#what does coffee beans grow on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mead-iocre · 6 months

Text

Ducky Turn! | Vivianne Miedema x Reader

You watched as Viv walked into the press conference room, trailing slightly behind Jonas. She was chatting animatedly to Connie, one of the Arsenal staff, and holding a reusable coffee tumbler in one hand. You also know that inside that tumbler is Viv’s favourite coffee "Morning Bliss," a small-batch, artisanal coffee roaster that you had bought from one of the local coffee shops in your area. She would sometimes bring a small bag of coffee beans to training or match days, and when you would ask her where she’ll find supplies to make the coffee, she’ll reply back with a“if there’s a will, there’s a way”. It’s become the only brand of coffee that Viv drinks.

Every morning, Viv likes to indulge herself in what she calls her “ritual”. The dutch begins her ritual by carefully measuring out the perfect amount of Morning Bliss beans. She prefers a medium roast, with notes of caramel and toasted almonds that allow the perfect balance of sweet to the bitter. She would grind the beans to perfection and then use the fancy sleek, stainless steel drip coffee maker that she had treated herself to a few months ago. As she waits for the brewing to complete, she would bask in the stillness and the quiet that is a rarity these days– or at least during the last 3 years.

Viv would then pour herself a cup, inhaling deeply as the steam rises and the aroma fills the empty kitchen. As she takes that first sip of her perfectly brewed coffee, Viv could not help but smile. For her, starting the day than with a cup of her favourite coffee is the second best thing to start the day. The first is–

She hears the pitter patter of little feet before she sees her.

“Mama!”

Evelyn, or Evie for short, is the best parts of you and Viv. Everyone says Evelyn is a spitting image of you—from the blonde curls that tumble down her back in unruly waves, to her vibrant hazel eyes, flecked with hints of green and gold. Evelyn has your nose, petite and slightly upturned, and dotted with the same freckles across her cheeks that Viv loves to kiss every night before bed.

You say it’s too early to tell what kind of person your daughter will grow up to be, but you swear she’s Viv's mini me. They both have the same stubbornness (although Viv would argue you were also a contender), the same outgoing personality, and the same sheer curiosity for the world around her. Like you, your little girl is always eager to explore new places and try new things. Whether it's taking the dogs out on new hiking trails, or embarking on a family camping trip, her adventurous spirit knows no bounds.

During her ballet class, Evelyn loves to wear colourful ribbons and bows in her hair. She keeps the same ribbons in her hair during football practice too. When she laughs, her nose crinkles up in the most adorable way, just like Viv. She loves to burst into a song or hum the tune of her favourite music, just like you do. She is your pride and joy, and your greatest accomplishment in life.

But she is also a whirlwind of energy that leaves a trail of chaos and laughter in her wake wherever she goes.

Viv recognises that gleam in Evie’s eyes and the furrow in her eyebrows as she glances at the last two steps leading to the kitchen.

Her daughter was going to jump.

Viv hastily puts her cup down and lurches forward, catching the tornado that is her child. There is not a day that goes by where Viv does not thank her athleticism for being able to keep up with her little daredevil.

She grasps her fearless little girl under her arms just before she can land the short distance to the ground. “Mama, Ducky jump!”

“I saw that, Ducky” She settles Evelyn on her hip, pressing a few kisses to her rosy cheek still warm from sleep. “But I’d rather not see that again. How many times have I told you you can’t jump from there”

“But I jump, Mama. Like a duck jumping in water!” Ducks are the little girl’s latest fixation– she loves going to the pond to watch the ducks, she loves to talk about ducks, she loves her duck stuffed animals etc. Viv thinks your daughter’s fascination with ducks was inevitable. When Evelyn was born, she was sweetly bundled in a light yellow blanket with a matching yellow beanie to warm her little head. Your private midwife briefly commented about how Evelyn little lips were constantly pursed in a pout whenever she slept, like that of a little duckling. Ever since then, “Ducky” became one of her nicknames.

Evelyn points one little chubby finger towards the kitchen counter where a plate of bite-sized waffles await her.

“Waffles!”

Viv snags the plate of waffles off the counter and deposits her duck-obsessed child into her booster chair. She hands her a fork and takes a seat on the chair right beside her. “Waffles yellow– like duckies, Mama!”

Viv smiles endearingly at her daughter, all cherubic face and bouncy curls. “Just like duckies, Evie”

——————————

Now at the press conference, you watch as Viv and Jonas take their seats in front of the press, politely saying a few greetings to some familiar faces. Viv’s eyes meet yours briefly and she offers you a quick wink.

Jonas leans forward in his seat and starts the press. “Hello, everyone. Let’s get this started then– I’ve got Vivianne Miedema with me today”

Being married to a footballer had it’s perks– free match tickets, the cool events, club merchandise, and the occasional Adidas billboards of your wife which your daughter loves to excitedly point out every time she spots one. However, sometimes it seems not everyone understands the difference between the Viv, the mum and wife, versus Vivianne Miedema, the footballer.

“Everyone” being your toddler.

She still hasn’t fully grasped the fact that her Mama can’t be on her beck and call, especially while she is at work. At the age of 3, she can’t tell the difference between the football that she plays at school and the football that her Mama plays. To her, it’s exactly the same.

After all, during her football practice if she looks to the sidelines where the other mummies and daddies are watching and yells for her Mama, her Mama will come running. In Evie’s mind, if she wants Mama, she’ll go to Mama.

You glance down at the little girl tucked in your arms. She was all buzz and energy throughout the match, crawling from lap to lap, jumping, dancing and shouting. It was no surprise that she was starting to doze off now. You were standing off to one side of the room, leaning against the wall to support the weight resting on your front. Evie was curled up in your arms, her eyes tiredly blinking open and closed a few times. Her tiny body was limp in your arms, her breath was evening out, and just like when she first came into this world, her little rosy lips were formed into a pout.

Just like a little duckling.

But despite your soft whispers to try to and lull her to sleep, your stubborn child was determined to fight the pull of slumber. You knew she wanted to see her Mama, just as she always did after a match. It was their routine, and Evie hated breaking routines.

“First question for Jonas…” You tune out the press for a brief moment, reaching out to adjust the yellow noise cancelling headphones that were slipping off of Evelyn’s head when all of a sudden she opens her eyes and sits up in your arms. You didn’t have to guess what had woken up your child when you hear it. “– now a question for Viv Miedema…”

What was once a sleepy and tired toddler is now gone. In it’s place is a little girl who has realised her favourite person is in the room. Her eyes were now bright and alert, craning her neck to follow the sound of her mama’s voice booming from the speakers around the room.

“…don't really think I celebrate goals but all the girls came up to me and they were taking the mick out of me because they were like 'You were actually celebrating’–“

You should’ve anticipated it. You should’ve know it. But by then it was too late.

“Mama!”

Your daughter yells for Viv, lurching forward with her arms open and fingers pointing towards where Viv was sitting at the front of the room. You had no choice but to crouch down so you could stead your suddenly wiggly child.

“Ducky, that’s enough” You speak in a hushed but firm tone. You knew that if you were to use your “Mummy voice” it would likely result in tears, and your daughter was not a quiet crier. “Mama is working right now”

But Evie was very determined to get to her mama, hastily trying to tug away from your hold on her arm. You knew heads were turning towards the both of you.

“Want Mama!”

“Evelyn–“ You try to hug her, wanting to pick her up and run out of the room before she causes anymore distractions. Right now she was the epitome of an incoming toddler tantrum. Her chest heaved with each shaky breath, her small shoulders rising and falling with the weight of her emotions. Her cheeks flushed pink with frustration, and her fists clenched at her sides.

“No no no no!” Her favourite word as of late and she was proudly demonstrating that she knew just how to use it. "No NO!"

Her big, doe-like eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Her bottom lip quivered as she stood cocooned in your arms, but furiously squirming away from your hold. In your daughter’s mind, being told that she can’t go to her Mama right now was the most devastating thing in the world, and the injustice of it all was threatening to overwhelm her.

“–Liefje”

You look up as the sound of your wife’s voice and the familiar nickname echos around the room through the microphone. You crane your neck and you spot her now standing up from her chair, holding the mic to her mouth. She gives you a knowing smile. Viv always knows what to do.

“I’ll take her, Liefje. Give her to me” Viv waves a hand, beckoning you both closer.

You pick up your still teary, pouty daughter and hoist her up to your hip. You walk the short distance towards the front of the room where Viv and Jonas are waiting.

“Looks like Mama wants you, ducky” You murmur softly in Evie’s ear, pushing the curls of hair away from her eyes. Like a switch, your daughter perks up in your arms, twisting her head towards where you were heading. You could feel her little legs kicking the air in excitement. What a mood switch.

You stop by the side of the small stage, placing Evie on her feet and quickly grab her hairband that was in your pocket. “Wait one second, Ducky. Let’s fix your hair.” There were cameras around and you would imagine that 10 years from now, your daughter will never forgive you if you let her stand in front of the cameras with a bird nest on top of her head.

The hairband dangled from your fingers as you attempted to tame Evie’s unruly locks into a neat ponytail. But your daughter was having none of it. She wriggled, clearly eager to get to her Mama, as she batted your hands away.

And like always, Viv knew just what to do to keep your daughter from fussing. Temporarily. “Hi Ducky”

“Mama!” Chuckles round the room when mother and daughter exchanged waves of greetings to each other as if they hadn’t seen each other for days when in reality it had only been a few hours.

You sighed, a hint of amusement twinkling in your eyes as you gently combed through Evie’s hair with your fingers. “Almost done" you coaxed, your voice gentle and patient as you worked to wrangle your little girl’s wayward curls. You settled on just pushing the front pieces of hair away from her eyes with the hairband. “All done. Now you can go to Mama”

Evie did not need to be told twice.

Her little legs pumped furiously and her curly hair bounced behind her. She ran around the table, past Jonas’ chair, to where Viv was standing waiting for her. Viv swings her daughter up to her hip and you watch as Viv leans close to whisper by her ear– most likely prompting Evie to greet the journalists and cameras. Your suspicions were confirmed when your little social butterfly happily waves a hand and bellows a little “hello!”

Your smile widens when her greeting is echoed by all the journalists, some waving back just as eagerly as your toddler.

Viv then proceeds to sit back down, placing Evie on her lap. Your wife adjusts her chair and shuffles closer to the mic. “Sorry for that everyone…”

She gestures to the toddler who is currently conspiring with the Arsenal manager. “This one is going through a phase where I am her favourite person, and I’m making the most of it until she realises her Mummy is more fun than me”

Laughter rings around the room, but all you give the grinning dutch at the table is an eye roll. You know Evie loves you, but her bond with Viv was something special. Evelyn is Viv’s little shadow.

One of the journalists kindly gestures for you to take the seat next to him in front row of the table and you thank him as you take a seat.

“Right then. Let’s continue…” Jonas starts the press again, and this time, your toddler is happily sitting on her Mama’s lap.

———————————-

So far the press is continuing on as normal. Journalists are prepared with questions for Viv and Jonas. “My question is for Viv.” You crane your neck to see a journalists a few rows behind you hold a hand up. “You have broken countless records in England. Arsenal literally put you on a pedestal with a temporary statue outside the Emirates Stadium, a first for a female player. Do things like that matter?” Viv leans forward towards the mic. “No not at all. I’ve already had five great years but I indicated to the club that we have to do better. Other players have done that too. Hopefully the club can bring in some reinforcements this summer–

“AH!” Evie leans up, her little head nearly clashing into her Mama’s chin if it weren’t for Viv’s reflexes, and speaks directly into the mic. She giggles when it echos back.

You wince as the mic feedback rings loudly in the room.

“–Ducky, this mic is not for you. Mama’s trying to answer the question” Viv whispers but it obviously gets caught by the microphone and broadcasted to the entire room. You press your lips together to conceal your giggle as you watch your wife attempt to coax your daughter into letting go of the mic stand. Unfortunately, it seems your daughter is very fixated on the microphone because she tries to grab for it again.

But Viv is faster. She hauls Evie off her lap for a second, turning her around so she is facing Viv and not the mic.

“Ducky turn!” Your daughter whines loudly. She is clearly displeased at being turned away from her new toy. She pouts, twisting her body back around, and points at the mic. “Ducky turn! Ducky turn!”

You never though you would say this, but maybe there are consequences in teaching your daughter how to share and take turns.

And your wife seems to think the same. “Well…at least you all have proof that we are teaching her how to take turns properly” She chuckles endearingly at the pouty toddler on her lap.

“Okay” Viv relents with a sigh. “Ducky gets a turn.” She lifts Evie and turns her back around so she is facing the rest of the room, the press, and her shiny new toy– the black microphone.

You shake your head as you watch your wife visibly soften. Evie has Viv wrapped around her little finger from the day she was born. Viv is almost always unable to deny her daughter anything, even if she claims to be the more stricter parent out of the two of you.

“Since it’s Ducky’s turn, why don’t you have a go at answering the questions then?” Viv pulls the chair closer towards the table so Evie can reach the mic more comfortably. She directs the question to everyone in the room, clearly giving the reporters permission to ask Evie some questions.

Not a second later, a few hands are up in the air. You smile at the sight of these very professional reporters taking the time to entertain your daughter’s antics, no matter how silly they may be.

Jonas playfully gasps and leans into his mic. “Wow Evie, look at that! So many people want to ask you questions”

“What do you think, ducky?” Viv asks the grinning toddler in her lap. “Which question shall we take?”

Your daughter cutely scrunches her face in concentration, one chubby little finger tapping her lips as if she was contemplating the secrets of the universe. You watch as she scans her choices of eager hands, and then points to a man sitting by the front row. You watch as Evie lean up to whisper something to her Mama and then turns back around with a shy smile.

“Evie will take a question from the man in the front row with the yellow tie” Of course, it’s the yellow tie. Anything yellow is guaranteed to win your daughter over.

“Hello Miss Evelyn. My question for you is: what did you think of your Mum scoring two goals today?”

You watch as Viv pulls the mic closer towards Evie, giving her a nod of support when your daughter turns to her for encouragement.

“Uh…” You cringe internally as your daughter presses her mouth as close to the mic as possible, practically gnawing on it, and the sound is magnified by the speakers. The press seem to take it to stride, a few coos of encouragement sounding around the room. “…I like duckies”

“Oh! That’s nice” Bless the journalist. You doubt that bit would make it to the final draft of the article. “Ducks are quite nice, aren’t they?”

Your daughter nods and hums into the mic, wriggling from her spot on your wife’s lap, clearly eager to talk more about her favourite subject. “Duckies yellow!”

