#that and a cup of coffee (cream and sugar) is my basic breakfast
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achilles heel - I: Ben's Sister
summary:
Grace is the very opposite of her brother in every way. when she finally moves onto campus at UNC Chapel Hill, she feels like she gets to be her own person, make her own friends, and hopefully start a promising career in the museum industry, and maybe, one day, get married to her high school sweetheart and live the American dream for herself. Rafe Cameron however, upon their very first meeting, throws a wrench in her very perfect plan.
tags/warnings:
rafe cameron x fem!oc, rafe is giving very much homewrecker, fanon!rafe (kinda), college!au, friends to lovers, slow-burn (maybe?), minimal oc description, drug and alcohol use, mostly unedited, (these tags are not exhaustive, lmk if i should add anything!)
wc: 2.1k
my master list
series masterlist
requests
January 4th, 2019
B: i'll be at the caf in 10 if you want to grab breakfast before class
Her phone buzzes twice in quick succession as the screen lights up on the table in front of her. She leans over to read it, putting down her coffee mug and rolling her eyes slightly to herself. Grace had already eaten the same thing she always does, being frozen strawberries and whipped cream for breakfast, and is finishing up her first of several cups of coffee for the day when she receives this text from her brother.
g: okay, back table in the corner
She sends her quick reply and goes back to what she was doing, pretending to read her textbook and hoping to absorb at least the key points before her eight am class. So far, this method has worked well for her. Only one semester down so far, but with a 3.91 GPA, Grace is feeling pretty good about her academic career.
Her brother, Ben, on the other hand, got into the same school on a scholarship for soccer, and Grace is pretty positive he's only doing the same degree as her so she can tutor him while he lives in a frat house. Which he very promptly moved into after orientation, leaving Grace on campus alone, and she didn't mind it one bit. Having some space from her brother and her parents for the first time has been amazing.
Grace looks up as her disheveled-looking brother slides into the seat across from her at the table, practically throwing his plate down. She removes her headphones to hear what he's saying. "Huh?" She asks, prompting him to repeat himself.
"I said..." He draws it out, clearly frustrated his sister didn't listen. "You're already reading that? It's only the second class."
"Oh, well yeah, they're assigned readings for a reason." Grace replies, putting in her bookmark and closing the book, shoving it in the bag at her feet before looking back at her twin brother. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, which, of course, he did.
"Right. Give me the summary then, yeah?" He asks through a mouthful of cinnamon and sugar toast.
Grace sighs a little. "So, basically, there's this guy, totally a dick." She begins to explain and Ben nods, but he's already looking down at his phone. "So he shoots this elephant, right, and then someone else shoots him, and then that's how the third world war started."
"Wait, what? Really?" Ben asks, his attention suddenly drawn back to her.
"No. There was no World War III, dumbass." She replied flatly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you even know what this course is about?"
"Not yet but that's why I'm here isn't it?" Ben chuckles, taking another bite of his toast and instantly chasing it down with his orange juice.
Grace cringes a little as she watches that. "Not exactly..." She replies, looking down at her watch. "We have fifteen minutes. We should probably go, we have to get all the way across campus."
Ben nods and shoves the rest of his one piece of toast in his mouth and picks up the other to carry with them while they grab their bags and clean up the table.
No one really knows what it is about the first week of the semester, but Grace, as well as every other girl she's seen so far, has fallen victim to the idea that you need to look put together and organized knowing damn well that by two weeks from now, she'll be showing up in pyjamas. But today, for the time being, she's actually wearing jeans and makeup to class.
They walk across the beautiful campus that overlooks the city from a hill. It's January, but the sun is rising and there's hardly any snow left on the ground, not that there ever was much to begin with at UNC. Grace grips her coffee cup with both hands to try and warm them- it was probably an oversight to leave her gloves back in her dorm.
They make it inside and find their classroom, walking in and looking around, scanning to see open seats. Grace's eye lands on a table with two seats that no one is sitting at, and makes a beeline for it, placing her bag down before realizing her brother isn't at her side anymore.
"Hey, man, how's it going?" She hears as she looks back over her shoulder, seeing her brother grabbing the hand of a boy sitting in the back row. She sighs and sits down as he sits in the back with someone she's assuming he knows from his frat or soccer or something,
"I'm pretty good. Don't know why I took an eight am but here I am I guess." Ben's friend, Rafe, says as Ben takes a seat next to him.
"Honestly, same." Ben laughs slightly, pulling his laptop out of his bag and placing it on the desk.
"Hey, uh..." Rafe starts, leaning closer to his friend and lowering his voice. "Who's that girl you came in with?"
"Why?" Ben asks, taking on a defensive tone as he digs around in his bag, looking for his textbook.
Rafe instantly shakes his head, leaning back in his seat. "Just wondering." He says quickly, looking forward at the long-haired girl sitting a few rows in front of them. "I didn't know you had a girl- I just thought you would have told the team."
"What? I don't." Ben looks up at him to see his friend staring at his sister. "That's just Grace. My sister." He admits, leaning back in his chair as well.
Oh, his sister. Rafe thinks to himself, nodding slightly in response to his friend, that was now watching him, watching his sister. Time to look away. "You have a sister?"
"Uh, yeah, dude."
"You never talk about her," Rafe says, glancing back at her.
"Not much to say I guess." Ben shrugs in response. "Uh, we're twins, I don't know she likes to read apparently. She's a history major, she lives here on campus. I don't know what really there is to add."
"Oh, really? I was thinking of doing history."
Ben laughs. "Dude, as if Ward would ever let you even think about taking anything other than business. Pretty much the only thing you can do with history is write or teach, that's boring as hell."
Rafe sighs, he knows Ben is probably right. "I mean, like, I wouldn't hate that. At least it would be my choice."
"Yeah, I mean, whatever you want man. Why not, right? Being a prof makes bangin money too. People respect you and shit-" Ben rambles on but Rafe isn't really listening. His eyes are trained again on the girl sitting closer to the front of the room, as her hair cascades over her shoulders when she leans forward more, writing something down in a notebook.
"Right?" His thoughts are interrupted.
"Oh, yeah, totally." Rafe nods, completely unaware of what his friend was talking about by now.
"Okay, so we've got some new faces in here today." A man who Rafe assumes to be the prof says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention as the room quiets down. "You, in the back there. You missed introductions on Monday, so basically we all shared our names, our majors, and what year we're in if you'd like to share as well."
He's looking dead on at Rafe in the back, and everyone's heads turn to look at him. "I, yeah, sure. I'm Rafe, uh, this is my first year, so I haven't made any big decisions yet, but I'm thinking about majoring in history." He says, making eye contact with Grace and giving her a slight smile.
"Right, yes, Rafe Cameron. You're on the soccer team with Ben here. Your dad is Ward, right?" The prof asks and Rafe nods.
"Yes sir."
"I've met your father, he's a really nice man, hey?" He grins and Rafe nods again slightly in response, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Anyway, let's get started, shall we? Did everyone get the readings done?"
——
Grace gets up at the end of class, placing everything in her bag and her headphones back in, assuming that her brother would take off with his friend.
"Shouldn't we wait for Grace?" Rafe asks Ben as his friend turns to the door.
"Nah, I'll talk to her later." He shrugs in response. "Come on- we've got practice this afternoon and I want to have a nap first."
"Hold on one sec," Rafe replies, holding his hand up at his friend signaling for him to wait, and watching as Grace turns around evidently surprised to see them still standing there looking at her- waiting.
"Oh, hi." She says, removing one of her headphones.
"What did you think of the first real lecture? Did you write down every word?" Ben asks her and she laughs a little.
"No, but I'm glad we're getting into something interesting at least." She replies, avoiding eye contact with his friend, who's watching her intently.
"Hey, uh, I'm Rafe, by the way." He says to her before Ben can get a word in.
Grace looks briefly at her brother, who is staring at Rafe with an indecipherable look on his face. "I'm Grace." She says, looking back at her brother's friend and smiling politely. "You said you want to take history? That's my plan too." She adds, making an effort to move the conversation along so they don't just all stand there staring at each other.
"Yeah, I mean, maybe. My dad wants me to take business because he owns a company and I'll have to take it over eventually and all that crap." Rafe shrugs as the three of them head for the door.
Grace nods at that, shoving her hands in her pockets as they walk out the door and down the hall. "My boyfriend was supposed to take business too, or that was originally his plan in high school. He decided to go into chemical and electrical engineering instead and he's loving it, but I guess it's a bit different than your situation but I still think it's important to do what you want, not what other people want you to do." She shrugs, as Rafe looks at her brother, giving him a 'what the fuck, man?' expression.
Ben raises an eyebrow at him, the silent exchange finished with his confusion, and Rafe quickly continues his conversation with the girl who wasn't watching them, eyes straight ahead as she walked. "Yeah, I guess you're right. My plan right now is to sell it as soon as my name's on it, so my degree won't really matter."
"Yeah, you probably don't need a degree in business for that." She agrees, laughing slightly as she shakes her head.
As the three approach the end of the hall, Rafe takes a few quick steps forward to grab the door, and Ben smiles at him, laughing slightly and patting him on the shoulder as he walks through. "Thanks, bro." He steps outside, leaving Rafe to stare at the girl who took a turn down the hall instead of following them out.
"Not going back to dorms?" He asks her, making her turn as she continues to walk backward staying with the flow of other students.
"I have a class in C building in ten minutes- this way is much faster. It was nice meeting you!" Grace smiles with a slight wave, popping her headphone back in as she turns around and continues down the hall. Rafe smiles back and raises his hand in a quick wave, sighing as he's stuck holding the door for a few more people before he can follow Ben.
"Dude, you didn't think to tell me she has a boyfriend?" Rafe asks, jogging slightly to catch up with his friend.
"Sorry, didn't think you'd be into my sister. Didn't think it mattered- that's not like, the most important thing about her, you know." Ben scoffs, shaking his head.
"Well, of course not. Would've been nice to know, though." Rafe grumbles, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.
"You're not hooking up with my sister. Listen, even if she wasn't dating that loser I wouldn't let you. That's like, fucked up." Ben says sternly. "What would you say if I said I was into Sarah, huh?"
"Dude- gross. She's like, seventeen." Rafe shakes his head, scrunching up his nose at the thought.
"Exactly." Ben agrees.
"Okay, well, that's different."
"You're digging yourself deeper and deeper man- you've just got to let it go." Ben insists, turning to walk towards his car on the opposite side of the parking lot from where Rafe parked his bike. "I'll see you at home!" He shouts back.
"See ya'," Rafe replies, walking in the opposite direction. He pulls the other side of his backpack over his shoulder, holding tightly onto the straps as he makes his way back to where he parked his bike- completely unaware that he was being watched through an upstairs window in C building by his friend's sister.
ahhh finally part one!! i’ve been working on this one for a hot minute so lmk all your thoughts and everything- i don’t have the whole thing planned out so also if anyone has any requests on where this should go, pls lmk!!
taglist: @madelynie @slut4drudy (message me or reply to this to be added!)
#rafe cameron#obx#obx fanfic#outer banks#rafe obx#rafe cameron x oc#rafe fanfiction#rafe fic#college!rafe#college!au#fratboy!rafe#frat!rafe#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron x reader#rafe imagine#rafe outer banks#rafe x y/n#rafe x you#rafe x reader#rafe cameron fic#outerbanks
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Relax, Donny Donowitz
I tried my best with German in this imagine as I know a little (just basics), so if there are any corrections that need to be made, please message me! Thank you!
Warning: violence, Nazis, death, brutality with a bat, gunfire, ending is a bit NSFW
Word count: 2.1k~
For a week, the basterds had nothing to do. The very person they were trying to find had seemingly gone on holiday, and no information on where he had travelled to was available to us. As soon as he left, it seemed as if the world itself had calmed down. The men were finally able to write and send out their letters to their mothers and loved ones at home while others were left to rest and catch up on what was going on in the world that didn't involve the ongoing war or guns.
Specifically, Donny enjoyed the first few days of freedom from his duties as we were all able to stay at a hostel for that week and rest. The hostel was run by a kind man who, come to find, also hated the current ongoing regime in his home country. Because of this, he was more than willing to help the basterds in our mission.
Donny and I both got to have breakfast with each other every morning, and later on, we had the ability to get lost in each other in nothing but the bed sheets and moonlight without the possibility of anyone walking in or complaining. In a way, we got to finally act like a normal couple for once in a very long time. It was just us to ourselves, and we weren't complaining.
However, on the fifth day of rest, Donny seemed tense, almost irritated. He woke up, sat at the breakfast table, and drank coffee with me while I jotted down status reports on the missions we completed. Being the Basterd's (I guess you could say) secretary, it was my job to do such things. I wrote down information about soldiers and their lives, mission statuses and details, and even small facts about the Basterds themselves. Being the fiancé of the infamous "Bear Jew," my job was mildly easy as my source of information was usually right beside me when given the chance.
For Donny, on the other hand, his work mostly entailed beating the enemies to a pulp with his bat in hand or just simply shooting them. It was a way for him to release any fury and anger he held, while at the same time, protect his country and everyone involved in it. The opposing side was always his target, and if he were to see any of them at any time, he would surely pull back on his trigger and release the fire held within him.
"Donny, what's the matter?" I ask him, looking up from my papers to stare at the handsome man in front of me. In his usual attire, he's hot, but when he's dressed in nothing but a simple pair of cotton pants, the matching button-up top thrown off long ago, he looks absolutely delectable.
"I work too much," he simply answers, staring down at his cup of coffee, not an ounce of sugar or cream in the dark liquid. "I'm so used ta missions and fighting that... I kinda forgot how ta relax," he adds on with a small laugh as he turns his attention to look at me.
Smiling, I ponder through my thoughts for a few seconds before standing from the table and walking over to him. As soon as I’m within arms length of Donny, he pulls me close and sits me in his lap where he immediately begins pressing feather-like kisses against the exposed skin of my arm while his rough hands dance across my bare thighs. Just like his shirt, my pants had been long forgotten about as well.
"What if we had some fun today?" I suggest, instantly receiving Donny's eager lips on my neck. Before he can fully begin in his actions, I stop him with my hand on his head and a smile on my lips. "Not that type of fun," I quickly reiterate, gaining a groan of protest from the man.
"What if we went to a field and played... baseball?" I ask him, looking down to see him with an eyebrow raised questionably.
"Baseball?" He repeats the word in a question-like voice. "I haven't played that since we were in Boston," A few seconds pass before he smiles. "Although, I guess it would fun playing with you."
Almost immediately, he stands from his chair with me still in his arms. I can't help but giggle and wrap my arms around his neck even tighter, just as he likes it. I have to enjoy these moments with Donny because I never know when I'll be able to repeat them, or if I’ll get them again. Sometimes, missions can draw on from one week to one month, and during that time, the feeling of loneliness is inevitable. When you're so used to someone's warm arms around you all the time, you can't help but yearn for that when they're away.
