#Midnight Espresso Masterlist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starsinthesky5 · 2 months ago

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you are in love: big reputations part 1 || joe burrow x reader

description: covering the events of you are in love V part 1

universe: you are in love masterlist

a/n: there is NO face claim! i just use whatever i find on pinterest and envision for this series ;) you can tap on the photos to get closer look! especially the stories

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @burrowswomen @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @ladyluvduv

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📍los angeles, california

liked by: joeyb_9, lahjay10_, sabrinacarpenter, y/bsf_21, teehiggins and others

tagged: joeyb_9, y/bsf21

y/n_y/ln: been a minute LA 🌃

comments:

joeyb_9: i'm the best photographer, i know i know

——— y/n_y/ln: use the cocky tone again and i'll leave you stranded in erewhon mr. burrow

—————— y/bsf21: ooo ooo leave him by the $20 strawberries

————————— y/n_y/ln: you should've seen his face when i showed him them

fan39: more black/dark aesthetics 👀

fan300: his hand placements always have me spiraling like joey b?? sir? there's kids around 😵‍💫

y/bsf_21: those espresso martinis were much needed for girls night

teehiggins: get joe to buy the chrome hearts jacket he sent us and ill venmo $50

——— lahjay_10: make it $100. i got y'all. joe brr gotta dress like he in hollywood if he walking 'round them streets

————————— joeyb_9: i hate you both

———————————— y/n_y/ln: well i love them sooooo deal boys 🙂‍↕️

fan3030: SHE'S BACK NOBODY MOVE

fan1: if I see them out and about I will collapse

fan31: grammy weekend just got a whole lot more interesting

sabrinacarpenter: hey gorgeous come outside i'm taking u 2 dinner 😍

——— y/n_y/ln: give me 15 minutes ;)

—————— sabrinacarpenter: i see what you did there 💞

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y/n_y/ln via Instagram Stories

pre-grammys. post grammys.

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liked by: joeyb_9, lahjay10_, killatrav, y/bsf_21, taylorswift, and others

y/n_y/ln: and in the death of her reputation, she felt truly alive

i'm extremely excited to announce that my brand new album, reputation, is out july 4th! first two singles—ready for it… & i can see you—dropping at tonight at midnight EST

i can't wait to share more with you soon 🐍🖤

...ready for it?

cassandra

who's afraid of little old me?

i did something bad

look what you made me do

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

the smallest man who ever lived

the prophecy

i can see you

delicate

gorgeous

labyrinth

you are in love

dress

call it what you want

so high school

daylight

so it goes

don't blame me

but daddy i love him

i don't wanna live forever (ft. zayn)

midnight rain

this is what you came for

"slut!"

sweet nothing

new year's day

i can do it with a broken heart

this is why we can't have nice things

endgame

karma

comments:

joeyb_9: unbelievably proud of you. you leave me speechless with your talent every single day. truly the most hardworking and special women i’ve ever known. i love you more than words can describe

——— y/n_y/ln: ilyttmats 💞

————— fan62: I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND TO SATURN? AGAIN? KCHSKWBE

——————— fan6262: NOT THE LYRICS FROM SEVEN? OH SHE DOWN BAD

——— fan2737: STOP IT RIGHT NOW SHE IS SO FUCKING BACK

——— fan001: I. AM. SCREAMING. SCREECHING EVEN.

fan1617: TRACK 9 IS HIGHLIGHTED ORANGE?? HELLOOOO???

zayn: honored to be part of this one. let’s go. 🖤

——— fan6262: oh my god 🥹

fan828282: are you trying to kill us?

fan81: A DOUBLE SINGLE DROP? TONIGHT? WHAT THE FUCK? ALSO 30 SONGS??? Y/N??

taylorswift: finally!! can't wait for them to hear your masterpiece

fan292: MOTHER IS MOTHERING

fan2._: you really just dropped a tracklist with no warning and expected us to be okay????

y/ncollective: first two singles at midnight? see you all in the afterlife

evanmcpherson: midnight listening party in the locker room???

teehiggins: oh yeah, this one boutta go crazy 🔥

fan33: oh, joe’s about to be in his lover boy era after this one

bengals: reputation (bengals version) when??

sabrinacarpenter: WOOO 🥳

enews: oh we are SO ready for it! baby let the games begin 🔥

fan99: JOE BURROW WE LOVE YOU. thank you for making our girl feel this again 😙

fan45: 24? good god we’re in for a treat. she ain’t playing about this album

fan2662: the poem 🥺 she’s been through so much and is finally in a secure place in life and is sharing it with us...oh someone hold me while i cry

fan282: i am so happy she found joe stfu

fan433: these songs are gonna be my new obsession for the next year, i can already tell.

y/bsf: HELLLL YEAHHH BABY SOUND THE ALARMS THE BITCH IS BACK

——— y/n_y/ln: did I ever leave? (don't answer this)

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📍grammys

💿 now playing: around me (metro boomin ft. don toliver)

liked by: joeyb_9, enews, versace, tatemcrae, jenfinch_12, y/bsf_21, taylorswift, and others

tagged: versace, recordingacadamy

y/n_y/ln: goin' sheisty in all black

thank you for another amazing night @recordingacademy 🖤 this one's for the books

comments:

y/bsf_21: BABE? oh my GOD you look so gorgeous

joeyb_9: hey pretty lady, u need a ride home tonight?

——— y/n_y/ln: no sorry, i have a hot quarterback waiting for me outside

—————— joeyb_9: damn tough luck (it is me...right?)

————————— y/n_y/ln: yes it's you joe

joeyb_9: i need cpr because damn baby you took my breath away

——— y/n_y/ln: cue random breeze of wind, slo-mo running, and the top gun soundtrack in the background

tatemcrae: HOT 😍

voguemagazine: the best-dressed list starts and ends with this 🔥

fan1212: joe burrow is the luckiest man ALIVE

bengalsfan22: sheisty mention? i see you

rollingstone: an artist, an icon, and now, a moment

fan3838: i hope her ex is spiraling after that performance, call out, album announcement, and red carpet with joe moment

taylorswift: i taught you well, but you just took it to another level!!

tmz_tv: @joeyb_9, you good? she just broke the internet

gracieabrams: 💘

enews: this is how you make an entrance

fan20: 😍😍😍😍😍😍

y/nfan282: it should be illegal to look this good and be this talented

gridback_news: y’all hear that? that’s the sound of jaws dropping worldwide

fan01: this just screams 'i have a fine man at home and i win grammys for fun' energy

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joeyb_9 via Instagram Stories

pre grammys. post grammys.

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💿 now playing: bad reputation (joan jetts & the blackhearts)

liked by: joeyb_9, versace, jenfinch_12, y/bsf_21, taylorswift, killatrav, olivarodrigo, gracieabrams, addisonrae, zendaya, and others

tagged: recordingacadamy

y/n_y/ln: don't blame me for what you made me do

comments:

y/bsf_21: ended lives and smiled about it. queen shit

——— y/n_y/ln: doing what i do best ;)

joeyb_9: killing the game (and killing me)

——— y/n_y/ln: i know cpr babe it’s okay

taylorswift: and that’s how you do it. snaps fingers 💅 ✨

versace: a performance worthy of couture 🖤

oliviarodrigo: consider my entire existence SHAKEN.

fan002: the outfit? vocals? ATTITUDE? pop star and comeback of the century

fan55-1_: in all seriousness, i am so proud of her for this. it’s not easy, but she did the damn thing. bow down to THEEEE queen

fan2: she really said okay you wanna give me a bad rep? i’ll turn it into an album and aesthetic. now what?

fan0201: her ex is punching the air

fan9292: @joeyb_9 CAN YOU FIGHT

——— fan773: girl be serious hell yeah he can LMAO

fan1010: CULTURAL RESET

recordingacademy: didn’t miss a beat!

y/ncollective: the way she looked at her ex when saying “don’t blame me for what you made me do” MHM. WHAT HE MADE HER DO!!!!!!

gridback_news: killing it 🖤

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liked by: tmz, y/ncollective, rulethejungle, bengalsfan4949, enews, and 1.3 million others

tagged: y/n_y/ln

gridback_news: Y/N is making power moves in more ways than one. After a show-stopping night at the Grammys—where she took home four awards and the spotlight—she was spotted heading to the after-party in this midnight-black celestial mini, looking like a walking prophecy. 🌙✨ But that’s not all she left fans buzzing about. 👀✨

Earlier in the night, Y/N announced her long-awaited album reputation (out July 4th), with two singles—…ready for it? and i can see you—dropping TONIGHT at midnight EST. And if her cryptic teases are anything to go by, there’s a lot more where that came from. 🖤🐍

Meanwhile, sources close to the scene say her ex wasn’t too happy about the events of the evening 👀, but one person who definitely was? Joe Burrow, who was seen celebrating his girl all night long. "He’s just so proud of her," one insider shared. "He’s been calling this her victory lap and can't wait for everyone to hear the magic she created,".

A new era is here, and Y/N is owning every second of it. Are you ready for it? ⏳🔥 #YN #ReputationEra #Grammys #ReadyForIt

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📍los angeles, california

liked by: y/n_y/ln, lahjay_10, jjetas2, teehiggins, jenfinch_12 y/bsf_21, rulethejungle5, and others

tagged: y/n_y/ln

joeyb_9: california dreamin'

comments:

y/n_y/ln: another well crafted photo dump? im impressed jb

——— joeyb_9: seeeeee i'm not totally like a grandpa on social media

y/n_y/ln: hottie alert hottie alert hottie alert hottie alert 🥰

rulethejungle5: embarking on many side quests this year, aren't we joe?

lahjay_10: you built for the midwest bro don’t get lost out there.

——— y/n_y/ln: no need to worry sir, i'm his compass 🙂‍↕️

—————— joeyb_9: .....do we need to remind you of how you got lost on the way to paycor for the first time by yourself

————————— lahjay_10: i still don't get how she ended up in park hills

———————————— y/n_y/ln: listen. his porsche is confusing

—————————————————— teehiggins: oh, but i thought it was because you was too busy changing the playlist and missed the exit?

————————————————————— y/n_y/ln: where the hell did you come from

———————————————————————— joeyb_9: HA outnumbered 😁

fan226: this man is looking more like a hollywood heartthrob than a QB and I’m scared (in a good way)

fan9191: this is like a fan account for y/n now and i am not complaining :)

fan8877: SHE TOOK HIS ASS TO EREWHON LMFAOOOO I CAN'T

fan5874: we all know the only reason he’s posting LA pics is because y/n was there and these are the only times he'll come out of his shell to show us his life😪

——— fan2201: he's so real for that. only coming on here to show him and his girl. love to see it

fan2727: i know y'all see those big ass flowers. treating her like the queen she is that's right 💅 someone should be taking notes right now

teehiggins: 🔥

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📍sushi park, los angeles

liked by: tmz, y/ncollective, rulethejungle, bengalsfan4949, enews, and 2.1 million others

tagged: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9

gridback_news: Fresh off the Grammys, Y/N, and Joe were spotted last night looking absolutely smitten after a cozy date at Sushi Park in LA. The couple, who have been glowing in recent weeks, were all smiles as they enjoyed a rare, relaxed night out before their busy schedules pick up again.

Sources close to the couple say they’ve been happier than ever, fully embracing this new chapter together. "They’ve found such a great balance," one insider shares. "They support each other’s careers 100%, but at the end of the day, their relationship comes first. They’re really protective of what they have,".

Despite their public appearances, those close to them say Y/N and Joe are savoring their private moments, continuing to build their relationship in ways that feel right for them. "They love sharing big milestones with fans, but there are parts of their love story they want to keep just for themselves," another source adds.

Meanwhile, the internet is losing it over Y/N’s surprise album announcement, with fans already obsessed with the two singles that dropped last night—"ready for it?" and "i can see you"—both of which have been heavily speculated to hold hidden meanings 👀. Insiders tease that the album rollout is just getting started, with plenty more surprises on the way.

Up next for the duo? A trip to New Orleans for the NFL Honors, where Joe is nominated for MVP. Between career highs, personal bliss, and a love story that keeps unfolding, these two seem to be in their golden era. ✨ #YNxJ #BurrowedIntoHerHeart #MVPAndThePopStar

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liked by: y/n_y/ln, lahjay_10, jjetas2, teehiggins, jenfinch_12 y/bsf_21, rulethejungle5, and others

tagged: y/n_y/ln

joeyb_9: i don’t do things like this, everyone knows that. but some moments are too big, too important, too damn special not to.

y/n, i don’t even know where to start. watching you these past few months, seeing you fight your way back to yourself, watching you pour every bit of your heart into this record, there aren’t enough words to say how proud i am. you took every doubt, every whisper, every scar, and turned it into something unstoppable. you did what you always do. made magic.

and you didn’t just win. you owned the night. album of the year. a new chapter. a new era. but if we’re being honest, you already won the second you walked out there. i mean, look at you. you were breathtaking. you are breathtaking. i was standing off to the side, watching you shine, wondering how the hell i got lucky enough to love you.

through it all, you’re still my girl. the same one who teaches me more about cooking every time we're in the kitchen and steals my hoodies like i won’t notice. but tonight? tonight, you were every bit the force the world needs to see.

i love you. i’m so damn proud of you. always.

comments:

fan38: y/n winning aoty and joe writing a literal love letter??? this is a rom-com.

fan22: “steals my hoodies like i won’t notice” SIR WE KNOW YOU LOVE IT.

ringseason: “you were breathtaking. you are breathtaking.” excuse me while i go lay on the floor and cry forever.

y/bsf_21: i’m never recovering from this. never

rulethejungle5: “my girl” yeah we lost him for real 😂

y/n_y/ln: you always know how to make me cry in the best way. i love you so much, joey. more than i can ever say. 🤍

——— joeyb_9: i love you

ynupdates: joe burrow just set an impossible standard. no one is touching this level of love and support

fan87: he's so private but he actually posted this? all for her :(

fan46: LOOK at all those flowers!!!!

fan777: treating her right. finally. she deserves this so bad

fan38: joe writes like a man who watches romance movies and takes notes

fan2929: MY HEART CANT TAKE MORE OF THIS

fan001: AHHHHHHH

y/ncollective: joe’s love for her is so loud, i’m actually sobbing.

enews: 🥹

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liked by: tmz, y/ncollective, rulethejungle, bengalsfan4949, enews, and 1 million others

tagged: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9

gridback_news: Spotted! ✈️ Jet-setting to NOLA for NFL Honors after an unforgettable Grammy weekend: Joe & Y/N seen boarding their private jet following a flawless mix of work, play, and award-show sparkle in LA 🏆☀️ From red carpets to cozy moments behind the scenes, these two are the ultimate power couple and are continuing to show the world. Their time in the City of Angels was a perfect balance, and now they’re off to kick off the next chapter—NFL Honors and beyond. Sources say to expect some big album updates coming soon from our favorite Pop Star, so stay tuned! 🔥 #RelationshipGoals #NFLHonors #YNxJ #PostGrammys #OnToTheNext

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#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #yail #yail asks #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic #joey b #joe burrow x y/n #joeburrow #nfl imagine #nfl fan fic #joey burrow #cincinnati bengals

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nottswitch · 9 months ago

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— dreaming about… shopping with theo 👜

» navigation ; masterlist ; theo m.list ; how to request

༉‧₊˚. this man would buy you stuff. there’s no point in arguing, because he would anyway, whether you like it or not. you don’t want something bought? don’t look at it. you look - you get, simple as that. if the first time he tried to buy you something you’d refuse, he’d be genuinely surprised. he wouldn’t understand how you could even have objections, because in his mind, he’s hella rich, he has more money than he can realistically spend, so of course he will, on you, don’t you get it? you want to try paying for it yourself? nah, his card’s pressed to the terminal before you can even blink. if you even insinuated that he was trying to buy your love, he’d be really hurt. he’s expressing love, not buying it. theo just wants to see your happy, pretty smile, and if your favourite things make you smile - ready-set-bought.

