#7am. seven fucking am.
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"he could've stayed in london"
"cleven, up until he died, talked about egan"
"he said something like, 'it should've been me & you getting married'"
#7am. seven fucking am.#no one talk to me i'm gonna go sulk in a google doc#the most piney yearny wistful unrequited motherfuckers#i'm teary all over again man i can't do this#the last thing i expected to hear at 7am on a friday#buckbucky#buck x bucky#masters of the air
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Jeffrey Preston Bezos has the audacity to ask for my money while i am doing the elaborate song and dance of asking alexa to play brown noise. The audacity. The damn audacity of that man I better get a piece of him when we eat the rich because i am not having a good time
#i am not live laugh loving#i am asking alexa to turn open sleep sounds then asking her to play brown noise because Alexa doesnt understand it in one thing#and then doing maths in my head like “hmmm when is 7am? how many hours is that? fuck it just--Alexa stop in seven hours#yeah that works“#AND THEN I ASK FOR ALEXA TO TURN OFF DISPLAY#Four things. and alexa is screaming at me like “i dont undertstand :D!!!! it is 23 surely you arent worried people are sleeping!!!#and i will defend alexa with my life but i will kill jeff besos with a knife!!#i am kidding for legal reasons i am to tired#called jeffery his full name cause i think its funny and it is
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when you probably failed your IEA exam, took an accidental nap bc you were literally working from 8am-3am the day before except dinner BUT wake up from said accidental nap just in time to make your 2pm class
#i am Not Thriving#studied for ten fucking hours for probably a goddamn f#also there are a lot more exams in college than i thought#tuesdays are just horrible in general (#bc i have classes from 8-6:50 with an hour break from 11-12#and ofc my one fun shop class is at the end of that so im burnt out just counting down the fucking minutes in a 3 hour work period#and THEN the next day is my testing day for 2/3 classes with semi regular exams#so weeks i have a test are especially painful bc i stayed up late Monday to finish hw#stayed up Tuesday bc i had literally no other time to study than after 7#then have to wake up at 6:30-7am to get to my exam with time to spare and maybe cram a bit#at least the average grade for this test is often in the 50s ig#i legit woke up looked at the time and panicked bc i had like six minutes to drag myself out the door and get to class#made it in seven ✌️#at least i don't have homework due today#so imma either take a nap or play video games before starting to study for the next fucking exam#and might do the calc due at 11:59 tomorrow
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second, never first
part fifteen
| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen | part fourteen |
PLEASE READ WARNINGS
chris x fem!reader
summary - you grew up hating one guy all of high school but suddenly become friends, but as time goes on feelings develop, only its one sided.
warnings - swearing, kissing, use of y/n, mention of family issues (domestic violence between parents), fluff, mentions of underage drinking
word count - 900+?
NOT PROOFREAD
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living with an emotionally unavailable parent is soul crushing at times. yes i can say i have two parents who did love each other at one point but it came to an end. to my knowledge no one knows when my dad became a different person. always drinking, going from bar to bar every night, never affectionate to me or my mom, emotionally and apparently physically abusive.
he was never the parent to help you with homework at the dinner table, although if he did i left that table in tears, clutching my book and running up the stairs.
i always had a feeling he did that to my mom but i never saw it so i chose to block out those thoughts, until i saw the proof right in front of me.
there was many moments in which i thought they would eventually split up and i could just live happily with my mom but for some reason it never happened. reasons in which at this point im honestly scared to find out. seeing your parents relationship crash and never having a true representation of what love is can fuck with you.
which brings me to now.
silently crying in chris’ bathroom at 7am after a night out in which i drunkenly confessed to him that i loved him. i thought i did, but did i actually know what that meant? i sure felt it when i was with him.
home.
he felt like home. he felt like safety. he felt like comfort. he felt like when my world was crashing he could come with a toolbox and fix it within seconds.
sure thats what you would want out of your significant other, but i dont know what love truly is.
i sat on the toilet with the lid down with my face buried into my hands and tears that never seemed like they would stop. struggling to breathe for air as i my mind just raced with thoughts. my parents, chris, anna, everything.
knock, knock
fuck. me.
i get up and wipe my face, hand on the door nob slowly twisting it. i crack to door open and im greeted with the all to familiar blue eyes that i seemed to drown in every time i looked into them. his face saddens as i open the door wider and his arms come over my shoulders. “what wrong?” chris whispers as i wept into his chest. i dont respond and just shake my head against him. he pulls away and puts one hand on the side of my face and the other one is placing my hair behind my ear, “theres nothing you cant tell me y/n, why are you crying”
“i cant-“ i croak, dropping my head down and putting my hands up to face. “yes you can, what happened?” he sighs as he pets the back of my head. “i told you i loved you” i sniffle
“what?”
“i- i told you i loved you.” i say more sternly this time.
“why is that a reason to cry kid?” he whisperers wiping my tears. “chris what do i know about love, nothing. i was shown a fucked up version of an abusive relationship my entire life. thats no way to learn what love is, i dont know what it truly feels like. m- my dad fucked me over for my entire life by being who he is, i dont know if i can ever fix that part inside of me.” i let out a sob.
“well y/n i know what love is, i am standing with it right now” he begins, “this, this right here is love,” he points between us, “them, that is love” he points at the hallway meaning his brothers. “this” he kisses me, “that is love.”
i blink at him as he talks, just in awe of his way with words. “there is never a day that i dont worry about you, if your ok, if you want to stop this fake relationship, if you even give a shit about me.” he half chuckles, “i was shown love not just by my parents but by you.” he breathes.
“you might not exactly know if your in love with me but i sure as hell am in love with you.”
jaw, on the fucking floor.
“you what?” i sniffle. “i fucking love you”
i lean up grabbing either side of his face and pull him in to a kiss. the salt of tears and chris hitting my tongue and i continue to cry into the kiss as tears flow out of my closed eyes.
“i love you too.” i pull away and he leans in again.
home, thats exactly what this felt like. i had never felt safer than in this moment. maybe i didnt know what real love was, but i knew i felt it when i was with him. i felt it for months and it was right in front of me but i always believed it was too good to be true.
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thanks for reading xx
taglist: @sleepysturnss @blahbel668 @alorsxsturn @w4nnabeurs @junnniiieee07 @waydasims @matthewloverr @bitchydragonparadise @matthewsturnioloswifey @iloveneilperry @stunza @realuvrrr @sturnsjtop @tubl-mc @lilsstvrn @sturniololol @sturnssmuts @emlovesthesturniolos
a/n: love you all<333
#christopher owen sturniolo#chris sturniolo x y/n#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#colby brock#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo edit#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo angst#matthew bernard sturniolo#matty b sturniolo#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#smut#sam and colby#colby x reader#sam x reader
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be nice to your neighbors.
i have a million and two wip's in my Ysilla folder and somehow, i have to add one more.
i am an exhausting person. love y'all lots!
pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)
warnings : Aemond is a simp & Ysilla is a plant nerd. Awkward flirting. Fluff. No smut :(
word count : 2,500+
It’s so fucking early. What self-respecting tattoo shop is open at 7AM on a Sunday? On God’s day? Aegon hasn’t stepped foot in a church since he was thirteen which explains the hours, but why the fuck is Aemond here and not him?
