something right by rizcriz. T, 2.7k. Alex blinks at him, seemingly entirely unimpressed. “So, you’re just going to pretend we’re not in love with each other?”

Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me. by barthelme. E, 2.8k. Around them, there is the rustle of trees and the crisp whip of wind against nylon. An owl hooting. Faint whispers of campers still lingering around the dying campfire that Henry would like to block out entirely because, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I’m aware,” Alex says, but his mouth clearly says he doesn’t care.

Or, the one where Alex and Henry are camp counselors who lead overnight hikes and fuck around at night.

please report to HR by @smc-27. G, 3.2k. Alex frowns at his inbox.

The only reason he knows Henry’s name is that people keep calling him “hot HR Henry” as if there’s anyone else in this office named Henry. Alex hasn’t met the guy yet. He’s been avoiding it mostly out of pettiness.

Henry and the Charisma Vortex by ronans. NR, 3.7k. ‘How’s about I take you to a bookstore and treat you to a trashy romance novel to say sorry for interrupting your first date with the love of your life?’

‘I fear the longer I spend time with you, the longer I will be unable to live this spectacular failure down.’

He warms at the thought of spending more time with Henry. ‘Solid deduction, you are absolutely right.’ He takes a punt and grabs Henry’s free hand. ‘C’mon.’

Or, Alex is sat next to a tragic date and has the urge to intervene.

A Sin Better Than Heaven by @anchoredarchangel. E, 3.9k.

“Show me,” the king says, a demand. He sets the vial back down, careless to where it lands compared to where it originated. He leans back against the table, crosses his arms over his chest; chin raised, jaw set- a picture of regality. Henry’s heart is pounding in his chest, the unstable beat of too many horse hooves overlapping, like the canter through the woods that very afternoon before he was shoved from his saddle. For the first time, he considers the possibility that perhaps he had hit his head harder than he realized- against the ground or against the tree, because certainly his hope is misplaced; certainly he is not following this conversation as well as he presumed. “Show you what, Your Majesty?” The king only deigns to move a hand, untucking it from his elbow in order to wave it vaguely. “How your body responds to men.”

Or: A criminally loose reimagining of the tent scene from Mary & George, only Alex is a sexually confused king, and Henry's the one who has been sent to seduce him.

Don’t You Dare Look Away by @emmalostinwonderland. E, 3.9k. “Jesus, Fox, if you wanna fuck me so goddamn bad, you could just say so.”

Alex fully expects to be dropped to the floor, but Henry just tightens his grip on Alex’s waist. “You… you’re not serious.”

And really, what could go wrong? “Serious as a heart attack, baby.”

// Alex and Henry are paired up for a pro dance on DWTS one week, but they just can’t seem to get along… until something clicks.

a feeling like this (could it be bliss?) by rizcriz. E, 4k. There’s a blonde woman plastered to Alex’s front. Ten minutes ago, he’d been grinding up against a brunette man half a foot shorter than him. Ten minutes before that, he’d been laughing with a red head at the bar. And ten minutes before that?

Ten minutes before that, he’d had that megawatt smile directed at Henry, laughing at something June said. And then he’d wandered off to get them more drinks, and now he’s off, giving his attention to people who are, quite frankly, not good enough for him, and Henry? Henry’s — christ, okay, Henry’s jealous.

Henry’s fucking fuming.

Or, Henry wants his boyfriend back.

Another Door Opens by @14carrotghoul. T, 4.1k. Henry takes a long drink. “If it makes you feel any better, my dad's dead. He and my mum had the type of love straight from the storybooks and it got cut tragically short, so what is the point in finding something real if it's just going to hurt you?”

Alex bites back a smile and shakes his head. “How in the fuck was that supposed to make me feel better?”

He waves his hand awkwardly. “Oh, I just thought we were both sharing the trauma that impacted our romantic relationships.”

Henry and Alex first meet when Henry reveals their partners are cheating on them with each other.

north star by sharkfins. T, 4.9k. “God, you know, I could stare at you all day,” he says finally. “I want to get this tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.”

“Ugh, gross,” Henry says while scrunching up his nose. Even still, his cheeks flush.

“Seriously, Hen, you look pretty.” Alex runs his fingers through Henry’s hair and places another kiss on his forehead.

Henry bites back a slightly embarrassing excited noise and shoves his face into Alex’s neck and smiles into his skin. Hen. Alex calls him that all the time, but for some reason now it’s making something stir inside his chest.

“I can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he adds, running his hand down the back of Henry’s head and settles his arm around his shoulders again.

Henry moves impossibly closer to him and looks up to meet his eyes. “Pretty, huh?”

“Absolutely gorgeous.”

or: Henry experiments with gender <3

Best Practice in Sexual Favours by everwitch. E, 5.1k. They meet at a bar. Alex is young; fresh out of law school, sharp and charismatic and oh-so attractive. The sex is absolutely incredible, and Henry has no regrets. At least not until the morning after when he finds himself opposite Alex in a meeting — equipped with the painful knowledge that Alex’s boss thinks Alex’s only function in said meeting is to sit there and look all pretty. Somebody ought to call HR right about now.

Or: when sexual relationships mix with professional ones, Alex and Henry make the most of it.

We met in the Park by TuppingLiberty. E, 5.3k. Henry is absolutely obsessed with the runner he sees in the park every day at lunch.

cause you're classic, and i'm reckless by @firenati0n. T, 5.4k. “I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.”

At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.”

Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.”

“Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

Diving In Dick-First by quill_and_ink. E, 5.5k. "So... we're doing an intimate piercing today?"

Alex promptly crawls under a rock to die.

Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations) by @cha-melodius. E, 5.6k. Unfortunately for him, the only things more beautiful than Alex himself are Alex’s cakes. He’s the most in-demand cake artist in the city, and as such he books a lot of weddings. Many of the very same weddings that simply must also have Fox Florals arrangements for their centrepieces. Weddings like, apparently, this one.

(Or, Henry the florist and Alex the cake artist are forced to collaborate last minute at a wedding job, make a mess, and learn some things about each other in the process.)

A thousand dreams that would awake me by @kiwiana-writes. E, 5.9k.

“It’s not about punishment.” Alex just nods; Henry had been very clear on the form that he wasn’t looking to be dominated or put in his place, so that won’t be new information. “And it’s not the pain as such.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the mug. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like to feel it, but I’m not looking for pain for the sake of pain. It’s more about… control, I think.” There’s a long silence. “Taking it?” Alex prompts finally. “Or giving it up?” “Does it sound ridiculous if I say both?”

Or, Henry visits a sex club to get spanked the way he's craving.

Want Me by @orchidscript. E, 6.1k. Henry had always been weak for a nice smile, but his was impossible to ignore.

Blame it on summer heat and a fresh flush in his cheeks. Blame it on sunset painting the outdoor bar sweltering, romantic colors. Blame it on two healthy glasses of albariño thrumming in his bloodstream, or the good music floating on the air.

Henry could blame it on anything liked if he thought long and hard about it, but that didn’t change much at the end. The core remained the same: he had been gone from the jump.

Henry and Alex hook up on a vacation in Spain. Henry falls a bit deeper.

i think about jumping (just to see you come running) by @coffeecatsme. T, 6.1k. Henry Fox likes to think he’s led a good life.

He’s been a good son to his parents, though his grandmother would probably disagree with him being a good grandson—although, if he’s honest with himself, he’d rather take that as a compliment. He’s used the family money for good, built a life for himself. He’s saved the sweetest beagle from a shelter and paid an arm and a leg bringing him to the States from England. He doesn’t think killing a few mosquitos in his lifetime and the select words he had for the homophobic part of his family should curse him for years of torture.