Getting dressed was a hassle with Donny trying to kiss me at any chance he got, but I guess it isn't any different from what he's been doing for the past few years. Before leaving, we gathered his bat (free of any enemy blood, of course) and a ball the hostel keeper had lying around. We then traveled out to a field not too far from the inn, no one else out in the field despite the sun being out and the weather pleasant. I wasn’t going to complain, however; that leaves it all to Donny and me to enjoy ourselves.
Smiling at the dark haired man, I pitch the ball to him which he skillfully hits, letting him score a home-run while I run to get the ball, ultimately running out of air as I run back. "Woo-hoo!" Donny shouts, victoriously throwing his arms in the air as he stands at the base. "Still got it, baby, yeah!"
"Oh, quiet down!" I tease him, hunching over to catch my breath as he quickly heads over to where I stand. Donny merely grins at my comment before I raise back up, still a bit out of breath. Placing my hands on my hips, I watch as Donny's smile turns into a focused frown, his eyes cast toward the forest behind me. Turning my head, I don't see anything, but my ears do catch something.
"Do you hear that?" Donny asks, receiving a nod back from me. Without a second thought, he takes my hand in his before walking toward that secluded part of the woods, not forgetting to grab his bat he dropped when he first hit the ball. Walking closer to the tall trees, I pick up more on what the noise is. It's people talking to each other in another language.
"Is that German?" Donny asks me, receiving another nod. Stopping beside a big pine, I try to listen in on the conversation. "Can you understand it?" He whispers.
"I think," I answer him. Aside from Hugo, I also serve as a translator to the Basterds for German having learned it in my youth. Leaning my head closer to sounds, I can hear the conversation more, but only bits and pieces.
"Zwei Leute,"
"Two people," I say the translation.
"Juden,"
"Jewish,"
"Feuer… Haus,"
"Fire... house,"
My eyes widening, I look back at Donny. "I think someone's talking about setting a house on fire," I tell him, his widening just like mine before he crawls through the forest with me beside him. Taking slow and quiet steps, we try to be as silent as possible as we soon find the owners of the voices. Sure enough, the two men sharing the conversation are decked out in Nazi attire, the bands on their arms giving them away immediately. As the two smoke cigars, they point out toward the part of the field that leads out to the civilian life. Looking around the rest of the woods, I don't see anyone else, and since the sun is bright out today, I'm pretty confident that the two are by themselves.
"When I say three, toss the ball in the air," Donny whispers, successfully avoiding gaining attention from the two enemies. Walking a few steps behind me, he swings his bat low to the ground as if he were readying it. "Stay there," He tells me, before counting down. "One... two... three," With the last number, emitting from his lips, he whistles loudly as I toss the ball into the air.
Right as both of the nazis turn to look at us, Donny swings his bat at the ball, successfully hitting the ball and making it fly into one of the Nazi's in the head. While the first nazi stumbles backward, now unconscious, the second one reaches for his gun, but he's too slow as Donny wastes no time in running up and hitting the man in the stomach before spinning and hitting him in the back of his head with the wooden instrument. Just like his fellow cretin, he falls to the ground as well, except in his case, his heart stops beating and body convulses in response to Donny's harsh hit.
Giving him one more hit on the ground, Donny moves on to the other man, turning him on his back so he can face him. Ripping the gun from the man's side, Donny tosses it over to me where I grab it and ready it, just in case. Donny then aggressively slaps the man repeatedly who wakes up on the fifth hit with a bloody nose.
"Wake up, sleepy head!" Donny taunts, the Bear Jew coming out in full force. The man holds his hands up to protect himself, making Donny laugh. "Give us your mission details, you piece of shit," Donny says to the man, only to receive a weird look. He must not speak English.
Walking up to the two, I get on the same level as Donny before holding the tip of the welrod to the man's neck, his eyes flashing in fear in response to a gun he stole being pressed against his neck. "Gib uns die stadtplan, oder wir schneiden deine kopf ab," I tell the man, speaking full German.
Eyes wide, the man shakily reaches down and takes out a piece of paper, but I can tell that isn't the map. Cocking the gun, I aim it toward his knee cap without looking and shoot, the only sound following being the man's cry of pain thanks to the gun's built-in silencer.
"Der echte eins," I demand, seeing Donny in the corner of my eye smirking.
"Kapitulation, kapitulation!" The man cries out, pulling another paper out of his jacket pocket. Yanking it from the man's grasp, I flip it open and see the familiar cities around Belgium, the Imperial Eagle stamped onto specific locations such as public buildings and flats.
"Thank you," I mutter, walking backward as I stare at the map more. Over the top of the page, my eyes catch Donny quickly break back into his badass persona before beating the nazi's face to a pulp with each brutal swing of his bat. Once he's done, he wipes the blood from his face and walks over to me where he peers down at the piece of paper in my hands.
"Can't bring you anywhere," I joke, handing him the map to look over. Smiling, I press a kiss against his lips, quickly receiving one back before he pulls me close to him. "Work just seems to follow you."
"You're the one who finds all'ar missions, baby," He responds, smirking as he kisses my cheek. "And it looks like you found the rest of 'em for all of Belgium," With the discovery, Donny seems happy and almost proud in a way. Looking back at the map with him, I find myself sighing a little. Our long weekend is over, but at the same time, the Basterds are closer to their victory, and Donny's got his mojo back.
“Just warn me next time you decide to shoot a man in front of me.” Donny’s voice breaks me away the map and over to him as he now stands behind me. I raise an eyebrow at him curiously, but he simply continues smirking before leaning his face into my neck and pressing his hips into mine, something hard and eager poking into my back. “Almost fucked you right here in the forest, babe,” I gasp, just in time for him to bite at my neck harshly. “You really have no fucking clue.”
Translations :
Gib uns die stadtplan, oder wir schneiden deine kopf ab,
Give us the map, or we rip your head off,
Der echte eins,
The real one,
Kapitulation, kapitulation!
Surrender, surrender!
Welrod: Welrod was a European gun made during the Second World War
#donny donowitz#Donny donowitz x reader#donny donowitz imagine#donny donowitz imagines#donny donowitz fanfiction#eli roth#eli roth x reader#eli roth imagines#eli roth imagine#inglorious basterds#inglorious basterds x reader#inglorious basterds imagines#inglorious basterds imagine
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Anonymous Asks: "What do you think are Jack's, Joseph's, Shaun's, Ian's, Nick's, and Jean's favorite foods and drinks?"
Ooooh I’m gonna do these a lil out of order for Headcanon Reasons~
Content: Food and drink talk
Joseph:
Okay so I know everyone headcanons him as Italian-American, but like… my little Jewish heart likes to think he’s Jewish
Some of his favourite foods are ones he remembers his bubbe making for him before she passed away and he ran away
Her brisket is the thing he misses the most, so soft with just a hint of hot sauce and horseradish. Sandwiched between two slices of freshly baked challah…
The slightly gross bagels and lox she used to buy for him on a Sunday morning
But also he’s a sucker for a greasy burger and slightly soggy fries, a strawberry milkshake on the side
Shitty boxed wine (or manischewitz lmao)
Jack:
So, Sunny Day Jack was meant to be an all-American guy, but this Jack is a weird amalgamation of Jack and Joseph
So, uh, he’s Jewish too now. It’s my house I get to make the rules, and the rules are I project onto characters
Apples may be his favourite snack, but for a meal? Matzo ball soup. It’s got vegetables, protein, carbs… if you make it the day before, you can skim off the schmaltz!
He also loves fruit salads and regular salads, and—no surprise here—blueberry pancakes
Any sort of fruit juice is good for him! He’ll freshly squeeze it himself to make sure there’s not too much sugar
Man loves milk
Shaun:
Shaun is an accomplished man in many respects, but uhhhh… cooking is not one of them
He’s not the worst at it, he can make himself ready meals or boxed mac and cheese or simple dishes
But generally, he kinda prefers to just get food in. Chinese, Thai, and Indian are absolutely his favourites, but he does also like to try new places when he can
He’s a big fan of sandwiches! Any filling, he just loves something he can hold in one hand while he works
As for drinks, he loves a good smoothie. Especially those super healthy green ones full of like kale and spinach and stuff
Shaun’s alcoholic drink of choice is vodka
Ian:
Ian’s a pretty good cook! Not like… professional chef level, but he likes to watch cooking shows
He’s picked up a few things, and he’s learned to cook all of his favourite foods
He makes an absolutely delicious ramen, a very good full English breakfast, and he’s also a decent baker. Pies, cookies, cinnamon rolls of course
Breakfasts are definitely his specialty, especially things that are good for breakfast in bed
He loves strawberry milk, it’s almost silly how excited he gets about it (but also so cute)
He’s a big fan of all types of tea!
Nick:
Now, Ian may be a good cook, but Nick is almost a professional level cook. He’s practiced for years
He’s good enough to make his own new recipes if he knows the basic ingredients needed
He specializes in all types of rice and pasta and bread, all made by hand. Fried rice, coconut rice, carbonara, bolognese, naan, pizza, anything like that
He does love a good pain au chocolat, especially with a hot coffee. It’s his ideal breakfast
When it comes to drinks, he mostly sticks with water and coffee, but sometimes he’ll drink soda
He’s a sucker for lemonade
Jean:
Look, Jean never wanted to be an actor. He wanted to be a baker. It’s why he stuck with the Rory role for so long.
He’s not like… the best at it, just cause he doesn’t have much time to practice
But he definitely loves to eat sweets! Cakes and cookies, macrons and meringues, parfaits and puddings. Anything sweet, he has a major sweet tooth!
Cafe foods and drinks in general are his favourites. Croissants, doughnuts, coffee, tea
He loves a good cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows and whipped cream
This man loves baileys
#swwsdj#something's wrong with sunny day jack#sdj joseph#sdj jack#sdj shaun#sdj ian#sdj nick#sdj jean#sdj headcanons#18+ only#sunshine
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I ❤️NYC: The little things.
In the late 80s, I lived with my mother Lygia and stepfather Duffy in Far Rockaway Queens, NY. She worked as a clerk in the New York City Sheriff’s office and Duffy worked for the Department of Corrections.
Every day before going to work downtown my parents would stop at the local bodega and order coffee with a muffin or breakfast sandwich. Duffy’s coffee is black. Lygia’s coffee black, 2 creams, 1 sugar. This was our routine. The funny part is, the coffee served was basic black coffee, black or decaf.
New Yorkers found some comfort in the little cardboard coffee cup. The cup, known as the Anthora, is the blue-and-white drinking vessel that first became an icon of New York City in 1963.
Leslie Buck, a Czech-American immigrant, designed the first-ever to-go coffee cup to appeal to Greek-owned coffee shops and diners. With its customer-friendly “We Are Happy to Serve You” inscription and Greek-style letters, the Anthora has now become an important part of the city’s identity. New Yorkers still use this iconic cup to get their coffee.
In the early 90s, when Lygia’s diabetes to take a turn for the worst, we moved to Pocono Summit, PA. After 25 years of her fight with diabetes, she died at the age of 36. I was 12.
After the passing of my mother, my stepfather and I remained in our little house in PA. Since the bodega was no longer an option for coffee, Mr. Coffee pot was the next best thing. During his retirement years, he enjoyed writing. Part of being a writer required round-the-clock coffee, black. As a young child, I learned to make coffee with three simple items: Folgers grounded beans, freshwater, and 1 white coffee filter. Every morning and evening I made my stepfather a fresh pot.
When launching Jarhead Coffee, I received a common question, what makes your coffee so great?
I would like to take my experience from my coffee upbringing and ensure that our customers get the simplicity of great coffee without the additional add-ons. Coffee has evolved as it should, but Jarhead Coffee is taking it back to the basics. At Jarhead Coffee, it’s the little things that make great coffee without breaking your bank.
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emoji headcanons. // @r3dblccd
all the food & drinks questions +💐 BOUQUET, ✏️ PENCIL &💓 BEATING HEART (for Jupiter)
🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?
being raised with western culture, his comfort food is easily something like crepes stuffed with whipped cream and macerated strawberries, and topped with a light dusting of powdered sugar
🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE - when is their birthday? do they like celebrating it?
Jupe's another cancer muse of mine bc I just have the most emotionally invested sort of muses lmao. but his birthday's July 2nd, and as for celebrating - I feel like as a child he did because it was the few days he could see his brother and just having a slice of his favorite cake that his brother managed to get from a local bakery made him happy. Nowadays, it's just kind of a day for him. He's usually busy - especially because summer's such a popular time of travel for him with meteor showers. He doesn't like it nor dislike it, but won't say no if people are that obligated to celebrate his birthday.
🍩 DONUT - favourite sweet treat?
gods, jupe is one of my muses with such a big sweet tooth it's hard to really narrow it down. he likes a lot of fruity and sometimes refreshing sweets? probably has to do with him being a summer baby tbh and a good chunk of his mother's pregnancy was it getting into the warmer months, so she was often eating things like frozen yogurt, ice-cold lemonades to the point it was basically just a slushie. so he likes things like hwachae, ice cream mochi is also nice to him. ice cream and frozen yogurt are probably his favorite things to get just because it's refreshing and doesn't entirely fill you - it's just a perfect thing to him after a meal.
🍟 FRIES - do they order food often? or they prefer to cook their own food?
it's a love-hate relationship with takeout/fast food with jupe. they grew up on it for the most part, to the point where they often got sick of it. they weren't a picky eater growing up shockingly, but it was just the easiest thing for his brother to get if he was going to be home late. or not at all, and someone could drop it off for him and his siblings at the time. he eventually learned to cook - but i think due to his sweet tooth he became more of a baker lol. he can cook and he cooks very well, but he prefers to bake when he has the time. he also travels a lot so it can be really convenient to him to just get food fast. but sometimes he really just wants to sit at the table, not at the counter of his kitchen, with a nice warm meal that was made home and just eat.
☕️ HOT BEVERAGE - do they prefer hot or cold drinks? what is their favourite drink?
cold drinks, you'll see him drinking ice coffee in the dead of winter even if he's freezing to his core. he prefers fruity drinks tho tbh, he isn't the heaviest of coffee drinkers unless he's running on jet lag. sometimes when he's home he'll have a cup of tea with his brother and brother-in-law to just kind of wind down from traveling (he often spends his first night or two at his brother's place bc that's where his animals are anyways if he's been gone for a while).
🍓 STRAWBERRY - do they eat their fruit & veg? what is their favourite fruit or vegetable?
definitely loves his fruits and veggies, probably more fruit than veggies if you had to make him choose - but isn't very picky to them. he's obsessed with strawberries and raspberries, and his favorite veggies would probably have to be tomatoes. you'll see him make a toasted piece of bread with tomato-roasted or not, and crack some pepper on it if he's got some fresh veg on hand.