Aemond wasn’t exactly planning on going to church today, but maybe if he had the option, his ass would be in a pew next to his mother right now instead of perfecting a sketch for an appointment that isn’t even until next week. His Americano is lukewarm, steam long blown away by the small oscillating fan tucked up on a high shelf. A row of overstuffed books, on everything from Classic Americana design to Valyrian legends he wants to detail on paper, fill up the rest of the ledge. The next one down houses a line of knick knacks he could never force himself to part with- a tiny tacky snowglobe from Harrenhal, his grandfather’s Hand of the King pin from when he was in the courts, 8-tracks from his mum’s rebellious punk phase before she went to college, and at the end, a framed photo of him and his siblings the day they opened the shop. Three identical terrified grins are spread over their faces, nervous anticipation bleeding through the black-and-white snapshot. Little pieces of his life in his little corner of the world, where he gets to do what he loves.
And the most important little worm to him sleeps the day away in her glass vivarium by the door. Vhagar lounges under her UV bulb, baking on a large smooth stone after inhaling her breakfast. His little crocodile without the teeth. The soft garden green bearded dragon with her yellow belly has been his constant companion since he rescued her from a Oldtown pet shop when he was a pre-teen. He hid her under his bed for a full seven months before his mum found her one day when she was searching for missing socks. It was an impressive feat, one even she had to acknowledge after blowing her fucking top.
Aemond darkens the curve of the kraken tentacle he’s sketching, a piece for a client coming all the way from the Iron Isles. The little suction cups still need more depth and he hasn’t even begun to flesh out the texture of the skin yet when the bell hanging above the shop door tinkles, signifying an end to his blissful solitude.
“Hello? Helaena, you here?”
Aemond drops his pencil, shoving off from his desk, grumbling as he goes. There’s still a hint of sleep in his eye and he rubs it away as he walks up the hall to the lobby.
“We don’t take walk-in’s on the weekends and we don’t have any appointments scheduled ‘till 9. So, are you sight-seeing or are you just overly punctual?” He doesn’t mean to sound like a dick, it just comes second nature.
The back of the head that greets him as he blinks open his eye is a pretty one, thick brunette curls pinned up with gold butterfly clips. The girl abandons the magazine she’d been leafing through, turning at the sound of his voice. The wide-eyed look that’s spread over her face emphasizes plum-shaded irises, framed by palm leaf eyes. There’s a pair of beauty marks peppered on the dawn of her cheekbone. A rosy mocha mouth is pouted before it curves up into a charming bend of itself.
“I’m sorry, I'm not here to get any work done. I was just coming in to give something to Helaena.” The woman shimmies the large gift bag held tight in her fist as proof. “I’m a friend.”
Aemond shrugs off his disappointment. “Oh, my bad.” She’d be a gorgeous canvas. The golden brown of her skin would take color like a fucking champ. Black would be even better. Really make the contrast pop. The smooth peak of her shoulders from underneath the oversized cream cardigan she wears is a tantalizing taste of something he wants to indulge in. “She’s not here yet.”
Her expression collapses and Aemond regrets causing such a look to dim her face. “Oh damn, she told me she’d be in at this time.”
Aemond thinks maybe he should call his big sister, considering he hasn’t received her standard “i’ll be there in 10, I PROMISE 10 MINUTES AEMMY!!” text today, when the girl’s face blooms into one of recognition.
“You’re Aemond, right?”
“Uh, yeah- yes, yes I am.” He coughs, straightening up a bit, manners braided into every core memory he possesses. His mom is, in Aegon’s terms, a “tightass”, but damn him if he doesn’t know how to treat a woman.
“I always see you coming in and out of here, and well, you and Hel and Aegon all look alike, so I put two and two together and made four that you’re the missing piece of Three Headed Dragon.” She gestures to the air, implying she’s speaking about the name of the shop. The gold chains layered around her neck, some with pendants and some without, jingle with her movement. Aemond likes the softness of the sound. “And when she came in for a succulent recommendation a few months back, I asked about you and she told me your name, and… yeahhh. I just didn’t want you to think I was some weirdo who’s been waiting for the perfect moment to get you alone.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t think that.” Aemond looks very serious, even knitting his brows in a thick, no-nonsense line, but he has to bite his lip to keep from snickering, which she notices.
She breathes out a laugh, dipping her head in surrender. She turns to the entrance, and Aemond is worried she might leave. He doesn’t mind her company, which is a miracle considering the hour.
“Hey-”
“Is this your’s?” She points to the hyperrealistic direwolf stencil he’d cranked out last year during an artist’s block that he couldn’t shake for the life of him. The piece is gruesome, wicked lines and keen edges that intimidate even him, and he drew the damn thing.
“Uh, yeah. Good guess.” The black frames adorning the gallery wall are a mixture of his and Aegon’s work, all in varying shades of grays and blacks. His brother’s signature new school style is easily distinguishable to Aemond, but he admits some of their earlier sketches are more uniform than not.
“You do beautiful work.”
Aemond’s eyebrows raise and he lets the compliment warm him.
“I appreciate that. Many wouldn’t call that beautiful, but I think it has a certain magnetism to it.” He looks the woman over, using the excuse of actually searching for ink so that he can appreciate her willowy arms and the peek of shapely legs through the dash in her skirt. “Do you have any?” Aemond gestures to the wall, before gesturing to her. She shakes her head no, freeing an errant curl that falls over her forehead. Aemond picks at his joggers to keep his fingers from doing something stupid.
“Oh no. I’m not the biggest fan of needles. Self-admittedly, I can also be a bit of a flake, so permanent artwork on my body kind of gives me hives.” She shivers and Aemond thinks her modesty is adorable.
“That’s a shame.”
Mystery woman snaps her fingers, spinning on her toes to pin him with a look, and Aemond basks in the scent of jasmine and sea salt that wafts his way.
“If I change my mind, I know who to go to.” She blinks suddenly, her pointed hand gliding behind her to rub at the back of neck in a bashful way. “That is, if you’d ever want to. Or, if you’re like, accepting clients.”
“For you? I think I could make an exception.” Aemond leans into the counter, settling to her level. The way the flush of her cheeks drips into the creamy sweep of her chest makes him hungry. She drops her hand, edging forward on timid toes.
“Well, aren’t you sweet.”
He doesn’t really know how to reply to that. He can feel the tips of his ears heat up, and when she tucks her lock of hair back in place, Aemond wishes he would’ve done it for her. He can see a thin line of dark walnut bracing the white of her eyes with how close he is, so close now he can smell the cinnamon on her breath from the condensating chai latte she holds in her other hand.
“Aemond!” The back door slams and his sister’s voice floats up the hall.
“Fuckin’ A, I’m sorry I’m late. I hit construction traffic and I had to get gas or I would’ve been pushing my Volksy here, and then I needed a coffee, believe me.” A white-blonde head of super short hair is unleashed when his sister yanks off her crocheted bucket hat, and she gasps as she catches sight of the shop’s first patron of the day.
“Good morning, muffin, I was trying to get here as fast as I could!” Helaena is a tornado of violets, lavenders, and magentas, purple her chosen color of the day as she spins into the room, tucking her backpack into the lockable cabinet by Aemond’s knees.
The girl’s smile is a thing of beauty and even if it’s for Helaena, Aemond will keep it for himself.
“Good morning, Hel. No worries, your brother’s been keeping me company.”
Helaena spares him a look, sending a delicately sharp elbow right into his ribs.
“Has he? It must be your lucky day- he usually scares off the customers that aren’t on the schedule.”
Aemond throws a sturdy blunt elbow into her shoulder and revels in the wince that she tries to hide.
