tomorrow i WILL learn to knit in the round
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Had a day off today, meaning I went and bought things I didn’t need. A good day out with friends, my bank account hurts but we’ll solve that later. I never had the Buildabear experience as a child so now is the time. I got the Leafeon and my friend bought the Mew (I bullied him so we could get the discount). Anyways her name is Carrot and I’ll be back posting in character starting tomorrow, just needed a bit of a break.
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after trying almost every art form that exists, i can safely say the least soul bearing one is beading and the most soul bearing is writing. with knitting/weaving/felting/sewing on the lower end of the spectrum and drawing/painting/sculpting on the higher end and carving and photography somewhere right in the middle. and don’t even get me started on acting/music/dance/singing that’s smth different entirely… that’s not to say that any of them are Completely un-soul-bearing. but if u pick the wrong one to put specific emotions into well. good luck
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Some person who hates fun I guess: Man I HATE the wholesome art trend of like, cats making tea or soup! Go back to cottagecore enby frog hat tiktok!
Me, beforehand hitting the block button:
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shitty scrap blanket 2: just as much love as the first. utter best most comforting garbage with all of the not-wastimg-weird-ends-of-yarn-skeins wholesomeness and all the fever magic 2 get u thru those hell nights of bad pain and suffer, without any of the deepest sweating u hav come 2 fear and loathe
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just had the weirdest and longest goddamn train ride of my life but look how far i got with the sweater i started two days ago
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I went today to my new apartment to clear boxes out and stuff and I went down memory lane :(
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I had a dream that Ray Toro was my girlfriend and we were in love. Thank you brain
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you're in the wind, i'm in the water
hyunjin x reader. friends to lovers with a pinch of unrequited love (it's very much requited dw). this is pure brainrot so suggestive at the end. but also fluffy and soft. also reader wears a two piece swimsuit.
a.n: again, sanest response i could have to this hyune. please enjoy my descent to madness :) also the last scene is heavily inspired by my favorite dialogue in the song of achilles!!
pt. 2- orange
The first time you went on a vacation with Hyunjin’s family, you were only seven years old.
You don't clearly remember the island his parents took you to, the details of the travel elusive to your memory's grasp. But you remember Hyunjin- his hair darkening under the touch of the saline sea, akin to a night sky devoid of its stars. You remember the dimple on his left cheek- the sheer pride in you each time you managed to bring it to light. And you remember thinking that Hyunjin was pretty, for the first time in your small existence.
It's a thought that scorched itself indelibly into your brain, and as the years cascaded by, the branches of your love grew, each leave bearing new adjectives to describe Hyunjin- caring, emotional, talented.
But never yours.
You're both older now, and you see him less since his house is no longer right next to yours, the rhythm of life distancing you both. Hyunjin comes in and out of your life as an ephemeral tide, gently brushing your shores. You cling to the sea shells his oceans sometimes throw at your feet- the rare times when your schedules align, when you can see him beyond the confines of your phone, in pixelated video calls late into the night.
And it seems as if you've caught a rare shell this time- one with an ivory pearl hidden within it. Because you're traveling once again with him.
You're all much different, the passage of time marked you in different, but palpable ways. But your presence with Hyunjin's family still felt just as effortless as it did when you were seven. You never had to second guess what you said or how you acted with them. You were just like running water, flowing naturally within the nooks and crannies of his family.
And at night, under the moon's watchful gaze, your hushed conversations with Hyunjin remained. Beneath a shared blanket knitted by his mom, the warm sand melded with your feet, his dimple appearing once again at every word you uttered. He was still as pretty, perhaps even more so with time's gentle sculpting, molding his features into much sharper ones. It seemed only fitting for a soul as beautiful as his.
"I want to take you somewhere tomorrow," he had whispered excitedly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, momentarily leaving you breathless- tongue dissolving in your mouth like ivory seafoam.
"You want to kidnap me?" you playfully asked, nudging him.
"You don't want to come with me?" he pouted, his gaze locked into yours, pupils appearing much darker with the absence of the sun, like a boundless ocean. The water was right beside you and yet your only wish was to swim in his eyes.
"I want to," you admitted.
"Anywhere?" he asked, irises trembling slightly as he sought your response. You were both very different, chemicals binding his molecules, and your love for him binding yours. You stood faraway from one another- you in the water and he in the wind, stirring your waves, submerging you in the seas of your longing.
"Anywhere."
...
Faraway land punctures the ocean you're gazing at, crystal blue water filling the small pool Hyunjin took you to. You admit it's a breathtaking view, only your eyes can't depart from Hyunjin's figure.
He jumped into the pool first, while you went to retrieve your camera from your bag. And now you stand by the door, heart caught in your throat, as you watch him swim around. Hyunjin is graceful, in the way he moves his limbs, bending the water to his will. It doesn't look like he's swimming, rather dancing on liquid ground.
Kkami joyfully barks once he sees you, and Hyunjin finally lifts his eyes, locking them with yours. He is pretty, unattainable, a singular star outshining all the celestial light. Foolish of them to even think they could compare.
And he's still not yours.
"I’ll take a picture of you both," you smile softly, willing yourself to conceal the lump growing in your throat. Hyunjin nods, draping his hand over Kkami's body, softly scratching the spot behind his ear. You take the first pic, capturing the tenderness in Hyunjin’s eyes. This one's for you alone.
"Okay, look at the camera," you call out cheerfully, and they both turn to look at you in unison. Though your bodies did not touch, the intensity of Hyunjin's gaze seemed to sear into your skin, igniting a fire within you. Foolish of you to dream of more.
You set the camera aside, before sitting at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the cool water. Hyunjin swims towards you, positioning himself between your legs, his warm hand wrapping around your ankle. You want to flee, to go back to to the innocence of seven, to never recognize how pretty Hyunjin is, to avoid the heartbreak of dreaming of someone you'll never have.
"Come swim with me," he pouts, palm pressing against your damp skin. You shake your head, a teasing smile on your face, and he pulls you to him, hands holding your waist promptly to prevent you from sinking under.
You free yourself from his intoxicating hold, before diving into the water, a desperate attempt to get away from him. Because when Hyunjin held your waist, a tenderness so earnest in his eyes it made your heart skip a beat, you dared to imagine a future together. For a fleeting moment you became the ocean and he the sky, merging at the faraway horizon.
Hyunjin dives right after you, and then you both swim around one another, giddy smiles on your faces, your laughter echoing around the room. He tries to drown you, hands gliding across the surface of your skin, making goosebumps ripple in you. You attempt to do the same, but you soon regret it. His skin was smooth, taut muscles flexing under your touch; broad shoulders you wrapped your arms around, trying to push him down. Your hand accidentally brushed against his pulse, and you removed it as if it had burned you. There is life beating within him, wildly. But not for you. Never for you.
"Wait, hold on. Your straps are loosening," he notices, reaching for your arm and spinning you around, your back now facing him. "Can I?" he asks, voice dipping to a lower timber. You feel it in the depths of your stomach, depths only he can unravel.
"Yes," you whisper, as he undoes the loose knot of your swimsuit, the one behind your neck still holding up the fabric against your skin. You can feel his cold breath traveling across your bare back, crystalizing the droplets of water trailing on it. His fingers are a stark warmth as they brush against your spine, fingertips gently grazing your skin, like a delicate feather. You imagine your body is molten wax, and he's the seal stamp pressing onto you, molding you whichever way he'd like.
He's tentative as he grabs the undone straps, wrapping them in a knot. Or at least attempting to. You can tell that he's shaking, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. "Im sorry, I didn't tie it well," he giggles sheepishly, undoing the knot once again. You don't reply, unsure of what words will stumble out of your mouth. 'I don't mind you touching me' instead of 'it's okay'.