🍰 CAKE SLICE - favourite cake flavour? are they specific about types of cakes?
a good strawberry shortcake is nice to him, again just that love for strawberries. the whipped cream has to be fresh too - he loves fresh whipped cream. layers gotta have the whipped cream, strawberries and maybe even some macerated berries or jam between it all. he's not very specific, but like i said - he won't gravitate towards anything too heavy. chocolate on chocolate isn't his favorite.
🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?
he still has his baby blanket because it was the one thing his mother made for him when she was still around. sure it was soft and feminine because she was expecting a little girl that she got - but jupe still keeps it. he would be heartbroken if he ever lost it, because it's just that one piece he has of his mother - not that he even remembers her because she died not too long after his birth. it's often tucked nice and neat at the foot of his bed. you'll often times see callisto nesting on it and keeping it warm and safe - and spreading all her fur on it.
💐 BOUQUET - create a bouqet for them! what do those flowers mean? are any of the flowers their particular favourite?
if you want a bouquet, look at the one on his arm that's an entire sleeve. marigolds are his favorite, but there's dahlias that are his mother's favorite, sunflowers for his brother-in-law, and lilies for his brother. lilies, depending on what color you get, are often represent with purity and joy. sunflowers are similar; happiness, joy, if a person gifts them to you it often means they find you being a bright and happy person. dahlias are creativity and growth, they're also part of the daisy family which often shows resilience. marigolds can mean both good and bad things depending on your intentions, but again harken back to purity the way lilies do and represent divinity. he also loves the warmth of marigolds, the color of them is beautiful to him with how vivid they are. they're also said to ward off negativity and bad spirits.
✏️ PENCIL - is there a particular quote / lyric that you associate with them?
honestly rather than either of them?? when i was in the process of revamping and recreating jupe and reggy all the way back in 2017/2018, Light's Skin & Earth album came out and eventually came later with the acoustic and new songs along with it. those albums entirely really capture a lot of their stories and personalities. if there's one song or quote from that album that gets me thinking of jupe a lot it's skydiving:
Free fall with me
Get a little unruly
No guts no glory
You said to me
Get a little unruly
No guts no glory
and bookwise? i think when i always think of the two brothers it'll always bring me back to acomaf where rhys and feyre repeat to each other "to the stars that listen, and to the dreams that are answered." because they are my star/night/galaxy related muses. those kind of things will always be a little tender to my heart.
💓 BEATING HEART - what gets their heart racing?
as stubborn as jupe is, it really doesn't take a lot for this kid to get his heart going. make him food and drag him away from his studio, his craft rooms - just get him away from work. he works himself to death. if you get him paints, he will cherish them and use them to their last drops. bake with him, it's a fun and relaxing hobby for him. even if it's just getting measuring spoons or supplies, just be in the kitchen with him and talk with him. draw dumb little things on a cake or bread together, help clean the flour off his glasses - just be with him in the quiet of his too-big-for-one-person apartment.
#letters received &&. sent out ⸢ 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗 / asks &&. answers ⸥#r3dblccd#you look to the stars in hopes they can tell your story instead ⸢ 𝐉𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 / headcanons. ⸥#shit got long after a while so under the cut :))
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My favorite drink atm
Right now I am obsessed with frappuccinos.
Hold up, not the kind of frappuccino you’re thinking of. In fact, I’ve never been to Starbucks in my entire life.
My favorite frappuccinos are made with frozen fruit, black coffee and soy milk instead of Starbuck’s cream and sugar-laden options. This way they become a solid breakfast option (no pun intended).
So I thought today I’ll share my two favorite recipes with you.
Watermelon-Strawberry Frappuccino
You need:
frozen strawberries
frozen watermelon
black coffee (I use instant coffee because I’m not a barista)
unsweetened soy milk
sweetener (I use liquid artificial sweetener because I don’t want to add sugar)
optional rosemarry
Blend the frozen strawberries and frozen watermelon with a bit of hot water. The hot water helps to keep your blender from dying. Add the fruit-blend to a cup About a third to half of the cup should be fruit. Add some coffee. I use about the amount of an espresso cup but I make it with a big teaspoon of instant coffee powder so it’s very strong. Now add the soy milk and sweetener. Mix it together and adjust sweetness to taste. You can also add some ice cubes to make it stay cold for longer. If I’m feeling fancy I also add some rosemarry when blending but that might taste weird to some.
Raspberry-Frappuccino
You need:
frozen raspberries
black coffee
unsweetened soy milk
some cocoa powder
sweetener
It’s basically the same as above. Just blend it, mix it and sweeten to taste. Make sure to blend the cocoa powder with the raspberries or it might clump. You can also add some raspberry sirup if that is what you like.
In conclusion, I hope you have fun, enjoy your drinks and have a nice summer ^^
#frappuccino#coffee#starbucks#drinks#strawberry#raspberry#watermelon#healthier options#food swaps#summer#these are amazing
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300.
If money wasn't an issue, how would you redecorate/renovate your house?
I would finish renovating the bathroom and expand the kitchen like we keep meaning to do, and install a breakfast bar type thing to divide the downstairs a little bit. Then I’d finish the garden, sort the patio and get some garden furniture and a hot tub installed. I’d also clear out the spare room and get some decent storage put in.
What's one style of fashion that you can't stand?
High-waisted “mom” jeans.
If you drink coffee, how did you take your last cup? If you don't drink coffee, what was the last caffeinated drink you had?
I had two mugs of coffee this morning - both with milk and two sugars.
What was the last really funny thing someone said to you or told you?
I honestly don’t know - probably something stupid that would have no meaning to anyone else.
If you have a dog, do you pay to get it groomed, or do you do it yourself? If you don't have a dog, would you rather pay to have it groomed or do it yourself?
Archie is short-haired so he doesn’t go to the groomers really, but I do take him to get his nails trimmed sometimes. Sally does it for free though as I work with her clients to take their dogs to/from the groomers.
When it comes to surveys, do you prefer a long detailed survey that makes you think, or something that you can do in 5 minutes and be done?
I like longer surveys (like 30-40 questions) but generally I don’t like questions that are overly detailed or long, though.
What was the first really big/expensive thing you bought for yourself? (For example, a computer, iPod, car, etc.)
Probably my first car, which cost 3k but I spent my inheritance on that.
Have you ever re-listened to a band that you hadn't listened to for years? Did you get back into them or just enjoy reminiscing over the songs?
Sure, that happens a lot, but generally I just enjoy reminiscing.
If you could automatically learn how to knit, crochet or sew, which one would you choose?
Crochet.
What is a skill other people have that you are really impressed by?
Singing in tune.
Do you listen to any foreign bands? If so, which? Do you generally enjoy music from other countries other than music from your own?
I mean loads of the music I like is Australia or American, so yeah, I guess. I don’t feel like listing a whole load of bands, though.
Do you think that Facebook is slowly getting less and less popular? Do you think we will see that trend die off in the next 5 or so years, like MySpace, or do you think there'll always be activity on Facebook?
I mean, I doubt Facebook will be around forever, but who knows. It’s still popular around here and most people use it regularly, anyway.
Has the weather where you live generally been the same all week?
Yeah, for once it’s been pretty same-y. Rainy overnight and early morning, then sunshine and blue skies, then showers mid-afternoon again.
What's one thing that helps you get through a really cold day? How about a really hot day?
On cold days I layer up and snuggle up under my blankets - hot drinks are good too, or I’ll light the fire. On hot days, I wear as little as possible, use the fan and eat a ton of ice-cream.
Do your parents make you teach them how to use new technology? Would you say this is a pain, or are you a pretty patient teacher?
They did when I lived at home - it was frustrating at times, sure.
When something goes wrong with your computer, do you try to figure out on your own or find someone to fix the problem for you? Would you say that you're generally pretty technology-literate?
I generally figure it out on my own and yeah, I’m pretty good at it - at least at doing the basics, anyway.
What's one problem in today's world which you think is ridiculous that we haven't found a way to solve it yet?
PROVIDING FOOD AND CLEAN WATER TO EVERYONE <--- yepp, this.
What's one animal that you can't stand or find cute at all? What's an animal that absolutely terrifies you?
I can’t stand cockroaches.
If you go to the library, what was the last book you checked out? If you don't, what was the last book you purchased?
I don’t use the library and I don’t remember what book I bought last either.
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Spoons
natasha romanoff x gn!reader
word count: 2.1k
warnings: chronic illness, mention of medicine, self deprecating thoughts
A/N: this is me 1000% projecting about my guilt that comes with my chronic illnesses. they're kicking my ass rn. this is a vent fic, but if you resonate with this at all, i hope you enjoy :)
- - -
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm clock on Natasha’s bedside table has been going off for a full minute already. You merely roll over and cover your head with Natasha’s pillow. It smells like her.
You have absolutely no energy to get up, let alone reach across the bed to turn the alarm off. Your head feels heavy and your body aches something terrible.
The list of chores you have to do around the house today sits uncomfortably in the back of your mind. The list of friends who have texted you about making plans to hang out sits there too. The idea of staying in bed all day sounds more and more appealing by the second. You know this because the alarm is still blaring into the otherwise peaceful morning air.
Just as you’re gathering the strength to sit up and turn the alarm off, Natasha walks in. She looks at her watch and her brow furrows in confusion.
“What are you doing, sleepyhead?” she asks you with a little smirk. There is concern in her eyes, though she masks it well.
You’re both fully aware the alarm has been going off for seven minutes straight now.
“Just tired, love. You know how much work it takes to reach over,” you say in a joking manner, hopeful that you can get past this without worrying her too much.
Natasha eyes you suspiciously for a second before giving in.
“How was your workout?” you ask her sincerely.
As she starts rambling about her morning activities, you feel a sense of shame. You’ve barely managed to wake up in the time it’s taken her to complete a full workout routine. Hell, you couldn’t even find it in you to turn the alarm off.
You finally focus on her rant as it comes to an end. Natasha is looking at you expectantly. Shit. She’s asked you a question.
“Huh?” you grunt.
She chuckles before answering, “I asked if you were ever going to get up and get in the shower, stinky.”
You put on a fake smile but fail to meet her eyes, the shame eating you up. It has been a few days since your last shower, but it’s just so hard to find the strength and energy to get up and stand in one place for more than a minute or two.
If Natasha notices the far away look in your eyes and the grimace on your mouth, she doesn’t say anything.
After one of the quickest and most unproductive showers you’ve ever taken, you find Natasha waiting for you in the kitchen. She’s taken it upon herself to make breakfast for you both.
You kiss her cheek and thank her as you sit down at the table. The warm cup of coffee she sets down in front of you is a godsend. The warmth emitting from the cup helps to diminish the pain in your knuckles, if only slightly. You send up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening that the caffeine will help with the fatigue today instead of making you sick.
Natasha sits down in the chair next to you with her own plate. She runs her eyes over you in a scrutinizing manner. She wants to think you don’t notice, but you do.
Clearing your throat in hopes to take her focus off you, you ask about her plans for the day.
“Oh, you know, mostly just busy work. I have a ton of paperwork to get through,” she tells you through an exaggerated sigh. “What about you?”
The list of chores screams at you again. “Mostly just some things around the house. Grocery shopping, laundry, boring shit like that.”
Natasha hums around a sip of her coffee. It surprised you just how much cream and sugar she takes in hers. It’s just one of the many unpredictable things about her that made you fall in love.
“Super exciting. I hate to miss out,” she teases you.
You crack a smile to appease her. Inside, though, you realize just how little she understands. These errands seem so simple to her, when to you, they are the most daunting of tasks.
You’re brought out of your thoughts by Natasha standing up to take her plate to the sink. She comes back to kiss your cheek and let you know she’s going to go get ready, before walking out of the room.
You suspect the amount of housework you’ll get done today will be minimal, so you decide to at least make Natasha some lunch. Maybe it will lessen the disappointment she feels when she comes home to see everything exactly as it was when she left, you think.
Your plan is halted as you’re making her sandwich. The stupid cover on the peanut butter jar is stuck. You can’t open it for the life of you. The guilt comes in like a tidal wave. You can’t even do something as simple as make lunch for her, your brain supplies for you.
Natasha returns from getting ready to see you standing in the kitchen with a glare on your tired face.
“What’d the peanut butter do to you this time,” she jokes.
“I can’t.” Tears well up in your eyes.
She comes up to wrap you in a hug from behind. She softly asks, “What can’t you do?”
“I can’t open the jar,” you mutter softly, feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed.
“It’s okay, love. Let me help,” she tells you delicately before kissing the spot under your ear. She can tell this is affecting you more than usual and wishes for nothing more than to be able to take away your distress.
You mutter a thank you before continuing to make her sandwich. You pack everything into a bag and write a small note to finish it off. You know Natasha loves the little messages you leave her periodically, and nothing will stop you from trying to make her as happy as you can.
Goodbyes are said as you both wander closer to the door. Natasha makes sure to hold you longer and tighter than usual. You don’t comment on that.
The silence that encompasses the room as soon as the love of your life leaves is suffocating. You can feel the exhaustion from purely getting up and getting ready creeping up on you. Logically, you know that you shouldn’t overexert yourself, but the shame is eating you up. Already on a roll, might as well keep on going, you think to yourself.
You go back to your mental to-do list and debate what to start with. The grocery store doesn’t sound terrible. Some sun would do you some good. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen the world that exists outside of your house.
Wandering back to the bedroom to get your phone and shoes, you try to push the fatigue from your mind. In your attempt to block out the tiredness, you fail to recognize the ever-present pain in your joints increasing. It’s only when you sit down and bend over to put your shoes on that you register the feeling. Your hips ache severely; so much so, that you can’t hold your position long enough to get your shoe on your foot.
This seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, seeing as you immediately burst into tears. The pain mixed with your inability to do basic, everyday activities completely overwhelms you as you break down.
There’s absolutely no chance that you’re going to complete this task, let alone all the other ones on your list. You let out a sigh as you stand up and shuffle to your room, phone and shoes forgotten in the living room.
You let the weight of your emotions crush you as you climb into bed and under the covers, your wife’s pillow clutched closely to your chest.
Your tears cease to stop, even as you succumb to the sleep you so desperately wished to hold onto this morning.
- - -
Natasha comes home to an eerily silent house. On any typical day, she would come home to the noise of your favorite show or music softly playing, whether it be from a speaker or from your guitar. Your shared house consistently was filled with life and sound. It was one of her favorite parts of her day; coming home to you in your own element, laughing or singing. You are her home.
This newfound silence has her exceptionally worried. Even on your bad days, there was at least a laugh track coming from the TV or the smell of hot chocolate coming from the kitchen. Now, there’s absolutely nothing. For a split second, Natasha thinks that you may never have come back from the grocery. Her heart rate spikes. The sight of your phone on the coffee table and your shoes strewn haphazardly on the floor puts those worries to rest.
