toomanyfictionalboyfriends

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

Kyle Gallner Dinner in America (2020) dir. Adam Carter Rehmeier

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

Okay what about a role reversal, shy!reader tries to flirt back or even unintentionally does something that ends up flustering Spencer 🫣 love ya Jade

this fic implies that spencer is a bit taller than reader but you can pretend he’s more agile if you don’t want that <3

You're guilty only of teasing your boyfriend. You’re allowed —he’s your boyfriend, he chose you, asked you out without a wince nor flinch— but it really is getting mean. 

You’re sick of being the shy one, that’s all. It’s not purposefully cruel. You’re rewarded some nights with a clingy, warm, and overly tempting boy, one who cares about what you want and how it feels, if you’d just tell him, angel. You refuse to be caught, so you’ve waited a while between goes, and tonight’s the perfect time. He’ll forget how flushed you’d become trying to order him a drink, because you know exactly how he likes his coffee, but you’d been distracted by his hand playing with the back of your blouse and the smug look he’d given you when you’d offered to do it, as if you were some treasure for it. It was worse when you stammered and he said, “It’s alright,” quietly, stepping in to finish it, and kissing your cheek to give a simple thank you. 

You didn't deserve the thanks. You didn’t get his coffee. He hadn’t even let you pay. 

Coffee gone and dinner in the oven, Spencer lays on the couch, curled on one side with his e-reader held against a naked forearm. You haven’t spoken to one another in an hour beyond quiet Okays and Yeahs and move over, and you love it. You don’t need to speak. 

You won’t need to for this, either, but you’re in a rush. You want the reward. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, sure you’re in his eyeline in the kitchen, doors open, in a t-shirt too short for you when you feign reaching for the hot chocolate at the back of his cabinet. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks. 

You can feel his eyes on you. “Yeah! Just–” You huff, the beginning to get genuinely irked when you realise you actually can’t get it. “Can’t get this tub of hot chocolate.”

“Your first mistake was trying to make your own when you have a built-in drinks maker right here,” he says, almost not quite normal in his cadence. 

You make a leap for it and your shirt rises up your back. You don’t get what’s so special about your back, it looks the same as anybody’s (or, you think so, it’s not like you spend much time looking at it). Maybe it’s the arch as you lean, or the slip of skin nobody else usually sees. Boys aren’t usually very mysterious about why they might like to see your skin, but Spencer’s Spencer. One day he could tell you that the reason he likes it is because you have a stretch mark and two moles that make a smiley face and you’d believe him. 

“I actually can’t get it,” you laugh, falling back down onto your heels with a childish, loving pout. “Can you grab it, please?” 

He’s already in the kitchen moving you aside. “I’ll get it, I got it,” he says, his fingertips kissing your back as he does, no need for it and a private pleasure all your own to know that. “Why is it wedged?” He goes on tiptoes, and yanks it out, nearly blinding himself with a can of spaghetti quickly righted. “Done. Easy.”

“So easy,” you tease lightly. 

Spencer, already knocked off kilter, goes quiet and shy, pressing his cheek to the side of your face and staying there for a second, the hot chocolate still in his hand, his other flirting with the small of your back. “I know what you’re doing, you know,” he murmurs. 

You go hot all over, but don’t give in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur back sweetly, stroking a hand up his back, tickling him as he often tortures you. 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“No,” you say, speaking into his jaw, “I don’t.” You let your breath warm his skin, nose dragged to his ear. You press a whisper of a kiss to that sharp notch of his jaw. When his grip on you tightens, you let him hear your contented sigh. 

“Can your drink wait, do you think?” he asks quietly. 

Impolite. You’d tell him you want the IOU in writing, but his hand is creeping up the front of your shirt to caress your stomach, and suddenly the hot chocolate feels unimportant. 

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

Ahh more puppy coded reader with Simon please!!! Maybe a crybaby reader that’s sad he wants to go and they can’t come with him? Maybe they convince him to stay? < 3

“come on sweetheart, I don’t have time for this.” you were sitting on the floor as he tied his boots back up, trying to convince him to stay. surely his partner was more important than some business with his friends.

“but you just got here, si. can’t they wait until tomorrow?” technically he’d been there since the night before, but it wasn’t enough. the burning in the back of your throat was just beginning to catch up with the tears pooling in your eyes, bringing your head down to hide from him while you wrapped your arms around his leg.

“christ, don’t start. I’ll be back before you know it, get up.”

he lifted your head so you were looking back up at him, running his thumb over your cheek where the tears were starting to fall. the puppy eyes and pouting didn’t work on him often anymore but it did make him ease up, reminded him that you were softer than him, that what you really needed was a little guidance. he sighed as he leaned back onto the couch, still comforting you with a gentle hand as he contemplated the current importance of his bandmates.

“simon please- don’t leave yet. just let me come with you at least, come on. ill stay in the car, i just want to be with you-“ you’d worked yourself up so much over the thought of him leaving it was hard to actually get the words out, keeping his hand glued to your face like you needed it to survive.

“woah, hey. you need me here that bad, i’ll stay, fuck ‘em. just stop cryin’ and get up here already, would you? breaking my fuckin’ heart down there.”

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

drop what movie u think they're (not) watching in the tags

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

jade i am begging on my knees ….. any time you are up for it …… it would make me very greatly happy to see something with a bombshell!reader x hotch <33333

The office is hot today in the midst of a ninety degree summer, and your coworkers have been forced to strip down to their lightest layers, the women in linen blouses, men with their shirt sleeves rolled up high. Spencer has ditched his sweater vest reluctantly, cooling himself with a makeshift fan fashioned from printer paper, and Emily huffs next to you at her desk, overwhelmed. 

“How aren't you hot?” she demands to know. 

You lean back in your chair with a demure smile. “Mind over matter.”  

She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked.” 

Hotch's office door opens. You turn in your chair to watch him appear —even Unit Chief's get hot, apparently. He looks flustered in the heat, pink-cheeked and hair skewed ever so slightly, the most unmade you've ever seen him at work. 

You could get used to it. 

He feels you looking, narrowing his eyes. You'd like to think it was playful. For Hotch, it is. 

“Hot, handsome,” you say. 

“I'm fine.” 

“I wasn't asking.” You beam at him. 

“Enough. You know the rules.” 

He doesn't seem too mad, but he's right; you know the office rules. Don't flirt, don't start, and don't text him inside of work hours unless that text pertains to work itself. You'd started calling him instead —what are you wearing right now?— and he'd decided that text now meant any communication lest you find another loophole. You're pushing it. 

“Ah, the rules,” you say, throwing your arm across your eyes in mock distress, before peeking under it to see if he's watching. He always is. “You know rules aren't made for people like me, handsome.” 

“Stop it, final warning. Or I'll have you moved.” 

He makes being his girlfriend very difficult. You roll your shoulders and drop the act. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Afterwards.” 

“No, right now. Please? It's important, I swear.” 

He gestures for you to come up. You take the stairs and cross the landing to his office, where he's already stepped back inside to open the window even further on its hinge. There isn't much wind to breeze, but there is a palpable difference between his office and the bullpen. You join him at the window and let the barely cooler air fan your face. 

“What's wrong?” he asks. 

“Can you give me a quick kiss? It would really lift my spirits.” 

He laughs somewhere deep in his chest. “No, honey. Now tell me what you wanted to tell me.” 

“I have a doctor's appointment next week, on the 13th. It's a Wednesday. I was hoping for PTO, but I can take a sick day if that's not agreeable.” 

Hotch gives you the side eye, brows gently furrowed. “Everything okay?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know.” 

“I would, actually.” 

“Yeah, well, you'll have to beg for it. Not everything in life is free, Hotchner–” You break into laughter as he grabs your waist, not expecting it, your hips tender as he squeezes. “Ouch, you're kinda handsy, you know that?” 

You sound beautiful like this, laughing as you talk, so happy it lines every word. Hotch pulls your front to his, arms crossing casually behind your back, his eyes expectant. “Tell me,” he commands smoothly. 

“Because you asked so nicely, I'm just fine, but I've been feeling a little under the weather. I think I'm anaemic.” 