Alas, that’s the only explanation as to why the public library he’s worked for for years would move him to a branch right next to a goddamn fire station.

Or, 5 times Henry embarrasses himself in front of Alex and 1 time Alex embarrasses himself in front of Henry.

Five letter word for 'unobservant' by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.9k. And podfic by @thirdeye1234. “He's so annoying,” Alex says, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them as he sits down at his desk opposite Nora. Nora – colleague, semi-sister-in-law, and unfortunately his best friend – is used to this by now, and continues eating a croissant over her keyboard in the manner of someone who has the only ergonomic, crumb-resistant keyboard in the office, and wants everyone to know it.

“Please,” she says, not even looking at him as she presumably whizzes through accounts or something, mouth full of buttery pastry. “Elucidate. I have no idea who you're talking about and there is no precedent for you interrupting my morning with those words at all.”

Alex scowls at her. “Wordle Guy.”

Cloudy With a Chance of Fuckery & Sunny With a Touch of Drama (Every Weather series)by @hillerskas. M, 6.9k. ‘Henry’s here with us for the weather.’ He pivots in his seat and grins over to the other corner of the studio. ‘Now, is it hot in here, or is it just you?’

Without missing a beat, Henry smiles cordially and gestures to the green screen behind him. ‘We’re actually in the middle of a cold snap.’

Or, an ode to Alex fucking with Henry live on air.

in this home series by riversdeep. T, 7.5k. At that, Alex looks him straight in the eye. “I'm sorry I fell in love with you years ago and never said a single thing about it.”

A self indulgent childhood best friends to lovers AU, exploring the transition from best friends to boyfriends

me and you and awkward silence by @kill8a. M, 7.5k. Alex has a bit of a predicament. The new librarian, Henry Fox, has proved to be a little too attractive to go un-noticed, and he might be harboring a bit of a crush.

make it five by @anincompletelist. M, 8k. “Fifty bucks says I can get that guy’s number.”

Popping the bubble of cinnamon-flavored gum Alex had just blown, he glances up from his phone to look at where Nora’s pointing. Just over the soles of his shoes, crossed at the ankles and propped on the flaking black wood of the shop’s front desk, there’s a man with broad shoulders lingering by the far wall. Alex hadn’t even heard the guy come in.

“Nora. He’s literally looking at one of the biggest dildos I’ve ever seen,” he deadpans quietly.

alex works at a sex toy shop. it's usually a pretty easy job — if he could just stop daydreaming about the blonde guy that keeps coming in to buy literally all of alex's favorite sex toys.

pour some sugar on me by @sunnysideprince. M, 8.2k. Alex makes not-so-safe-for-work baking videos on Instagram for a living, and Henry, unsurprisingly, goes through a crisis because of it.

An Amateur’s Guide to Professional Gift-Giving by anincompletelist (soldouthaz). T, 8.9k. Alex, a former-law-student-taking-some-time-off turned professional part-time gift giver, is tasked with finding a gift for the most high profile client he's ever worked with, both in and out of the world of law.

It turns out finding the perfect gift for the Prince of Wales might be easier than he'd anticipated.

secret admirer by rizcriz. T, 9.5k. Today, though, he’s watching in delight as a massive bouquet of roses makes its way through the office, the delivery guy carefully weaving between cubicles as he heads for Nora’s desk. Last week, Nora had revealed to the office one of his embarrassing college hook up stories that involved a thong and sitting cold and shivering in a police station while he waited to be picked up. Today—today he’s sicking Nadine and Alberta on Nora as payback.

His gaze flicks over to Nora where she’s sitting at her desk oblivious to her incoming doom, and then back to the delivery guy. Anticipation, hot and excited, bundles up in Alex’s gut as he clears the final turn of cubicles, and just as Alex is about to grin, wicked and delighted at Nora, the delivery guy makes another turns and comes to a stop at the completely wrong desk.

And then he sets the flowers down and leaves.

or, an accidental flower delivery.

my little dove by dearestalez. M, 9.8k.

“Kinda cliché,” Alex says, looking up at the mural.

“It’s Bea’s favourite piece,” Henry says.

Alex looks at him, “that makes sense.”

They travel through a plethora of shops. Henry picks up a hat, Alex holds a jumper to his chest and twirls until Henry is giggling into his fingers.

“Why do they never have my size?” Alex laments, holding a nice pair of shoes that don’t come in seven and a half. Only seven or eight. Henry doesn’t mean to laugh, he didn’t really think that was something he did. Laugh at people’s expense. But he isn’t doing that. Alex is pouting over a pair of shoes, with wide brown eyes and slumped shoulders, and Henry is laughing at the absurdity of it all.

He never thought that the man across the building cradling a beer to his chest was the type to pout and whine when a shop didn’t carry his size. He never thought he’d find that out. He never thought that stranger from that bar would turn into someone he knows.

“You’re a dick,” Alex says, but he’s grinning and Henry is weak.

i want to mark my skin (it is paper thin) by @violetbaudelaire-quagmire. M, 10k.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subj: Tattoo Reference

Attached: 1 file (orionsketch.jpg)

Hello,

Attached you’ll find a line art drawing of the constellation Orion. The shoulder blade is the intended location.

Best,

H.J. Fox

OR: It's a Tattoo Shop AU!

i dream of our odyssey by violetbaudelairequagmire. E, 10k. Alex rests his elbows on the counter of the small cafe attached to Bankston’s Books, enjoying the quiet period in between the morning stay-at-home-mom-crying-toddler storytime crowd and the rush of college students that appear in the afternoon. It’s only a couple hours, but it’s nice to have that time with just a few black coffees in between the rush of “pumpkin spice latte and a cakepop” and “quad shot espressos and keep them coming” that dominate the busy periods at the bookstore. He’s not complaining though- he loves this job. He gets a discount on books, no one cares how much coffee he drinks in a shift, and, in the last couple of weeks, he’s had a great view of the new guy quietly shelving books.

A Tapestry of Intimacy Unfolded by hqwhna. M, 10k. It's a case of textbook serendipity when Senator Alex Claremont-Diaz and Dr. Henry Fox first meet at a fundraiser in D.C. Now, Alex just has to think of an excuse to see him again...

no drug like me by stutteringpeach. E, 10k. “I’d like to pay for your schooling,” Henry says casually. “Move you into a better apartment. You’ll get an allowance, of course, but that will be for you to do with what you will. Your expenses will be covered outside of that.”

Alex blinks. He’s drunk off expensive wine and Henry’s attention. His brain isn’t functioning. “What?”

Henry’s expression hasn’t changed. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”

XOXO Gossip Girl by alyaasca. T, 11k. Diazes love gossiping. And Henry, well, he wants to be a part of Alex's family. Thanks to his therapist, he has a number of breathing exercises up his sleeve, and also a dream. Watch him take his rightful place by learning the art of family gossip.

i don't know how not to by smc_27. M, 11k. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he tells Martha in their next meeting, which takes place two hours outside of London at her parents’ ‘cottage’. To think they talk of her family as commoners when they have this much money is fucking insane. It just goes to illustrate how out of touch the whole monarchy machine is.

“Tea?” she offers, and he nods just to be polite. A literal, honest to god butler comes over to pour for him. “Carry on.”

“You’re gonna disappear,” he tells her, and her whole face lights up. Her shoulders relax. She looks straight at him. He can hear the kids playing with their grandmother in the next room.

“Tell me more.”

Or, Alex is Martha's divorce attorney

cut by @havanasroses. E, 12k.