“Darling?” she calls from the entryway. There is no response. She carefully removes her boots and coat before moving through every room in the house, calling out for you softly in each.
She makes her way to the bedroom, lightly knocking on the door as she lets herself in. She sees the rise and fall of your chest and is filled with a sense of relief she didn't know she needed.
"Love? Are you awake?"
You grumble out an answer that could be understood as a 'yes'.
Natasha carefully sits down on the side of the bed that you are facing.
"Can you tell me what's going on?" she requests softly, in fear of upsetting the quiet environment of the bedroom and making things worse.
The tears that started up again when you wife called out the first time get even heavier somehow.
"Oh love, come here."
She carefully gathers you in her arms and rests your head on her chest.
"Does this have anything to do with the peanut butter jar this morning?"
You nod. One of your favorite things about your wife is her ability to observe and understand what you're going through.
"I just can't do anything today. Everything hurts and I'm so, so tired," you whisper, followed by a heartbreaking sob.
"It's okay love. Please don't cry," Natasha whispers back.
"But it's not! It's not okay!" You sit up from her chest to let out your rant. "You've done so much today and I could barely wake up. You work so hard and I should be able to do stuff around the house so you can come home and not have to worry about anything," you finish with a sigh.
Your wife puts her hand under your chin, forcing you to look in her direction. "Love, look at me. Believe me when I say that I don't care about the state of the laundry or if the pantry has been stocked. All I care about is you. All I want is for you to be okay. It's killing me that you feel like this and I can't do anything to take it away from you. What I can do, though, is tell you just how proud I am of you. You are the strongest person I know, and I work with the Avengers."
You giggled at that. Natasha smiles at your small second of happiness.
"Are you sure? Because I was going to get so much done today and I was trying to-"
Natasha cuts you off with a soft kiss.
"My love. Listen to me. All I care about is your health and happiness. If staying in bed and catching up on sleep is what you needed today, then that's all I expect from you. I never want you to hurt yourself trying to do more than you can. We all have limits. It’s okay to need a break some days. I love you and I am so very, very proud of you."
With a long look into her eyes, all you find is love and adoration directed towards you. There's no disgust or disappointment as you had anticipated.
"I love you too," you utter quietly.
Natasha smiles and leaves a long kiss on your forehead. "What if we got some pain killers and some food in you? We can even put on your favorite movie. Does that sound good?"
You nod. Natasha gets up to get you some medicine and to order some food, while you get your favorite movie loaded on the TV.
Later that night, when both your stomachs are full and your wife is obnoxiously singing along to the songs in the movie just to make you laugh, you realize just how loved you are.
You don't know how tomorrow will treat you, or the day after that. What you do know, however, is that Natasha will always be there to support and love you. Your pain level and ability to function is always an uncertainty, but your wife's love will never be.
- - -
A/N: as always, i try to keep it gender neutral. if you find a mistake, please let me know! feedback is appreciated! to all my chronic illness buddies out there: i love you, you've got this :)
taglist: @007giu
#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader#natasha romanoff x gn!reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff#black widow#black widow x reader#marvel#marvel imagine#my fic#natasha romanoff x reader
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Caffeine Rush: Chapter Three / Cappucino
Summary: Javier shows up to your coffee shop again, at an ungodly hour.
W/C: 3K
Warnings: food/eating, coffee, implied age gap (reader is about 25)
A/N: I don’t have anything to say I just hope you guys enjoy :)) OH JK YES I DO: I’ve decided that Caffeine Rush will come out on mondays or tuesdays, alternating every week!
previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist
Cappuccino: two-thirds frothed milk, one-third espresso. Light and airy, full of fluff. Has a stronger coffee flavor than a latte.
As you drive him back to the hotel, you smile over at him. He looks so gorgeous, his dark hair dampened from the snow, his lips soft and extra pink from being pressed to yours. “How long did you say you’re in town for?” You ask him.
“A month,” the man tells you with a nod. “There’s a whole policy with vacation time. Use it or lose it, basically. They told me I had to use it now, so I told them to give me a month. I really have about… three months saved up now,” he chuckles.
The thought makes you grin. Javier will be here for Christmas. He’ll be here for New Year’s- that is, if he’s staying. “And what are your plans for it?” You ask softly. You hope whatever they are, they won’t take him away from you.
Javier is eating the second red velvet cake in the passenger’s seat, and you giggle at the sight before turning back to the road. Crumbs gather on the top of his shirt and in his mustache, flecks of red in the warm brown.
He smiles at your laughter. “I have none. I have no work to do. I can’t go back to Colombia early- well, I could, but I won’t be working so it wouldn’t be worth much,” he sighs, thinking aloud. “I could go home and visit my father, but I couldn’t stay there for very long. My hometown is a place you only want to stay for two or three days, at most.”
Your eyes watch his face, that surprisingly soft skin and how it moves with his expressions. Your eyes are holding a question, even if you don’t ask it aloud. Javier can read it without your words as he turns to look at you. “I’ve heard D.C. is nice over the holidays,” you offer softly. It’s less of an offer and more of a silent question: please stay. I want you to stay.
Turning back to you, there’s cream cheese frosting in his mustache and an adorable smirk on his face. Just when you thought it was impossible for this man to be any more beautiful. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Then, like I said earlier, I have time to properly romance you.”
You grin and stare at the road. “I don’t normally kiss on the first date. I don’t think it’ll be hard for you to romance me,” you tease. “I can be your personal tour guide to the city. I only work mornings, so we can do whatever we want all day and night. Which is good, because the Smithsonians are only open during the day, and I want to take you to all of them.”
You ramble when you’re excited. Javier can already tell, can see you slowly leaving that shell you’ve hidden yourself in through all of your time in D.C. Your eyes glimmer in excitement as you consider the things you can do, the places you can take him.
Javier smiles back. “You’ll have to show me everything. I’ve never been here for anything other than work.”
“Oh, trust me,” you laugh. “I know all the best parts of the city. You’ll never be bored with me around.”
Javier’s immediately certain that’s true.
-
You told Javier last night that you work from 5:00 to 10:30, and he told you he’d swing by for a coffee. What else did he have to do without you?
What you didn’t expect was for the door chime to jingle at precisely 5:34, and for the customer that enters to be none other than the newest head of the DEA’s investigations into the Cali Cartel.
Rushing around the counter, you laugh and throw your arms around him. “Hi, Javi,” you chuckle and bury your face into his neck. He wears a warm red flannel and dark blue jeans, boots beneath them and a thick black coat over it all. He smells like soap and aftershave.
“I’m starting to like the fact that you’re a hugger,” he laughs as he hugs you back, resting his head on top of yours.
You break away and brush off your apron. “When I said you should come visit me, I meant, like, at normal human functioning hours. Like, maybe 9 or something.”
Javier frowns a little as he looks at you. “This is when I normally get up. Later than normal, actually,” he shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “You got a dark roast this morning?” He asks as he nods his head to the side, gesturing to the big vats of brewing coffee.
You smile at the question, chuckling a little. Of course he’s observant and remembers little details- it’s his literal job. “We do. Large redeye?” You ask, already heading behind the counter and back to the ceramic mugs.
The man tilts his head. “Actually… I think I changed my mind. Can I do another peppermint mocha?” he asks, a shy look on his face.
Looking up at him, you bite your lip at his expression. He’s so goddamn cute, really, even when he’s being ashamed for something stupid. “You don’t have to be shy about it,” you tease and nod. “There’s nothing less manly about you for ordering something sweet. In fact, most of the sweet drinks we make here are ordered by the business guys or Congressmen.”
Javier chuckles and leans forward on the counter on his elbows. “Oh, yeah?”
You nod and laugh at the memory of other customers. “Matthew, he works at the senators’ offices downtown, he’s a regular. He orders a caramel frappe with marshmallow and vanilla. Full shots of both.” As always, you happily chat as you make the recipe you know by heart.
Javier’s brow furrows. You’ve known the man maybe 24 hours, but you’re starting to get a good read on him. You can tell when he’s confused or worried or happy or stressed by the way his eyebrows position themselves. This one is a lighthearted confusion. “What’s a frappe?”
Your eyes glimmer with uncharacteristic excitement for so early in the morning. “Wait. So you’re telling me you’ve never had one?”
He shakes his head, pulling his leather jacket tighter around him. The shop is cold this early in the morning, before the body heat of customers and the steaming espresso machines warm the building. “No. What is it?” He asks again.
“It’s delicious, oh my god,” you grin. “It’s kind of like a coffee milkshake. It’s frozen and creamy, blended with ice and coffee. It’s my favorite in the summer, when hot drinks just feel too much.”
“So it’s light?” He asks, gratefully accepting his ceramic mug when you hand it over. It’s peaked with foamy white cream and pieces of candy canes. Javier thinks it reminds him of you. Soft, warm, sweet and indulgent. Energizing. Not like anything he’s ever had before, but he’s already addicted.
“Not really. Like I said, it’s really creamy. It’s like a milkshake, really. That’s the best way to describe it. Do you want me to make one and you can try some?” You offer as you stir the spare espresso shot with a little cream and sugar in a to-go cup for yourself. The warm sugary scent rises and you smile to yourself.
Javier shakes his head. “Not if it’s a cold drink. It’s too cold outside anyway. And in here. You do have heating in here, right?” He asks dryly as he sips the hot drink. You can see his broad shoulders soften, the tension rising into the air with the steam from his mocha.
You roll your eyes but shrug. “It’ll get hot in here later. I just appreciate that it’s cold now,” you chuckle and chug the espresso shot, tossing the paper cup into the garbage. “What can I get you for breakfast?” You ask as you nod to the pastry case further down the bar.
He shakes his head. “Don’t eat breakfast.”
You frown. “That’s going to have to change. You seem like the type who doesn’t take care of yourself, thinks he’s too good for it,” you tease and fold your arms on the countertop, leaning into it.
Javier scoffs. “I am not too good for breakfast,” he says, amused.
“Then eat.”
The mustached man rolls his eyes. “Fine. Maybe I don’t take very good care of myself, but I don’t need you to take care of me.”
That makes you frown. “Well, that’s too bad, because if you want to kiss me like we did last night, you’re going to have to let me take care of you, Javi.”
Javi. No one ever calls him that. He’s always Agent or Agente Peña, usually just Peña for the sake of convenience. Those who know him better call him Javier, people like Steve or Trujillo. True, he asked you to call him Javi, but the name is like a song from your lips, as soft as calling him baby. He absolutely fucking loves it. Can’t get enough of it.
You begin to babble on about the baker here and his skills, talking about the various treats beneath the glass case. There are muffins and scones, donuts and sweet breads, croissants and various puff-pastry delicacies. Javier is overwhelmed. He normally doesn’t eat many sweets, even though he loves them.
A cinnamon-sugar sprinkled pastry twist calls to him. He asks for one of those and insists that he pay for it, even as you wander away from the cash register to prove he can’t pay.
Javier stands at the bar as you make yourself your own hot drink, chatting as you stir the syrup with the espresso. God, you love that mustache, you think as you smile to yourself and look down. “So. How did the mustache come to be?” You ask him, smiling and tilting your head to the side in question.
Javier raises an eyebrow. “This?” He laughs, smoothing it down with his forefinger and thumb. It brushes out some sprinkles of cinnamon and sugar from his pastry and you bite your lip to hold back a laugh.
You both have to talk a bit louder as you begin steaming the milk for your cappuccino, but it hides your giggle as you say your next words: “Yes, the porn stache.”
“Hey,” he frowns and sips his drink, setting it back down and smiling again. “It was a thing with my father. When I turned 30, he told me I was a real man now, and real men wear mustaches. He always had one, so I said okay. He shaved it for me and taught me the right way to do it and everything. I liked the way it looked, and it stuck, I guess,” he shrugs and chuckles.
“Really? Because that thing looks straight out of 1975, but I don’t think you’re old enough for it to be that old.” You giggle. The mustache is very retro, certainly behind the times and the fashion of ‘93. “You can’t possibly be… what would that make you from ‘75… 45?”
Javier shrugs. “Well, you’re not far off. I’m 40.”
Your brow furrows. You certainly hadn’t expected that. He looks so young, really. 40 wasn’t even a thought in your mind- maybe a stressed-out 30. “Really?” You ask, though you doubt he’d lie and make himself seem older. He should probably know that you’re around the proper age you are, seeing as you’ve told him about just finishing grad school.
He frowns too. “Is that a problem?” He asks hurriedly, standing up straight from his hunched position, where he leaned over the counter to be closer to you.
“No, no,” you shake your head, and his body relaxes. “Of course not,” you smile and put your hand over his. “You just look really young for 40.”
Javier shakes his head, smiling a little at the compliment. He doesn’t get many of those, the ones where people tell him he looks young or he’s cute or any non-sexual compliments in general. “No I don’t. You’re just being cute.”
“No!” You laugh happily. “You saw my face. You’re a special agent of the D-E-A,” you say, drawing out the letters. “Head of the Calí Cartel investigations. You can read me like a damn book, Javi,” you smile at him. “Tell me, do I look like I’m lying?”
Javier shakes his head, the smile growing wider and his cheeks turning a slightly warmer shade. These kind of honest, pure and uncomplicated compliments make him almost embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, brushing it off.
You’re absolutely beaming by now. “You’re not used to this, are you?” You tease as you scoop the foam from the milk pitcher into your ceramic mug, with chocolate and almond syrup in the bottom already. Mandy’s in the back stocking something, and no one else is in the shop yet. With this privacy, you lean across the counter, and Javier matches your position.
His face is painfully close to yours. You can feel his coffee breath, and you giggle softly. “Hey. Javi.”
“Yeah?” He asks teasingly.
“I like you a lot.”
Javier laughs genuinely, kissing you softly for a moment before breaking away and standing up straight again. “I like you too, abejita,” he says and finishes off his peppermint mocha.
“What does that mean?” You ask him. You’re nearly fluent in Spanish, from having studied it for years, but the word is unfamiliar.
“Little bee,” he chuckles. “You’re fluttering around this coffee shop like you’re on an adrenaline rush and it’s 5:30 in the goddamn morning.”
Little bee. It makes your heart race in your chest like a bee’s wings, a million beats per second. Goddamnit, this Javier knows what he’s doing, you think to yourself. He must be doing this for the sole purpose of stealing your heart; why else would he be this fucking sweet and sexy and flirtatious?
“It’s the caffeine rush,” you shake your head and wave a hand dismissively. You’ve already chugged a few shots of espresso, and your chocolate-almond cappuccino is about halfway gone now. Either way, Javier makes your resting heart rate double just from looking your way.
“Sure,” he teases and raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Be right back.” He sticks his hands in the pockets of his heavy wool coat as he heads to the restrooms, near the front of the store.