༉‧₊˚. a day at the shopping center isn’t just a day, but a date, and one of theo’s favourite ones, bc he gets to spoil you and spend so much time with you? yes, please. he’s not the type of boyfriend to sit outside the shop and wait for you while on his phone, no. he trails after you, carefully studying the clothing options and giving his input. he’d tell you straight up is something doesn’t fit, as well. not in a rude way, of course. “bella, you look gorgeous, but this colour would really make your eyes pop.” a human hanger, clothes you pick out hanging from his arms and shoulders as you make your way to the changing room. lingerie shopping? he’s the first in the store, already picking out sets before you even step inside. you absolutely have to make a show out of trying them on. he’s sitting in the couch, sipping espresso from the tiny cup that the shopping assistants offered, waiting for the first look. you open the curtain and his eyebrow immediately goes up, a sly smirk making the corner of his mouth go up. "what do you say, teddy?" you ask, turning around to check your ass in the mirror. "stupenda" he murmurs appreciatively, slowly nodding and roaming your form with his hungry eyes. you smile and disappear behind the curtain again, oblivious to the fact that theo has to adjust the front of his trousers – who gave you the right to look this hot? you end up buying everything, which isn’t even that useful since he’s taking it off at home anyway.

༉‧₊˚. when you go grocery shopping, you’re trying to be all cute and climb into the shopping cart, but theo gets actually concerned, because he thinks you’re tired already. "piccola, i told you not to wear heels to the grocery store, but you never listen." you laugh, finding his worried eyes adorable, and explain that it’s just a couple’s thing, to ride the shopping cart. he raises his eyebrow, but finds the whole idea pretty amusing, especially after seeing you all happy and cute in the cart. makes puppy eyes at you, asking you to push him in the cart down an empty isle, while no one sees. you spend half an hour searching for theo’s favourite and rare chocolate bar which you can only find in this particular store. if you can’t find it, he has no problem drilling the poor employees about it; he isn’t rude, just really persistent. you end up with more bags than you planned for because he takes two of everything non-perishable. "i know you’ll send me off to get you these cookies at midnight at some point, so i’m just thinking ahead, love."

༉‧₊˚. all about the famous ikea shopping trips because he gets to tell you which positions he’d take you in on which bed (or any surface, to be honest). absolutely adores book shops, especially obscure and second-hand ones, where he can go hunting for rare editions of his and your favourite books. he loves the smell of old books, too, so he can stay there for a long, long while, and it might be the only shop which you have to drag him out of at some point.

bonus: playlist

❥ cars & clothes & calories by blackbear ft. tyler carter

❥ supermodel by måneskin

❥ champagne & sunshine by plvtinum & tarro

❥ espresso by sabrina carpenter

❥ light switch by charlie puth

#— witch’s works ☾#theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fanfiction #slytherin boys

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supernotnatural2005 · 3 months ago

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'Happy Accidents'

Pairing: Dean x Plus!sized Reader

Summary: You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: Dry humping! (18+Only), fluff, mutual pinning, Plus!sized Reader, body insecurities, curvy girl appreciation, swearing.

AN: Okay so this is my first time writing for a more specific reader body type, but being a curvy-girl myself it was interesting to implement it into a story. And with Dean being the appreciator? Yes please! 😍 I know this might not cater to all of you, but I'm inclusive to all y'all ❤️ Also taking some inspo from @bejeweledinterludes post for this one and @zepskies Midnight Espresso series, which is honestly one of my favourite series and stories featuring a Plus!sized reader!! I do hope you guys like this one! 💕

Main Masterlist

You hadn’t seen the Winchesters in over a year.

Not since that hunt in Nebraska—the one that went sideways fast. The one that left you with a busted-up ankle and Dean with a fresh scar along his jawline. The one where, after all was said and done, you parted ways with an easy “See you around,” never expecting “around” to take this long to come back.

But when a case cropped up—one that twisted your gut with unease—you hadn’t hesitated. You picked up the phone and called the only people you trusted to have your back. If anyone could help, it was them.

And now, sitting in a dimly lit bar, waiting for them to arrive, your nerves were shot. Maybe it was the case. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d changed since they last saw you—since he last saw you.

That old, ridiculous crush on Dean Winchester hadn’t gone anywhere. That much had become painfully clear the moment he picked up the phone, his voice as deep, gravelly, and cocky as ever. But now, with time apart and the weight of your own insecurities pressing down, the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist.

You had always been curvier, carrying stubborn weight around your thighs, ass, and middle. But in the last year, you’d softened even more. Life had been quieter, with less running and fewer adrenaline-fuelled hunts. You were still strong, still capable, but you felt different. And you knew the type of women Dean gravitated toward—tall, slim, easy.

You were none of those things, and you never would be. And that was okay. But it was a niggling fact that had always lingered in the back of your mind, that had stung each time the three of you got together and you watched him charm someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

A warm, unexpected hand on your shoulder brings you out of your darker thoughts, with a slight gasp, startling you a little.

“Easy there, sweetheart.”

You turned, heart stuttering as Dean stood there, grinning down at you like no time had passed at all. And damn it all, he looked the same—scruffy and stupidly handsome in that effortless way of his, jeans snug on his hips, flannel worn open over a snug black tee. Sam stood just behind him, offering you a softer, more knowing smile.

“Hey, boys,” you manage, hoping the warmth creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. You slip off the barstool, nerves buzzing, but force yourself to keep it together.

Dean’s eyes flick over you—quick, but thorough. For a split second, something unreadable flashes across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it.

“Missed us that bad, huh?” His smirk is pure Dean, cocky and teasing, slipping back into the easy rhythm of your old banter.

You roll your eyes, but are grateful for it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”

But your voice is softer than you mean it to be, and when you turn to Sam, pulling him into a warm hug first, you feel Dean’s gaze linger.

Then you step up to him, hesitation curling in your chest—but before you can overthink it, his arms are around you, solid and warm, pulling you close like no time has passed at all.

That familiar scent—woody, spiced, edged with leather—wraps around you, grounding you, unraveling you. For a second longer than necessary, you let yourself sink into it, just this once.

The three of you settled into a booth once the bartender set down your drinks. Sam took the seat across from you, while Dean slid in next to you, his presence a little too warm, a little too distracting.

“So,” Sam started, taking a sip of his beer. “What are we looking at?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “A few people have gone missing over the last month—no bodies, no traces, just… gone. I’ve ruled out everything I know of. There’s no signs of a struggle, no sulphur, no EMF spikes. It’s like they just vanished into thin air.”

Dean frowned, brows knitting together. “And no patterns? No connection between them?”

“None that I could find.” You shook your head. “That’s why I called you guys. I was hoping fresh eyes might help.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, both equally puzzled but already slipping into hunter mode.

“Well, we’re here now,” Sam said, ever the problem solver. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift. “We’ll go over everything in more detail tomorrow. Tonight…” You glanced between them, the tension of the case momentarily fading. “It’s just good to see you both.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed warmly, raising his bottle. “To old friends.”

You clinked beers with him, and Dean followed suit, but as your bottles met, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something there—something lingering, unreadable, sending a flicker of warmth through you. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, masked behind an easy sip of his beer. You swallowed, shaking it off as nothing more than a trick of your mind.

The more the beers flowed, the easier it got. You caught up, swapped stories, and fell into familiar rhythms.

Dean was as quick with his smart-ass remarks as ever, and the two of you naturally fell into your usual back-and-forth. Sam, as always, was the long-suffering audience to your antics.

At one point, you and Dean tag-teamed a particularly brutal roast of Sam—this time about the time he’d gotten sick on a case and tried to insist he was totally fine, only to end up passing out face-first into a hotel’s continental breakfast buffet.

“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned, shaking his head as you and Dean laughed. “That was years ago.”

“And yet,” you grinned, “I can still hear the sound of your face hitting that tray of scrambled eggs.”

Dean snorted, nudging his knee against yours under the table. “Dude, you took out the whole table. That poor old lady thought you died.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed his beer away. “Yeah, and that’s my cue. I’ve had enough of you two for one night.”

You laughed, but before you could say anything, Sam stood, shaking his head. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” He pulled you into a quick, brotherly hug, and you squeezed back.

“Night, Sammy,” you murmured, watching as he strode toward the door, leaving you alone with Dean.

You half-expected him to call it a night too, but instead, Dean didn’t move. If anything, the second Sam walked out, he seemed to settle in more, arm stretching along the back of the booth, fingers barely grazing your shoulder. The casual touch sent a ripple of awareness through you, but you forced yourself to act normal, reaching for your drink instead of acknowledging the way your heart had picked up speed.

“I think I’ll stick around a little longer,” he said casually, surprising you.

Your heart kicked up a notch, but you welcomed the company. “Yeah?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

And so you did. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter slipping in between shared memories and stories of the road. Some cases were so bizarre they barely seemed real, and a few had you nearly crying with laughter. Time seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, the bar thinning out around you, and you barely noticed.

At some point, Dean just sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. His expression softened, head tilting slightly as he took you in, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn, it’s really good to see you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out.

Dean huffed a small laugh, eyes still studying you like he was committing you to memory. “You look good, too.”

The words weren’t rushed, weren’t casual or offhanded. They were steady, like a thought he’d been holding onto for a while.

Heat crept up your neck, and you let out a small, nervous chuckle, dropping your gaze to your drink as you toyed with the condensation on the glass. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean shifted, leaning in just a little, enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. “I mean it,” he said, quieter this time, voice dipping low.

All you could think was; what the hell is happening here?

Dean had never been like this with you before. Sure, he flirted—it was second nature to him—but not like this. At least that’s what you’d always believed. Had you just never noticed? Had you missed the way he looked at you before? Or had something changed?

Swallowing, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes sweeping over you—slow, deliberate. No hesitation. No teasing. Just appreciation.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but part of you wanted to reach for it anyway.

Then—

“Last call!”

The bartender’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You exhaled sharply, the moment shattering as you snapped back to reality. A part of you wanted to stay frozen in it, let whatever this was between you and Dean unravel, but instead, you reached for the safest thing to say. "We should head back."

Dean nodded, standing with you, hands shoving into his jacket pockets. But even as you stepped out into the crisp night air, the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it followed you like a shadow.

The walk back to the motel was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under your boots. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat still thrumming under your skin. You kept sneaking glances at Dean, only to find him already looking at you, eyes dark, thoughtful, unreadable.

He was close—not touching, but his presence was all-consuming. The scent of leather and whiskey clung to him, mixing with the crisp night air, making your stomach twist with anticipation.

When you finally reached your door, you hesitated.

"Well… this is me," you said, voice coming out lighter than you intended, a small, nervous chuckle slipping past your lips.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile as he looked down at you. "Yeah."

But neither of you moved.

The air shifted again, crackling with something dangerous, something inevitable.

Dean’s gaze flickered lower—tracing the curve of your mouth, watching as you unconsciously pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched and something in his expression darkened.

"Fuck it."

The words barely left his lips before he was on you, crashing into you with a hunger that sent you stumbling back against the door. The force of it stole your breath, his mouth devouring yours, needy, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally gave in.

A muffled sound of surprise left you, swallowed instantly by his lips, but it only took a second before you melted into him, your fingers fisting the open lapels of his jacket, anchoring yourself against him.

It was hot and messy, all teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that left you lightheaded and aching. His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming—sliding over your hips, your back, fingers digging into your flesh like he never wanted to let go.

You fumbled for the door behind you, barely registering how you managed to get it open before tugging him inside.

Dean groaned against your mouth as the door clicked shut, his hands already working your jacket off your shoulders. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, breathless.

Your stomach flipped, your heart fluttering at the implication—the confirmation that this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment lust. This was Dean. Wanting you. For who knew how long.

A moan slipped past your lips in response because forming actual words wasn’t an option—not with his hands gripping you tighter, not with the way he was kissing you like he was starving.

You barely noticed when you reached the little loveseat, your room provided, until the back of his knees hit it. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, you shoved him down onto it and climbed into his lap.

Dean groaned, head tipping back slightly as his hands found your hips, gripping tight. Touching you like he’d always wanted to. His fingers dug into the soft curve of your thighs, your ass, holding you like he couldn’t get enough.

You stiffened for half a second. The way his hands moulded to your body, the way he held you there so easily—so greedily—made your head spin.

You’d spent years second-guessing what guys thought when they touched you, wondering if they found you too much, too soft in places you’d been taught to shrink. The idea of straddling Dean, of all people, should’ve sent a jolt of insecurity through you. Should’ve had you hesitating.

But then Dean’s hands tightened—fingers pressing into your thighs, squeezing like he couldn’t stand not to have you closer. A deep, rough sound rumbled from his chest, his lips breaking from yours just long enough to groan, "Jesus—fuck."

The way he said it sent fire straight to your core.

He wanted you like this. Craved it. He wasn’t just tolerating the way your body pressed against him—he was obsessed with it.

As if to prove the point, his grip turned bruising, his hands dragging you even closer, pulling you down into him, despite the small part of you that feared you might be too much.

Dean grunted, his head dropping forward slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Goddamn, sweetheart."

A rush of confidence flooded through you, drowning out every lingering doubt.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips, testing, teasing—just enough to feel the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted this. Wanted you.

The friction was incredible, sending a bolt of pleasure up your spine, making you bite back a moan.