“Mmmm, not scared off yet. But if you would’ve given us a few more minutes, who knows?” A wink is sent his way, showing she means it in all good fun. Aemond fires a smile back at her, curling his lip up in a smirk he knows carries some weight to it. She swallows- he can see the jump in her throat, before she damn near flings her reason for coming in onto the counter.
“Here! She came in yesterday towards closing time, a special delivery just for you.”
Hel snatches it with greedy hands, unknotting the twine laced through the handles so she can stick her whole face into the bag.
“Oh my word, it’s beautiful!” Helaena exclaims, wonderment turning her tone soft and breathy. Aemond can’t stunt his curiosity, knocking his sister’s head out of his way to peer into the gift bag.
“It looks moldy.”
Mystery woman looks mildly offended by his assessment, but it’s his sister that thwacks him in the chest.
“Shut up! You and Aegon practically drowned my cactus when I went on holiday last summer; what do you know about plants? It’s stunning and wonderful and all mine!” Helaena pulls out the plant with careful hands, gathering up the trailing vines like she’s lassoing a rope.
Hel oooo’s and ahhh’s , rubbing the silver spotted leaves between her fingers, smelling the somewhat heart-shaped sprouts for any lingering fragrance. Aemond’s surprised she doesn’t pop one in her mouth and give it a taste.
“A cactus?”
Aemond shrugs, happy to have the woman’s attention back on him, even if it is at his expense. “It looked thirsty.”
The giggle she gifts him makes his 5AM alarm worth it.
Helaena claps her hands together twice, calling attention to her like she’s a nursery school teacher. “Tell me about it- what’s its name and how do I keep it alive?”
“It’s a Scindapsus pictus, but satin Pothos or silver Philodendron is easier to remember. Even though it’s not technically a Pothos or a Philodendron, it’s in the Araceae family, which can be confusing, y’know? It’s naturally from the Hills of Andalos but it can also be found from Tyrosh all the way to Pinkmaiden.”
The siblings blink at her, both enjoying how she waxes on about something obviously interesting to her, even though it sounds like Dothraki to them. The brunette takes notice of the silence, tapering off her anecdotes while wearing a quiet, bemused grin.
“Anyways,” she twists the ring around her pinky in circles of nervous energy, “lots of light, water her like once a week, and she should thrive.”
“She’s perfect! Oh thank you for picking her out for me, darling. I’ll take such good care of her. ” Helaena has a way of hugging you with her words. It fills you with the warm and fuzzies, and the girl looks filled to the brim with them. She sighs though, shouldering the strap of her bag into place.
“I gotta get back to the shop- my early lunch break can’t go past 7:20, or Miss Olenna will be pissed if I’m not there to let her windowshop the roses.”
Helaena flutters around the counter, gushing promises of midday coffee dates and takeaway dinners before sweeping up the other girl in a rocking embrace.
The woman beams, happiness a good look on her, before pecking his sister’s cheek in parting. She pushes open the shop door, ducking out before catching it right before it closes. Her head ducks back in, and the same stubborn curl from before has come loose again, twisting around the corner of her eye.
“It was nice meeting you, Aemond.”
“Likewise…” Did he not catch her name once the entire time? Fuck him and his so-called manners.
Her smile is so bright, it burns itself behind his eyelids. “Ysilla.”
“Likewise, Ysilla.” Aemond rolls her name off of his tongue, discovering he quite likes the taste of her. A gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl.
She bids him a little wave of her hand before shutting the door softly. She looks both ways before darting across the roadway and into roots., an aptly named nursery that bursts at the brick with vegetation and flowers.
Aemond turns on his sister with alarming agility.
“Alright, share with the class. Who was that?”
“That’s Ysilla, Aem. Duh. She runs the plant shop across the street.”
He resists the urge to flick her in the forehead. His trainers are new and he doesn’t want her size seven foot print scuffing them up.
“I’ve never seen her before.”
“Well you would, if you ever bothered to come out of your room and meet our neighbors. She’s been in charge for about a year and a half now. Mr. Forel is an old flame of her grandma’s, or something like that, and she needed a job when he was thinking of retiring. So, perfect timing, I guess.” Hel fluffs the leaves, turning the plant pot this way and that, trying to decide which angle is most appealing. She carts it around the shop, holding it up to the spaces she’s thinking of occupying it with.
“What are you two, besties?” Aemond is so not jealous. Nah, never. Nope. No way, no how.
Helaena pauses, looking thoughtful before resuming her decorating.
“I’m kind of trying to be, but she goes to class after she’s done at the shop and if she’s not doing that, she has three brothers she helps take care of when her mum is working. So I stop off when I can and chat with her so we can catch up.”
Helaena cheers as she steps off the footstool she keeps around for high reaching access, admiring the vines cascading from the partition wall that divides the waiting room from her piercing studio.
“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” His sister is obviously speaking about the plant.
Aemond stares through the window across the street, the tan stucco building a bright bustle of life next to the high brow boutique to its left and Hot Pie’s bakery to its right. The numerous hanging pots from the ledge above the doorway would 100% split his skull if he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking. Big glass windows are crowded by giant emerald fronds and stalks of leafy sprouts. The flower pots mirroring each side of the doorway are starting to wilt with the season, but the vibrant highlights of color splash a last breath of life against the stone.
If Aemond squints, he can catch a dark head of curls bouncing behind the register.
Maybe a plant wouldn’t be a bad addition to his shelves.
“Without a doubt.”
.
.
.
ps: i have another modern!au in the works of these two little fuckers, which is much longer, much angstier, and much more fun to read. should be out very very soon ;))
#hotd#aemond targaryen#ysilla targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x oc#modern hotd#modern aemond targaryen#my writing
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it's cold outside (natasha romanoff)
for @wokeupinawalnut - for the fic giveaway organised by @startrekkingaroundasgard. i apologise for how late this is, but i hope you enjoy & happy holidays🥰
summary: coming home to you is always natasha's favourite thing
Natasha Romanoff hadn't expected your shared apartment to be so fucking arctic when she came home.
New York was cold at the best of times but it seemed bitingly so when the Quintjet came in to land early that morning. It was too cold even for snow and that just felt like insult to injury. Still though, it was hard for Natasha to feel sad about the weather, knowing that this mission was going to be the team's last before their Christmas break. The idea of getting home, switching off her phone and existing just in the plains of your apartment had been the only thing getting her through. So, after exchanging goodbyes with the rest of the Avengers, Nat hung up her uniform and got into a taxi.
Naturally, every would reunite on the day of Christmas at Tony Stark's insistence, but until then, they'd be off to their own homes. Steve and Bucky back to Brooklyn, Clint back to the farm, Thor back to New Asgard and Tony back to wherever it was that Morgan demanded. The journey for Nat wasn't very long - just over the bridge to your loft in Williamsburg. She'd lived there for the better part of three years now, when she'd come to stay the night a few weeks into your relationship and just never left.
The cold air hit her like a knife (and it was safe to say that Natasha might be the only person here who would know that feeling with accuracy). Even though it was early in the morning - just gone 7AM - you were passed out on the couch, a duvet bundled around you and several blankets. The TV was still on Netflix, the classic are you still watching? messaged displayed on the screen. With that, Nat could easily deduce that you'd probably fallen asleep watching it last night.
"Hey," she leant down beside you, gently brushing a hand over your face. A nice, warm hand against your freezing skin. "Hey. I'm back."
You peeled open one eye, a grin spreading across your tired face. "Nat, hey."
"Why's it so cold in here?" she asked.