Holy fucking eyelashes. He’s all tan skin and bright eyes and charming smile— everything that makes Henry weak in the knees. Pretty brown eyes dart between the lineup and his clipboard, trying to put two and two together, but all Henry can focus on are those arms. Those hands. That arse. “Can I call you up, handsome?” Henry almost blacks out.

or, the five times alex and henry shoot a video together as (not so) strangers, and the one time they do as a couple.

into temptation by stutteringpeach. E, 13k. When Henry wakes, there’s an ache in his arse and a wet patch on the sheets.

He tries to imagine how it happened. Whether he was on his side or his front already, whether he had to be rolled over. Whether they took their time or couldn’t wait, so turned on by the sight of him lying there.

It shouldn’t turn him on this much—the not knowing. But that was the point.

You've Been My Muse for a Long Time by @affectionatelyrs. E, 13k. There aren’t many instances in which Henry would claim he exhibits a colorful vocabulary. In fact, he could likely list them on one hand: when wretched people say the most bigoted things, when the local grocer has run out of their Jaffa Cake stock in the minuscule international aisle, when he gets bored and resorts to writing homoerotic poetry in his moleskin journal with a fountain pen like some lovelorn literary scholar from the eighteenth century.

And now, when he’s assigned to a gig he doesn’t want to be at. As in, he would rather publish said poetry to the unrelenting, merciless masses of the internet than be at this gig.

“You must be bloody fucking kidding me.”

Or, When Rolling Stone names Alex Claremont-Diaz as the number one rising star to look out for, Henry is tasked with the sole responsibility of photographing him for their cover shot. Which, truly, wouldn’t be an issue—it’s an incredible opportunity—except Henry doesn’t trust that miscreant to be within ten feet of him ever since The Incident™

Star-Crossed by schmulte. T, 17k. Alex is a principal ballerino with a hatred for Henry Fox. What happens when they're paired up and forced to dance together as star-crossed lovers? Will their partnership crash and burn, or will they cross uncharted territory and make ballet history?

Not An Act by quill_and_ink. E, 20k. It was bound to happen at some point. Alex and Henry had both started modeling within three months of each other and they'd both become known for dramatic, high fashion shoots, editorials, and runways, so it had just been a matter of time before they would be hired to work together. He could have handled it if they'd just been on the same set at the same time without actually having to shoot together, but no - the premise of the campaign is sensuality, intimacy. He has to pretend to be in love with Henry.

getting good now by Standinginmoonlight. M, 20k. Alex sighs and balls his hands up into fists, digging them into his eye sockets until he sees stars, and then he’s speaking without his brain giving his mouth permission.

“I can’t believe I’m going to marry someone British.”

Or: the Love is Blind AU that no-one asked for.

we should get married by smc_27. E, 25k. He’d spent most of the week sitting on the floor with his laptop open on the table, typing away about absolute nonsense in between sessions and phone calls with immigration and a lawyer trying to see if it’s possible there’s any way in the world he can stay in America while this gets sorted. The good news is this doesn’t bar him from trying again and just returning when it all gets sorted. Not that that will be easy, but still. It’s a possibility.

He makes the absolutely foolish mistake, after pouring his second drink, of googling ‘marriage visa’ as if that will be the answer to any or all of his problems. Allows himself a brief, excruciating moment to imagine he has someone to marry and make that a reality.

But then…he does, does he not?

OR, a greencard marriage AU

Clean Slate by smc_27. E, 25k. “Henry.” Pez comes over, puts both hands on Henry’s cheeks and looks him dead in the eye. “You are not a sad man who’s gotten dumped. You’re in the prime of your life, and I quite desperately need you to act like it.”

“The prime of my life,” Henry scoffs, more incredulous than questioning. “I’ve just gotten out of a 15 year relationship, endured a divorce, am suffering an almost impressive case of writer’s block, and your hands are like bloody icicles.” Pez grins, doesn’t take his hands away. “Explain to me how this is my prime. Please.”

Pez tilts his head, and sounds entirely serious when he says, “Literally anything can happen from here.”

In Accord by @absoluteaudacitywrites. E, 27k. Pursuant to the establishment of an ongoing relationship between The Crown and the Office of the President of the United States, the representatives of the The Queen and Her interests are authorised to establish a contract of marriage between His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales and Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

Claremont 2008 by @happinessofthepursuit. M, 28k. What if Ellen Claremont had gotten elected in 2008 instead of Obama? An alternate timeline story of FirstPrince.

2009 at Buckingham Palace for tea. A sleepover after a quinceañera in 2010. The 2012 London Olympics. A 2014 Model UN Conference. A funeral in 2015. College and another campaign trail.

And the texts, facetimes, and chain emails in between.

By All Means, Rome by @iboatedhere. T, 29k. During a goodwill tour of Europe, Prince Henry rebels against his tedious schedule and disappears into the heart of Rome, seeking reprieve from a life of relentless royal obligations...

Alex Claremont-Diaz, an American journalist living in Rome with a British Monarchy-sized chip on his shoulder, stumbles upon a young man…

Each man keeps a secret to benefit themselves, not thinking how it would affect the other until love gets in the way.

seven fallen angels in atonemеnt by riversdeep. E, 31k. Bea takes the diary from him and snaps it shut. "Well, love, that's because I'm meeting Alex. We'll be at the studio in an hour, so if you're coming with, you should probably wear some nicer trousers."

Henry looks down at his shorts. He thinks they belonged to Pez at one point since they have the words juicy written over the arse in fancy script. "That," He says, "Is completely beside the point."

She shrugs, "Alright. If you want to see the man you've crushed on for two years in those shorts, be my guest."

Well. That only covers part of the problem. The part where Alex infuriates him, that he has to put in an unreasonable amount of effort not to drop things around him because of how beautiful he is. That he is, admittedly, a little bit in love with him.

Or, Alex is a singer collaborating with Bea and Henry is dragged along for the ride, much to his reluctant delight.

would you be my love, my love? (would you be mine?) by ohprongs. M, 32k. When Henry Fox’s fourth series as a professional dancer on BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing rolls around, he’s got a good feeling. He knows what he’s doing — he’s a two-time semi-finalist — and this year he wants to win. That is, until he’s knocked off-kilter by two revelations: they’re allowing same gender contestant/pro pairings for the first time in the show’s history, and Alex Claremont-Díaz is joining as the newest pro dancer.

He is, to put it mildly, absolutely screwed.

(aka, the pro dancers rivals-to-friends-to-lovers au that no one asked for)

Baby (Let Me Put On a Show) by SatinBirds. E, 37k. It’s been five months, and still Alex is never completely prepared for Henry’s performances. Private or otherwise.

Or,

Henry is a night dancer, and he’s everything Alex wants.

Platinum Record series by @cricketnationrise. E, 39k. Email: [email protected]

Channel Name: AustinBoy

Age Restricted?: 18+

Chat enabled?: Yes

Subscriptions: Monthly

Tiers: 2

Tier 1:

> Name: Standard

> Description: Access to chat room, 1 weekly video

Tier 2:

> Name: Bonus

> Description: Access to chat room, 1 weekly video, 1 weekly livestream

Or, a Camboy!Alex AU

A Cloud on Fire Makes its Own Rain by foux_dogue. M, 40k. Henry ends his relationship with Alex in Texas at twenty-one years old.

At forty, Alex's heartbreak is just another relic from the past that he left behind. He's made a name for himself, steadily dismantling the system that never truly welcomed him from the foxhole of a critically-acclaimed late night news show. He's not living his happily-ever-after, maybe, but he's doing work that matters, and he's content with what he's got.

At forty-one, Henry finally decides to abdicate. There's only one person who he trusts to break the story.

