#cash’s coffeeshop au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cosmicanamnesis · 1 year

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everybody loves a coffeeshop au

[part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [read on ao3]

October 10th

The first time the cute metalhead came into the Waystation, Steve was on bar and didn't catch his name. His order wasn't complicated, but it was long. Three medium black coffees, one small London fog, a large half sweet vanilla latte with soy milk, and a small hot chocolate. He'd paid in cash, leaving the change in the tip jar, and left in a hurry balancing the drink carriers on top of each other. If it hadn't been in the middle of a rush, Steve would've run around the counter and offered to hold the door for him.

Fortunately for Steve, he came in the next day, at the same time, with the same order, and Steve was on register this time.

"And can I get a name for the order?" Steve asked, punching the drinks into the computer.

"Eddie," the man said.

"Awesome. We'll have that all at the end for you," Steve said with a smile. Eddie dropped his change in the tip jar and wordlessly walked away.

One of Steve's favorite parts of the job was getting to talk to beautiful people. Not everyone was, of course, but a few times a day a customer would come in with long curly hair or beautiful eyes or a charming smile and Steve would fall in love with them for thirty seconds and then usually never see them again and it was fine. It was fun. It was harmless.

Eddie had all those things, all the things Steve was a sucker for, but unlike all the others, Eddie kept coming back.

It took a month or so, but eventually everyone in the shop had either taken or made Eddie's order so many times that they all knew what it was and could start making it before he'd even reached the counter. Or rather, immediately abandon Steve and force him to make it.

It was fine with Steve, though. He didn't mind making long orders, and it gave him a chance to chat with Eddie, not that he ever did. If he were a little braver, maybe he would talk, maybe ask where Eddie works, maybe get the story on why he comes in alone every day to carry an entire office's worth of drinks out.

Maybe get his number.

But Steve wasn't braver, and instead of talking to him, he contented himself to just make the drinks and sneak glances whenever he could to admire the way Eddie's hair fell over his shoulders, the way his rings glinted and drew attention to his hands, the way he would sometimes stick his tongue out, just a little, if he was really absorbed in whatever he was doing.

Steve really wanted his number.

December 3rd

“Steve!” Robin yelled from the register. “Your boyfriend’s here!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Steve huffed, but came up front anyway as the bell on the door chimed. “Hey Eddie. Usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Eddie nodded, handing Steve a wad of ones and fives. He dropped the change in the tip jar, like every day, and went to the end of the counter to wait. Steve watched him as he made the order. He wasn’t doing anything, just looking at his phone, but the cold outside had flushed his cheeks bright red and Steve couldn’t help but stare.

“Is it snowing out there yet?” he asked, putting lids on the plain coffees and popping them into a carrier.

“Huh? Oh, no. Is it supposed to?” Eddie seemed surprised that someone was talking to him, but he looked up anyway, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Steve shrugged. “Pretty much every old lady in here this morning has complained about their arthritis and the weather, so I just assumed.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie laughed, leaning on the counter. Steve wanted to listen to him laugh all day.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Perks of the job, y’know? Never have to check the weather, just wait until somebody with a bad knee comes in.”

“I always thought that was a myth.”

“I dunno, man,” Steve shrugged again, sliding the drink carriers onto the counter. Eddie was smiling at him, wild curls framing his face. “They only had to be right a couple times to make me a believer.”

“Well,” Eddie said, carefully stacking the drinks on top of each other. “If it starts snowing later, I might start believing it too.”

Steve could’ve sworn Eddie winked at him on his way out.

“Oh my god, that was pathetic,” Robin said, reemerging from the back. “If you’re gonna flirt with him, just flirt with him. Is it snowing yet? Fuck off.”

“Wait, did Steve finally talk to that guy?” Chrissy, their assistant manager, poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Yeah, sorta,” Robin chided.

“I honestly don’t know what you see in him, Steve,” Chrissy said, bringing a tray of pastries up front to put in the case.

“What? What do you mean?” Steve crossed his arms.

“Nothing! Just… He’s kinda weird, isn’t he? Like, standoffish?” She looked to Robin, who nodded. “I mean, you do you, but…”

“Wait, is this why you guys always shove me up front when he’s here?”

The girls looked at each other and then at Steve.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Chrissy admitted.

“You’re the only one that doesn’t mind him, so… He’s your problem,” Robin agreed.

“Proud of you for actually working up the nerve to talk to him, though.”

“Yeah, even if it was just about the stupid weather.”

Sure enough, it started snowing within the hour.

December 30th, Afternoon

Robin had begged Steve to swap shifts with her so she could go on a date. Normally Steve was an opener. He liked it, because he was naturally an early riser and opening meant more time after work to get shit done. But she had begged, and she was his best friend, so even though taking her closing shift messed with his whole routine, he agreed to swap. Plus, it meant he would have all of New Year’s Eve off, and that was pretty cool too.

It also meant accidentally finding out where Eddie worked.

Steve lived close enough to the cafe to walk there, and the walk took him past places that were usually still closed when he came in in the mornings. Antique store, jeweler, boutique, boutique, hair salon, tattoo parlor…

Steve took a couple steps back and looked in the front window of the tattoo place. Eddie happened to look up from whatever he was doing at that exact moment and gave him a confused sort of look. Steve just smiled and gave Eddie a small wave before going back on his way.

Well, it could’ve been more awkward.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #i mean it wont be a ficlet when i'm done with it but w/e #stranger things #stranger things 4 #text

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 7 months

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Pumpkin spice

Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Walter Marshall x librarian!reader

Summary: You finally manage to get a date with the handsome barista from your favorite coffeeshop.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f and m receiving), p-in-v sex, hint of a size kink (blink and you miss it), a cheesy (romantic) date, a short appearance of Mike The Idiot TM, awkwardness, a lot of coffee and abuse of a cable knit... I think that's it?

A/N: Another promise made to @deandoesthingstome. I swear this woman is responsible for half the stuff on my masterlist at this point. Credit for the other half goes to @geralts-yenn of course. This time, it was - of course - because I made the mistake of adding one of the - according to her - more attractive Henry-shaped men to the Coffee+Cats universe. Naturally, grumpy coffeeshop manager Walter needed a hug and some good head, and Charlie volunteered, so here we are.

What we're left with is a crazy crossover between the Coffee+Cats AU and the 179th Crescent Street AU, because this is - indeed, for the people who are familiar with Crescent Street - the librarian!reader from After Hours.

@ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

The brooding man behind the counter has been getting on your nerves for weeks. His only crime is ‘getting your order right’, which shouldn’t even be all that surprising, because that’s his job – if it weren’t for the fact that he seems to know exactly what it’s going to be before you’ve even opened your mouth to speak.

“What can I do for you today?” He could look less godlike, maybe? Don’t say that. Or he could smell worse? Or that. Or he could not smile in a way that seemed to make the earth stop spinning. Very dramatic, also don’t say that.

“Ehh…” Brilliant. Someone should give you an award for that monologue. Shake it off. “Since when do I have to order for myself?”

Alright, you’ve made him chuckle – God, that’s a delicious sound – and look away. Now what? “I’m sorry,” he says, still avoiding your eyes, “I can’t read you today. But you seem annoyed enough with me to make me want to make whatever you’re going to order lukewarm in case I get it thrown in my face later.”

“That’s too bad,” you say, “I was really hoping to get a recommendation.” Because you only know what you want to order when you’re here for coffee. And you’re not here for coffee. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, why are you getting coffee today?” Son of a bitch! It’s a good thing the shop is slow right now, so you’re not holding anyone up with your… is it flirting? God, let it be flirting! No, definitely not flirting. Or maybe…?

“Maybe it’s not the coffee so much as the company,” you say shyly. Yeah, flirting. Qualitatively very poor flirting, but still. It stays quiet on the other side of the counter for a beat too long, which sends your anxiety through the roof.

“So, how about she has whatever you’re having when you go on your break in about... A minute and a half?” The voice belongs to Mike, the almost annoyingly upbeat barista you’ve seen around countless times. He’s responsible for at least half the college crowd that flocks to this place, because he’s a cutie. A little young, maybe, but he has a nice ass.

“I was going to go with a regular old espresso.” He smiles apologetically.

“You look like you could do with a double.” God, that’s a horrible line.

It’s Mike who ends up laughing. “He could do with way more than a double,” he snickers, shooing Walter away from the cash register. “Get out of here, or I’m getting you both pumpkin spice lattes.”

Walter shudders at the thought. He never struck you as the kind of guy who likes his coffee sweet, and you’re happy you’re right. At least… You think you’re right until you see the little twinkle in Mike’s eyes. Granted, that happens a lot, but never for nothing, and the little wink he throws your way suggests he knows his boss has a secret pumpkin spiced sweet tooth he doesn’t want the world to know about. So you pretend not to notice.

When you’re finally settled at a table, you talk for what feels like forever, your knees touching under the table. You’d expected him to move his leg out of the way when you first bumped into it accidentally, but he didn’t. Then, as your conversation went on, more and more of your legs got mixed up together.

“Walter?” For the love of God, why? “I hate to break up your date, but a whole sorority just walked in and I can’t do this by myself.”

