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He's a devil but he's so calm and confident. Also with a bit if grump haha. Perfect flavouring.
Girlie!!
Thoughts on Dark!Professor!Raymond Smith?
Like this man would mix his lips every-time his eyes strayed to you in class.
He would literally tell you how to make those ‘O’ when he forces encourages you to smoke weed.
And when he’s eating you out, he’d pulls your closer by your thighs and makes sure his snug in between your thighs. He also makes sure that his glasses fog up.🤭🤭🤭
(He also makes sure you feel his signet ring when he finger you HARD☺️☺️)
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Haha I have such an aversion to weed (nothing about morals, I just get headaches from the smell and don't come at me for saying that. Yall can do what you want). But yes, I definitely see him doing that to be the cool professor lmao.
He's the type to smother a gal. To really lay it on thick until you're completely suffocated. Did you mean lick his lips? I was a bit confused lol but I'm also sick. In several ways.
I always love a good professor AU.
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Girlie!!
Thoughts on Dark!Professor!Raymond Smith?
Like this man would mix his lips every-time his eyes strayed to you in class.
He would literally tell you how to make those ‘O’ when he forces encourages you to smoke weed.
And when he’s eating you out, he’d pulls your closer by your thighs and makes sure his snug in between your thighs. He also makes sure that his glasses fog up.🤭🤭🤭
(He also makes sure you feel his signet ring when he finger you HARD☺️☺️)
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Haha I have such an aversion to weed (nothing about morals, I just get headaches from the smell and don't come at me for saying that. Yall can do what you want). But yes, I definitely see him doing that to be the cool professor lmao.
He's the type to smother a gal. To really lay it on thick until you're completely suffocated. Did you mean lick his lips? I was a bit confused lol but I'm also sick. In several ways.
I always love a good professor AU.
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Lives, breathes, and masturbates all about his obsession yet he has to maintain control. He isn't fully accepting or self-aware of how bad his obsession is but it colours his whole life. He tells himself he's just fucking around, maybe he believes it, but he can't focus on anything else. Gets a bit trigger happy when he gets distracted on a mission at just the thought of you. When someone mentions it, he threatens to shoot them too.
Roo! What do you think stalker!Lloyd would be like? And what would catch his attention to make him go into obsessed creeper mode? 😬
I dunno why this made me smile so much.
He definitely is a good stalker given his line of work but he also wants to fuck with your mind. So he leaves subtle hints but nothing that would give it away. Like almost gaslighting or convincing you you're crazy by moving things in your apartment, sending emails from your account but they're signed by you, friends are getting phone calls in your voice (AI? Voice changer?) which make them cut you off.
Why is he obsessed... hm, that's the hard one.
Usually my Lloyd's are triggered by any sort of push back so if he meets you, then it's probably cause you said something that stuck with him. Likely insulting. You bruised his ego somehow.
But if he was to become infatuated with a stranger... just on a one off. It wouldn't be anything unusual or overly special. He'd probably just notice some sort of vulnerability and want to exploit. Maybe you body check yourself in the reflection on a window or you look longingly at all the things you can't afford through store windows.
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I'm so sorry to hear you haven't been feeling well, Roo. The flu this year is a bitch and a half
Oh thanks. It's been really rough. I'm hoping to bounce back quick. I'm supposed to attend a wrestling show on saturday :(
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Roo! What do you think stalker!Lloyd would be like? And what would catch his attention to make him go into obsessed creeper mode? 😬
I dunno why this made me smile so much.
He definitely is a good stalker given his line of work but he also wants to fuck with your mind. So he leaves subtle hints but nothing that would give it away. Like almost gaslighting or convincing you you're crazy by moving things in your apartment, sending emails from your account but they're signed by you, friends are getting phone calls in your voice (AI? Voice changer?) which make them cut you off.
Why is he obsessed... hm, that's the hard one.
Usually my Lloyd's are triggered by any sort of push back so if he meets you, then it's probably cause you said something that stuck with him. Likely insulting. You bruised his ego somehow.
But if he was to become infatuated with a stranger... just on a one off. It wouldn't be anything unusual or overly special. He'd probably just notice some sort of vulnerability and want to exploit. Maybe you body check yourself in the reflection on a window or you look longingly at all the things you can't afford through store windows.