February, I'm In Love by IBoatedHere. E, 40k. February themed FirstPrince Prompts

(you got me) cursing the daylight by @waterloolovers. E, 40k.

But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms

And if you like having secret little rendezvous

If you like to do the things you know that we shouldn't do

Then baby, I'm perfect

Baby, I'm perfect for you

“ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ TAKES ON EUROPE!

America’s darling, ACD, is setting off on his first international tour of Europe and The UK next month. His first stop is in London at the sold out O2 arena.”

Alex is a singer. Henry is a podcast host. They should know that secret relationships don’t usually pan out, but they’re willing to give it a try.

What could possibly go wrong?

(Strangers to friends to besties to lovers)

It's Nice to Have a Friend by mainstreamelectricalparade. T, 59k. Two boys meet on a beach, build a sand castle, write letters, and fall in love.

Someday We'll Know If Love Can Move a Mountain by @three-drink-amy. E, 60k. The emails were never leaked, but the Queen has forced Alex and Henry apart. Alex believes they're biding their time until they can be together for real. One day at work, he's forced to confront how wrong he is when Henry's engagement is announced. With both of them miserable and neither wanting the wedding to happen, they grapple with how or if they could even stop it. Or even if they should.

False Dichotomy by chamel. E, 61k. One of the world’s largest retailers is opening a store on his street. A bookstore. He looks down at the article in his hand again and catches sight of a phrase: “We hope that people will see this as more than a bookstore, and hope to foster a sense of community.” As if Henry Fox-Mountchristen has any concept of what community means.

Alex very narrowly does not break something.

(When global mega-retailer Mountchristen opens a new location—led by the infuriatingly attractive and insufferable Henry Fox-Mountchristen—near his LGBTQ-focused bookshop in Soho, Alex's comfortable life is turned upsided down. Luckily, he has one of his best friends to turn to: a guy he met online and knows only as H. Meanwhile, Henry is battling against his family to make a positive difference in the world and falling further in love with a man he's never met. But... what if they changed that?

(make me) misbehave by @onward--upward. E, 65k. Alex Claremont-Diaz has done it again. The Texas-born singer-songwriter released his fourth studio album second skin Thursday at midnight. Full of Claremont-Diaz’s signature lyricism, critics are praising the album for the cohesive image it paints. second skin is the result of a young writer at the top of his game, and every lyric depicts for the listener a picture of a sun-drenched secret romance. Fans are clamoring to be the first to uncover the mystery girl at the center of it all, although Claremont-Diaz remains tight-lipped on the subject…

Or: Alex Claremont-Diaz is a singer-songwriter rising up in the music industry. Henry Fox is the shining star of an acting empire.

This is a love story.

All our Sweetest Hours Fly Fastest by @ahistoricdistraction. T, 69k. It has been three years since they were outted and Henry and Alex have finally settled into a groove that works well for them, except for the fact that it feels like they're always having to steal time together. Queen Mary constantly coming up with excuses to get Henry out of public events with Alex isn't helping, and Alex is done with it. After a long conference in Tokyo that Henry couldn't attend, Alex's flight home being delayed is the last straw and he calls Henry to say they need to figure out a better way to do this, to which Henry agrees. But fate has other ideas. Alex's flight goes missing somewhere over the Pacific, no trace of it to be found, leaving Henry and Alex's family struggling to not lose hope while unable to do anything.

Such a Burden, This Flame on My Chest by allmylovesatonce. E, 76k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is relocating back to Austin to join his dad's firehouse. His days as a firefighter in Washington D.C. ended badly, but no one knows that, or knows why. And he plans to keep that close to his chest. He has to shove it back down if he wants to seem like a normal person, if he wants to do the job, if he wants to get along with his new crew, and most of all, if he wants to get to know the hot British firefighter on the squad.

No one can know what really happened.

It takes a lot to know a man by dazedandconfused. E, 86k. Alex is doing good. Life is good. Work is good. There's just one tiny problem. He can't get out of his head enough to enjoy sex. Nora has a solution in the form of a not-quite-sex-club called Sweet Encounters where he meets Henry, an attentive dom who shows him the joys of BDSM and sex with a man.

Alex gets a new problem when he starts falling for the man, and it turns out Henry might know more about the case Alex is working on than he lets on.

And then it all stacks up from there.

Heavy Weighs the Crown series by @dwell-the-brave. M, 88k. “I’ll be back by Thursday,” Philip promises, giving Martha a hand up the jet’s steps. She gives them a brief wave from the top of the stairs before disappearing.

“Make sure you don’t ski off a cliff!” Bea calls after him as he follows his wife into the jet. He waves a hand dismissively at her and then withdraws into the darkness of the cabin.

That’s the last thing any of them say to him.

Philip dies, and Henry becomes heir.

Something Borrowed, Something Blue by anincompletelist. E, 116k. When June gets engaged, Alex, her brother, and Henry, her best friend, are asked to be the official Guys Of Honor. There’s a month to plan the whole thing, which would be near impossible anyway, only made worse by the fact that being around each other the last several years has only ever led to petty fights and useless competition. Unfortunately, as the two most important men in her life - aside from her fiancé - they don’t really have much of a choice.

Alex has a lot of feelings about this. As it turns out, Henry does too.

Trust Your Heart If The Seas Catch Fire by Light_of_Bane. E, 171k.

Alex had a plan.

And then his life got thrown upside down after finding out President Claremont is his mother.

Now his plan is shot to hell and he's stuck navigating a world he never expected to be in - one of privilege and the spotlight and a family that's far cry from the abusive one he had grown up with. How's he supposed to do this?

And why is Prince Henry so much prettier in person?

This was not the plan.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part One

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Two

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

#firstprince #rwrb fic recs #rwrb #alex x henry #red white & royal blue

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hyukalyptus · 1 year

Text

not at all — hueningkai x chubby!fem!reader. NSFW/MDNI!

cw. first date, chubby!reader, mention of eating and drinking, reader's a bit tipsy, pet names (cutie, pretty i think), tummy love obvi, nipple play obvi, marking, biting, tiddy fuck <3, oral (m. receiving), jiggle, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship? notes. this is self indulgent AF!!! reposted from me my old acct, didn't rly edit, smut under cut. wc. 2.2K

“Kai!” You smile when you open the door, greeted by the cutest Kai you’ve ever seen, all dressed up, holding a bouquet of pink peonies, smelling of cologne. It’s only the second time you’ve seen him, but you didn’t think he could get any cuter after meeting him at the bookstore the other day—cute nose in a book, wavy hair falling over his eyes, biting his lip in concentration.

You’d caught him off guard approaching him, recommending another book based on what he was reading and ended up chatting for a while.

“Just let me know if you need any other book recommendations once you finish that one.”

“Okay, will do.” He smiled softly, nodding awkwardly.

“I’m gonna go now…so just let me know, yeah?” Pressing his lips together, he nodded again. “Are you here a lot?”

“No, I’m not here too often,” he said, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m trying to get you to ask me for my number.”

“Oh! Right, right…phone numbers—ha.”

You simply look stunning. Your gorgeous dress hugs you in all the right places, accentuating your chest perfectly. It’s a totally different look from the sweater and jeans you were wearing the other day. So seeing your chest like this gives him heart eyes. He’s just absolutely, positively giddy looking at you. It’s difficult for him to even say, “For you,” while he hands you the flowers.

“Oh, wow, thank you. How’d you know these were my favorite?” You giggle, letting him in your apartment, but he doesn’t go past the front entryway. He simply watches in awe while you find a vase, rambling a bit to him, not even noticing him shyly standing across the room. “Come over here, silly. Make yourself at home,” you say.