"The heating broke," you grumbled. "I called the landlord last night but he's gone back to Arizona for Christmas. We still have hot water so that's...something."
"That explains it," she rolled her eyes. "You're freezing-"
"- Nat," you sat up, duvet falling off your shoulders. "You can turn off mum mode, okay? I know you've just spent a week straight with the guys but I am not stupid like them."
Natasha gave you a smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're right. Sorry."
"How was the mission?"
"Boring," she took a seat on the sofa beside you, laying her legs over yours. "We went in, got the intel we needed, came home. Textbook, really."
"But did you look good doing it?"
"Of course I did," she grinned. Natasha gave your leg a squeeze before standing up and sticking out her hand, head nodding towards the bathroom. "C'mon, a warm shower will help."
Begrudgingly rolling out of your blanket palace, you followed your girlfriend through the apartment and to the bathroom. If you hadn't missed her so much, you wouldn't have moved come hell or high water. Still though, a warm shower didn't seem like the worst idea. Natasha certainly wanted one after days of trekking through Siberia and honestly, she just wanted to hold you close. Seven days apart wasn't even the longest she'd gone without seeing you.
You stood there like a lemon with ease as she did most the work - just bubbles and soft kisses from Natasha.
The run from the shower to the bedroom was jarring. Clothes flew everywhere as you both ripped apart the wardrobe in an attempt to find the warmest clothes - you were more successful in your attempt, finding some thermal bottoms and a thick hoodie. Six pairs of fluffy socks later, you were content.
"Those are mine," Natasha scowled. "I was looking for those-"
"- they were in my side of the wardrobe," you replied, holding up your hands in defence. "Finders, losers, Nat."
"That's not fair! Those are my special warm socks!"
"Now they're my special warm socks."
Before you could even finish your sentence, Natasha had crossed the room and thrown you onto the bed. She pinned your arms above your head, hands wrapped around your wrists and hair dripping little cold drops of water onto you. You let out a shriek as she did, trying to wriggle free.
"Say your sorry!" she demanded. There was no point in arguing, or trying to wriggle your way out of the grip of a highly trained assassin. She was freakishly strong.
"No!"
"Say. Your. Sorry!"
You tried to fight back a laugh, gaze avoiding Natasha's. "No."
"You're so mean," she pouted. Still, she leant down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against you.
Natasha rolled off the bed, once again signalling for you to follow after her. She made her way over to the kitchen, hands moving in autopilot to turn on the kettle and pull things out the cabinets.
"Shouldn't I be the one making you breakfast?" you asked. "You just came from a week long mission-"
"- shuddup and sit down," she said. "You're colder than me. Wrap up and I'll be there in two minutes."
Smiling to yourself, you returned to the sofa. It was perfectly indented from where you'd spent the last two days sat there, but you moved some cushions aside to make room for Natasha. As promised, two minutes later she returned with two mugs of coffee and a bagel for you. She'd known since the day you met how you took your coffee; she was trained to be observant but in some way, knowing the intricate details of your life was her love language. There were very few things she didn't know.
Natasha pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling the duvet over herself as she snuggled up next to you. She was perpetually warm - a curse in the summer but a blessing during times like this. You shuffled closer, leaning your head on her shoulder.
"You good there?" she asked.
"Yeah," you smiled. "Just glad you're home."
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff imagines#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff#black widow x reader#avengers x reader#avengers imagine#avengers imagines#avengers#marvel fluff#avengers fluff
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Miss Pearls Kinktober 2022
This is my first Kinktober ya'll and let me tell ya, I am very excited. I'd like to give a very special thanks to Keri, (@absurdthirst - kinktober list), Lua (@starsandskies - kinktober list) and LeeAnn (@the-purity-pen - kinktober list) for providing these prompts. I really appreciate the work you put into creating these for us ❤️
Pre-Warnings (Please Read): There are three fandoms in this Kinktober. (Joel Miller/ Arthur Morgan/Pedro Pascal Characters). All are completed with Female readers (you, Y/N). And lastly, some fics are big with plot, others are small with very little plot. The first fic will be automatically posted tomorrow morning at 7am 🥰
Day One: Size Difference - Joel Miller
Day Two: Thigh Riding - Arthur Morgan
Day Three: Threesome - Joel Miller & Arthur Morgan
Day Four: Breast Worship/Nipple Play - Marcus Pike
Day Five: Window/Balcony Sex - Javier Pena
Day Six: Sleepy Sex - Frankie Morales
Day Seven: Anal - Pero Tovar
Day Eight: Cockwarming - Ezra
Day Nine: Anonymous Sex - Din D'jarin
Day Ten: Creampie - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels
Day Eleven: Orgasm Denial/Edging - Joel Miller
Day Twelve: Face Sitting - Joel Miller
Day Thirteen: Spanking - Joel Miller
Day Fourteen: Rough Sex + Aftercare - Arthur Morgan
Day Fifteen: Monster Fucking - Max Phillips
Day Sixteen: Restraints - Marcus Pike
Day Seventeen: Rough Sex - Frankie Morales
Day Eighteen: Accidental Stimulation - Din D'jarin
Day Nineteen: Titty Fucking - Pero Tovar
Day Twenty: Double Penetration - Max Phillips
Day Twenty-One: Daddy/Mommy Kink - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels
Day Twenty-Two: Lingerie - Joel Miller
Day Twenty-Three: Sex Pollen - Joel Miller
Day Twenty-Four: Sex Pollen - Arthur Morgan
Day Twenty-Five: Lactation/Breeding Kink - Arthur Morgan
Day Twenty-Six: Bath/Shower Sex - Din D'jarin
Day Twenty-Seven: Mirror Sex - Frankie Morales
Day Twenty-Eight: Hate Fucking - Pero Tovar
Day Twenty-Nine: Public Sex - Joel Miller
Day Thirty: Hunter/Prey - Werewolf!Joel Miller
#tppkinktober2021#StarsAndSkiesKinktober#kinktober2022#AbsurdThirstkinktober22#Joel Miller#joel miller x f!reader#Arthur Morgan#arthur morgan x f!reader#pero tovar#pero tovar x f!reader#din djarin#din djarin x fem!reader#frankie morales#frankie morales x f!reader#max phillips#max phillips x f!reader#ezra prospect#ezra prospect x f!reader#jack 'whiskey' daniels#jack 'whiskey' daniels x f!reader#marcus pike#javier pena#marcus pike x f!reader#javier pena x f!reader#pearlyfics#enjoy reader#follow 👑 share ❤️ enjoy 🍑#Miss Pearls Kinktober#kinktober 2022
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/rubs eyes it's seven am who gets up at 7am
People who get dinged repeatedly about Tumblr shutting down apparently.
Christ on a bike. Okay, long post inbound. On Tumblr's fate, enshittification and navigating the post-web2.0 world.
So I've been meaning to make a post like this for a while now, but because tech is literally my job I... haven't.
First off, Tumblr isn't being shut down. It's being put on legacy support. Maybe one day it will be shut down, but Automattic seems to have the costs dialed in and don't seem to want to nuke it. Yay.
This day was always going to come for one simple reason - social media websites are fundamentally impossible to fund. The cost of that much image and video hosting and bandwidth is not scalable without passing that cost over to the user. In most cases, this is done by making the user the product. But this is non-sustainable. As Tumblr discovered, as Twitter is discovering and as Google Has Ordained, that social media will inevitably be censored and restricted at the whim of the people actually paying - advertisers. And then your users stop caring. Some sites get around this by also robbing you of your dopamine production as well as your privacy - i.e. getting you engaged with their Algorithm.