Dean’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into your flesh, his entire body going rigid.

That only made you do it again. Slower this time, deeper.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching on your thighs like he was trying to keep himself together.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, strangled, almost pained.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle coiled tight as you ground against him, feeling the delicious pressure between you, the way his cock strained beneath his jeans, thick and hot against you.

Suddenly, his hands snapped up to your waist, gripping hard, stilling you.

You barely had a second to register it before—

Dean shuddered. His whole body tensed beneath you, a choked grunt ripping from his throat as his fingers dug into your flesh, his head tipping back against the couch.

He went still, and it took you a second to realise.

Dean Winchester had just cum in his jeans.

A rush of heat flooded his face, his expression shifting from shock to pure horror. He blinked up at you, wide-eyed, mortified.

"Oh, fuck." His voice was barely above a whisper, his hands still gripping your hips, as if he was trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Your lips parted in surprise. Then—a slow, wicked grin spread across your face.

"Did you just—?"

Dean groaned, head dropping back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don’t. Just—don’t."

But you couldn’t help it. Because holy shit.

You’d just made Dean Winchester cum in his jeans.

If that wasn’t the biggest ego boost of your life, you didn’t know what was.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, revelling in the way his breath stuttered. "That," you murmured, lips brushing against his ear, "is the best compliment I’ve ever gotten."

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted under your touch, his hands hesitantly sliding up your sides, gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself. When he finally looked up at you, the humiliation still lingered, but something warmer, something softer, began to take its place.

His green eyes flickered over your face like he was memorising you. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Then, suddenly, he let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

"God, I’m sorry," he huffed, running a hand down his face, still half-stunned. "You’re just—" His eyes swept over you, dark and reverent as his hands followed, tracing over the curve of your hips, the swell of your full breasts, the thickness of your thighs. His fingers flexed, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was real. "Fucking gorgeous."

Heat rushed to your face, your stomach flipping as you instinctively tried to shy away. But Dean was already there, his thumb pressing lightly under your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

"Hey," he murmured, his lips twitching into something wicked and sweet all at once. "Give me five minutes," his hands slid around the curve of your hips, then lower, grasping large handfuls of your ass, his fingers digging in like he couldn't help himself. He groaned, low and deep, pressing you closer, like he needed you to feel just how much he meant it. "And I’ll really show you how much I want you."

Your own lips curled, mirroring his. "Five minutes, huh?" You couldn’t help but hum as he kissed along the column of your throat, his lips soft and warm, his teeth grazing, sending a shiver down your spine.

His grip on you tightened, kneading the flesh beneath his hands, and another groan rumbled through his chest, when you shifted in his lap again and you felt the unmistakable twitch of him against you.

"Okay, make that two," he muttered, his voice rough with renewed hunger.

You laughed, and he grinned against your skin at the sound, before pulling you in and claiming your lips in a hot, deep kiss once more.

“Besides,” he mumbled between kisses, “I wanna sample the goods first, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, but then you squealed as he abruptly lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed like you weighed nothing. With a playful smirk, he dropped you onto the mattress unceremoniously, making you bounce with a giggle.

Dean climbed in after you, hovering over you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his expression turning unexpectedly tender. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw and honest.

Your heart fluttered.

"Then show me," you whispered.

And as his lips met yours again, slow and deep, Dean swore he’d take his damn time proving just how much he did.

AN: So this just popped into my mind, I hadn't planned on posting, but had to get it out 😅. I know this doesn't cater to everyone it's a little more reader specific, but, it's just another reason to love Dean! 😍

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean x you #spn #spn fanfic #sam winchester #spnfamily #jensen ackles #abbalina writes

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kathlare · 5 months ago

Text

The One Where We Find Ourselves Again

Welcome to the masterlist for this phase of Amelie and Lando’s story, set in 2023—a pivotal year where they start seeing each other more often than they had in years. This timeline marks a turning point in their dynamic, with plenty of unresolved tension, history, and emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

previous year // next year

This timeline highlights their story in this year of reconnection, where sparks fly, tempers flare, and old feelings resurface in ways neither of them is quite prepared for.

Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story—it means the world to me! I hope you enjoy this messy, emotional, and sometimes chaotic chapter of their journey. 💕

full masterlist // request over here!

Timeline: 2023

the hollow between stars

beneath the surface

fractured reflections

yellow past

weights and what-ifs

between rivalries

fading moments

frozen in time

words in the noise

a favor in the heat

tides of tension

how many things - Bahrain Grand Prix

when love let go

sharpest tool - Oscars

emails i can't send fwd: - eics fwd: Release Day

things i wish you said - Emails I Can't Send Tour Florida

ghosts in the night

just a pause

a glimpse of what was - Austalian Grand Prix

shattered silence

between two worlds

threads of the past - Emails I Can't Send Tour Los Angeles

lingering questions - Azerbaijan Grand Prix

sand traps - Miami Grand Prix

fault lines

don't wanna break up again

curtain call - Emails I Can't Send Tour DC

tides of tension

the race of resentment - Monaco Grand Prix

inevitable truth

lifting the weight

city of reflections

flicker of hope - Canadian Grand Prix

dumb & poetic

lingering thoughts - Austrian Grand Prix

a song apart - Emails I Can't Send Tour London

crossed paths - British Grand Prix

espresso

silent encounter

the weight of her name - Belgian Grand Prix

the heart's echo

unfinished business

fading distractions

taste

a gesture across time - Dutch Grand Prix

a yellow reminder - Eras Tour Mexico

lingering shadows

no strings attached - Video Music Awards (VMAs)

slim pickins

unseen weight - Japanese Grand Prix

circus of emotions - Amelie's Birthday Special

paris confessions

a shift in focus

lie to girls

a moment of clarity

crossroads of the past - United States Grand Prix

the weight of a glance

echoes of the past - Mexican Grand Prix

magnetic pull

golden mornings

the burden of secrets

threads that bind - Brazilian Grand Prix

secretly ours - Eras Tour Argentina

perfect gift - Lando's Birthday Special

good graces

fruitcake - fruitcake Release Day

echoes of the crash - Las Vegas Grand Prix

the weight of uncertainty - Thanksgiving Special

into the night - Abu Dhabi Grand Prix

second chances

morning roast

morning comforts

snowed in secrets

a touch of christmas

frosted laughter

uninvited visit

family matters

santa doesn't know you like i do - Christmas Special

midnight spark - New Year's Special

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rubyvhs · 3 months ago

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SPN FIC RECS : FEBRUARY

— will i do this every month? probably not. will i try my hardest? absolutely. got the idea from zepskies by the way, and i read a ton anyway so i thought i’d put together my favorites like i did for samcas. okay, enjoy! they’re all dean winchester x reader or oc.

@daylighted : baby!reader — binged the entire thing. it’s such a fun concept and i love the way baby is written. author’s synopsis : meet baby . . . again, because she's not someone that you should be unfamiliar with, if you know the winchester boys ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ a hunt gone wrong leaves dean without a car, and a personified version if it in its place ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ resilient and reliable, loyal and loving, baby is more than happy with the shift in dynamic ㅤ — ㅤ so long as it keeps her alongside her favorite person in the world, dean.

@jays-bonnie-on-the-side : are you ashamed? — my fav beau fic ever and if we ever get a part two i’m reblogging it a thousand times so everyone in the world can read it. author’s synopsis : beau had planned to spend the day with reader but when emily tells him she’s on her way to his trailer, he forces reader to leave before his daughter shows up.

@daylighted : saddled up — you will never understand EVER how much i love this little (14k) fic. i wish it was a twenty part series. authors synopsis : bull rider ! beau arlen x high school sweetheart ! reader !! home has never been a place but a person, and he's finally ready to go back to you . . . six years too late.

@wendichester : stick shift — everything she writes is incredible and this one was just so fun to me, loved it. authors synopsis : dean teaches you how to drive!

@copperboom82 : when we are together — written for my 500 celebration but i loved it so much that i binged the entire thing. (masterlist). it’s a dean x oc. authors synopsis : As Dean struggles to bear the Mark of Cain, Katrina seems to have a grounding effect... but Dean worries at what cost. Part of the Long Winding Roads collection (masterlist here), but can be read on its own.

@agirlwithdemonblood : the language of us — my fav insecurity fic cause it caught what i feel exactly. love how soft dean is in this. authors synopsis : Your love language is touch, but past heartbreaks made you afraid of being too much. Dean Winchester proves you never have to hold back—because while you crave touch, he craves you.

@zepskies : midnight espresso verse — honestly i reread it once a month so it’s going on here. love it so much and they’re the cutest couple ever. author’s synopsis : You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

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kathaelipwse · 3 months ago

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Carved in Sin | Dokyeom

Masterlist

<<<previous chapter | next chapter>>>

Pairing: Art.student!reader x Mafia.Leader!DK

Trope: Forbidden love

Warnings: Slow Burn | Hidden Identity | Your Muse | Fluff | Flirting

Word Count: 0.7k

Author's Note: Ahhhhhh i dunno what to feel about this chapter TT

Chapter 2 – Shadows and Sculptures

You stare at the unsent message on your phone screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Unknown Number: Tomorrow. 3.30 PM. Bring whatever you need.

That’s all he said when you asked for details. No specific location, no explanation—just those clipped words. It was frustratingly vague, yet something about it made your pulse quicken.

You finally press send:

You: Where am I supposed to meet you?

Seconds tick by.

Minutes.

An hour.

No response.

You sigh, setting your phone down, convincing yourself he probably changed his mind or was just messing with you. After all, he agreed to be your muse for free—which should’ve been your first red flag. No one does something like that out of pure generosity.

But then, just before midnight, your phone vibrates.

Unknown Number: Bold of you to assume I’d give you my location so easily, sweetheart. Unknown Number: Check your texts in the morning. Sleep well.

Your heart stutters. His words sit heavy on your screen, laced with amusement yet carrying an unspoken weight. You don’t know him. That much is clear. But instead of feeling uneasy, your curiosity only deepens.

And that should’ve been your second red flag.

The next afternoon, true to his word, another message arrives.

Unknown Number: Sunset Lounge. Private floor. Ask for me at the entrance.

Your brows furrow. Sunset Lounge? That wasn’t just any café or workspace—it was one of the most exclusive private lounges in the city, known for hosting celebrities, politicians, and people with money and influence.

What the hell was he doing there?

Still, you don’t hesitate. You gather your supplies, take a deep breath, and head out.

The moment you arrive, you immediately feel out of place.

The lounge is nothing like the cozy café where you work. The air is thick with quiet conversations, polished marble floors reflecting the glow of golden chandeliers. The staff eyes you carefully, their gazes sweeping over your simple attire, clearly noting you don’t belong.

A tall man in a fitted black suit stands near the entrance. He doesn’t have a name tag, but something tells you he isn’t just a regular employee.

“I… I’m here to see someone,” you say, hesitating. “He told me to ask for him.”

The man doesn’t react right away. Instead, he subtly tilts his head, pressing a finger to the earpiece in his ear.

A pause. Then—

“Follow me.”

You swallow hard and trail behind him as he leads you toward an elevator at the back of the lounge. He swipes a keycard, and the doors slide open silently.

A private floor.

This wasn’t normal.

You step inside, and the moment the doors close, a thought crosses your mind.

This could be a really bad idea.

The private floor is silent, save for the faint sound of jazz music playing from hidden speakers. The space is wide, dimly lit, and elegant—like a penthouse with a view of the city skyline stretching beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

And there he is.

Dokyeom sits lazily in one of the velvet armchairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him, an untouched espresso on the table. His eyes flicker to you the moment you step inside.

“You made it.”

Your breath catches for half a second.

In the daylight, he looks even more striking than you remember—tall, sharp-jawed, eyes dark with amusement.

“You weren’t exactly specific,” you huff, dropping your bag on the floor. “Sunset Lounge? Really?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Would you have come if I told you to meet me in some abandoned warehouse instead?”

You pause. Okay. Fair point.

“Well,” you sigh, pulling out your sketchbook, “let’s get started.”

Dokyeom smirks. “So eager to get me out of my clothes?”

You roll your eyes. “Shirt off. Pants stay on.”

That makes him laugh—a deep, velvety sound that sends a shiver down your spine. But he obliges, standing up slowly, fingers working on the buttons of his black dress shirt.

And then—

Your breath catches.

The moment the fabric slides off, exposing broad shoulders, sculpted muscle, and golden skin, your artist instincts momentarily fail you. But that’s not what shocks you.

It’s the scar.

Long and vertical, engraved deep into his skin, running down the length of his spine. And within it—Chinese characters carved into the flesh.

黑暗降臨.

Darkness Descends.

Your fingers tighten around your pencil.

Dokyeom notices.

“Something wrong?” he asks, voice low.

You hesitate. For a moment, you consider asking. Who did that to you? What does it mean? But something in his gaze—half warning, half challenge—keeps you silent.

Instead, you shake your head and get to work.

The first thing you notice as you work is how still he is.

Most people fidget when being drawn. They shift, stretch, exhale loudly.

Not him.

Dokyeom remains perfectly poised, one arm resting on the back of the chair, head tilted slightly downward, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

“You’re unusually good at this,” you murmur, dragging your pencil over the page.

He raises a brow. “At what?”

“Holding still. Most people—”

“I’m not most people.”

The casual way he says it sends a chill down your spine.

You continue sketching, trying not to let the weight of his words distract you.

Your pencil glides over the curves of his collarbones, the sharp lines of his ribcage, the tension in his stomach. You study the way his chest rises and falls, the way the light catches on the ridges of his muscles.

He watches you, too.

Your hands. Your eyes. The way your lips part slightly when you concentrate.

And when your gaze flickers up, you catch him staring.

The room suddenly feels smaller.

“Tsk,” he exhales, voice huskier than before. “You should be careful, sweetheart.”

“Careful?” You frown. “Of what?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Of looking at me like that.”

Your breath stills.

“I—”

A loud knock suddenly breaks the moment.

The door swings open, and a man in a black suit steps inside, looking serious.

“You’re needed downstairs.”

Dokyeom’s entire demeanor shifts. His expression darkens, his playful smirk vanishing in an instant.

Without another word, he stands, grabbing his shirt.

Before leaving, he glances at you one last time.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

The door closes.

You sit there, heart pounding.

And for the first time, real doubt creeps in.

Who the hell is he?

And what exactly have you just gotten yourself into?