Nodding, he slowly makes his way closer to you, but he does make a point to look over your apartment—noticing little details about you. The quirky gallery wall above your couch, the fancy olive oils near your stovetop, that book you bought from that bookstore where you met resting on your coffee table. “You’re so cute,” you say, his ears turning red hot. “Just come over and have a seat.” You motion to the bar stool behind the kitchen counter.

Remembering this is a date and he can flirt with you a bit, he says, “You look really pretty.” It might not have been the cheekiest of flirting, but it’s still flirting.

“Thank you,” you smile. “You look really pretty tonight too.” And he really does—he’s so, so pretty, almost ethereal, like there’s a glow around him. “So, whatcha got planned for us this evening?” You ask, leaning over the counter, sparkly eyes blinking up at him, tits peeking out over the neckline of your dress. He tries—really, he does—maintaining eye contact, but you’re so, so pretty too, he can’t look at your eyes either.

So he opts for checking his watch before saying, “I’ve got reservations for us in about a half hour. We should probably get going actually.”

“Oh, okay! Sure,” you smile, grabbing your bag and heading out the front door.

It’s such a cute, cozy place. All the walls and decor are so warm, it’d make anyone want to cuddle, but for touchy-feely people like the two of you, you’re already all cuddled into each other.

The two of you clicked as soon as you sat down. You haven’t stopped giggling, touching his arm, you’ve caught him glancing down at your lips more than a few times. And he just can’t get enough of you. You are the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He truly believes that.

After dinner and a few glasses of wine later, you ask him—with your best please eyes—to walk you back home. And it’s a good thing too, because he was planning to anyway.

Both of your arms wrapped around one of his, he drags you back to your apartment, having the best time walking down a quiet sidewalk together. You look up at him, his strong nose undeniably noticeable, his pink, plush lips curling into a smile while he laughs with you.

Oh, how you wanted him. He was simply adorable in the way he joked with you, held the door open for you, and reached for the bill. The whole evening, he was dipped in sugar. And he seemed like this big, tall teddy bear waiting to be devoured by you.

“You wanna come up for another drink?” You asked, silently begging him with your pretty eyes, long eyelashes batting up at him. You weren’t sure where he was with everything, to be honest. You’d never know what he was thinking about you.

But oh, how he wanted you. It was torture sitting next you, but he’d never let you know that. The way your tits were pushed up by your dress, spilling over the top as you leaned closer and closer to him, how he could see the indent of your belly button under the silky fabric, your thighs spread across the booth. You looked…delicious. He couldn’t wait to get you out of that dress, writhing underneath him while he kissed and bit your tummy for a minimum of ten minutes before flicking his tongue over your clit and oh, you legs wrapped around his head, he had to stop himself before it was too noticeable.

Following you inside, you start pouring some more wine for the two of you, soon joining him on the couch. And it’s more of the same—laughing, giggling, joking, just having fun in each other’s company. It feels so good and natural being together. Soon enough, you’re not sure if it’s the wine or what, but something comes over you.

He’s way too polite to initiate anything on a first date, but you? You need him, but you don’t want to come on too strong. The wine isn’t helping though.

Your hand grazes his thigh and he swears his heartbeat is in his throat. “You look so pretty right now,” you whisper. He swallows, lips parting. “Just…” you trail off, taking a sip of the tarte, red wine, lips stained by now. “The way this candle flickers across your skin…you just look…wow.”

“Thank you,” he chokes out. Is he even getting the hint?

“You’re honestly probably the prettiest guy I’ve seen,” you say, setting your glass on the coffee table. “This nose is gorgeous.” You lightly drag the tip of your pinky down his bridge, punctuating it with a cute boop to the tip of his nose. “And your eyes…ah, so pretty.” You drag the pad of your thumb across his eyelashes as his eyes flutter shut. “And don’t even get me started on those lips.” You rest back against the couch, smirking at him.

“No, no, go ahead,” he says, the slightest hint of a giggle in his voice. “What about my lips?”

Ah, he’s got the hint now. “Just how kissable they look. And…” you start, leaning closer to him, hand inching higher and higher on his thigh, faces close enough to feel each other’s breath on your lips. “I want them all over me.”

Catching your lips with his, he carefully sets the wine glass down before squeezing your thigh, earning a nice groan from you. Pushing off his jacket, he slips his arms out of the sleeves, reaching for your waist, guiding you to straddle his lap. He’s surprisingly good at this based on his shy, cute demeanor throughout the rest of the evening. Legs falling over his, he cranes his neck to reach your lips before trailing down your neck, hands all over your hips.

“Fuck…” you sigh, hands tangling into his hair. Already burying his face in your cleavage to kiss even more of your skin, both of your breathing starting to get heavy. “My, uh…my bedroom’s down that hallway,” you say and he got the hint immediately.

Hoisting you up with a grunt, thick legs wrapped around his waist, your lips part only briefly as he finds the door knob. Dropping you to your bed, you desperately unbutton his shirt before sliding it off him. He pushes your dress up past your waist, letting out a groan of relief at the sight of your tummy and how gorgeous it is. One hand on your waist, the other on your tit, he simply attacks it with kisses, sucks, and bites.

You’re not really sure what he’s doing—no one’s ever done this with you before. He doesn’t stop showing your tummy love while his hips grind into the mattress. He must really love tummies. The idea of him pining after your belly all night fills you with butterflies.

Turning away from him, he whines and pouts at the loss of your beauty, but you say, “I just want this dress off me.” Nodding, he finds the zipper, quickly pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor to get back to your tummy as soon as possible. It doesn’t last long, though, because once he squeezes your bare tit for the first time, his eyes widen before he makes his way back up to your chest, squishing them together to bury his face into.

Finally flicking his tongue over your nipple, you moan so sexily, grinding your hips against him. Pushing him off you, you find a moment to flip him on his back, reaching for his pants button, slipping them off quickly.

It’s your turn to shower his body with kisses and love, starting with a sweet, gentle kiss to his nose, making your way down his chest, licking over his nipples briefly, spending a good amount of time on his tummy, then his glorious thighs. And the beauty that is his cock—pinker than the rest of him and leaking wonderfully.

Holding him gently, your mouth drops open, but you look up at him through your eyelashes for permission and he nods, eyebrows stitched together. Sinking your lips around his cock, you drag your lips down so slowly, making him whine, cheeks turning pink from embarrassment. One thing about him is…it doesn’t take much for him. Doesn’t take much before he starts begging…begging to fuck you.

“Be patient, cutie.” And suddenly, you remember, this guy loves tummies and tits—you wrap your tits around his cock, bouncing them up and down and his brain short circuits. The sight of you like this—

“Holy fuck—” he gasps, head falling back against the pillow, rolling his hips between your cleavage. His dominant side seems to have completely vanished under everything you’re doing to him, which you love. Fingers fumbling as they try to wrap around your hair, breath rattling as your name leaves his mouth, toes curling.

Releasing, you straddle his waist, his big hands squeezing your hips as you reach underneath yourself for his cock, rubbing it up and down your folds.

He’s so tantalizing, it doesn’t take long to give into him, sinking down on him completely, his eyes slamming shut at the feeling of you. His hands are all over you. Squeezing your bouncing tits, pinching your waist, squishing your soft ass, holding your hips for stability.

And goddamn does he feel good, reaching the deepest parts of you, giving you butterflies with the way he looks up at you, squeezing you in all the right places.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “You’re so…your cock feels…you—”

“I hope the ends of these sentences are good,” he chuckles. You simply don’t know what to do with yourself as you try grounding yourself by grabbing a tit, then running your hands through your hair, anything, but you can only nod before you find the strength to respond.