So, enough with the reasoning, what can you do about this. Well, you can try the next big thing. For many people, that's bluesky. I don't know about you, but I don't think highly of Twitter 2.0 - from the dude who couldn't make Twitter profitable the first time around. And to be clear, its sole goal is to be profitable. It's a corporation. That's... it's purpose. It's purpose is to extract wealth.
For me, the only two vaguely viable options are cohost and the fediverse. Cohost because haha palette-swapped Tumblr but also because the core ideas the founders had are neat and resonate with me.
And the fediverse because that's the only technologically viable way forward for what we've come to expect social networks to be. It is a network in the real sense, an interconnected sprawl of self-hosted servers that individuals or communities are responsible for and the best way to deal with the costs of social media - distributing them. Mastodon is the most famous service in this space, but there are others. Explaining the fediverse outside of "a network of social networks" is beyond the scope of this post and is a real issue with adoption because, no, it's not necessarily easy.
But now we get to the real crux of my post:
The resilient things aren't easy. If you want to build and participate in something lasting, you need to do some hard things. Sometimes that's learning what the fuck @[email protected] is supposed to mean. Sometimes it's learning how to read an RSS feed. For artists it can mean learning to set up your own website, with zero code and for free even! (sorry @varethane, i'll get the post up eventually) For tech people it means finding an IRC (what, you think Slack is gonna survive its own enshittification?).
Frequently, it's learning how to back up your posts. Because no matter the site, the day will come when hosting 20 billion jpegs overtakes the cash flow of shiny rainbow crabs.
It is a requirement of the post-web2.0 world that you become more tech-savvy. As we tire of corporate horseshit, we must become more capable of forging our own way. If you want to stay connected, you need to learn how to make and maintain those connections, both social and technological.
And to not end this post on a somber and self-important note, that mastodon id isn't me - I never joined because no server ever appealed to me. If anyone's got suggestions I'm listening. I'm bitternest on cohost as well. Mutuals can DM me for my Discord.
Miss me with those bluesky invites tho
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“seven days”
tuesday
model!simonriley x normie!reader
[first step, complimenting!!, dealss, no smut (but he wants to bend you over and fuck you mindlessly), wattpad kinda love story lmao]
TUESDAY
*driin driin*
7am, an early number for simon, who’s used to wake up when he wants to.
“oi, wake up” you whispered-yelled, “s’time to work you lazy ass”
“one more minute…” he muttered with a sleepy voice. how cute.
“what are you? six? wake up, the breakfast ends at 8:30 am and i’m already missing precious time.”
“go without me, imma sleep some more”
“so it’s real the rumor about you hating kids” you teased, poking his arm with your index finger, “think about their look in their faces, do you realize how sad you’re going to make ‘em feel?”
“oh, shut up” he slowly sat straight and yawned like a little boy.
“i feel like i’m going to babysit you, not those children” you sighed, walking to the bathroom to brush your teeth.
“tsk” was the only sound coming out of him.
“idiot”
breakfast, or any meal, meant simon and you sitting next to each other.
“he works here for the reputation, he doesn’t care about the kids, johnny” you were walking towards the canteen with your friend, complaining about simon (once again).
“he’s okay, i guess. he’s a calm guy, plus he attracts a lot people…”
“girls, you mean.” you interrupted him.
“okay, girls…” he sighed, almost defeated, “but that’s fine, he’s cool, we’re cool. both paths win.”
“oh cmon! you’re just saying it because of the girls”
“well, he’s attractive himself, don’t you think?”
“he’s not” you lied. he was attractive, maybe the most attractive man you’ll ever meet. dark brown eyes, hard muscles and clean skin, he always smelled amazing, vanilla and coffee with a hint of smoke.
“who is not?” a deep voice interrupted the conversation between you and johnny, tapping lightly your shoulder. simon.
“not your business” you said, taking from the common room a couple of chocolate biscuits and a cup of coffee.
“you’re always so rude?” he scoffed.
“no, but you deserve a special treatment, don’t you think, mr model?” you replied sarcastically.
“can’t you see me as simon and not as mr model for once?” he rolled his eyes, muttering something between himself.
“the reason you’re here is not your ‘kind heart’.” you grunted ironically, sitting on your seat, “is because you need the public to see you as the ‘sweet simon’.”
“well, even if it was true, what’s your problem with me working here?” he replied coldly. “am i hurting someone? don’t think so”
“i just can’t stand who doesn’t care. i love the kids, they’re innocent souls and someone like you is the worst that could happen to them” you explained.
“give me a week, and i’ll swear to god you’re gonna change your mind” he looked at you, his gaze completely emotionless.
“a week to act like a human being?”
“three days.”
“deal” you extended your hand for a handshake.
he took your hand and shook it, his eyes fixated on you. your cheeks were already burning and the subtle staring contest between you and simon wasn’t helping. he had on his black surgical mask, but you could feel his mouth arching into a hidden smile.
“you could start by helping me with the kids”
were you asking him to help you?
“sure, why not” he smirked and stood up, walking towards the common room with you.
the kids were playing around with cars, stuffed animals and barbies, chuckling and smiling sweetly. a view that makes you melt every time.
“simon!” alex, the little kid he met the first day, ran towards him, “how are youu?”
“i’m fine kiddo, and you?” he got on his knees to look at the little boy.
“i’m good!” he grinned and took simon’s finger that felt huge in his hand, “hello y/n!!”
“hey hun!” you annoyed mood shifted as soon as you stepped inside. you sat next to alex and kissed his pinky soft cheeks.
“do you know simon? he’s my new friend!”
you smiled, even tho simon could feel that you were forcing yourself, and patted his head, “i’m really happy you found a new friend”
simon and you split up, you were playing with half of the children and him with the others.
you completely forgot about simon, now acting so sweet and caring, your brownish oversized shirt with the bleached pair of jeans you messily wore the same morning definitely didn’t help simon in leave his gaze from you.
he could feel his cheeks warming up at each smile you gave alexander or his friends, feeling the sympathy you had for the kids. he was slowly driving crazy, you were driving him crazy. three days, and he swears he’s gonna make a move on you. he was used to the egocentric models and actresses he usually spend one or two nights together, but you were so kind, you were the sweetest thing on earth.
like a little boy he poked alex’s little arm, “hey kiddo, do you know if y/n has a boyfriend or something?”
he laughed, “she’s my girlfriend!”
he chuckles softly, “oh yeah? so she has a boyfriend”
you felt his gaze on you, for the whole day. lunch, dinner, even when you were brushing your teeth.
“do i have something on my face?” you suddenly asked.
“why?”
“you keep staring at me” you replied, “do i have something on my face?”
“no” he said darkly, his deep voice matching his black tight shirt.
you laid on your bed, looking at the ceiling and sighing.
“why are you here?” you asked him genuinely.
he turned around to face you.
“my manager forced me to” he replied.
“the rumors. are they true?” you faced him back.
“if i hate kids? no. i don’t particularly like them either.” he said, his english accent clear.
“you’re not a bad person, and i’m sorry for my attitude. i just can’t…”
“…can’t stand who doesn’t care. you told me already.” he cut you short, “but i do care. my father wasn’t one of best, and just look at alex! so full of energy and life, he’s an icon”
you chuckled softly, thinking about how great alex was.
his jaw dropped slightly, did he just make you laugh?
he interrupted the laugh, “you’re breathtaking”
“i’m sorry?”