You turn around once he's done, but he doesn't move back, his body mere centimeters away from yours. You can see the rise and fall of his chest, the slight blush creeping up his neck, coloring him in the prettiest shade of crimson. The droplets cascading down his body, forging a tantalizing path you wish you could undergo. His dampened hair, a shade darker than his usual color. His lips slightly parted, rosy as they've always been. His adam's apple bobbing up and down furiously.
And you suddenly can no longer breathe.
Beneath the water, his hand encircles your wrist, a touch so faint you almost believe that you've imagined it. His fingers trail down, holding your palm and bringing it to his face. He closes his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale, one you inhale right back in. You're cradling his cheek, his hand right on top of yours, holding it in place.
"Hyunjin..." you start, but he shakes his head, eyes still shut.
"Please," he whispers, "just for a little." and the clouds slightly uncover, a singular sun ray piercing through them- one petal of hope unfurling at his words.
"Don't- don't do this," you plead back, tone tinged with panic. You couldn't have him, not even for a second, not even in a dream. That's the way things are. Two parallel lines, traveling down the same path, forever adjacent, but never merging as one.
Hyunjin plants a soft kiss on your wrist, lips barely brushing against your pulse. You've never truly known gentleness until this moment.
"If I told you that this trip with you is the happiest I’ve been in a while, would you believe me?" he whispers against your skin, head slightly tilted.
You shake your head no.
"If I ask you something would you be honest with me? I'm tired, yn," he says, his voice softening as it always did when he uttered your name. As if the syllables were always coated in honey, even in his sadness, in his anger, and now, in his pleading for you.
"I will," you respond with an equally quiet voice, and yet it resounds loudly around the room, amplified by the consequences looming around the corner.
"Do you want me?" he asks simply, expecting you to easily uncover a secret you've buried for years, to dust the weight of your fear in mere seconds.
You remain silent and Hyunjin deflates a bit, shoulders slumping forward, the dimple in his face vanishing completely.
"Because I'm drowning in my want for you."
A water droplet falls from the strands of his hair, landing softly on his mouth. You follow its descent, as he licks his lips nervously, his hold on your wrist faltering. The wind is gliding across the water- he's offering himself to you. Who are you to ever refuse?
Your lips crash on his before you even realize it, years of longing exploding before your eyes, spilling from your mouth to his in the most vibrant colors. His lips are soft as you've always imagined them, and they move against yours perfectly, as if molded from the same dough, created to meet again and again, in a fervor, and then in a tenderness that makes your heart ache.
You're kissing Hyunjin, and you aren't burning, disintegrating under the weight of longing for someone so unattainable. You aren't Icarus- you flew too close to the sun but it hadn't burned you, instead it embraced you, it's now wrapping its hands around your waist, pressing your chest to its warm one. It's a touch you welcome, one that liquefies in your veins like molten amber.
You wrap your legs around Hyunjin’s waist, as he walks backward until your back is against the pool railing. Your hands are tugging his damp strands, fingers threading through his locks the way sunshine weaves between the leaves. He tastes sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever had in your life. And you're greedy, you can't get enough of him, so you part for a second only to meet again, his hands digging into your sides. Chest to chest, skin to skin, heart to heart.
"Say it," Hyunjin whispers against your lips, "say that you want me back."
"I want you. So much, Hyune. You're the only one I’ve ever wanted," your words wash over him, erasing every doubt that was anchored in his heart. How could you not have seen it, all this time? In each photograph you took, his gaze, always on you. The fondness in his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks, only ever coming forth for you.
You lean away, head dipped down to kiss his shoulders. Your lips trail down his collarbones, moving to the mole on his arm. He smells like chlorine, and the sweet scent of your monoi oil. Hyunjin is pretty, Hyunjin is warm, Hyunjin is yours.
Your eyes meet his and you both let out giddy giggles, the flush of your cheeks matching his. His lips are slightly swollen, and he bites the lower one as he glances at Kkami, who was idly watching you both.
"Do you think we traumatized him?" you ask in a hushed whisper.
"I think he's glad this happened and he no longer has to hear my rants about you," Hyunjin smiles sheepishly and you laugh, the sound reverberating through Hyunjin’s heart.
"Have I ever told you how much I love your laugh?" he asks, thumb swiping across your cheek with a tenderness that leaves you dizzy in its trail.
"You have," you whisper, the sound of it getting caught in your throat.
"And this?" he gently grazes your cupid bow. "Have I told you how much I love your lips?"
"You haven't," you say, mouth parting slightly at his words.
"This then," he trails across your neck, skimming your pulse. "Did I tell you how I feel about your blush? How it always always starts up your neck? Always so pretty?"
"No," you are breathless now, shuddering under his touch.
"What about this?" his hands hold your waist, kneading the tender flesh. "Did I ever tell you? About this?" They go over your hips, gliding across the bare skin. "Surely I did."
You shake your head. Skin burning up where he had touched it. He smiles, tongue poking against his cheek, hands going to your back, tracing over your spine, undoing the knots of your swimsuit. "And this? Did I tell you how much I want you?"
You close your eyes, wind meeting water. "Tell me again."
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i just really, really love the idea of zoro having no real "survival skills" because he had a much more traditional (if atypical) childhood/youth than most of the crew. bandit heritage aside, he was raised in a tight-knit and relatively peaceful community with (at best) agricultural outskirts. he doesn't leave until he's much older, at which point he becomes a bounty hunter as a way to make money (to pay for food, shelter, etc. presumably in villages, towns, and cities). we know from the non-canon johnny and yosaku backstories that he "hunted" for bounties in cities/towns, at least partially.
meanwhile luffy has been running around the wilderness since he was like seven years old, securing his own food, building fire and shelter, and just generally toughening up/learning how to live in nature. we know he had a pretty extensive knowledge of bugs and how to catch them, so with that + his childhood i don't think it's a stretch to assume he also has an understanding of edible plants and non-monstrous wildlife (even if its not all applicable outside the East Blue). he's survived on his own in the wilderness for years at a time at least twice in canon.
i think it's fun to think of them having... some sort of "zoro is lost in more ways than one" kinda vibe early on in their journey, especially since they're constantly broke pre-timeskip and we know that at least by little garden the crew has started hunting and foraging to supplement their stores. you could absolutely rope the rest of the east blue grew into this, but zoro is still sort of the outlier with his background.
i dunno. maybe i just like the image of luffy trying to teach zoro how to hunt or fish and both of them just having the dumbest time with it. luffy would be really earnest but impatient--and zoro would be stubborn about admitting he doesn't know shit but would still listen and absorb anyway.
luffy having no clue how to start small and work up to new skills, so they end up going after massive wild boars or something as a first or second lesson and zoro just rolls with it because sure, yeah, thats normal. what the hell does he know? (and also hes fucking. zoro. so.)
or luffy teaching zoro to fish normally but also like a bear fishes (standing knee-deep in the water and catching fish with his bare hands) because it looks more fun that way and he cant. and zoro just fucking up soooo bad but getting really competitive anyway, even though luffy is just, like, sitting on a nearby rock yelling (frankly terrible) directions at him or something. zoro catches nothing and luffy tells him he looks stupid getting angry at the river so of course zoro is going to master fucking. bare-handed fishing because the man's got one braincell and its 99% stubborn pride.
he fucking sucks at starting a fire, wouldnt even consider building proper shelter, and in general would not make it 0.2 seconds outside a populated environment without his captain--a guy raised by the jungle and ace, who was basically a wild animal himself.
idk. survival-competent luffy is very near and dear to my heart.