You watch as the journalists couldn't help but be charmed by Evelyn’s enthusiasm, their professional demeanour melting away as they listened to your spirited little girl. Some even leaned in closer, eager to catch every word she says, the cameras capturing the moment.

“Ducks are yellow, clever girl! But let Mama have a turn now, please” You try to stifle your laughter behind your hand as Viv has to practically wrestle the mic away from Evie, grabbing both of her little hands in one of hers to settle the mischievous toddler.

———————————————

Viv was more than happy to continue the rest of the press with her daughter in her lap, even if she has to routinely stop and grab a little hand as it beelines for the microphone. Viv lets Evie babble into the microphone a more few times and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in her heart. She may be a footballer on the pitch, but her greatest joy was sitting right here in her lap, eager to share in her world, one stolen microphone at a time.

“Do you want to say anything to Mummy?” Viv points you out for your daughter to see. It was already nearing the end of the press conference. "Anything to say to Mummy before we finish?”

Your daughter thinks for a moment, her face titling to the side and her nose adorably scrunching up in concentration. Thinking about what to say to your Mummy is a very big task for a 3 year old. The room goes silent as everyone waits with baited breath.

“…I- I love you, Mummy”

Hey, my loves!

It's been while since I posted and that's mainly due to life getting in the way + not being inspired to write. By some miracle, I somehow managed to finish writing this short little fic (featuring a different player this time– surprise!). This was inspired by seeing that cute video of Alex Morgan and her daughter doing post-match interviews lol

hopefully this will only motivate me to keep on writing.

I appreciate all of you, thanks for being patient

-- butter

#woso x reader #vivianne miedema x reader #vivianne miedema #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #viv miedema

511 notes · View notes

transmascsteveharrington · 1 year

Text

Despite being a hopeless romantic omega Steve thinks that the whole true mates thing is bullshit. Your true mate is supposed to smell like home. But Steve can't imagine anyone ever smelling like the Harrington residence. The big, empty house reeks of stale air and cleaning supplies, artificial and chemical. Acrid and acidic almost reminiscent of the way an omega in distress smells. But it's just bleach keeping the unused kitchen counters pristine and the cold hallway tiles spotless. Steve really can't imagine anyone's scent smelling like that. Scent blockers are mandatory at school and Steve doesn't really interact with enough adults to be 100% certain but from the few scents he has smelled, none of them have had that hint of bitter bile.

Nancy smells like geraniums and gunpowder in the air like sparklers lit ten seconds to midnight on New Year's Eve, like possibilities and giddiness. Even after they break up there is some comfort in her scent. It's the first time Steve learns that an alpha's scent can be soft and gentle and not smell sharp like burned milk and suffocate the entire room the alpha is in.

At some point Steve becomes glad that his father is never home, relishing being able to breathe. His mother's scent isn't any better. Where is father's scent is biting, hers is overtly sweet. So sweet it's almost sickening. Something's always smelled off about it, fake too. Like artificial violets and stevia. Not that artificial always smells bad.

Robin's scent is a mixture of blue raspberry and newly bought books and Steve hopes that whenever he finally has the guts and the means to move out his next apartment is going to smell like her. They'll never be true mates, he knows that. But as far as platonic soulmates go Robin definitely is the one.

By far Steve's favorite but also most confusing scent is Eddie. Because Eddie smells just like his trailer. Like literally exactly like his trailer. Any room he walks in instantly fills with the scent of fresh coffee and beans on toast. Sun-warmed air and hints of weed. Laughter, if laughter had a smell. Drug store brand hair products and denim and leather. Corduroy cushions and cold crispness that nightfall at the end of summer brings. It's lovely and always mixed with the kids' scents or Nancy's or Robin's. Occasionally, Jocye's and Jonathan's too. For some reason, it all just clings to Eddie like cookie crumbs to syrup-soaked, sugar-sticky fingers. Steve never met anyone who's smelt so much like other people. When he mentions it to Robin she gives him an odd look.

"I think Eddie smells just like Eddie?" she says before adding slowly. "But ya know, beta nose, I don't smell much."

"But you agree that he smells exactly like his trailer right?" Steve asks. Robin's look grows even odder.

"People don't smell like the place they live in," she says slowly. "Scents are more complicated. Maybe Eddie's place just smells a lot like him because it's small and stuffy and he is always in."

"The trailer isn't sticky!" Steve has the need to defend Eddie's trailer. Robin has never been at the Harrington house when Steve's parents have been home, she has no idea what stuffy means.

Robin just hums and thinks for a second. "Does the trailer ever smell like Wayne?"

Wayne smells like gasoline and tobacco, laundry detergent and asphalt that has been rained on, what did Dustin call that smell? Petrichor? It's as comforting as a blanket and hot chocolate during a thunderstorm, reassuring words and fairy tales read in silly voices. Wayne smells like a childhood Steve never had. But the trailer doesn't smell much like Wayne. There is always a faint hint, the same way there is always a faint hint of the rest of their mismatched pack. But that's only because Eddie smells like pack and Eddie's trailer smells like Eddie. Just like Eddie!

Steve tells Robin exactly that and she grows quiet. It's always worrying when she grows quiet, usually always so quick to chatter. She doesn't share her thoughts, says she only has a thesis, not ready to share it yet. Or maybe Steve is not ready to hear it yet. He gets an idea hough of what her thesis might be when they lock up family video.

"You headed straight home after dropping me off" Robin asks as she puts the last returned tapes back on the shelves.

"Yes, Eddie said he is making chilli, so hurry up," Steve says, his stomach already growling.

"Is he cooking at yours?"

"No, at the trailer, why would he be cooking at mine?" Steve asks, wondering where Robin got such a weird idea that Eddie might be - oh. Steve had kinda referred to the trailer as home, hadn't he? It's like a row of dominos toppling over, revealing a beautiful picture once the very last one has fallen. Eddie is at the trailer. The trailer, which Steve thinks of as home. Home, that Eddie smells of. Steve is well aware of his feelings for Eddie. Has been crushing on him since Eddie pressed a bottle to his throat, but somehow despite the smell of alpha in distress filling the boat house, there had been something comforting about Eddie's scent. Something familiar, like coming back as an adult to a place you last visited as a child and the smell of memories hanging in the air. The buzzing feeling sitting at the bottom of Steve's spine, I have known you before.

Steve has never rushed so much to drop Robin off before breaking several speed limits on his way to Eddie's trailer. He basically runs inside, not bothering to knock, knowing the door is open. The smell of home engulfs him like the arms of a beloved would. Steve's beloved stands at the stove, string chilli, looking up and smiling so sweetly at Steve as if Steve's presence has been that one missing piecing, the special ingredient, all along.

"Hello sweetheart," Eddie says and it makes Steve's breath stock.

Eddie calls him sweetheart all the time, it doesn't mean anything. But what if it does? Steve is always quick to throw himself at danger, the pack gets hurt over his dead body. He takes it all, the punches, the drugs, the monsters. It makes him seem brave. Self-destructive, self-sacrificing, stupid but brave. Only that he isn't brave, not really. He loves too much to think twice about things, but if he took his time, weighed out whether he should really jump in front of a gun, Steve would be shaking with fear. Fortunately, there is no gun in Eddie's hand aimed at him, only a wooden spoon and the ask to taste, see if anything is missing. Steve lets himself be fed, has to suppress a moan because the chilli is perfect. It only makes Eddie smile more and despite Steve's breath becoming shallow he decides to be brave.

"Hey, what do I smell like to you?" Steve asks. It's a taboo question, frowned upon by most people, you don't just ask about your own scent. But Eddie isn't most people and happily indulges Steve.

"When I still lived with my parents," he says as he starts plating their food. "My mum would take me to this diner around the corner every time she and my dad would have a fight. There was this waitress, Franny, she'd always come over and bring me a piece of apple pie and crayons and coloring books while she was trying to talk my mum into leaving my dad probably. I don't really know, I was busy coloring. Like I knew something bad was happening and things were shitty for my mom, but I loved going to the diner. It was my little bubble of comfort when I was a child. That's what you smell like: apple pie heavy on the cinnamon and crayons. Little bit over strong filter coffee every now and then too. You kinda smell like..." Eddie stops, suddenly realizing what exactly Steve smells like.

He looks at Steve, mouth gaping slightly. There are tears in Steve's eyes. All his life he thought he smelt just like his parents' house. Like murky water and dust-covered floors. Like the rot of something falling apart. Like something broken. Eddie is crossing the room in an instant, gently wiping Steve's tears away with his thumb.

"You smell like home to me too," Steve confesses and suddenly he no longer is the only one crying.

He is in the arms of the alpha he loves, the alpha who loves him back, surrounded by the smell of home. They don't say I love you, don't have to. You are home already conveys all the emotions they are otherwise unable to put into words. Instead Eddie almost shyly asks,

"Can I kiss you?" And when Steve nods and Eddie's lips meet his, Eddie finds out that Eddie tastes just like home too.

#steddie #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fic #my writing

1K notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 2 months

Text

Bridges to Belonging

Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Summary: Spencer struggles with being lonely, the team goes out for drinks.

Y/n is not in this part, but she is talked about ;)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: Slight angst, backstory

Warnings/Includes: mentions of virginity (16+), feelings of being lonely, teasing from friends

Word count: 1.8k

a/n: i whipped out part two quick as fuck boi ,, i actually really like this story and will definitely be making it multiple parts! i tried really hard to capture the characters personalities, please lmk what you think!!!!

main masterlist

Spencer Reid was not a loner. He had plenty of friends, his mother and her care team, his teammates at the BAU, the friendly old bookkeeper at the library, the nice young barista who made his coffee just right, and not to mention the hundreds of characters on his favorite shows and in his books.

However, Spencer was lonely. He came home to an empty apartment every night, woke up to an empty bed, and shared experiences with only his journals. Each night, the silence of his apartment seemed to grow louder, echoing the emptiness he felt inside. The walls, lined with books, stood as silent companions, offering knowledge but no comfort.

Spencer desperately wanted someone to spend his time with, and talk about his day with, discuss his readings, and findings with. He just wasn’t all that good at sparking conversation with people, especially people who hadn’t committed crimes or needed help understanding material. He could talk someone's ear off about his interests, but those weren’t usually shared by people of interest.

Morgan had suggested he try online dating, if only to practice talking to potential partners before stepping out and trying again in the real world. Spencer despised this idea, the thought that people were now giving up face to face contact to seek love on the internet hurt his brain. It’s not that he was avoiding yet another friendly suggestion to seek partnership, he just wanted to come across it organically.

The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans envelopes Spencer as he enters the café each morning, a comforting ritual that momentarily eases the ache of solitude. The barista who makes his coffee is very attractive, but of course Spencer doesn’t want to have to find a new coffee shop if things went south with Sam. This one is right on his way to work, and besides, he doesn’t even know if Sam is interested in men. And Spencer does not possess the social skills nor ability to ask and find out without potentially offending yet another perfectly fine person.

“Morning, Spencer! The usual?” Sam asked, flashing a warm smile as he expertly crafted his coffee.

“Yes, thank you,” Spencer replied, hesitating for a moment. “You always get it just right.”

“Well, I try,” Sam laughed, handing over the cup. “See you tomorrow?”

Spencer nodded, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves. “Yes, see you.”

Alas, Spencer Reid has resigned to living a very lonesome life as a 27 year old virgin. Not that he is willing to share this information with anyone. He had accidentally confessed to Morgan one night under the false security blanket of alcohol a few years prior, and Derek made it his life mission that night to get Spencer laid. This led to some very awkward and uncomfortable conversation between Spencer and many bar goers, none of which ended in him losing his tightly attached virginity. He thinks, and truly hopes, Derek had forgotten the whole thing as he never mentioned it again. Thank Spok.

Now when Spencer was invited to group outings he rarely agreed, it wasn’t that he didn’t like spending time with his team, but he was afraid of letting some personal information slip again. And around profilers, even the smallest slip of tongue can be detrimental. He does agree occasionally, especially if Hotch agrees, because he knows that Aaron will act as his security blanket in place of alcohol. Hotch never lets the team's friendly teasing of Spencer get too far, easily reading his body language and sensing when Spencer is genuinely perturbed. Hotch also does not drink often, needing to get back to Jack and Haley, so Spencer does not feel as much of the odd man out when he now avoids alcohol or leaves earlier than the rest of the bunch.

Tonight in particular, Emily and Derek have laid into each other about their romantic pursuits, or lack thereof. The whole gang is seated at a rounded booth in a bar after closing a case in Virginia, Hotch and Spencer included. Rossi has offered to pay for everyone’s cab fares home to ensure that they can enjoy themselves and let loose. Reid is still skeptical as he remembers his loose lipped blathering to Morgan, but upon seeing even Hotch order a whiskey and coke, he orders himself a dirty Arnold Palmer to sip on.

The bar was alive with the hum of chatter and soft jazz music, the dim lighting casting a warm glow over the gathered team. The clinking of glasses and occasional bursts of laughter from nearby tables added to the lively ambiance, creating a cocoon of camaraderie around their booth.

Across the table, Emily and Derek continued their playful debate over who had the better dating escapades. Their laughter was infectious, but Spencer couldn’t help feeling like a spectator in a world of easy social interactions that seemed just out of reach.

While Emily and Derek compare conquests and bedroom stories, Rossi and Aaron talk about the highs and lows of marriage, JJ and Penelope corner Spencer into a conversation about his own dating life.

JJ leaned in with a teasing smile “So, Spencer, are you seeing anyone special these days?”

Spencer fidgeting with his drink, eyes darting around answered “Um, well, not exactly. I mean, I’ve been quite busy with work and, uh, reading. Lots of reading.”

Penelope nudged JJ with a grin “Come on, Boy Wonder, don’t be shy! You must have someone catching your eye. What about that barista you mentioned once?”

Spencer blushed slightly, stammering “Oh, Sam? He’s just… he’s just good at making coffee. I wouldn’t want to complicate things, you know?”

JJ and Penelope both raised an eyebrow at him. JJ retorting “Spencer, complicating things is half the fun. Besides, you’ll never know unless you try.”

“Exactly! You can’t let those books keep you from finding love. Think of it as an adventure, like your favorite stories.” Penelope said, waving her hand dramatically

Spencer smiled faintly, a hint of wistfulness in his voice “I suppose. But it’s not as simple as turning a page or solving a case. People are… complex.”