“I’m on my break, Mike,” Walter grumbles in return, clearly not happy about the interruption. That’s a good sign, right?

“Your break, Mr. Manager, sir, ended forty-five minutes ago.” Mike would make a great wingman, if it weren’t for the fact that he seems a little keen to pat himself on the back for his efforts. “Give her your number and come do your job.” With a dramatic sigh, he walks back to where he’s supposed to be.

“I’m really sorry,” Walter says with an apologetic smile on his face. You shrug it off – it really doesn’t matter, he wasn’t even supposed to have spent the better part of the past hour with you – and slide your phone towards him.

A poetry reading in a – different – coffeeshop in town. That’s where he suggests you go. First, any man who is creative enough to come up with something other than ‘a drink’ or ‘dinner’ is worth a shot in your book, but when they’re of the dark, gloomy, burly variety; all the better. And no three-day-wait nonsense, either. He calls you right after his shift ends, and asks you to meet him in two hours.

It's barely a fifteen-minute walk from your apartment, which leaves you with plenty of time to complain quietly to yourself that an hour and forty-five minutes is not enough time to get dressed for a date, while getting dressed for your date. You manage with time to spare – five whole minutes – which you spend pensively checking out your outfit in every imaginable angle in the mirror on your bedroom door. You toy with the hem of the skirt you’re wearing, fondly remembering another time you put it on. You’re not one to kiss and tell, so only a few of your closest friends know the crudest of outlines to the story of your scandalous liaison in the university library – and the long night that followed. Not that you’re particularly happy that those same friends, to this day, still tease you about how you – a grown woman – let yourself get talked into a night in student housing with a guy just about so much younger than you that you really didn’t want to even begin doing the math, but you wouldn’t trade the memories for anything in the whole world.

One look at your watch tells you it was time to go, and with trembling hand you open the door of your apartment. It had been sheer, dumb luck that even got you this place in the first place. It's tiny – just the second floor of a beautiful old townhouse – and narrow, but it has a separate bedroom, which was all you could really wish for with your income, anyway. During this time of year, the street it was on looks like a picture; orange leaves bravely cling to the steadily baring branches of the trees, and litter the ground, making for the perfect autumn scene. The sight also never fails to make you more desperate than usual – even for you – for coffee.

You’ve always enjoyed the fall, including all its necessary trials and tribulations – slippery sidewalks that weren’t quite suited for folks with your level of coordination, the unannounced rain that mercilessly drenched you and your absolutely everything in the early morning so that the sleeves of your coat would be unbearably wet when you put it on later in the afternoon, the cold that had you shivering and covered in goosebumps more often than not, and your toes. Freezing. Always. On that front, living in an old, drafty apartment with less-than-efficient heating isn’t exactly your top choice. Oh well.

The coffeeshop is – as per your calculations – a little less than a fifteen-minute walk away from your place, and you dread being early. Getting there first. Waiting for him. Fortunately, when you round the corner, you see him standing outside. You happily note that he is standing there – again, outside – in nothing but a dark cable-knit sweater, jeans and sturdy shoes that are the most weather-appropriate part of his outfit as far as you’re concerned.

“Hello.” His blue eyes smile down on you, and you barely remember your own damn name. Was he always this tall? This big? This handsome? A nervous smile will have to serve as your answer, because you’re at a complete loss for words. He doesn’t seem to mind.

For a moment, you stand there, simply staring sheepishly into his eyes, until finally a drop of rain falls right on the tip of your nose, pulling you from your trance at once. “We should get inside,” you say softly.

Walter reaches an arm out. “After you,” he says with the same kind smile in his eyes. You pick a table in the corner, settling nicely on the comfortable couch, while Walter grabbed the two of you coffee.

“Pumpkin spice,” you chuckle when he returns with two identical steaming cups. He nods, a playful smile in his eyes, only. “Is Mike the only one who knows your secret?” Your nerves convince you that your shot at playful banter goes wide, until Walter sits down and chuckled.

“There’s, eh… There’s this woman,” he says softly. To your surprise, he doesn’t sit in the chair opposite you, but he joins you on the couch. As the café is filling up, another customer quickly confiscates the chair Walter isn’t using.

“Don’t worry, she won’t tell,” you say, your voice trembling as you briefly consider the possibility that he wasn’t referring to you.

When the reading ends, you linger until the shop closes – which isn’t too long after, but still, you find it comforting in the sense that you’re simply glad Walter doesn’t try to run as soon as he can. Outside, the rain has picked up, and if the autumn air was chilly before, now, it’s downright icy. Despite his lacking a jacket or coat, the cold doesn’t seem to bother Walter, and though the rain clearly does, he offers to walk you home – an offer, mind you, he’s not intent on allowing you to decline.

It would have been obvious to anyone just under half as nervous as you are, but neither of you seem to be in a hurry to get you home, despite the rain, both clearly dragging out the little time you both think is still left to this date. Until you reach your front door, that is, and you both look at each other.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?” Is that your voice? Your invitation? And is that him? Accepting your offer? Apparently it is, because he follows you in when you open the door. The stairs to your floor are almost too narrow for him, and he has to watch his head for that one ridge in the ceiling of the stairwell that you never look out for because you’re small enough to never have it bother you. “This is me,” you say nervously as you open the door and invite him into your place. He seems comically large in your tiny living room, and you barely manage to suppress a chuckle. “Coffee?”

“Please!” he says before he shivers visibly.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry,” you say as you realize – what you consider – your error. “I shouldn’t have… You must be wanting to get home and get out of your wet clothes, I…” A hand on your cheek and the heat that, despite being soaked through and through, radiates off his body cuts you off mid-apology.

“I wouldn’t mind getting out of these clothes,” he says slowly, his voice dark and husky in a way that makes your breath stick in the back of your throat for a moment, “but I don’t see a reason to wait until I get home to do that.” Without waiting for a response, he captures your lips in a scorching hot kiss that almost make you forget that both of you have wandered – slowly – through the pouring rain for nearly fifteen minutes.

Large hands gently tug your coat off your shoulders until a single move of your arms makes it drop to the floor, then they’re at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips are gentle, surprisingly soft, and his beard scratches against your cold skin. When you reach for his face, and your fingers connect with his skin, he inhales sharply.

“Are your hands made of ice?” he mumbles against your lips, his lips pulling away in a grin. He takes your hands away from his face, draping your arms around his neck instead, where you weave your fingers into his messy curls. They’re all but soaked from the rain, and part of you wants to offer him a towel, but another – much bigger – part of you swears it will die if not attached firmly to big, big man. Walter pulls you close, not expecting an answer to his question, and carefully slides his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you to let him in. You do, and you allow yourself to be swept away by the gentle yet thorough way in which his tongue explores your mouth, dances with yours.

With near-greedy impatience, you push him back, towards the door of your bedroom, longing so desperately to feel more of this man than you currently are. ‘Stumble’ is an apt descriptor for the way you cross the threshold into your room. Here, too, he seems almost too large for the space – which is so small that from where he’s standing, he couldn’t fall in any direction without hitting a wall. Your bed covers the whole wall beneath the window, easily taking up half the space, with your wardrobe taking up most of what’s left. You might have fit another bookcase in there, if it weren’t for the fact that you prefer your bathroom door actually closes.

Without thinking, you reach for the hem of his sweater, your fingers purposely lingering on the skin beneath, which – despite being damp from the rain – still radiates heat. Under your touch, his grip on your waist tightens, and his abs twitch. There’s more muscle to him than you’d thought, and you find another pleasant surprise when you rake your fingers over his stomach. So pleasant, in fact, that you can’t suppress a soft chuckle. Nothing says ‘perfect fall hookup’ like a deliciously hairy man. Now, if only that damned – and dampened – sweater would come off, that would be so amazing…

Frustrated groans escape the both of you when the garment puts on more of a fight than any sweater has the right to, and as soon as it’s on the floor, Walter kicks it out of the room for good measure. Your hands eagerly travel the now-exposed skin of his chest and back, making him shiver and moan loudly as you drag a single fingernail softly down his spine. He captures your lips again, stringing you along into the depths of another scorching kiss, fingers working diligently to untuck your sweater from your skirt. A soft growl slips from his throat as he finishes his mission, only to encounter the fabric of the blouse you’re wearing underneath the sweater – you really do get cold easily. This time, he is far less friendly in his approach, pulling almost recklessly at the fabric that finds itself so rudely between your body and his greedy touch.

Your sweater meets a fate similar to his, and your hands make quick work of just enough buttons of your blouse that you can pull the thing over your head while his hands continue their exploration slightly further down, following the soft curve of your ass and pulling you closer to him as he goes. His mouth barely leaves yours – he alternates between using just the right amount of tongue, and nipping at or sucking on your bottom lip. Paired with his obviously horny impatience, it’s nothing short of divine.

You can’t wrap your head around how warm his hands feel on your skin, but the contrast with the chilly air of the room is both staggering and arousing. Not that Walter had thus far been unsuccessful in arousing you – quite the opposite, in fact. His lips move to your neck while his hands roam your back and sides, hesitant to grab more of you. What does he think you’re going to do? Object?