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Mood board idea: 40s military nurse reader and skinny Steve turned into buff super serum Steve 😁
I feel like I've done this one before bc finding images was so difficult but here we go
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He is set in his ways for sure! And I'm certain he enjoyed having her so near ;)
It will be akin to Dirty Work Loki I think. He's there but she's either not in for the day or she's busy with another demanding customer. He gets impatient or nosy and she finds herself having to deal with some tude perhaps. Breaking their established routine.
To a Tea 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 
Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 
18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 
Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.
Character:  Raymond Smith
The title is a pun, don't @ me.
Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 
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“He’s here,” Jenna’s warning brings you attention away from siphoning what’s left off the peppermint leaves into the fresh tin. 
You glance over without any other directive. He always waits in that same spot. Even if the table’s empty, he doesn’t sit right away. You give you co-worker a look and smile as you put the lid on the tin and slide it out of the way. 
You wash your hands thoroughly before you grab the cylinder of disinfecting wipes and sweep around the end of the counter. You step out onto the tea room floor as his eyes find you, expecting you. You’ve adjusted to his ritual, almost compelled to it. 
“Hello, Raymond,” you great as you approach the empty table for two where he sits with his back to the wall and his eyes towards the door. 
“Miss,” he greets in his way. 
He’s a bit uptight. Others might say worse but once you learn his quirks, he’s very human. Even if everything else about him is mysterious. 
Sometimes you build stories about him in his head. His glasses, his neatly styled hair, and his combed beard suggest a man with an eye for his appearance. His suits might be better fit to library or a professor’s podium. Not sleek enough for a board room. Then you think he might be a writer of sorts but you’ve never seen him with a laptop or pen and most of the local authors don’t show up without one or the other. 
You take out a wipe and take your time in getting every inch of the table. You back up as he removes his jacket and you back out of his way. He sidles around the and sits, shoulders set as he grips the table and straightens it. 
Whoever he is, he’s very precise. 
“Usual?” You ask with a smile. 
He looks at you and reaches to pinch the arm of his glasses. The first time he came in, you remember you could’ve melted at his gaze. So stony and unyielding, you wondered why he was even there. Now, there is an ease to it. He prefers the familiar and you have become that. 
“Yes, usual,” he agrees. 
You nod and swiftly turn on your heel. You go back behind the counter as Jenna snoops from behind the cookie display. You shake your head at her as you wash your hands a second time. He will certainly note that as well.  
You go to steep his cup of English Breakfast as the other woman nears and watches the steaming water at your side. 
“Don’t know how you do it. He should just have tea at home.” 
“Can’t complain for business,” you shrug. 
“Why bother? All that fuss for a cuppa.” 
“Maybe he likes the ambience?” You suggest. 
“He said the lights give him headaches.” 
“Oh?” 
“Well, he pays his bill. That’s all I ask for,” you add a teaspoon of milk, measuring it out exactly and you move the tab of the bag to hang to the left of the handle. 
“Mm, and he sures asks a lot of you, don’t he?” She crosses her arms. 
“Jenna,” you look towards the till where a customer waits. 
“Ugh, you’re such a bore,” she chides. 
You go back into the tea room and cross to Raymond’s table. You set the cup and saucer before him. 
“Enjoy,” you insist. 
“Cheers,” he hooks his finger into the handle and turns the cup to an exact angle. 
You lean back on your heel and he raises his palm, “do you... have any suggestions?” 
“For?” You wonder. 
“I thought to try something with my tea today. What do you recommend?” 
“Well, were we thinking something savoury or sweet?” You reply breezily, “our cheese scones are delicious, and there is the chives and onion bake. I sneak one every Friday. Erm, there are the white chocolate shortbread on special and I think we’ve sold out of the cherry tarts. Oh, if you’d like a combination, there is the cranberry cheddar scone. I don’t mind it but I hate the crumbles.” 
He considers you thoughtfully and crosses his arms. He mills the decision with his lips clamped. His blues eyes narrow behind his lenses. 
“Do you have plain shortbread?” 
“Of course,” you chime, “two for a pound.” 
“Two will do,” he agrees. 
You hold your smile and once more set off on your mission. He might be stringent, a bit repressed, but you’ve dealt with worse customers. More demanding, sometimes outrightt rude.  
You dip behind the counter and grab a plate. You use the tongs to take two of the shortbread biscuit and place them on a clean plate. You take a napkin with you and once more emerge from behind the displays. 
You approach Raymond as he sips his tea. You put the plate and serviette before him. He thanks you and adjusts his tie, letting his hand drift down his vest. 
“Is that it, sir? Tea alright?” 
“That’s it,” he affirms. 
“Great, you know where I’ll be,” you chirp and spin.  