JJ nodded in understanding. Spencer laughed softly, relaxing a bit and realized his friends were only trying to help. At least they weren’t trying to set him up with anyone here tonight. “Thanks though, guys. I’ll think about it. But for now, I think I’ll just enjoy the evening.”

JJ and Penelope exchange a knowing glance, satisfied that they’ve at least planted a seed of thought in Spencer’s mind.

Spencer felt a surge of gratitude as he looked around the table. Despite the teasing, he knew JJ and Penelope genuinely cared about him, just as much as Hotch’s quiet presence offered reassurance. It was moments like these that reminded him of the family he had found within the BAU.

Morgan had abruptly ended his conversation with Emily casually leaning in to listen to the girls talk to Reid about his favorite topic, the genius’ love life. Derek raised his voice to be heard over the bar noise and with a mischievous grin said “Hey, Reid, I couldn’t help but overhear you’re looking for someone interesting. You know, you should meet Y/N.”

Spencer was caught off guard hearing Morgan, and realizing he had heard some of their conversation about the barista. Still, now he was intrigued, Spencer raised an eyebrow, curious “Y/N? Who’s that?”

Morgan sat back, feigning nonchalance “Oh, just one of the coolest people I know. She used to be Jack’s nanny, and now she’s a child psychologist at the local hospital. Super smart and amazing with kids.” He was smirking by the time he finished, knowing he had cast his hook.

Now even JJ was joining in with a nod “Yeah, she’s great! Remember that charity event we went to last month? She was the one organizing the whole thing. She’s really passionate about her work.” Charity event? Organized the whole thing? Spencer was getting a little hot under the collar, and he didn’t even know who this Y/n person is.

Penelope began clapping her hands excitedly again, loving that Y/n’s name was brought up. She was eager to add in her own two cents “And she’s got the most amazing style! Always looks like she walked right out of a fashion magazine.”

Emily was now smiling, having caught on, and chiming in “Y/N is definitely someone worth meeting, Spencer. She’s also got a wicked sense of humor—she can hold her own in any conversation, which is pretty rare these days.”

“I would have to agree with Prentiss, I had the pleasure of chatting with her about classic literature—she knows her stuff.” Rossi added, smiling knowingly at Emily.

Emily chuckled, “I remember the first time I met Y/N, she had the entire room laughing within minutes. Trust me, Spencer, you’ll find her refreshingly different.”

Spencer was very intrigued, but cautious “She sounds… interesting. How come I’ve never met her?”

Line, thought Derek.

Hotch finally chimed in, looking genuinely pleased “Y/N’s been a family friend for years. She was fantastic with Jack, and now she’s doing incredible work at the hospital. I didn’t realize she hadn’t met you yet, Spencer. I think you’d get along.”

Sweet, thoughtful Aaron was unaware of the plans his team was cooking up. And yet, the team exchanges knowing glances, silently encouraging Spencer’s interest.

Emily leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You two would have a lot to talk about. I’d love to see you guys meet—you’d probably end up debating over which classic novel is the best.”

“Maybe I should meet her. It would be nice to talk to someone who appreciates literature and has another PhD.” Spencer said, scolding himself slightly for showing his interest so quickly, he hopes no one teases him later.

Spencer was deep inside his own world for a second, thoughtful, mulling over the information. His heart raced at the thought of meeting someone who held such high regard from his entire team, especially the big man himself, Hotchner. The idea of forming a connection both excited and terrified him, his mind racing with doubts.

Will she share all of my interests? I’m not as outgoing as the rest of the team. What if she doesn’t like how awkward I am. What if she doesn’t find my facts interesting?

Morgan smirking, satisfied, sinker “Absolutely, Reid. You should definitely meet her. Who knows, maybe you’ll have more in common than you think.”

Yeah. Maybe.

The conversation shifts back to the group’s ongoing banter, but the seed has been planted in Spencer’s mind. The team continues to subtly encourage his curiosity throughout the remainder of the evening, each eager to see how this new potential connection might unfold.

As the night wore on, Spencer couldn't shake the thought of Y/N. Her name lingered in his mind, a promise of something new and unexpected. The possibility of meeting her felt like an unwritten chapter in his life, waiting to unfold.

#spencer reid fic #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #bau team #bau family #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #david rossi #jennifer jareau #criminal minds fandom

146 notes · View notes

thatsdemko · 1 year

Text

the one where they notice - c.sainz

part 2: pining series

pining series masterlist

warnings: ig au posts + lighthearted jokes

a/n: thanks for all the love on part 1!! 🫶🫶

F1GOSSIP

liked by pierregasly, chilisainz, norrizsainz, and 1,368 others.

F1GOSSIP: our favorite Ferrari intern is BACK! y/n y/l/n shared this photo from the race in Australia☺️ we can’t wait to see more from her this 2023 season!

300 comments

norrissainz: we stan y/n!!!

gaslygaze: she’d look so good with Carlos… 👀

leclerc55sainz: she’s too hot for Carlos

liked by yourusername

bottaszhou: Pierre what are you doing here???

—

“so you’re too hot for me, eh?” the words startled you, as you had thought to have been alone. you arrived to qualifying much earlier than the drivers, and thinking you’d have time alone, you figured you’d catch up on your socials having no idea Carlos would see the comment.

“word travels fast around here.” you set your phone down, watching him slide into the empty seat across from you in the garage. it’s just the two of you waiting for everyone to pile in for the meeting. a hot steaming cup of coffee beans fills the smell of the room.

“now that I’m single, I have much more free time to listen to the gossip.” he comments, a chuckle escaping his lips before he sips the hot contents.

you just shake your head. the man across from you was nothing more than a coworker, maybe even an occasional friend from time to time, but you never got close. it was your rule, getting close meant you began to care for the men you worked with, and as much as you did care for them, they couldn’t be your friends. their obligations were to listen to your demands for media presence and that was as far as the contract went.

“you should spend more time on the simulator. spend your lonely nights perfecting your game.” your low blow earned a nod in approval, raising his cup to give you that point.

the silence fills the room. nothing but the sound of him slurping on the hot contents as bodies begin to move into the room for the meeting, and soon enough everyone’s seated.

the silence that once was there, has been born into commotion and you just listen to the mixture of Italian, French, and English flying every which way. your ears and eyes focus on Carlos and Charles conversation, the two always laughing and chatting, you can see Carlos relax with his team. the drama of yesterday and today seem to fade in these walls.

“let’s get started, shall we? we’ve got lots to talk about with Baku on the clock.”

—

qualifying goes rather difficult for one of the Ferraris. the grimace on your face is noticeable once Carlos steps out the car. he flashes a thumbs up to your phone camera for instagram and you quickly post it before shoving the device in your pocket, “we’ll get ‘em tomorrow, sainz. vamos.” you push him in the direction of the media pen and he follows.

“let’s just hope we can. I don’t have much faith left.” he exchanges his helmet for a cap from another intern, before entering the media pen. you don’t get much to say before interviewers swarm him, but like he always does, he flashes you his pearly fake smile before turning to the cameras.

he’d been doing it with you since you told him all of his emotions lie on the surface of his face. his fans can tell when he’s truly not happy, so you made a deal to help teach him how to fake a smile when times were bad.

“no you still look mad! smile with your eyes, dumbass.” you laugh pushing his cheeks to go wider, his giggle grows inside the motorhome, “I’m trying!”

“Carlos, what happened out there?”

TRENDING ON TWITTER

trending in Motorsport

CARLOS AND Y/N???

3,000 tweets

f1gossip

liked by peppersainz, y/nstannie, gaslec, & 1,357 others.

f1gossip: seems like things could be spicing up for chili? we noticed the way he looked at our y/n! thoughts?

210 comments

sainz55: he’s not even been single for 30 minutes and he’s making eyes at her?

dr3norris: it’s just an inside thing they do!! it’s nothing serious

russellgeorge: I would love to see it! she’s always been on his side(and have you noticed she always posts him in her photo dumps)

f1gossip: you’re onto something here 👀

tags: @arian-directioner @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ak0ma @ruebennett89 @mochimommy2002 @flyingmushroomss @icarus-nex @solo-pitstop-vibes @xjval @chimchimjiminie16 @tifosirussell @celestialpierre @moonvr @laneyspaulding19 @myescapefromthislife @formula1mount @moonyschocolate13 @bbubbllejisoo @summerslike11 @imperfectophelia @bhiees

want to be tagged in this series? let me know!

821 notes · View notes

kaeichi · 6 months

Text

ღ ˚⋅ coffee talk — mikage reo.

mikage reo is not addicted to caffeine.

that's what he keeps telling nagi, anyway. the latter doesn't know why he keeps reiterating that “fact” either—he doesn't even care, nor does he believe him in the first place—but even someone like nagi would suspect something is amiss solely by the way reo keeps coming back to the coffee shop that the heir deemed second-rate not too long ago.

today marks day eleven of visiting said coffee shop in a row; nagi barely steps his foot in, and he already wants to leave.

“welcome, reo! and nagi too!”

that something that nagi suspects comes in the form of a living, breathing person; one that usually takes reo’s order and makes his specialized coffee for him.

(“it tastes different somehow, nagi!” reo had explained to him the other day, justifying his countless visits and spending too much on tips—though for the pro soccer player and CEO of a business corporation, absolutely nothing is too much for him. “you should give it a try. i swear, that barista has magic hands or something. i've had so many macchiatos before, but none of them has tasted so…delectable, so lush, and so—”

“oh, i’m sure.” nagi commented offhandedly, zoning out and hoping this is just another one of reo’s many fleeting interests.)

unfortunately that is not the case this time, especially not with the way reo’s legs immediately go stiff when he advances rather awkwardly over the counter, as if he suddenly forgot how to walk just by the sound of your voice. nagi can tell how you pretend not to notice, a gentle smile on your face beckoning him closer, your eyes as warm as the yellow string lights hung on the walls around the quiet shop and the freshly ground arabica beans that you’ve been brewing in the back.

this is so…yeah, no. nagi should definitely just leave.

“the usual caramel macchiato today? or just a regular latte this time?” your eyes look up from the register when reo doesn't verbally reply, peering at him through your lashes, and he wants to smack himself for accidentally being entranced by your lips moving and taking too long to answer. he can already hear nagi’s voice taunting him: get a grip already, reo.

“yes, please.”

“…sorry, which one?”

he takes a second to breath. he has to, or else he'll end up making an even bigger fool of himself. “uh, i'll just get a latte. since i already had one this morning.”

you then focus your full attention to him, a teasing look evident in your gaze. “you should really tone down the caffeine intake, reo. i can't imagine how that'd be healthy for you.”

“haha, consider it as a compliment to your coffee-making skills.”

there is an actual growing concern that you have for him, since he has been showing up for the past eleven days and getting macchiatos or lattes; at times even twice a day, so your mild unease is valid. there is also that possibility that he's been getting those for someone else, but you discard that thought when you see him stay in the shop sometimes, leisurely drinking from his steaming mug as he types away on his laptop on nights that he's not overly busy.

nonetheless, he remains your favorite customer, and it's not just because of his generous tips and all. you do wonder what he does for a living; would it be rude to ask? though, you suppose you can reserve that question when you start to get to know him personally on some other occasion.

wait, get to know him personally? you glance towards the elegantly dressed male once again once you're done pouring the scalding liquid onto the disposable cup, taking in his lavish appearance and slicked back violet hair—you can't help but think he may be out of your league.

but something tells you that you shouldn't be afraid, not with the hint of pink dusting his cheeks and the earnest, tender smile that always adorns his face whenever he talks to you.

“my shift is ending in five minutes. if you wanna wait, then maybe we can head out together…?”

you're relieved to have taken the chance, because the purple-haired male suddenly jolts, “y-yeah, of course! let me just tell–” when reo turns around to see that his companion is nowhere to be found, he sighs. “…nevermind.”

he hears you stifle a giggle, a sweet melody falling in his ears, and he's so glad he found the time to squeeze in this quick trip tonight despite his hectic schedule. when you hand him his latte, the corners of his mouth inadvertently lifts up as he sees your handwriting on the cup in black ink:

Reo ღ ◡̈

a few minutes later, after you have changed out of your black apron and gathered your stuff, reo walks out of the coffee shop with you, the chilly autumn air breezing past his skin.

his eyes flit downward when you rub your hands in an attempt to heat them up.

it's cold tonight, coldest it has been in a week, yet reo feels warm all of a sudden, even though he barely had a sip from his drink. he wipes his free hand on his slacks, a build up of sweat coating his palm. he regrets not taking his blazer off in his car, because it now feels uncomfortably tight around him, and since when did it get so hot—

“you okay, reo?” you cast him a side glance over the shoulder, eyes raking over his restless form, “you're so fidgety.”

“sorry, yeah. it's just the coffee.”

you give a pointed look, wordlessly reminding him again that maybe he should dial it down or some. it's fine, he's not addicted to caffeine, to something else maybe, but not caffeine. reo’s gaze drifts downwards again, glancing at your empty palm again, and… oh.

that must've been why his fingers kept twitching. for now, he refrains from reaching out, hopeful that this wouldn't be his last encounter with you, and that he'll eventually find the courage someday.

slicked back hair reo.... reo i need u so bad ples

#ik theres alot of coffee shop AUs but u can never go wrong w one #this was js supposed to be a short drabble how did it end up with 1k words #pushing my third wheeler nagi agenda #hes so sick of them #blue lock x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #blue lock imagines #reo mikage #mikage reo #mikage reo fluff #reo mikage fluff #reo mikage x you #mikage reo x y/n #mikage reo x you

270 notes · View notes

scifrey · 9 months

Text

NINE-TENTHS

Oh my gosh, the book is now officially out! This is the first original novel I've published since 2018 and I am very excited and very nervous to share it.

☕♥️🐉

➡️ You can read it here. ⬅️

Chapters drop Wednesdays and Saturdays, and if you're worried, the story is already finished and fully uploaded. This is not a WIP that I will abandon later--it's totally complete.

About the book:

Twenty-four is one year too young for a quarter-life crisis, but hey, Colin's always been an overachiever. He's got a degree in Sustainable Tourism, which his family says he's wasting as a barista, an annoying anxiety disorder, and no freaking idea what to do with his life. The only thing going his way is the cute coffee shop regular, a homo draconis named Dav (who, in his humanshape, is a total hottie.) Still, it'd be easier if Dav didn't have a habit of accidentally setting things on fire when he's startled. Like the café kitchen.

When Dav breaks draconic taboo and volunteers as a replacement bean-roaster to apologize for the inferno meet-ugly, sparks really fly. Everything's finally happening for Colin, until he learns that hooking up with Dav means that under dragon law, Colin is absorbed into Dav's hoard.