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˚ ᜔ ࣪ ✿ ࣭ ۟ bathtub.
(corioanus snow x reader)
summary: stressed about that time of the month, your boyfriend watched you bathe in awe of the red water.
c.w: period sex, sensitivity, fertile period, p in v, oral sex (f. recieving), blood, biting, praising, overstimulation, dacryphilia, petnames (doll, princess, angel), bathtub sex, blood kink, breeding, unprotected sex, fingering, making reader taste herself.
a/n: i watched saltburn . need to get a bit out of my system . also i'm kinda of sleepy and shaky so there's probably a bunch of mistakes here
you hated being on your period. it always came when you wanted the nastiest things possible.
now, mourning for the loss of a contact you couldn't have now, you were deep into the bathtub, only your face was capable of beig seen inside of the bathtub alongside with the red water and bubbles.
your boyfriend was kneeling by your side, washing your hair with the upmost kindness as his fingers rubbed your scalp. god, you were crazy about him- you wanted him to fuck you, wanted him inside you, taking your pain away.
but you thought it was gross. and even if you adored vampires, you didn't want to see your boyfriend's pretty face being dirty and stick because of your blood.
"i still don't know why you don't wanna do it." he said, kissing your shoulder, massaging them.
"it's gross, coryo. you don't have to do it." you said, feeling shivers down your body. specially when his fingers travelled down to your breasts- gosh, you were so sensitive. your nipples seemed to wake up immediatly. "s..stop. stop, i'm not gonna let you fuck me while i'm like this."
"but it would help ease up the pain." he said, changing his pose to kiss your cleavage. now, he was at the side of the bathtub, your hair was wet, beautiful, some shampoo bubbles were dripping on the floor.
"coryo.." you pouted. you were almost giving in, he could see that, from your tear pooled eyes to your thighs rubbing together; you wanted this as much as he did.
"c'mon, doll. don't hold up. i know you want this just as much as i do." he said, taking off his shirt, getting into the bathtub with you, engulfing your nipple into his hungry mouth.
finally, he earned a moan out of you, your legs instantly spreading to him, his fingers didn't even had a hard time finding your bloody slick, you moaned while holding his hair, his fingers finding your velvet core and entering it easily.
there was something on the sounds of his fingers thrusting your bloody pussy so eagerly, something hungry on the way he mouthed your boob aggressively, biting it on his teeth as if it was a gummy bear, and still being so eagerly sweet in those bites, in those thrusts.
"cory!" you cried, hips bucking up to his fingers, breath hitching, and almost cumming. he could feel it in the way your cunt was clenching around him, that's why he pulled his fingers out of you. "hey.." you pouted.
for your surprise, his fingers were on your mouth now. the metallic, bittersweet taste of your blood was hot on your tongue, and even if you were humming on his fingers, unbelieving of what he was doing, you still sucked on his fingers, swallowing the taste of your own blood.
"coryo!" you called, brows knitted together while he smiled at you. "that was gross! ugh, for god's sake!"
"you swallowed it." he said, grinning darkly. you gulped down your saliva. "i didn't even told you to, you just did."
"i..."
"what a good girl." he chuckled, drowning into the water. the weight of both bodies made the water overflow, it flow off the bathtub, and even if you were surprised, your boyfriend drained the bathtub, and he had the nerve to pull your legs and place them on each side of his head.
you panicked, eyes wide open as you spoke "c-coryo, don't- it is a mess there, didn't you notice i'm on my period?!"
"i don't see how it affects me, princess" he said, kissing your inner thigh, stained with blood. "and, lucky for me, i'm a vampire"
he smiled devilishly. and although you found it was gross, he still managed to manipulate you into allowing it, and so, when his tongue pressed against your sensitive clit in the most delicious manner, you couldn't do anything other than squirm, moan and hold his hair.
but of course, he didn’t leave it at that. of course he had to finger you again, teasing you, passing his fingers through your slick, painting you with your blood; messily painting your blood on your cleavage, on your neck, on your boobs. like a white canvas, you slowly began gaining color.
and with his tongue tasting you, thrusting, licking, torturing you, your back arched perfectly as you held onto the bathtub, mewling his name. "c-cory! coryo!!!" you cried. "'m gonna- oh fuck!"
"i know, doll. i got you." and you came undone quickly, hands shaking, legs shaking, mouth held agape and still, your eyes shone when you saw him on top of you, blood on his chin, on his adam's apple, on his fingers. somehow, it was the prettiest sight you've ever seen. "but do you got me?"
you nodded, grinding so desperately on the bulge of his pants, so sensitive for him, throbbing and clenching, missing the bare contact you had with him. "yes, yes, i do."
this was enough of an answer for him to unbuckle his pants, wet from the way he drowned himself on that bathtub, his dick slapping at your clit, making you mewl at the sudden violence against your most sensitive parts; the way his tip teased your core was getting you to cry.
when he finally penetrated you, you felt like the pain, alongside with your ovulation, were getting into a fight; one seeing who was stronger than the other and for your own pleasure, it was your ovulation who won against the pain of the cramps.
"fuck- look at you, you're so wet" he moaned, taking your waist on his hands, holding you in your place before starting to pound inside you and god, you were so sensitible. it didn't matter anymore, when he licked your tears and kissed your lips, your legs trembled around his waist, you could feel every inch of his dick inside you, and even the slowest thrusts were making you mewl and moan around him. "god, angel, are you tighter than before?"
and you nodded. the side effect of your period was that you always felt tighter, hornier, more sensitive, more emotional; and you couldn't help but suck on his thumb as he thrusted a bit more faster and deeper inside you, kissing your temple and your lips while taking his thumb out of your lips to rub your swollen clit.
"you're so good, look at you. you're just perfect around me." he chuckled, biting your neck and squeezing your boob on his hand.
"coryo, s-slow it down, please. don't wanna c-cum yet!" you pleaded, crying from the overstimulation. you already came, a mild orgasm when he fingered you, another orgasm when he eat you out, and now that you had the sight of him on top of you, fucking you like that, you felt like you would cum just from the sight of it, specially when you looked down to see how it looked- his cock entering you so fast and yet slow, deep and good inside you.
and god! there was blood on his dick! and he didn’t even seem to care- it was like he knew about it, like he wanted more.
"i know, babe. you can cum how many times you want." he said, and you were genuinely crying from pleasure. on the other side, there was a coriolanus who thought that period sex was the prettiest form of bonding. like it was a spiritual thing-
and even when you came, being accompanied by him after a feel thrusts, cum and blood mixing together, he bathed you both and at night, he still managed to fuck you again.
he did it many times before, fucked you on your period as if it was his prize, like there was nothing better than it.
with that being said, now, he had his face buried in between your legs, sucking on your blood while you tried to work on the assignment the teachers gave you both. well, his part was done. now, his job was other;
pleasuring you and sucking the blood off you.
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Secrets & Sugarcubes ~ ♆
“ Sugarcube ? “
{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}
warnings: hurt/comfort, typical Hunger Games violence/trauma, mention/insinuation of forced prostitution, ptsd, soft reassurances, possible slight ooc?? Finnick fears physical touch, end is very fluffy with some slight cuddling, etc.
{{ word count }} 4.0 k
{{ Prompt }} The two of you had a game, a way of trading secrets when the world felt too big and a simple touch felt like a burn on Finnick’s skin. You always made sure to keep a tin of sugarcubes in your kitchen just in case.