“And this is the first time I'm hearing about this because…” 

“Because I'm not allowed to talk to you at work!” 

He rolls his eyes as you drop a considerable amount of your weight against his arms. Usually, Hotch would meet your eyes and say, You're punishing me for a rule created out of necessity, or something to that effect, but, despite everything that might say otherwise, he really likes you. Loves you.

“I know, honey, I'm sorry. Maybe we can… allot you a few texts a day.” He analyses your expression. “One a day.” 

You squeeze his naked forearm and lift up to kiss his cheek. He stays completely still while you do it, beside the small stroke of his thumb where it rests on your back. “Thank you. I'll leave you alone now, or we might get caught fraternising with one another and lose our jobs. Oh, wait, that's not actually going to happen–” 

You burst out laughing as Hotch once again squeezes your waist in warning, the hint of a smile on his lips. 

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

Good boy, Pads

Poly!Marauders x Reader {Mostly Padfoot x Reader}

Summary: Walking home alone is always scary. Not so bad with an attack dog.

WC: ~2.2k

CW: Being followed, Walking home alone, panic, reader is almost attacked

Part two {Masterlist}

“Goodnight, all!" You called over your shoulder, pushing through the heavy diner door and stepping into the crisp London night. The warm light from inside spilled onto the sidewalk for just a moment before the door swung shut, leaving you in the soft glow of streetlamps and the quiet hum of a city winding down.

Bundled up against the sharp autumn chill, you tugged your scarf higher over your nose, the wool muffling your breath as you glanced both ways down the street. The pavement glistened faintly from an earlier rain, and leaves skittered across the ground, carried by a gentle breeze. You smiled to yourself, enjoying the solitude of the evening and the faint scent of damp earth and fading smoke in the air.

The city felt quieter tonight, slower. A rare calm that let you notice the little things: the way your boots tapped against the pavement, the golden glow of light spilling from a pub window, the soft rustle of branches as the breeze carried more leaves to the ground. You couldn’t help but savor the peacefulness, the way the streets felt like they belonged only to you.

Turning onto a quieter side street, you pulled your coat tighter around you and let out a content sigh. The distant hum of a car engine and the occasional clink of bottles from an alley gave the city its usual heartbeat, steady and familiar. But as you passed under a flickering streetlight, the warmth in your chest faltered.

A flicker of something- movement- caught the corner of your eye. You stopped for a moment, glancing behind you. The street was empty, save for the faint shimmer of rain on the asphalt. You let out a quiet laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you started walking again. "You're imagining things," you muttered, the words misting into the cold air.

But as you rounded another corner, the feeling crept back. A weight you couldn’t explain settled between your shoulder blades, pressing until you glanced back again. This time, the street didn’t feel so empty.

A figure stood at the edge of the light, a shadow against the dim glow of a streetlamp. Hood pulled low, shoulders hunched. You couldn’t see his face, but the sight was enough to quicken your pulse.

You turned back quickly, trying to shake off the growing unease. It’s nothing. Just someone walking home, like you. Still, your steps grew faster, the sound of your boots sharper now as they echoed down the street.

The figure’s pace quickened too.

Your heart thundered in your chest, your breath puffing in the cold as you resisted the urge to turn around again. Don’t look back. Just keep walking. But the sound of his footsteps- deliberate, steady, too close- sent panic thrumming through you.

You turned sharply onto another street, one that was darker and quieter, hoping to lose him in the maze of side roads. But the sound of his steps followed, unyielding.

The knot in your stomach tightened as you risked a glance over your shoulder. The figure was closer now, his face still obscured, his movements calm and measured, as though he knew there was no need to rush.

You kept promising yourself it was all in your head. Every rationalization you’d ever heard about nights like this ran through your mind. He’s just trying to get home. You’re overthinking it. You’re being dramatic. The words looped, each one louder than the growing knot of fear in your chest.

In some lapse of judgment- or sheer stubbornness- you forced yourself to slow down, determined to prove your paranoia wrong. Your footsteps softened, your breath puffing out in measured exhales. See? Nothing’s wrong.

But the figure didn’t slow. His pace stayed steady, deliberate, and for a heartbeat, your stomach clenched.

Then, he walked right past you.

Your breath left you in a rush, relief crashing through you as you watched him slip into an alley just a few yards ahead, his dark silhouette disappearing into the shadows.

You’re so bloody dramatic, You scolded yourself, shaking your head as you tried to laugh off the tension still clinging to your spine.

Your legs felt heavy as you started walking again, still shaking off the tension that clung to you like the autumn chill. The sound of your boots echoed faintly against the damp pavement, the streetlights casting long shadows that seemed to stretch further with each step.

You’re fine. You’re fine. The mantra pulsed in your head, soothing your nerves just enough to keep moving forward.

But as you passed the mouth of the alley, a sharp sound- the scrape of a boot against concrete- made your heart stutter.

Before you could fully process it, the figure stepped out of the alley, sharp and purposeful. He moved with a predator’s focus, his hood still pulled low, but his intent painfully clear as he strode toward you.

Your body froze, fear locking every muscle in place as your breath hitched painfully in your throat. Your mind screamed at you to move, to run, to do anything- but before you could even find your voice-

A deep, guttural snarl tore through the night behind you, vibrating through the air like a clap of thunder.

You stumbled backward, your knees nearly buckling as something massive pressed between them with startling force. Looking down, your breath caught again.

A black dog- no, something far larger than any dog you’d ever seen- stood between your legs, its massive head low and its body tense, muscles rippling under its sleek fur. Its glowing eyes locked on the man in front of you, and its lips curled back in a snarl, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth. The beast exuded menace, an attack dog waiting for the signal to strike.

You didn’t dare move. The sheer size of it, the raw power in its stance, and the intensity of its focus made you feel as though the tiniest twitch would snap the tension in the air.

The black dog let out another terrifying snarl, its teeth snapping together with a ferocity that echoed in the quiet street. The man in front of you stumbled back a step, his hands flying up defensively as if the gesture could ward off the beast.

The force of the dog's lunge had nearly sent you sprawling, but you instinctively clung to its thick black collar, fingers curling around the studded leather as if it were a lifeline. Its massive frame remained steady beneath you, grounding you in a moment that felt anything but stable.

“Easy, easy,” You whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to calm your racing heart. It was ridiculous, you realized, trying to reason with a creature that clearly wasn’t just an ordinary dog.

The dog didn’t flinch at your voice, its glowing eyes locked on the man with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Slowly, the man began to retreat, his movements jerky and hesitant as he kept his gaze darting between you and the snarling beast.

“I- I wasn’t doing anything!” He stammered, his voice shaking as he took another step back.

The dog lunged again, snapping its jaws just short of the man’s retreating figure. The motion was controlled, calculated- a warning that left no room for doubt about what would happen if he didn’t leave.

The man’s nerve broke. With a muttered curse, he turned and bolted down the street, his footsteps echoing in the stillness until they faded completely.

The dog didn’t move for a long moment, its body still taut, ears pinned back as it watched the man disappear into the night. Only when it was satisfied he wasn’t returning did it finally relax, its snarling lips settling back over sharp teeth.

The air around you hung heavy with tension, your trembling fingers still clinging to the black dog’s studded collar. Its massive form didn’t waver, muscles coiled tight as its glowing eyes remained fixed on the direction the man had fled. You could feel the sheer power radiating off of it, its focus terrifying, its snarling lips now pressed firmly together.

Just as you began to catch your breath, a calm voice- low, steady, unfamiliar- broke through the night.

“Padfoot, heel.”

Your head snapped toward the sound, and from the shadows stepped a tall man, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp. He moved with quiet confidence, his amber eyes soft yet sharp as they flicked from the dog to you. His presence was both reassuring and unnerving, as though he had always been there, watching from the edges.

The dog didn’t immediately obey, its ears twitching at the command but its gaze still locked down the street. A moment of silence stretched between the man, the beast, and you.

Then, another voice rang out, softer, almost playful. “You did good, mate. It’s okay now- she’s safe.”

The second figure emerged from the opposite side of the street, his dark hair catching the faint light that his glasses reflected- as he strolled closer with a casual ease. His hazel eyes glinted with sympathy, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he approached.