...To Be Continued

---

Taglist: @lixisoul99

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milkypompon · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 2 | Scrawled Nothingness

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader, implied Jake Lockley x Reader)

summary: Even after a year living with Steven and Jake in the headspace, Marc struggles to quiet the buzzing chatter. He finds himself frequenting Coffee for Two, a place where brewing roasts fill the air and the cookies are as sweet as the barista.

content: coffeeshops, fluff, flirting, angst (mentions of Marc's past)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: Thank you for all the love in the first chapter! I'm so happy summer's started, so I'll have more time to write out more chapters AND get to the fun and silly asks you sent me!! My inbox is always open for unhinged thoughts and requests. Enjoy!

Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Coffee Doodles Masterlist

< Previous || Next >

–

Marc shows up at Coffee for Two at 11:59 p.m. on the dot every Monday night.

Not a Monday morning when people showed up in slacks or pencil skirts for a shot of espresso. And certainly, not a Friday night when teenagers line up for a tooth-achingly sweet drink they found the recipe for online.

Besides, he likes his coffee black.

The closing shift was clockwork at this point after helping your Nan for years — prop the chairs snug against the table, wipe the floors, and cheekily bag up a couple of pastries for the next day’s breakfast.

Your eyes flick over at the clock nearly striking midnight, as you lean the broom against the edge of the countertop.

Marc should’ve been here by now, shoulders pulled back and head tilted down, ready to sweep the to-go cup and splash stick.

You remember that he typically parked a white limo… Maybe he chauffeured for a party, hence the break in the weekly conversation. If you could even call it that. It was more like an exchange of stolen glances and nods before parting again.

The logical part of you yearns to walk back to the apartment sooner than you planned and plop down face-first onto the couch. But a nagging twinge irked you to stay a little longer to see if he’d stroll in as usual.

You could already imagine his face if he saw the sign flipped to close, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, and a crease between his brows.

You laugh to yourself at the image of Melodramatic Marc instead of Moody Marc then ultimately deciding to give in to the latter. Maybe you’d curse yourself out when you have to wake up in a couple of hours to prepare the croissants for the next day, but you wanted to take your chances right now.

Rounding the corner of the counters, you duck your head under the cabinets and look for the roast you wanted him to try and the materials you need for a pour-over.

You place the paper filter onto the dripper then unfurl the bag of coffee beans and toss just the right amount into the grinder. The crushing hum and toasted smell of the grounds was a welcome change after a day of listening to grating ice and spurting whipped cream. With a kettle in hand and the setup complete, you gently trickle the water into circles, watching the grounds set in and coffee drip down the other end.

You grab a white cup, soon covered with drawings of stars and sparkles, reminiscent of the few you could see from the window. The moon outshined them all, full and on display without a cloud in sight.

You pour the coffee into the well-dressed it (scrawled with Marc’s name in the annoyingly very pink Sharpie) and notch the lid.

Checking the time again, you realize it’s well past midnight.

Maybe it’s time to go home, but you didn’t have the heart to toss the drink away. You take a sip, the liquid barely touches your tongue before you hiss at the bitterness.

How does Marc drink this?

No sugar, no milk.

You drizzle in a couple of pumps and squirts of your preferred add-ons, vowing to yourself to never take it purely the way he does. Drink and purse in one hand, you turn the sign to “closed” and twist the lock with the other.

Hermano, just check if the place for your coffee fix is open. It won’t hurt, Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc mutters, “No, we don’t need another pitstop after the shit Khonshu just dragged us through.”

Maybe they’ll still have those biscuits I like to eat with the tea! Steven's heart flutters at the thought of eating a couple of the raspberry linzer heart cookies.

He concedes. “Fine, but the moment I see the closed sign we’re going straight home. I didn’t ask to be in charge of snack runs, ya know?”

A unison of hurrahs echoes in his headspace, he can’t help but smile. In the whirlwind of events of carrying himself in a country that reminded him of crumbled relationships and even faultier progressions of moving on, the desire to find a place where he belonged was something he hated to admit.

Marc was good at playing the part of blending in for missions. Tugging on a disarming smirk to draw out intel from loose-lipped drunkards at the bar came naturally. As easily as turning on the charm while bargaining at the market for the first edition books Steven claimed was what he’d been searching for his whole life (Oh my days, I need those for my collection!). Or, yet another pair of leather gloves for Jake (Those are fingerless and the straps look cool).

But stripped of bells and whistles created by answering to every whim of humans and gods alike, Marc was just… him.

Steven had his apartment filled with knickknacks and collectibles.

Jake had his car housing his armaments and gadgets.

What did he have?

Marc frowns at the thought as he leaps across the rooftops, the moonlight catching the arc of the cape.

A cot in the storage unit and a fuck ton of baggage that couldn’t fit in his duffel bag.

But maybe Coffee for Two could be his.

As he leaps down behind the shop, his ceremonial suit unravels, tucking in on itself to reveal his black shirt and jeans. Surely, it’d be closed by now, but he still wanted to check.

Marc turns the corner and sees a sign written in big, loopy letters.

closed let's have "coffee for two" tomorrow

He sighs. “Told ya, who in their right mind would’ve kept open for one customer.”

A gust of wind ruffles his hair, Khonshu’s presence stronger than usual.

“Alright I get it, you damn bird! I get that we have another mission–”

A post-it flutters onto his shoe. He bends over and holds it under the streetlamp.

If you’re Marc, keep reading. if you’re not Marc, why are you still reading this?

I think you can keep reading.

“Jake, shut up.”

I drank your black coffee. Don’t know how you drink this. It tastes like battery acid.

Steven laughs out the last two words. Think this sweet ol’ message made up for you looking so miffed, mate! She’s right about it though. I oughtta steep her a good cuppa.

“Hey, it keeps us awake! Your hot leaf juice makes our piss smell like flowers and does nothing else.”

Marc carefully tucks the paper into his jacket pocket.

–

A week after Marc’s absence, he walks in and you greet him with a tired smile as if there was no time lost in between.

“Black?”

He cocks his head up and grins. “Yes, miss.”

That’s new, you note.

“Got any of those uh, berry cookie thingies?” He makes two “Cs” with his hands and connects them, forming a crudely shaped heart.

Your eyebrow quirks up and the air is quiet with stillness before laughter bubbles up in your chest, pointing to what he was referring to. “Oh! The Linzer cookies!”

Marc flashes his teeth. “Mhm, a couple of those with the coffee.”

“I’m a little surprised you liked them. Did the sweetness grow on you?”

“Not for me, actually.”

“Did you want a second drink to pair with it?”

He replies cooly, “Nah, nothing like that. Just, for my brother.”

You give a noncommittal hum and turn your back to him, looking for a box to place the cookies in.

Marc chuckles, the corner of his lips curling. “Woah, don’t come pouncing at me all at once.”

“I just meant to mention that we have a promotion of buy two get the second drink half off for your partner.” You smile to yourself, the view obscured from him. “That’s why it’s called Coffee for Two after all.”

“Mm, right.”

Quietness blankets the pair as you assemble his orders.

He couldn’t recall the last time his headspace wasn’t buzzing with chatter without gut-wrenching aid, a bandaid haphazardly stuck on. Drowning out the noise wasn’t necessarily the problem, it was finding a way to keep a constant peace of mind. At the very least, keep it at bay. The past year was saturated with blackouts and memory gaps, the swirling gold whiskey dipped him into a hazy state. It wasn’t his favorite way to keep the quiet, but it did the job.

Every twist of the cap dragged him back to what was soon to come.

Every whiff of the liquid reminded him how her hot breath, seething with disdain, warmed his cheek.

And the heat he felt after chugging it was reminiscent of how she would hit the other, turning his head to the side.

The soft shifting of the pen on paper brought him back.

“See? Told you I give good service.” You slide the decorated coffee cup and a box of cookies in front of him with a smile.

Marc thumbs over his name, a little surprised you spelled it with a "c" instead of a "k", along with the twisting designs. “Nuh-uh. Think you forgot something again.”

“I worked hard on that masterpiece!” You frown, feigning annoyance. “You should be asking for my autograph.”

“I should be asking for your number.”

You don’t reply for a beat. “Well, are you going to?”

He smirks, pausing to mimic your surprise before saying, “Can you write down your number?”

You nibble your bottom lip, failing to hide your giddiness.

He reaches over to pluck the alarmingly pink Sharpie from the pot and hands it to you. “Think that godawful marker was made from toxic waste. Nothing in the natural world could create that color.”

You scrawl your number on it, careful not to spill the coffee. “Well that ‘godawful marker’ gave you an opportunity to claim that promo.”

“Can I use it now?”

“Not until you call me.”

Marc chuckles and picks up his order. “Well, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“See you when I see you. Monday at midnight again?”

“Or sooner.” His eyes flit over to your hand, knuckles white from the grip on your apron.

“Uh, not sooner. I’m closing for the week. There’s a couple of things I need to sort out… for the shop.”

Marc nods, not bothering to push the matter further. “I have a funny feeling you waited for me to come before you closed.”

You smile, the tension eases from your body.

–

Marc wakes up from the early sun rays filtering between the cracks of the curtain. He grumbles, Jake always forgets to pull it close before going to bed. He knew that if he stood up to fix it, his body would betray him and lose the cottony sleep he felt. With a groan, he flops over to his side, but before his eyes flutter close he catches an unfamiliar cup standing on his nightstand.

He doesn’t remember buying it yesterday and god forbid anybody forces Steven to drink anything quote battery acid unquote.

He picks it up, he notices the drawings… and a set of numbers.

So, it must be–

Marc flings the blanket off of him and stalks to the fish tank.

“Jake! I know you’re there!”

Gus peers at him curiously and releases little bubbles.

“I’m gonna slash your tires if you don’t come out!”

Jake stares back at him and raises his hands in surrender. Ay, you and I both know you wouldn’t do that. My driving gigs are one of the few ways we stay afloat these days.

Marc buries his fingers in his unruly curls. “It was mine!”

What was yours?

“Going to that place!”

I don’t get it–

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Marc bristles. “Couldn’t I just have this one thing without one of you weaseling your dick into my life?”

Hermano, look, I was just trying to help. We thought it was about time you make a friend... or something.

"And you didn't bother asking me first?"

“Oh and remind if I'm remembering this wrong, the last time you set up Steven was when you asked out his coworker to the steakhouse! He’s a vegetarian for god’s sake!”

Don’t get your panties in a twist.

Can we all just calm the “ef” out? Steven appears on the kettle’s reflection. Take a time-out or whatever you Americans say.

Marc fights the urge to raise his voice again in an attempt to dispel the ringing in his ears. If the pair tried to explain the situation, they’d be in for another scolding.

He opens his mouth before they can. “We can’t do this right now.”

Don’t speak for all of us, pendejo.

He fists the cup, it crumbles in on itself and tosses it into the bin.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and my inbox is always open for requests or if you want to chat!

Taglist: Open (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!)

@rachelsnows @basicalyrandom @cleothegoldfish @batsycline69 @lonelyisamyw-0love

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #marc spector #marc spector fluff #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight angst #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #steven grant x you #moon knight fic

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adoresoperecs · 1 year ago

Text

PART THREE (YOONGI MASTERLIST SERIES)

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚

A Smut Drabble From @brainddeadd

Unison (S) @rroseselavyyy

💞ESPRESSO💞 (S) @chantiepie

Summary: You are the complete opposite of Yoongi... And he can't get you out of his head.

First time (S) @livingformintyoongi

Adrift (A,F) @dumpywrites

Summary: He only comes to sleep with you and you accept because your heart allows you to. (Happy ending I swear)

Finding Love in a Strip Club (S,F) @smoljimjim

Summary: Yoongi was out with his friends one night where they ended up at a strip club. One certain stripper caught his eye and he also caught hers. It was only meant to be one night together... Or so they thought...

Switching Positions (S) @yoongifis

Summary: Where the boy that you’ve got wrapped around your finger works his hardest to change his position from a somewhat friends-with-benefit to an official relationship with you. [and hes not the only one who will be switching positions ;)

Century (S) @hoseoksluna

Summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

instagram stories (F) @champagneher

Summary: reader posts a picture of yoongi somewhere, and it becomes a meme.

Babybun (S) @borathae (Threesome fic)

Summary: "Jungkook wakes you and Yoongi in the middle of the night, asking for help after an intense wet dream, which left him so, so needy for your touches. You and Yoongi instantly jump in to help him. He is your beloved babybun after all."

truth or dare? (S) @letjungcoook7 (Threesome fic)

Summary: What's the worst that can happen when you and your two friends get drunk and play truth or dare?

Breakfast is served (S) @syluss-slut

Discipline (S) @sxgakookie

Summary: Your husband has found your behavior to be annoying at best, and he knows exactly how to make sure you’re back in line.

His Hyungs Noona (F,S) @dancinglikebutterflywings

F*ck Tradition (F) @dancinglikebutterflywings

Summary: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters.

the pink pill | myg version (m) — “no one else” (S) @dollfaceksj

SUMMARY: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.

Everything You Need is Right Here (S,F) @mikrokosmoslove

Summary : Yoongi always the knight in shining armour, always there when you need him.

Midnight (S) @miniminimermaid

Summary: “I think I can help you sleep better”

Short drabble from (F) @panjakes

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ggensblog · 2 years ago

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hey there stranger | s.r.

summary: spencer's been spending a lot of late nights at a cafe

warnings: i really can't think of anything, mentions of working late, unedited, bad writing (probably), caffeine addiction, gender neutral reader, no use of 'y/n', general overthinking, this is my first time writing for spence ;-;

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

11:03 pm

You were almost done with your usual closing shift, taking a glance and the ever so slowly moving hands on the clock across the cafe every once in a while. You didn’t have any plans, per say, but were anxious to get home and finally rest.

The cafe wasn’t particularly busy this late, but still had its usual stragglers coming in to burn the midnight oil.

“Hey there Mr.Delancey, the usual this evening?” You grinned at the older man in front of you. Mr.Delancey was the owner of a bar downtown that closed just an hour before your cafe. It was typical of him to stop by after closing up.

“You got it,” The man took out his wallet, paid, and took his drink to go, almost like second nature. You let your shoulders slack after he walked out, looking once again to the clock and then finding your eyes caught on a familiar mop of brown hair in the corner of the seating area.

You turned to your coworker who was doing some sort of ‘pass the time’ task.

“Manila folder guy’s back again?” He must’ve come in during your break- you would’ve remembered his soft brown eyes and even more so the bags underneath them. You didn’t know much about him, not having been able to make small talk with him whenever he came in.

“Yeah, I think this is the third night this week,” Your coworker looked over to the man briefly before returning to their task. “I mean, you can’t really beat the late great closing time of midnight around here” you joked to yourself, entering a tip amount into the computer system. You coworker chuckled then looked out of the front windows.