Your hands are already undoing his belt, eager to take the final pieces of wet fabric off him so you can finally seek the solace of your warm bed, and he lets you, kicking off his shoes while you struggle with the buckle. Finally, he takes over, taking care of the tricky metal contraption with one hand while staring directly into your eyes. It’s at that moment that you finally realize what all of this is doing to you…

The arrogant little smirk on his face while he licks his lips doesn’t help – the whole thing sends shivers down your spine and your body answers with a greedy throb between your thighs. You manage to kick your own boots off before Walter mercilessly tackles you to the bed. With a single, swift move, he rolls you both over, pulling you on top of him so you’re straddling his thighs, his hands firmly on your ass, kneading the soft flesh with admirable determination. His face does a poor job of hiding the fact that he likes what he’s feeling.

When you bend over to press your lips to his again, you shriek in surprise as his hand disappears from its newfound playground and lands there again, only a moment later, with a firm smack. He shoots an apologetic look at you as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and you roll your hips against his by means of a faux-admonishment you’re nowhere near serious about. A man like that can manhandle the ever-loving fuck out of you every damn day. When he groans, your insides turn to jelly. In the heat of everything that’s been happening, you haven’t exactly been paying attention to what this has been doing to him, but that move of your hips makes you instantly aware of the very impressive erection you’re sitting right on top of. Another moan escapes him when you repeat the motion, his hands grabbing your ass tighter – nudging you, urging you to keep moving.

Suddenly, he sits up on the edge of the bed, keeping you in his lap, his hands finally moving underneath the fabric of your skirt. Walter moans again – appreciatively, this time – when his fingers explore the soft lace of your underwear. Then, he chuckles. “For someone who gets cold a lot…”

“Shut up,” you reprimand him before kissing him hard. The line between fun and functional is thin, and it wasn’t that you were expecting to end up in bed with this guy, but you sure as hell were hoping you would, and peeling off tights in the heat of the moment has proven disastrous on many occasions thus far. You shiver when he runs his hands up and down your thighs, lingering just above your knee, where his fingers toy with the hem of your thigh-high socks – an absolute requirement in your marginally successful attempt to not freeze to death – and you feel his cock twitch as he does. He likes them. Good.

Apparently, your smirk is too much for him, because he grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Next thing you know, you’re on your back, and Walter hovers over you, diligently seeking out the most sensitive spots on your neck. He kisses a blazing hot trail down your chest, pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched up around your waist. You can almost feel his gaze between your legs, and the way he licks his lips wrings a whimper from your lips. Seconds pass in which you anxiously wait for his reaction – a mocking grin, a victorious chuckle or a vicious smirk filled with pity – but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel a hand on your thigh, creeping higher until you’re not sure if ‘thigh’ is still an appropriate label. His thumb softly trails the thin fabric between your legs. The smile that appears on his face isn’t mocking, cocky or challenging – it’s peaceful and almost grateful in a way you don’t quite understand.

“My turn to get you out of your soaking wet clothes.” It’s a joke, absolutely, but it’s a gentle one, just like his hands are when he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and he slowly pulls them down.

You’re holding your breath. At first you don’t notice – it really isn’t until his hands slide up your thighs again and you suck in a desperate breath that you realize just how welcome the air is. He pushes your legs apart, settling comfortably between them before using his thumbs to spread your pussy wide. Insecurities plague your brain. You should feel exposed. Insecure. Uncomfortable.

You don’t.

Walter looks up at you with a question in his eyes, and you mouth a breathless answer to his unspoken query. Please. Carefully, he inches closer, until you feel the tickle of the coarse hair on his jaw against the sensitive skin of your thigh. You can see the shiver travel down his spine as he licks a single stripe through your folds, and you moan in unison. Almost immediately, your hand weaves into his hair, pulling his face closer to your center.

He's thorough, relentlessly lapping at your clit while you squirm in his arms, strong hands firmly pressed to the back of your thighs, keeping your legs open for him while he takes his time exploring you, tasting your arousal and learning what works for you. After some time, you notice he settles into a rhythm that might actually work for you, which – as you’re somewhat reluctant to admit, even to yourself – is a rather rare feat. Encouraged by the movement of your hips and the sounds you make, he continues on his mission, and before long your grip on his hair tightens and your squirming gets worse – so much worse, in fact, that he reaches around your thigh to steady your hips against his mouth.

Outside, the rain threatens to turn into a thunderstorm, and if you’d been in any position to notice the weather, you’d have been happy to be inside. As things are, you’re still quite content with your whereabouts, but luckily for completely different reasons. Your back arches off the bed when you come, crying out Walter’s name as you do. With trembling legs, you lay there, your walls pulsing and clenching around nothing. He lets you catch your breath for a moment, his lips never leaving you as he kisses a path up your body again, effortlessly reaching for the clasp of your bra on your back. He doesn’t find it – your favorite just happens to close in the front. Once found, however, that pesky clasp is no match for his capable fingers, and only a moment later you’re shivering as the cold air of your bedroom brushes past your exposed nipples.

He looks at you briefly before latching onto your neck again, gently sucking and biting your skin, making you shiver. One hand finds its way to your chest, fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh, fingers brushing tentatively past your hardening nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers. You whine, writhing against the sheets, goosebumps erupting over your skin – the result of the electrifying combination of the slightest sheen of sweat meeting cool air. He grins. Chuckles. Then, he bends his head to suck one nipple into his mouth, that capable tongue passing over it, toying with it, sharp teeth grazing sensitive skin, luring cries of pleasure from you in abundance.

Your hands all but scramble for the waistband of his underwear, slipping into the dark boxer briefs without a trace of patience. Fuck. Fingers wrap around – try to, at least – his unapologetically massive cock, images of that one night flashing before your eyes as you give him a few gentle strokes. A trembling exhale tells you your ministrations are appreciated, and you smile, hoping this is only the tip of the iceberg – a hope that is soon confirmed truth when he lets out a loud moan as you run your thumb gingerly over the underside of his cock.

A hand on the back of his neck, pulling softly, is enough to guide him to lie down next to you, and he smiles up at you when you sit on your knees. He’s all too eager to help you get rid of his underwear, and when you take your sweet time taking him in, in all his glory, he almost looks shy.

You start with a light kiss on his lips, then work your way down, fingers trailing the expanse of his chest, dragging slowly through the coarse hair on it, further and further down over his abs until they meet his hips, where they linger to draw teasingly light patterns on his skin. A featherlight touch of your lips to the tip of his cock makes him twitch and groan, and a soft tap on your ass urges you to keep going. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and with the tip of your tongue, you circle the head, teasing him until he’s impatiently moaning. His hand hooks around your thigh and pulls you closer – at first you wonder why, but soon after, his fingers run along your slit, searching for your entrance.

He pushes two fingers into your wet core exactly when you swallow as much of his cock as you possibly can, and both of you let out a long moan at the same time. You bob your head up and down his shaft in the same rhythm his fingers pump into you. It’s easy to figure out he likes it sloppy, and you’re happy to oblige. With the delicious symphony of moans and grunts that spill from his lips as an inspiration, you’re enjoying yourself greatly – which makes it all the more disappointing when he pulls his fingers back, a sharp smack on your ass breaking your concentration.

“Come here,” he says huskily, impatiently tugging at your arm.

You straddle his thighs again, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand to grab a condom, and waiting entirely impatiently for him to put it on. Normally, you’re somewhat nervous about being on top, but tonight, you couldn’t care less. You need this man inside of you.

Now.

Walter helps guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you slowly lower yourself, screwing your eyes shut at the stretch his incredible girth provides. Nails dig into his shoulder so hard he hisses, and you rest your head on his shoulder, whining pitifully against his skin.

“Easy,” he shushes you, sensing whatever distress you’re feeling, “take your time.” His permission helps; you slow down, and steadily make it all the way down his length. You take a moment to get used to the stretch, gradually relaxing around him. It feels no less full, but definitely increasingly less uncomfortable. Slowly, you begin to move your hips. It’s impossible to keep quiet – luckily, you’re not the only one who can’t seem to hold their tongue. Soft praise is mixed in with the abundance of expletives that come out of Walters mouth. “That’s it.” A personal favorite of yours, especially when he says it – a gravelly snarl through gritted teeth.

You could ride him forever – sure, your thighs will be sore tomorrow, but it’ll all have been worth it. Right? He clearly has other plans, pushing you off him unceremoniously. You’re on your stomach, and you half expect him to turn you around – but he doesn’t. Rough hands drag you to your knees, and – knowing what’s about to happen – you don’t bother raising yourself up on your elbows. They’ll give out in no time, anyway. Walter lines up behind you and sheathes himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust that has you gasping for air. He’s rough and demanding, yet kind and careful, clearly trying not to hurt you. Every thrust wrenches a moan from your lips, and your hand snakes between your legs, fingers drawing tight circles around your clit until you’re teetering right on the edge of bliss. His laughter when you beg him for more, harder, faster is largely obscured by the sound of rolling thunder outside the window. Your orgasm, when it finally does rip through you like an explosion, is theatrically accompanied by an almost unnaturally well-timed lightning strike.