You stop before you can bring your foot down as he calls your name. He’s only ever said it once. The first time you met. It’s always ‘miss’. 
You turn to face him, “yes?” 
“Your apron strings are uneven...” he says. “Just figured... I’d warn you.” 
You nearly laugh. What an odd thing to worry about. You reach back behind your waist and feels the lengths. Sure enough, you’ve tied them entirely off kilter. You suppose you don’t pay too much attention to that. 
“Thanks for letting me know.” 
He nods and examines one of the cookies. Then his eyes flick up and keep you from another retreat, “I could fix it.” 
“Oh, er, that’s fine,” you wave him off, “not a big deal.” 
“It doesn’t bother you?” He wonders. 
“Not really,” you shrug, “does it bother you?” 
His brows raise slightly and he taps the cookie, shaking off the crumbs as much as he can. He leans forward and nibbles over the plate, making certain not to litter over the edge. He puts the biscuit down and wipes his fingers on the napkin. 
“It does,” he says. 
You won’t laugh at him. It would truly be at his expense, it’s just a very unexpected offer. You put your arms straight, “if you want.” 
You near and turn your back to him. You sense him leaning forward as you stand stalk straight and watch the tea room. The smell of cinnamon and cloves fills the warm space, the shades giving an orangish hue to the din. There are low tables near the center with pillow seats, and the high tables along the walls. You know all the creaks and cracks better than your own home. 
You feel him tug the knot loose and his fingers work agilely to tie a new knot. He lets it hang but just as quickly looses it again. You try not to move as he does it several times before he relents. 
“There, ears and tails match,” he declares. 
You step away and turn to send him a smile, “thanks.” 
He doesn’t say anything, only raises his cup and doffs it in a kind gesture before he sips. You twist away again. You should help Jenna before the rush begins. That’s the only thing about Raymond, he does take up a lot of time. 
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How about an Unraveled aesthetic!
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Might I suggest a moodboard for our darling Raymond for the existing au? -moosereblogsfics
Do you mean To a Tea? That's what I went with.
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Oooooh love your moodboards! How about for old scars and new blood?? 🩷💖
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Can't decide who would wear this heheh
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Reader:
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Follow You Anywhere 5
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.
Characters: Captain Syverson
Note: still sick but still craving dick.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
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You drain the glass of water and cling to it. You’re at a loss of what to do next. You’re not just trapped by this man, you’re bound up in fear. It’s a real life horror movie. 
You stand and blink long and hard, trying to steady yourself. You turn, your legs stiff and straight, your movement slow as if walking through sludge. You stop and sway as you find Sy watching you from the doorway. 
No wonder you never noticed him before. He’s so quiet, you didn’t even know he was still in the room. Well, he is a soldier after all. That fact chills you more than anything. Even if you were more formidable, you still wouldn’t have a hope. 
He wears only a pair of thin gym shorts, low on his hips and displaying his thick stomach. He’s not really fat, just burly. He’s got hair fron chest to waistline, his stomach boxy with muscle but not perfectly defined. His arms are hug and bulge without flexing. 
You gulp and look down at the empty glass and walk forward. 
“I can get that, sweetie,” he offers as you come close. 
“No, it’s okay,” you murmur, “I gotta... finish up a few things anyhow.” 
He doesn’t move. His large body blocks the exit and you poke your tongue out to wet your dry lips. His eyes narrow on your mouth and he releases a heavy exhale. 
“Excuse me,” you voice quavers, “I’m just tryna... get past.” 
“Sweetie, you sound tired, maybe you should lay down,” he reaches for you and you flinch. You see him hesitate before he closes the gap, rubbing your arm with his large hand. “Hm, I could rub your feet, we could talk. We got a lot of catching up to do.” 
“I... M-maybe later, this project is a big one,” you lie. It’s really nothing. A sixty-dollar edit you could do in your sleep. “It’s a bit early, anyway, right?” 
His hand lingers as he looks down at you. His thick fingertips flutter up your shoulder and along your neck. He turns his knuckles to graze your throat before he frames your chin. 
“You’re much prettier in person, you know that?” He purrs, “especially when you smile.” 
Your lip quivers as goosebumps raise on the back of your arms, “thanks, Sy. Um, sorry, can I get through?” 
He rubs your jaw with his thumb and tilts his head. Finally he drops his hand and sighs, smacking the side of his leg as he backs up, angling to offer just enough room for your escape. As you step out, you can’t help but brush against him. 