“Hey you mind if I grab a smoke? There’s hardly anyone coming in.” You shoo your coworker off then look back to the man in the corner. It took you another 10 minutes to muster up enough courage to approach him.

You walked up to the table, a refill of the man’s familiar order in hand.

“So what are you working on this late?” Your own voice startles you to some amount, breaking the silence that occupied the shop for what felt like eternity. The man didn’t bother to look up, instead continuing to flip aimlessly through the folders. You caught a look at the pictures in them, cringing before tilting your head to the side.

“They’re all wearing rings.” You muttered. The man looked up, then back down to the folders, his eyebrows raising. “Sorry, I don’t know what this is, and I don’t think I really want to know but-yeah. On their pinkies, the small gold ring.”

“Nice, uh, nice catch. I don’t know how I didn’t see that.” He spoke finally, writing something down then looking back up to you. “I’m Spencer. Reid. I’m a profiler for the FBI.” Your eyebrows raised then. “FBI huh? So looking at cryptic photos in a manila folder isn’t just a hobby?” You kind of laugh to yourself, crossing your arms and shifting your weight. Spencer doesn’t seem to think your comment was as funny as you did, but still offered a soft smile.

“I’m afraid not.” The silence is back and fuck you are realizing that this guy- this rando FBI profiler is really cute. Before your brain can catch up your mouth is already running again.

“Have you always wanted to be in the FBI?” From there you manage to carry a small conversation, taking the seat in front of him and listening as he talks about his high IQ or eidetic memory.

11:34pm

Your coworker whistles at you from behind the coffee bar, pointing to the clock and beginning to shut down the espresso machines.

“Well Dr.Reid, it was great meeting you. I hope you catch whoever is doing- that,” you motion to the now closed folder.

You get up to move back to the coffee bar, taking off your apron and placing it by the register. Spencer continues to look over his notes. Against your better judgment you turn back around to face the brunette man.

“I know this is probably really forward of me- but would you want to grab dinner sometime?” You began to ramble about some diner down the street and Spencer takes another sip of his coffee. “I mean- it could totally just be a casual thing but I would really like to get to know you more…” You trailed off- your motor mouth finally running out of fuel.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he looked down at the workload in front of him. It was almost like he was debating with himself.

“I- I would love to but I’m really usually caught up with work so I don’t have a lot of time for,,, dinner…” You nod. “Right yeah- yeah of course. Have a good night, Spencer.” With that you walked behind the coffee bar and sunk down to the floor behind the espresso machines.

“Ouch,” You run a hand over your face, embarrassment flowing through your veins. You decide to brush it off and begin busying yourself with sidework.

12:03

The cafe was finally closed. Spencer had left in the last 10 minutes and you managed to spot clean every single spoon in the store.

“Dude I just- I know I like don’t even know him but that was so embarrassing” You whine, counting the dollar bills in the register and taking note of them.

“What do you mean?” Your coworker was checking the temperatures in the different mini fridges.

“Like- of course he wouldn’t want to go out with a total stranger. I don't even know why I asked.” Your hands flopped back down on the counter in front of you. You were tired, you were embarrassed, and you just wanted to go home for the night.

“I’m sorry who are we talking abou-”

“Spencer! I thought I told you.” You turned around and leaned against the counter. “Manila folder guy- he- he’s cute. In a dorky kinda nerdy way.” You grinned at the thought.

“Oh! No he was totally looking at you all night when you got back here.”

“No he wasn’t.”

“He was! I saw him with my own two eyes.” Your coworker laughed and gestured to their eyes. “I think maybe he’s just genuinely busy with work… You said he was a cop or something right?”

“He’s FBI- I don’t even know if I should’ve told you. I feel like that’s something that’s supposed to be a secret. Or is that CIA? I can never remember.” You shook your head, your thoughts trailing from the initial subject of the conversation.

“Whatever- the point is, he was totally making eyes at you after you walked away.” You rolled your eyes at this, turning back to finish counting the money.

The rest of the night is quiet after that.

1 week later, 3:45pm

It was a rare occasion for you to not work the closing shift. You weren’t complaining since it meant getting home earlier and maybe even getting dinner from somewhere other than a 24 hour convenience store.

You were working with the same coworker you normally do, and you were thankful since you weren’t really close with any of your other coworkers.

The afternoon regulars were different from the evening regulars. They were still kind, but definitely far more impatient.

“I’ve got 1 medium hot cappuccino and a large iced cold brew with oat milk to go.” You write the order on the side of the cups and move them to your coworker down the coffee bar. You take the customer’s payment and give them a smile before readying yourself for the next customer.

“Uhm, the usual?” You knew this voice. You didn’t think you’d hear this voice again.

“Spencer. It’s nice to see you again. You catch that bad guy?”

Spencer laughed at this. He thought you were easy to talk to that night, and he still thinks so now. He could tell you were a little out of your element when you initially approached him but you were generally easy to build rapport with.

“Yeah- we did. But there’s always another one out there.” You nod, then realize you hadn’t entered his order in the computer yet.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry-” You tapped one of the buttons and grabbed a sit-in mug. You nodded to your coworker. “A manila folder.” Your coworker nodded back and when you returned your attention to Spencer you found him with his eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s what we call your order. Since you always have those folders.” You shrug and Spencer nods. “Anyway, it’ll be $3.75.” You put your customer service smile back on and take the $5 from the man.

“Keep the change and actually, I wanted to come by and see if that dinner offer was still on the table? Work is light this week and- uh- I’d like to get to know you more too.”

You’re taken aback, but your coworker who suddenly has supersonic hearing peeks over your shoulder.

“They get off at 5.” Your head whips around to look at your coworker who simply mouths a ‘you’re welcome’ before continuing to make Spencer’s drink.

“So I’ll stick around until 5 and then maybe we can check out that diner?” You nod.

“Yeah- yeah I’d really,” Your voice catches in your throat and you swallow before continuing, “I’d really like that.”

extra:

It was a Monday morning, the day after Spencer supposedly rejected you. While you were retracing the conversation in your mind to think of things you’d do differently, Dr.Reid fiddled with his notepad, looking over the tip you gave him about the rings.

Hotch had dismissed the team to continue on their individual tasks, but Spencer hung back almost lost in his own mind.

“Okay pretty boy what’s got you distracted today.” Derek Morgan sat with his chair turned and raised a brow at the genius.

“Nothing at all. Just thinking about- about the case.” Spencer tried to cover but as smart as he was, he wasn’t very good at hiding his current thoughts.

“Bullshit- what’s on your mind.”

“Well I think- I think someone asked me out last night.” Derek’s once cheeky look turned to that of surprise.

“You’re kidding.” Spencer shook his head, “You’re not, well what did you say?”

“Well I told them the truth- we’re pretty busy right now.” Derek laughed. “No way- you rejected them? I didn’t take you for a heartbreaker, Reid.”

“I’m not! I just- we are pretty busy..” Spencer trailed and Morgan shook his head. “You need to go back and ask them out, clearly if you’ve been letting this get in the way of finding this damn killer, they’re worth it.”

“Yeah- okay maybe I will.”

“But not before we solve the case, so let’s move it pretty boy.”

#gray-skiess #gray's blog #criminal minds #Spencer reid #dr reid #Spencer x reader #Spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid fluff #strangers to lovers #coffee shop au #headcanons #Spencer reid headcanons

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zepskies · 2 months ago

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ONE MORE DAY

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: You and Dean take a beat to de-stress with a nice hot shower.

AN: Surprise! I know I said this was coming on Friday, but I rearranged my posting schedule so I decided to drop this one early.

Finally, another little story for the Midnight Espresso-verse! This one is going in chronological order, shortly after the end of In Bad Weather, in which she and Dean have retired from hunting, gotten married, and have a family. 💜

(Oh yeah, for those who read If I Stay, their son is also named "Robbie" in this storyverse. 😂)

Posted on Patreon: 3/18/2025

Word Count: 2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Shower smut. Established relationship (married!), grumpy middle-aged Dean, fluff, and a slight twist.~

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Dean’s body tenses under the hot spray of the shower head. His humming stops, his head tilts, and his awareness sharpens in the way that only thirty years of honed hunting reflexes can’t dim, even after ten years of retirement.

The bathroom door creaks and shuts, oh so quietly.

“Robbie, you better not flush that damn toilet, or it’s an old-fashioned spanking this time. I’m serious,” Dean warns. His voice is deep and grousing, laden with the weight of his day. He’s too fucking tired to withstand third-degree burns at four o’clock in the afternoon, just because his son wants to prank the old man (again).

When the shower curtain peels back, revealing your manicured nails and the sight of your little smirk, Dean relaxes in relief.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you tease.

A smile twitches at his lips. “For you? Both.”

You laugh, and it reaches your eyes. They’re still beautiful. You’re still beautiful to him, especially when you have that cheeky gleam in your eyes.

“Can I join you?” you ask.

Dean begins to grin as he gestures with his chin. “Get in here.”

Quickly you shed your jeans, V-neck top, bra and panties, having already taken off your ankle boots. You do that delicate, sexy thing of twisting your hair up into a twisty bun and securing it on top of your head, then Dean reaches for your hand to help you step into the tub. There you slip your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your naked breasts against his back.

“You’re not gonna get soaked up back there, sweetheart,” he says.

“What if I’m already wet?” you reply. You press your smile against his skin.

Dean smirks, watching your hand that’s already wandering south of the border. You graze your nails through his happy trail. It stirs arousal low in his gut.

“Sounds like you’re ahead of the game,” he says. He tries to turn around in your arms to face you, but you tighten your hold around his waist. Your hands move up to playfully squish his belly.

“Ooh, what’s this little paunch?” you tease.

Dean snorts. “You know damn well. That’s where all your paella’s goin’.”

You giggle and continue to stroke his soft stomach. He feels a bit self-conscious about it, truth be told. There was a time where he could wake up after a bender, eat a double bacon cheeseburger for breakfast, and keep driving for eight hours, just to grab a beef burrito and a plate of nachos for dinner and wash it all down with a few beers. He’s finding the evidence of it now with some love handles that don’t want to straighten out, among other places on him that never used to jiggle.

“Hey, I’m fifty-three,” he says. A number he never used to think he’d hit. “Dad Bod is a rite of middle age.”

You hum in agreement. “I like it. Gives me something to hold on to.”

Dean feels you nip the back of his arm, then soothe the bite with your tongue. He smiles hard, despite the way his cheeks are warming up.

That’s it. He winds back an arm to wrap around your shoulders, gaining leverage enough to turn around and face you. He cradles your cheek in his hand and guides your face up to his for a steamy kiss.

But he cuts himself short before you can truly sink into it as much as you want to.

“Wait, where are the kids right now?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Robbie’s at baseball practice, and Cari’s at her friend Tiana’s house. They’re working on a history project,” you supply. You give him a mischievous look that says, You really thought I wouldn’t think of everything?

Dean slowly smiles. “God, I love you.”

The water is starting to losing its steam a little, but it doesn’t stop him from capturing you in another kiss. You breathe into it, and into him as you cling to his hips. Your nails lightly bite into his flesh and drag white lines of pressure across his skin, making him shiver.

“Yeah? How much?” you ask, between kisses; between the wandering of his hands over soft curves he's never gotten tired of. He likes his hands full, especially of you.

Dean chuckles. He secures you with an arm around your waist, then settles you against the bathroom wall. He grabs a good handful of your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your leg around his hip. Then he frees his other hand, so he can drag his fingers through your slick folds.

“Hmm, you were right about already being prepared,” he says, laying a smiling kiss to your forehead. You tilt your head up to him, aiming for a kiss. He ends up swallowing your soft cry when his fingers brush your clit, first just circling the hood, then massaging with more pressure. Precision. Just like the way two of his long fingers slip deep inside your wet channel.

You cling to his arms and whimper against his lips, a wordless plea from your tongue curling and tangling with his. It’s quick and rough, the way he fucks you with his fingers, strokes that sensitive place along the ridge of your walls, and circles his thumb over your clit until he feels it swell.

Then he drags his hand away, smirking against your lips. Some things don't change, and that includes how much your cocky-ass husband likes teasing you. Today he has time, and he's taking full advantage of it.

“Mmph,” you whine, but you don’t let him get far. Your hand moves with intent down his body, from chest to soft stomach, to then wrapping firmly around his thick, solid length. You caress him a few times, smiling at his grunt of pleasure and the way he presses his forehead against yours. His weight and the broadness of his frame pin you to the wall. He’s all you can see, his warm skin all you can feel, except for the cool tile against your back and your ass.

Dean grasps your jaw with one firm hand, slipping his glistening fingers into your mouth. You know what he wants, and you immediately suck on his digits. Your tongue swirls around each one, tasting yourself on his calloused fingers.

“Fuck, wanna feel your pretty mouth doing that on my cock, baby,” he grits in your ear. You release his fingers with a soft slide of your lips.

“I can do that,” you say, but you lead him closer by the hand you have wrapped around him, your thumb teasing the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. “After you fuck me hard enough to split this tile.”

Dean pauses, shooting you an amused look. “You sure about that?”

“Come on, baby. Make me retile the bathroom,” you challenge, half-giggling all the while.

He shakes his head and captures you in a kiss. You’re fucking ridiculous sometimes.

He still takes your challenge (somewhat) to heart though. He takes your hand that still has a firm grip of his cock and guides it to your entrance. Inch by inch, he pushes inside and makes you both groan loudly. He further parts your folds to strum at your clit again, this time to a rhythm of his own making. Your nails bite into his shoulders as he begins to move inside you, inching you higher on the wall. A curse falls from your lips as you cast your head back against the tile.

Dean palms one of your breasts, teases a hardened nipple; the little tingles and zings feed the well of pleasure building in your core. Your fingers rake through his hair and grip him tight. The inner walls of your pussy do the same around his cock. Every deep, hot stroke is like a firebrand of sensation pulsing against your G-spot.

“Oh, fuck—” you choke, grabbing the back of his neck. Dean once again invades your mouth for a deep kiss. He consumes your cries of pleasure as your core pulses with that heady, fluttering warmth.

Ten years of marriage, and he’s still the one who makes you come apart.

The suddenness of your orgasm flooding around him, your inner walls gripping him tight, soon has Dean’s hips stuttering and his body locking up on him. He burrows in deep on reflex, pressing every inch of your body against his.

You hold him just as tightly, with his strong hand helping you keep your thigh wrapped snug around his hip. You even clench around him on purpose while you feel him hot and throbbing inside you. Dean shudders.

For a moment, it’s ragged panting breaths and the shower spray beating down on you both. It’s familiarity, and the anchoring sureness of being home.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. Slowly, he pulls out and releases your thigh. He raises a hand to brush wet strands of hair from your cheek. A grin curves his lips. “We still got the fuckin’ heat.”