“Dramatic,” Walter notes dryly behind you, his strained voice signaling his stamina knows a limit after all. In a moment of poetic justice, the storm lulls for a moment when Walter’s orgasm forces a sound from him that could be described as many things, but not ‘charming’. When he pulls out, your walls clench against nothing, and you whine softly at the somehow overwhelming emptiness. “Bathroom?” Walter asks, pointing at the other door in your bedroom. You nod, speechless, before collapsing on your bed.

His return marks the start of that awkward hooked-up-on-the-first-date-dance. Stay? Go? Hookup? Date? Yes? No? You sigh your relief when Walter hesitates for the shortest possible moment before crawling under the covers with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and allowing you to snuggle into his chest.

“Do you mind if I stay?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice. “It’s raining.”

“Is that the only reason you want to stay?” you chuckle. It’s strange. Normally you wouldn’t be so confident he hadn’t been genuine in his remark.

“Well, eh…” he mutters as he nuzzles your hair, “there’s this woman…”

The sun is an unwelcome intruder in your house the next morning, and you do your very best to hide from the rays as long as possible. A new preferred method: burying your face in Walter’s chest. A very nice added bonus to the approach is that it comes with strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight. As far as you’re concerned – and you’re well aware that it’s a little soon to say this after one date, but it’s not like you’re planning on proposing today – you’re not letting this man walk, ever again. He didn’t complain when you warmed your icy feet against his legs yesterday, and the only reaction you get out of him when you put your cold hands on his body is a low grumble and an involuntary shiver.

“Morning,” he groans after a while. By now, you’re awake enough to at least make an attempt at playing host.

“Coffee?” you ask – a suggestion that’s met with an approving grunt.

On your way to the kitchen, you come across his discarded and banned-from-the-bedroom sweater – and you make the mistake of stepping on it, shrieking in surprise when the damp fabric touches your already cold foot. Coffee first, you decide.

“I have some bad news,” you say as you enter your bedroom with two cups of coffee in your hands, his sweater dangling from your pinky. “This is still wet.”

“Oh, god, no,” Walter says with a smile, “whatever will we do to pass the time until it dries?”

#walter marshall x reader #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall smut #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #night hunter

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hardly-an-escape · 1 year

Text

skin | surprise | "You want me and you know it." • 794 words • Smurch fill list

tags: human AU, coffeeshop AU, storage room blowjobs, right in front of the scones, the pining is mutual they're just idiots

“A crop top, Hob? Really?”

“It’s called fashion, sweetie. Look it up.”

Morpheus dumped a bag of beans into the industrial grinder and hit the button, wincing at the noise. He hated opening. He was emphatically not a morning person.

His coworker Hob, on the other hand, was both a morning person and a seemingly incurable optimist. He loved his job, loved their customers, loved trying new things. Including, apparently, very fashion-forward clothing choices for six o’clock in the morning on a cloudy Tuesday.

Morpheus did not like customers, or small talk, or new things, or much of anything about his job aside from dialing in the espresso machine and baking scones. Coffee and baking were predictable. Reliable. There were rules, and if you followed the rules, good things resulted. He appreciated that.

And he appreciated Hob. He appreciated his coworker quite a lot, in fact; perhaps more than was reasonable for a professional setting. He especially appreciated the extra skin on display as Hob stood on tiptoe, his colorful cropped T-shirt riding up as he stretched high to write the special of the day on the chalkboard.

“I am merely pointing out,” Morpheus said, shutting off the grinder, “that it may not be the most appropriate choice for work.”

“Uh huh. And I am merely pointing out,” said Hob over his shoulder, “that you want me and you know it.”

“I think you – what?” Morpheus’s mouth snapped shut as Hob’s actual words registered.

“You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

He turned to face Morpheus and leaned against the counter. The space they were inhabiting, between the espresso machine and the cash register, suddenly felt very small.

Morpheus opened his mouth to protest. Nothing came out. He closed it again.

“And… if I said…” he licked his lips nervously and Hob’s eyes darted down to catch the movement. “If I said you… weren’t wrong?”

Hob pushed himself off the counter and took a step toward him.

“Then I’d probably say…” His voice was low and teasing and sent a thrill down Morpheus’s back. “I’d say there’s a big, mostly empty storage room downstairs. And I’d say that the front door is still locked and we don’t actually open for another twenty five minutes.” He took another step, until they were standing practically toe to toe. “And then I’d ask if I could kiss you.”

Morpheus answered by leaning forward, grabbing a handful of the shirt that had apparently started all this, and pressing his mouth to Hob’s. The kiss was fierce and messy and weeks of longing and not-so-thoroughly tamped-down arousal bubbled under his skin like hot coffee.

Five minutes later they were in the downstairs storage room, and Morpheus’s cock was so deep down Hob’s throat that he thought he might die.

“Why – didn’t you say something – sooner?” he gasped, then immediately regretted the question when Hob pulled off him to answer. His eyes were a little glassy and a thin strand of drool connected his bottom lip to the tip of Morpheus’s prick, which a distant semi-functional part of Morpheus’s brain filed away as the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Why didn’t you?” asked Hob hoarsely. “I know you’ve been staring at my arse since Easter at least. I thought I was being pretty damn flirty.”

“I…” Morpheus didn’t know what to say. I’m shy and awkward and everything makes me uncomfortable while you seem to swim through life with the grace of an otter was probably too much. I didn’t think you were flirting with me because you kind of flirt with everybody, likewise. How am I supposed to have a conversation or open the shop in eighteen minutes when all I can think about is the sight of your lips around my cock and all I want to do is come in your mouth and drag you down with me and smell of you for days was a serious contender. “I don’t know.”

His hips twitched forward of their own accord and Hob smiled with those glossy, spit-wet lips.

“Well,” he said, and leaned back in, dragging a deliberate tongue slowly along the hard, needy length of Morpheus’s prick, a wide swipe from root to tip that drew a surprised and whimpering fuck from his mouth. “Why don’t you think about that for a minute while I’m down here?”

Then he sucked him all the way back down and Morpheus couldn’t think about anything for quite a long while.

There was an angry comment on the shop’s Facebook page later that day, all about how they’d been half an hour late to open that morning, with no note left on the door or anything. But neither Morpheus nor Hob could bring themselves to care.

#*arrives a day late with starbucks and one last smurch fill*#don't fuck at work kids it's unhygienic and generally a bad idea #my writing #smurch #dreamling #I fell asleep on the couch last night without actually posting this and then was busy all day today but here ya go!!!#probably not gonna do smapril because I just have too much on my plate already #but I said that about smurch too and ended up with five ficlets and a dreamling bingo fill and two more wips #so who the fuck knows! I'm an unpredictable little scamp!

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pretty-purple-pages · 1 month

Text

𝓒 𝓗 𝓐 𝓟 𝓣 𝓔 𝓡 𝓞 𝓝 𝓔

synopsis: percy meets his crush and leaves a weird first impression

pairing: percy x annabeth (percy jackson and the olympians)

content: highschool!au, mortal!au, coffeeshop!au, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, annabeth's family is shit

word count: 1144

Percy Jackson was special. In a bad way. The type of special having a single mother, absent father, an abusive ex step-father, ADHD, dyslexia and a bad school record made you.

Percy Jackson was normal. He had a loving mother and a step-father who had been there for him more than his biological father. He had amazing friends, who supported him through his hard times. He was trying his best to become a psychologist for children; to help little kids not have the nightmares he had everyday. He considered himself a normal high-schooler.

He also had a huge crush on the barista at the local coffee shop

Annabeth Chase was special. In a bad way. The type of special having a neglectful father, non-existent mother, an ‘evil’ step-mother , ADHD, dyslexia and running away from your own house at the mere age of 7 made you.

Annabeth Chase was normal. She had found her family; a girl named Thalia, who had taken the place of being her big sister and simultaneously her best friend. Thalia had practically raised her; taught her everything her mother was supposed to. Luke was her protector, not that she needed one obviously, but he was her guide. The one she turned to when things got a little hard. She worked harder and harder everyday. She wanted to become an architect because she never had something permanent for herself so she wanted to design something that would stay.

She was also the barista at the local coffee shop. The cafe of love; cafe d’amour

Not her dream job; just something part time to pay her rent and feed her stomach. Her scholarship covered the tuition fee; not anything else. She had to work for it.

“ORDER NUMBER 31, KINDLY PICK UP YOUR ORDER,” her voice rang loud and clear in the small coffee shop, at the corner of the street. It was a monday morning, and mondays were always the busiest.

“Hi- uh- its- uh- it’s my order,” a boy with tousled raven hair stuttered out, “Um uh- I am Percy. Uh- you must know me, I study in your school. We have one class together. Where you sit at the back. Uh, when some girl dropped coffee on your shirt, I was the one who gave you tissues.” he spoke proudly, like a puppy waiting for praise.

Percy Jackson. That name struck no significant memory in her brain, except she vaguely remembered some boy who tripped and fell face flat on the ground because he was busy staring. At her. He looked no older than 17 and he wore a blue hoodie that said ‘fish lives matter’ and black joggers. His face was flushed and he kept stuttering. A lot.