“Yes, yes,” you pant. “You feel so, so, so good. Holy fucking shit.”

Fucking up into you, he’s desperately chasing his orgasm, cock sliding in and out of your pussy so deliciously. His breath is erratic as his head drops against his pillow, knots in his stomach tightening with each bounce, fiercely gripping your waist, orgasm quickly approaching. Your whines, the way you’re bouncing over him, the sight of your tits jiggling furiously sends him over the edge.

And “Fuck, you’re perfect.” Everything about you. His legs involuntarily lift off the bed, muscles trembling as he cums inside you, the feeling washing over you as you’re chasing your own orgasm.

But it doesn’t take long—one of his thumbs circling over your clit and the other over your nipple is more than enough to send you over the edge. You’re a whimpering mess, fucking yourself on his overstimulated cock, mouth dropping open, obscene sounds spilling out. Falling forward, your tits rub up against his chest as you ride it out.

You don’t really do much—just lay on top of him while you two catch your breath, his fingertips dragging across your back until his cock slips out of you on its own.

He finally breaks the silence, “Wow, that was…”

“Yeah, that was great,” you hold your head up to look down at him with a smirk, pecking his nose. “I like you.”

“Ah, stop…” he giggles. “I like you too.” You sit up, running your fingers through your hair and his hands find themselves in the pinch of your waist, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips, but he chuckles and says, “Oh my gosh, look.” You look down and three beautiful hickeys had already bloomed on your belly. He looks a bit embarrassed and admits, “Yeah, I kinda have a thing for tummies.”

“Oh yeah? I couldn’t tell,” you sarcastically, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Is that weird?”

You press gentle kisses to his jaw as you shake your head and say “Not at all, cutie.”

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babayagakeanu · 6 months

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Dating a jealous John Constantine (p2)

Before you and John got together, you had your fun, and you had your friends. You were always headed to the next bar with your friends when you first met John in passing. Tall, dark, and handsome, you were immediately drawn to him.

You saw him again when you were closing up your antique bookstore and he stopped in.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed for the night.” You stare at him as he lights up a cigarette. “And we definitely don’t allow smoking in here, either.”

”Sorry, doll.” Flicking out his cig, he walks up to your counter. “I need a book, and I’m hoping you have it.” He was a little pale, like he’d seen a ghost, and if it wasn’t for your terrified scream at the looming dark figure behind him, you and him would probably be toast right about now.

Ever since he saved both your lives that night, you agreed to drive him around jobs in the city, and it was fun and terrifying at the same time.

he’d started to grow close with you after some time, the sound of your laughter making his stomach do cartwheels, the way your hair smelled right after your shower, and the way you applied your lotion to your legs had him stiffening in his pants. Doing this in front of him was an innocent act on your part, but you were oblivious to the torture you were causing.

Asking john to fasten your necklaces was a common reoccurrence. He was tall and could see the back of your neck anyways so it was just easier for him to do it. He’d fasten the necklace, all the while, holding his breath as to not sigh out in part of the sweet smell wafting from your neck; some old perfume of yours.

You had gotten your first boyfriend some months after meeting John, still oblivious to the huge crush he had on you. Everything was going fine, until John started to act weird around you and your partner.

He’d come out just wrapped in a towel from the shower, and you’d catch yourself staring at him, mouth catching flies as he states, “oh, sorry guys, thought I’d be alone tonight.” He smirks, and he knows what he’s doing.

Your boyfriend would try and talk to john about getting you gifts, asking what you’d like and John would give him wrong answers out of pure jealousy.

Don’t even get me started on how he would be starring daggers at the guy whenever he would kiss or touch you in front of John.

Dude is full on simp-mode at this point

When you finally break up with your current toy, John takes every opportunity to make you realize he’s it for you.

Purposefully placing things on the top shelf so you’d ask him too bring it down, his hands grabbing at your waist, sending shivers up your spine as he steadies himself.

The trailing of his fingers on your nap as he fasten your necklace once more.

The flirtatious teasing and glances from across the breakfast table.

One night, after getting ready to go out with your friends, decked out in makeup and one tight dress, he snaps.

“Don’t go.” He states, standing in front of the doorway.

”John, don’t be an ass, I’m going out with my friends. Please move.”

“I said, don’t go.” He stands up from leaning against the door wand walked towards you like a predator tracking his prey. “I said, don’t go because I don’t want to see you with anyone else but me.”

Your mouth opens and shuts as your brain rewires itself. “What do you mean, John?” You finally finds the words as you realize you’ve backed yourself into a corner.

”I love you, y/n. i fucking love you and it hurts me to see another man touch what’s rightfully mine.” He kisses you hard, and you find yourself melting, wrapping yourself in cig smoke and whiskey as the door closes, cutting out the sound of your laughter and John’s.

——————-

I’m sorry if this sux. I’ve been dealing with a nasty head cold but i wanted to get this out for you guys. Please enjoy!!

#keanu reeves x reader #fluff #new post #john constantine x reader #john constantine 2005

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preseriesdean · 2 months

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preseries dean-centric/pov fic recs

for @spnficrecfest day one: specific era 🧡

Odysseus, American by coyotesuspect sam/dean, 10.1k words, rated M, published 2010 Dean finds Peter O'Toole's recording of the Odyssey in a bin marked “Audio" in Casa Grande's only used bookstore. The place smells like cigarette smoke and old books, and it reminds him of Sam.

Multitude of Sins by Linden sam/dean, 4.4k words, rated T, outsider POV, published 2015 Every now and again, Jim Murphy would look up from his altar and find the Winchester boys at the back of his church.

We Drank a Thousand Times by glorious_spoon dean/omc, 43.2k words, rated M, published 2010 They meet in a bar fight in North Carolina when Dean is nineteen, broke, and desperate, then again when a hunt brings the Winchesters into town a few years later. Neither one of them ever puts a name to it but every once in a while, through the years, Dean finds his way back.

pack up the moon by deathdreamt sam&dean, 5.9k words, rated T, published 2021 Sam storms back out from their room, his backpack on and his duffel hanging off his shoulder and isn’t it kind of tragic that his whole life fits in two bags. He looks suddenly much younger than he is, eyes shining. John is back at his guns, whiskey at his elbow, and Dean can hardly believe how rapidly his life is cracking down the centre.

lost in yesterday by margaryes aka @christsam sam/dean, 1k words, not rated, john POV, published 2023 John hasn’t seen his youngest son in 18 months.

Inseparable by astolat sam/dean, 6.7k words, rated M, published 2008 It was just plain sense, so Dean didn't understand why something about the way Dad said quietly, "It's time you had your own bed," made him feel guilty and confused.

The Palm Oasis by @fictionallemons sam/dean, 12.3k words, rated E, published 2022, sex work John strands Dean and Sam at a middle-of-nowhere motel while he investigates possible demon omens in Arizona. The place is nothing to write home about, but at least it has a pool. Dean resolves to think of this as a vacation for him and his studious little brother, but when their money runs out sooner than expected, he considers turning tricks at a nearby truck stop so he can feed Sam. Then a creepy guy from the pool makes an offer Dean doesn’t want to take but Sam won’t allow him to refuse—and the brothers edge over a line they’ve both been wanting to cross for a long time.

Summer Blackout by nutkin sam/dean, 11.6k words, rated E, published 2012 When Dean is seventeen, they spend five months being normal.

Poughkeepsie by aeli_kindera sam&dean, 9.7k words, rated T, published 2021 “Sammy,” says Dean again, urgency cracking his voice. “We gotta — we really gotta go. I need you to — just — remember Poughkeepsie? Drop everything, no questions asked, and run? This is a — a Poughkeepsie situation. Please, man, I need you.” Sam remembers Poughkeepsie.