You take his mug back and Mandy wanders out from the back. “Wow. Who’s got you so chatty?” She asks out of genuine curiosity. She didn’t see Javier come in or go to the bathroom.
You’d talked with Mandy while you prepared the store, filling her in on all of the details of last night’s date with Javier. “It’s, uh, Javi, actually,” you laugh softly as you pull more espresso shots to make him another peppermint mocha.
“You’re kidding,” the woman squeals, her curls flipping over her shoulder as she tosses them back. “Why is he here so early?” She asks in confusion, making herself a drink on the machine next to you.
Your foot taps out a quick rhythm against the tile floor beneath you, the energy already flowing through your body. “Beats me. He says he wakes up this early normally. I don’t know if I believe it, but…” you shrug and stir the shots into the peppermint syrup, scooping chocolate chips into a steaming pitcher with milk and putting it under the steaming wand.
“He’s in the DEA, isn’t he?” She asks. “Maybe they start work really early in the morning. I’ve heard they work really long hours.”
“Well, he did say he works a lot,” you nod. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He’s here now and he’ll get to see me cry my way through the morning rush,” you say sarcastically.
Mandy nudges your shoulder. “Says the most competent barista who works here,” she scoffs. “You have everyone out the door in under three minutes. That’s no easy feat.”
“Okay,” you roll your eyes and pour the chocolate milk into the syrup and espresso, stirring it with a long, twisted spoon. “I doubt that, but thank you.” You swirl a perfect peak of whipped cream on the top, then sprinkle the candy cane pieces on.
“I think she’s right,” you hear Javier’s voice from the other side of the counter.
“Stalker,” you tease and put his mug in front of him.
“Am not. Just think you’re good at what you do.”
“I made you a refill,” you say, ignoring his compliment. “Oh, Javier, this is Mandy. You might remember her from yesterday. Mandy, this is Javier.”
She nods and shakes the hand that Javier offers. “Nice to meet you- well, again,” she says with a bright smile. “You got the prettiest girl here.”
“Mandy,” you roll your eyes. She just laughs as she makes her way to the back of the store again.
Javier watches her then turns back to you with a smile. “I think she was right on both of those,” he comments with a smile on his face.
“Go sit down, stop flirting with me, and drink your damn coffee, Javi,” you teasingly scold him with a smile, turning away to go wash the steaming pitcher and spoon you used to make his drink.
Another customer walks in the shop. You can tell from the jingle of the bells on the door. With that, Javier finds a table in the lobby and sits at it, reading the daily newspaper and sipping his peppermint mocha. He’s starting to see why you’re so addicted to these. To him, they taste like you.
-
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—saccharine
pairing: seokjin x reader
word count: 2,319
prompt: seokjin doesn’t believe in love at first sight. so... what’s this feeling that’s churning in the pit of his stomach when he meets you for the first time?
warnings: none. minor cursing. fluff attack.
a/n: to celebrate my follower milestone! thank you all for supporting and reading my fics, it means a lot to me!
Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle.
First, the alarm rings. Then, he slams the snooze button on his phone before resuming into a light sleep for another eight minutes. The annoying horn sings again, and a wash of regret hits from never changing it out of the default, so he finally accepts this by getting up and sliding his feet lazily into a pair of slippers by the side of his bed before making way into the bathroom.
His hair is a mess. But it’s a mess everyday. Life has gone to the point that even brushing his teeth has become a dreadful chore. Shuffling through his bin of hair products, he finds the mousse he consistently loses and finds on repeat and then slaps a boatload of it onto his head.
This is basically a day-in-the-life of Kim Seokjin. Except it’s everyday. It’s never ending. It feels like one of those time loop movies where when he ends his day, it starts back off exactly like it did yesterday.
To be fair, he can’t complain. He’s got a roof over his head, an apartment all to himself (that means without a roommate), plus a well-paying full time job. It’s hard to whine and cry about how his life seems to have no excitement, other than the occasional meeting with his friends, but contrarily… there’s not much to look forward to.
It’s the same mundane activities. Opening the cabinet above his kitchen counter as he usually does at this time, he grabs his favorite Cheerios. Good starts with happy hearts, as their commercials say, but Seokjin isn’t entirely sure that’s true.
He’s a “cereal first and milk last” kind of guy. Not that he judges those who do it backwards, but he thinks if anyone does the routine in the opposite order, they might actually be backwards. It’s a condition—he makes it seem, and it’s a rather controversial topic for the guy.
Nonetheless, he enjoys his bowl of breakfast goods. He reads the news on his phone, and when the reminder on his watch dings, Seokjin rushes to put his dishes into the sink and hauls himself down the hall, in direction to his walk-in-closet that evidently is just too big for it being only himself. It’s a constant indication that he’s alone.
By the time it’s 8:30AM, he’s dressed in his suit and tie, hair slicked back, and has a satchel slung over his shoulder in preparation of yet another day at the office.
But maybe he’d stop by that new place this morning. Change of pace. Maybe it’ll liven up his day and give him something to look forward to. Maybe he’d like it.
The place is around the corner, less than a three minute walk the moment he leaves his apartment building, and if he timed himself, it probably takes longer to leave his home and out of the building. The shop is cute; decor stickers are laid out delicately along the windows, the walls are painted a pretty blush pink, and there’s smiles on all the workers’ faces as if they enjoyed being there.
There’s a smile on your face in particular that captures his attention.
Seokjin is a relatively kind guy, or so he thinks he is. He’s never pinned over girls like those shows he’s seen on TV, but he’s had his fair share of relationships. He’s not shy, but he’s also not outgoing. He has an abundance of friends but only a few are ones he trusts.
And the girlfriends he had were great but… no one really appreciates his generosity as much as he’d like.
He thinks he’s crazy at this moment, quite frankly, because he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. It’s this theory and idea that writers of a romance genre film and story that people whipped up together to make it seem more appealing to their audiences. But he doesn’t actually think it’s true.
Or is it?
Hair up in a messy bun, there’s a swipe of flour that coats your one cheek, and a smile that dresses your face so beautifully. You’re in a simple outfit that’s a combination of a white tee and blue jeans with the shop’s apron on top, while running around to keep up with all the orders coming through. He has hearts brimming in his pupils and he can’t seem to stop the way his chest tightens the second he lays his eyes on you. Is this what love at first sight is?
Seokjin doesn’t only regret not changing the default ringtone of his alarm this morning. He also regrets not asking for your number.
When he reaches his office, he realizes he forgets to ask for cream and sugar at the bakery. The dark, warm liquid glides down his throat with some difficulty; the bitterness layering his tongue but the memory of you sparks sweetness from within. Who were you? He doesn’t even know you and you’re on his mind like crazy.
Now, Seokjin has seen How I Met Your Mother. He’s watched the nine seasons, totaling out to two-hundred and eight episodes, so needless to say, Seokjin knows what goes on in that show. And ironically, he hates Ted. The guy is a hopeless romantic that thinks every girl he has his eyes on is ‘the one.�� Seokjin refuses to become like Ted, and he would be caught dead replicating those same actions.
Then why the fuck is he caught up on a girl he’s seen once?
The second time Seokjin comes by the bakery, it’s a hell of a lot less busy. In fact, it’s only three people that man the storefront, rather than the six that he saw the first time he stopped by. He has his fingers crossed behind his back as he waits in the queue patiently, hoping you’d be the one taking his order this time around.
Luck must be on his side because you’re greeting him with those pearly white teeth. “Good morning, nice to see you. What can I get for you today?”
Abort, abort! He can’t talk. He swears that his heart has found its way up into his throat, and he can’t get any words to come out.
You blink. Those gorgeous long lashes brush your cheeks so deftly, and it swells his heart that’s now lodged in the path of his airways. “Sir?”
Seokjin swallows. “Oh—yeah, sorry sorry. Uh, can I get a medium hot coffee? Cream and sugar, please. Forgot to mention that last time and I almost died from the bitterness.” Was that an appropriate comment to make? Did it make you laugh? Or were you offended that he just insulted your workplace’s coffee
He cheers in success on the inside when a soft chuckle escapes from your lips. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear. I guess we should have also done our part and asked if you wanted any. Did you want to order anything else?”
Ah. Was the conversation already ending? But it’s so soon! He barely held the dialogue for a couple seconds, and since he’s got your attention, he can’t let go now. Quickly, his eyes skim the menu and the display case full of baked goods. “Uh, what do you recommend?” He asks, gesturing to the sweets.
You wave your hand for another coworker to take the next customer’s order. Walking over to the sweets, Seokjin trails over as well, observing your expression. You’ve got your brows furrowed, deep in thought with a quirk of the side of your lips, engrossed with the plentiful of options. “Do you like tarts?”
—
Seokjin is a regular now.
Whenever the clock strikes 7:30AM, he’s already in his work attire, hair at its best, and has checked his face in the mirror for the fiftieth time. Then, he’s on route to the corner bakery.
He wants to look good before he meets you. Handsome guy for a pretty girl. It’s only right.
The bells at the front door of the shop ring loudly the moment he enters in, and immediately his ears are filled with that beautiful laugh of yours, but you’re not alone. It’s accompanied by someone else’s, a voice that doesn’t match any of your other coworkers and his jaw clenches at the thought. Who is this male that claims to be the purpose of your giggling with a mop he calls hair on the top of his head?
“Oh!” You beam, lifting up the cup of hot coffee in hand. “Seokjin! Come here, I have a new pastry for you to try, and your daily caffeinated beverage to pair it with. Plus, I want you to meet my friend.”
His name is Taehyung. The freaking guy looks like a model, strutting into the café like it’s his runway, and when his gaze meets Seokjin’s, it makes Seokjin feel small.
Seokjin likes you, if the amount of times he comes in a week is evidence for it. He doesn’t just do that either; he often stirs up a conversation, asks how your day is going so far, and even goes out of his way to remember small details so he can bring it up next time. But he can’t help but wonder—do you have a boyfriend? Are you being kind only because Seokjin is a customer? Or are you normally this sweet as those raspberry filled pastries you set him up with?
And those questions are only emphasized when Taehyung smiles, extends his hands and offers Seokjin a firm shake. “I’m Taehyung.”
Seokjin’s entire work day has gone to shit. All he could think about was who Taehyung was and why you were so adamant about Seokjin meeting him.
After taking the last bite of the delicious pastry you packed for him (free of charge, too), it hits him.
If Seokjin liked you, he should just confess his feelings, no matter what the consequences. Instead of sitting here with his shoulders slouched, eating this treat you gave him with a pout upon his lips, he shouldn’t continue waiting around and feeling sorry for himself anymore. Why would he make himself suffer like this when there’s a way to end this vicious cycle?
Seokjin concludes that he’s going to confess tonight.
—
What Seokjin learns about you is that you are by far not close to his ideal dream girl.
You’re the “milk first, cereal last” gal, and he believes you’re ass backwards. You like consistency, and your favorite ringtone is the sound of those stupid horns he has for alarms in the morning. You enjoy the first few hours of your day, basking in the routine that you’ve put together yourself, including the one that had recently involved seeing Seokjin’s face.
And although you’re not his dream girl, you’ve become it.
“I like you,” He finally confesses, a bouquet of flowers in his hands that match the decor stickers plastered on the shop's windows. “Would you… go out with me?”
Seokjin isn’t here in the mornings like he normally is, opting that since this is definitely a change of pace, he might as well go all out. Maybe this will be different. Maybe he’ll be happier.
Stunned, your mouth drops open. You’re stuttering over your own words, practically malfunctioning like a machine. “Wha—Like—what? Like… you like me as in like… a woman? More than a friend? You want to take me out?”
“Uh,” Seokjin scratches behind his ear anxiously. Was his plan backfiring? “Yes? I… like you. As in, I come here in the mornings for coffee, yeah, but I mostly came to see you. I enjoy hearing your laugh, seeing your smiles, and listening to you talk about these pastries like they’re your world and I—“ He pauses, inhaling a sharp breath, “—then you introduced me to this really good looking guy named Taehyung and I didn’t know what my chances were with you anymore, so here I am. Confessing.”
You’re silent. Truthfully, Seokjin’s not feeling good about this. His palms are sweaty, his heart is racing, and you still haven’t said a word and he’s sure that over thirty seconds have already passed by.
“What—“ You start again, quickly stopping yourself with a shake of your head. “Thank god, really.”
The front of Seokjin’s brows dip in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
You laugh, combing your fingers through your loosened locks. “I’ve been trying to tell my coworkers that I had this stupid crush on you since you first came in. You’re such a great listener, you’re handsome, and fun to talk to. They think you’re too good to be true, so they thought you wanted to be my gay best friend. Hence… the Taehyung test.”
“The Taehyung test?” Seokjin reiterates.
Chewing on your bottom lip, your eyes are swirls of apologies. “He’s cute, right? Either you’d get jealous that a guy like him has my attention and you like me, or you like him and you’re jealous that he’s making me laugh instead of you.”
Seokjin’s shoulders drop in relief. “So… does that mean you’ll go out with me?”
You smile softly. “Of course, Jin.”
He doesn’t think those mundane activities he identified before are boring anymore. No, not with you, they’re not. He doesn’t mind watching you pour milk instead of cereal first in the mornings because he’s glad he gets to be the one who pinches your side teasingly and call you a weirdo. He doesn’t hate the sound of the horns—okay, a lie, he hates it so much, but they’re bearable when you’re around since you don’t hesitate to shut it off the minute it rings, and immediately hop out the bed, without using the snooze button. Brushing his teeth is a delight, especially when he sees your toothbrush sitting in your own designated cup on your side of the sink.
Everyday is a continuous, recurring cycle.
But Seokjin doesn’t mind those things if it’s done with you.
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Good feelings
Ohmygod hi!! Long time no see—well, in the form of something I’ve written anyways. Here is something that has been in my drafts for forever that I finally got around to finishing.
It’s a O’knutzy coffee shop au! I’m not sure if this has been done before but I tried to switch mine up as much as possible... so yeah that’s that. For some context, Finn and Leo still play for the lions (along with the rest of the team) and Logan... well, you’ll see what he’s doing with his life :))
This will be multiple chapters and now that I think about it I probably should have waited until I had some of the them written— or even planed out for that matter— before putting this out but I was just too excited.
Sorry for the long ass introduction, I think that’s all I wanted to say. I hope you enjoy this little story I’m writing :)
Full Masterlist & Good Feelings Masterlist
Characters belong to the lovely, @lumosinlove
CW: mentions of food
“C’mon!” Finn singsonged as he dragged Leo by the hand down the street.
A new coffee shop had opened up in downtown Gryffindor recently and being the coffee Addicts they were, Finn and Leo had gotten up bright and early and decided that they would go try it out. So slipping on their shoes and coats the couple set off in search for the warm beverage.
“My god, Finn how do you have this much energy right now?” Leo questioned, having to jog slightly to keep up with him. Stifling a yawn he continued, “Before your coffee?!”