{{ a/n }} I swear i know how to write happy things guys i promise akfkakkdka the next one will be tooth rottingly sweet i promise please bear with me >< ! I hope the length of this one makes up for it being a day late as well. This also might seem a bit ooc for Finnick? Not sure - but here is my full headcanon, I'd suggest reading it before this to better understand why Finnick is behaving the way he is as it's explained a bit more in-depth. Reader and Finnick are also rather affectionate with one another but there isn’t an established relationship yet between them. Please enjoy <3
Tip, Tap, Tip-Tip, Tap
Your door creaked under the coded knock, a beat of silence following before it was repeated on the old wood. Your nose scrunched in a perplexed manner, groggily padding down the stairs in your night clothes to your front door, a glimpse at the mahogany grandfather clock in the entryway tells you it’s well past midnight. Your confusion pooled into a sense of concern as cold fingers gripped the metal door handle and gave a firm tug. You knew the knock and who was behind the door as you started speaking before even meeting his gaze, the scent of almonds and honey tainted by a sickly layer of Capital roses filling your senses.
“What’s going on? It’s late. You should be asle-“
Your sentence was cut short as your gaze met a pair of bleary sea-green eyes. You knew the look too well as a frown settled on your lips, your shoulders sinking with your heart as you took in the male before you. “Oh, Finn..” You mutter as you open the door further to let him inside. He hesitates in the doorway, looking lost, but you give a flickering nod of encouragement, convincing him to cross the threshold.
“Come on, I’ll make some tea..”
Nodding towards the kitchen, he wordlessly treks after you. Finnick’s steel-colored dress shirt was well wrinkled, unbuttoned to his clavicle, and sleeves pushed past his elbows. His face didn’t look much better than his suit. His bronze waves were messy, brows sewn in with a tight jaw, and hunched shoulders added to an unsteady demeanor. You could only assume what had occurred earlier in the night while attending the latest Capital party before the famed “Capital’s Darling” appeared on your doorstep. The growing pit in your stomach churned at the thought, and a muscle fluttered in your jaw as you led the victor deeper into your home.
Settling into what sometimes felt like a nightly routine, you get to work on the tea. You also place a small tin on the counter before Finnick, his gaze dancing between your fingers and the tin as you do so. His hands were trembling.
“I think the sweater you left the other day is upstairs. I can get it if you’d like,” You offer while setting the kettle to simmer on the stove. Finnick shakes his head with a soft, tight-lipped hum. He was distracted, flicking his thumbs against the pads of his index fingers over and over again.
“I thought it might help to change...” You allow while stumbling over an apology. You round the counter in a retreat to hunt down the knit item. But you misjudge the distance. Your shoulder accidentally brushes his in a fleeting move that instantly causes recoil and a sharp inhale on Finnick’s part as if he’d been singed by a flame.
“Please,”
The word was strained in his throat as anguish flooded his tanned features. Your eyes widened at your misstep, immediately backtracking to provide more physical space between you. But your frown only deepens as you stare at one another for a fleeting moment before Finnick all but crumples in on himself, descending to the hardwood floor.
Heartbreak splinters through your chest like a knife, bringing yourself down with him as knees meet the polished wood with a thud. Taking further notice of his trembling, it spread up his arms and across his torso now, fists bunching the fabric of his sleeves. The victor wet his lips as his eyes screwed shut, visibly trying to push back whatever threatened to plague his mind.
“I'm so sorry Finnick. Hey, hey- it’s okay, it’s just me, I'm here. I’m sorry, you’re safe with me. You’re going to be okay,” Apologetic pleas pour out in whispers, your head tilting to see beneath the bronze waves blocking his eyes. “You’re safe here,"
He doesn’t respond, only wetting his lips again with a thick swallow that moves his throat up and down. Your lips press to a thin line as you scan around you for anything that might help break the darkness obscuring his senses. Your own thoughts swim with curses for your mistake before your vision finally connects with the small forgotten tin on the counter. Cautiously you rise to retrieve it, your movements are slow, ensuring your hands remain within view, and keeping a safe distance between Finnick and yourself. Once the cool metal touches your skin you wrap your fingers around it, returning to kneel before the distressed Darling on your floor.
“Hey, do you remember our game ?”
A small ‘click’ chirps out as you open the tin. Dozens of small white sugarcubes sparkle inside, gently shifting to let the tin rest between you two. Finnick’s eyes peek out in a squint, dragging his gaze down to the tin and then back up to fixate on your face. He gives a tiny nod to indicate he’s listening, the trembling doesn’t stop.
“Okay,” you manage a small, warm smile briefly as you dip your head to peer into the tin. Plucking four cubes out, simultaneously sweeping your calves out from under you for a more relaxed sitting position, you gently place two near his knee while keeping the other two in your hand.
“One for yes, two for no,”
Gesturing to show the two options, gaining another nod from the trembling victor. At least his attention is focused on the sugar now. Sometimes it took much longer to bring him back enough just to open his eyes.
This was what Finnick Odair hid behind showboating grins and that “Golden Boy” Capital mask. The poltergeists of sticky, unwanted Capital fingers and lips left dozens of invisible burns engraved on his skin. You’d caught the bronze-haired male regularly picking an invisible piece of lint off his shirt or whichever shiny garment the stylists forced him to wear. Soon enough you managed to decipher the minute gesture as a tell to when the discomfort the tanned male felt on his skin too often was starting to eat away at his thoughts.
Never quite free of the forces from previous nights.
It tore open your heart to see him like this. Thrown to the mutts of the Capital under President Snow’s threat of his loved ones being tortured or worse killed if he didn’t comply, there really was no escape from the taloned clutches of winning the annual Hunger Games.
Nobody escapes The Games, and nobody ever wins.
As much as you desperately wanted to whisk the 65th victor away from his position he wouldn’t let you even if you tried, claiming he couldn’t bear to see you come into harm's way and that he’d rather endure the torture just to keep you safe. The seeping guilt you felt was immeasurable.
“I’ll begin, you just answer with the sugar okay ?”
Another small nod earns a second weak smile tugging at the corners of your mouth to reassure him.
“Are you okay ?”
There’s a pause as Finnick thinks, eyelids squeeze shut again but soon open as a shaky hand gently moves the tiny pieces of sugar forward.
Two cubes, ‘no’
“Are you hurt outside ?”
Two cubes, ‘no’
“Are you hurt inside ?”
Another pause, and then he gently scoots one of the cubes backward.
One cube, ‘yes’
“Can you tell me what hurts inside ?”
Finnick hesitates, his brow twitches with a small crinkle of his nose. You wouldn’t pry if he wasn’t ready, you’re patience was strong and you’d spend all night passing sugar on the floor if it meant he could find peace of mind. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,”
Finnick didn’t have many choices or say in life due to his position in the capital, so you found providing clear options to be rather grounding for the Bronze-haired male. It gave him a sense of stability and control over himself and what was occurring around him. Keeping the questions of your game simple and to the point in turn made his responses quick, a distraction technique you had picked up a while back to combat your own struggles post-games.
Two cubes, ‘no’
“That’s okay,” your small smile strengthens as you give him a tender look, not of pity but empathy. “Can I help?”
One cube, ‘yes’
“Please…”
The repeated word is barely above a whisper. If you hadn’t been hyper-fixated on him you might not have caught the parting of his lips that dripped the morsel of sound. His gaze has moved up from the floor to meet yours, wide sea-green irises soft in a pleading expression. You simply nod, assuring him you’re staying right where you are. The tension in his body visibly releases as the reassurances seem to sink in. Gingerly, he releases his biceps, picking at an invisible speck of dust on his sleeve. He drags a hand through his tousled hair before taking it down his face to rub his eyelids. He inhales a deep, shaky breath. You let him take his time to recuperate. Once his hand returns to his lap and he meets your eyesight you resume the verbal questionnaire.