“Padfoot,” The second man coaxed, his tone softer now, almost affectionate. “Come on, you’ve scared him off. Time to let the lady breathe, yeah?”

The black dog- Padfoot?- finally relaxed, its tension melting away as it let out a low huff, almost as if in reluctant agreement. With one last glance down the empty street, it turned toward you, pressing its massive head against your thigh in an almost protective gesture.

The motion nearly knocked you off balance again, but you steadied yourself, your fingers still curled around the thick collar. You glanced between the two men, your mind racing to make sense of what was happening.

“What- what is this? Who are you?” You asked, your voice unsteady but edging toward firm. Still trying to calm down from the earlier events.

The first man, the one with warm amber eyes, stepped closer, his gaze flickering briefly to the dog before settling on you. “We’re just here to make sure you got home safely,” He said gently, his tone soothing.

“This… thing?” You asked, nodding toward the dog, though you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of its collar.

“Not a thing,” The second man interjected, his grin widening as he crouched next to the dog, running a hand through its fur. “This is Padfoot. And he did bloody brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

As if understanding the compliment, the dog let out a soft woof, its tail giving a single thump against the pavement.

The man looked up at you, his hazel eyes twinkling. “And I’m James, by the way. This,” He gestured to the amber-eyed man, “is Remus. We didn't mean to scare you, but thought a bit too quickly.”

The boys seemed to sense your lingering unease, their expressions softening as they exchanged a glance. Remus stepped forward slightly, his calm demeanor grounding the strange tension still hanging in the air.

“We’ll let you head home now,” he said gently, his voice low and soothing. “But if it makes you feel safer, Padfoot can walk with you. He’ll stay by your side until you’re safely inside.”

You glanced down at the massive black dog, still pressed protectively against your leg. His glowing eyes had softened, but the quiet strength in his stance told you he wasn’t going anywhere until you were safe. “He’ll… come back to you?” you asked hesitantly, your voice quiet.

James stepped closer, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “Always,” he said. “Just tell him to go, and he’ll know where to find us. He’s got a knack for it.”

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to dismiss their offer and the lingering unease that crept up your spine. The thought of walking home alone again made your stomach twist, and the steady presence of the dog at your side was a strange but undeniable comfort.

Remus’s amber eyes met yours, steady and kind. “You’re safe with him,” he murmured. “Padfoot won’t let anything happen to you.”

The dog huffed softly, as if to emphasize the point, and you felt a small, tentative smile tug at your lips despite the lingering fear. Slowly, you nodded. “Alright. I’ll take him. Just… until I’m home.”

James’s grin widened, a glint of relief in his hazel eyes. “Smart choice,” he said lightly, his tone warm but not overbearing.

Remus nodded, taking a step back toward the shadows. “Just keep him close. And when you’re inside, tell him to go. He’ll find us.”

Your gaze lingered on the two of them for a moment before you glanced down at the dog again. “Padfoot,” you murmured softly, testing the name. His ears perked up at the sound, his massive body shifting slightly closer to you as if ready to move.

James gave a small wave as he began to follow Remus into the shadows. “Take care, love. You’re in good hands- well, paws.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest loosening slightly as you turned to continue your walk. The dog- Padfoot- stayed close to your side, his presence a silent but steady comfort. Each step felt lighter, the earlier fear ebbing away with every reassuring glance at the hulking figure beside you.

The streets still held their eerie quiet, but you didn’t feel so alone anymore. London was still beautiful.

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

remus one shot where he can’t stop blushing around the reader because he has a huge crush on her and sirius and james are like dude please ask her out already?? 🙈

cw: the trials and tribulations of a restaurant job, semi-confident reader (or at least she can withstand Sirius' flirting, which I couldn't), James and Sirius' shameless wingmanning

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The cafe is crammed. You’ve almost tripped over two kids already whose parents let them run loose, you did let a glass slip from your tray when a customer stuck his leg out into the walkway without looking, and you’ve quickly reached the conclusion that today was definitely the wrong day to break in your new work shoes. You’re on your last straw at only ten in the morning, but your pasted-on smile becomes twice as genuine when you see a table of your favorite regulars. 

“Hi,” you say warmly, clicking your pen and readying it above your pad. “How are we doing today?” 

You’re greeted with two dazzling grins from one side of the booth and a shyer smile from the other. 

“Y/n,” says Sirius, in his suave, flirtatious way (you’ve learned not to take it personally), “you’re looking stunning.” 

You know your hair is suffering from the weather outside and there’s orange juice down the front of your apron, but you smile at him anyway. “Thank you, so are you.” 

“How’s your morning going?” James asks. These boys are never ones to skip over pleasantries to get to their meal, and while with other tables you might try to hurry them along, you never mind in this case. Today especially, you welcome the break. 

“Oh, it’s going,” you try to joke, looking pointedly down at your orange juice stain. “Could be worse.” 

He makes a face. “Yikes.” 

“It’s fine,” you say breezily. “What can I get you?” 

You look to James, because really he’s the only one you ever need to ask. The other two are fairly consistent, but James seems inclined to try something new every time he comes in. 

He doesn’t disappoint now, locking eyes with you seriously over the top of his menu. “How is your butterfly lemonade? No—actually, what is your butterfly lemonade?”

“It’s…” You bite your lip, thinking. Sirius snickers, and when you look he seems to be sharing in some joke with Remus’, whose cheeks have gone a tad pink. “I’m not sure, honestly, but it’s sweet. I think you’d like it.” 

“That, then.” James slaps down his menu decisively. 

“Right.” You write it down. “And then, a caramel latte and a tea?” You look to Sirius and Remus for confirmation. 

The former shoots you a grin you take as a yes, while the latter nods and says quietly, “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” You soften your smile for Remus. You adore all of these boys, but you have a bit of a tender spot for him. Remus is by far the quietest of his friends, though really just as friendly when he does talk. It’s terribly endearing. 

You click your pen again. “Okay, back soon!” 

The boys’ table remains a bright spot in your morning for as long as they’re there. Their antics you’re rather used to—the flirting, and the pranks, and the teasing way both James and Sirius poke at Remus while his blush worsens and worsens—but it surprises a laugh out of you when you joke that you’ll have to spit in Remus’ food if he orders the brioche (which infamously holds up the kitchen every time) and Sirius snorts doubt he’d mind before yelping and jumping in his seat. By the time you’re bringing them their ticket, the cafe has reached its late morning lull and your day is remarkably brighter than it started off. 

You seem to be interrupting some sort of debate when you approach their table, Remus leaning forward to whisper across the booth before he catches sight of you and sits back. The tops of his cheekbones are tinged pink. Sirius, on the other hand, is grinning wickedly, whereas James looks mostly exasperated. 

“Thank you,” James says kindly, taking the ticket from you. Remus starts rifling through his pockets for cash, but Sirius only looks at you as though sizing you up. 

“Y/n,” he starts to say, ignoring how Remus’ eyes narrow in his direction, “are you seeing anyone at the moment?” 

You feel your eyebrows lift. “Not currently, no.” 

“But why not?” He affects a look of puzzled contemplation, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re a pretty girl. Are you not looking to date?” 

You shrug, fighting the urge to cross your arms defensively. It’s not that you’ve never gotten these sorts of personal questions from customers before, but you weren’t expecting them from this table; you thought you knew better than to take Sirius’ flirting seriously. “Nothing has come up lately, I guess.” 

“Do you fancy men?”

“Sirius,” Remus hisses. “Leave her alone.” 

“What?” Sirius spreads his hands, guileless. “None of us would care if you didn’t, lovely—well, some might care, but no one would hold it against you—” He yelps for the second time today, this time shooting a glare at his friend across the booth. “Anyway, you don’t have to say if you aren’t comfortable.” 

You’re laughing a bit now, half nervously. “No, that’s okay. I do, yeah.” 

“Interesting.” James sets down the ticket. It seems you have his full attention now. “And what do you think of our Remus?” 

Remus makes a horrified sputtering sound, and you turn to find him looking at James in betrayal. He’s pink to the tips of his ears. 

You can’t help a small smile as you catch on. “I think he seems very sweet.” 