“you’re breathtaking, i told you that yesterday but you didn’t hear me” he whispered, looking into your eyes.
“oh… thanks” you blushed slightly, needing to change subject, “and i’m… sorry for you father”
“s’okay. i moved on. he was a real dick.” he smirked, but you could feel the sadness in his voice.
“seriously, you… no, no one deserves a shitty childhood. that’s why i need to fulfill those kids dreams. they deserve to be loved”
“you’re… sweet. you’re really something else.” he mumbled, “goodnight”
“goodnight”
a/n: I NEED TO KISS ON THE LIPS SIMON POOR BOY☹️☹️
sorry if it’s short, i’ve working on a fluffy fic that i reallyyyy care about!!
#ghost x reader#cod simon riley#ghost x you#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley smut#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you
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nintento direct thoughts
yeah so hi i deliberately stayed up until 7am on a work night in order to watch this and do not regret a thing.
-> splat3 dlc looks cool!! will i play it? no. does it look cool as hell? yeah!!! I personally don't like splat3's actual single player campaign so unless im able to access the dlc without finishing the main campaign then... im not playing it lmao. it looks cool as fuck though!! i like whatever the hell they had going on with the glitchy taz hunger looking goop that produced skeleton fish. pearl + marina lore is also a win in my book
-> i dont actually have all that many thoughts about the smrpg showcase but MAN it looks cool as hell. at first i didnt like the revamped graphics but now theyre growing on me.... plus the trio attacks??? HELL YEA! i hope the remake will make me actually finish the game this time around instead of start it twice in the past three years and then quit within the first few areas (<- i say as if this isnt a normal problem i have regardless. thanks, its the adhd)
-> SaGa Emerald Beyond actually looks interesting?? like I know nothing about that game series but the character designs look very cool and i like the concept of a multiple outcome story based entirely on which character you play. do i think i'd actually play this game? no, probably not. looks cool tho
-> despite me being The pokemon nerd i have nothing to say about the new detective pikachu game. i dont like the voice they gave pikachu imo. i think thats just cause im spoiled on movie detective pikachu being ryan reynolds... i joke i kid. kinda. also i never like. actually played any detective pikachu games so i got nothing
-> WAS NOT EXPECTING A TROMBONE CHAMP PORT, TO BE QUITE HONEST
-> cool that were getting a new wario-ware!! not sure how i feel about like the.... forms? is that what theyre called?? w/e regardless im not sure how i feel about em. but its a wario-ware game so its bound to be weird but like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
-> FUNKY KONG DIDDY KONG PAULINE RELEASE FOR MARIO KART WAS NOT ON MY LIST. SO SO HAPPY THOUGH. peachette is whatever. no idea where she came from
-> gotta say i completely forgot among us was on switch so seeing the crewmates i was like "are they making a fucking spin-off game for switch?" no. i just forgot. the fungle is a funny name though i appreciate it
AND THEN
THE LAST THING I WAS EXPECTING
A PAPER MARIO THOUSAND YEAR DOOR REMASTER.
I was laying there in bed at 7:40am and was like. oh cool one last thing before its over. its probably gonna be just another title release of something or a sneak peek on some dlc.
and then i hear the music.
THAT NOSTALGIC MUSIC THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE IM SEVEN YEARS OLD AGAIN
-> yeah anyway so i screamed "WHAT!?" at the (metaphorical) top of my lungs (because it was 7:40am and people were sleeping). ttyd getting a remaster is so so cool. and now that i know its possibly getting a re translation that makes me even more happy. give us trans vivian....... i also just think its very funny that ive been playing ttyd on twitch for the past. year now? (ive taken a shit ton of breaks) and theyre making a remaster?? now? not complaining im having a blast playing it with my cohost but HHADGHGAKDFJ
-> i'm mostly just excited for the remaster cause it'll hopefully bring traction back to the paper mario series. idk about like the general consensus of the fandom but like. the paper mario series has been needing a pick me up for a HOT MINUTE.
-> no i am not going to play the remaster of ttyd for stream. maybe on my own time. we'll see. i dont see the point of finishing the og only to then, like a year later, play the remaster. especially when i have a TON of games backlogged on my list since i only stream once a week. more often than not, not even that. i am planning on doing rpg tho
#krae rambles#nintendo direct#ttyd#stream things#also yes im staying up now to write this on a work night at 5am what of it#this is normal#have a good day
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i'm sitting here. i was sitting there but that was uncomfortable, just like the previous place i tried sitting and settling down into. i'm overstimulated from the sound of the lawnmowers across the street…i swear to christ, they have someone mow their lawn every goddamn day, they must be pretentious as fuck. but regardless, it UPSETS me. it makes me crazy. it makes my insides crawl. as it is, i feel like glass internally. as in, my organs feel like glass (metaphorically). my emotions and stability feel fragile; i guess that's what i'm saying. then on top of that nonsense (which i realize to normal humans wouldn't even be registered on the radar yet is, to me, bigger than it has to be), my temperature is off. i'm hot from taking my dog outside. and even though it was chilly this morning, it's uncomfortably hot now. that's annoying on its own, but i came inside with my dog and turned the fan on and the fan was (obviously) making the air touch my skin too hard. which i cannot have on a normal day, but least of all when i've been itchy for over 2 months because of god knows WHAT disease or disorder I have acquired now. i just want to feel better, i want to focus, and OH SHIT that reminds me i'm due for another adderall (because god.fucking.forbid i am given XR as a small token of kindness to potentially make up for how difficult it is to remember to take it once let alone twice, because i can't take it with my seven morning meds at 7am because then it'll wear off too quickly and i'll be miserable by 11, which will of course be too soon for my second pill)… fuck me fuck this, for fucks sake. will i ever be a worthwhile human being? my dad finally acknowledges that my BuLlShIt is a disability (the bipolar AND the arthritis that prevents me from walking up a singular stair without pulling myself up like i'm FUCKING mountainclimbing) but he still thinks it'd be so easy for me to just gEt A jOb. i go back and forth in regards to whether or not i even want one (because fuck society fuck capitalism fuck making money for greedy higherups who don't deserve more than they have right now and aren't even thankful for to begin with). but i'd love a PURPOSE obviously. i want something. what do i want. kjfnfgj FUCK i'd LOVE to not be a huge disappointment to everyone, to myself. i'd love to be an adult. i'd love to know how to do this "life" thing… ugh
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my friend who's always hyperactive made us listen to his music these days to pump us up and 1. now i understand what he means when he says he is like this because he's been listening to techno since he was like 8, that shit fucking works 2. i now have gabry ponte stuck in my head how do i stop it
#we DID manage to tire him though#we just needed four days skiing seven hours and sleeping four. easy.#last day he admitted he was kinda tired but he says it was only because we weren't doing anything exciting and we were just chilling on the#sofa watching stupid videos on youtube#anyway it didn't last long#i am fucking destroyed today and he was up before 7am. he's a fucking mystery to me
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(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
#I’m tired#my head is pounding#my neck is killing me#my shoulder f e e l s broken (it’s not)#god i hate 7am classes#who thought this was okay#anyway#i went to sleep at like 1:15 am bc i stayed up late to finish the movie and then i slept like shit#i know i was so late to remember that the oscars were this sunday#but now i need to watch all of them#specially this year that every single nominee looks fucking amazing#and that means watching all of this seven movies every night#this is boring#me.txt
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Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato
Title: Double Hazlenut Almond Milk Macchiato
Prompt: Day 2/Meet-Cute
Tumblr Name:
Rating: General
Summary: Muggle AU. Hermione Granger is new in town, and she has a pretty complicated coffee order.