“Do you want your sweater ?”
One cube, ‘yes’
“Okay, just a second,” you smile warmly, he nods, and you slowly stand, making your way upstairs, finding the ivory knit sweater on your bedroom dresser right where he’d left it. Turning around, you retrace your steps back to the kitchen, making sure to avoid the steps that creak louder than others on your way. “Here you go,”
Placing the sweater down as you return to sit with the Darling, he waits for your hands to leave the fabric before picking up the thick material and tugging it over his head. It takes a minute to adjust the layers and his sitting position so they’re comfortable but when he’s done the steel grey button-up collar peeks out from under the angled neckline of the ivory sweater along with the tails of the neutral fabric sticking out under the bottom hem. The ends of the sleeves are stretched around his fingers to mimic mittens. “Better ?” You offer while he takes a moment to breathe in the familiar scent. The smell of Capital roses is quickly suffocated in his familiar warm almond and honey cologne mixing with your scent clinging to the sweater. A sweet smile softens your cheeks as he allows a small lopsided smile with a nod and a hum, the corners of his mouth twitching up at the comfort.
“Very much so.”
“Good,” you nod, “Do you want the citrus tea you like so much? The one with the cinnamon?” Quirking a brow with a small tilt of your head.
“mhm,”
One cube, ‘yes’
“Very well,” you smile sweetly, rising again to move back into the kitchen. You gently open a cupboard, plucking a viridian mug off the shelf for the Darling along with your usual mug. A delicate clink echos in the otherwise quiet space as you set the ceramics on the counter. Finnick has turned to peek up and watch.
His sea-green eyes were still big and pleading, not really ready to stand but also not wanting to be away from you. With the counter cutting off just below his irises and his bronze hair tossed around and fluffy like that you couldn’t help being reminded of a small puppy. You mouth another reassurance with a wink as your cheeks warm, pulling open a drawer to pick up two small objects. They’re burnished silver spheres of metal, split in half but held by a tiny latch and speckled in countless minuscule holes for the nectar of the teas to slip through.
Reaching for two narrow jars on your counter you slide them towards your workspace and unstick each lid with an odd “pop”. Whisps of warm cinnamon, citrus, cloves, and black tea mix with the scent of herbs and spices more aligned with your tastes. The teas were a luxury gift from Mags on your birthday a year or two ago. You only use them on special occasions or nights like these.
You take a small spoon and gingerly press the correct amount of leaves in each steeper, adding a few extra to Finnick’s as he preferred a more prominent flavor. Afterward, you lower the metal orbs into their respective mug and quietly clean your workspace. Once the items are back in place you turn and just about jump out of your skin with a yelp of surprise as the tea kettle’s shrill whistle sings loud and clear.
Quickly you fumble for a cloth on a hook beside the wide farmhouse sink. Wrapping it around the heated handle of the kettle you remove it from the flames and onto an unused burner before shutting off the stove. Your heart pounds as adrenaline courses through your veins like lightning. A curse dances off your tongue but your embarrassment is short-lived as a coy chuckle fills your ears, wrapping around your senses like a soft blanket. A relieving warmth weaves its way through your ribs and melts the icy heartache as you hear Finnick laugh again. Turning towards the sound you spot the bronze-haired male now standing at the counter, his forearms leaning on the cool stone. His hands are barely trembling now although his eyes seem far away but his demeanor has seemed to regain its footing, a flickering of his naturally charismatic aura passes through his pointed-to-white teeth in the form of a lopsided smile. Color has started to ebb its way back into his tanned cheeks. That warmth in your ribcage spreads up your neck but you try to shove it back down. The components of your game; all four sugarcubes and the tin are sitting beside his elbow on the counter. You cross your arms over your chest loosely, narrowing your eyes at him in a playful manner.
“It’s not funny,”
“You’re right it’s hilarious,” Finnick drawls, his tone cocky.
An exasperated huff puffs out your chest followed by a sarcastic roll of our eyes. “There’s the Finnick Odair I know and Love,” You sigh, mischief flickers in those sea-green eyes. Carefully bringing the kettle over after it has a moment to cool you pour the boiling water as evenly as you can before returning it to the stove. A comforting quiet falls over the two of you while watching the liquid within the mugs change color. Eventually, your gaze shifts to watching Finnick slowly build a tiny pyramid out of the sugarcubes. The pristine wall of white crystals stands for all but ten seconds (not even) before the victor’s gentle tap sends it crumbling.
The joy from moments ago dissipates into something melancholic.
“Are you okay…?” You ask again, a crease forming between your brows as you search his sea-green eyes for any signs. Finnick gives you another tight-lipped hum, his smile has slipped away and you notice the set in his jaw returns. His gaze shifts from his folded hands to the sugar close by and hesitantly plucks up two of the four pieces.
Two cubes, ‘no’
“Still inside…?”
One cube, ‘yes’
“Still no touching?” Your voice is tender in a reassuring manner.
Two cubes, ‘yes’
Finnick understands that he’s safe. You’ll respect any boundary he chooses. You’re one of his few ‘safe’ individuals that he allows to fully trust besides Johanna, Mags, and Annie. Unfortunately, Annie was always rather emotionally distraught, meaning Finnick couldn’t be around her for long periods due to her tendency to claw at people during her episodes. It broke his heart to see the fire-haired victor he mentored through an awful arena be left so broken and afraid with limited ability to help her. But you did your best to pick up the slack in her care.
You were all damaged people just trying to survive the best you could with the hand you’d been dealt. No matter the cruelty of the dealer.
While caught up in your thoughts, the tea finished steeping. Gently, you slide the viridian mug of citrusy spices towards Finnick, who allows a small thanks and his “compliments to the chef” while plucking two sugarcubes from his fallen stack and dropping them into the burnt orange liquid.
“My pleasure,” you hum, fixing your tea how you like it and stirring the small steeper around the mug before lifting it from the drink and setting it off to the side. Finnick’s steeper soon follows. You’ll clean the sticky residue later.
Hot ceramic warms your fingertips as they curl around the mug, lifting it to your lips and parting them to give a gentle blow. Ripples of tea bounce around the rim, causing the curls of steam to dance around your cheeks. You inhale the Herbs deeply, and a calm feeling washes over your shoulders. The first sip immediately warms your insides as it goes down, observing the same reaction on Finnick as he takes a long swig of the tea followed by a hum of pleasure.
“Don’t burn your tongue it's still hot,” you murmur into your drink, the emitted sound coming out a bit warped. A ghost of a smile crosses the Darling’s face at your words, though he doesn’t reply, preferring another sip of the luxurious tea.
You already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of his dislike for the stinging on his tongue tomorrow from the burn.
You wish to reach out to him, brush your knuckles against his, or cup his stupidly handsome face in your hands, holding him close till all is better, but you can’t. You won’t. His safety and comfort is your priority right now, and you’ll always give him space when asked. You knew all too well what violation of space felt like.
“Are you feeling any better?”
You question the Darling while searching those sea-green eyes for any signs of pain.
Finnick offers a slight nod, casting a glance in your direction while adjusting the sugar.
One cube, ‘yes’
You nod in understanding. Even though the ache inside his chest still hurt you at least managed to help him start to move past it. The two of you stay at the counter for a long while. Secrets pass back and forth via sugarcube and Finnick has another cup of tea. You move in quiet tandem with one another as he preps the tea and you clean up your steeper and mug in the sink. Softly you hum a small rhyming tune from your childhood as you scrub along the inside of your mug, there’s a sense of domesticity in the air and you can’t help feeling more at ease.