To Repair Broken Men by procrastin8or951 sam/dean, 3.1k words, rated T, published 2015 Dad and Sam keep fighting. Dean can't fix his family, so he fixes things around the crappy apartment they are staying in.

#spnficrecfest #wincest #preseries #fanfic

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musamora · 7 months

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— 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 .ᐟ · 𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔲 𝔡𝔞𝔷𝔞𝔦 ༉‧₊˚

𝖘𝖚𝖇𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖞𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖘 ⇢ "I have an idea maybe a old bookstore date with Dazai would be so cool :D"

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙. f!reader. tooth-rotting fluff. established relationships. forehead kisses, teasing, quiant bookstores cuddling, romance. dazai is a menace to society, but secretly soft. not proofread. 1.4k+ words.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. this was the request i accidentally misread in this post. so sorry! it's been months since this was placed in my inbox, but i haven't been able to get around to requests in a while. thank you for patiently waiting, and i hope you enjoy! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘. an earthy aroma permeated through the air, a collection of different smells gathered from every page and cover as the warmth of the room clashed with a battering from a faltering AC unit that kicked on and off.

OR you drag your boyfriend into a bookstore, and shenanigans ensue.

The devilish brunette dared to chuckle under his breath, head held high as he paraded you down the street, hand-in-hand. For someone who had been the brunt of a heavy lecture by the agency's resident stickler, he was in a delightful mood. Not that Kunikida's scolding had ever been able to properly put Dazai in his place.

You had entered the office after an extended morning mission, only to be dragged out again; the only clue to your sudden kidnapping was the twitch of Kunikida's brow as you were flung out the door, clueless to the occurrences that had occurred moments prior. When questioning Dazai about it, he simply met your inquiries with a cat-like grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You deadpanned at his obvious avoidance of the question, though quickly relented to his schemes. If there was one thing anyone knew about Osamu Dazai, it was that he always got his way, one way or another. And it was rare to have any time off, so you decided not to think about whatever strings he pulled and enjoy your time together.

You scrolled through the map on your phone, lips pursed. "Has anything new opened recently?"

"You know, we could just—"

"And no," you cut him off, striking him with your eyes. "We are not jumping off another bridge. You remember what happened the last time you decided to test gravity?"

He pouted, bottom lip jutting out. "It's not my fault. The bridge was higher than it looked."

You rolled your eyes. Dazai was such a man-child sometimes.

He perked up, his eyes sparkling. "What about that ramen shop down the road?"

"No," you grimaced, nose shriveling. "They have flies."

"The bar on the corner?"

You shook your head. "Too many rowdy guys."

He whined, flailing his arms into the air. "I give up! Just tell me—"

Only to realize that you were no longer walking beside him. He paused, staring at the empty space before his eyes dotted back. You had stopped before a window, eyes wandering across the inside of what he had surmised to be an old bookstore. He froze as you glanced up at him—he knew that look.

"No, no, no!"

RING!

He cried out for anyone to help as he was dragged inside, acting more like a toddler than a loving boyfriend as he clawed at the doorframe, only to be pulled in inevitably. The older woman at the register stared incredulously at your odd behavior, though you had long become accustomed to the stares you received in public with Dazai.

"I don't wanna go!"

"Calm down!" You pushed him into a chair in the corner with every ounce of strength. "Stay right here. I'll only be a minute."

He groaned, flopping back into the chair with a brilliance only someone in theater could muster, legs swinging over the arms of the chair as he continued to gripe to himself. You hid your laughter behind your palm, lest you incur his infantile wrath, walking into the next aisle.

He didn't want to admit that this store was quite lovely. An earthy aroma permeated through the air, a collection of different smells gathered from every page and cover as the warmth of the room clashed with a battering from a faltering AC unit that kicked on and off. And it was tranquil, not eerily so, but a stark contrast from the loud traffic outside, especially since no one else was around. It was a quaint little store that was an obvious magnet for little bookworms like yourself.

As the seconds flew by, Dazai tapped his foot to the beat of an ancient cuckoo clock that stared at him from the wall. Minutes passed, his head lolling back against the head of the chair, breath pacing to a slow point.

CUCKOO!

He had no time to brace himself, startling as he tumbled out of the chair with a thud. His groans were the accompanying chorus to the clock, which he stared at in scorn. Damn. It had already been forty minutes. What were you doing? Even through the tinted windows of the store, it was clear that the sun had begun its descent in between surrounding buildings.

He pulled himself from the uncomfortable floor and started his search, but it didn't take any time at all to find you.

"There she is."

He was about to call out, but his complaint became lodged in his throat. Instead, he hid in the next aisle, peeking between the cracks of another bookshelf. It seemed that you hadn't noticed time had passed at all, eyes glued onto the page of the book cradled in your hands. In fact, several other books were stacked next to you on the floor, awaiting your watchful eyes. Your expression could only be described as a kiss upon a cloud, fingers nestling the pages of the book with such care, eyes scanning every word as you intended to soak the story in.

A part of him felt jealous. How could an inanimate object take up so much of your time? Time that was supposed to be focused on him! But there was another part of him; he couldn't quite place it.

You finally spotted him as he rounded the corner, sparing a glance at one of the clocks as the realization struck you, turning back with a crooked smile.

"Sorry. I lost track of time."

"Here." His fingers braced against your shoulders, carefully prying your aching back from the unforgiving bookshelves as he settled in behind you, much to your surprise. "That's better."

"D-Dazai, what're you—?"

"So, what's this one about?" His arms slung around your waist, practically a second nature for him as he enfolded you in a koala-like embrace, your back snug against his chest.

You only blinked, and a knowing smirk grew on his lips. "Use your words, love."

You sputtered, slapping his arm with the book before managing to settle yourself, stifling the heat that threatened to take over your whole body.

"It's a romance novel."

He raised a brow. "Romance?" He chuckled, and you did not want to address the way the low timber of his voice made your limbs turn to mush. "While I am an expert in the field, I would love to hear what seems to strike your particular fancy."

But you met him with hesitation. "Are you sure?"

"What?" he cooed, his nose nuzzling into your neck, the warmth of his breath prickling your skin as he laid down a path of kisses along your throat. "Is it so hard to believe I want to hear your beautiful voice?"

You resisted the urge to squirm away but sighed, looking down at the page. It would be nice to read to someone, would it be?

He barely paid attention to your narration of the book itself, occupying his thoughts as he toyed with strands of your baby hairs between his fingers, his ears picking up the shift of your tone, mellifluous in nature. He hadn't processed precisely what you were saying, but he couldn't help but be enraptured in the rise and fall of your voice, filled with emotion as the story rose to a peak. Neither of you had paid attention to the kisses that he littered across the crown of your head, the motion only settling the butterflies in your stomach to sleep.

As the clock ticked forward, your words began to haze, slurring together as you crawled toward the final page.

CUCKOO!

This time, no one was startled by the intrusive sound. The sun had set into the horizon, leaving you within the glow of faded lamps and flickering lights; the book slumped over in your lap as your breath drew deeper, eyes fluttering closed. Dazai smiled, no mockery or tease, careful not to wake you as he lifted you bridal-style. He was surprised you didn't stir, not once, even while he half-hazardly managed to pay for the book with his spare cash. The woman at the counter was even nice enough to take a few dollars off, too distracted with cooing at your sleeping form.

His little charmer, even while asleep. Awfully cute.

RING!

"Osamu," you mumbled, voice lethargic as the bell and brisk air stirred you from your slumber. The incessant tease shushed you, kissing your forehead with a smile.