“I don’t know you,” she muttered flatly, mostly out of annoyance, “And that will be $18.34 dollars. Cash or card?,” the boy was still zoned and flustered, “Please collect your order and move ahead; there are customers waiting behind you.”

He cursed and mumbled a quick apology and made the payment.

This boy was weird. In fact, this whole interaction was weird.

Percy Jackson had one class together with the (slightly rude but cute) barista, Annabeth Chase (he found out her name from her work badge): Algebra. Percy hated maths in general, but algebra and statistics were the required courses in order to pursue his dream. Also he got to see the smart blonde who had his heart.

He was currently trying not to zone out in class. The teacher was babbling about her life or something, he didn’t care. He tried not to focus on one thing: There was no sign of Annabeth Chase.

Usually she sat at the back of the class, playing sims or minecraft, but could still answer anything the teacher asked. She’d often argue with the teacher, but from what Percy heard, she would be extremely enthusiastic in classes she loved. In short, she made her presence known; and today she was nowhere to be found.

Percy always chose the far seat, at the back of the cafeteria. Nobody bothered him, that’s how he liked it. Hazel and Frank were on leave that day, probably doing something cutesy or their couples thingy. His best friend, Grover, was nowhere to be seen. Or Percy spoke too soon.

“HEY MAN,” Grover said with too much enthusiasm for Percy’s liking, ‘patting’ his back so hard that Percy’s face was shoved into his food. Grover was a 5'7 guy with an obsession with plants and animals. He was the person who’d ditch his plans to go on a nature protest.

“Hey,” Percy replied with the opposite level of enthusiasm, “Have you seen Annabeth? She wasn’t in class today.”

As if on cue, the said blonde walked into the cafeteria, heading to their table. Percy was awestruck; his brain unable to form coherent sentences. Although she seemed very distressed. And her eyes and nose were red. It took Percy less than a second to put two and two together; Annabeth was crying and probably had a panic attack.

“Hey Grover, about the nature trail plan we made, we’re rescheduling it. Something came up with my family.” she sniffled and Grover nodded like he understood. She flashed Percy a look of recognition, probably from their awkward encounter at the coffee shop. Percy had never blushed harder in his life; due to embarrassment of course.

“So, you call yourself my best friend, yet you didn’t tell me you were going on a nature trail with my crush?!” Percy confronted Grover as soon as Annabeth was gone, trying to make his voice deep to sound scary. He failed terribly.

“I uh- I was going to tell-” Percy didn’t let him finish.

“And you never told me that you were that close to her where you go on trips,” Percy held his heart to mock being hurt. Grover took it seriously.

“Didn’t think you’d be that head over heels,” Grover grumbled and picked at his food,

“Also I couldn’t bring you on the trip; I actually was going to, but after your very weird encounter. Dude you actually sounded obsessed.”

Percy wanted to turn time back and erase that encounter.

Annabeth tried to be the best at everything she did; whether it was calculus or coffee making. Validation had never been given to her by her parents, so she craved it desperately. She volunteered at places, did extra-credit in her favourite classes and tried to be the best. She needed to be. She never had a competitor; she took them down as soon as they appeared. Annabeth Chase never gave up.

So on a slow Thursday morning, she didn’t expect a newbie to appear. Especially not the weird boy from before. And she definitely didn’t want to be the one to train him.

“Hey, I’m Percy Jackson. It’s my first day here.”

©reyna-obsessed | Not to be reposted, translated or copied on any platform

tags: @that-multi-fandom-hijabi @loife1m @moondust-on-the-hijabi @summersblossoms @hijabi-desi-bookworm

credit for the dividers: @saradika-graphics

#mini writes—◈#percabeth #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #orginal story #writers on tumblr #writerblr #writerscommunity #percy and annabeth #percy jackon and the olympians #annabeth chase #percy pjo #percy series #perseus jackson #annabeth pjo #annabeth

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harlequinoccult · 9 months

Note

coffee shop au?? ohoho please do elaborate~

basically, under the assumption this is like a 24hr coffeeshop/diner-

Xandin- a fucking cryptid. comes in at like 4am for a black coffee with an ungodly and concerning amount of espresso. Everyone is scared shitless of him despite him not doing anything. its the aura he exudes. gives a decent tip no matter what.

Yuuki- is really only there to socialize? is always hanging around to chat but never orders anything. leaves a huge tip anyway. The old folks adore him and he brings in a shit ton of business.

Andrew- he's a busy man, pops in to grab an americano for himself and whatever gimmicky sugar abomination is currently on the menu for Pitrio. The most patient and understanding customer ever. anyone being mean to the workers gets the coldest glare known to mankind. tips royally well

Claudia- Orders black coffee and requests that some grounds be put in it. a woman that is feared by god. give her one of those cute little croissants in the window there. no not the pretty one the fucked up looking one that kinda looks like a face. tips whoever served her directly in crumpled wads of cash.

Vylasia- ALL in for the dumbass gimmick drinks no matter how fucking stupid they are. Doesnt really go to coffee shops often so its always a novelty for her. ends up paying too much but just says to keep the change.

Cy- Despises how dependent on coffee they are but considering they have a clerical job it is a necessity. It's too early for this shit. they keep their sunglasses on indoors as they order a pitch black coffee. Tips with their card and just says to tip whatever percentage, they don't care.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Elysium- Comes in after his morning run, they should be ordering a green smoothie or some other healthy bullshit but he never does. Its always an iced coffee. everyday. they ordered the green smoothie once and the feeling of muted disgust was palpable. Tips generously as long as their order isn't fucked up

Black Dahlia- Not big on coffee, but will order a different tea on the menu everyday and judge them accordingly, especially the iced tea. This is a test, don't fuck it up. If the tea is up to her standards she will become a regular but somehow only shows up when business is slow and no one else is around. only tips if they tea is good.

Overdose- comes in at 2 in the morning and requests that their coffee be brewed with an energy drink. they will provide said energy drink if asked. adds a terrifying amount of sugar to their drink afterwards. beyond their coffee war crime they are easy to chat with and they enjoy shooting the shit with the employees. tips with one of those fake money cards with scripture as a joke but it does have actual money inside when you unfold it.

Cold- Orders a coffee with cream but no sugar. On days where they are not busy they will order their coffee and sit in a secluded spot with a novel until they have finished reading the entire thing. Once they are finished they will tip the same amount every time and silently leave.

Sweetheart- Comes in just to take a pitstop from riding but can be very easily swayed to order something. Not really knowledgeable on coffee but can be recommended a mocha or a latte. Would be delighted with any heart shaped coffee art. more of a weekly-ish regular than a daily one and his tips fluctuate greatly but he does always tip.

The Host- COFFEE SNOB. Will send a cup back if it isnt exactly right. They aren't rude but they are very exacting and will give a lecture on the intricacies of the drink they ordered, ignoring the fact there are other people in line. they need to just make their own coffee at home. tips astronomically well but at what cost.

#TVoL:Xandin #TVoL:Yuuki #TVoL:Andrew #TVoL:Claudia #TVoL:Vylasia #TVoL:Cy #SLSQ:Sweetheart #SLSQ:Elysium #SLSQ:Black Dahlia #SLSQ:Cold #SLSQ:Overdose #SLSQ:The Host

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februaryflowers · 1 year

Text

a touch of maple

order up: (matcha) strawberry popping pearls for vernon + @woozisnoots !

coffeeshop au meet cute fluff

check out the (now closed) carat writers club summer fair event!

warnings: none

just cute fluff meetings, 646 words, vernon x reader

Life was boring, to say the least. It was becoming a cycle of waking up, getting ready for work, doing your office job, coming home, having dinner, and going to bed. There was so much more you wanted from it, yet there wasn’t enough time in the day to find it.

So to avoid the monotony, you’d started to order the same drink as the person in front of you in line at the cafe every morning before work. You’d have a new beverage every day and be able to expand your palette. What could go wrong?

Well, a lot more people than you realized had…questionable taste, to say the least. You remember a little too well the time the person in front of you ordered a coffee that was so rancid you swore off all caffeinated beverages for the next week.

Despite your efforts to branch out, that beverage was just so disgusting that you’ve been avoiding ordering a new drink and have simply been sticking to your usual coffee. But there’s just something in the air today that urges you to try again.

The bells tinkle above the door as you push it open, letting the warm scent fill your nose. The line is a little longer than you’d like, but at least your favorite cafe is finally getting the business it deserves.

Pulling out your phone, you scroll aimlessly through your emails as you wait. It’s all the usual, unremarkable: requests from coworkers and bosses for files and help, advertisements, whatever other tasks that you had been assigned to do.

With a sigh, you place it back in your pocket, watching the shrinking line from the corner of your eye.

You’ve definitely seen the guy in front of you before. Perhaps it was here, since the barista at the counter recognizes him and gives him friendly small talk before he orders.

“I’ll take a hot chocolate with maple, please,” he finally says, his boyish and casual tone ringing a bell.

The employee puts in the order and takes his cash as he moves to the side.

Then you’re hit with the “Hi, how can I help you?”

“I’ll get what he got,” you reply, pointing at the previous customer.