Once everything is clean and put away except the sugarcubes you find yourself on your living room sofa, there’s a space between where your knees are tucked up against you and where Finnick sits. The tin of white crystals sits in that space, the Darling victor plucking up cubes every once in a while to suck on. He could eat all of them and you wouldn’t have minded.
The room is dimly lit, just the light from a lantern on the unused desk beside the fireplace. A soft glow is painted across Finnick’s features that makes his eyes sparkle and spread warmth up your cheeks, the tips of your ears surely going red. You try to suffocate the warmth as it threatens to bubble up past your grasp.
As time passes Finnick eventually speaks of what happened. You listen with full attention and offer much sympathy and reassurance once he’s finished. You thank the charming male for allowing himself to be open with you and he admits, “It’s easy to be an open book when it’s you,” and those sea-green irises seem to light up even more. That warmth twists your insides as your stomach does what feels like a backflip. “Thank you…for letting me in tonight,” he murmurs with that perfect smile, the outer corners of his eyes crinkle, and dimples press into his cheeks. The smile you return is equally as wide and sweet.
“Always. I’ll always be here Finn, and you’re welcome to stay here if you want tonight. There’s plenty of space,” You breathe through a slight laugh. The big house you were gifted in Victor’s Village was far too big to have just yourself anyway and this wouldn’t be the first time the Darling spent the night.
With a nod and a pat to the space between you, you nod towards the stairs before moving to snuff out the lantern. Finnick follows, closing the sugarcube tin and placing it on the coffee table. Quietly you two head upstairs, small giggles peppering the air as the stairs creak.
When you enter your bedroom you rummage in a drawer for a pair of sweats you had ‘borrowed’ from the Darling a while ago when it had been your turn to appear at his doorstep with tears in your eyes. “Here,” you speak gently while holding them out. A cheshire smirk creeps over Finnick’s face as he takes the pants.
“So that’s where these went~”
You shush him with a sarcastic wave of your hand, letting him go into the bathroom to change while you move to sit cross-legged on the plush mattress. You preferred sleeping with many soft blankets and pillows like your own nest. It helped you feel safe when alone - though most would end up kicked off or stolen by the furnace of a man you often shared the bed with. Your revenge usually came in the morning as your icy fingers assaulted the warmth of his lower back with a fit of laughter.
You smile tenderly at the thought as Finnick reappears.
“What?” He asks.
That coy smirk is still plastered on his lips as he comes over to sit beside you. “Hm? Oh - nothing. Lay down, I’m tired." You offer with a hum. He nods before joining you under the covers. You face one another, looking into each other's eyes. Slowly, you feel his hand creep over to yours and interlace your pinkie fingers.
“Is this okay?” Those heart-melting puppy dog eyes return. You can’t help the sweet smile on your face and the warmth on your cheeks.
“Always.”
{{ taglist }}
@justtrying2getby
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the ways in which Charles shows you he loves you - c.leclerc
pairings: charles leclerc x reader
warnings: fluff + headcanon with scenarios + ig au(creds to Pinterest)
a/n: his is kinda short :/ I have more to come of these xx
- words of affirmation + gift giving
flowers, chocolates, and teddy bears are all things he enjoys giving because of your smile and the warmth he gets in his chest. but he also uses his words with little “I love you’s” or “I’m proud of you”
- helping with your hair
whether it’s box braids, thick curls, or thin layers he’s not afraid to step in when you need him. of course, he always asks if you need help or if it’s okay for him to touch.
“do you need assistance?” he creeps into the bathroom and see you’re struggling with the curling iron. turning towards him you nod and hand him the hot device.
“just don’t burn my hair off.”
- French pet names
“mon amour, did you just say Carlos is better than me?” his blueish green eyes flicker over at you in the golf cart awaiting your turn to tee off. it’s no surprise, carlos is the king of the golf courses always showing off, it’s easy for anybody to look like a fool with him around.
“he’s six strokes under and you’re six strokes above, cha. he’s doing better than us combined.” you giggle gesturing for him to come sit with you while you watch Carlos strategize his next stroke.
“ma cherie, I think you’re right. he could be in the masters if he wasn’t a driver.”
- instagram boyfriend
not only is he the kind to get all the good angles of you, but he definitely comments and/or posts your pictures on his story.
yourusername
liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, and 2,300 others.
yourusername: 😙
300 comments
charles_leclerc: ma belle 😍
charles_leclerc: je t’aime xx
charles_leclerc: photo credits?
- touchy
his hand is either always on your lower back or in your hand. some part has to be touching you and right now it’s his hand resting on your lower back guiding you throughout the paddock as he makes quick stops to take pictures with fans.
- picking up your interests
whether it’s reading, crossword puzzles, knitting, or yoga Charles suddenly becomes its biggest fan just to spend time with you.
you’re sitting cross legged on the floor knitting him a new sweater, and he’s watching a YouTube video on beginner scarf patterns. it’s very obvious that he’ll go to lengths to join you in your activities.
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Teddy Bear
Pairing: John Price x F! Reader
Summary: You bump into a handsome stranger while shopping. meet cute.
Warning: M Theme. VERY slight mention of Innuendoes. Alcohol use. assumptions.
A/N: for @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world, hope this will give you a tiny etsy warm fuzzy feeling with our dear Johnathan Price.
not beta'ed or proof read.
Master list
“Aunty Bear! Come on!!”
Letting out a sigh, half regretting letting your adorable niece and nephew have the free rein to choose any present they want as they drag you by the pants through aisle after aisle at the local department store.
You haven’t seen your sister’s family for over a year. You were astonished how big they have grown in the time between, especially your little niece. Seems only yesterday you were cradling her in your arm as a newborn, and now her little feet can zoom around faster than a sports car, even her six year old brother is having hard time keeping up.
“Alright alright, steady there, I can’t keep up with you when I can’t see where I am going!” you warned the little girl as you adjusted the oversized teddy bear in your arms, at the same time trying to navigate blindly. At the end you just give up and let her pull whichever direction she leads you.
Suddenly you collide with an obstacle, sending you reeling. A strong muscular arm caught you in time before you fell onto the shelves.
“Apologies, are you alright there?” A deep husky voice above your head asks as they try to steady your footing, and only to let go after they are sure both of your feet are firmly back on the ground again.
Your face heats up as soon as you lift your head up to take a good peek at your saviour ( or victim of your blind walking ), gezez he is tall, you thought. Very handsome too. Nicely groomed beard, piercing blue eyes, slight wrinkles around his eyes and between brows. He must frown pretty often.
“Ohh, aunty look, he’s got a furry face!” your two year old niece pointed at the stranger, as she stared at him with wonder.
“That’s called a beard Lizzy, not fur.” your nephew corrected his sister, rolling his eyes.
“Actually that is a mutton chop.. “ you blurted out without thinking. Seconds later your eyes grew wide, realising what you just said.
‘Shit um, sorry, uh, I apologise.. Sorry to run into you. And Um, commenting on your…” you dropped the large teddy bear on the floor, while one hand covering your mouth, waving around towards his beard, horrified.
The handsome stranger chuckled. “It’s ok. It’s always been a talking point. I am used to it.”
Embarrassed beyond words, you shake your head. You swallowed hard before you squeezed more words of apology out of your mouth.
“Really it’s Ok. I know it’s hard to chase around the kids when your hands are full.” he commented.