“Mm, well spotted.” James nods, tenting his hands like a man at a business meeting. 

“Yes, very good taste,” Sirius agrees. 

“He’s a dateable bloke, no?” James asks you. He jolts in his seat a little, but doesn’t yelp like Sirius had. Remus appears caught between wanting to hide his face in his hands and wanting to burn his friends to cinders with his gaze. He’ll be lucky, you think amusedly, if he doesn’t burn himself up first. The hue of his blush is only getting deeper. 

“He is,” you agree. You look at Remus again. This time, he meets your eyes, his look softening. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says miserably. 

Your grin spreads. “No, don’t be.” 

“So would you like to date him?” James furthers. 

Remus does put his head in his hands now, letting out a muffled groan. “James.” 

“What? Clearly you aren’t going to do it yourself, and I am sick of trying to eat my breakfast whilst you moon over—” He jumps in his seat again, and goes quiet, reaching down to rub at his leg. You tuck your lips in to hide a smile. 

“I’m just going to take this,” you say, reaching for the customer copy of their receipt. You bend over, scrawling your number down on the signature line. “And if anyone has more questions for me later, they can give me a ring. Okay?” 

You look at Remus. He looks nauseous and stop-sign red, but he manages to give you a small smile. “Alright,” he says, tentatively.

“Perfect. Bye, boys.” You shoot them a wave as you go to your next table. You hope Remus sees how your smile is really only for him.

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

because I just binged read all the office frenemies au James, can we pleaseeee have like them interacting after they've been on the coffee date, or just them dating in general? and maybe r teasing James instead of James teasing r? tqqq

—James begs for a kiss, and you’re almost caught. fem, 1.2k

You thought your life was over the second you kissed James Potter. You kissed him, you went first; the second you lifted your chin, you were giving him power over you he didn’t have before. You were confessing that all your arguments and quipping had turned from real annoyance to fondness. 

You thought he’d hold it against you. You didn’t really consider that he might enjoy being kissed by you. 

“Oh, please,” he says, pushing across his sofa to hold your arm, “please, don’t be angry with me. I’m sick of you frowning, and I usually love it when you frown.” 

“I’m not kissing you,” you say. 

“Please,” he says, dark strands of hair falling across his forehead. You can see your face in his glasses if you concentrate, but his eyes distract you, their pupils brown as the slick bark of a sycamore. 

“The last time you brought me here, James, you laid me out on the sofa like a– like we were in some sort of dirty movie, and Sirius nearly caught us. You know he and Remus are already suspicious of us.” 

“They aren’t, they aren’t,” he insists, his hand spreading warmly across your stomach, “I told them we’re just friends now.” 

“And they didn’t believe it.” 

“Well, no, but that’s because everyone’s under the impression you might kill me one day.” 

“How do they know you’re not gonna try and kill me?” you ask, enjoying the feeling of his pinky skirting adoringly under your ribs. “You’re the boy.”

“Don’t be sexist.” 

“Don’t be obtuse.” 

James is an aching sort of pretty. If you think about it, frenemies or otherwise, you never for a moment thought he’d want you. He’s made his jokes, but he’s said things with sincerity that are too much to ignore. You can be so lovely. 

You find that you want him to think it again. 

He looks down at your stomach, teasing the creases of your t-shirt between his fingers. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, raising your hand to his ear. You draw a line down the shell of it and catch the lobe under your index finger. “Let’s kiss, then.” 

“Seriously?” he asks. His head comes up fast with enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, I think so. Just don’t push me over again.” 

“Don’t say it like that, I didn’t push you, I just laid on top of you,” he says, bringing his hand to your cheek, where he holds you with all the tenderness of a practised lover, like he’s known you for years, “and you seemed to like it, I’ll have you know.” 

“James,” you whisper, thinking, if he’s gonna play it that way, “I–” You enthuse your tone with a timid sort of longing, which isn’t hard to procure. “I liked it, of course I did, I’ve never felt like this before, I just don’t want…”

He rubs your cheek gently. His eyes fill with a sorriness that nearly makes you feel bad for messing with him. “We’re being careful, yeah? Sirius won’t find out. No one will until we want them to.”

“Who says I want them to?” 

He doesn’t fill with anger nor annoyance; his eyes light with delight at your regular tone. “You’re such a devious, wicked girl,” he says, brushing a line up your cheek with his thumb. “You had me, then.” 

“Don’t I always?” 

He gives a self-deprecating scoff. “I’d rather you didn’t think so, but yes.” 

“I really don’t want Sirius to find out.” 

“He’s not home for hours,” James says easily. “Knowing that, would you like to have a kiss now?” 

“I already asked for one.” 

He hums his agreement against your lips. You squeeze your eyes closed at the sudden connection, relaxing as his hand works behind you to hook you in. “Sorry for the delay,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, the very bottom of your chin, and your neck, twice, before returning to your lips. They part under his, and the kiss turns to much more than softness you’d shared on the steps outside the office. This is hot, and inviting, and searching for something as he leans his weight against you. He doesn’t push. You knew he wouldn’t. 

You hold his shirt as he kisses you. Things are so new between you that you aren’t always sure what he wants you to do, where he needs your hands, but he doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make it feel like a big deal. His hand roves from your back to your hand on his chest and guides it behind him. “Alright?” he asks between kisses, nose pressed to yours. 

“Mm,” you say. 

“Yeah? You sure?” 

“I’m fine, I’m– I’m great.” 

“You’re brilliant,” he says warmly, nudging your nose up with his to press your lips together loosely. Just loose, nothing kisses, your heart like a bruise deep in your chest as he draws you nearer. 

You decide to be lovely as he’d thought of you and hold him with both arms. Your fingers flirt with the edge of his shirt, fingertips finding a slip of bare skin. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper. 

You can’t see him, but you can hear how he takes it. “You– fucking hell. Fucking hell, you’re beautiful.” He tips your head back. You have the feeling he wants you to open your eyes, but you keep them closed, and eventually he leans in to kiss the soft spot under your jaw. 

You let out a sigh. Somehow, James’ kiss gets even gentler. 

He’s kissed down to the collar of your shirt when a clattering sound echoes down the hall, the weight of the front door hitting a radiator as two giggles follow. “Remus!” Sirius hisses, “you’ll take it off the wall!”

“Sorry!” Remus says. 

You and James spring apart so hard it makes the sofa squeak. 

“James?” Remus calls. 

“We’re in here!” James calls back. 

You widen your eyes. James is far less shocked, neatening your shirt and throwing a blanket from the back of the sofa over your legs. He shuffles across the seats and grabs the remote just in time to click play on the TV. The door opens, and James quickly straightens his glasses, the lenses smudged with skin. 

“Hello,” Remus says happily, Sirius poking his head in behind him. 

“Hi,” Sirius says, giving you both a far more suspicious look. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?” 

You know instantly that whatever you say will be better believed than James. “James bragged about having that new Quiet Place movie on the telly, and I knew he didn’t, so now we’re watching– what?” 

“Uh, antiques roadshow,” James says. 

You roll your eyes. “We’re watching antiques roadshow.” 

“Right,” Sirius says. 

“I thought you had the DVD?” Remus asks. 

“I did! I just don’t know where it is!” James cries. 

Remus raises his eyebrows. “Wanna get some dinner, then?” 

James deflates in relief, sending you a completely unsubtle smile. “You hungry, shorts?” 