“Mmm,” he hums, “you smell like flowers.” 
You grip the glass even tighter, “thanks.” 
“Everything about you is just so...” he trails after you, right at your heels, “perfect.” 
You don’t know what to say to that. It’s a sweet compliment but it really doesn’t feel like it. He follows you to the kitchen, once more planting himself in the doorway, his hand on the frame as he watches you. You cough and rinse the glass, leaving it beside the sink. 
You face him again and wring your hands. As you near, he moves without being told. You skirt around him and sit at the table. You try not to shake as you open the laptop. You pause but resist the urge to look around. Where’s your phone? 
You do your best to bottle up every thought. You don't want him to sense your panic. You need to stay calm until a chance comes up. You don’t know what or when, but it has to. 
You click onto Adobe Suite and reload the same project as before. He just stands there, by the wall. You're too nervous to check if he’s looking at you.  
You hear a peculiar tapping and Aika slithers past her owner. As she approaches, you swallow and brace yourself. She sits beside you and puts her head in your lap. You gape down, in relief and surprise, and daintily touch her head. 
“She likes you a lot,” he beams and walks around the other side of the table. He drags a chair out and sits, “I told her all about you. She was over there too. Sniffin’ out IEDs.” 
“Oh,” you glance at him over the laptop. “Wow.” 
A pang stabs your chest. For a moment, you feel bad for him. You can’t begin to imagine what he saw in a war. You presume being far from home is never easy but that’s all so much more intense. 
“Yeah, tough, but we made it through,” he proclaims, “easier to get on when you got something to come home to.” 
You nod and look at the screen. This is all sorts of messed up. How stupid are you? Why couldn’t you just keep a journal? Why did you have to stream your stupid life to the stupid internet? You just assumed that no one would care. Like usual. 
You drag your fingers around the touch pad, trying to focus on the actual work. That's the only real escape you have. You need to think about anything else. 
“I thought... I thought you made your money from your videos,” he says as pushes his shoulders back, his figure broader than the chair. 
“Mm, no. Um, you know, not many viewers. I edit for other people. Pictures, videos,” you answer. It’s easier to talk when you keep it clinical. “Weddings, stuff like that.” 
“Ah,” he sniffs, “well, not about how many followers you got, just that they’re good people, huh?” 
“Sure, uh, yeah,” you sputter. 
“You okay, sweetie?” His tone sharpens. 
“Sorry, I'm just... working,” your lip twitches. “You know, I just... wasn’t expecting... you. I usually work um, between videos, and I didn’t plan on doing anymore today.” 
“Huh,” he pokes his tongue into his cheek, “but you usually do one. One early, one late.” 
You shift and Aika nuzzles your thighs, huffing until your pet her again. You bite the inside of your lip as your face singes, “right, but I’m a little behind...” 
He’s quiet. You feel him staring. He probably can see right through your lies. 
“You’re a hard worker, sweetie, I woulda guessed so,” he stands and the chair scrapes loudly, making you wince, “let me get outta your way. I can wait a bit longer.” 
You don’t look up as his shadows blurs along the edge of your vision. You wait until it fades away before you dare to peek. The TV comes back to life and you exhale. It’s not exactly freedom, just room to breathe. 
🧸
You are anything but behind. You’re so desperate to dissociate, that you breeze through your current projects. In the background, Sy lurks, the couch creaking as he sits up, his footfalls against the floor as he paces, and the little clicks and clacks of his curiosity as he looks around your place. 
As your eyes begin to glaze over from the glare, he appears on the other side of the table, “hungry, sweetie?” 
You’re not. You shrug, not wanting to give the wrong answer. 
“I could order something. I know you just shopped and all but I don’t mind.” 
“You know, that’s nice but I’m still full from breakfast.” 
“Ah, yeah, that was a big one,” he agrees, “you know, those field rations made me a bit of a glutton once I got back to civilization.” 
“Oh. You’re welcome to cook for yourself or something,” you offer. 
“You gonna stay on that all night,” he points at the computer, “that sh—the light can’t be good for your eyes.” 
“No, um, I... just finished.” 
You close the laptop reluctantly. You hear the edge creeping into his timbre. He’s getting impatient. 
“Well, if you’re not hungry, how about I run you a bath? You’re tense, you should relax, sweetie,” his hands go to his hips and tugs up his shorts just a little. 
“Sure...” you murmur. 
He goes before you can say anything else. What else can you say? He’s crazy and it’s becoming more obvious by the minute. Maybe you are too for not screaming at him to leave you alone. 