“From experience?” you asked, eyebrows raised, and feeling that slight ping of disappointment in your heart. He must be married. You thought. You took a quick glance at his left hand. No rings. Your heart soars again.
“ I guess chasing and yelling after three adults that behave like kids you can count as that.” He replied as he let out a short laugh. “Especially ones that don't follow your command when they are off duty.”
Seeing your brows knitted together with confusion at his comment, “ My subordinate. Those three are like my sons.” he smiled softly.
You swear the room spun a bit after seeing his smile. Or are you swooning?
Get your brain straight! You mentally slap yourself. You are here shopping for presents, not ogling on eligible or dateable people!
You felt your nephew tugging at your clothes, snapping you out of your internal dialogue. “Aunty Bear, I am hungry, can we go home and have lunch please?” he pouted.
“Ah um, ok, let’s go and pay for this and we can go home, ya?” you replied, ready to bend down to pick up the teddy bear from the floor. A shadow loomed over you. The stranger had bent over, arms out.
“I’ll carry that for you, if you don’t mind. Also be easier to hold onto your niece as well.” he gestured.
Gosh how nice can this man be? You ran into him, and now he is offering to help you to carry your purchase?
You nodded your head, whispered a thanks, before you turned and picked your niece up into your arms.
The stranger picks the teddy bear up under his arm with ease, while your nephew carries the rest of the items, as four of you walk towards the register.
“Aunty … he’s like a real giant teddy bear..” your niece whispered into your ear. “And his arms are furry too, just like his face.”
The stranger turned around, “My chest is quite furry too. And legs. Just like a real bear.” he added with a mischievous smile.
Your face burnt with embarrassment. Is he trying to flirt with you? There is no way. NOPE.
You speed up your pace to get to the register, even more embarrassed.
“Daddy and mummy buying presents for you two?” the old lady at the register asked the children with a smile as she ring up the items.
“Oh no no no we are not… “ “she’s not…I am just helping her..“ both of you shake your head, denying. Your face heated up again at the thought. How much more embarrassment can you take today? But part of your heart is actually amused at the situation.
“Oh sorry.. Just four of you look so lovely together..” the lady apologised. “Sorry to make the assumption.”
You took a peek at the stranger as he accepted the apology and gracefully redirected the conversation with the lady with little chit-chat.
He was even nice enough to help you to carry everything to the car, “Need help to put it into the boot, wife?” he joked as he flashes you a smile.
“Ah, thanks, um uh, you shouldn’t have.” you stuttered slightly hearing his joke. You pop the boot open, letting him stuff the large teddy bear in. “I ran into you and here you are helping me, I feel very bad. So um, Can I buy you a coffee or something as an apology and as a thanks for the help?”
A sad apologetic smile appeared on his face. Looking at his watch he replied, “It’s Ok. I have to leave soon. Plus,” he pointed at the two children standing beside you, pouting. “I think they are getting bit.. What is the word, hangry? So I think it’s time to feed them.”
Disappointment hits you. The one time you raise your courage to ask someone, you get turned down.
“Maybe next time?” he suddenly asked.
“Oh. Um. I .. I am not from around here. I am only here to visit my sister and family..”
Now is that a look of disappointment on his face?
“Oh. That’s fine. Well, nice to meet you. Have a safe drive home.” Giving you a final wave as you double check the children are buckled into their seats, you drive out from the car park, while the stranger is still standing at the same spot, seeing you off.
Oh well. Not meant to be. You convinced yourself. Suppressing that sadness that is bubbling up within you.
Your sister was ecstatic when you told her you found a new job nearby. She often complaints about how the children misses you, how she misses you, and the job opportunity around the city is better than the one you are currently living in, plus she has a granny flat in her backyard, you save a bit on rent, get to stay with your family while still have your own private space.
Tonight a group of you decided to go out and celebrate one of your workmate’s birthday. And you always wanted to check out this particular bar that always seems to be full of people. Everyone you asked raved about the good selection of drink and food.
“And maybe you might meet that handsome stranger again!” your friend joked.
You rolled your eyes. You knew you shouldn’t have let that story out. It’s been nearly over a year. They might have moved on. They might have forgotten about you. Surely in such a big city, the chance of bumping into the same person is quite slim.
“It’s your birthday! I’ll get your next drink!” you wave at your friend, declining her offer of money as you jump off the stool, ready to get your second pint of beer. As soon as you turned around, you bumped into a wall of broad chest. The stranger caught you just in time, and pulled you into his chest to prevent you from falling. You felt his chest rumble as he chuckled. You recognise that laugh.
“Hello teddy bear lady, we really should stop meeting like this.”
Oh deary me. Maybe luck is on your side.
tag list :
@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @homicidal-slvt
@floral-force @okayyadriana @cumikering @siilvan
@random-thot-generator @random0lover @devcica @jynxmirage @nrdmssgs @glitterypirateduck @rileyslibrarian
@mistydeyes, @groguspicklejar,
@whydoilikewhump @captainpriceslover, @tapioca-marzipan
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wake up slow | barista!steve harrington
entry for my fall frenzy requests
this request comes in from @superblysubpar:
'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington
summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.
tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.
That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain.
Now the damn key.
"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.
"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.
"Easy morning?"
"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December.
"What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.
"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?"
"I know," he nods, "Gimme one second."
Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?"
"Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too."
"You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.
"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"
You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.
You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.
You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes.
You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.
You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass.
"We aren't open yet!" you call out.
"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes.
"For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in.
"Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip.
"Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.
"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.
You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.
"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go.
"No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it."
He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."
"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."
"What?"
"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome.
You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.
"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."
"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."
You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks.
"I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."
You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."
Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!
You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.
When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.
"What do you drink?" he asks.
"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip.
He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that.
"I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.
"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"
"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.
"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.
"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."
"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.
"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."
"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"
"Getting my MBA."
Of course.
"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."
"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."
You try not to let that compliment change your mind.
He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.
But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.
Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.
A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.
"Rough morning?"
You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.
"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.
"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule."
"Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.
"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"
"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"
"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.
"And th--"
"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.
"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."
He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."
"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."
"Skulk, huh?"
"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"
"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.
"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.
The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.
Even his signature was handsome.
After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.
"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."
"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."
He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"
"Excuse me?" you bite back.
"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."
"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.
"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."
You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.
"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.
You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.
"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"
"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow.
He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.
His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."
"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."
"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."
You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.
"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you.
"Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."
You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.
The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.
"What're you reading?"
You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.
"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.
"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.
"It's Pride and Prejudice."
"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.
"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."
"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"
"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."
"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."
"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.
"I don't have one," he shrugs.
"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something."
"Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.
"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.
"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."
"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.
"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."
"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.
"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."
"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."
"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.
"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.
You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.
"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.
"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.
"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."
"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.
"I did good?" he quirks a brow.
"You did good," you nod.
"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."
"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.
Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."
November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.
You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.
"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.
Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.
The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.
You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.
At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.
Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.
For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.
Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.
Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.
Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.
You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.
Anyway.
As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.
"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."
You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.
"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.
"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"
"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."
"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.
"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"
"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."
"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"
"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.
"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."
"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."
"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."
"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.
"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.
"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."
"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.
"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.
Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."
You smile back, unable to stop it this time.
"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.
"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"
He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."
The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.
You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.
You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.
"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.
"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."
"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.
You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.
After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.
After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.
You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.
"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."
You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.
"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.
"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.
"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.
You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.
The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.
It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.
"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."
"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.
"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."
"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."
"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."
"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"
"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.
"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.
"Well don't look so upset about it."
"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.
"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."
"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."
You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.
"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."
"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."
He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.