Possession may be nine-tenths of the law, but becoming his boyfriend's property does not make this whole identity crisis thing easier. Especially now that Colin must navigate politics, paparazzi, and legal questions about his personhood. Colin's still angling for his Happily Ever After, but the growing scrutiny on his relationship with Dav threatens their budding romance. And if he's not careful, Colin's fight for agency may just destroy symbiotic human/dragon relationships worldwide.

Beautiful cover art by @seancefemme

205 notes · View notes

callofdudes · 2 years

Note

Hi this my first time requesting, if you do head canons, can you do ghost head canons where he has a crush on you. Please?

Hello 👋 of course I can do that for ya ☺️ I hope you are satisfied with them.

Ghost has a crush on you.

Ghost wouldn't pick up on it right away. He was very sheltered as a kid and romance wasn't his main concern, even as a teenager. He joined the military early on life so the thought of a relationship absolutely NEVER occured to him.

He starts to pick up little signs though. Whenever you smile his way or greet him in the morning he can feel his stomach twist in a way it's never done before. You start to become a big part of his daily thoughts and he starts to purposefully seek you out.

When you first join the task force he isn't sure about you. He's a man built on trust and constant betrayal so you're a threat to his environment. But you are on the softer side. You start to bring him tea in the morning when he's stocked high by paperwork and start idle conversation during training.

He starts to realize that a lot of things he would do alone start to include you.

He found himself excited to spar with you in the morning or to join your table in the lunch hall. Every small thing you do makes him feral in a way he's never experienced.

It's platonic, but the first time you hold his hand he's a disaster. A. Fucking. Disaster. He wants to swat you away and curse you out for touching him without permission. He wants to pull away and find a corner where he cannot be bothered. And another part of him drops his shoulders and sits/stands there in bliss. The feeling of your warm palm soaking through his gloves. How you grasp his hand so firmly and yet it's so reassuring.

Ghost doesn't understand his feelings so he often gets frustrated with you and himself. He'll mutter and even yell at himself sometimes at night about what he was letting you do to him. Whatever it was. He'd lay awake in his bed thinking of you and all the conversations you'd had that day as his stomach drops in this weird way.

Tries admitting himself to the ICU for heart problems after you giggle at a very sarcastic joke he makes.

You're not dating yet but you for hell better treat him right. Bean is very hurt on the inside and it'll take a lot of nurturing for him to come clean to you about his affection.

He's scared when he takes off his mask in front of you and the others. Of course the others were seeing his face for the first time excepting Price. But something about the way your eyes locked. You looked over every scar. His jaw, his throat and his messy untamed hair. He almost felt ashamed. He felt so small until you smiled and nodded in what almost looked like approval.

Refuses to show you again though, even if you ask.

Being completely unsure of his emotions he grows protective over you. He has become very alert of when other men talk to you or when women give off a flirty remark. It makes his insides hurt and it confuses him as to why he cares.

Now, when he does figure it all out, he cannot, and will not come forth. You could kiss him on the lips and he won't say a word.

He physically can't say 'I love you'. Not because it isn't true, but he's never heard it said to him before, and he's never said it. He doesn't know love or how to love. He's scared of commitment and hurting you.

So instead he'll start leaving little notes and gifts in your sector. He'll watch from his desk filing paperwork as you walk in with a smile and a box of mints in your hands.

When you get hurt out on the field he panics. He does everything he physically can do protect you on missions and is even more alert on stakeouts. If there is a threat to you better rest assured Ghost is putting himself between you and the threat even if it's a fucking train.

What you do for him, he starts to do in return. He is always up first so when you get up and make it to your desk, Ghost is already there with a warm cup of coffee for you. You always see the way he stiffens and his eyes light up when you thank him.

Scary guard dog privileges.

Going on nightly patrol? He's your shadow. Going to a secondary base? He's your shadow. Bring harassed or annoyed. He's your fucking shadow.

It took a while of back and forth of witty remarks and hour long conversations but eventually you manage to confess to him. You were terrified because Ghost was a rollercoaster of mixed signals that whole time.

"I love you, Simon Riley."

Literally just stared at you.

And then slowly nods his head.

Your getting nervous at this point. Does he like you? Does he not like you? Is he about to kill you for saying such a thing? What do you do?

Simon over there is sweating bullets because. What does he do? The most beautiful person in the whole world is staring at him with love and adoration equal to a puppy and has just confessed to having the same tumbling stomach syndrome as himself.

"me too."

"You like you too??" You gulp.

"No! Me- you! You and me- fuck. I feel the same. I think. But I'm not sure yet."

You understand. He's a bit shy suddenly, surprisingly. He gets the hang of the whole boyfriend thing with your help. Though he's certainly an extraordinary man.

Has never kissed so when you roll up his mask and place your lips upon his... HOLY FUCK. Do it again. He's got no damn clue what he's doing but he will hold your neck as if you are glass and try to bring you ever closer.

He will suffocate himself on you until he's literally forced away. His new favorite thing to do is kiss you. Every chance he gets he'll kiss you. (Hates PDA though.)

He's very touch starved so you have a lot of work to catch up on.

I hope this works! I will die on the hill that Ghost is clueless at first on how all the love stuff works. ❤️

#simon ghost riley #call of duty headcanons #headcanons #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader

1K notes · View notes

princecharmingwinks · 9 months

Text

Sterek Fic Rec - June-December 2023.

Can you believe we are almost at the end of 2023? These last six months have been quite busy for me so sadly haven't been able to read as much fic as I would have liked. But I am still here and will continue to create rec lists whenever I get the chance to read more fics. I am also rounding the word counts so please click on the links for the exact word count. :)

it doesn't have to be a snowman by triggeringthehealing (froggydarren) (1/1 | 4K | General)

The Beacon Beans coffee shop is what Stiles would refer to as a lifesaver. They supply his dose of sugar whenever he needs it, they don't ask questions, and their hot chocolate is delicious. And now they're running a snowman building competition where the grand prize would get him an entire year's worth of drinks. Really, all he needs is a partner to team up with. Only everyone else from the pack already seems to have paired up.

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by DefNotForWork (1/1 | 17K | Explicit)

“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly. The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection. “So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’ In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totally different conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they love each other. And that Derek should jerk off more.

Undertow by entanglednow (1/1 | 4K | Mature)

"I don't want you to die because my swirls weren't swirly enough."

Fire and Water by GreyHaven (1/1 | 2K | General)

Derek is full of unspoken words and unexpressed emotions that sear him from the inside out until finally, finally, he allows them to escape into dark ash stains that smear across the harsh white of his notebook. Or, the one in which Derek is compelled to write a story. Turns out, he's writing about Stiles. What will happen when Stiles reads it? Angst and healing and two people finding safety in each other.

eli's parents are so gross (read: in love) by ash_mcj (1/1 | 1K | Teen)

"I would’ve been here earlier, but nobody thought it would be smart to call the one person who’s intimately dealt with the Nogitsune before, so,” Stiles said bitterly as he threw his hands up. "Now I have a list of asses I gotta kick over this very avoidable fiasco. Scott’s first, since he’s the Alpha—I’m pretty sure that’s how that works. His responsibility, or whatever.” The familiar sound of Derek’s car pulling into the driveway caught Eli's attention, and he grinned. “Is Dad on your list?” “Hell yeah, Dad is on my list! Right under Scott.” “Well, he just got home, so—” Stiles didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence before stomping off in the direction of the living room—and Eli quickly scrambled to follow him, ready to eavesdrop on what was likely going to be a rather impressive and amusing lecture. [or: eli is glad that stiles is home, since derek has nearly died several times in his absence, but he really wishes they were a little less glad to see each other] -- prompt | a reunion kiss

Ashes, Ashes by ShanaStoryteller (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

The Sheriff gets a call at work - someone's tried to burn down his home with his son inside. "I thought of you coming here, and finding me dead, of another burnt out husk of a body, something else fire has stolen from you, of you having nothing left to grasp but ashes," John can't even call that a whimper, it's clearly a whine as Derek's hands tighten against Stile's hips, as if his boy will shudder to dust at the mere mention of the possibility unless Derek's hands can hold him into one piece, "and that thought was worse than dying."

Love Runs Wild by DevilDoll (1/1 | 9K | Explicit)

"You've got a hickey on the back of your neck!" A Neckz 'n Throats story.

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles (1/1 | 10K | Mature)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth. The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles. Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is. “If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles. Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal. He’s still not convinced any of this is real. Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it. Edited in October 2022

Stiles is My Safe Place by Star_crossed02 (5/5 | 10K | Mature)

Stiles gets bitten by Kali, and after a brief adjustment period, proceeds to co-lead the Hale Pack to defeat the Alpha Pack once and for all. OR What happens when a sassy spark-werefox starts courting an alpha sourwolf?

It feels like a perfect night (for breakfast at midnight) by princecharmingwinks (1/1 | 1K | General)

Stiles is floating on cloud nine. He is absolutely living his best life. It's a Saturday night, he's out with his friends and he's dancing like it's his birthday. Because it is! (Or it will be in 20 minutes, once midnight ticks around). And what better way to celebrate the respectful age of 22 than a night out?

princecharmingwinks special mention (My plane flying companion - I read a new chapter every time I took a new flight)

First Son, Last Chance by orphan_account (12/12 | 60K | Mature)

When First Son Stiles Stilinski, beloved public figure and the bane of his private security team, goes missing without a trace, ex-security officer Derek Hale finds himself tangled up in the world of Argent Security, a world he was forced out of when rumours abounded that he was sleeping with his charges. There's no leads, no time and no way Derek is going to rest until Stiles has been brought home safely. (Inspired by this post.)

That is all folks for 2023! Sorry again for a late addition. See you in the new year. Remember to leave kudos and comments for our wonderful writers.

#sterek #sterek fanfiction #fic rec #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #princecharminglists

228 notes · View notes

blu-ish · 4 months

Note

In your words describe Shadow

What is he like? Do you think he’ll be different in the movie than prime or sonic x or the games?

Oghh man, when you’re asking about my favorite character of all times.. prepare for an essay hshsjsjsh

Shadow is someone who really imprinted on me as a kid, (besides Sonic ofc lmao) I first saw him in Generations and knew next to nothing about him other than he was single-handedly the coolest character in the game.

In the Sonic and Shadow race that happens in gens, I could tell he was pretty powerful— and when he comes to support Sonic fighting off the time eater, I could also tell he was a good friend. (7 year old me omg if only you knew lmao)

But as I grew older, I started learning more about Shadow as a character— I think that’s when I started to understand just how important Shadow is to the Sonic series as a whole, and to us, his fans.

Shadow is someone who’s been through hell and back, literally. He’s someone that, through all the odds, became someone he wanted to be (and even more)— not something he was made for.

He’s compassionate, curious, headstrong and likes to keep to himself most of the time. He’s not one for “pleasing the big crowds” he just does what he knows is right.

He has a small circle of friends that are like his family, he gets to be a kid again with them. He gets to be competitive and have people to care about again. Even if he has trouble showing it.

Shadow is a heavily traumatized character, one whose past doesn’t just make him some asshole villain character (because that’s NOT who he is.) He’s someone who never got to mourn, who’s been manipulated, who has memory issues and teaches us that it’s not as simple as just “getting over our negative experiences” but acknowledging they happened and growing stronger because of it.

He doesn’t try to be a whole other person, he is unapologetically himself. Someone who’s gonna stand up and protect others, someone who’s not gonna be seen as a hero by everyone or be as loved as some blue heros. But that doesn’t stop him so why should that stop any of us?

He inspires us to choose our own path, to not dwell on our past but rather grow because they happened. To be who we’re meant to be truly, and if the whole world turns its back on us we can fight like we’ve always have.

He’s a nerd, he likes flowers and coffee beans, he loves animals and the Earth he protects. He cherishes it all for him and Maria cuz that’s what she would’ve wanted for him and he believes it. He’s willing to protect the humanity that wronged him, even give it a second chance.

He’s Shadow the fucking Hedgehog.

But to answer your question (hsjsjsj SORRY) I’m not too sure how they’ll portray him in the movie or the games moving forward (love how he was in prime hands down best Shadow characterization) but from what I’ve seen so far, all the shadow love? I know my boy’s back, and he’s gonna be my fav no matter what 💖

#ask #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #blu rambles #fav #HSHSHSNSJS ESSAY TIME #SORRY UHH FAV CHARACTER MOMENT #I love him sm did you guys know that

70 notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 4.8k

chapter summary: Your brother comes for a visit and of course, he wants to meet the Millers. Things with Joel come to a boiling point, threatening to pour over.

warnings: joel dissociating, family dynamics, criticizing of war, some angst, arguing, hints of grief, brief mention of parents being emotionally distant, explicit make out scene at the end

a/n: August is the reader's stepbrother, reader still has no physical descriptions. His face claim ended up being Oscar Isaac, ofc you don't have to imagine him that way, but I just wanted to let y'all know lmaodbf I was trying to think of what he should look like and it kinda happened

Chapter Seven || Chapter Nine

Your brother is already sitting on the kitchen stool when you walk in with silent, socked feet. He hears you though. Always does. Perking up, he turns with a smile. Your heart jumps as you notice a magazine in his hand, but realizing it can’t be the one with Joel’s picture in it, you relax, making a beeline to the coffee machine.

“You still like your coffee black?”

“Yup. Just like my wretched soul.”

You shake your head. Smiling, you grind the coffee beans, the sound breaking the peaceful silence of the morning. When you’re done, you turn to him and pour the coffee into the portafilter. You tamp it down.

“Your soul isn’t black.”

“Hmm?” He rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up on the kitchen counter. A soft smile tugs at his lips, always amused by your rantings. “And what color is my soul?”

“Golden. Sparkly, shiny.”

“You’re just saying that because of my name.”

“Why would Auggie remind me of gold?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Idiot.” he grins. He leans over and squeezes your cheeks with one hand, hallowing them out. You let out a whine. “Come on now. Say it. Say my actual name and not the one you would call your sheepdog.”

You push out your bottom lip, pouting, you glare at him. He laughs.

“I’m not letting go until you say it.”

“Fine,” you snap, your voice muffled. “August. There, happy? Now let me go, you menace.”

“See, was that so hard?” he lets go and you stumble back. His strength always coming a bit of a shock. You draw your brows together, rubbing your chin. August rolls his eyes. “Why can’t you be normal and just call me Gus if you’re going to be lazy about it.”