“I don’t know.” Finn shrugged. “I’m just- excited? I have a good feeling about this place.” Finn slowed his pace, and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “...and I want a croissant.” The redhead admitted.
Leo chuckled and pressed a kiss to Finn’s temple. “Of course you do.” Finn just smiled.
A couple a blocks and a right turn later the two had reached their destination. In front of them was a small building, made of tan coloured bricks and with glass windows covering just about the entire front of it, an open sign shining in one of them. There was a few sets of tables and chairs outside shaded by a striped canopy and Leo could hear soft music coming out of the open door. Finn looked around, searching for the name of the place until his eyes landed on a sign to their left, ‘Tremblay’s’ it said, in elegant cursive.
Finn pointed the sign out to Leo, “Tremblay’s huh?” Leo paused, taking one last look over the place. “Sounds cool, let’s go.”
The blonde took the lead and walked forward, stopping just before he walked in. Moving to the side he said, “After you.” and motioned for Finn to go ahead.
Rolling his eyes playfully Finn walked through the door, Leo following his actions.
The pair were immediately taken by surprise; despite the openness of the coffee shop, from the inside it felt quite small— a good small. It felt warm and cozy and had a weird sense of home. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling and sat in the corner, a record player—Playing the music Leo recognized from earlier.
The place smelled like fresh baked goods and Finn could faintly make out the smell of vanilla, he wasn’t normally a person for sweet things but whatever was causing that smell he wanted immediately. Turning to Leo he said, “Nice place.”
“Yeah,” Leo looked around and spotted a table in the corner and took Finn’s hand in his. “let’s go sit down.”
After pulling a chair out for his boyfriend the blonde took his coat off, draping it over the back of his own chair and sat down. “So,” he asked. “What are you ordering?”
Finn leaned his elbows on the table and looked down at the small menu set before them. It consisted of pastries and breakfast sandwiches and of course, coffee beverages of every kind. “I honestly don’t know, everything looks so good.”
“Let me see?” Leo asked softly.
Finn handed the menu over to him and in the process of doing so, reached over and laced their fingers back together over the table.
It still felt strange, being able to do this in public. Kiss and hold hands and be more than just teammates, be a couple. Sometimes one of them would forget and freak out when the other gave them a kiss after a good goal— or save; or a hug that would last longer than what would be considered “normal”. They would soon realize though, that they could do this now. They were out to the world, the league, and they couldn’t be happier about it.
They looked at their options for a little while longer, pointing out things that they thought they would like, which to be honest, was basically the entire menu. “Why does everything look so fucking good?!” Finn had said. Then followed by asking if they could just order one of everything. He received a scolding for that, Leo saying as good as that sounds it definitely was not on their diet plan.
“Oh, this looks good! Look,” Leo was about to point something out to Finn but before he had the chance to respond he was interrupted.
“Bonjour, welcome to Tremblay’s,” The new voice said, “I’m Logan. What can I get for you two?”
Finn looked up at the stranger and my god he didn’t think he would ever want to look away. This stranger— ‘Logan’ his name tag said— was gorgeous. He had green eyes, the kind you could get lost in if you stared for too long and brown curls that were mostly covered by a snapback but Finn could see they ended at the nape of his neck. He wanted to run his hands trough them— “No. Stop it,” Finn thought. “That’s weird.”
“Holy shit.” Was the only coherent thought in Leo’s head when he met the boys eyes— he’d heard him introduce himself as “Logan”. Leo discovered he liked that name; he repeated it to himself in his head, “LoganLoganLogan— Finn.” Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the sudden thoughts Leo took a final look at Logan, he was definitely shorter than himself and Finn but he was broader, shoulders and arms straining against his t-shirt— Okay Leo seriously had to stop. This was getting creepy.
Logan screwed up his face a little, like he was getting uncomfortable and it was just then that the two realized they hadn’t said anything yet.
Leo cleared his throat. “Oh, um... sorry. Finn?”
Finn’s head snapped back to his boyfriend— his boyfriend. The redhead internally scolded himself for having those thoughts about this boy. He had a boyfriend— one that he loved. “Right, uhh, I’ll have....” He trailed off, ordering, Leo right after.
Logan nodded, “Alright, sounds good. I’ll be back with that, you guys sit tight.” He smiled politely and made his way back behind the front counter and trough a door that must have been to the kitchen.
Finn took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from where Logan had disappeared. “You okay?” He asked Leo, concerned.
“Hm? Oh. Yeah.” Leo replied. His bottom lip was between his teeth and he was wringing his hands together on top of the table— having since let go of Finn’s hand— eyes cast down on them. He looked similar to how Finn felt.
After a couple minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence—which was really strange for them. Nothing was ever awkward or uncomfortable with them, not since they got together anyways— Logan returned with their food and drinks.
“Okay, so, we have the breakfast sandwich and the black coffee for you.” Logan placed Finn’s coffee and sandwich in front of him—made with a croissant instead of a bagel of course. “And just the medium two sugar two cream for you.” He handed Leo his coffee.
“Thanks.” Leo said, looking up at Logan.
“No problem!” Logan replied, emerald eyes tearing into Leo’s baby blue.
Logan abruptly looked away then, and when he turned to smile at Finn the redhead could have swore his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. Finn gave him a polite smile of thanks and Logan turned around, he watched as walking away, the boy took his hat off and ran his hand trough his curls, only to put it right back on.
Having their morning coffee it seemed, eased whatever weird silence had fallen over the couple. In no time the two were back to their normal selves. Sipping on their coffee they talked about anything and everything; from their predictions for the upcoming hockey season or just what they were going to do later today.
Soon enough though, stomachs full and cups empty, Finn and Leo were ready to leave. A girl who’s name they found out was ‘Noelle’ had come around and handed them their check and then the couple was off, putting their coats back on and dropping their cups in the trash on the way out.
“So,” Leo spoke up, leading them out the door. “Was your ‘good feeling’ about this place correct?”
Finn brought a hand up to his chin and put on a face of fake thought. Staying like that for a couple seconds he removed his hand from his chin and placed it on Leo’s, pulling him in for a kiss. “Yeah,” he said, pulling away. “I think it was.”
What they didn’t know at the time was that the ‘good feeling’ was not from what they thought it was.
#leo knut#lumosinlove#o'knutzy#coast to coast lumosinlove#finn o'hara#sweater weather lumosinlove#logan tremblay#coffee shop au
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Regret
Summary: When Fran doesn't come down to breakfast after spraining her ankle, the whole house is concerned for her—especially Niles and Mr. Sheffield. Set after "An Affair to Dismember."
A/N: Okay, so I've binge re-watched nearly four seasons of The Nanny in four days, and had to get at least one fic out of my system, lmao.
Fran Drescher's acting in "An Affair to Dismember" when she suddenly broke while talking to Maxwell made me sensitive. ;-;
AO3 Link
—
Breakfast is a remarkably boring affair without Miss Fine bursting through the door, raising her arms in a floral robe, and proclaiming, with signature adenoidal stylings, “Good moooorning, everyone!”
The clink of silverware, the scraping of ceramic plates, the ruffling sound of Mr. Sheffield anxiously attacking the New York Times like a new Andrew Lloyd Webber play has just dropped—all of it is so terribly drab that Niles spends the first fifteen minutes of her pronounced absence coughing loudly in the hopes that his employer will pick up the hint to do something about it.
“Oh, do go get a bloody cough drop, old man,” he finally snaps, smacking his newspaper down on the table. “You’re driving me mad.”
“Sorry, sir,” Niles arches a brow as he refills Mr. Sheffield’s coffee mug. “I have asthma.”
He turns away to replace the coffee pot on the side table.
“And half a mind to kick your tetchy derrière,” he mutters under his breath.
“What was that, Niles?”
“Nothing, sir! Just saying thank you for your attentive care.”
“Dad,” Master Brighton thankfully interrupts, “where’s Fran, and what have you done to make her mad this time?”
Niles immediately turns around again in time to see his boss’s shoulders straighten in that way they often do when he’s indignant.
Or guilty.
Or some mixture of them both.
“I beg your pardon, Brighton,” he replies stiffly. “Why do you immediately assume I’m the problem here?”
“Process of elimination,” Brighton shrugs. “Fran’s not mad at me, Maggie, or Grace, and Niles is one of her closest friends.”
“You’re so astute, Master Brighton,” Niles smiles wryly as he moves to the left to get a better view of Mr. Sheffield’s face. The vein in his temple is beginning to throb, which is always a good time.
“She hasn’t dated anyone recently,” Miss Margaret pipes up.
“And she’s always fighting with her ma,” Miss Grace adds, “but that's never kept her from Belgian waffles before.”
“So, Dad,” Brighton grins, patting his father once on the back, “unless our math is wrong, that leaves you.”
“Goodness me,” Mr. Sheffield mutters, angrily stabbing a piece of link sausage with his fork. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of the lost Hardy Boy.”
“So you did do something!” Margaret exclaims.
“No! I bloody well did not, Nancy Drew. For your information, Miss Fine accidentally hurt her ankle clubbing last night with Val. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’ve called a doctor to come by just to check.”
“Tsk, tsk. And you didn’t offer to pick her up Cinderella-style and swoop her downstairs so she wouldn’t miss breakfast?” Niles asks chidingly, only to be greeted with a nasty glare.
“Yes, I did offer to bring her down to breakfast as a matter of fact... but Miss Fine seemed strangely subdued when I spoke to her through the door... I didn’t know what to make of it to tell you the truth...”
Mr. Sheffield’s brow contracts as he searches Niles’s face for an answer, and Niles stares back just as studiously, observing the profound concern in his employer’s dark eyes.
The gentleness.
The romance.
The stunningly oblivious care.
Niles sighs fondly.
Unlike Miss Babcock, he’s never had the heart to kick poor puppies when they’re down.
“I’ll bring her Advil and a fresh ice pack,” he promises. “Perhaps some pain relief will help her to regain her spirit.”
“I hope so,” Mr. Sheffield replies, self-consciously turning to his plate again, the tips of his ears rather pink. “I hate when Miss Fine isn’t feeling well.”
“Here, here,” the whole table concurs.
—
Twenty minutes later, Niles is at Miss Fine’s door with a silver tray laden with all the essentials: painkillers, an ice pack, a mug of coffee (milk instead of cream and extra sugar), and a copy of the new edition of Gloss. He lightly taps on her door with the side of his loafer.
“Miss Fine, can I come in?”
“No,” comes an immediate and sharp reply. “I’m not dressed!”
“How discouraging,” Niles sighs smilingly. “What ever shall I do?”
“Suff’a, and at least give me a minute to find a brassiere.”
“Oh, we’ll be here all day then.”
He hears a strange thud, a collection of evaluations (“dirty, dirty, slutty, Maggie’s, dirty”), and an assortment of Yiddish curse words he now vaguely recognizes from being friends with Miss Fine for nearly four years now. And then finally—
“Come in, Jeeves, but shut the door behind ya ‘cuz I haven’t applied a morning layer of lipstick yet.”
Niles elbows the knob and pushes with his shoulder until the door lights open to a peculiar sight. Far from being neat, Miss Fine’s room looks like Macy’s after its annual Black Friday sale with clothes strewn everywhere—from the dressers to the wardrobes to the floor. An empty suitcase is lying on the bed next to Miss Fine, who is sitting in bed wearing an oversized t-shirt, her injured ankle propped up on a pillow. Niles can tell, even from the doorway, that it’s red and swollen, but to his satisfaction and relief, it doesn’t appear to be broken.
“Welcome to the jungle,” Miss Fine mutters when she notices his incredulous gaze. “We got all the animals out t’day.”
“I can see that,” Niles replies, placing his tray on her bedside table and shutting the door. With his usual efficiency, he then walks back over, retrieves the ice pack, and gently places it on the affected area, frowning when she flinches.
“Mr. Sheffield said that the doctor was coming at ten,” he says as he gently lowers himself onto the bed, clasping his hands primly on top of his lap.
“Mm,” Fran grunts noncommittally, grabbing the two Advil pills and knocking them back with a swig of coffee.
“What? You’re not curious as to whether or not said doctor in question is single, Jewish, and living in a Manhattan penthouse? Miss Fine”—Niles reaches over and places the back of his hand on Fran’s head—“do you have a fever?”
“Oh, Niles,” she swats his hand away, “I’m not in the mood.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that one.”
“Niles!”
“Sorry, Miss Fine,” he withdraws his hand with a laugh. “You know I have to warm up before Miss Babcock arrives.”
“Glad to assist,” Fran quips, taking another sip of coffee, and it’s only as she closes her eyes to savor the taste, that he notices there are lines beneath her eyes from what seems to have been a sleepless night.
The smile sinks from his face.
“You know,” he says quietly, “in all of our acquaintance, I’ve never known of you to injure yourself while dancing.”
Fran opens her eyes only to immediately glance away, tapping her long nails against her mug.
“Val tripped me up when she thought she saw Elton John,” she shrugs dully. “Turns out it was just a really lifelike poster of him behind the bar...”
“I see,” Niles returns, raising a brow. “It was nice of Miss Toriello to forgo her weekend trip with her parents to come back and… boogie woogie oogie with you.”
“Dammit,” she pouts, scrunching her nose. “I didn’t think I’d told you that.”
“You didn’t. I overheard you and Miss Toriello gabbing on the phone about it yesterday morning.”
Fran can’t seem to help herself; she smiles crookedly, even as she shakes her head.
“I dunno who’s more absorbent sometimes—you or the dish sponge.”
He smiles back at her, patting her uninjured leg gently.
“Me, naturally."
"I can believe it, Chatty Cathy," she sighs.
"Now tell me, Miss Fine"—he regains his solemnity quickly, unwilling to let her deflect with jokes—"why does your room look like a tornado went through Loehmann’s?”
Her dark eyes immediately glance around the messy room, as though looking for an excuse and failing to find one.
It’s only now that Niles is sitting down, taking everything in, that he notices that most of the articles strewn about are her favorite clothing items, from her holographic Versace dress to the black tube top that Mr. Sheffield can’t pry his eyes away from every time she wears it.
“I almost did a very stupid thing, Niles,” she half-whispers, looking down into her coffee cup, her fingers tensed and shivering around the handle. “And the thing is, maybe it wasn’t really all that stupid? Maybe it was the smartest thing I could of done in a lifetime of doin’ so many stupid things.”
She pauses briefly before sardonically adding, “People included.”
Though Niles doesn’t have enough dots to connect the full picture, he has what he needs in the way of evidence to get the basic gist: Nigel being in town, the two of them going out, Nigel leaving town, the suitcase, the swollen ankle, and Miss Fine's uncharacteristic melancholy, smeared across her face so sharply that it may as well be lipstick.
He swallows thickly, suddenly grasping how close that they had all been to losing Fran forever.