"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."
Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.
"You -- no -- you read it?"
"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.
"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.
"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.
He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.
"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."
"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it.
"Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.
"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.
"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.
"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.
"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."
"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.
"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."
"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.
"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours.
"Mayb--"
The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.
Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.
His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.
Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin.
You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.
He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.
You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.
"I didn't read it," he confesses.
"Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.
"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."
"I love that one," you say back.
"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.
"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."
"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"
You of course start closing together every single Saturday.
masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi
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Child-Bearing Hip Dips
pairing: Professor!Ari Levinson x College!Student!Reader
summary: Ari overhears his babygirl’s conversation with her friends, he teaches her another lesson, why he loves her love handles. (DILF!Ari) (Dom!Ari)
likes, Comments and reblogs are appreciated/18+
Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
“fuck, ya know these hips were made for me don’t ya?” Ari growled slamming his cock into her wet fuck hole, his shirt unbuttoned as she pawed at his meaty chest and stomach, his lips coming down to pull and tug at her puffy nipples. “Y-Yes sir, o-Oh shit” Y/n moaned feeling him spit onto her face, his hands kneading at her hips, even spanking it lewdly. Her college professor, loved watching her body jiggle and move.
- 30 minutes ago -
“So Y/n, your truth is, if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?” Grace smiled picking a truth out of the hat, seeing that hardly anyone had attended the sociology lecture today due to weather problems, the girls made due and played some Truth or Dare; their seemingly distracted professor marking papers at his desk. His circular glasses perched on his nose, his eyes making subtle contact with Y/n, sending her a wink every few seconds.
She fidgeted and squirmed in her seat, having no underwear to put on this morning while at her boyfriend’s house, the greedy git had stolen it after he had fucked the daylights out of her. That same pair of lilac underwear, peeking out of his trouser pocket everytime he stood up to grab more papers to mark. He was practically teasing her at this point, even playing with the promise ring on his finger, reminding her of how those same thick fingers were tugging, pulling and feeling every bit of her the night before; in fact every night for the past 4 months since she took up this class.
“Oi Y/n, stop oglin’ Mr. Levinson n’ answer the question already” Lara whispered nudging her friend, repeating the question to her so they could move on with the game already, “Right oh uh, if I could change one thing about myself… maybe my hip dips? I don’t know anything I wear leggings they make my body look square and it puts me off. Plus! I don’t know, i’ve had people tell me before that it makes my proportions weird” Y/n explained scowling, gripping at the skin on her hips, her friends nodding as they could relate to the exact same thing.
“Ok next one-“ Before the next truth could be asked, the bell rang signifying the end of the day, all four college girls sighing out in relief at the thought of it finally being over. Lectures were to be put on hold after today, with the weather threatening to worsen, giving them all a weeks holiday to do whatever they pleased. Or whoever.
“Do all you ladies have a safe way home? Would you like me to call a few cabs?” Mr. Levinson offered seeing them all start to file out of the room, all of them stating that their significant other’s were picking them up, “What about you Miss L/n?” Ari asked tilting his head, seeing as now they were the only two left in his lecture hall, his fingers fiddling with the lilac fabric in his pocket.
“Hmm my man said he would pick me up, I don’t know if he’s here yet though” She pouted playfully walking around his desk, grabbing onto his sleeves as she pulled herself to smack a glossy wet smooch onto his lips, one that was gladly reciprocated. “is that so? What kinda man is that, leavin his woman stranded and cold” He cooed letting his hands fondle up her skirt, ripping a hole into her stockings, cheekily groping at her backside.
Both of them chuckling as he sat back down onto his chair, bringing her onto his lap, his hands going under the creme knit jumper of his that she chose to put on this morning; feeling her bare breasts as he also hid her bra from her. He hated seeing those wired marks on her back, he could care less if her tits sagged, they were only his to look at anyway. “Can we go to your place already? It’s cold and I still need to finish the damn paper my sociology teacher set me”
“Oh yeah good job tellin your sociology professor that” He grumbled bunching up his sweater just above her chest, exposing her globes to the cool air, the same ones he would spend any amount of time sucking and kissing on. “Anyway what’s this I heard about hip dips? Who told you that?” His fingers massaging deep into her hips, the same hips he loved seeing swaying round his kitchen as she listened to her music, the same hips that rode his cock to the moon and back, the same hips that belong to the most gorgeous girl he swears he’s ever seen. His Y/n’s hips.
“Well am not lyin! I’ve heard so many people tell me to lose ‘em, i’ve tried all the tips but these girls won’t budge. They just make me look bulky” She groaned running her hand back through his hair, his eyes darkening as her body was basically exposed to him. “Baby, these are my love handles, I love holdin’ onto them everytime your sweet pussy is wrapped around my cock, the way the muscles tense and relax with every movement. I don’t give a fuck about proportions either babygirl, at the end of the day it’s all mine to eat and grab at” He growled setting her onto his emptied desk, her fingers automatically undoing his belt and buttons, his trousers being tugged sown to his thick thighs.
“Open up baby, seems I need to remind my girl some of the things i’ve taught her” He gritted his teeth, feeling his cock being engulfed by her warm gummy walls, a familiar feeling for them both, comforting even. “F-fuck daddy, still so big” She whimpered, already feeling like she had been split into two, her older boyfriends cock was no joke.
-Present-
“fuck, ya know these hips were made for me don’t ya?” Ari growled slamming his cock into her wet fuck hole, his shirt unbuttoned as she pawed at his meaty chest and stomach, his lips coming down to pull and tug at her puffy nipples. “Y-Yes sir, o-Oh shit” Y/n moaned feeling him spit onto her face, his hands kneading at her hips, even spanking it lewdly. “What did I read people callin’ these once? Child bearin hips” He whispered licking up between her tits, her hands clawing onto his ass, pushing his hips farther into her; her tongue reaching out for his as her drool covered face mashed up against his in a sealing kiss.
Ari groaning at the feeling of his woman’s cunt clenching around his length, her hips wrapping her legs around his waist, caging him against her body as he continued thrusting in and out of her mercilessly. “Ya like that baby? The thought of your professor knockin you up? Watchin’ you walk around campus all full of my baby? Only we would know our dirty secret” He taunted whispering right against her lips, a string of saliva connecting them as she cried out and had to bite her lip to keep the rest in.
“Yes- Yes I want it all! Fuck just give it to me daddy, need it so bad, warm me up with your cum” She squealed feeling his hand leave her hips to start circling at her precious delicate button, rubbing it raw as he helped her chase her orgasm, his catching up with it. “Whatever my baby wants, she gets” He sighed out, and Y/n swore she saw stars, her toes twinkling closed, his shaft hitting her G-spot repeatedly. Their torsos flattened against each other, her hips slowly gyrating, his seed filling her to the brim, creating a cream like effect to the base of his cock where they connected.
“So what did you think about these hip dips again?” He breathed out resting his forehead against hers, fully taking off her sweater so they could feel each other’s warmth, skin to skin. “You mean my love handles babe” She giggled beaming up at him, despite her face being riddled with sweat and saliva, but Ari was sure he looked the exact same. From then on he swore he would fuck the insecurities out of her, even if it was the last thing he’d do.
“That’s my girl, now come on, let’s go home so I can help you with this ‘stupid sociology essay’ so we can spend the week doing somethin more productive” He joked cleaning her up a bit, even fixing her hair that was now all over the place, “Or something more reproductive” She giggled kicking her legs, already feeling him growing hard against her thigh, she’s got him again.
———
PSA: Big beefy Ari is back again🫶🫶🫶🙏
library blog: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection
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