Aika exhales and falls onto her side, stretching her long legs as she relaxes. Right, he’s not the only one you have to worry about. You get up and clasp your hands together. You walk around the table, once, twice, three times. 
You hear the faucet and shudder. You stop and look at Aika then the door. You could sneak out right then. Tell your neighbour there’s an intruder in your home. With all his things and his dog. And they would see him walking in with you on the cameras like everything was all good. 
Right. It’s an option but not better than the current one. You’re more likely to piss him off than get rid of him. 
“Got it running for ya,” he comes out and you push your hands down, fighting own your fear. 
“Thanks,” you say as you cross the room, “that’s so sweet.” 
“Yeah, sweetie, no problem,” he nears and you keep from shying away, “I’m just tryna take care of you.” 
“I... really appreciate it,” you eke out. 
“You just take your time,” he runs his hands up and down your arms. “Mm,” he bites his lip, “you’re just so pretty. I can’t believe you’re real.” 
Your chest wracks and your head swells. You can’t believe he’s real either. 
You force a smile and freeze as you sense him leaning in. He kisses the top of your head and purrs, “you just go get nice and fresh.” 
He releases you and reluctantly lets you go. You sidle past him cautiously. You don’t look back as you head for the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and let the air free from your lungs. Holy crud. 
You go to the tub and stare in at the rising water. You wait for it to fill up before you shake the daze. You undress and slide into the water. You lean back and grip the edges. The world is surreal. 
You’re too restless to enjoy the warmth. Usually you would find a bath soothing. You often take them with a candle burning and your favourite soap bubbled over the surface. You don’t think you’ll ever know peace again. 
You sit up and hug your knees. You sit like that for a while. You want to fall apart right there but you know you can’t. The thing that helped you so much has doomed you. 
You pull the stopper and get out. The water’s just making you cold. You dry off and wrap the towel around you. You pick up your clothes and go to the door, pressing your ear to listen to the other side. 
You turn the handle slowly and ease it inch by inch. He’s not there. You tiptoe out, vigilant as you cross the room. You turn into the bedroom and nearly let out a yelp. You didn’t really think he’d left but you could hope. 
“These are real cute,” he lays down the button up silk pajama shirt with the matching shorts. 
“Oh, uh, sure, um...” 
“Should be nice and comfy,” he faces you with a grin. 
“Well, uh, yeah, but...” you begin to argue. You don’t really sleep in those ones, you more lounge around. “Thanks.” 
You keep your arms across your chest, the tower firmly clutched around you. You look down at the set as he remains close. You wait. Is he gonna go? 
“Aren’t ya gonna put them on?” 
“Sure, uh,” you grab them, your other hand fisted around the top of the towel, “I’ll just go do that.” 
“You don’t gotta be shy with me,” he purrs, “but I guess you’re a nice girl, huh. You like to take it slow.” 
You press your lips together, “mhm.” 
You back away, wanting to run in the other direction. You turn at the door and leave him there. You can’t help but feel he’s already seen too much. 
You flit back to the bathroom and lock yourself in. You are about to combust. You tremble as you pull on the shorts, then the shirt. You hang the towel and linger by the door. 
He's really not going to leave. For whatever reason, you hoped he might call it a night and go. Why would he do that? He doesn’t do sane things. 
“Sweetie,” the knock on the door makes you jump. “Everything okay?” 
“Yeah, fine,” you squeak. 
The door handle wiggles. You flick the lock back and he pushes it open from the other side. He lets go of the handle and steps back, his eyes roving up and down your body. 
“Ah, sugar, you look... look real... good,” his voice is smoky as he spreads his hand over his chest. “Sweet little thing, just wanna eat you—up!” 
He surprises you as suddenly he has you off your feet. He has his arms around you as he lifts you and carries you away from the bathroom door. You yelp and hit his shoulder, wriggling and kicking. Oh no! 
“Sy, please, no,” you cry out but he ignores you, “no, no, no...” you panic finally overflow and your eyes glisten. He takes you into the bedroom and your heart pounds feverishly, “please...” you wisp before he tosses you on the bed, “don’t hurt me!” 
You bounce on the mattress and hold your hand up, bracing for his next move. When it doesn’t come, you part your fingers and look at him through them. He watches you with a line in his forehead. 
“You think I’m gonna hurt you?” He rasps. 
“I... you just caught me off guard,” you push yourself up on your elbows, “I didn’t--” 
“I was just playing,” he frowns, “having some fun with my girl. Wanted some snuggles, is all.” 