“Maple syrup hot chocolate?” he repeats, to which you nod before he rings you up.

As the barista prepares your order, you step to the side, finding yourself right next to the mystery man. Side-eyeing him, you swear you’ve seen him here before, maybe jamming out to something on the headphones that sit around his neck. Something about him is just so…familiar, even if you haven’t spoken yet.

“I usually find the chocolate here a little bitter,” he pipes up, catching your eyes and sliding his headset to his neck. “So I always get something sweet like maple syrup or whipped cream with it.”

“Oh?” You turn to him, blinking. He’s…really talking to you right now? About your random copycat drink order? “I’ve never had the hot chocolate here,” you admit.

“Well you’ll have to let me know how it tastes,” he quips.

“Vernon and y/n,” the barista calls, placing your steaming cups on the counter.

“Nice to meet you, Vernon,” you say, smiling as you watch him pull his sweatshirt sleeves over his hands to hold the hot drink.

He grins in return, standing patiently and staring at you, as if to beckon you to try the chocolate.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you bring the lid to your lips, deep, creamy chocolate meeting your tongue topped off by the rich maple syrup mixed in.

“It’s…delicious…” you gasp, wiping the small mustache it left above your mouth with a napkin.

Watching as you immediately bring it in for another sip, he smiles, a silly one that comes over his face and causes his eyes to crinkle. “Well, I’d say you have good taste.”

#caratwritersclub #cwcsummerfair #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #vernon imagines #vernon scenarios #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #seventeen vernon #mei's #mei.svt #summer fair drabble requests

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eddies-artofsuffering · 1 year

Text

who doesn't like a cute fuckin coffeeshop AU T_T

Title: Sweet tooth (7k words, literally the shortest fic I've ever written)

Tags: Modern AU, Coffeeshop, No Upside Down uwu, the mortifying ordeal of being separated by a coffee shop cash counter, Flirting, They're Playing Games With Their Hearts Your Honour

Summary:

At noon, as expected, the doorbell chimes. Eddie’s head snaps towards the entrance, mouth falling open. He shoos his coworkers away with a frantic wave, straightens his name tag, and rests his chin on his palm and bends over a little, elbow on the counter. It’s go time.

Or: a stupid coffee shop AU in which Steve takes his break from his bookstore shift at noon to come to Café Byers every day, and Eddie loses his mind every time.

it's short, it's dumb, we love it, please go read it, i love you,

#steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steve harrington #eddie munson #argyle stranger things #jonathan byers #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #coffeeshop au #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things au #ao3 #fic writing #stranger things fanfic #sweet tooth #modern au

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minervadashwood · 2 years

Text

more coffeeshop au. (part 1)

daryl x gn!reader (they/them)

reader also has adhd now, wheeee. (inspired by @sublimecatgalaxy 's story here and based on real experiences of real people, i.e. me)

this is crack, a mess, no planning. typed on the fly, barely edited. i lapsed into lowercase and single quotation marks. the shift key is too much effort. (ok let's blame the gamer's tendonitis i have from playing death stranding all day)

you've been warned.

The next morning, you are running late. You are always running late, especially if it's before noon. you try not to sweat it too much

You have just started a pot of coffee and done your morning ablutions when the building's buzzer goes off.

"Yep," you say into the intercom.

"Uh...it's me...Daryl."

Omg, why was he on time? People who are on time are freaks of nature, responsible, legit adults. Unlike you.

You press the button to talk. "Running late. Door's open. Let yourself in."

You get out two coffee mugs, creamer, sugar, and milk. Then you shove aside the week's mail that had piled up on the counter, making room for all the coffee supplies. The coffee maker doing its job, you start picking up the most glaring messes in your apartment, including all the underwear and take out containers.

You move like a human-hurricane, throwing clothes into the hamper, trash in the garbage, then yanking open your door. Then you disappear into your bedroom to get dressed.

When you come back out, your new favorite barista is standing in the doorway of your apartment, hands in his pockets, and eyes wide with confusion.

"Hey, Daryl, how do you take your coffee?"

He stands in the doorway.

"Come on in, you silly goose. We're not going anywhere until I've had a cup. Trust me, you won't like me if I don't."

Daryl nods and slowly walks in.

"You got flavored creamer?" he asks.

"Peppermint and hazelnut."

"That's fine."

this surprises you. he seems like a hipster-type, a black coffee purist.

instead, he's just what you like: a man with layers.

'the peppermint or the hazelnut?'

'both.'

as you make his coffee, you say 'you must be sweet under all that goth/emo thing you got going.'

he shrugs. 'i like black. matches everythin'.'

you two drink your coffee trading little jokes and the usual getting to know you small talk.

at some point, daryl points to your dvd collection. 'you got on golden pond. it's one of my favorites.'

'oh!' you exclaim. 'i just love older movies. if they were made after i was born, i'm just not interested.

daryl nods, wholly agreeing with you. 'they don't make 'em like they used to.'

for the next few minutes, you talk about your favorites old films. yours is bringing up baby, and he makes a solid argument for a philadelphia story. through it all you do your best not to ramble on, but it's hard because daryl's such a good listener, patient and encouraging, always nodding and waiting until you've said all needed to say.

you feel yourself starting to like the guy, and can't think of any reason why that'd be a bad thing.

when you eventually are ready to leave you both walk up to his motorcycle. daryl hands you a spare helmet, and then he drives over to his brother's garage.

when you meet merle, you reach for your inhaler straightaway. the man seems to be composed entirely of of cigarettes and whiskey.

'hoh boy, what ya got here, little brother?' merle muses, his eyes roaming over you appreciatively.

'back off, merle,' daryl grumbles, stepping just in front of you.

merle holds up his hands. 'alright, i get it. i won't touch your new friend.' merle throws you a lilting smile. 'unless they want me to.'

'nope, i'm good,' you say, trying to surreptitiously protect your nose and mouth from the sheer force of cigarette smoke that must be trapped in his clothes. 'thanks for working on my car. i can pay cash.'

you start going through your wallet. you're pretty sure you have enough, but everything's wadded up weird, some of it's crumpled. you have cash in about 5 different pockets of your wallet. at some point, you have to corral daryl into helping you sort it all, but finally you manage to find the right amount of money and hand it off to merle.

not one to learn from past experiences, you frantically stuff the remaining cash into every spare pocket of your wallet. you'd sort it all out later.

(later usually never comes but that's a detail you decide not to focus on)

merle grips your cash in one fist, then with the other he takes out a cigarette and lights it. 'lemme get you a receipt you cute thing.'

not more paperwork. 'i don't need a--'

cigarette hanging from his lips, he dismisses you with a wave. 'you're gettin' them tires at cost, but i gotta keep up with my bookkeeping. can't have officer walsh up my ass again come tax season.'

you look to daryl for an explanation, but he just shrugs and holds open the door to the shop.

in merle's office, you do your best to be polite,but the small space smells like a dive bar. you get your inhaler out again, this time taking two puffs.

'what's a matter, darlin',' merle says. 'you wouldn't be the first person who told me i took their breath away.'

daryl puts one hand on the small of your back and looks at you with concern. 'ya alright?'

you try to nod, but it's a lie, so you shake your head.

without another word, daryl begins to guide you back outside.

'i ain't finished your reciept yet!' merle grumbles.

'shut up, merle,' daryl yells back, quickening his pace to get you outside.

daryl gets you outside, and the fresh air is just what you need. you take one more puff, and your respiratory system is finally working properly again. you take big gulps of air until you feel all better.

daryl never leaves your side. he keeps his hand on your back and even smooths away some hair that falls into your face.

once you're back to normal, he smirks at you. 'it's alright if you can't stand merle. i know i can't.'

you grin back at him, feeling light and happy despite the asthma attack.

a second later, merle is strolling out of the shop, receipt in hand. you brace yourself for another asthma trigger, but daryl steps in front of you, and blocks his brother from getting any closer.

'you smell like a damn ashtray,' daryl huffs, and grabs the receipt out of merle's hand. 'they got asthma, you dick.'

merle holds up his hands. 'don't throw a hissy fit, darylina.'