Trigger Warnings: N/A
xxx
It’s seven o’clock on a Monday, and the morning rush is in full swing at The Burrow. Forming a line out the door and around the block are dozens of important, yet fidgety business people with complicated coffee orders, and little patience.
Ron Weasley opens every morning, Monday through Friday, and he handles it well. Most customers are regulars, and he’s already memorized their morning joe specifications.
The majority of the morning crowd has been forgiving of the occasional slip-up. Seven years of working the first shift at the family-owned coffee shop means a history of accidental extra-whipped cream, almond milk instead of soy, and finger-slips on the espresso machine, and the customers always return.
Maybe it’s because they’re too tired to notice their Americanos are actually Flat-Whites. Or maybe it’s the hospitable vibe of The Burrow that makes complaining about bad latte art seem as petty as telling Grandma her muffins are dry.
Every now and then, there’s a new customer, and Ron has to whip out his earnest, people-pleasing attitude to assure that the newbie sticks around. He’ll do what it takes to turn them into a regular, and make them thankful that they chose the local joint over the cookie-cutter corporate shop across the street.
‘Take an interest in their day!’ his Mum would say. ‘Validate their order! Then make sure to ask their name, and use it!’
Monday morning, at seven o’clock, is one of those times.
“Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato.”
“Size?”
“Medium.”
The customer is about Ron’s age, and probably new in town. She doesn’t yet know that at The Burrow, ‘Double Macchiatos’ are simply called ‘Tall Macchiatos’, and instead of ‘small’, ‘medium’, and ‘large’, The Burrow’s sizes go by their family pets in order of mass: Pig, Errol, and Chudley.
“Great,” he says, grinning, “coming right up.”
“Make sure it’s almond milk,” she reminds him.
“Yup.”
“And hazelnut,” she adds.
“Yup.”
“Double-shot—”
“I heard you,” says Ron impatiently. Have a little trust, lady.
“Okay, just making sure!”
“Can I get a name for the order?”
“Hermione.”
Ron stares at the girl. Her brown eyes are round and drowsy, her hair is unkempt and wild, which contradicts the clean lines of the business suit she’s wearing. She looks so normal. “Can you repeat that?”
“Hermione. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E.”
He hadn’t asked her to spell it, and the way she emphasizes each syllable reminds Ron of how adults would read to him when he was a kid. It’s condescending.
“Coming right up, Hermione.”
“Great.”
Ron resists rolling his eyes. He can handle a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato, and if he screws it up, she probably wouldn’t even know the difference. Most customers wouldn’t.
As Hermione paces by the counter checking her watch, he whips up a medium, double, hazelnut, almond milk ...cappuccino. Just to test his theory, of course.
“Here you go!”
He hands the drink to Hermione and watches as she takes a sip. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he’s convinced she can tell…
Then her face melts back to a polite grin. “Thank you!”
Maybe she can’t. Ron shakes his head as she turns and leaves, turning his attention to the next customer’s order.
Hermione returns on Tuesday morning at 7 am sharp. Her hair is pulled back into a stiff, tight ponytail that just barely lassos her wild mane, and she probably checks her watch fifteen times while in line. Ron suppresses a scoff—she can just make coffee at home if she’s in such a rush.
“Morning, Hermione!” he says with a forced smile. “Same as yesterday?”
She looks taken aback at first, clearly not expecting him to remember her name. “Um, yes, same as yesterday.”
“Coming right up.”
“Medium, Double, Hazelnut—“
“Almond Milk Macchiato,” he says. “I got it.”
“Okay,” shrugs Hermione, eyebrows raised. “Then do it.”
What’s her problem? “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she snaps. “I need coffee, not a counseling session.”
Wow. He wants to retort back, but his mother’s nagging voice in his head stops him. ‘Always be extra-polite to grumpy customers; remember they haven’t had their coffee fix yet.’
“Of course,” Ron says through gritted teeth, in as polite a tone as he can manage. To satisfy his desire to argue, he whips her up a medium, double, hazelnut soy macchiato, only half-hoping she doesn’t notice.
He doesn’t get a chance to see if she does, because she’s out the door before a single sip.
Her Wednesday return is accompanied by a looming dread in the pit of Ron’s stomach. He hates rude people, especially at 7am. Ron spots her impatiently tapping her foot in line, as usual, and prepares himself for their interaction.
“Hello,” he says politely, stopping himself before the natural ‘how are you?’ escapes his lips. “What can I get for you today?”
“Hi,” she says with a sheepish smile. “The same as yesterday.”
“Which is?”
“Erm,” she stammers, her expression confused, “a medium—“
“I’m kidding,” he laughs, “I know your order.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
She pays, and Ron fixes her a medium double caramel almond milk macchiato.
“Sorry about yesterday,” she says when she picks up her drink. “You were just trying to be nice, and I was rude.”
“Oh,” starts Ron, who isn’t expecting an apology. “That’s okay. Happens a lot during the morning shift.”
She smiles and nods before turning around to leave, taking a sip on her way out the door. Ron watches for her reaction, but doesn’t catch it.
She seems to be in a better mood by Thursday.
“The usual,” is all she says when she arrives at the counter, but this time she’s smiling. She looks different when she smiles—pretty. Something else unidentifiable replaces the dread in his stomach. Ron wonders if it’s the first time he’s seen her smile or if it’s just the first time he’s noticed.
But based on the tired circles under her eyes, she’s exhausted, so Ron prepares her a medium triple hazelnut almond milk macchiato. An extra shot of espresso never hurt anyone, and maybe it’ll help her get through the day. Or maybe, she’ll experience a coffee crash and have to return to The Burrow later.
Both good things.
“Just so you know,” she says as Ron hands over her cup, “it’s been a stressful week. I started a new job, and it’s not going well.”
“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that,” says Ron. He looks into her eyes, and for a moment, they soften. There’s more to her tough and professional exterior.
“These have made the week just a little better,” she adds, holding up her macchiato, before smiling softly and turning to leave.
Of course, Hermione requests her usual on Friday, and Ron is quickly running out of ideas for ways to screw with her order.
In celebration of the weekend, he might be able to pass a large off as a special treat. Other than that, he has to stick to the request—a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato. The first of the week. Better not mess it up.
As soon as he pops the cap onto her cup, it looks empty. He reaches for his marker again and scribbles something else—his phone number.
He’s not sure what compels him to do it. Maybe it’s because the larger size leaves so much white space. It could be because the grumpy brunette has been occupying his thoughts all week — he’s never purposely tried to fuck up someone’s coffee five days in a row.
Or maybe, it’s because when she walked in this morning, he smiled, and he just wants to learn more about the woman who thinks she knows what a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato tastes like.
She’ll probably ignore it anyway.
But later that day, his phone buzzes on the counter, and he scrambles for it faster than he’d run away from a mob of spiders.
The text is from an unknown number, but there’s no mystery. It only took five days, but you finally got my order correct!
Ron scowls at his phone. She knew? She was duping him?
Well, Hermione, why’d you keep coming back?
As soon as the message sends, he’s impatient, tapping his foot, pacing, and jittery. Just like Hermione every morning.
His phone flashes and buzzes, and Ron almost drops it by checking too quickly.
It wasn’t for the coffee…
#hpfic#romione ficfest 2021#romione#ron weasley#hermione granger#coffeeshop AU#Rated G#Queue up for the Dragon#Ace Safe#cw: none
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Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato
Hermione Granger is new in town, and she has a very complicated coffee order. Prompt: Meet Cute
Top 4 in the 2021 Romione Ficlet Fest!