You can’t believe you just let him kiss you. That you keep letting him. He’s never gonna be able to keep your secret from his friends. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

—

office frenemies au

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

Thinking about Eddie calling Steve out for always having a boner around you, that he knows your Steve’s girlfriend, but man can’t he control himself when they’re all hanging out together? Steve having to awkwardly say he’s not just constantly hard, that’s just how he... looks in jeans

Cue Eddie trying to make you (and himself) very sexy and tempting and insinuative in front of Steve, just because he wants to see how he really looks in those pants when he’s struggling then

god i've always been a monstercock steve harrington truther this was wonderful to read. eddie thinks he's about to send steve running in shame, talking about how he's 'always chubbed up in those tight little jeans, harrington. could you maybe keep it PG like the stupid kiddie movie you rented for us?'

steve frowns but there's an underlying current of amusement there. he glances down to where, admittedly, there's a bulge in his jeans, and he admits, 'i'm not hard. this is just how I look in jeans.'

you already knew this of course. now because you know this, you often get riled up about it, so yes, steve does end up with a boner 9 times out of 10. but that really is just how he looks in jeans, and you settle further against his side, eager to burrow into his substantial warmth and muscle.

eddie's sort of short-circuiting. he's not small, okay, but he's never looked hard when he wasn't. the fact that steve just ?? looks like that ?? he's just constantly bursting out of his jeans ?? he's a little jealous. and a little hard maybe. no matter. he's just got to stare at steve's crotch a bunch to figure out if it's really true. and if he corners you in the kitchen to beg you to bend over in front of steve, what about it?

eddie watches as you bend to pick something up off of the floor, then feign achy knees as you crawl towards steve and use his legs to push yourself up off of the floor. it means steve gets a front-row seat to both your ass and your tits, and god, steve wasn't lying, eddie realizes as you settle halfway into Steve's lap, somehow the pants are tighter now, and eddie can't tear his eyes away from either of you, the little creep.

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

03

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader

synopsis: hunting w your husband and his brother

warnings: no smut

the smell of melted butter and sugar hung heavy in the air, the oven kicking out waves of heat that made the kitchen toasty in the early morning chill. you stood at the counter, hair messy and still slightly damp from your shower, rolling dough between your hands into perfect little spheres. chocolate chips poked out here and there, their glossy, dark surfaces promising a burst of sweetness when they finally hit the road.

behind you, the sound of boots scuffing against hardwood meant sam was up, his towering shadow cutting across the warm light spilling from the kitchen window.

“you’re baking… cookies?” sam asked, his voice tinged with that distinct tone of incredulous disbelief he always got when you and dean did something domestic. “at six in the morning? before a hunt?”

you didn’t even turn around, biting back a grin as you placed another dough ball on the baking sheet. “good morning to you too, sam.”

dean’s voice cut through before sam could respond, a low, gravelly drawl that somehow managed to sound teasing even when he was half-asleep. “yeah, sammy. cookies. you got a problem with cookies?”

dean strolled into the kitchen behind his brother, barefoot and shirtless, his jeans slung low on his hips and his hair sticking up in every direction. he scratched lazily at his chest as he made his way toward you, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of your neck. the warm scrape of his stubble sent a little shiver dancing down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile.

“morning, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin.

“morning,” you replied softly, nudging him with your elbow as he reached for the raw dough on the baking sheet. “don’t even think about it.”

dean groaned dramatically, his hand retreating but not before he snagged a stray chocolate chip from the counter and popped it into his mouth. “what? you’re gonna bake cookies and not let me taste test?”

“you can taste test when they’re done,” you said firmly, wagging the wooden spoon in your hand at him like a teacher scolding a naughty student. “now go get dressed. we’ve got a long drive ahead.”

dean didn’t move, though. instead, he leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed over his bare chest, and gave you a look—a look that said he had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. his green eyes sparkled with that signature winchester mischief, his smirk cocky and playful as he nodded toward the cookies.

“you’re making cookies for the hunt?” he asked, clearly amused but not the least bit judgmental.

“and packing lunch,” you added, tilting your head toward the cooler on the floor by the fridge. “peanut butter sandwiches, chips, apples, the works.”

sam’s eyebrows shot up, his gaze bouncing between you and the cooler like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you’re… packing lunch? for a hunt? like we’re going on a field trip or something?”

dean’s laugh was a low rumble in his chest, and he clapped a hand on sam’s shoulder. “that’s my wife,” he said, his voice full of pride as he gave you a wink. “she keeps us fed so we don’t have to live off gas station burritos and crappy diner coffee.”

sam rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about how he was perfectly fine with diner coffee, but he didn’t argue further. he knew better than to question your methods when it came to taking care of dean—and by extension, him.

the impala hummed beneath you as dean drove, one hand on the wheel and the other casually resting on your thigh. the cooler sat snugly in the backseat beside sam, who had already polished off one of the peanut butter sandwiches you’d packed despite his earlier skepticism.

“i still can’t believe you brought cookies,” sam muttered, his mouth full of crumbs as he reached for another one.

“yeah, and look who’s eating them,” you shot back, twisting in your seat to give him a pointed look. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

dean chuckled, squeezing your thigh gently as he glanced over at you. “see, this is why i married you. cookies and sandwiches. you’re a damn saint, sweetheart.”

“is that the only reason?” you teased, arching a brow at him.

“oh, there’s plenty of reasons,” he said, flashing you that cocky grin that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “but the cookies definitely sealed the deal.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you said, laughing as you leaned into his shoulder, the familiar scent of leather and aftershave wrapping around you like a second skin.

“you love me,” he replied without missing a beat, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your leg.

and he was right. you did.

the hunt itself was nothing special—a small town, a restless spirit, a salt-and-burn. but the memory of that morning, of dean stealing cookie dough when he thought you weren’t looking and sam begrudgingly admitting that the sandwiches were “actually pretty good,” stayed with you long after the ghost was gone.

because for all the danger, all the chaos, and all the nights spent wondering if you’d make it back in one piece, it was mornings like that—messy, loud, and full of warmth—that made it all worth it. it was about the little moments, the stolen smiles, the way dean’s hand never left yours when the job was done.

and yeah, maybe it was also about the cookies.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

Could I request a Dealer! Remus x Shy! Reader where reader is absolutely terrified of buying their own stuff but her friends are trying to help them out of their shell so instead of taking the money R gives them to buy for them, thier friends write down what they need to say and tell them where to go. And thats where Reader meets Remus (Who is infatuated with them after interacting with them for the first time). If you don't feel like writing it thats totally ok :)))

mary encourages you to buy the weed yourself because she’s pretty sure remus likes you wc:736

“You can do it, babe.” Your friend cheers softly as she hands you a piece of paper with what you need to say.

You’re terrified, knees knocking in the passenger seat as you attempt getting out for the second time.

“Can’t you do it? Please? What if I mess up?” She shakes her head. You’re a shy thing by nature to people who you don’t know and this is a new dealer you’ve only seen twice. You’d never spoken to him and hence the fear for embarrassing yourself in front of him.

“You won’t mess up. He’s nice anyhow, so if you do he won’t care.”

He is nice. Remus, the dealer you’ve seen twice, is as polite as can be and is a gentleman in a way you thought couldn’t possibly exist anymore.

You steel yourself with a final sigh and open the door.

A bell jungles as you push the dispensary door open, and as you take a couple steps inside, a head of sandy brown waves pops up.

“Hiya,” Remus calls, smiling when he sees it’s you. Your chest tightens as you receive his full attention. You can feel your fingers tingling as he waves you over. “Just you today?”

You shake your head, swallowing harshly before saying, “Mary’s in the car.”

He nods, scratching his chin, “Making you do all the hard work huh?”

You offer him a smile but it’s all tight lipped and wrong. If Remus notices, he doesn’t say.

“Could I get our usual?”

You’d look down at the paper if you didn’t feel like he’d be scrutinizing you. What type of smoker is scared to buy their own product?

“Your usual? That’s two ounces right?”

Your hands shake as you pull out a chair at the table.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Remus smiles when you sit at the counter, your legs swinging as you watch him weigh the product.

“Oh,” your voice shakes a little, worse when a single wave caresses Remus forehead and he looks up at you through his lashes. He’s dizzyingly pretty. “And um, two of your snickerdoodle cookies if you have them.”

Remus nods, a kind smile on his face. You’re the cutest customer he has, shyness included. Remus has heard you with your friends when you’re relaxed but he quite likes you to himself.

“That’s no problem, dove.”

Your chest burns at the moniker. You twist the garnet ring around your finger, the stone moving from the outside of your hand to the darkness of your palm over and over.

“Did you finish your book?” Remus asks, remembering from your last visit that you were reading a winter fantasy with your friends.

You perk a little, shoulders relaxing a bit. “I did,” you slide your pendant across the chain as Remus comes to the counter with your bag of cookies and your weed.

“Was it any good?” He smells like weed but something peppery and citrusy under it. Like peppercorns and oranges, and maybe a little pine.