“Mhmm,” you agree airily. You stroke his back in turn…until a sudden realization strikes you, makes you almost dumb with shock. Oh, fuck. “Dean.”

He’s busy pressing slow, tantalizing kisses along your jaw. “What?”

“I just remembered something…kind of important.”

Dean pulls back enough to see your face. He’s mostly blissed out, but still sharpens to attention. Did we lose track of time? Does one of the kids need to be picked up? Is dinner burning on the stove?

“I haven’t taken birth control this month...or last month either,” you say, biting your lip. “I was gonna go by the pharmacy later today.”

Dean pauses. He tilts his head as he processes. And then, he snorts and shakes his head.

Of fucking course.

He ultimately drops his forehead on your shoulder in defeat.

You rub his back more in apology now.

“I’m sorry, baby. I forgot,” you say. And you laugh, because that’s what you do when you’re embarrassed.

One little adventure doesn’t guarantee you’re going to get pregnant, of course, especially so soon after being off birth control. But history dictates that Dean is a potent man.

“This is entrapment,” he claims, even though his voice is muffled by your shoulder. Even though you feel the edges of his smile, threatening a smirk.

He finally untangles from you, to the tune of you laughing in earnest. You both clean up under the now frigid water. Dean slaps a hand over the knob to turn it off.

“Aw, come on. We have two already. What’s one more?” you ask, as Dean pulls back the curtain and helps you out of the shower. He’s a gentleman, even when he’s giving you skeptical side-eye.

“Okay. I’m gonna remember that when you’ve got your legs put up in those stirrups and you’re cursing me to high hell,” he remarks.

“Hey, I never once did that, not even with Cari,” you point out while drying off and wrapping yourself in a towel. For some reason, your daughter had been a more difficult birth than Robbie, maybe because she had been your first. Or maybe that was already foreshadowing the way she’d torment her little brother.

“Hmm, I dunno, I seem to remember a lot of never again! And why the hell did we do this? And a lot of other things in Spanish I literally can’t repeat.” Dean wraps his towel low on his hips, his Dad paunch proudly displayed. He grabs you by your waist and tugs you in close while you laugh.

“Well, then you’re remembering wrong,” you say, smirking up at him in amusement. You take his face in your hands and give him a slow, lingering kiss. When your lips break away from his, he opens his eyes and meets you with a wry smile.

“I guess so,” he says, quirking a brow.

The more he thinks about it…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you guys did get to add to this little circus. As much as he’ll admit to becoming a grumpy old man sometimes, you and his children are the best parts of him.

Soon a heavy breath escapes him, his thumbs stroking your waist.

“One more eventful day of retirement for the books, huh, sweetheart?” Dean teases.

You nod, giving into the urge to rest your head against his bare, dewy chest. His anti-possession tattoo lies in the corner of your vision. You have one to match along your hip. It’ll always brand you both in body and in mind, but for your children, for each other, and for yourselves, you try to remind yourselves that this is real.

It’s yours.

It won’t be taken away.

Neither of you will let it.

“One more day,” you say.

AN: For those of you who haven't dipped into the Espresso-verse yet, I hope you enjoy this little window into their future! 😘 ☕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories; send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom

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drewsbuzzcut · 1 year ago

Text

Visceral In Doses.2

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

series warnings: mentions of sex, curse words, bits of angst, small age gap (5 years), mentions of nudity, mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety and other mental health related talk

series masterlist (continuation of 1st masterlist):

blurbs will be found in the “visceral in doses blurbs” tag

☀️: the summer series 🎞️: the vogue series 🎄: holiday series

1 Year

Midnight Kisses

Right Where You Left Me

Lessons Learned

Hotshot

All Star Bound

Day 1

The Aftermath

Champion In The Bed

Winner Winner

Wake For The Glory

It’s A Craving

That’s That Me, Espresso

Sensual In Italy

I Wanna Taste The Crush

2 Years

Ms. Icon

The Making Of

Behind The Scenes

New Chapter

Spoiled Rotten

Matching Pjs 🎄

December To Remember 🎄

3 Years

So Lovely, It Feels So Right

Topless!

The Best Of You

4 Years

5 Years

6 Years

Date Nights In December 🎄

Merry & Bright 🎄

Red Christmas 🎄

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus 🎄

Pictures With Santa 🎄

New Year

Daddy’s Home

The Tampon Prank

7 Years

Valentine’s Day Through The Years

Standing On The Sun And I Don’t Feel A Thing

Lost In The Rubble

Moving On

10 Years

Miss Sloane

#mat barzal #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal angst #mat barzal smut #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses #visceral in doses blurbs

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my-stories-vault · 3 months ago

Note

Hi H! It just occurred to me that I haven’t got back to you about your WIP folder and I would love to know more about your Indian reader series ❤️ I’m sure it must be close to you!

And to add to my intrigue - we first met on Wattpad (kinda), and I’m wondering if by any chance you’re a reddit girlie, too? Yet again, my memory has been jogged about talking to someone about writing reader inserts with a defined nationality (is this a creepy coincidence?)

Hello, Beth! First off, thank you for breaking in my ask box - this is my first, hehe ❤️😂.

That's a good one. Ah, yes, this project is close to my heart. I've only ever written one one-shot on an Indian!Reader (Love Story King - also on the WIP list) before, and it blew my mind by how well it turned out. So a series was inevitable 😂🤣.

Lmao. Wouldn't be surprised if it had happened; but I've never heard of Reddit 🙂.

The defined nationality has always enticed me; though, the credit of encouragement to write and the inspiration to explore my roots goes to @zepskies ❤️. Her Midnight Espresso-verse helped me bring my own diversity to the work.

After that, I noticed more people who do that like the Aussie!Reader on your Masterlist - I'm excited to dive into it soon as I get time ❤️🥰!

Anyway, below is a sneak preview for the Indian!plus-sized!Reader X Dean Winchester (Neighbour AU). I don't have a title or a banner for it yet, and it's in its preliminary stages, so go easy!

Sneak Preview:

You kept your first poised above the wood. Any second now, Dean Winchester would come rushing out and you would pretend like you'd been about to knock. The police scanner said that shots had been fired near the "all-the-names-sound-the-same-to-me" street, and it was the perfect time to case Dean's joint.

The door swung in. '—be there in a jiff,' he did a double-take when he noticed you standing way too close to his doorway. He cut his call.

Creepily, a beaming smile filled out your face. 'Oh, hi!' you said, tilting your head like a dumb innocent. 'I was just about to knock. I'm your new neighbour!'

Your fake smile prevailed as your eyes glanced past his shoulder into the room: men's decor, alarm system, messy person - that was all you got before Dean blocked your view with a hard look on his face and partially shut his door.

'Can I help you?' he asked. Deep gravel voice, handsome countenance, doesn't like his privacy invaded - you filed in your mind.

You didn't bother excusing your behaviour - let him believe it was your culturally-bred nosiness.

'I brought you idlis and sambhar,' you grinned, shaking the dish in your hand.

'Come again?' his brows scrunched adorably.

Foreigners. You resisted rolling your eyes. Next thing he would tell you is that your sambhar was too spicy. Yet, you'd conviniently forgotten that you were in his country.

'Indian food,' you explained. 'I don't know how to make a casserole or lasagna, or what-have-you yet,' you chuckled. 'I just moved from India, you see. Where are you from?'

'Uh,' he blinked his eyes, very clearly torn between annoyance and politeness. 'Look, uh, I'm late, uh . . .'

'Keerthana Ahuja,' you offered the fake alias.

'Right,' he pursed his lips.

'You can call me Anna, um, . . .'

'Dean,' he officially told you. 'Look, Anna, I need to leave. I have work.'

'Oh, what do you do?' you "obtusely" wondered.

'I'm an Officer of the Law,' he answered. 'Can we talk later?'

'Oh, but I bought you food,' you presented the dish again.

Dean rolled his eyes this time around, politeness be screwed. He took your plate and pushed the door in once again, allowing you a deeper look as he marched to his table.

You scanned little details like the constant occurence of black, beige and dark blue: supression of his feminine instincts, or perhaps, a farce for his masculinity. The minimalistic personal belongings but the comfy couch with a blanket, showy television and nice coffee table: television geek but intimacy issues. Dining table arranged with his laptop and files could mean that he didn't give enough time to food, only work, but down the hallway, you could see a well-furnished kitchen: he loved cooking but didn't get enough time for it.

A person full of conflicts. Interesting.

Pronounciations:

1. Keerthana: /kiːrˈθɑːnɑː/ (KEER-thah-nah)

2. Ahuja: /ɑːˈhuːdʒɑː/ (AH-hoo-jah)

(Credit for the idea of pronounciation guide goes to @zepskies )

Tag List.

Forevers: @aylacavebear

Supernatural: @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @emma1998sblog

Dean Winchester: @globetrotter28

#wip games #ask #sneak previews #indian!reader x dean winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #plus-sized!reader x dean winchester #dean winchester series

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justarandomreaderxoxo · 15 days ago

Text

Shadows of the Heart: Chapter 3

The Edge of Wanting

Summary: You return to Wanda’s café after a first date you can’t stop thinking about, drawn to her warmth despite your secret life. That night, you lead a covert mission, but the victory feels hollow and you’re left wondering what it all means.

Word count: 5578

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: Violence, Drugs (Mentioned), Alcohol, Mild angst

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It’s been three days since that first date, and despite everything-your workload, your calculated attempts at detachment, and your usual airtight routine-you find yourself standing outside her café again. You tell yourself it’s just coffee. You’re in the neighborhood. It’s convenient. But even you don’t buy that lie anymore. You step inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. The warm scent of espresso and cinnamon wraps around you like a memory, and you spot her almost immediately-Wanda, behind the counter, her hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail, laughing softly with a customer. She doesn’t notice you at first, and you take that moment to breathe. To watch her. She’s not glamorous in the way high society defines it, but she’s radiant. She wears her heart on her sleeve and never pretends to be anything she’s not. There’s a kind of bravery in that. And you, with your hidden knives and locked-tight truths, feel your resolve loosen a little more. When her gaze finally finds you, her eyes light up. Not the polite smile she gives strangers, but something softer. Familiar. “Hey, stranger,” she calls out, already reaching for a cup. You raise an eyebrow. “Three days and I’m a stranger again?” Wanda grins. “You’re the one who disappeared. I figured you got swept away into some billionaire meeting or CEO summit.” You smirk, tilting your head. “So you know about that, huh?” She shrugs, handing you the cup. “I may have a nosy brother who likes to name-drop impressive-sounding titles. You didn’t tell me you were fancy.” You lift the coffee to your lips, eyes narrowing playfully. “I distinctly remember saying I manage some things.” “That’s one way to describe it,” she says with a snort. “Another way is ‘owns half the damn skyline.’” You raise both hands in mock surrender. “Guilty of selective truth-telling.” “I’ll allow it,” she says, leaning in across the counter, eyes glinting with mischief. “But only because you came back.” You pause, then offer a small smile. “I couldn’t stay away.” The words hangs there-truthful, unguarded. Wanda’s eyes soften at that. Not in a romanticized way, but in that real, heart-fluttering kind of warmth that makes your chest feel oddly tight. You’re not used to that feeling. It’s… new. And you don’t run from it. Instead, you set the coffee cup down and say, “Are you free for lunch?” Wanda lifts a brow. “Is this you asking me out again?” You nod once. “Yes. Thought I’d take you somewhere casual this time. Less rooftop, more… walkable.” She pretends to think for a moment, one finger tapping her chin dramatically. “Well, well, Miss 'Manages Some Things' -two dates in the same week? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were smitten.” You smirk. “Maybe I am.” Her grin breaks wide. “Guess that makes this our second date then.” You glance down at your watch and back at her. “Let’s make it official. I’ll pick you up when your shift ends?” Wanda leans across the counter just a little, voice low and playful. “If you bring me something sweet for dessert, I’ll consider wearing the good lipstick.” You shake your head with a quiet laugh, already feeling the tension ease from your shoulders. “It’s a date, then.”

The docks reek of salt, oil, and something foul you don’t care to name. Midnight is the hour of the desperate and the dangerous - but you are neither. You are Y/N Fury, and this city bends to you, whether its criminals like it or not. From his perch atop a rusted cargo container, Clint watches the scene below, his bow unstrung but within reach. Natasha leans against a crate beside you, casual as ever, as if this were a routine stroll instead of the prelude to chaos. “The shipment’s late,” Clint murmurs into the comm. “Or they’re stalling. Either way, I don’t like it.” You adjust the cuffs of your suit, fingers grazing over your engraved cufflinks, a reminder of who you are, what you stand for. “They’ll come. They always do.” Natasha exhales through her nose, scanning the empty docks. “Let’s hope they don’t bring friends.” Headlights cut through the night. Two black SUVs roll up near the loading bay, and moments later, a cargo ship’s horn blares in the distance. Right on schedule. “They’re here,” Clint whispers. You tighten your gloves. “Then let’s get to work.” The first men to step out are bottom - feeders - tattoos, leather jackets, the kind of guys who think a gun makes them dangerous. They spread out, scanning the docks, but they don’t look hard enough. You count six outside the SUVs. More inside. Then there’s the crew unloading the shipment from the ship. Thirty seconds later, a well - dressed man steps out of the second SUV, adjusting his watch. “That’s our guy,” Natasha mutters. “Jonas Greco. Middleman for the Vasquez cartel. Likes to think he’s untouchable.” You smirk. “Let’s show him how wrong he is.” You move first - silent, controlled, a shadow slipping between crates. Natasha mirrors you from the other side, while Clint stays above, bow drawn. The first crate touches the ground. That’s the cue. A flick of your wrist, a blade slicing through the dark - it buries itself in a thug’s shoulder before he can reach for his gun. A muted scream, a body hitting the ground. Chaos erupts. Natasha is already moving, her combat knife flashing under the moonlight. Clint loses an arrow, striking a man’s hand before he can fire. Greco turns, panicked, reaching for his radio. You’re faster. You grab him by the collar and slam him against the SUV. “Drug shipments don’t happen in my city,” you whisper, voice like steel. “And if you so much as breathe the wrong way, I’ll make sure you don’t leave this dock in one piece.” Greco gulps. His men are already down. This isn’t a fight - it’s a message. A reminder of who owns this city. You tighten your grip. “You tell Vasquez that if he wants to keep playing this game, he better be ready to lose.” Greco nods frantically. You shove him away. “Now get the hell out of my city.” The job is done. The shipment won’t reach the streets, and the message is sent.