'fuck off.'

daryl turns back to you, and taking you by the elbow, walks you to your car.

he won't let you get in until he's rolled down all the windows and checked the lug nuts on your two new tires.

you think it's a shame this man has been right under your nose for years, and you're only now getting to know him.

daryl hands you your car keys. 'sorry 'bout merle. he's a jackass.'

you shrug. 'probably the cheapest tires i've gotten in my life. i'll forgive his chainsmoking.'

daryl grunted, but flashes you a small smile. 'you be careful gettin' home.'

you throw him a flirtatious grin. 'will i see you tonight, at the coffeeshop?'

daryl grins, and you actually see the man blush before he begins staring at his feet. 'it's my day off, but i'll see ya tomorrow night.'

this man is so damn cute, you can't help pecking a kiss to his cheek. 'it's a date,' you announce, getting into your car.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #mdop #minerva writes #dd/xm #daryl twd #the wallet thing inspired by my mom #writing merle was the best of fun

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vstheworld · 1 year

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my coffeeshop of employ is inexplicably sports-themed, but managed to hire like 95% queers who don’t like sports

so we’re all coming up with ways to be in dress code (sports-themed or coffee-themed is the only written requirement) without buying expensive sports merch. a list of my favorites thus far:

1. black t-shirt with ‘coffee’ printed in black lettering, utterly unidentifiable to anyone not six inches away

2. white t-shirt with ‘Irish rugby’ printed in the middle of the chest

3. vintage 90s looney tunes baseball sweatshirt

4. space jam jersey (with short-sleeved t under, because health code)

5. local ping-pong tournament shirt

6. bike week merch

#personal #text post #cash’s coffeeshop au #malicious compliance #I have a shirt with Kermit Thee Frog skateboarding that reads ‘the vibe is in shambles’ en route #it’s literally just that our owner likes baseball #the theme makes no sense #our merch also features the number 33 on everything which is apparently related to Rolling Rock (his favorite beer)#but that’s such a stupid explanation #so I just tell customers that’s his age #he’s like 45 or something idk

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serenanymph · 9 months

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HAPPY BLORBO BLURSDAY!!!! exploring the unhinged writer soid of tumblr 2day

SO. *steeples fingers like a businessman* ok so I rlly wanna know more about kas and zephyr, what would they be doing in au world? like what would they study, special interests when not being cursed and mauled etc etc

HELLO LIA

Okay so. Kas and Zephyr. Hmm.

Honestly they aren't all that well-developed yet tbh - I'm still trying to figure out what direction I want to take them, and also they tend to only appear on the periphery in aus. WAIT actually I DO have one au for them but that's canon-divergent and soooo full of spoilers and also sooooooo tragic. So I can't talk about it here.

As apologies for breaking your heart in private chat though I did just have a very vague concept of like. A college coffeeshop au. Basically in the cliche-est of cliches Kas is a broke college student working in a coffeeshop and Zephyr is his regular. Somehow he always appears on every single one of Kas's shifts and he keeps on talking to him. Kas really just wants to do his job but Zephyr manages to piss him off and they end up arguing over the cash register while the line behind Zephyr gets longer and longer. This happens every time Zephyr visits and it slowly becomes closer to banter and Kas finds himself??? Looking forward to Zephyr's visits????? What is this sorcery?????? His co-workers have been scheming for ages trying to set them up after all the visits because it's so obvious these two have got it SO BAD for each other but Kas has no idea.

On the other end Zephyr has a 100-step plan drawn up for how he will get Kas to fall in love with him. He's still stuck at step 1 bcuz he's super pathetic. He doesn't even like coffee. Rhyme (who is his foster sister in this au because Mors sucks!!!) tags along occasionally bcuz he begs her for the morale boost and she is just so done. In the end Kas and Zephyr only get together thanks to the coordinated efforts of Rhyme and Kas's coworkers (which is basically just Kas's coworkers yanking him into a corner while Rhyme stalks up to him and says "my brother is in love with you please just go date him already he's being so pathetic about it".)

#in every universe they are so stupid <3 #writeblr community #beast #wip: beast #asks #char: zephyr #char: kas #char: rhyme #is this enough fluff to compensate for all the angst aus

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howdybesties · 11 months

Text

Cool Beans Chapter 1 - Spring 2022

This has been sitting on my laptop for over a year now, I re- read it and I still quite like it. Feel free to read the original version of this

No Beta, we die like strigoi. This first chapter is dedicated to @belikov-barnes thank you for always being so supportive.

I have a few chapters planned out - most under a 1000 words so I’ll post it here on tumblr when I feel like they’re finished - it’s all tagged #howdys coffeeshop

Other than that, please enjoy!

Spring 2022

This was potentially one of the worst series of events Rose had experienced. She was late for her morning lecture, which led to a stern talking to from her least favourite lecturer, Prof. Alto. Her dining card was rejected at the dining hall after she got all her food, so she had to sheepishly ask her classmate Eddie to cover for her. A quick call to her mother revealed that, despite being one of Montana’s best surgeons, her mother had forgotten to pay her daughter’s tuition and fees for the quarter.

All Rose wanted to do was pass out on her bed for a quick nap and then finish her essay. But when she arrived at her dorm, there was a sock on the handle. The stupid striped sock was the last straw.

"Seriously, Liss! I have an essay due tomorrow!” She yelled, banging on the door.

Instead of a response, her phone beeped.

Sorry, Rose! I forgot to text you, but Christian surprised me when I got back. I will make it up to you Xx

Rose was too angry to respond. She was speeding down the hallway, letting her instincts take over. She needed something sugary to tide her over, something like—

"A double hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. To go. And double the chocolate."

Her instincts had told her to head to Belikova Brews. A local coffee shop run by the Belikova family. The cafe provided affordable drinks and a cosy atmosphere for the university students in the area. Rose had discovered that it was also where the world’s best hot chocolate was served. In her expert opinion, of course.

“You want to double the chocolate in a double hot chocolate?” asked a deep, slightly accented voice.

She looked up at the man in front of her. And she had to look up. This man had to be at least a foot taller than her. He was also truly the most handsome man she had ever seen, but that fact hadn’t exactly registered yet.

“It has been an extraordinarily bad day.” The man raised an eyebrow at that. Rose wondered if she could do it too.

“Which means” - Rose looked down at his name tag - “Dimitri, I need an extraordinary amount of chocolate.”

Dimitri seemed amused by that answer and turned to the cash register to input her order.

"Where’s Adrian?" Rose asked. She had expected Adrian, the usual cashier, to be here as he always was. Not that she particularly enjoyed his flirtatious behaviour but she had been hoping Adrian would let her have his free drink today.

"Adrian is out sick today. I’m covering for him.” Dimitri responded.

"Oh!" was all that Rose could muster. His brown eyes were looking at hers curiously.

"Can I get your name for the cup?" he asked her.

"It’s Rose. Just Rose."

Rose rummaged through her bag to search for her wallet, praying she had the $4.50 she needed for her lifesaving nectar. It also helped that this gave her somewhere else to look, avoiding this man's nice brown eyes.

"I noticed you’ve come in a lot recently."

Oh shit. He knows her.

“That's true. I’ve been pro-caffeinating on this essay."

"You mean procrastinating?” He asked, almost automatically.

"No, I mean pro-caffeinating,” She paused before explaining. “Procrastinating and caffeine combined. You can thank freshman me for coming up with that."

"What kind of logic is that?"

"It’s Rose logic, naturally," Rose said, smiling to herself at how smoothly that came out. And Dimitri smiled back.

Rose handed him a crumpled $5 bill that she managed to fish out of her bag.

"Uh, keep the change." Rose needed to get out of here fast before she forgot about her mission here today. She also needed to get rid of this warm feeling building up in her chest.

Karolina had her drink ready when she walked up to the bar and a crisp $5 bill.

"Karo, I can’t," Rose protested.

"I accept thank you’s as payment.”

"Thank you, Karo."

"My pleasure. You better come back with your little friend soon and ask him to leave the Gatorade at home. "

Rose nodded and made her way to the entrance/exit. She snuck one last look at Dimitri as she exited. She got a pleasant surprise when she noticed his eyes meeting hers.

Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day after all.

#howdys coffeeshop #dianawrites

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dnf-fic-recs · 2 years

Note

hello! do u have any dnf fics where they met as one of them being like a waiter/barista and the other is a customer?

also if u can recommend some fics that takes place in a plane, preferably those with george as a flight attendant. maybe a pilot dream. idk

when i'm alone, i'd rather be with you by wishie

The truth was, he had thought about Dream that way before. But there was a sharp division in his mind, a blaring klaxon declaring that Dream was off-limits. If he was being honest with himself, really honest with himself, he was a little more in love with Dream than he should be.

—

When George moves to America and meets a barista by chance, it takes him longer than he’d like to admit to realize that Dream and Clay are one and the same. By then, of course, he’s in too deep.

coffee by yvescult

He flashes his signature million wattage smile even if he wants to yell at the idiot for getting mud all over their clean floors, and says, “Hi, good morning, how can I - “ but George stops himself mid-sentence when the boy finally looks up at him to meet his gaze.

“Oh my god,” George says, a little bit in shock. “Aren’t you - “

Again he’s cut off, but this time not by himself.

“Don’t,” the boy urges him, teeth chattering a little bit from the cold. “It’s been a long day and I really don’t want to be running away from paparazzi in this rain,”

(Or, Dream is a famous celebrity and George works at a bakery)

Dizzy on caffeine by GleamingGreenGoggles

“What’s your name?” George looks up, and the guy is raising an eyebrow at him. “For the cup!” he does not squeak in reply, holding up the cup and giving it a slight wave, deciding that he’s got no dignity left for the week, let alone the rest of this torturous conversation.

“Clay,” the guy says, eyebrow coming down.

“Anything else?” George asks, beating down the temptation to try the name out out loud. Clay. It strangely doesn’t suit him.

It's a DreamNotFound coffeeshop AU, what more do you need to know...

heart strings by meridies

“J-E-O-R-G-E?” George said outrageously. “You have to be kidding me. He practically got it right that time."

or, Dream is a barista, George is his favorite customer, and both of them are truly terrible at flirting.