Despite it all, you actually feel bad. He sounds genuinely hurt. You sit up all the way and pout up at him, “Sy,” you utter softly, “I’m tired, I’m sorry.” 
He inhales so his broad chest rises and blows it out as he rubs his shaves head. He drops his hand and sniffs, “yeah, me too. Been a long day.” 
“So... so...” you quaver as you grasp at the last of your courage, “let’s just sleep it off.” 
His jaw ticks and he tilts his head until you hear a pop, “yeah, you’re right, sweetie. Think I just got overexcited.” 
You flutter your lashes as you hold back the wave of relief. It dissipates as soon as it rises. This isn’t over. You have a whole night ahead of you and brand new day. 
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Haha wonder if he was thinking of tying her up not just that apron
To a Tea 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 
Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 
18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 
Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.
Character:  Raymond Smith
The title is a pun, don't @ me.
Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 
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“He’s here,” Jenna’s warning brings you attention away from siphoning what’s left off the peppermint leaves into the fresh tin. 
You glance over without any other directive. He always waits in that same spot. Even if the table’s empty, he doesn’t sit right away. You give you co-worker a look and smile as you put the lid on the tin and slide it out of the way. 
You wash your hands thoroughly before you grab the cylinder of disinfecting wipes and sweep around the end of the counter. You step out onto the tea room floor as his eyes find you, expecting you. You’ve adjusted to his ritual, almost compelled to it. 
“Hello, Raymond,” you great as you approach the empty table for two where he sits with his back to the wall and his eyes towards the door. 
“Miss,” he greets in his way. 
He’s a bit uptight. Others might say worse but once you learn his quirks, he’s very human. Even if everything else about him is mysterious. 
Sometimes you build stories about him in his head. His glasses, his neatly styled hair, and his combed beard suggest a man with an eye for his appearance. His suits might be better fit to library or a professor’s podium. Not sleek enough for a board room. Then you think he might be a writer of sorts but you’ve never seen him with a laptop or pen and most of the local authors don’t show up without one or the other. 
You take out a wipe and take your time in getting every inch of the table. You back up as he removes his jacket and you back out of his way. He sidles around the and sits, shoulders set as he grips the table and straightens it. 
Whoever he is, he’s very precise. 
“Usual?” You ask with a smile. 
He looks at you and reaches to pinch the arm of his glasses. The first time he came in, you remember you could’ve melted at his gaze. So stony and unyielding, you wondered why he was even there. Now, there is an ease to it. He prefers the familiar and you have become that. 
“Yes, usual,” he agrees. 
You nod and swiftly turn on your heel. You go back behind the counter as Jenna snoops from behind the cookie display. You shake your head at her as you wash your hands a second time. He will certainly note that as well.  
You go to steep his cup of English Breakfast as the other woman nears and watches the steaming water at your side. 
“Don’t know how you do it. He should just have tea at home.” 
“Can’t complain for business,” you shrug. 
“Why bother? All that fuss for a cuppa.” 
“Maybe he likes the ambience?” You suggest. 
“He said the lights give him headaches.” 
“Oh?” 
“Well, he pays his bill. That’s all I ask for,” you add a teaspoon of milk, measuring it out exactly and you move the tab of the bag to hang to the left of the handle. 
“Mm, and he sures asks a lot of you, don’t he?” She crosses her arms. 
“Jenna,” you look towards the till where a customer waits. 
“Ugh, you’re such a bore,” she chides. 
You go back into the tea room and cross to Raymond’s table. You set the cup and saucer before him. 
“Enjoy,” you insist. 
“Cheers,” he hooks his finger into the handle and turns the cup to an exact angle. 
You lean back on your heel and he raises his palm, “do you... have any suggestions?” 
“For?” You wonder. 
“I thought to try something with my tea today. What do you recommend?” 
“Well, were we thinking something savoury or sweet?” You reply breezily, “our cheese scones are delicious, and there is the chives and onion bake. I sneak one every Friday. Erm, there are the white chocolate shortbread on special and I think we’ve sold out of the cherry tarts. Oh, if you’d like a combination, there is the cranberry cheddar scone. I don’t mind it but I hate the crumbles.” 
He considers you thoughtfully and crosses his arms. He mills the decision with his lips clamped. His blues eyes narrow behind his lenses. 
“Do you have plain shortbread?” 
“Of course,” you chime, “two for a pound.” 
“Two will do,” he agrees. 