Later, you, Clint, and Natasha load the seized drugs into the back of a nondescript black SUV. The weight of your victory isn’t in the product you confiscated - it’s in the statement you made. The drive is silent, the city flickering past in streaks of yellow and white. You pull into the back entrance of a precinct - one of yours. The cops stationed here aren’t just officers; they owe their careers, their silence, their survival to you. A uniformed officer steps out, his expression unreadable. “Y/N,” he greets, voice low with practiced respect. “Got something for us?” You nod toward the cargo. “Straight from our competition. Make it disappear. Usual procedure.” He signals to his men. The crates are hauled away. “This’ll cause a stir,” the officer says. “Someone’s bound to come looking.” You smirk, tucking your hands into your pockets. “Let them. If they want to play in my city, they play by my rules.” The officer shifts nervously. “Anything else we should know?” You shake your head. “Just keep your ears open. If anyone asks, this never existed.” With a final glance at the disappearing crates, you turn back to the car. Natasha follows without a word, while Clint chuckles under his breath. “Cold as ever,” he muses, sliding into the passenger seat. The door clicks shut. Natasha behind the wheel, Clint beside her, and you in the back, where the weight of your choices sits heavier than usual. The city blurred past in streaks of yellow and white, neon signs casting fleeting glows against the SUV's tinted windows. You sit in the back, head leaning slightly against the cool glass, but your mind is far from the familiar rhythm of post - mission silence. The docks, the takedown, Greco’s panicked eyes - all of it played out exactly how it was supposed to. Another operation, another loose thread cut before it could unravel. It should feel like a win. So why doesn’t it? Clint’s voice cuts through the hum of the road. “Anything on your mind, sport?” He’s trying to sound casual, but you know him too well. He’s fishing. You don’t answer immediately, just run your fingertips along the smooth leather of the seat, grounding yourself in something tangible. Natasha doesn’t say anything, but you feel her gaze in the rearview mirror, steady and unreadable. She doesn’t need to push - she waits, lets the silence do the work for her. “You’re awfully quiet,” Clint adds, shooting you a glance over his shoulder. “Not like you.” He’s right. Normally, adrenaline would still be buzzing under your skin, driving you forward. But tonight, there’s something else. Something you don’t want to put words to. “You good, Y/N?” Natasha finally asks, voice low, lacking its usual sharp edge. It’s not an order, not a demand - just a question. An offering. You hesitate, then shake your head, trying to clear the fog. “Just… thinking.” The words feel clumsy in your mouth. You hate the hesitation in your voice. Clint raises an eyebrow, leaning into his smirk. “Thinking about the mission or something else?” You don’t answer right away, which is already an answer in itself. Natasha flicks her gaze toward Clint in warning, but he just shrugs, settling back in his seat. “It’s nothing,” you finally say, forcing a small exhale. “Just things I need to figure out.” Clint’s teasing edge fades, replaced by something quieter. “Well, whatever it is, you know you can talk to us, right?” His words sit between you, an unspoken invitation. Natasha doesn’t echo them, but she doesn’t have to. Her grip on the wheel tightens slightly, her expression unreadable, but you catch the way her eyes soften for just a moment. You meet her gaze in the mirror for a second before looking away. “Let’s just get back,” you say, voice steady again. That’s safer. That’s easier. Neither of them push further. They just share a glance, the kind that says we’ll wait. The hum of the engine fills the silence, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across your face. You let your head rest against the seat, closing your eyes for a brief moment. You’ll deal with it later. For now, the job comes first.

The late - night hush of SHIELD was a familiar kind of silence - the kind that settled over tired souls and heavy thoughts. It wasn’t empty, not really. The low murmur of voices blended with the occasional clink of ice against glass, the soft scrape of a chair moving, the distant hum of a jukebox playing something slow and bluesy. Dim lights cast longshadows across the bar, stretching over well - worn leather seats and whiskey - stained tables. The air smelled of aged wood, liquor, and the faint trace of gunpowder clinging to your jacket from the mission.

Natasha Romanoff sat at the bar, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching the door like a predator waiting for its prey. She cradled a glass of whiskey in one hand, swirling the amber liquid absently, but her mind was elsewhere.

On you.

She had noticed it on the mission - the weight on your shoulders, the slight hesitation in your eyes when you thought no one was looking. You had done your job flawlessly, as always, but something was off. It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was deeper than that, something burrowing beneath your skin, dragging you down.

She had seen it before. In herself. In Clint. In too many people who had lived too many lives in too short a time.

She exhaled slowly, nursing another sip of whiskey as the door to the back office swung open.

Nick.

He stepped into the room with the same commanding presence he always carried, his sharp gaze sweeping over the bar, taking in every detail in a single breath. When his eye landed on her, there was something unspoken in his expression - a silent question.

Natasha raised her glass slightly in greeting before setting it down. "Everything go alright?"

Nick’s voice was even, measured, but there was something beneath it. Concern.

"It went fine," Natasha replied, but there was no real conviction in her tone. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

Nick caught it immediately. "But?"

Natasha exhaled through her nose, leaning forward slightly, resting her forearms against the worn wooden bar. She didn’t like dancing around things - never had. But this wasn’t an easy conversation.

"But there’s something off about her," she admitted, turning her gaze toward Nick. "She handled the mission like she always does - sharp, focused. But afterward? She’s been... different. Quiet."

Nick didn’t respond right away, his fingers drumming against the bar in thought.

"You think she’s not handling the threat?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. It’s not that. It’s something else. Something that’s been there for a while, I think." She paused, swirling her drink absently. "You know how she is. She compartmentalizes, holds everything close. But tonight... it felt like she was fighting something. And I don’t think it was just the job."

Nick’s expression didn’t change, but Natasha had known him long enough to recognize the way his jaw tightened slightly, the way his fingers curled just a little too tightly around his glass.

He had noticed it too.

"You think I should talk to her?" His voice was quieter now, carrying the weight of a father, not a director.

Natasha’s eyes softened slightly as she met his gaze. "I do."

Nick let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck - a rare tell.

"She trusts you, Nick," Natasha continued, her voice steady but gentler now. "Even if she doesn’t always show it. And if something’s weighing on her, she might need to hear it from you. Just... don’t push too hard. Let her open up when she’s ready."

Nick was silent for a long moment, staring at the dark amber liquid in his glass as if it held an answer.

"I’ll talk to her," he finally said, his voice low, resolute.

Natasha nodded, satisfied.

"She’s strong," she added after a moment. "Stronger than most. But even she has her limits. Just be patient with her."

Nick’s lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of something close to a smile ghosting across his face.

"I always am," he murmured.

And with that, he pushed away from the bar, his decision made.

Natasha watched him go, watched the way his shoulders squared, the way he carried the quiet weight of responsibility on his back as he walked toward the one person he’d break every rule in the book for.

She hoped you’d let him in.

You had done everything right tonight. The mission had gone smoothly, your team had made it back in one piece, and yet, something felt… off. Off in a way you couldn’t shake, no matter how many times you replayed it in your mind. You weren’t distracted during the op - your instincts wouldn’t allow it - but now, in the quiet aftermath, it was creeping in, slipping through the cracks you swore you had sealed.

Natasha was already here, perched at the bar like she belonged there, whiskey glass in hand. Her sharp green eyes flicked toward you as you entered, taking you in with that silent, calculating look that said she already knew something was wrong. She always knew.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just took a slow sip of her drink, letting the quiet stretch between you. You appreciated that about her. She never forced you to talk before you were ready, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t waiting.

A presence shifted in the room, drawing your attention before you even saw him. Nick.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. His steps were always measured, deliberate, carrying the weight of someone who had spent his life walking through battlefields, even when they weren’t made of bullets and blood. He wasn’t just your boss. He was your father. And tonight, he was here for you.

He walked past Natasha without a word, his sharp gaze settling on you, assessing. There was no reprimand, no immediate questioning - just that quiet kind of concern he rarely let show.

You swallowed hard, forcing your posture to stay straight.

"Got a minute, kid?"

The words were simple, but something in his voice made them heavier. Not an order. An invitation.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening into a fist before you forced them to relax. Then, finally, you nodded. "Of course, Dad."

Nick sat across from you, his hands resting on the table between you both. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened slightly small, almost imperceptible things that only you would notice. He wasn’t here as Nick Fury. He was here as your father.

"Everything alright?" His voice was steady, but there was an edge of something softer beneath it.

You wanted to say yes. To give him the answer that would make this easier. But when you opened your mouth, nothing came out at first.

The truth sat in your chest like lead, heavy and immovable.

"I’m fine," you finally said, but even to your own ears, the words sounded… thin. Like an excuse instead of a truth.

Nick didn’t push. He never did. He just watched you, waiting, his patience steady and unwavering.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze dropping to your hands. You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to admit that something was clawing at you from the inside, making it hard to breathe.

"I just..." You hesitated. "I don’t want to put anything on you. You’ve got enough to deal with."

Nick let out a quiet breath - almost a huff - before reaching across the table, his rough, calloused hand resting over yours. The gesture was small, but it anchored you.

"You’re never a distraction, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "Never. You’re my daughter. And I’m here for you, always. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out together."

The words hit something deep inside you, something you didn’t even realize you had been holding back. The weight of them settled into your ribs, pressing against the ache you had refused to acknowledge.

For a long moment, you just sat there, letting the warmth of his hand seep into your skin.

Then, without thinking, you squeezed his hand - tighter than you normally would. He didn’t flinch.

"Thanks, Dad," you whispered.

You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to. Because in this moment, in the dim glow of the bar, with the scent of whiskey and gunpowder lingering between you, he knew.

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite as heavy.

After days of seeing you distracted and unsettled, Nick Fury’s instincts kicked in. It wasn’t like you to be unfocused, especially during operations. And when Clint, Natasha, and even Yelena started noticing your distant demeanor, it became clear to Nick that something - someone - was on your mind. Nick wasn’t blind to the signs. He knew you, better than anyone, and recognized the subtle shift in your behavior. Your rare absentmindedness when you are usually be laser focused. it was enough to make Nick realize that you had someone new in her life. The question was: who? You hadn’t revealed much, and the name "Wanda" hadn’t been spoken aloud. But Nick had seen enough. His daughter, as independent and fierce as she was, wasn’t immune to the pull of human connection. And it was clear this was more than just a passing distraction. This woman was important. So Nick, doing what he did best, began his investigation. His first stop? Wanda's cafe. The bell above the door chimes softly as he steps inside. It’s a small place - cozy, warm, the kind of spot that invites people in and convinces them to stay. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air, blending with something faintly sweet, like cinnamon or vanilla. The lighting is soft, golden, a stark contrast to the city’s cold steel and fluorescent harshness. Not his usual setting. And certainly not yours. The soft hum of the espresso machine and the quiet chatter from a couple of patrons were the only sounds in the room. Nick’s sharp gaze swept over the place quickly, registering the details - small but cozy, intimate in a way that screamed comfort, not the kind of place a hardened operative would frequent, yet it seemed to draw people in nonetheless. Wanda was behind the counter, her attention on a small tray of pastries. She didn’t notice him right away, absorbed in her task, her movements fluid and precise. As Nick approached the counter, he casually adjusted his coat and waited for her to look up. Wanda turned around, and when her eyes met his, she offered a warm smile. It wasn’t the kind of smile that belonged to someone trying to be overly charming - it was genuine, like she was truly happy to see him. A stark contrast to the cold masks people in his world often wore. “Can I get you something?” Wanda asked, her tone friendly, and her accent, though soft, betrayed her Sokovian roots. “Just black,” Nick replied, keeping his voice low and steady, but with an undercurrent of authority that most would sense but never acknowledge. He didn’t need to announce who he was. It wasn’t his style. “Coming right up,” Wanda said as she turned to prepare the coffee. As she worked, Nick took in the quiet rhythm of the cafe - the soft clinking of cups, the murmur of voices, and the faint background music that added to the peaceful ambiance. It seemed almost out of place in the city’s constant hum of chaos. “So, you’re the owner?” Nick asked casually, resting his arms on the counter, his eyes never leaving her as she moved around the space with ease. Wanda glanced up briefly, her brow furrowing slightly as she focused on the coffee machine. “I am, yes. It is a family business, sort of. Though, at this point, I mostly handle it alone.” Nick raised an eyebrow. “Must be a lot of work for one person.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “It is manageable. It keeps me busy, though. I like it that way.” Nick studied her for a moment. There was something about her - something that seemed so unassuming. Yet, the way she carried herself, the ease in her demeanor, suggested she was no stranger to overcoming challenges. In his line of work, it was hard to miss the subtle signs people gave off. She was different, and that intrigued him. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, the question slipping out more naturally than he had planned. Wanda stopped mid-motion, looking up at him. “No, I’m originally from Sokovia. You might have heard of it,” she said, a hint of playfulness in her tone. It was clear she was aware of the gravity the name carried, but her delivery was light, as if it did not hold the weight it once did. “I’ve heard of it,” Nick replied, his gaze narrowing just slightly, as if weighing his words. “Quite the place, if I recall correctly.”

She shrugged, her smile never faltering. “It was. Not anymore, though. Just… memories now.” Nick nodded slowly, processing her words. There was something guarded about her response, a glimpse into her past that she did not offer up easily. Yet she remained composed, the walls around her emotions constructed but not entirely impenetrable. It made him more certain of one thing - there was more to her than met the eye. “How come you don’t have much staff here?” Nick asked again, trying to keep the conversation going, though he was not sure why. He had his answers, but there was something about her that he could not quite place. Wanda tilted her head, pausing as she considered his question. “I’ve had a few people help here and there, but this is my thing. Keeps me busy… and keeps my mind occupied.” Nick felt his eyes linger on her for a moment longer than he intended. She was giving away so much without realizing it, and yet, her openness was as guarded as it was inviting. You, his daughter, had obviously found something in her. But was it enough for you to let your guard down completely? That’s what Nick needed to figure out. “Hmm. Keeps you occupied, huh?” Nick said, his voice smooth as he leaned back just a little, taking another slow sip of his coffee. “Seems like a good place to clear your mind. But… is it really enough?” Wanda paused again, a flicker of something in her eyes. “More than enough,” she replied softly. “I find peace here. That’s all I need.”