“Well,” he says, making an effort to hitch an oblivious smile on his face, “isn’t it your mother who says that everything happens for a reason? It seems as though you’re right where you belong.”
“Yeah,” she snorts indelicately. “Twenty-nine multiple times over, single, and livin’ in a mansion with a man who won’t even commit to his meal orders at restaurants, much less his very available and desperate nanny.”
“Beautiful, young, and living in a mansion with three children who love you, a butler who’d be lost without you, and a man who won’t commit to his tie choices either but still cares for you deeply all the same,” Niles corrects her softly. “He was very worried for you when you didn’t come down to breakfast this morning. He didn’t even do the crossword on the Times.”
“Gee,” she rolls her eyes playfully, “how romantic.”
“Very,” Niles grins, “a modern day Romeo—emotional hangups and all.”
With that, he pats Fran again and stands up; he has no doubt that Mr. Sheffield will be calling for him soon to interrogate him as to Miss Fine’s wellbeing.
Maybe he can even get C.C. on speaker phone to rub it in her face.
“Y’know, Niles,” Fran smiles at him fondly, “if this whole Mr. Sheffield thing doesn’t work out, we should elope in Vegas in ten yea's.”
“Only if you wear this little number,” he says, bending down and picking up a black cocktail dress from the floor, folding it neatly over his arm.
“You wish you could be so lucky.”
“If we’re going to be in Vegas, anything can happen, I suppose.”
After he retrieves the silver tray from the bedside table, he bends down and kisses Miss Fine lightly on the head, his heart hurting when he notices the way that she closes her eyes beneath the gentle touch—young and vulnerable and terribly hurt by something he can’t quite fix with a well-timed witticism.
“Get some rest, Miss Fine," her murmurs against her head. "I'll check on you a bit."
“Thanks, hubby."
—
Scarcely ten minutes later, he’s down in Mr. Sheffield’s office as per usual, offering the producer a fresh cup of tea even though he had already drunk his traditional two cups at breakfast.
He insisted, though, on a third, for some excuse he couldn’t quite come up with.
And instead of coming up with an excuse, he immediately asked for all the particulars of Miss Fine’s health.
Predictable chump.
“Thanks, old boy,” Mr. Sheffield frowns, returning to his crossword, tapping the end of his pen arrhythmically against the paper. “Let me know when the doctor for Miss Fine arrives. I want to be there when he checks her over.”
“Ooh la-la-la,” Niles hums, dropping a sugar cube into the tea with a zesty plop.
Mr. Sheffield places his pen down on the desk angrily.
“Not like that… I just want to ensure she’s going to be well… you know, for the children’s sake.”
“Yes,” he sighs theatrically. “How will the children ever be able to bear their nanny having a twisted ankle?”
“Oh, shut up,” Mr. Sheffield snaps. “I don’t pay you to be sarcastic.”
“No, sir, you pay me to help you with the crossword when you’re missing three-across,” Niles smirks knowingly when he glances down at the incomplete puzzle. “What’s the hint?”
Mr. Sheffield adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking down again.
“A word that means feeling bad for not doing something that you should have done all along. Disappointment. A sense of shame.”
Niles straightens up with a long-suffering shake of his head.
“Oh, sir, do I really have to spell it out for you?”
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Under Pastel Skies - 3
Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.
Word Count: 2,587
Warnings: none
A/N: I wanted to give Reader a family and this is the easiest way to do it. Btw Peggy’s husband isn’t Steve, I have other plans for him ;) Enjoy!
Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.
The rest of the week went by, and you kept hoping Bucky would come back. You hadn’t seen him since he’d left 300 dollars under his napkin after visiting you at work. You had tucked the bills into your bra, knowing they would be safe there, and walked home at the end of your shift.
Now it was Thursday afternoon and you were craving a day off.
Natasha’s apartment was spacious and the oversized glass window bathed the living room in natural sunlight. The apartment was a gift from Sam. Obviously.
You dropped your purse on the sofa –your bed- and laid out the bills on the coffee table. It was made of marble and brass, another gift from Sam.
You didn’t know what to do with the money, so you took it wherever you went, to keep it safe. You wanted to return it to Bucky. It was too much and you weren’t used to random acts of kindness.
You sunk into the cushion and blew out a sigh as you stared at the money. The persistent vibration of your phone against your thigh pulled you out of your thoughts. Half expecting it to be Natasha, you answered without looking at the caller ID.
The operator told you that Scott Lang was calling from Saint Quentin State Prison, and asked if you would accept the charges. You agreed. You always agreed.
“Splotchy, I need your help.”
Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back against the cushion. “I told you to stop calling me that, Scott.”
It was a silly nickname.
As a child, your mother dubbed you splotchy because of the colourful doodles you painted on the living room walls, and your siblings, who were roughly a few years older than you, had loved using that nickname. Especially since they knew you disliked it.
Their support and endless enthusiasm played a big part in your artistic journey, nurturing that spark into a flame. What started out as a childlike fascination with colours and shapes became your whole life. No one was surprised when you decided to pursue a degree in fine arts.
After the death of her husband, Peggy Carter adopted five children; a little boy from San Francisco, a little girl from Wakanda, twins from Sokovia and a little girl whose birth parents were still in high school. You were the last one, the only one she adopted as a baby.
“Is it offensive to call an artist splotchy?”
“It’s irrelevant. I haven’t painted in months,” you replied. “And we’re not kids anymore, you can use my name.”
“I’ve been calling you Splotchy for so long, I forgot your actual name.”
“You’re so funny,” you deadpanned. “What do you need, Scott?”
Scott’s tone changed suddenly, his voice grew agitated. “I need you to call Maggie. She isn’t picking up when I call her.”
“Scott,” you sighed.
“I haven’t talked to Cassie since her birthday,” he cut you off, pleading. “Please, I just want to talk to my little girl.”
Maggie was Scott’s ex-wife. Six months after his incarceration, she had filed for divorce. Natasha thought it was a real dick move but you didn’t blame Maggie. She was alone, her husband was in jail –for basically being a dumbass although the official charge was embezzlement and destruction of property- and she had a kid to raise.
Maggie wasn’t a saint but she was a good mother, and Cassie was a smart and healthy kid. Now you knew what to do with Bucky’s money.
“I’ll call her,” you said. “Listen, I’m going to put 50 bucks on your book. Buy yourself a bar of soap, I can smell you from here.” Scott interrupted you with a monotone ‘har har’. You chuckled. “I’ll buy Cassie a Christmas gift on your behalf, all right? I think she wanted a bike.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chanted over the phone, his voice muffled as if he was holding the receiver too close to his mouth. “Are you sure you can afford it? I know it isn’t easy for you. Between living in New York and paying for mom’s nursing home, you don’t have to-”
“It’s fine,” you said, cutting off the conversation. “I’m not alone, Okoye helps.”
“And Wanda?”
“She sends postcards from time to time.”
The line went quiet for a moment. “I want to get out of here so bad,” Scott groaned. “Everything’s gone to shit since I went to jail.”
“Everything’s gone to shit since Pietro died, Scott.” You both remained silent, remembering your late brother. Just thinking about him made your eyes start to prickle with tears, so you cleared your throat and ended the call. “I’ll talk to Maggie. You’ll be out soon, just... stay out of trouble. Love you.”
You left your phone on the table and kicked off your shoes before you lay down on the sofa for a well-deserved nap. In your dreams your brothers weren’t either dead or in prison, your mother hadn’t been diagnosed with Alzheimer, and you weren’t a burden to your friend.
If you were lucky enough, you wouldn’t even dream at all.
The next day, Bucky arrived at the hotel at six thirty and you playfully glared at him from across the lounge. He wasn’t stupid, he knew why you were glaring at him. At least he had the decency to look a little sheepish.
“Just so you know, you bought yourself about 30 breakfasts,” you told him, referring to the far-too-generous tip he had left the other day.
“A man’s gotta eat,” he replied with a boyish cockiness that made him look stupidly attractive. You were too flustered to find a good comeback.
You brought him his cup of coffee and let him enjoy his breakfast while you attended to your other clients. It was an unusually busy day, the room was packed with families who were getting ready to explore Manhattan. You didn’t have time to chat with Bucky and he didn’t stay long. You saw him flinch a couple of times; the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight and his eyes darting left and right.
He left another ridiculously generous tip, along with a handwritten note. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day x.
Bucky came back the following week, and even though it was a quiet morning, you made sure to find him a table in a secluded spot. He didn’t notice when you slipped the 300 dollars into the pocket of his coat. You could be pretty sneaky, too.
“Mmmh,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I looked at your Instagram.”
“Oh,” you glanced at your shoes, embarrassed. “Wait, you’re on Instagram? I have a hard time imagining you scrolling through your feed.”
He laughed a little. “I’ll admit I’m not as tech savvy as you youngsters, but I’m not a fossil. I use it to look at the pictures my sister post of my niblings.”
“Cute,” you grinned.
“Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I love your work. It’s very unique; a cross between Impressionism and Post-impressionism. It’s realistic, and yet there’s something different...” his face scrunched up as he tried to look for the right word. “There’s something in your paintings, something that isn’t here in real life but perhaps should be. It’s hard to explain. It’s a feeling, a color, a pattern; it’s indiscernible but it’s there.” He looked up at you, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”
You blinked, suddenly stunned that someone had such strong opinions about your work. There was nothing but sincerity in his ocean-blue eyes, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.
“I, um-” you cleared your throat, “Thank you, I didn’t know that. I look up to Monet, obviously. His work is phenomenal, and I also have a soft spot for Van Gogh.” You ran a hand across your face. “Sorry, I’m a little emotional. The people who compliment my art are usually my siblings, and Nat.”
“And now me,” he said with a warm smile. “And soon a lot more people.”
Flustered, you bit your bottom lip. “That would be nice.”
Bucky nodded. He gathered his silverware and set them on his plate, trying to buy time. You watched him hesitate before he turned to you. “I noticed that your last post was from almost a year ago.”
“Yeah,” you said with a casual shrug. “I don’t really paint anymore. I’m too tired when I get home and supplies are expensive.”
“Of course,” he pursed his lips in thought. “Are you free this afternoon? I was wondering if we could meet for coffee.”
You tried not to show your surprise but his words made the sleeping butterflies in your stomach crack an eye open, their interest piqued.
Was he asking you out? He’d come to your workplace every week since your brief ‘date’. He always gave you more-than-generous tips, and he listened to you with a combination of close attention and warmth that made you weak at the knees.
He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for anyone but maybe he had changed his mind. Agh, down girl! He just wanted a friend.
You looked into his beautiful eyes, seeing a myriad of expressions cross his face before he smiled at you.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you, angel.”
It was an honest lie, just hearing him call you angel felt like a punch to the stomach. The butterflies were dancing around, reborn, and chanting the word ‘date’.
“If you don’t like coffee, we can have tea, or ice cream,” he said, “anything as long as you can sit down with me.”
You snorted. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated, smiling. “This is my number. Pick a place and I’ll meet you there.”
After breakfast, you closed the restaurant and started cleaning the Lounge. You brought everything back to the kitchen, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then you put away the unopened miniature jams, butter and whatnot, and gathered the remaining patisseries and fresh fruits in a basket that you would later bring to the reception.
You worked mechanically. It wasn’t exactly the most exciting job you’d ever had.
You couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky. It was easy to let your mind wander into the cosy and dangerous territory of this being a real date.
You decided to go to the Australian coffee shop near Natasha’s apartment. It was popular but not as crowded as Starbucks, which suited you fine.
After your shift, you removed your uniform and changed into the spare set of clothes you kept in your locker for emergencies. Emergencies being an impromptu date or a night out with Nat. You dug around in your purse for your lipstick; the nice one, the Carter Red as your mother called it.
You dabbed the lipstick on your lips, staining them. You only wore it on special occasions, and you weren’t sure Bucky deserved your full red pout.
You walked to the café with a little pep in your step and a confident smile on your face. The freezing temperature didn’t matter, you were too giddy to care. It was a date, it had to be, why else would he ask you to meet for coffee?
You smiled when you saw him through the coffee shop window. He was chatting with the waiter as the latter set two mugs on the table.
“Hi again!” You shrugged out of your jacket and took a seat.
“I hope you like hot chocolate. Carl, here, says it’s their best seller,” Bucky said, smiling kindly at the waiter.
“Enjoy, and if you need anything else don’t hesitate to call me.”
You carefully wrapped your cold hands around your mug while you watched Carl walk away. A moment of silence rose between you. Bucky watched you with an unreadable expression, making you fidget in your seat.
“I’m glad you came,” he finally said.
“Me too. I’m a little surprised you asked.”
He looked down at his mug and smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have something to ask you.” He paused. “The night we met, you said you agreed to see me because being in a... financial relationship felt like the only solution to your problems.”
Your smile faltered but he didn’t seem to notice. Oh. The butterflies in your stomach fell so suddenly that it felt like carrying a ball of lead. They went back into hibernation.
“If I had been a decent person and, I don’t know, bought you a drink, talked to you,” he paused, meeting your eyes. “Would you have been interested in this type of relationship? With me, I mean.”
You swallowed hard. “You want to be my sugar daddy.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement. You were slowly realizing that you had been wrong about his intentions. This wasn’t a date, it was a business afternoon tea.
He winced. “Do we really have to call it that? I was thinking mentorship. I can provide financial help, and in exchange you could be my friend.”
“I can be your friend for free,” you said, your throat tightening.
He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “This way we’ll both get something out of it.”
You looked down at your hands, still wrapped around the mug, and pursed your lips in thought. You felt a sharp tingling sensation in your nose, a sign that you were about to cry. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, fighting against the flood that was coming.
You pushed all the emotion down and forced a smile to your face. “Do you mind if I use the restroom? I just took the subway, I’d like to wash my hands.”
Bucky watched you, momentarily stunned by your request. “Of course, take your time,” he quickly recovered.
“Thanks,” you croaked, pushing your chair back.
You picked up your bag and walked to the restroom, your legs feeling like cotton wool. You didn’t need to use the restroom, you had walked to the café, but you needed a moment alone to collect yourself.
A woman came out of the restroom, holding the door open for you. You picked up the pace and thanked her before closing the door behind you. You looked pretty sickly under the artificial light of the restroom. Your eyes were glassy with tears and your red lips were taunting you.
“Got your hopes up, uh?” You watched your lips move. A little humourless chuckle escaped you and you shook your head at your own idiocy.
You aggressively wiped the lipstick off your mouth with the back of your hand and sighed deeply as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Now you felt like an idiot.
It wasn’t Bucky’s fault. He had been nothing but nice and kind, and perhaps you had mistaken his kindness for flirting. A naïve mistake. You had always been a little clueless when it came to men.