“Because it sounds like goose and I don’t like geese. And Auggie sounds cute,” you answer. The hiss of the coffee maker fills the kitchen and you take two mugs from the cabinet. “How’s mom and dad by the way?”

“Not thrilled that you’re here on your own. Living with ghosts.”

Shaking your head, you place a red colored mug in front of him. Your parents had a habit of think you were drowning in melancholy. Which…was true, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be on your own. You’re about to say just that, looking at him but the thin gold chain on his neck reflects the soft morning hue and catches your gaze. Briefly, you stare at it, blinking.

“You’re wearing it again?”

August raises a sole brow, confused, that is until he looks down and realizes what you meant. He licks his lips and smooths his palms over the marble counter.

“Well…no point in being mad at him anymore is there? The old man’s gone.”

“He’d be happy knowing you still care.”

“I always cared,” he snaps with a hint of annoyance. “Need I remind you that pops was the one mad at me. Not the other way around.”

“He was mad because you were throwing your life away,” you level him a serious look and add. “You still are.”

“I don’t want to do this first thing in the morning,” he groans. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like the idea of your big brother with a gun.”

You fill his mug with piping hot coffee. Steam curls into the air. You start warming up milk for yourself, your back turned to him.

“I don’t like the idea of my big brother being shipped off to war on a whim. It’s not a hunting trip. Don’t act like it’s not a big deal.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’ll die.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You hadn’t meant to say it like that. He’s already aware that he can die. You close your eyes and keep them like that. The sounds of the kitchen fade into the background. The sound of a clock echoes in your mind. You remember the last time August was here, in this house. Your grandfather was alive then. The house was full of his voice and scent. Unlike your parents, who were somewhat distant, your grandpa hated the thought of August wasting his potential. Meanwhile, August was trying hard to prove that he didn’t have any potential to waste. You’re not even sure what your big brother does anymore. You stopped asking the day you and him buried your grandpa.

It’s been the two of you for the longest time. Your mother remarried when you were four, August was six. Not having many friends, you were quick to leach on to him, and he seemed happy by that. He was your family, and you were his. Blood didn’t matter. And your grandfather, and grandmother, agreed with the sentiment, never separating the two of you.

You remember when you were still in university, August didn’t tell you he was in the city. And one late night he was on your doorstep. Rain soaked through his shirt and his hair curled at the ends. Your heart breaks when you remember those times. He refused to tell you what happened that night. Later on, you learned he came to meet his mom. The exchange hadn’t gone well.

You jump when you feel a set of hands on your shoulders. The sound of your name follows soon after, it sounds rushed like it had been repeated a couple of times before you heard it.

Everything comes flooding back. The coffee. The milk. Your brother standing behind you.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Christ. Where’s your head at?”

“Shit—” you hiss, seeing that the milk had overflowed. You quickly turn off the stove. “Sorry, sorry. Must’ve zoned out.”

“This is why I said I didn’t want to have this conversation first thing in the morning,” he grumbles, picking up a handful of napkins. “You need to stop worrying about me okay? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t want to constantly fight about this. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, okay.”

You realize your answer is less than ideal but it is what it is. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, fine. You’ll at least make him highly aware of how you feel about it.

After cleaning the stove and finally making yourself a decent cup of coffee, you sigh into the mug. “So what do you want to do during your visit? Sightseeing?”

He chuckles, “Why are you acting like this is my first time here?”

“I don’t know. I feel awkward now. I probably need breakfast.”

“You’re fine,” he answers, booping your nose. Your wrinkle your nose, a soft smile blossoming on your lips. “I’ve seen your paintings, they look good.”

You nod, silently sipping your coffee.

“Any plans on showing them off, or whatever it is that artists do—put them in a museum?”

“Gallery.” you correct him. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not so fun is it? Being questioned?” when you fix him a glare, he grins. “Anyway…I love what you’ve done with the room. About time something changed here.”

You finally crack a proper smile and he quickly follows up with more series of thoughts. With a soft giggle parting your lips, you shake your head.

“Which one was it that helped you?” he asks. “The brothers?”

“Both helped. But the credit has to go to Tommy, he’s the one who came up with the idea.”

“Wise man,” he hums, tongue moving over his teeth thoughtfully. “Was he the one in Desert Storm?”

“Yup,” you answer unenthusiastically, popping your lips at the p.

“When am I going to meet the famous Millers? I want to thank them for helping out my baby sister.”

“Tonight. They’re coming over for dinner.”

Another unenthusiastic response. It’s been almost a week since your date with Tommy, and since you’ve moved out from Joel’s and back into your own. You’ve seen Tommy a bunch after that, but the older Miller not so much. Guilt burrows in your heart. You might’ve been a bit too short with Joel, now that you think about it. His intentions obviously weren’t bad. But that didn’t really matter to you, did it? Your heart skips a beat every time you think of him. And you stared at his picture nearly every night since you returned.

Meanwhile, despite seeing him almost every day whenever he came over to fix up the room, your friendship with Tommy felt…off. Some part of you thinks he knows about your feelings, and Joel’s. He never said anything about it. He hadn’t even mentioned the date, it was like business as usual.

It was just a crush then. It has to be. You and Tommy were close, he was lonely, figured he’d ask you out. Nothing serious. You preferred to think about it that way.

“What are we having?” your brother asks, drawing you away from your, not so fun, thoughts.

“I was thinking chicken.”

Joel holds a bottle of wine in hand and Sarah is holding a tupperware full of homemade brownies. Upon getting the invite, Sarah had been adamant about perfecting her recipe to bring over. Joel was not allowed in the kitchen. Deeming to be a jinx whenever Sarah tried to cook. He had no objections to that. He was more than happy to listen to his daughter hum in the kitchen as he watched TV in the living room.

They walk toward your place with her arm crossed over his. Tommy is getting out of the truck just as they reach the porch. His younger brother meets Joel’s gaze briefly before turning his head, walking up to them. He ruffles Sarah’s hair, greeting them both with a small nod of his head.

“Better get this over then,” Tommy mutters, reaching from between the father and daughter duo to knock on the door.

But before he can, Sarah smacks his hand away. The gesture earns her a solid fix of Tommy’s glare. Joel’s shoulders raise, his eyes nervously flitting between Sarah and Tommy. He’d kept Sarah out of the loop. It felt like the right thing to do. Your dating life should be no concern to her. And as far as Joel was concerned, Sarah wasn’t ready to hear about his love life with another woman.

“Sarah.” Tommy warns, the last syllable of her name bouncing off his grit teeth. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

“You two have been so weird all week,” she chides, the crease between her brows similar to her father’s. “If you’re not going to be nice, you should leave.”

“Dammit Sarah, I—” he lets out a stuttering breath. “Fine. Just knock on the goddamn door.”

It’s instinct. Sarah knocks on the door and at the same time Joel brings a hand down to Tommy’s shoulder. Hard. The younger Miller’s entire body tilts to the side and Joel squeezes, making sure that his fingers make dents into Tommy’s skin. Tommy tenses under Joel’s hold but doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look back at him. He just patiently waits until the door opens, warm, soft light pouring through the door.

Sarah takes the first step, hugging you and handing you the Tupperware. You’re wearing a green dress that hugs your figure perfectly, his mouth floods with saliva. Joel already feels his cock twitching uncontrollably under his jeans. The way you smile is always so bright.

But first things first.

“Don’t you ever snap at my daughter like that again. You hear me, Tommy.” he says in a hushed tone, leaning into Tommy’s ear. Sarah already disappeared inside, and you’re patiently holding the door open for them.

“Your daughter?” he grimaces, taking a step back so the two of them are out of earshot. “You mean my niece? I didn’t do anythin’ Joel. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Tommy takes the lead. He kisses your cheek and mutters pleasantries. Without waiting for Joel, Tommy takes his shoes off, heads to the kitchen. Joel huffs, glaring at his brother’s back.

“Is something wrong?”

Your voice peels him away from his anger, his hands suddenly feel foreign to him. He robotically hands you the wine.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “Just brothers being brothers.”

“O…kay then. Well in any case, welcome. Thanks for the wine.”

If Tommy being mad at him isn’t enough, it looks like you’re still frustrated with him as well. You don’t look at him. And the smile you have on is nothing other than polite. It’s a small little curve. The type you would give to a stranger walking past you in the street. He hates it.

Thank god for Sarah. At least she’s not mad at him.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, purposefully brushing his arm against yours while passing you by. He hears you letting out a soft sigh. The hairs on his arms stand with delight at the sound.

He enters the kitchen where the dining table is at. Tommy’s already chatting up your brother, and Sarah is dragging her fingers through one of your dried oil paintings. She likes the texture of it, he told him once. The brother’s eyes meet Joel’s and he already feels his muscles growing taut. Tommy follows the brother’s gaze and nods.

Joel nearly jumps when your hand comes around his shoulder. The brother narrows his eyes.

“This is Joel,” you say, giving him a gentle shove. “And you already met Tommy. Joel, this is August. My brother.”

Joel takes in the brother’s appearance. He has sharp, angular cheekbones that give his face a chiseled look, and his intense gaze is accentuated by thick, dark eyebrows. His wavy, dark hair falls messily over his forehead. He has broad shoulders and a defined jawline. He exudes a quiet confidence that draws Joel's attention.

Swallowing multiple times, Joel quickly extends a hand. A weird sense of relief washes over him when August takes it, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, sitting back down. “I heard so much about you.”

“Good things I hope,” Joel grins sheepishly. A blush crawls up from his neck to his cheeks when the other winks. Joel’s gut is telling him that August already knows what’s going on in his head and it’s unnerving.

“They’re all good, don’t worry.” he smiles and pulls out a chair for Joel. “She tells me you two helped her with the room. Well, you have my thanks. I was a bit worried about her moving in here after…” he clears his throat. “I’m sure you know.”

August utters the last sentence with his eyes fixed on Joel. He shudders.

“Auggie, stop making me seem like I’m a damsel in distress. I’m not a child that needs to be taken care of.”

“That you’re not,” August answers. “But everyone needs help sometimes.”

You frown, “Says the man who never accepts it.”

The rest of the evening passes by with soft jazz music in the background and all of them setting the table together, which isn’t a five-man job, but they do it anyway. Sarah is rather bubbly, talking about school and a boy she doesn’t seem to like. He takes a mental note to ask about that later. You listen with interest, checking the rice and mixing the salad. Tommy and August hit it off instantly. Which isn’t at all a shock to him. August laughs at something Tommy says while placing a plate. Joel looks around, his pleading eyes landing on Sarah and you in the kitchen.

Neither of them notices him. He’s left standing awkwardly between kitchen and dining room. He rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans, gaze dropping to his socked feet.

He doesn’t want to bother anyone, so he slips away to the hall.

Maybe he should’ve asked you first, before going exploring. But he can’t really help it. Joel finds himself in the renovated room. It’s basically done, the room fully painted and bookshelves back in place. You even have a couple of easels holding your latest artwork. He stumbles inside, the conversations fading into the background.

It’s hard not to feel upset. He isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong. At the time, not allowing you to say what you had swirling in your mind felt like the right thing to do. Joel doesn’t know if he could’ve held back if you confessed. Even though he was rather close to confessing himself, that was before Tommy took initiative.

He observes the first painting. His initial thought is that it looks nice. There are a lot of colors in geometric shapes. He sees a lot of red and pink. Some blue. Some white. His eyes move up and down, and as it does, he slowly begins to realize the smaller shapes form a bigger one. It’s human. A naked one. He follows the vee of the adonis belt, the softened stomach. Suddenly it’s very clear to him that this is a man. Joel takes a step back. The face hasn’t been painted yet. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. A somber smile touches his lips. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t have any of those. Maybe he won’t fuck up so badly if he doesn’t.

Joel’s about to leave when he sees it. The smallest stain on the front of the silhouette’s hip. Tilting his head, he steps closer. His skin tight over his muscles, his breath hitches.

It’s a bullseye. The tiniest, you blink you miss it, bullseye.

He leans closer, it’s definitely a bullseye. Smaller than his tattoo, but it’s the same shape, in the same spot.

What the fuck?

He lifts his gaze, eyes flitting across the round shape that’s meant to be a face—his face. Is this…supposed to be him?

Shitshitshitshit

Joel jolts out of the room and stumbles into the small bathroom that’s on the first floor. He turns the faucet so hard that his fingers ache but he doesn’t care. He splashes cool water over his face until his breathing calms down. Then he flushes the toilet for some noise.

When he opens the door, his head is spinning. The walls wiggle and dance, the hardwood floor underneath his feet slips. Joel can barely stand. His fingers itch to have something pressed against them, something that can pull him out of the fog of his mind.

He doesn’t look inside and silently closes the door, his eyes glazed over. He makes his way down the hall. His heart is beating too fast. He can barely breathe. Some part of him believes he’s making it up. That the tattoo wasn’t there, that it was just smudged paint. He’s not an artist. It wouldn’t be hard for his brain to make something up. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The voices grow closer. He closes his eyes, lashes touching with his cheeks. He should’ve let you talk that day. At least then everything would be crystal clear. He hates not truly knowing. The heave of his chest forces him to open his eyes.

Everyone is already at the table. You’re serving the food, putting a chicken leg on your brother’s empty plate. His space is reserved next to Sarah, right across from Tommy and you, August is at the head of the table. Only Sarah notices him. She looks up, brows pinched together as she mouths: are you okay dad?

Joel nods and takes his seat. His vision finally clears. The scent of chicken and roasted vegetables wafts through the air, grounding him to the present. He feels the brush of Sarah’s fingers on his forearm, she still looks worried.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, reaching for the salad. With his tongue between his lips, his gaze follows your movements as you divide the chicken. “Everything looks amazing, tea. Thank you for having us.”

“Yeah,” Sarah chimes in. “It looks great. I didn’t know you could cook.”

You let out a snort and shake your head. “Why does everyone in this house think I can’t look after myself? What kind of image am I giving you guys?”

Laughter follows, Tommy, says something but Joel doesn’t catch it. His mind still in the room with the painting. He eats silently. Biting into his fork and savoring the taste of white meat. He watches Sarah neatly wrapping the base of the chicken leg with a napkin before she starts eating, he rolls his eyes but smiles anyway.

No one really discerns his silence. Which he concludes to be a good thing. The food is good and helps him settle down. His eyes flit between you and Tommy, a pleasant conversation taking place between the two people closest to him.

Suddenly he sees Tommy in a tux, you in a white dress. The sun is bright and Sarah is the flower girl. He’s standing next to his baby brother, waiting to hand the ring to Tommy as soon as the priest finishes his speech. He stares at you from above Tommy’s shoulder. Your smile is wide.