You nod as he rings up your bill. You tap your card on the screen.

“It was, the ending was a bit unconventional, but I suppose that’s fantasy.” It’s the longest sentence you’ve ever spoken to him and for it you’re granted his full smile. The one that makes the scar through his lip look like silver. He really is a handsome man.

“Maybe you can loan it to me? That way we can talk about it better. And while you wait for my thoughts you could read one of mine?”

You give Remus a careful smile of your own. “That could be nice.”

He nods, “Give me a call then and we can meet up to exchange them then. Make a date out of it. Yeah?”

Your eyes widen, Remus thinks of the wide eyes of a horse instantly. The wide, trusting but wonderstruck look they seem to have is mirrored in your own.

“Y-yeah, I’d like that.”

Remus rounds the counter to walk you to the door, his hand hovering over your back and you find even the ghost of his hand pleasant. “My number’s on the cookie bag. Have a good rest of your evening, dove.”

“Than-“ you cut yourself off. “You too Remus.”

Mary’s smug as ever as you sit in the car, her rear view mirror showing Remus leaning on the door as she pulls off. She knew you had it in you.

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

you’re more than a little drunk and your boyfriend looks for you, only to find you in the oddest place

“Have you seen dove?” Remus asks Sirius, not completely concerned, but just mildly.

You’re at a small house party at James’ place and you’d had a few drinks well before you’d run off to dance with Mary and Dorcas.

Sirius and James are playing beer pong, James has significantly more cups than Sirius but they’re seasoned at this- years of collage parties had prepped their livers well.

“Last I’d seen her she was doing shots with Marls.” Sirius smiles as he says it, anyone doing any drink with Marlene was chaos in the making.

Remus shakes his head fondly, looking out to the kitchen to see if he can spot you.

He finds Marlene but he can hear her laughing at something and calling your name. He can see Mary and Dorcas too, the both of them trying to stop you from doing something.

“Good luck,” James says as he lands a ball into Sirius’ cup with little effort. The black haired man groans as he downs the shot.

“Come out from under there,” Marlene laughs as you shake your head, Remus right behind her and catching full sight of you laying under the kitchen table with your hands folded under your head.

“Just need the quickest nap ever, guys. Then m’gonna find Remmy.”

Remus chuckles, patting Marlene on the shoulder to let her know he has it from here.

“There may or may not have been lemon sours involved.” Dorcas says, laughter colouring her words as she, Mary and Marlene back away.

Remus turns to you, all fond and sticky with adoration.

“Hi dovey.” Your eyes barely open.

“Remmy? I think m’drunk.”

Remus chuckles, bending to fit under the table with you. He sits where you’re laying down, his hand coming to stroke your cheek.

“That’s alright. Are you having fun?”

There’s cheering that you hear somewhere far away- James has beaten Sirius less than twenty feet away but your ears feel stuffed up.

“So much fun! Getting drunk with Marls and Dorcas and Mary’s the best.”

Remus smiles, leaning down to kiss your temple. “I bet. Wanna go home and take a nap? Or is the floor suitable?”

You hum, your breathing deepening slightly as Remus continues to stroke the hair at your temple back into the rest of your hair.

“S’suitable,” you mumble after a couple minutes and Remus resigns himself to sitting with you for a few more minutes.

He sees the minute you fall asleep, and snaps the fastest photo ever. Then you call, “Remmy?”

“M’right here, my love.”

You smile slightly, and press your head back into his touch.

“Can we get chips on the way home? With salt and malt vinegar?”

Remus laughs, laying beside you now completely. Your head comes to rest on his chest, your hand slipping under his shirt to trace the scar on his abdomen.

“Course, dove. You just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

current brainrot is cock hungry reader with big dick steve. just desperate for him when in public and reader not being able to wait until they get home bc she needs him in her now

this post is 18+. minors dni.

You'd been attempting to relegate your hands to strictly the meat of Steve's thigh, but once you feel the denim against your fingertips, you itch for more.

You're relatively concealed, contained within the darkness of Starcourt's movie theater, but there's an audience of people around you that probably wouldn't be too cool with watching you and Steve bone.

That's why, when your fingers creep just inches to the north, Steve's hand shoots out to stop your own.

"Woah, hotshot, be careful. You're getting fresh."

"I'm sorry Steve," You huff, almost a whine, "I- I know we're in public, I just-" You've been on edge for days, limited in your schedule by work and other social obligations. You haven't gotten to fuck Steve in over a week, and it gets harder and harder to keep yourself civil around him when you can physically feel an ache of what you're missing.

He takes your hand in his and squeezes, holding it steady as you both try refocusing on the movie.

You manage all of twenty seconds before faking a casual glance around you, noting that you're in the very last row, up against the back wall with only three people in your immediate vicinity, all in the row in front of you. If you can just-

"I can hear you thinking terrible, sexy thoughts." Steve whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leans over.

"Sorry! Sorry. How'd you-?"

"Your hand was wandering again."

You glance down to where you'd unconsciously dropped his hand in search of the soft skin of his upper thigh through his jeans. You can see the outline of his cock through his pants, which isn't uncommon for someone as well-endowed as Steve in the tight fit of his jeans, but it's perhaps a smidge more pronounced than it usually is.

"Can you make it to the bathroom?" He asks, "There's an old lady in the second row and I don't know if I could... perform around her."

You're up and out of your seat before he can even finish speaking, and Steve nearly spills your joint popcorn trying to follow along where you're dragging him.

"Easy! Excuse me, sorry." He mumbles, weaving through the crowd as you leave your snacks behind in the darkness of the theater. Once you reach overhead lights you're on him, and Steve lets out a surprised grunt as he's pushed against the wall of the movie theater hallway.

"Jesus! You're a pervert," He notes, "You're worse than a man. We were heading for the bathroom, remember?"

"Fuck the bathroom," You pant, "Or- actually, fuck me. Please and thank you."

"In the hallway?"

"You're into it." You glance cursorily down at the outline of his cock in his pants, noting that it's even more pronounced than it was before, "Hurry up, Steve. I wanna catch the end of the movie."

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

can you write something about how the gang handles a really emotional Curtis sister... Like she literally doesn't even know why shes crying most of the time she just is. She is literally me

send me requests for the outsiders!

--

At Dallas's groan, "Ah, here come the fuckin' waterworks again," all eyes are on you. You'd been hoping to fly under the radar, but now that seven pairs of eyes are staring at you, your tears escape hot and free down your cheeks.

"It's- I'm fine!" You insist, voice thick and choppy as you rush for the bathroom. You don't shut the door, because even if you did you know someone would have barged in. It's predictably Darry and Soda, but Two-Bit lingers in the hallway, peering in worriedly.

"You're okay, kid." Darry encourages you, a strong hand on your shoulder to help you get yourself under control, "Somethin' the matter?"

"What's with the tears, Baby Curtis?" Two asks, "Movie gettin' to 'ya?"

It's a horror movie- it's safe to say you're not sniffling over blood and guts.

"No, it's-" You sniffle, letting Sodapop tug you into his side where he's now perched on the lid of the toilet. He slings an arm around your waist and you lean gratefully into his side, thankful for the pressure of a body against yours.

"It's nothing. I don't know." You shrug helplessly, and Two smiles- kindly, not teasingly.

"You've got a condition or somethin'." He decides, traipsing back into the living room, "We oughta turn you in to a doctor, have them diagnose you with some crazy new brain condition. Maybe they could name it after you, kid."

"Yeah, Crybaby Curtis syndrome," Steve snickers, and Soda shouts a halfhearted, 'Be nice!' to his friend despite not being able to see him.

"Lay off, Steve," Johnny groans, and you hear Ponyboy chime in with a fervent, 'Yeah!' that he would have kept to himself had Johnny not led the charge. Despite having the upper hand, Ponyboy still struggles to pick fights with Steve. Usually it's a losing battle.

"Come on, kiddo." Darry urges, and Soda sticks close to your side as you shuffle back into the living room. Dallas doesn't move aside to give you your old seat back where he's stretched out over half of it, but he also doesn't protest when you throw your leg over his own to fit on the cushion.