"Shh. Rest, love."

And he walked on into the night. Another satisfying date under your belt, if slightly unconventional. But he wouldn't have spent his day any other way. It was worth the lecture.

taglist: @imhandicapableofmath @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @thesilvernight0wl @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @ajaxism @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @sillyspookycat @aureatchi @mxxny-lupin

#muse's anthology ‧₊�� ⋅#f!reader #꒰ა ⎼ [dazai]#✉︎ ⎼ [anonymous] ‧₊˚#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #dazai bsd

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souglias · 4 months

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People Say To Take Things One Step At A Time For A Reason [GINTOKI]

OR: Gintoki makes a dire mistake about you in his drunken state

Gintoki x f!reader

c/w: gintoki has been drinking, alcohol mention, use of pet names (but for humour effect), all fluff no angst :>

word count: 1.2k

note: something I wrote for fun and sheesh finally a fluffy gintoki fic rather than my usual bittersweet fics. For my followers who saw my post about a gintoki multi-chapter fic a while ago, just in case you thought this is it, this is not it. Inspired by this (I couldn't find the image from the original artist's twitter 0-(-( )

All likes and reblogs are appreciated!

The phone rings at your bookstore at 1am as you're finishing up some administrative logs. It must be a prank for a call that’s way beyond opening hours. Even if it isn't, you decide you don't want to deal with queries at this time. The phone quietens after 5 rings.

Not long later, the phone starts ringing again. It sounds like urgent business for someone to be calling a bookstore twice in the middle of the night.

"Hello, this is Kabukicho books. How can I help you?"

An all-too-familiar voice comes out from the receiver. His words are slurred and you press the receiver to your ears as you strain to listen to him.

"Heyy, are you free for... dinner?"

"Gintoki. It is long past dinner."

"Dinner is any time after lunch and before breakfast."

"I want to sleep and you should too."

You hear whining from the other end of the phone. "Can't you have at least a parfait with me? We haven't met in a while!"

Is this a secret, roundabout cry for help from him? Coming from the very lips of Gintoki, those words feel like stark yellow paint on a white wall.

Regardless, you are a little concerned he's going to die in a ditch somewhere instead of making it home. Even if he's gotten this drunk multiple times before he called you today.

He prompts you again with a "hello" before you hear some crashing on the other side.

You suppose once is fine. It is a solid reason to see the person you harbour feelings for. On top of that, he's right that the two of you have not seen each other for a while. And just maybe, it is a sign that he chose to call you out of everyone else.

(Okay but maybe you're just being delusional. Who else he could even call? Kagura would simply smash the ringing phone at this hour. If he calls up the Shimura household, Otae would tell him to die rather than let her younger brother pick him up.)

You sigh, "Where are you now?"

He hums a little before telling you the bar he visited. You pack up your work (that is still 1% unfinished) and head out into the cold winter night to find him. Gintoki should thank his lucky stars that you like him, otherwise, you would have left him to freeze. Almost no one gets to interrupt your work.

You easily find the telephone booth near the bar he patronised. As you approach the telephone booth, you see a scene you find somewhat humorous. He's bent over backwards in the cramped space, face pressed against the clear glass of the booth and feet propped against the other side. His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open with drool.

Taking out your phone, you snap a photo of him before you knock on the door. He's so ridiculously unsightly, but it endears you.

One eye of his cracks open and his lips upturn. You swing the door open and give him an unamused look. That doesn't shake his half-lidded eyes and a wide smile.

"Yo, you pretty thing."

Your heart skips a beat. Gintoki is possessed, or he's lost it. All Gintoki has been calling you is an ugly hag and a shit-faced bitch. To call you pretty is... out of this world.

"You're way too fucking drunk. Get out of there by yourself, I'm not helping you."

As he twists and turns to get himself out of that difficult position, he whines again. "Help me, woman! You can do this little thing for me right?”

Seeing him struggle, you decide to milk this scene. “Well, who am I for you to assume this is ‘little’?”

“My girlfriend.”

You're sure your face is visibly red at this point, and your heart is beating in your throat. You manage to stammer out, "What?"

"You're my girlfriend duh!" He exclaims without an ounce of doubt in his statement.

He's lost it. He's lost it.

"Since when? Huh? Huh? Why was I not informed about this?"

"Huh? Why are you-"

Gintoki freezes and he narrows his eyes at you. It dawns on him that you are not his girlfriend.

To be precise, he has not asked you to be his girlfriend.

Suddenly, he's able to stand upright in the phone booth. He remains rooted there, his body turned away from you. What has he done? His heart beats at a thousand per hour and he thinks he might collapse.

"Did you mistake me for a girlfriend or something? Anyway, you should have told us you have one."

He could pretend to black out now. Or maybe he should try to be smooth.

"Well, no... I don't. I just forgot I wasn't in the future, that's all!"

Gintoki timidly looks over his shoulder to check your reaction. From the puzzled look on your face, he fucked it. He doesn't even remember the exact pick-up line if one like this actually existed. Something about a girlfriend but in the future.

"What are you talking about..."

He averts his gaze again. The obvious way to clarify everything is to be honest with you. It's that easy. It's that easy. But he can't say it. Even in his half-intoxicated state, he feels like he'll keel over saying those three or five words. He did plan to say it some time, but not in this manner.

You watch his broad back slowly shrink inwards, and you hear him mumble something you don't catch. A gut feeling fills your chest. You breathe, slowly regaining your composure. Meanwhile, he decides he should pretend to black out.

"Look, if you wanted me to be your girlfriend, you should have asked me first. I would have said yes. Don't skip steps, please. I'd like some order."

Already amid Operation Pretend-To-Collapse, Gintoki falls backwards and lands on the ground. But his eyes are wide open instead of shut as he lies on the ground, searching for a sign of a joke from you. You lower into a crouch, continuing to stare into his bewildered eyes.

“So, what will it be, darling?”

The weight you put on what you just called him makes him shudder. His face is too distractingly hot compared to his body for him to come up with any kind of retort. He mumbles again with his eyes looking elsewhere.

“Huh? I can’t hear you, you have to speak up.”

Words come out in a murmur. All you hear is the word “girlfriend” but you egg him more. “What?? Is this all you got, Sakata Gintoki??”

His hand reaches for your face and he pulls you towards him, pressing your lips against his. You can smell a sweet alcohol scent on him. When you pull away, you find a fiery, intense gaze in his eyes.

“You’re my girlfriend now, stupid.”

Just like that, he renders you speechless. But a smile tugs on the corner of your lips, and you stifle a laugh.

Gintoki picks himself up from the ground, still a little woozy. You grab his arm to steady him, then decide to wrap your arm around his back. He stiffens slightly but eases into your arm for support. When he rests his arm around your shoulders, both of you begin the journey to his home.

“Just so you know, I have unfinished work thanks to your ‘little’ favour. You owe me now. Maybe you should be the one buying me a parfait instead, honeypie.”

He glances at you only for a moment, unamused, before he turns away. You laugh, getting a kick from the whole night of teasing your friend-turned-boyfriend. Suddenly, you stop laughing.

“You didn’t throw up before you met me right?”

“I didn’t.”

Disgust starts creeping onto your face. “Are you sure? Are you sure?”

“I didn’t, you shit.”

#gintoki x reader #sakata gintoki x reader #sakata gintoki imagines #sakata gintoki #gintama x reader #gintama writing #gintama imagines #gintama #souglia.s #the way i had titled this 'confess your love for me' in my google docs #also fun fact this idea has been sitting in my drafts for a while #and it was inspired by a particular piece of pinterest art that has him drunk and bent over in a telephone booth

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