You meet his gaze and Joel fights the urge to jerk away. Your smile broadens into a grin, you wink at him.

You look back to Tommy. His heart sinks into his stomach.

If that ever happens, at least you'll still be close. Joel will forever have your eyes. He’ll get to stare at them as often as he wants to. Tommy doesn’t have to know. But that doesn't change the fact that Joel will still be lost, he'll still be lonely after Sarah leaves to live her own life.

He would always be searching for something more, something that he couldn't quite name or articulate. That yearning would remain, like an ache that refused to subside. He would try to fill that void with other things, other people, but it would never be enough. He would always come back to that sense of restlessness, that nagging feeling that there was something missing.

He’ll never be satisfied.

Joel hands you a wet plate and you smile, patting off the access water, you place it on the dishrack. Soft steps come from upstairs. A door closes, and the sound of the shower softly adds to the ambiance of domestic bliss.

Joel hands you another plate.

It’s been a while since dinner came to an end. Much to your delight, it turned out to be a pleasant evening. August and Tommy got along swimmingly, which came as no surprise to anyone. With her stomach full and warm, Sarah was practically sleeping on the couch. Joel had to nudge her awake, and you offered to show him the spare room, but he shook his head and woke her up. Sarah was briefly confused, but she managed to make her way back with Joel. Tommy left a bit later, thanking you and squeezing your hand as he left. You were quite surprised when Joel returned ten minutes later, offering to help with the dishes. August had already gone upstairs to take a shower.

You hate doing the dishes so you had no objections to that.

“I really should buy a dishwasher,” you say, breaking the silence. “Thanks again. You really didn’t have to.”

His lips part with a low chuckle, his gaze fixed on the sponge that suds up the plate. “I’ve heard you complain more than I can count, sweet tea. There was no way I was going to leave you with this monstrous pile.”

“My hero.”

A comfortable silence stretches between the two of you, though you're not sure how that's possible. He's been avoiding you for a week and has been silent all afternoon. You're not even sure he talked to Auggie much, except for introducing himself.

Some part of you doesn't want the stacks of porcelain to end. You internally curse at yourself for washing the pots and pans before dinner. This time, you take a bowl from him. It's slippery, and you nearly drop it, but his fingers curl around yours, tightening your grip before it can shatter against the floor.

Your breath catches in your throat. Joel's fingers remain on your hand, and a soft caress follows. Goosebumps rise over your body; it's so sudden that it tingles, a slight pain etching over your skin. Slowly lifting your eyes, you see that he's already staring at you. Joel holds your gaze, his eyes warm and inviting. A blissful sigh raises in your throat, threatening to spill, but you press your lips together.

Joel inhales, and on the exhale he asks, “Your date with Tommy must’ve been a good one, I reckon. You guys came back late.”

Blood rushes to your ears. You pull your hand back, like you’ve been burned with boiling water, soap bubbles fly into the air. The bowl slips back into the sink and you hear it crack but refuse to look down. Your heart is beating too fast, too hard—shit. Why is he saying this out of the blue? Rage pounds underneath your fingernails. You’re not sure why you’re so mad. And you’re not surprised Tommy didn’t tell him anything. Those two are constipated when it comes to talking.

Your glare and his soft gaze clashes, lighting crackling in the still air.

“Why are you suddenly mentioning Tommy?” you hiss out. Tears sting your eyes. “And it’s none of your business. If you want to know you should ask hi—”

“I saw your little art project.”

Your mouth dries up, the rage replaced by a childlike terror. You pull your hand close to your chest. Breathing heavily.

“What?”

Joel takes a step forward, leaning into you and crowding your personal bubble. You’re glued to the floor. The blood rush loud in your ears. You feel so vulnerable that it hurts, your body trembling uncontrollably.

“It was…me, wasn’t it?” he shakes his head. “What if Tommy saw? You can’t do shit like that when you’re datin’ him. You can’t just paint another man.”

His voice is both hushed and forceful. You’ shake your head, attempting to blink away the tears. All the emotions you feel like a balloon in your chest waiting to explode. Your head drops. You stare at his chest. It’s moving with every rapid breath.

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?” Joel sounds flabbergasted. He takes a step back and stares at you—really stares at you with narrowed eyes, as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

“I said,” you bite out through clenched teeth. You step forward and shove him in the chest, it does little to move him and his fingers wrap tightly around your wrists. You refuse to look at him. “Fuck. You. You don’t get to shame me in the ways I heal. The art I create. You’re the one who has a girlfriend. You’re the one that allowed me to get as close as I did, saying cryptic shit knowing that I had a crush on you! So yeah—” your eyes snap up, looking him dead in the eye. His mouth hangs open, shock etched between his brows. “Fuck you, Joel Miller.”

His grip tightens, it’s rough and it stings. A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m not dating your brother.” you say with a sense of finality.

“I didn’t know you had a crush on me.” Joel’s thumb moves down your wrist. His hardened gaze softens, the smallest of gasps escaping from between lips. “Asha and I broke up.”

“You did?”

Your world starts spinning, your stomach flips in your stomach. He nods.

“The day you came to the garden. Before your date with Tommy. I broke it off.”

“Why?” you ask, holding your breath.

“Because I had someone else on my mind.”

He’s fully stroking your arm now, the roughness of his hold gone. Textured fingertips move up and down your skin, sending shudder after shudder up your very being. Heat gathers between your legs, and you feel a dampness that makes you ache. Joel leans closer and you feel his hot breath fanning your cheeks, mixed with the lingering scent of beer. You hold your breath. The kitchen doesn’t seem to stop spinning.

Without another word Joel tugs you flush against him, his firm chest pressing up yours, a tingle starting from your pebbled nipples and buzzing throughout your body. He sucks the air from your lungs. He groans into your mouth. You feel his hands skimming the frame of your body, dipping into every curve. Joel pulls and tugs at the fabric of your dress. You hear a small rip. You don’t care about it in the slightest. But he must’ve heard it too because a soft growl emanates from his chest. He tugs at the fabric again, the following noise louder. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, pulling it along with him as he parts. You let out a debauched whine and you swear he grins, the cocky bastard.

His hands cup your ass, kneading it tenderly. You sigh into his mouth, your hands feeling numb and weak from where they rest above his chest. He lets go of your bottom lip, pressing his mouth into the swollen flesh before moving away.

You gasp and let out a shaky bubble of laughter. “If this ‘someone else’ you speak of isn’t me this is about to get really awkward really fast.”

“Don’t worry that pretty lil’ head of yours darlin’,” his forehead touches yours, the skin damp. He breathes heavily, the tone of his voice oddly serious and deep. “It’s you.”

a/n: THEY KISSED! FINALLY. I think this is the longest thing I've ever written without the characters getting at it immediately, it's been a fun ride lmaodfbfd

Normally, this chapter was supposed to have smut as well. But I loved the ending "it's you" so much that I decided it was a good way to end the chapter. But believe me, the next chapter is going to get as filthy as it gets. I already have it outlined. (feel free to hop into my askbox to tell me what filthy things you want to see them get to 🤭)

Thank you to everyone who is still with me on this little journey that started out with a mere thought after seeing a bts Instagram story, I never thought so many people would be eager to read such a thing and all of you have my appreciation. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, in all honestly I'm nervous as hell posting it. Hopefully I hit all the right parts.

Sending all of you many hugs and kisses 🧡

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

1K notes · View notes

carlos-in-glasses · 2 months

Text

Thank you for the tag @orchidscript @heartstringsduet @ironheartwriter

@strandnreyes @paperstorm @whatsintheboxmh @emsprovisions @safeaswrites

🧡🧡🧡🧡

Due to TK's 30th birthday being a Current Theme, I'm going for a Work is Published Wednesday and sharing some Where All This Love Comes From, in which TK's birthdays (30th and otherwise!) are an important feature.

(Some context: Gwyn dislikes black leather couches)

"Colombian beans," Carlos says, removing a packet from a cupboard and a cafetiere alongside it, roiling internally when he realizes he doesn’t know if Owen prefers French press over moka pot. He’s seen him with a moka pot before(!). But he unclips the little wooden peg he uses to secure the packet, and passes the beans to Owen to smell.

"Real coffee," Owen says as he closes his eyes and breathes in. "Nothing like it."

He hands the packet back and watches Carlos meticulously tip beans into the grinder. They make a satisfying tapping noise as they drop out, and Carlos smiles at Owen.

"I don't think TK's enjoyed a birthday this much since he turned ten," Owen says quietly, leaning against the worktop. He gazes at their translucent, yellowish reflections in the darkness of the window that faces the invisible yard.

"I guess birthdays lose their shine as we grow up," Carlos offers, starting to feel hot and itchy in the green sweater he spent an hour choosing for the occasion.

"Four years ago, on his birthday. Exactly four years ago..." Owen shakes his head. "TK’s addiction was..."

Carlos secures the lid onto the grinder but does not press down.

"Heroin," Carlos whispers. Owen nods. "He's told me some of what happened."

"I know he did. And I appreciate it wouldn’t have been easy for you to hear. Honestly. If I sat and wrote down everything that went on, it would be like an encyclopedia. It's taken his mother and me a long time to deal with–" Owen stops, points to his temple and circles a finger "–These things can stay with you a while. The things Gwyn and I have seen. The people he was around. What I'm saying is – I'm happy he met you, Carlos."

Carlos bites his lip and looks away, feels himself going shy. The wall he put up, so flimsy. "That means so much to me, Captain Strand. I'm happy you brought him here."

Owen looks over at Gwyn and TK chatting on the couch. They look back at him and smile shyly, as if they sensed being watched.

"What's taking y'all so long?" TK teases.

"Y'all!" Owen tuts, returning his attention to Carlos. "Okay. Let's see this grinder in action. I want to know how it compares to mine."

Carlos nods seriously, the terrifying challenge accepted. He presses the beans into a beautifully soft powder under his future father-in-law's watchful eye.

An hour later, he and TK are on the doorstep, shaking Owen's hand and hugging Gwyn goodbye, thanking them for coming – TK thanks them as if he lives here with Carlos, instead of with them. He's sending his divorced parents off to their own home as if they're still a married couple, just like he always wanted.

As soon as Carlos shuts the door, TK knocks him into the frame with a powerful hug from behind.

"They love you!" TK pecks kisses over Carlos’ ear, getting him to squirm.

"That went well," Carlos agrees, his voice lilted with laugher at the tickle of TK’s kisses. "Not that I have anything to compare it to."

"Well, believe me, I do!" TK hugs him tight, smushing his face into the back of his shoulder. "Dinner with them and you today. Clubbing tomorrow. Best birthday ever."

Carlos turns around in TK's arms, kisses him slowly on the lips. "Want to cash in on that birthday backrub?"

"Want to screw my brains out?"

"Let's go!" Carlos yells happily, taking TK's hand and dragging him to the stairs.

Read on Ao3

Tags below!

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand

@goodways @lightningboltreader @welcometololaland

@lemonlyman-dotcom @ladytessa74 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@rmd-writes @alrightbuckaroo @tellmegoodbye

@liminalmemories21 @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@never-blooms @sanjuwrites @chicgeekgirl89

@theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @honeybee-taskforce

@sugdenlovesdingle @herefortarlos @three-drink-amy

@carlos-tk @eclectic-sassycoweyes @literateowl

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @kiwichaeng

@nancys-braids @sapphic--kiwi @anactualcaseofthetruth -

If you want to share/ haven't already. No pressure ever!

❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

#Tarlos fic #Tarlos fanfic #Where All This Love Comes From #gay fanfiction #flashback fic #cig fic #my fic #cig tagged #wip wednesday #Work is published Wednesday

45 notes · View notes

x-uno · 1 year

Text

Brewing Blooms: Florist!Sanji x Barista!Reader

note : indecisive me couldn't decide on whether I should make Sanji a barista or a florist ;v; I STRUGGLED FOR THE WHOLE DAY but ultimately ended on him being a florist - :DDDD LIKE HEAR ME OUT IT'S LITERALLY PERFECT FOR HIM

| 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

THE FIRST RAYS OF DAWN'S GENTLE LIGHT pierced through the half-closed blinds, painting a soft, golden canvas across the snug interior of your coffee shop. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans intermingled with a hint of cinnamon, creating an aromatic symphony of warmth and comfort.

You, a dedicated barista and the proud owner of this intimate coffee sanctuary, were no stranger to the early hours. The soothing hum of espresso machines, the rich fragrance of freshly ground coffee, and the hushed conversations of your loyal patrons composed the daily chorus that cradled your mornings. Yet, on this particular day, the serenity of your routine was disrupted by an explosion of energy and excitement.

Amid the soft pre-dawn glow, Nami flung the coffee shop's door wide with an enthusiastic flourish, clutching a bouquet of fresh flowers in her hand. "Y/N! Flowers for you!" she cried out, her voice brimming with excitement. Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, startled and confused.

Your eyebrows furrowed in surprise as you turned to face Nami, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Flowers? For me? Who on earth...?" Your mind raced, wondering who could possibly be sending you flowers. It had been a while since you'd been involved in any kind of romantic relationship. You didn't recall mentioning any recent love interests to Nami.

Nami's gaze danced with amusement, her lips curving mischievously. "You never told me you had a boyfriend!’"

You chuckled at the assumption. "Believe me, Nami, if I had a boyfriend, you'd be the first to know. This is quite a surprise, though." You carefully picked up the card attached to the bouquet, your fingers deftly sliding it out from among the blossoms.

Nami leaned closer, her curiosity piqued. "Well, what does it say?" With a puzzled expression, you read aloud, "For Petal Paradise?"

"Petal Paradise…Petal - OH!" Nami snapped her fingers in realization. "It’s the flower shop that just opened nearby."

You raised an eyebrow. "Petal Paradise, huh? They must have had a mix-up with the delivery. I should probably return these." You murmured, adjusting your hold on the bouquet. "Can you manage without me for a bit?’"

Nami waved her hand dismissively. "Of course, Don't worry about the café. Just go next door and play nice with the florist." She winked mischievously.

You chuckled at her playfulness and nodded. "Thanks, Nami. I'll be quick."

With that, you headed next door to Petal Paradise, your curiosity growing as you approached the charming flower shop. The little bell above the door tinkled softly as you entered, and the fragrant air of the flower shop enveloped you.

Sanji, the talented florist, was busy arranging a stunning bouquet, his nimble fingers carefully selecting each flower and placing it with precision.