Nick studied her for a moment longer, the pieces falling into place in his mind. There was something about Wanda that was… serene. Detached, even from the chaos of the world. And it was this, more than anything else, that likely drew you to her. Wanda was a contrast to the danger, the turmoil, that you lived with daily. Nick set his cup down and gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. “You know, I’ve been to a lot of places like this. Not quite like this, though. You’ve got a good thing going.” Wanda smiled, a little shy now, as if the compliment had caught her off guard. “Thanks. I try.” He stood, taking one last look around the cafe before he headed for the door, his presence lingering just long enough to leave a subtle mark on her. He hadn’t gotten all the answers he wanted, but he had enough. The mission was far from over. Nick’s curiosity about Wanda was piqued, and he wouldn’t rest until he understood what was really happening between her and you. But for now, he’d leave it at that. Nick stepped out of the cafe, the bell jingling softly behind him as the door closed. The crisp New York air greeted him, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee that clung to his coat. He paused on the sidewalk, his hands tucked into his pockets and glanced back at the warm glow of the cafe’s windows. Wanda Maximoff.

She didn’t fit. Not into your world, not into his. And yet, he could see why you had been drawn to her. Wanda was a beacon of calm, of normalcy, in a city riddled with chaos - a city that you navigated with the precision of a chess master but at the cost of your own peace. Nick exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cold air. He had seen the way Wanda moved, the way she spoke. She wasn’t naïve, but she wasn’t hardened, either. She had the resilience of someone who had faced hardship and survived, but she hadn’t let it turn her bitter. It was a rare quality, and perhaps that was what made her so dangerous - not to the world, but to you. Because you were falling for her. Hard. And as much as Nick wanted to protect his daughter, he also knew there were some battles you had to fight on your own. He couldn’t shield you from the risks of loving someone outside your world, someone who had no idea of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface. But maybe… just maybe, Wanda was exactly what you needed. With a decisive nod, Nick turned and walked toward the black SUV parked a few feet away. His driver opened the door for him, but Nick waved him off. “Take a break. I’ll drive myself.” The agent hesitated but nodded, stepping aside as Nick climbed into the vehicle. He needed the solitude, the drive, to think.

The bar is quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful but heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of sleepless nights. It’s dimly lit, the amber glow of old bulbs reflecting off the dark wood, casting shadows that stretch long across the floor. The hum of the city outside is distant, muffled by thick walls, but you can still feel it - the pulse of New York, always moving, never resting. You sit alone, a small glass of whiskey in front of you, untouched. Your fingers trace slow, absentminded circles along the rim, the cool glass grounding you in a way nothing else can right now. Your mind is elsewhere. On her. Wanda Maximoff. It’s maddening - the way she lingers in your thoughts, like a song you can’t shake. Her smile. The way her voice softens when she talks about things she loves. The warmth in her eyes when she looks at you, like she sees something worth knowing, something worth holding onto. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? She doesn’t know. Not about you. Not about the life you lead, the ghosts that follow you, the blood on your hands. She sees the parts of you that you allow, the carefully measured pieces, the edges smoothed just enough to look harmless. But if she knew? If she knew the kind of things you’ve done, the kind of things you still do? Would she still smile at you like that? The thought makes your chest ache, and you don’t even realize how deep in it you are until a familiar voice cuts through the quiet. “Mind if I join you?” You jolt slightly, your body tensing before your brain catches up to the sound. Nick. You look up, and there he is, standing at the edge of the bar, coat draped over one arm, his expression unreadable. It’s not a request. It never is.

“Dad,” you say, straightening your posture, forcing yourself back into the present. “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t answer right away, just moves to sit beside you, his presence as solid as ever. “I was in the neighborhood,” he says simply, his tone casual. But you know better. Nick Fury doesn’t do casual. You narrow your eyes. “Right. In the neighborhood. At this hour.” He doesn’t react, just picks up your untouched drink, examines it for a second before setting it down. Then, without pretence, he says it - “You’ve been distracted.” The words settle between you like a loaded gun on the table. You stiffen, defences snapping into place. “I’m fine.” Nick just looks at you. That look - the one that sees straight through you, past the layers, past the walls, past the carefully controlled exterior. “Sure you are,” he says, voice calm, measured. “But ‘fine’ doesn’t keep you up at night, staring at a drink you’re not going to finish.” You clench your jaw, looking away. The ice in the whiskey has started to melt, little droplets of condensation sliding down the glass. You hate how well he knows you. “I’m handling it,” you say finally. Nick exhales through his nose, slow, deliberate. “I know you are,” he says. “But you don’t have to handle it alone.” Something in his voice makes you pause.

You turn back to him, caught off guard by the softness there. Nick Fury is many things - calculating, ruthless when he needs to be, a man who sees the world in shades of war and strategy. But right now? Right now, he’s just your father. And he’s giving you an out. Before you can figure out what to say, he speaks again. “Does she make you happy?” Your breath catches. The question is so simple, so direct, that it feels like a knife slipping between your ribs. “What?” “The woman you’ve been seeing,” Nick clarifies, his tone even. “Does she make you happy?” You don’t answer right away. You can’t. Because saying it out loud makes it real, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that kind of vulnerability. But when you finally speak, your voice is quieter than you mean it to be. “…Yeah.” Nick nods, like he already knew the answer. Maybe he did. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Then don’t screw it up.” You blink. What? “You heard me,” he says, standing up, grabbing his coat. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Y/N. Use it. But don’t overthink it.” You watch him, still trying to process what just happened. He walks toward the door, but before he leaves, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is certain. “And for what it’s worth… Ms. Maximoff seems like a good one.” Your throat tightens. You don’t move, don’t say anything. You just watch him go, the weight of his words settling deep into your bones. For the first time in a long time, hope flickers at the edges of your carefully controlled world. And maybe - just maybe - you can find a way to keep it.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mafia au #female reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #lesbian #lgbt #natasha romanoff

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 5 months ago

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Midnight Coffee [Teaser 1]

Non-Idol AU / Coffee Shop AUTW: None Pairing: Platonic!NCT 127 x Reader YN Pronouns: Gender Neutral (They/Them) Genre: Slice of Life, Angst in Some Parts, Comedy in Some Parts Word Count: 1.0K Summary: You run a coffee shop that only opens past midnight and closes just before the sun rises, and the people you meet are never more interesting than the stories they bring with them.

Notes: Guess who decided to re-write this classic? This girl HA One day I'll release something new. Plus I had it open again since I had to remove the prisoner from the narrative so there's that too.

Inspired by the Indie Game ‘Coffee Talk’

(T1/?) [Character Profiles] | [Next] [NCT Masterlist] | [Midnight Coffee Masterlist]

"You smell that?" You heard voices just outside of your shop. You had just opened your cafe for the night, yes, night.

"Yeah... smells like coffee beans?" You heard another voice and you couldn't blame their skepticism, why would a coffee shop be open at two in the morning?

“Yeah, that's it!” The former answers. “You know what? I have a headache from all of those bright lights anyway, let’s give them a visit.” The bell hung above the door chimed as it swung open and three men entered the store.

“Do you guys even have cash?” One asks, looking at his two friends who dug through their wallets. “Yeah, thought so. It’s on me tonight, boys.” He turns his wallet around in his pocket while his two friends display huge smiles on their faces.

“We’ll pay you back once our careers take off!”

“Sure you will.”

“It’s a promise! The three of us, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hey, we’re serious!”

“I know.”

“So what’s with the bland responses?”

“It’s 2 am and we had a photographer all up in our business, I need a caffeine fix,” he laughs.

The trio sat at the bar and you stood awaiting their orders, but you didn't dare intrude, you were more interested in what they were talking about, after all. But one stood out to you, one who sat on the left end.

"Could I try..." He studied your menu. "A Black Lemon?"

"Sure, what should I put the name under?"

"Dong Sicheng, thank you, the tall one will take an espresso and the pretty one would probably like the Black Magic."

"Right away," you pulled out three mugs, still attentive to the conversation.

What an interesting story they must have.

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic

NCT Tag List: @cherrylovr @minjiville

Midnight Coffee: @luminousannie, @multifandomania06

#nct x reader #nct u x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct scenarios #nct u scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct fics #nct u fics #nct 127 fics #midnight coffee #my writings

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piratefalls · 1 year ago

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i don't have a snarky opening line this week. have fic instead.

masterlist.

(make me) misbehave by r_holland

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.

NFWMB by cricketnationrise

5 Times Alex Fights Customer Service for Henry + 1 Time He Doesn't Have To

falling in love (in the cruelest way) by coffeecatsme

“Alex?” The name makes Alex stop halfway to the register and look back. Henry is standing in the same spot, shifting from foot to foot, before he juts his chin out. He meets Alex’s eyes. “Where are you traveling to?” Or, Alex picks up a stranger on a road trip, only to realize too late he's the missing Prince of Wales.

We've Got To Stop Meeting like This by everwitch

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.

quad shot americano by saintlynomenclature

Like always, Henry’s made it perfectly—the espresso is rich, decidedly not burnt, and the cinnamon tastes like it’s been infused rather than sprinkled in. “How the fuck do you do this?” Alex demands, taking another sip as Henry laughs at him. “If I tell you, you won’t come back.” Henry smiles, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. Alex lets his eyes follow the line of Henry’s shoulders, falling down to the veins in his forearms after the ends of his bunched-up sleeves. The ring on Henry’s left pinky doesn’t reflect in the lowlight of the back corner—without the sun glinting off of it, Alex can finally see that the surface of it is engraved. “If you think coffee's the only thing keeping me around, sweetheart, then I need to try harder.” The blush coats Henry’s cheeks again. He dips his head bashfully, eyes skating away from Alex’s face. “Whatever will I do with you?” he murmurs under his breath.

- Or, Alex spends an exorbitant amount of money on coffee.

Not So Silent Night by inexplicablymine

Sure, Alex can admit in the deepest recesses of his mind, at two in the morning, when the Liszt is playing forlornly like some kind of bugle call for grief, that whoever the fuck lives next to him is on another level with the keys. Or Alex has no idea who his piano playing neighbor is, but Alex knows one thing for certain… This means war.

Airplane Mode by clottedcreamfudge

Getting into an argument with someone in the airport lounge had probably been a mistake, in hindsight; Alex knows this. But with so many fucking delays and the fact that the signal on his phone is currently making it about as useful as two paper cups joined by a piece of string, he’s kind of on-edge. It’s not entirely his fault that he snaps. Attractive people with perfect hair who take the last almond croissant before Alex can get to it probably just need to understand this. Alex is at the end of his tether, and he will not be swayed by, “Well, I was here first,” in a British accent so smooth it could butter bread.

something more, something right by rizcriz

Alex blinks at him, seemingly entirely unimpressed. “So, you’re just going to pretend we’re not in love with each other?”

here the whole time by HypnosTheory

Alex frowns, massaging Henry’s scalp. “It feels like you’re getting headaches more often babe. Anything wrong?” “It’s nothing,” Henry says, melting under Alex’s fingers on his scalp. “My suppressants are just killing my head. Think I’ve been taking them too long, I probably need a break soon.” Alex hums thoughtfully. “Or you could get off them for good.” -- Married and bonded, Henry and Alex decide it's about time to get off suppressants and start enjoying their bond fully.

Of Who I Am (Golden) by MayQueen517

There's magic and Henry is hiding something. Alex is determined to figure it out at all costs.

Dependence is a Childhood Illness by aubsoluteaudacity

As he stands by the counter and waits for the kettle to boil, Henry goes over his illness management tactics in his head. Drink lots of tea and water. Take more medication whenever he reasonably can. Never, ever, let anyone see how sick he is. He has been following this mantra since his late teens. Royalty isn’t allowed to miss an event because of a cold. It simply isn’t done to stay in bed when there are hands to press and ribbons to cut.

pictures of you (pictures of me) by yeolocity

alex keeps polaroids.

If You Love Something by allmylovesatonce

Alex calls Henry to tell him a funny incident from his day. When a miscommunication sends them both reeling, both of them are questioning if the other is wanting to end their relationship. Their friends take things upon themselves to get them to see eye to eye.

An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat by firenati0n

Alex invites Henry to his Extremely Specific and Ethnic Friendsgiving dinner, issuing a stern warning—no beige foods and no colonizer behavior. So basically, Henry's screwed. In an effort to find the perfect recipe, Henry stumbles upon a popular TikTok chef who thirst traps from the neck down and flusters Henry to his core. But his food is banging, along with the bod. A recipe for feral disaster. Or, Alex is an anonymous thirst-trapping chef on TikTok. Henry is an amateur cook who needs a recipe for Friendsgiving. Alex knows Henry's watching. Henry doesn't know it's Alex. Shenanigans ensue.

it's midnight in Texas by viciouslyqueer

When Henry mentions a charity polo match in Connecticut, Alex doesn’t think much of it. When Henry asks him on a date and puts him on a plane to Paris, Alex smiles and lets himself be romanced. When Henry says he wants to do it right, Alex is too in love to protest.

we should get married by smc_27

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

i need that charles dickens by @whimsymanaged

Henry’s flatmate (and crush) Alex is suddenly obsessed with Charles Dickens. But when Henry asks to borrow Alex’s Dickens, he quickly learns that Alex hasn’t, in fact, been talking about a book.

Amazed at How We Talk (Once, Successfully) by @sparklepocalypse

And, well. Fuck that guy. Alex isn’t about to rub elbows with people who can’t even stand to be in the same room as him. Alex isn’t sulking when he sidles up to the bar and steals a man’s whisky. He also isn’t sulking when he obtains a second glass, this one neat. Or when he snags a large plate of canapés from one of the waitstaff and nonchalantly strolls out of the room. (Movieverse; a riff on the trope that asks, What if Cakegate didn't happen?)

like a bridge over troubled water, i will ease your mind by anincompletelist

And then— relief. So palpable that it sends more tears springing to his eyes, a sob at his lips that Henry quiets with a kiss. Everything from the past week was so much, had been building up pretty much from the moment Henry first left, and leaving him teetering on the edge of fine and definitively, very much not fine, one more useless appearance or shitty headline away from breaking into a million pieces. And shatter he had. But somehow, by some miracle, he’d been able to wait until Henry was here, was back with him in their home, to do it. His safety net, his safe place, his everything; the only one capable of holding all of his broken shards and figuring out how to piece them all back together again in the aftermath. The only one who has asked for the privilege of being there to do it.

Truth by cmere

Alex always does this, hauls every base fucking instinct that Henry has out into the open between them, plain for both to see. And every time it happens, Henry expects him to laugh it off or give him a hard time, but instead he just encourages it with soft, pliant lips and greedy fingers until Henry gives in to himself and his desires. Alex has never made him feel bad, or odd, or disgusting, always treats him with the utmost patience and care. Henry loves him so fucking much. It's just past midnight on Alex's birthday and he's going to get what he wants. Which is, of course, to give Henry what he wants.

as always, if you want me to tag you in future lists just let me know!

@starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels @midnightsfp

#rwrb #rwrb fic #rwrb fic rec #rwrb fanfiction #rwrb rec list #firstprince #red white and royal blue #alexhenry #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

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