Can I get a uhh... by Anonymous

“Your total will be $2.39,” George said, completely ignoring the earlier statement. He didn’t have the time nor energy to deal with this. All he wanted to do was go home and pass out.

“And how much for your number?”

“You can’t afford me. Cash or card?”

---

George is a tired McDonalds employee and Dream is a customer that won't stop flirting with him.

Just a Plain Iced Coffee, Please by icedcoffeebee

Working at a tiny college café is boring. There’s nothing else to it, just stressed students with way too much homework and way too little sleep, day in and day out.

But every once in a while, there’s someone who comes in and wakes Dream up a little bit. So he decided to have some fun with the sleepy guy in the blue hoodie.

#dnf #dreamnotfound #dnf fics #dreamnotfound fics #dnf fic recs #dreamnotfound fic recs #asks #anon #recommended by mod holiday #another long time WIP ask!

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anechomirrored · 1 year

Text

I posted 202 times in 2022

That's 202 more posts than 2021!

51 posts created (25%)

151 posts reblogged (75%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lavenoon

@little-mouse-gardens

@zelda7999

@scarredkitty

@naffeclipse

I tagged 191 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#fictober22 - 33 posts

#fnaf moon - 32 posts

#fnaf sun - 26 posts

#undertale - 21 posts

#undertale au - 11 posts

#late to the party - 10 posts

#will write for the prompts when i can though - 10 posts

#nice art - 9 posts

#cute - 9 posts

#fnaf security breach - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 85 characters

#i'll admit i have not seen encanto yet so i want to watch it first before i read this

My Top Posts in 2022:

Fandom: Undertale, swapfell

Rating: T

Prompt(s):"I don't think this is your problem."

Warnings: none

Your arrival to the coffee shop that morning was heralded, as always, by the chime of the little silver bell hanging just above the door. You walked up to the counter, greeted Rus as usual and ordered the beverage that suited you today.

Tea, coffee, cocoa; you cycled through your favorites on the regular. Today you went with a hot cup of coffee made just to your liking by one of your favorite monsters.

He gave you his usual lopsided smile. The sunlight caught his golden fang giving him an impish look.

"m'bro's at the back o' the shop."

"He beat me here?" you asked, a bit surprised.

You usually had time to settle in and get a chapter or two of reading done before your usual coffeeshop companion arrived.

Rus let out little laugh, the corners of his sockets crinkling in that familiar yet illogical way all expressions that graced your boney friends' skulls seemed to.

"Good luck, sweet." he rasped turning back to the cash as he prepared the next person's order.

You made your way to the back to where another familiar and much shorter skeleton sat clutching his overly large mug like a life line.

Unlike his brother, Sans did not naturally thrive in the early morning.

"Good morning, Captain. What has you here before ten?"

Sans gave you a weary smile. There were shadows under his eyesockets.

"Good morning...It has been a long week." He took another long sip from his mug.

The softness of his voice, the way his usually proud shoulders hunched and the way his eyelights appeared dull in his sockets told you that this was an understatement.

"Do you have the weekend, at least?" You asked, settling into the chair opposite his.

"I will have tomorrow. I'll be running errands and the next day I offered to assist with-"

"You need to rest, Sans."

"I am quite capable of keeping my prior engagements." He insisted.

You tested the side of your mug with a finger and finding it safe, you laid your palm fully against it. The heat felt good on your chilled hand.

"Well, yes but you look exhausted and really think a day in might be a good idea."

Sans shook his head. He was smiling in that soft way that he reserved for a select few.

"I don't think this is your problem. Though I do appreciate your concern."

"But, Sans..." You paused as Sans reached across the table to take your free hand.

"Did you forget your gloves?" He asked.

His brow furrowed as he brushed his own gloved thumb over your chilled skin.

Your hands were well worked and in this colder weather they got dry and cracked.

See the full post

9 notes - Posted October 27, 2022

Things are set in motion besides our dancing secret agent this chapter.

Hope you enjoy!

9 notes - Posted December 28, 2022

So I finished the first chapter of a little story taking place in the Accidently Undercover AU created by @lavenoon

20 notes - Posted December 19, 2022

Fandom: Undertale

Rating: T

Prompt(s): "I chose you"

Warnings: Loss of a good parent

When the core began to crumble the doctor went to fix the problem. That was what he did after all.

While many like to think his unchallenged brilliance and intellect were indeed flawless, these many were most certainly misguided.

Yes, he was smart and he had achieved much in the several centuries he had spent as The Royal Scientist but he was far from flawless.

His second finest creation was about to, in a sense, kill him after all.

Not that he was aware of that just yet.

No, right now he was hurrying down the hall away from his office to comfort his finest creation.

Well, creations technically.

Opening the door he was greeted with a very small and frightened whimper.

Stepping into the room, he allowed his vision to adjust from the harsh florescent to the soft glow of the the star lamp on the bedside table.

"Sans?" He called softly.

He closed the door in an attempt to muffle the alarm sounding in the hall. It helped a bit.

Another whimper and the softer voice of his eldest answered.

Crossing the the room, the doctor knelt by the bed and running his hand fondly over the fleecy rocket ship sheets, dipped his head to look underneath.

There, from the farthest corner against the wall, two pairs of trembling eye lights stared back at him.

"Dad, what's happening?" Asked Sans.

He and his younger brother were curled up holding one another securely wrapped up in Sans favorite blue hoodie, the one from the dump. The doctor kept telling himself the boy would grow into it and that his decision to let Sans keep it was, in fact, just as practical as it was sentimental.

He reached out a hand letting it rest palm up. The action making the angle at which he was kneeling a bit more awkward than before.

"It's the Core. I am going to fix it now, will you come out and go back to bed?" He smiled in a way he hoped translated as reassuring.

The alarm meant that things were serious. A just barely bridled anxiety was rising up behind his ribcage.

Very carefully he helped the two little skeletons back into bed. He handed Papyrus a small binky, being the youngest the boy found it soothing, though to an outside eye it was logistically confusing. That was part of the fun of being skeleton monsters in the doctor's opinion. While perfectly logical, his anatomy and now in turn his sons' proved to be a proper conundrum to many of his fellows. The possibilities for a good jape were seemingly endless.

The youngest boy snuggled into the pillows , the tension in his little bones easing, though not completely. His small hands raised to clutch the blankets to the side of his skull.

"The alarm will stop soon, Papyrus." The doctor lifted a finger and took this rare opportunity to boop his son's nasal ridge. The indignant Nyeh, was well worth the extra second wasted.

"I will be back as soon as I can. Sans, stay here and keep an eye socket out for your brother, alright?" He stooped to hug each of his little boys before rising to his proper height. The magic in his joints cracked.

You accidental a couple of kids and suddenly you get old. He chuckled internally at the thought.

Accidental, maybe at first but certainly deciding to be their father had been deliberate.

"I love you, my little funny bones." He said, his soft tone still rivaling the sounds of growing chaos outside the door.

See the full post

21 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fandom: none, hero x villian

Rating: T

Prompt(s): "I know what this looks like."

Warnings: An argument

"Wait! Now, hold on-" Villian begins, only to have you turn so sharply he nearly runs into you.

"What?" You snap.

Your hands clench by your side. You're tired, and this latest stunt has you on the edge of spontaneous combustion.

"I know what this looks like." He starts quickly, "I know, but she wouldn't let up. Just kept cornering me the whole fight. She's got one hell of a punch, you know and I was off balance and I just-"

"You just what? Accidently kissed?" You spare him none of the venom that you can currently feel twisting your insides

Why did all of this feel like a betrayal?

It shouldn't even matter!

You are enemies. This guy literally attempts to take over the city on a regular basis.

Your minds keeps replaying the scene along with every moment in your shared narrative that you now suddenly find painful in the the face of it.

The day of the Metro tunnels collapsed and he pulled you out, could have escaped if he had left you, but no.

That time you teamed up against the city's Supervillain and put them safely behind bars?

Now these stupid little truce moments where you both pop in at random just to taunt one another or make sure that latest brawl didn't finish the other off?

None of this should have been happening to begin with.

You have fought one another at almost every turn for years. The whirlwind chases, your daring captures and his last minute get aways. You had done it all and more with him as your main opponent.

Just the two of you in an unending game of cat and mouse.

So maybe that was why seeing him with the city's newest up and coming vigilante like that hurt so much.

"Just go before I get you arrested." You huff.

You turn away from his exasperation.

He protests, because of course he does, but you aren't listening.

"Just get out of here." You say, there's a tremor in your voice that you hope comes off as anger.

Finally he recieves your message and falls silent and you ridgidly wait for the familiar rustle of fabric and the click of a window latch.

After a moment, both sounds reach your ears, but so does his voice.

It's quiet, hardly in character for him.

The last time he'd been this quiet was at the top of the city's tallest highrise. It was New Years. You had watched the city count down together. His voice had been too soft then as well. Too...vulnerable to be the guy that caught you in the occasional overly elaborate trap.

The sound of your name and a gust of wind chilling your skin, returns you to the present.

"I didn't kiss her back."

See the full post

28 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Echo tumblring

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