You cleared your throat to get his attention. "Excuse me," you began, "I think there was a mix-up with a flower delivery. I received these at my café, but they seem to be intended for Petal Paradise." You held out the bouquet to him.

Sanji, with his hands still delicately arranging the blossoms, looked up with a warm smile. His eyes sparkled with appreciation as he examined the bouquet you held out.

"Ah, a mix-up, you say? Well, it's fortunate that you're the one who received them. After all, these flowers deserve to be in the presence of someone as radiant as you."

"Are all florists in this neighborhood so skilled in flattery?"

Sanji chuckled, his confidence unwavering. "Only the ones who recognize true beauty when they see it."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you retorted, "Flattery will get you everywhere, won't it?’’ Sanji flashed a grin and leaned in a bit closer, his eyes filled with playful mischief.

"Everywhere and anywhere, bubs. It's a florist's secret weapon, you know."

"Oookay, casanova," you said, shaking your head with a grin, "Are you taking the flowers or not?" You gestured to the bouquet in your already outstretched hand, bringing the conversation back to its original purpose.

Sanji's composure snapped back to the task at hand as he accepted the bouquet, his fingers gently brushing against yours. "Oh, right! Sorry!"

With the bouquet now in his care, Sanji straightened up and extended a hand toward you, a friendly smile gracing his features. "I should have started with a proper introduction. I'm Sanji."

You returned his smile, placing your hand in his. "Y/N. I own the coffee shop next door."

As you spoke, your gaze naturally drifted to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. The designs were an intriguing mixture of vibrant blooms and winding vines, a testament to his deep connection with the world of flowers. Your eyes followed the intricate details, captivated by the colors and the artistry behind them, unable to hide your curiosity. But just as quickly as your gaze lingered, you averted your eyes, not wanting to appear too intrusive.

"Neighbor!" He grinned widely. "Well, I guess it might be fate, madam!"

"Fate, huh?"

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but I'll be counting on you to visit me whenever the need arises." He handed you a card with a wink.

"The need to get flowers, you mean?"

"Well, of course! But also the need to get to know me better."

His cheeky response took you by surprise, and you found yourself laughing at his audacity.

"We'll see about that." you replied, the words were more of a playful challenge than anything else.

taglist: reply to be added !

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla #florist au #barista au #vinsmoke sanji #one piece

171 notes · View notes

weirdmarioenemies · 1 year

Text

Name: Scaredy-Shroom

Debut: Plants vs. Zombies

Here is Scaredy-Shroom! A very humble fellow, who I love very much. Scaredy-Shroom is scared, as you likely know. He is frightened, uncomfortable in the given situation. And as someone easily scared, I can relate to this! Especially when I was younger and even more easily scared! When I first heard about Plants vs. Zombies, I thought "Zombies? I don't want to see that!" and assumed it had to be a Scary Game. And now kids are growing up as Scary Freddy The Scare Bear fans. I would not have done well as an iPad Kid. BUT ANYWAY!

Scaredy-Shroom may be scared. But he is courageous! Arguably. I don't think he would be fighting zombies if he was not planted by the player. But he's here, and he does a good job, even if he is scared! I am proud of him. He has a low sun cost, respectable damage, and infinite range! He DOES cower under his cap if zombies are too close, but it is a small setback, and you owe it to him to keep him feeling safe, after all he's done for you!

While he does a good job at night, there is really no point to using Scaredy-Shroom during the day. He'll be asleep, so you'll need to use Coffee Bean to wake him up, and at that point you've spent as much as you would have on a Peashooter! And Peashooter does not cower and stop shooting at any point! I think this is okay, though. Scaredy-Schroom doesn't need to be a miracle worker. He is very stressed and needs his sleep. Look, his cap is even shaped like a pointed sleeping cap, a little! He is so cute.

Have you heard the news? It's part of why I'm making this post! Scaredy-Shroom was NOT in PvZ2 for a very long time, but just recently, after about 10 years, was added back! At first, I was hesitant about the slight redesign, specifically the cap. This is no longer a pointed hat, but instead has a jagged, seemingly broken bottom! I really do wonder if this was intentional, or a misinterpretation of the original design. Oh well! I have decided I like it, and looking kind of disheveled fits his character! He doesn't have arms to do it with, but it makes me think of him rubbing or picking at his cap when nervous, like I fiddle with my hair. He's just like me!

So? Was Scaredy-Shroom's big return worth the wait?

No, it was not! Scaredy-Shroom is, simply, just Not That Good. In the first game's night levels, he is good! He has his use and the game is built around that! But in 2, an unbalanced game with even more difficult zombies, as well as a steady stream of new and extremely powerful plants being added, he just does not have what it takes. They DID give him extra defense when hiding, but it's really not nearly enough. Indeed, Scaredy-Shroom in PvZ2 is not very good.

And I wouldn't have it any other way!

Like I've been saying, Scaredy-Shroom is, in the first game, useful in some levels, and nearly useless in others. He isn't SUPPOSED to be overpowered, or even strong! If he was, that wouldn't be Scaredy-Shroom! I can understand people being disappointed with his weakness in 2, but as someone who no longer plays it, I'm just happy to see him finally in a game again, and with a neat new design. Ideally, he would have been in the base game with campaign levels designed for his strengths, but it is too late for that.

In a way, it's good that he probably won't get used much. It gives him time to relax. I'll just let Scaredy-Shroom speak for himself here:

"How did I get talked into this? I wish I was at home."

#scaredy-shroom #scaredy shroom #not mario #funky friday #plants vs zombies #plants vs zombies 2 #mod chikako

126 notes · View notes

whumpshaped · 11 months

Note

Im sorry does helle get the zoomies.

masterlist

tw vampire whumper

Beck couldn't ignore how jittery Helle was. They were constantly bouncing their leg, tapping their foot, pacing around way too quickly for him to keep up, talking a million miles per hour. They couldn't sit still for a single moment.

"Are you... okay?" he asked cautiously, and Helle waved him off.

"Yes! Yes, of course, why would I not be?" They picked up the Rubik's Cube again, spinning around chunks of it faster than Beck had seen anyone do, including people in those world record videos. They never stopped their circles around the living room, not until they once again finished one side of it and put it on the dresser. "What have you been drinking?" they suddenly asked.

"Um..." Beck thought for a moment. It couldn't be that Helle was actually affected by his choices, could it? "A bunch of coffee," he admitted.

"Ah, coffee, yes..." They disappeared into the kitchen so fast that to Beck, it almost seemed like they'd vanished entirely. "Not my favourite one," they called, and he quickly pushed himself up from the sofa to check on what the overgrown cat of a vampire was doing. He hated when they got into the drawers and the cabinets, it was a nightmare to put everything back in order afterwards.

"Well, I... I didn't buy my coffee thinking I would be... sharing," he said nervously as he watched Helle read something on the back of the pack. "I like it."

"I shall show you later what I prefer. I am certain you would not even notice a difference, but to me, it would be much better."

"I wouldn't notice it? If you can pick up on it just from the, the traces of caffeine in my blood, then–"

"Irrelevant," they cut in, dropping the bag of coffee beans on the counter and whooshing past Beck in the other direction this time. "If we are to share sustenance, you must be a little more accomodating."

"What–" By the time he turned around, Helle was standing right behind him, showing him the website of a semi-expensive coffee brand on their phone.

"You must acquire this, if you are to keep up this new habit of consuming way too much of it."

"That's out of my budget–"

Helle rolled their eyes. "I suppose I could give you a weekly allowance for it."

"B-but, but not even just that, maybe I don't even like it at all–"

"That is not my problem. You can choose to quit entirely."

And then they were gone. Beck heard a crash coming from the bedroom, and he rushed inside — but nothing seemed amiss. "What was that sound?"

"Nothing," Helle said way too quickly. "What sound?"

"Okay, don't give me that. Did you drop somethi–"

Blink. Gone. Helle disappeared again, and Beck realised with horror that if they kept this up the entire night, there was no way he was going to be able to keep up at all.

Maybe he should quit coffee.

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @auroragehenna @whumpedydump

#friend and i were talking abt helle getting the caffeine zoomies and this was the perfect prompt #at my beck and call #whump #whump writing #helle #beckett #vampire whumper

93 notes · View notes

plzu · 1 year

Text

solo - (Adrian Chase x Reader)

part six ☕️ <;< series masterlist☕️ ao3

a/n: please note that i will be taking liberties with the show's timeline here now that Chris is back. i believe everything took place in the span of… less than a week? i'm going to be stretching it out a little so we can fit in some stuff for the Reader, otherwise there won't be time!!! summary: Vigilante's BFF is back from prison! Which is exciting, and not something at all to worry about. warnings: bad relationship with parents (mommy issues haha lol), reader is struggling with depression, brief mentions of masturbation, no Y/N wordcount: 4.2k

Very few things could snap Adrian out of the tedium of Fennel Fields. Usually, while mechanically wiping down tables and pouring refills of water, he is deep in thought strategizing over how to capture the next criminal, or contemplating what went wrong from the aggravating nights that someone got away so he could avoid mistakes like that in the future.

It used to be Taylor's hot cousin that would come in from time to time, snapping Adrian's attention out of his thoughts as soon as he spotted her (much to Taylor's dismay). He wasn’t really all that into her, she was just really pretty and was nice to Adrian, like, once, and with Peacemaker in prison, Adrian was a little bored and just craved the distraction.

Lately, it's been his old high school classmate and now-barista, who, truth be told, didn't even have to physically be in Fennel Fields to be a distraction. Ever since running into them for the first time since high school graduation, Adrian's thoughts would wistfully wander to the glow of their laughter or the heat of their skin through their clothes. Coffee-scented daydreams and caramel kisses.

(Luckily, his apron did a pretty decent job of obscuring the growing bulge in his pants when his fantasies grew too steamy.)

So the days you did stop by? Every other customer's face became an indescribable blur. The drug dealer or car-jacker Vigilante was planning on going after would be fully pushed to the back of his mind. He did everything he could to keep you in his line of sight, at that point. And you'd giggle at the attention, and he'd smile all goofy in return, something like pride beating in his chest.

But there's no you tonight. It's the one day you're not at the Evergreen Bean, which is why you planned your outing for last night, you had explained to him.

So, instead, the thing that makes Adrian Chase do a double-take--momentarily distracting him from work--is the all familiar flash of bright crimson stretched snug against the all too familiar muscular chest of Peacemaker.

Holy fuck, Peacemaker is back!?

Adrian would hardly believe his own two eyes if it weren't for the shine of Peacemaker's iconic helmet, and the fact that Vigilante was intimately familiar with the sheer size and shape of the man. They're best friends, after all; Adrian would've been able to clock him even without his glasses.

He watches -- ogles, really -- as his best buddy sits down in a booth with some other people, strangers that Adrian doesn't recognize and can't currently be bothered with even trying to identify because, holy shit, Peacemaker's back, he's really back!

So absorbed is he in his elation that Peacemaker is out of prison and ordering Zoodles in his restaurant, he doesn't realize the very open-faced, dopey grin that he's slipped into, head lolled to the side like a lovesick puppy. All previous worries have instantly vanished from his heart. It’s ridiculous he was ever worried about the cops knocking on his door this morning.

Oh, Chris is looking his way! Adrian sighs and waves at the attention, and does an encouraging, celebratory gesture with his fists when Peacemaker glances back again. Momentarily caught up not in being Adrian Chase the busboy, but in being Vigilante, the... vigilante. Who also happens to be Christopher Smith's best friend.

This has got to be in the top 10 best days for Adrian. His high school crush told him he's their best friend and his crime-fighting bestie is home from prison, all within the same 24 hours??

He can barely contain his enthusiasm, he needs to sneak out back to do his famous butt dance in the dirty alley behind the restaurant.

If only he had someone he could gush to about Peacemaker's glorious return to Evergreen!

Wait. He does..!

Ever since you moved back in with your parents, every waking moment not spent at work or with Adrian is spent in your bedroom. Usually miserably watching Netflix, or scrolling mindlessly through your phone, or, well, masturbating until exhaustion finally gives way to sleep.

You hide away, avoiding your parents as much as possible. If they can't see you, they'll forget you're here. If they forget you're here, then there won't be any questions about what happened, or lectures on what a monumental fuck-up you turned out to be.

It's a childish hope, really. This belief that you can occupy space in their house without going noticed. That you can tiptoe past their bedroom door to the bathroom and they won't hear the water running. That you can just disappear, despite attributing to the water and electricity bill, despite using their wifi to peruse shitty memes to distract you from the growing numbness in your ribcage, or the anxiety that chatters in your teeth.

The sensible part of your brain frets, knowing that this behavior will just make it worse. The more you prolong coming face to face with them, the bigger the ticking time bomb of your mother's anger will be when it finally goes off. It is a wrath you hate to be on the receiving end of.

Yet you delude yourself with the idea of Out of Sight, Out of Mind.

Only when it is past midnight, when your parents are certainly asleep, do you feel any sort of relief under this roof. But that relief grows smaller and smaller with each passing day, and it gets harder to pretend everything's okay, harder to distract yourself with things that are supposed to bring you joy, like comfort movies, or your favorite songs.

Even rubbing one out barely does anything to ignite the signals in your brain with fake happiness. It’s like even the dopamine fizzles away quickly, knowing this is bullshit. 'Like, dude, c'mon. Give us the real thing! Let the hot busboy touch you for REAL-'

So you're in your room again, nearly 24 hours after the incident in the alleyway, the bloodshed and revelations, and it should be the same as every other night, where you just wallow in silence. Maybe worse! Should definitely be worse considering the aforementioned 'bloodshed' and 'revelations.' But instead, holding a pillow tight to your chest, you blink up at your ceiling until weird splotches of light dance at the edge of your vision, utterly fucking baffled. You've been trying to make sense of the encounter you went through earlier after walking through the front door.

-->>

It had been too much to hope that your parents were either still asleep or not home once you shut the front door. Immediately, your dad appeared from the other end of the hall, and, as expected, he looked none too pleased to see you.

Your face slipped into its usual stony mask at the sight of him and his crossed arms. Inwardly, though, you grimaced, and hoped that the stench of alcohol and vomit had been successfully washed off.

“Where have you been?” Dad asked, stern and to the point.

“I told you,” you responded tonelessly, “I went out with my old friends yesterday.”

“That doesn't explain why you didn't come home.”

While being grilled by your father, you instinctively try to listen for any sounds that your mother is around. Your dad's disappointment sucks, sure, but your mother's anger has always been worse, and difficult to shield yourself from.