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Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato
It's seven o'clock on a Monday, and the morning rush is in full swing at The Burrow. Forming a line out the door and around the block are dozens of important, yet fidgety business people with complicated coffee orders, and little patience.
Ron Weasley opens every morning, Monday through Friday, and he handles it well. Most customers are regulars, and he's already memorized their morning joe specifications.
The majority of the morning crowd has been forgiving of the occasional slip-up. Seven years of working the first shift at the family-owned coffee shop means a history of accidental extra-whipped cream, almond milk instead of soy, and finger-slips on the espresso machine, and the customers always return.
Maybe it's because they're too tired to notice their Americanos are actually Flat-Whites. Or maybe it's the hospitable vibe of The Burrow that makes complaining about bad latte art seem as petty as telling Grandma her muffins are dry.
Every now and then, there's a new customer, and Ron has to whip out his earnest, people-pleasing attitude to assure that the newbie sticks around. He'll do what it takes to turn them into a regular, and make them thankful that they chose the local joint over the cookie-cutter corporate shop across the street.
'Take an interest in their day!' his Mum would say. 'Validate their order! Then make sure to ask their name, and use it!'
Monday morning, at seven o'clock, is one of those times.
"Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato."
"Size?"
"Medium."
The customer is about Ron's age, and probably new in town. She doesn't yet know that at The Burrow, 'Double Macchiatos' are simply called 'Tall Macchiatos', and instead of 'small', 'medium', and 'large', The Burrow's sizes go by their family pets in order of mass: Pig, Errol, and Chudley.
"Great," he says, grinning, "coming right up."
"Make sure it's almond milk," she reminds him.
"Yup."
"And Hazelnut," she adds.
"Yup."
"Double-shot—"
"I heard you," says Ron impatiently. Have a little trust, lady.
"Okay, just making sure!"
"Can I get a name for the order?"
"Hermione."
Ron stares at the girl. Her brown eyes are round and drowsy, her hair is unkempt and wild, which contradicts the clean lines of the business suit she's wearing. She looks so normal. "Can you repeat that?"
"Hermione. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E."
He hadn't asked her to spell it, and the way she emphasizes each syllable reminds Ron of how adults would read to him when he was a kid. It's condescending.
"Coming right up, Hermione."
"Great."
Ron resists rolling his eyes. He can handle a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato, and if he screws it up, she probably wouldn't even know the difference. Most customers wouldn't.
As Hermione paces by the counter checking her watch, he whips up a medium, double, hazelnut, almond milk ...cappuccino. Just to test his theory, of course.
"Here you go!"
He hands the drink to Hermione and watches as she takes a sip. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he's convinced she can tell…
Then her face melts back to a polite grin. "Thank you!"
Maybe she can't. Ron shakes his head as she turns and leaves, turning his attention to the next customer's order.
Hermione returns on Tuesday morning at 7 am sharp. Her hair is pulled back into a stiff, tight ponytail that just barely lassos her wild mane, and she probably checks her watch fifteen times while in line. Ron suppresses a scoff—she can just make coffee at home if she's in such a rush.
"Morning, Hermione!" he says with a forced smile. "Same as yesterday?"
She looks taken aback at first, clearly not expecting him to remember her name. "Um, yes, same as yesterday."
"Coming right up."
"Medium, Double, Hazelnut—"
"Almond Milk Macchiato," he says. "I got it."
"Okay," shrugs Hermione, eyebrows raised. "Then do it."
What's her problem? "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," she snaps. "I need coffee, not a counseling session."
Wow. He wants to retort back, but his mother's nagging voice in his head stops him. 'Always be extra-polite to grumpy customers; remember they haven't had their coffee fix yet.'
"Of course," Ron says through gritted teeth, in as polite a tone as he can manage. To satisfy his desire to argue, he whips her up a medium, double, hazelnut soy macchiato, only half-hoping she doesn't notice.
He doesn't get a chance to see if she does, because she's out the door before a single sip.
Her Wednesday return is accompanied by a looming dread in the pit of Ron's stomach. He hates rude people, especially at 7am. Ron spots her impatiently tapping her foot in line, as usual, and prepares himself for their interaction.
"Hello," he says politely, stopping himself before the natural 'how are you?' escapes his lips. "What can I get for you today?"
"Hi," she says with a sheepish smile. "The same as yesterday."
"Which is?"
"Erm," she stammers, her expression confused, "a medium—"
"I'm kidding," he laughs, "I know your order."
"Oh. Thank you."
She pays, and Ron fixes her a medium double caramel almond milk macchiato.
"Sorry about yesterday," she says when she picks up her drink. "You were just trying to be nice, and I was rude."
"Oh," starts Ron, who isn't expecting an apology. "That's okay. Happens a lot during the morning shift."
She smiles and nods before turning around to leave, taking a sip on her way out the door. Ron watches for her reaction, but doesn't catch it.
She seems to be in a better mood by Thursday.
"The usual," is all she says when she arrives at the counter, but this time she's smiling. She looks different when she smiles—pretty. Something else unidentifiable replaces the dread in his stomach. Ron wonders if it's the first time he's seen her smile or if it's just the first time he's noticed.
But based on the tired circles under her eyes, she's exhausted, so Ron prepares her a medium triple hazelnut almond milk macchiato. An extra shot of espresso never hurt anyone, and maybe it'll help her get through the day. Or maybe, she'll experience a coffee crash and have to return to The Burrow later.
Both good things.
"Just so you know," she says as Ron hands over her cup, "it's been a stressful week. I started a new job, and it's not going well."
"I'm—I'm sorry to hear that," says Ron. He looks into her eyes, and for a moment, they soften. There's more to her tough and professional exterior.
"These have made the week just a little better," she adds, holding up her macchiato, before smiling softly and turning to leave.
Of course, Hermione requests her usual on Friday, and Ron is quickly running out of ideas for ways to screw with her order.
In celebration of the weekend, he might be able to pass a large off as a special treat. Other than that, he has to stick to the request—a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato. The first of the week. Better not mess it up.
As soon as he pops the cap onto her cup, it looks empty. He reaches for his marker again and scribbles something else—his phone number.
He's not sure what compels him to do it. Maybe it's because the larger size leaves so much white space. It could be because the grumpy brunette has been occupying his thoughts all week — he's never purposely tried to fuck up someone's coffee five days in a row.
Or maybe, it's because when she walked in this morning, he smiled, and he just wants to learn more about the woman who thinks she knows what a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato tastes like.
She'll probably ignore it anyway.
But later that day, his phone buzzes on the counter, and he scrambles for it faster than he'd run away from a mob of spiders.
The text is from an unknown number, but there's no mystery. It only took five days, but you finally got my order correct!
Ron scowls at his phone. She knew? She was duping him?
Well, Hermione, why'd you keep coming back?
As soon as the message sends, he's impatient, tapping his foot, pacing, and jittery. Just like Hermione every morning.
His phone flashes and buzzes, and Ron almost drops it by checking too quickly.
It wasn't for the coffee…
#Ron Weasley#Hermione Granger#Ron and Hermione#ron x hermione#ronweasley#hermionegranger#ROMIONE#romione fanfic#romione fanfiction#romione ficlet#muggle AU#coffee shop au#meet cute
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it's 7am and there's porn on my dash
come on guys, it's fucking SEVEN AM.
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