You hold your smile and once more set off on your mission. He might be stringent, a bit repressed, but you’ve dealt with worse customers. More demanding, sometimes outrightt rude.  
You dip behind the counter and grab a plate. You use the tongs to take two of the shortbread biscuit and place them on a clean plate. You take a napkin with you and once more emerge from behind the displays. 
You approach Raymond as he sips his tea. You put the plate and serviette before him. He thanks you and adjusts his tie, letting his hand drift down his vest. 
“Is that it, sir? Tea alright?” 
“That’s it,” he affirms. 
“Great, you know where I’ll be,” you chirp and spin.  
You stop before you can bring your foot down as he calls your name. He’s only ever said it once. The first time you met. It’s always ‘miss’. 
You turn to face him, “yes?” 
“Your apron strings are uneven...” he says. “Just figured... I’d warn you.” 
You nearly laugh. What an odd thing to worry about. You reach back behind your waist and feels the lengths. Sure enough, you’ve tied them entirely off kilter. You suppose you don’t pay too much attention to that. 
“Thanks for letting me know.” 
He nods and examines one of the cookies. Then his eyes flick up and keep you from another retreat, “I could fix it.” 
“Oh, er, that’s fine,” you wave him off, “not a big deal.” 
“It doesn’t bother you?” He wonders. 
“Not really,” you shrug, “does it bother you?” 
His brows raise slightly and he taps the cookie, shaking off the crumbs as much as he can. He leans forward and nibbles over the plate, making certain not to litter over the edge. He puts the biscuit down and wipes his fingers on the napkin. 
“It does,” he says. 
You won’t laugh at him. It would truly be at his expense, it’s just a very unexpected offer. You put your arms straight, “if you want.” 
You near and turn your back to him. You sense him leaning forward as you stand stalk straight and watch the tea room. The smell of cinnamon and cloves fills the warm space, the shades giving an orangish hue to the din. There are low tables near the center with pillow seats, and the high tables along the walls. You know all the creaks and cracks better than your own home. 
You feel him tug the knot loose and his fingers work agilely to tie a new knot. He lets it hang but just as quickly looses it again. You try not to move as he does it several times before he relents. 
“There, ears and tails match,” he declares. 
You step away and turn to send him a smile, “thanks.” 
He doesn’t say anything, only raises his cup and doffs it in a kind gesture before he sips. You twist away again. You should help Jenna before the rush begins. That’s the only thing about Raymond, he does take up a lot of time. 
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Oh it's chubby Thor! I think he'll admire how much she cares for her sister but also weaponise it 😉
Whisked Away 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You get a job at a bakery but your new boss only adds to your work
Character: chubby!baker!Thor
Please comment and reblog if it's not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.
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The tea shop hasn’t called back. Or the grocery store. Not even the cafe around the corner. 
You’re tired. You’ve been sending out resumes for months. Reviewing and editing and sending again. You don’t get it. You have the proper credential and you have a decent amount of experience. It’s just been a while.  
You want to assume that people just aren’t hiring but that wouldn’t explain the postings and re-postings. They are still looking but somehow you’re just not good enough on paper. Disappointment knots in your throat as your inbox reveals no new emails. You need something. Even a job at the burger joint will do. 
You grab your phone and sigh. You stand and shut the laptop lid as you tuck your cell into your back pocket. You go down the short hall and knock on the bedroom door. 
“Delaney? You up?” You call through. 
You get a groan in return. Sometimes that’s all you get. 
“Alright, I’m gonna open the door,” you warn as you twist the knob slowly. 
You push inside and reach to flip on the light switch. Your sister grumbles against and covers her face with her arm. The windows are covered with dark curtains that give a blue hue even when the space is lit. She hids behind her forearm as you near the bottom of her bed. 
“Are you hungry?” You ask. 
“I’d love some coffee,” the croaks. 
“How ya feeling?” You grab her walker and move it parallel with the side of the bed. 
“It’s a rough one,” she warns and drags her arm away from her face. “I don’t wanna get up.” 
You nod and trail your fingers along the top of the walker, “if you don’t wanna...” 
“No, I should,” she insists. 
She braces herself visibly, closing her eyes as her cheeks strain and she sits up with a grunt. He arms shake and she kicks the blankets of her legs. Her movement is awkward and stiff. You hate seeing her struggle like this. You know she’s just as unhappy about you seeing it. That’s why she’s so stubborn. 