Staring at a spot on the wall near your father's head, you explained that you spent the night at one of your friends last night, to make up for lost time. It wasn't a complete lie; it's what you had originally planned on doing anyway. Besides, you DID sleep over at a friend's house.

They just didn't have to know that it wasn't one of your old girl friends.

Your dad brought up the bodies that were found behind the club you went to, and how it's all over the news. That was enough to make your eyes widen just a fraction, nearly breaking your stony facade.

“So you can understand,” he continued, voice dipping slightly more into a venomous fervor, “why you going out, getting drunk, and not answering our texts could make us worry.”

“Sorry, my phone died-”

“And that's irresponsible of you.”

A twitch of your eyebrows had indicated a crack in your mask, the bubbling frustration that even being about 10 or so years out of college, they still treated you like a child. “Well I'm fine, obviously. I'm here,” you bit out without thinking.

Your dad raised his voice. “Are you?? Because we never see you. Ever since you moved back in, you're either hiding in your room like a moody teenager, or supposedly working every day of the damn week! You come home late and then leave the next day without barely speaking to us.

“Your attitude has been making your mother worried sick, and it's driving us crazy. I kept trying to convince her to give you your space, but it's been months. I can't defend you anymore, not if you keep acting like this.”

The mention of your mother had your eyes shift to the stairs, to the entryway where your father stood, then back to the stairs, nervously looking for her. Sure enough, she appeared alongside your dad, quietly announcing her presence with an impassive stare. Your fists clenched, then, nails biting into your palms.

“Your mother has some stuff to say about this, too.” Dad glanced over at her expectantly, and there was almost something... eager about the look on his face. Which was odd. He was never one to derive pleasure from you getting in trouble.

But when your mother opened her mouth to speak, it was unexpectedly calm. “What? You mean about her?” The look in her eyes as she glanced in your direction was eerily… unrecognizable. “The lack of communication since your return home. You’ve been distant, and it has been… frustrating. Being gone from home so often without speaking to… us, and not answering your messages while out all night was very upsetting last night.”

She had spoken like she was recalling the thoughts. And, more shocking, she hadn’t raised her voice the entire time. Not a single expletive. No seething, bared-teeth rage.

Your dad seemed just as bewildered as you at the lack of emotion in her tone. “That’s it? Last night you were screaming up a storm before storming out.”

Then she shrugged, looking back up at your dad. “She’s an adult, right? Like you? …like me?”

She started walking towards you, making your heart leap into your throat. You didn’t dare take a step back.

“Where did you even go last night?”

You thought the question was directed at you, but your father was staring, concerned, at your mother’s back.

She paused. “I went out to... clear my head.”

When she continued walking, she brushed right past without sparing you another glance.

<<--

A text alert from your phone pulls you out of your memories, and your heart skips a happy little beat. Adrian!

There’s been this uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty about Adrian, like he might disappear now that you know his big secret. It was a secret you really would not have minded not knowing, to be honest. Not if it meant potentially driving a wedge between you and the only source of solace you have in this town.

Ignorance is bliss, and all that.

Adrian's text message is asking if you're gonna still be up by the time he gets out of work, because he has really cool news to share. You very quickly shoot back confirmation that you'll be up, and have things to share of your own.

Something tender balloons in your chest as you stare at the cracked phone screen, a sort of mushy happiness. None of that fake joy. It's a very Adrian-specific joy, and it further confirms that you need to keep him around for as long as you can, vigilante business be damned.

“Wait, who?”

Adrian has settled into his car. After making sure there were no other stragglers in the parking lot, or suspicious passerby this late at night, he excitedly pulled up your contact and called you immediately. In an overzealous rush, he skipped the customary 'hello's' and jumped right into the highlight of his shift.

Seems like you were having a hard time keeping up, though. Which, cute as you are, was still kind of frustrating for him.

“Peacemaker! You know, the kick-ass hero with the super cool eagle sidekick? Eagly?”

He hears something like a snort on your end. “Wait, seriously? That's not very creative.”

“What are you talking about? Eagly's the coolest. I wish I had our country's national bird as a sidekick.”

Your chuckle comes through warm and fuzzy through the phone. “Of course you do, Adrian. So, Peacemaker? Where has he been this whole time?”

“Prison.”

“Are you- are you serious? Do heroes go to prison? Well- I mean, cool people to go prison all the time but I'm talking specifically, like, Batman-level heroes, not civilian ones-”

“It's not his fault,” he says defensively. “They just don't get what we do.”

“We? Oh. He kills people, too, huh.”

It wasn't a question. It was a conclusion you came to, and Adrian is wondering if he messed up by reminding you about how he conducts his job as Vigilante.

But then you continue, almost... cheekily. “He just got caught.”

“Yeah..” he says, drawing out the word, not quite sure where you're going with this but surprised you don't sound as distraught as you did this morning.

“So that means he probably isn't as good as you, huh.”

“What? No way, Peacemaker's awesome, he's the best! He-”

“Dude,” you laugh. “I'm trying to compliment you.”

“Wait, really?” Adrian feels his face warm at your snuggly 'mm-hmm.' The praise was a complete 180 from the way you freaked out this morning in his bedroom, but he supposes you’re more so complimenting the Getting Away With It part of the whole crime-fighting gig.

“Well, I guess you're right,” he continues, a bubble of tentative pride swelling in his chest. “I mean, of the two of us, I still have a secret identity. Everyone knows that he's Chris Smith. Also, as cool as his helmet is, it really doesn't do much to hide his face. And honestly, the lower half of his face is arguably his most prominent feature. Aside from his physique. Man, he's huge! Honestly, it's impressive he was able to keep up all that bulk in prison. Can't imagine they feed you very well-”

“Adrian, oh my god.”

“What! What is it?”

“Are you, like, in love with him? Because it kind of sounds like you have a massive crush on this guy.”

“What? Hah! No.” Adrian's neck itches with warmth. “We're best bros. It's normal to talk about your BFF with a deep sense of admiration. I wouldn't be- I wouldn't be who I am today without him!”

Also, it's been four years since he's seen the man. It's perfectly reasonable to gush, for lack of a better term. Besides, Adrian can never pass up the opportunity to praise Chris to others.

The line's gone quiet, and Adrian thinks the call may have gotten disconnected or something. “Hello?”

“Mm. Still here.” You sound quiet and distant, suddenly. Well, it's pretty late. You're probably just tired.

“So... you said you had something to talk about, too, right?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. No, it's nothing, just- my parents were acting kind of funny this morning.”

“Okay... funny how?”

“Well, you know how I've kind of been... avoiding them? Well, today they finally confronted me. And, like, I knew this was coming. I'm not surprised. But they didn't react the way... I expected?”

“What were you expecting?”

“For my mom to blow a gasket. For my whole life, she's always yelled when she was angry, or disappointed, or whatever. But this morning, she just... talked. Like, emotionless, too.”

Not knowing what to say, and not really knowing your parents, Adrian just sits and waits for you to continue.

“She didn't even seem angry. It was almost like she didn't care. And... I dunno, I can't decide if this is worse.”

“Well, getting yelled at is no fun,” Adrian helpfully supplies. “So this should be better, right?”

He hears you sigh. “Yeah. Maybe. Whatever, this is bumming me out. See you tomorrow?”

The shakily hopeful lilt in your voice makes him feel special, and he promises you tomorrow and bids you good night.

You're alone in the cafe, having let the last barista leave as soon as closing time hit. Aside from your still-sore knees and bandaged wounds, being back at work almost felt normal.

You didn't tell Ashe or the others about what happened the other night. For one, how pathetic would it be to admit that you got stood up by the people you were super excited to see? Lame. Second, admitting to getting assaulted would lead to unnecessary concern. You're fine. Nothing even happened and those guys are, like, super dead.

(the way their hands linger on you in your nightmares so far is no one's business, either)

Three, the conversation would have inevitably led to Vigilante, and Matty would have stayed past his shift just to bombard you with questions about Evergreen's Most Wanted.

It was almost comforting to drown your senses today in the scent of coffee and idle customer chatter. You even hummed along to the standard cafe playlist, which you usually found dull but today, you found yourself grateful for having another chance to listen to the indie guitar strumming in the first place.

You're counting the money from the till when a knock startles you, making you jump and lose your place. You look up across the store to see - squint - wait, is that a familiar red visor??

Vigilante stands on the other side of the thick pane of glass. When he sees you've noticed him, he raises his hand in a friendly little wave that almost looks unnatural considering the armor on his chest and the very clear handle of a fucking sword on his back.

But then you visualize Adrian beneath the mask, and your heart goes back to beating at a normal pace.

“What are you-” you falter as you lead him into the cafe. “Why- why're you... Vigilante?” The end of your question peters off into a quiet hiss. Secretive.

The masked head of his tilts to the side a bit, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, who else is going to rid the streets of Evergreen of criminal scum? The cops? Hah!” He throws his head back. “Not likely.”

This makes you smirk, despite yourself. “No, I meant- why are you here wearing that?”

Sizing up Vigilante’s appearance, you can see in the lighting of the cafe what you couldn’t see before in the dim street lighting and drunken haze. The armor on his chest is well-worn, the accented teal V-shape clearly scuffed and dirtied from constant use. There’s some stitching on the lower right side of his torso that almost, but not quite, does a decent job of blending into the rest of the black material.

If you scan lower, you find more of that same stitching on his pant legs, below his holster (which he has two of, one on each side of his tapered waist).

Which, holy shit, you never really noticed his build before. His body is always hidden underneath looser fitting tops. Maybe it’s just the chest plate and shoulder pads, but it really pronounces the wide breadth of his chest and shoulders. That combined with the utility built, whose wide V-shape points directly down to his crotch, narrows his waist. It makes filthy thoughts of straddling him between your thighs flit through your imagination before you snuff it out.

“Oh.” Adrian's arms unfold and drop back down to his sides as he glances down at his get-up. “I'm meeting up with Peacemaker tonight. And, honestly? Now that-” his voice lowers and he leans towards you just a little, “now that you know, it's way faster to just show up already dressed. Then I don't have to spend more time afterwards changing!”

You pause on your way back behind the bar, then look back at him. “We're not hanging out tonight?” Your shoulders slump in dejection. “Wait, you've been going out as Vigilante afterwards this whole time?”

The idea that after each time you've parted ways, he's been going out and potentially risking his life doesn't sit well with you. Not knowing if each good-bye was the last time you'd see that dopey face of his post make-out sessions.

“Not all the time,” Adrian -- Vigilante -- corrects. “Considerably less since we've started hanging out, actually. But now that Peacemaker is back, I gotta step it back up! Don't want him to think I've been slacking while he was away.”

A strange mix of pride and guilt weighs in your chest.

It's good that you've kept Adrian distracted recently, right? It means less chances that some jay-walker will get pulverized to a pulp by a well-intentioned freak in a mask. And maybe you've been keeping Adrian unintentionally safe, too. The cops can't capture Vigilante if he's not out and about. No bullet to pierce the softer bits of his costume. Uniform. Whatever.

But then, there's all the good he's done, too. And the fact that, judging by his clear giddiness and the reverential way in which he rambled about Peacemaker last night, he loves doing this. There's a very clear, unbridled enthusiasm about him now that you never quite saw before. The thought that you may have been keeping him away from something he so obviously loves (and is, apparently, quite good at) kind of hurts your heart.

“Sooo.. are you gonna make me a drink before I go?”

“Hm? Oh-” you step towards the espresso machine, but then remember the first time he showed up in your store, five minutes before close, saying something about really needing the caffeine that night.

“Wait.” You spin and face him, looking at him with wide-eyed accusation. “Have I been giving you an energy boost this whole time so I can help you kill people?”

Does that make you, like, an accomplice? Indirectly?

“Hey!” He points a gloved, defensive finger in your direction. “I do not just kill people. Don't simplify it like that. I do a lot of surveillance and strategizing, too! It really is not all as easy as killing someone.”

Killing someone is easy!?

Because you're slightly annoyed with him, and because he clearly doesn't need the caffeine, you pull a single shot of espresso for Adrian. You pass him the tiny cup.

He handles the paper cup like an empty bottle of prescription pills, lightly wiggling it as if weighing its contents. And then he snorts.

“Listen, I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job, but I think you forgot to add the rest of the drink, silly.”

His voice held the cadence of a tease, like he was just about ready to crack up at your goofy little mistake.

“I didn't forget,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “A shot of espresso is the whole drink. It's called a solo.”

“Uh, no,” he chuckles. “I'm pretty sure a solo is when you...” he makes a crude gesture with his empty right hand, slowly bringing it back and forth against his crotch like he's lazily jerking off ghost-dick.

He's being fully serious, and your mouth twists in an effort not to laugh.

“Well, that's all you're getting tonight,” you say with finality, shutting down the espresso machine. “'Sides, I really doubt you need that much caffeine tonight. You seem plenty awake.”

Staring at the tiny drink in his hand, he concedes, but not without sounding disappointed.

“Well, gotta run!” He turns around and starts heading for the door. “Don't forget to lock up behind me.”

“You're leaving without giving me a kiss!?”

You clap your hands over your mouth, surprised at your own outburst. You stare, wide-eyed, as he whips back around. You can't see his facial expression, but you can only imagine he's also surprised. Adrian's been the most outspoken with his neediness. You've always been plenty good about holding back just how much you want from him. (Verbally, anyway.)

“Aww, that's cute!”

Your face immediately warms at the remark. It feels like you've given the power over to him, now, which you hadn't realized you'd even been withholding all this time.

And, worse- something about his exclamation, the near-condescending tone of it, coming from his masked face? The red visor, the taunting tilt of his head. Something pulses low in your gut, and your thighs squeeze together reflexively.

What the fuck?

“Anyway, as much as I'd like to, I can't take my mask off here. Secret identity, and all that.”

“But there's no one else here,” you say, hands finally lowered from your mouth.

“Cameras.” He points overhead to a discreet camera on the ceiling that you never quite paid much thought to before.

All you do is frown. Maybe pout a little, but you'd deny it if anybody asked.

When he rushes out the store without another glance back, it leaves you very, terribly, alone.

taglist: @whatevermonkey @nobodys-baby-now @hiddlebatchedloki @pokoyolfhw @navs-bhat @afraidofshrimp @training4theapocalypse @abbaenthusiast

[ if you would like to be removed from the taglist, pls let me know! it wouldn't hurt my feelings, i 100% understand if you come to find it annoying or just not currently interested in the fandom. likewise, if you want to be added, i'd appreciate a reblog and/or comment/feedback ]

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #writing #fanfic #peacemaker fic #mine

105 notes · View notes