"You've gotta man up, kid." Dally decides, snatching his cigarette out of his mouth and blowing the smoke into your face, "Can't be burstin' into tears all the time. People are gonna think you're weak."

"I am weak," You concede feebly, wiping at one last tear that streaks down your cheeks, "I don't know why it happens most'uh the time. Just does."

"Some people are just like that." Johnny smiles kindly at you, and you appreciate his sweetness, "We ain't gonna judge you."

"It'll be great for gettin' out of trouble," Sodapop grins mischieviously at you, "Just think, when you're a wild child in high school, and you're comin' home drunk at 2AM, Darry's gonna yell at you. Just flash him those teary eyes of yours and he'll get all soft for 'ya, he'll let you off real easy."

"Hey- Don't you go givin' her any ideas." Darry points a warning finger at Soda, and Ponyboy scoffs, surely jealous at the prospect of your secret weapon.

You share a secret smile with Soda, though, one that's hidden from both of your brothers. Two-Bit catches it and snorts, "Damn, Darry. I'm not itchin' to be you in a few years."

"Well then you'd better start hangin' out at your own house every once in a while," Darry glares at him, "You spend so much time here I'm gonna give you a chore on the chore chart."

"I don't even do chores at my own place," Two-Bit snickers, like the suggestion is the funniest one he's ever heard. He stretches his arm out behind your head, resting it on your far shoulder, "Just call me whenever you're goin' to those parties, Y/N, and I'll get drunker'n you, make you look like a saint in comparison."

"Dally's a saint in comparison to you, Two-Bit," Ponyboy gripes, "Just don't climb through my window expecting me to help you sneak past Darry."

"Now I mean it, boys," Darry snaps, "Don't go givin' her ideas! Conversation over."

Dallas waits all of three seconds before leaning down, tucking his face beside your ear so that he can drawl, "I'll teach you how to sneak past him if you can go without cryin' for a day."

"Deal." You hold out a pinky for him to link with his own, and if anyone else in Tulsa had offered it, they'd have gotten slugged. Instead, Dallas's finger curls around yours, and he shoots you a shit-eating grin, eyes glimmering dangerously, "24 hours, crybaby. Don't let me down."

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

Doctor's Note - Sodapop Curtis x Reader

summary: you stand soda up, accidentally

contents/warnings: soda is somewhere around 18-19, mentions of his failed relationship w sandy, distrust/miscommunication, angst -> fluff. based on my very painful experience this morning with crippling back pain

send me requests for the outsiders!

Selfishly, sometimes you wonder what it would have been like to date Sodapop before he'd met Sandy. When he was more carefree, when he wasn't glancing at any man you talked to just a second too long. He's not possessive- and even if he is, he doesn't enforce it. But you know he's wary, and you know it's her fault.

Darrel had warned Soda to stay away from girls for a while, to give himself a break. And he had. Two long years later his hiatus was broken when you'd come into the DX fiending for a coke, and when you'd asked, 'Do you know where I could find a soda 'round here?' his eyes had glimmered with opportunity, and he'd pointed proudly to his nametag.

"Right here, ma'am. No caffeine in me but I could keep 'ya up all night if you want me to."

It had been so wildly crass, so insanely audacious that you'd burst out laughing, both from the absurdity of his name and the brashness of his comment. He'd apologized for it, too, twenty minutes into your conversation that lasted an hour.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier. I mean- I don't usually come on strong like that. Couldn't stop myself- prolly got it from my friend Two-Bit, he's always crackin' jokes like that. Hope you didn't think it was greasy."

"I think it was very greasy," You'd laughed, tilting your chin towards the tin of hair grease abandoned at the other end of the counter, "I thought that was the whole point."

"That's my buddy Steve's", Soda had told you, light dancing in his eyes as he readjusted his elbows on the counter to lean further towards you, "He does these real fancy swirls in his hair, and I've been able to do 'em a few times, but mainly I just slick mine back, and half the time I don't even grease it anyways because I'm just bummin' round the house so there's no need. My other friend-"

He was a natural-born talker, and you'd been just as caught up with talking yourself as you were with listening to him. It had taken the reappearance of his aforementioned coworker, Steve, for you to glance at the clock, and realize that you were 40 minutes past the time you should have been back at work from your lunch break.

You're surprised you hadn't scared Sodapop off with your swearing alone, but you'd managed to scribble your number onto his hand before you'd left. You hadn't even remembered to buy a drink, but he'd brought you one when he showed up for your first date.

Now, three weeks later, you're getting ready to show up to his house. This is a big thing: you're meeting his brothers. He's told you so much about them you feel like you know them, and he's also given you your fair share of warnings, too. Darry's too stern sometimes, and it might take a while for him to warm up to you. Ponyboy's an awkward teen, and on top of it, he'd trusted Sandy- they all had. You know you've gotta prove yourself better than her, and you're starting with some sweet perfume and a bundle of flowers for their dining table.

--

"Get your bum ass off the couch and vacuum," Soda's hands shove roughly at Ponyboy's thighs, "She's gonna be here in thirty minutes!"

"Jeez, Soda, she's not my girlfriend," Ponyboy grumbles, but he stands and heads for the closet where the vacuum lies all the same, "Don't understand why I have to be the one cleanin'."

"'Cause Darry's the one cookin'." Soda glares at him, "And I'm cleaning too. I've been cleaning for days."

"Bathroom looks good, little man." Darry voices his approval from the kitchen, "Thought I was gonna die of shock when I realized you'd scrubbed down the toilet."

Not much conversation is heard over Ponyboy's aggressive vacuuming, but Soda calls the cleaning at five minutes to your arrival time.

"Okay. Rules again?" He looks expectantly at his brothers, and Darry looks irritated that he's being grilled this time.

"No judging." Ponyboy grumbles, but he doesn't think it's fair, because Sandy had seemed so nice and sweet, and she'd run right out on Sodapop. So he feels like he has to judge, because maybe Soda's gonna get hurt again. He doesn't want that.

"No grilling." Darry continues, equally put-out by Soda's request. He wants what's best for his brother. Sodapop's two-year long relationship drought was refreshing, and he's seen the boy blossom into a wonderful man. Still, he can't help feeling some lingering resentment towards Sandy, and he knows it's not fair to attach it to you, but he doesn't know what else to do with it.

"And no arguing at the table." He glances between Darry and Pony both warily, "I mean it, this isn't the night to discuss grades or curfew or chores. Just- be nice to her. Treat her like a real guest."

"Alright, little buddy." Darry secedes, squeezing Soda's flannel-clad shoulder slightly, "Now, you gonna go wait by the door for her?"

"No! I'm not that desperate." Soda scoffs, but Darry notices the way he flops down into his eldest brother's armchair, the only seat in the house with a view of the front walkway. Ponyboy settles himself awkwardly on the couch, watching cartoons even though there's an anxious tension in his skinny shoulders.

You're set to arrive in two minutes, and Soda's practically vibrating out of his seat. There's no sign of the cute little sundress you said you'd wear today, but that's okay, because he thinks it's so considerate of you to show up punctually versus early. if you'd come fifteen minutes earlier you would have seen him near-tears over the spot of chocolate that wouldn't rub out of the wall behind the television. Ponyboy had pointed out that there's no way you would have seen it unless you'd been wedged between their tv and the wall, but Soda was not going to invite you into a messy home.

One minute goes by, and Soda's cuticles hurt from where his nails tear at them. He tries to stop himself- after all, you wouldn't want to hold his hand if his was bleeding. But his next nervous habit becomes fiddling with the hem of his shirt, which isn't nearly as satisfying for his fingers.

He waits for what he's sure is more than a minute, which means you're due to flounce up the stairs in seconds. But he doesn't see you, and he knows Pony's watching him crane his neck every three seconds to look for you. So he tones it down- after all, he's got a 10-minute grace period at the DX for his shifts. If he can clock in at 8:10 and still be 'on time', you can show up a few minutes late.

"Any sign of her?" Darry pokes his head out of the kitchen, seeing the front door still shut. Soda shakes his head- then he catches a glimpse of your hair color outside the window. Upon further inspection, it's a stray cat. Ponyboy snorts at him, and Soda sinks back into the recliner.