“Should be enough left for another cup but I can make a new pot?” You offer as you hold the walker steady and she grips it, pulling herself to her feet. She hunches slightly and tries to stretch out her legs. 
“My feet are numb,” she stomps one foot then the other. “Annoying.” She scowls and shakes her head as you let go of the walker and step back. She turns it sharply and lumbers forward with the aid of the wheels, “I can have the leftovers.” 
Patiently, you follow her to the door and into the hall. She wheels her way to the table and angles herself into the chair with her special cushion on it. She’s out of breath. 
You go into the kitchen to give her some time to recover. You try your best to give her space, even in the one-bedroom. You sleep on the couch while she gets the bedroom. It makes sense, especially since lately her stipend has been covering most of your expenses. 
You fill a mug for her and grab her pill box. You bring both to her and set them on the table. She takes the coffee first and swigs. She sighs as she sets it down heavily then snatches the box. She pops open the lid for that day of the week and scoops out the tablets. She sneers before she gulps them down with another mouthful of coffee. 
“So, you were up early?” She prompts. 
“You know I’m a morning bird.” 
“Eh, yeah, wish I had that problem,” she mutters. Some days, she sleeps more than she’s awake. You tell her it’s part of her diagnosis but she won’t accept that. You can understand that but you know you can’t really understand. You’re not her. 
“Yeah, well, the birds wake me up,” you shrug.  
A sudden buzzing ripple in your pocket. You pull your phone out of the loose sweatpants and look at the screen. It’s a number you don’t know. You doubt it’s important but you can’t risk missing any calls. 
“Gimme a sec,” you hold up a finger and turn away. “Probably the building or something.” You tap the screen and put the phone to your ear, “hello?” 
“Hello,” a deep voice rumbles over a calamity of noises, some metallic, others humming, “oh, apologies, give me a moment.” You wait as you hear movement on the other end and the cacophony finally subsides, “ah, much better. Is this...” 
You blink and confirm that he has the right number. 
“Wonderful, I apologise for the early call but I tend to get started with the sun,” he explains, “anyhow, I was only just reviewing CVs and you are on my list of candidates. When would be a good day for an interview?” 
You turn back and glance at Delaney. She sips her coffee as she pulls the laptop close. She opens it and squints at it before she clicks. She scrolls as you watch her. 
“Um, well, I could um, any day,” you answer, trying not to seem to desperate. 
“Today?” He asks, “it’s a bit ridiculous but I wouldn’t mind getting it over with.” 
“S-sure,” you answer, surprised by the suddenness. It's as if the universe had sensed you were about to give up. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I... got your name.” 
“Oh, yes, I did dive in head first. Thor Odinson, at Golden Crust bakery. You applied as a decorator?” 
“Y-yeah, I remember,” you assure him, “just wanna make sure I get to the right place. Uh, thanks, um, what time should I be there?” 
“Is noon doable?” He asks. 
“Noon it is,” you say, barely containing your excitement. You try not to let it overflow, you don’t want to get all worked up for another rejection. 
“Excellent, I will see you then,” he confirms, “now, excuse me, I think my sourdough has burnt.” 
The line clicks and you lower the phone, staring at it. The tapping of Delaney’s fingers on the keyboard are the only noise amidst the the stunned silence. It’s great you got an interview but what do you wear? 
“Hm, job hunt not going so well?” Delaney suggests as she leans into the screen. 
“Actually, just got a call for one,” you go to the table and put your phone down. “I have an interview.” 
“You do?” Her eyes flash as she looks up, a rare glimmer of happiness. “That’s awesome!” 
“Uh, yeah, but it’s at noon so... I’ll have to leave for a bit.” 
“Sounds good to me,” she scoffs, “perfect time to party.” 
You roll your eyes, “you’re silly.” 
“Well, you know, if you get the job, I’ll have to figure out how to entertain myself,” she says, “and I’ll get to binge all the TV shows you hate.” 
“You’re such an optimist,” you chide playfully. 
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The stalker Bucky moodboard reminds me of lonely souls club 😊. The whole vibe is just there! It’s ominous. But with a hint of tranquil and quiet and alone… for now
Thats what I made it for. I thought that was the request lolllll
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I have an idea in my head that he thinks reader is way too good for him which is why he's become so delusional but it also makes him really insecure. If she told him his beard was too scratchy, he might just shave and she's be like huh!
moodboard suggestion: follow you anywhere. i think about it all the time 😔 🍀
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I have one, Obsessed! Sherlock/Smart! reader, please.
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You have no ideas he's been watching until it's too late.
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