Okay, so you've used up your grace period. But Soda gets it- you probably sang one too many love songs about him in the shower, and now you're tripping over your own feet trying to run to his house. Or the bus was late, or you missed it entirely, and you'll show up before the food goes cold.

Fifteen minutes go by, and Darry hovers over the finished meal, wondering whether he should plate it or not.

Twenty minutes go by, and Darry considers removing one plate from the table.

Thirty minutes go by, and Darry turns off the stove.

An hour goes by, and Pony retreats to his room for some homework time. Darry's meticulously cleaning the kitchen, but Sodapop thinks it's more because he doesn't know what to say than because he thinks you'll judge them for a grease stain on the wall.

When Darry's scrubbed the kitchen raw nearly an hour later, he pads softly over to Soda where he still rests in his armchair.

"Soda, I- listen, I don't think she's comin' tonight."

"I told her today." Soda's got his fingernail pinched between his teeth, his leg having long-since stopped its nervous bouncing, "I- I know I told her tonight, and she said she'd be here, but I-"

Darry's hand squeezes his shoulder again, this time tighter, and something awfully familiar resurges in Soda's chest where it's laid dormant for two years.

"C'mon, little buddy." Darry urges him up out of the chair, "Let's turn in early tonight."

--

Soda's not doing his best work despite having gotten eleven hours of sleep the night prior. He's sluggish and mopey, and Steve sticks him on the register so that no one risks a foolish mistake to their car. Soda stares at a knot in the wood grain, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and doesn't look up even when the entrance bell dings.

"Soda-" He hears a voice, one that he'd been waiting since last evening to hear, one that exacerbates that sickly feeling in his chest. He hasn't been able to shake it, and your face had blended with Sandy's in his nightmares last night.

"Soda, I'm- I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you show?" He barely has the courage to look up at you, but he does, because last time he'd groveled. He'd begged, pleaded, bargained with her to stay with him, and he wasn't going to do that this time. He was going to be the man Darry wanted him to be.

"I'm sorry." You repeat, clutching a paper in your hands, brows permanently furrowed, "It was an emergency. I was getting ready, and- and all of a sudden my back started hurtin'. Real bad, Soda, I- I had to lie down on the ground."

Soda watches, interest piqued, as you stagger towards the counter, clearly limping. Sickness is replaced with worry in his chest, and he watches as you brace yourself against the register.

"My folks didn't get home for hours. I was just laying there, I- I couldn't reach the phone, I couldn't move my legs, I was just stranded there." Your voice thickens at the memory, and you sniffle absentmindedly, "Soda, I would have called you, I just- I couldn't move. I swear. I tried, Soda, I swear I tried to get to the phone, but it was so painful. And then when my parents got home they had to carry me to the car 'n all, and the emergency room took forever, and- and we didn't get home until three in the morning, and I knew you'd be sleepin' so I didn't call, and I felt so bad because I knew you'd be waiting on me, and- and I'm so sorry, Sodapop."

All at once yours and Sandy's faces come undone in his mind, and hers is cast aside as he studies yours. There's tears, big shiny ones lining your eyes, and your chin trembles slightly. You're still clutching the paper, and when you realize he's glancing at it, you gasp.

"Oh! I- um, I got you a doctor's note. I didn't want you to think I was lyin'."

You push the page towards him on the counter, and he takes it with trembling hands.

'Patient Y/N Y/L/N admitted to emergency services at 8:49 PM Wednesday, 30th July. Diagnosed with severe lumbar muscle strain. This patient is placed off of work from 7/30/1968 through 8/05/1968.

Patient would like to add that she did not intend to stand up her date with one Sodapop Patrick Curtis on Wednesday, 30th July. Patient would like to reschedule for another night. Doctor prescribes a calm, laid-back dinner date until patient recovers.'

"Had one hell of a time trying to get him to put that in there." Your sheepish voice pipes up from where Soda's reading the last words on the page, "But I told him you were a nice boy and he said there's not many of those around here. I'm sorry, again. I'm so sorry."

Lumbar muscle strain rings a bell in Soda's head. It's something Darry's definitely mentioned before, the few times they've bullied him into seeking medical attention for all of his blue collar aches and pains. He's sure if you're hurting the way Darry does sometimes, that you weren't lying about not being able to move.

You're staring at him like you're worried he'll send you away, and the piece of paper in his hands is the only thing stopping him from doing just that. But he glances down at it again, and takes a deep breath.

"It's okay. I believe you. My brother Darry, he- he pulls muscles sometimes. Don't usually see him cry, but I do when that happens. Are you okay?'

You visibly relax at his words, but something in your back must have protested the movement, because your face pinches up again.

"Um- yeah. Mostly. It hurts when I move too much." You admit, "But I had to make it down here to see you. I'm so sorry. Were you- were you angry at me?"

He doesn't think so- he was offended, he was disappointed, but most of all, he's pretty sure he was beating up on himself more than he was beating up on you. It felt like it did the first time, and he was the common denominator in both.

"No." He answers honestly, "But- uh, I think Darry probably is."

You wince, and he doesn't blame you. But he holds the note a little tighter, "But I'll tell him what happened. Like I said, he knows what that feels like. Don't worry about it, honey. You- uh, did you want to still meet them?"

"Of course! Of course," You nod eagerly, bracing your weight against the counter, "Do you still... want me to meet them?"

"Of course." He echoes, finally breaking his stoicism with a grin, a shy one as he reaches for your hand over the counter, still clutching the note in his other hand, "Can't argue with the doctor's orders."

[toomanyfictionalboyfriends]

"Sirius don't you dare, we're not at home." your whines go completely ignored by your boyfriend because as soon as you lay down on James' sofa, Sirius is lifting your sleep shirt and burying his head under it.

"What is wrong with him?" Lily asks as she passes you a mug of tea- chamomile with a touch of honey- before going to sit besides James who looks equally puzzled.

"Every time I get out of the shower at night he does this. Says the lotion I use is the cause." You pat your boyfriend's head under your shirt, Sirius turns sideways with a tired grin on his face.

"You act like Jamesie there isn't the biggest baby too." James gawks, hazel eyes narrowing.

"I didn't even say anything, Pads. I think it's sweet."

Remus shakes his head, "Of course you do. It'd be sweeter in private."

Lily, you and Marlene hide a laugh.

Stirring a pot, Lily says, "You could at least let the girl breathe."

"She smells like sleep, cocoa butter and vanilla. What am I meant to do against that?" He sounds too lovesick, and with the grin on his face, James wishes he had his phone nearby.

Remus solves that problem for him almost immediately. Sirius doesn't even protest.

"Siri, don't you think it's a little pathetic to have to hide under your girlfriend's clothes at night to sleep?" Marlene asks and Sirius pops his head out again.

"Pathetic is you trying to imply you haven't snuggled up next to her on your sleepovers." Marlene throws a chocolate covered almond at him while he just looks at her all pleased and content.

Remus rolls his eyes, "You could at least save it for when you get into your room."

You hide a smile, knowing exactly what Sirius is going to say. You and your boyfriend have this conversation every night you join him back on the sofa instead of in bed.

Sirius doesn't dignify Remus with full view of his face- he moves your shirt just enough that his mouth and nose are visible.

"M'gonna be asleep in a bit anyways. In fact you're all just prolonging when I'll be able to sleep by carrying out an inquisition at near midnight."

You chuckle into your mug, taking a sip as Sirius shuffles up your body and settles again.

"You're a saint, Y/n." James compliments as he watches Sirius' hold on your waist tighten before he starts the movie.

Your boyfriend whines the second your hand falls on his back and you roll your eyes, slipping your hand down his shirt and scratching his back for him.

You can feel Sirius taking deep, lungful breaths of you before his heartbeat slows a bit and his breathing evens out- not even ten minutes into the movie he'd suggested.

"He's a big fucking baby." Marlene marvels at the way Sirius sleeps through the movie, hands around you and face hidden away under your shirt. "You wouldn't even guess he was clingier than Potter."

"Hey!" James groans, but he can't protest, his head is in Lily's lap as he twists and coils strands of his hair. Sirius hasn't even shown them the half of it- James keeps that tidbit to himself.