You ran your index fingers under your eyes to get rid of the makeup that had gathered there. It wasn’t the end of the world, you barely knew him anyway. It didn’t hurt any less, though.
Maybe it was time for you to do something out of character, to experience life no matter how crazy it seemed. You were dreading this conversation with Bucky, but you couldn’t hide in the restroom forever. With another sigh, you pushed yourself away from the sink and walked out of the restroom.
Part 4
#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#marvel#marvel fanfiction#marvel imagines#bucky barnes imagines#bucky barnes fanfiction#marvel imagine#bucky barns imagine#redgillan#redgillanwrites
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Oh goodness, I'm terrible at writing prompts, hmm......
Are you familiar with D&D/Pathfinder/tabletop RPG's in general? I'd love to see The Crows rolling up characters and playing a one-shot. I can't decide if I'd rather Kaz or Jesper be the GM. Both sound horribly great. 😆
Otherwise, in a very un-original but beloved AU, I'd love to see HP Drarry and Romione + SoC Kanej, Wesper, and Helnik in some kind of Coffee Shop setting (I owned my own shop for the better part of a decade, so I love those).
And Matthias always being alive, please, if you do either of these. ;)
And I don't care about fic length; whatever you feel inspired to do!
💜
The Crow Cafe
Coffee Shop AU~ with the Crows, Ronmione, and Drarry
authors note: I got a bit carried away with the idea, and I added some plot. There’s going to be multiple parts to this (yay!) so I guess keep in tune!
Part 1. Kaz’s Crow Cafe
There is a cafe, down some streets in Downtown Ketterdam’s Stave, run by a boy and his friends. There, you can find stories, romance, and most importantly, a decent cup of coffee.
“Not for my coffee, you podge,” Kaz scoffed, slapping away Jesper’s offer of sugar with a glove-clad hand. “I’m just saying sugar prices are getting higher. We need to compensate for this fact.”
Kaz waited for questions, looking around the table. No one said anything. Kaz looked directly at Jesper, who sighed, taking back the sugar and dumping it in his own coffee.
“And how do you want us to do that?”
It was a chilly Saturday morning in early-September, and Kaz was giving his Saturday morning pre-opening briefing.
“Kaz, people come here for the low coffee prices. We can’t hike the prices really high,” Inej added. Jesper nodded, grabbing another packet of sugar.
Kaz sighed. “I know. I’m working on it. Just thought I’d let you two know.”
“Don't mind if I do,” Jesper cut in, pouring the sugar in his overly-caffeinated drink, “but shouldn’t good old Mr. Haskell be thinking about this instead of us?”
Kaz sipped his coffee, shrugging. “‘Old Mr. Haskell’, as you say Jesper, is old and inert.” Kaz sent a glance Inej’s way. “He won’t be doing much about it.”
Jesper just chugged his coffee, bouncing up and ready to start the day.
“Jesper, was it wise to take in that much sugar and caffeine?” Inej inquired as Jesper bounced around the shop.
“Probably, not,” Jesper grinned, flipping the sign to ‘Open’ as a few early-risers started to form a line in front of the Cafe.
A girl with tied back light brown hair entered the cafe first, a stack of textbooks and notebooks in her arms. She ordered a coffee and a pastry, and started working at a table.
She was followed by a tall, burly, blond male who Kaz was sure he’d seen before. Trailing him was Nina, a girl Kaz knew from previous jobs he had done with her to help keep up the profits. Next to the composed blond dude, Nina looked dead tired.
“Why do we even have to get up this early?” Nina whined.
“I have to do things later today and Sunday, this is a good time to work on the project,” the blond replied.
Nina groaned. “Good for you. I was going to get my beauty sleep.”
“Well you get to have a beautiful coffee instead,” Jesper said cheerfully. “Good morning, Nina! What will it be for you and your…” Jesper looked the blonde up and down. “...this hunk of a man, here?”
Nina smirked tiredly. “Yeah, that’s my hunk of a man to you,” she pointed a lazy finger at Jesper.
The blond huffed. “So impudent and improper. My name is Matthias. I will have a black coffee.”
Jesper typed it into his screen quickly. “And no cream, no sugar, nothing sweet?”
Matthias shook his head.
“Anyways, I’ll have a mocha, like 10 shots of coffee and lots of creamer,” Nina cut in.
Jespers slender fingers flew across the board. “Okay so that’s one coffee as bitter as Kaz’s soul, and a mocha with 4 shots of espresso and half of it basically milk. Is that all for today?”
Nina scanned the pastry rack and ordered two chocolate chip muffins. The two sat down, getting stuff out for a project.
Meanwhile, Inej bounced around in her athletic wear, preparing coffees. She finished one for the girl named Hermione, grabbed the apple strudel she wanted, and headed over.
“Hermione?”
Hermione turned, and greeted Inej with a smile. “Thank you. I’ll take those.”
Inej noticed the bigger table Hermione had chosen, and tilted her head. “Are you waiting for someone?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, my friends. They’re supposed to be here in about an hour, I’m just catching up on studying before they come. Is that alright with…” Hermione stared into the distance, where Kaz stood ominously staring at Inej.
“Oh he… he’s alright.,” Inej lifted a hand to wave at Kaz, who noticed and looked away. “That’s Kaz for you,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Pardon?” Hermione asked.
Inej just laughed nervously, brushing it off. “Enjoy your breakfast!” Inej went back to making coffee behind the counter watching Jesper chat up customers left and right. Inej was glad for his enthusiasm so early in the morning, she never liked taking Saturday morning shifts at 6AM, especially if they had meetings at 5:45.
“How’s it going Jesper?” Inej asked while preparing another cup. Jesper nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Holy- oh Inej. Oh Inej don’t sneak up on me like that. Besides that, I’m doing fine!”
Inej nodded and disappeared behind towers of cups and spouts of coffee. She prepared Nina’s things and brought it over. The two seemed to be arguing.
“I’m just saying- ooh, food!” Nina gasped, sitting up straight for the first time that morning. Inej smiled, placing the coffee and muffins down on the table. Matthias just watched her, arms crossed.
“Enjoy the food,” Inej smiled, then went back to the counter.
Kaz watched her silently from the side, then, noticing the line, straightened his gloves and walked over to help make coffee. They went through orders silently, Inej doing all of the walking, but they enjoyed each other's company. Inej and Kaz would work on an order or two, Kaz would place his finished ones on a counter for Inej to take. While Inej was gone, Kaz would get started on the next thing, and so on.
Eventually, Kaz went into the back and disappeared for a while, leaving Inej with the coffee work.
By this time, Hermione’s friends had come, and their study group looked like they were having a great time, though only ⅓ of them seemed to actually be doing any studying.
By 8, Inej and Jesper switched spots. Inej found that Jesper still loved people-watching, even behind the counter. Or... was he looking for someone?
Her suspicions were correct when a boy walked in, with ruddy, orange-brown curls. Jesper leaned into her, pointing him out. “I think he’s starting to be a consistent customer. At least on weekends. Have you seen him around school?”
Inej had in fact seen him around school. His name was Wylan and he was in Kaz’s math class, and in her Art and Gym class. During lunch, he was usually just drawing something or doing math homework by himself.
Inej nodded, then went back to a customer, leaving Jesper to speculate by himself.
When the boy with golden-brown curls stepped up, she asked what he wanted.
He looked up at the board for less than a second, then back to Inej. “I’ll have an iced coffee. With the cream.” Inej nodded and punched it into the computer.
“Your name?” She asked.
“Wylan,” Wylan smiled. Inej pretended to punch it in as if she hadn’t already.
“And… if you want, the Crow Cafe is thinking of starting a sort of rewards club for regular members. There’s more info up on the board, but all we need is your number,” Inej added effortlessly.
Wylan looked up at the board and back to Inej. “Uh… sure,” he said tentatively. He gave her his number and she pretended to type it in, instead writing it down on a piece of paper after he left the counter. She then looked up at the board to confirm her suspicions. There was nothing about a rewards club. So he can’t read, and yet he still pretends…
She tucked that information away, smirking as she slid the paper into Jesper’s back pocket.
Everything was going pretty smoothly (besides Nina and Matthias’ constant bickering) until the door opened and in walked the most pretentiously blond man Inej and seen, with an even blonder son.
_end of part 1_
thanks for reading, and for the commission!
next commission: Sleeping Beauty AU :)
#ibl writing commissions#six of crows#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#kanej#nina zenik#matthias helvar#helnik#jesper fahey#wylan van sunshine#wylan van eck#wesper#coffee shop au#hermione granger#Ron Weasley#draco malfoy#harry potter#ronmione#drarry#writing commissions#kaz brekker runs this coffee shop so no hate here or else
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Texture anon: What do you like then ? I’m curious since I’m also a texture eater and there’s just so many textures I can’t stand.
So on top of the texture thing I also hate cooking (mostly bc adhd means I don't start until I'm ravenously hungry and then I'm impatient. It's a whole thing.).
For breakfast I eat a lot of cereal, but I also like muffins, bagels, and other baked goods. Pancakes and French toast are also good. Sometimes fruit or yogurt. I usually cut up a banana on my cereal (I know a lot of people find them slimy but I don't for whatever reason.), bc there's a lot of good stuff in bananas. Also, oatmeal is great bc you actually can vary the texture wildly by altering the amount of liquid you use and the length of time you cook it for. Plus it comes in easy to store packages and a million flavors. So if you're in a dorm room or a place where you don't have a full kitchen, then you can just get an electric kettle and that'll work great. In a pinch you can even use a coffee maker without any coffee in it to make hot water. I used to use the keurig at work for boiling water all the time. So you can take a coffee cup, put a packet or two of oatmeal in it, and cook it in the microwave or with hot water, and then add some coffee creamer to doctor the flavor and texture. Before I was DX and realized that my issues making food and being hungry at work were 100% adhd related I used to feel lazy about keeping this kind of food in my desk but now I realize I was working with my brain and it's ok.
Lunch, well...I don't eat lunch so I've got nothing. I used to eat salad sometimes tho. I'm not talking healthy salad. Find a texture of lettuce you don't hate. Then cover it in cheese, egg, bacon bits, and dressing. It's A+.
For dinner...I will eat pretty much anything with pasta in it bc I like both the taste and texture of pasta. I also love Chinese food but like only certain kinds. And for YEARS I would eat lo mein and spend ages picking out all the inedible bits until I realized I could order it with no veggies and my life would be better. I also like crab Rangoon and sweet n sour chicken. So that's what I eat at Chinese places. Most meat is ok if I can see it so I can cut off the gristle. The other thing is if there's something you like the taste of but not the texture, look for it in another form. Like I mentioned I hate the texture of tomatoes. So I just found the smoothest pasta sauce on the market (prego) and use that. There's still chunks of tomato but they're large and easy to pick out. It's the little nasty shards of tomato skin that I can't deal with and it's fortunately low on that and doesn't have nasty random pieces of onion. There's also nothing wrong with like running your sauce through a blender to make it smooth. I'll also use onion powder in place of onions when I can and if you like garlic but hate the texture, garlic powder is another good option. Some foods I'll take the risk for tho. Like I looove bourbon chicken and I just play gristle roulette when I'm having an OK texture day. Vs like that one time I got an unprocessed chunk of pork in a hot dog and that was literally probably almost 30 years ago and I STILL will only eat turkey hot dogs. Which reminds me...sometimes it's also the way you cook something. I love the taste of bacon but hate the texture so instead of a sad bacon-less existence I'll either burn it crispy in the pan, bake it in the oven (which converts the gristle texture of the fat to something acceptable.), or eat turkey bacon....god turkey bacon is so good. But yeah if I go out I ask them to burn the bacon so they actually get it crispy enough. Rice also has an acceptable texture, so that gives me another filler/staple food that isn't pasta. Oh, I also love mashed sweet potatoes. Use whipping cream when you make them so they get nice and creamy. A little brown sugar and coconut on top, cook for 15 mins, and awwww yas. I like sushi, too, but only certain kinds. It took me YEARS to find sushi I enjoyed. Mostly if it has eel, yellowtail, or tempura shrimp in it I'll eat it. Eel is actually really frikkin good and doesn't have the gross texture the name implies. Avocados are good too, but I have the cilantro soap gene so guacamole is nasty. Avocado + tuna fish + Swiss cheese on an English muffin is great and not terrible for you. Also I love Mac n cheese. Like kraft dinner in the blue box because I like junk food. My favorite food is ice cream.
Oh! If you never have before, try a Rainier cherry and a white peach. They're both far superior to their more common cousins. Rainier cherries are only in season for like two months around now, but they're worth it.
So basically, when it comes to textures I don't like but tastes that I do like I try to change the form the thing comes in so I can eat it. Btw, idk how you feel about soda but I hate the fizz and I've found code red mountain dew to have a low amount of fizz so that's what I drink when I want caffeine.
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Day 3 Hot Cocoa with Aizawa
Aizawa X GN!Reader
Warnings: None, Fluff
You are a lover of all things winter and Aizawa is not. It is not as if he liked a different season better, he just simply did not care. He really didn’t understand your fondness for winter but he goes along with it nonetheless to keep you happy. Today he is off from work and you know that as soon as he wakes up he will be knee deep in papers to grade. So rather than sleeping in and basking in his warmth you drag yourself out of the bed. You decide to make breakfast. Most people will look at Aizawa and assume he runs purely on black coffee. But what they don’t know is that this man consumes a massive amount of sugar each day. You often watch him pouring nearly a cup of sugar into his coffee in the morning, for a man as physically fit as he is and who has never had a cavity you are surprised. On top of that he also does not have the best eating habits so when he is home, you do your best to assure he has some healthier meals than juice pouches and fast food.
You make french toast because it is his favorite but decide to also make eggs that you can throw some chopped vegetables in to make sure he eats them. After you have everything prepped you start to cook humming quietly to yourself, usually you would play music but you don’t want to risk waking the sleeping man in the other room. Just as you are about to finish you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle.
“Good Morning.” His voice rumbles in your ear. “That smells good.”
“Good Morning, it’s almost done.”
“Is there coffee?” He asks.
“There is but how about we have hot cocoa instead.”
“That is not going to keep me awake.”
“Coffee doesn’t even keep you awake; you are basically on a sugar rush most of the time. You are just so exhausted it doesn’t seem like it.”
“All I’m hearing is that you aren’t going to let me have coffee today.”
You give in making him a cup of coffee to go with his breakfast. After eating you sit with him and help him mark papers hoping to get through them more quickly. It looks like you are reaching the end when he gets up undoubtedly to get another cup of coffee. You continue on marking the next test in the pile. When you look up again Shouta is holding a mug out for you.
“I don’t want coffee but thanks.”
“Well then it’s a good thing that this isn’t coffee.”
“What is it?” You ask taking the mug and when you look down you see marshmallows sitting on top of whipped cream.
“It’s hot cocoa.” He says, sitting back down next to you. You see his cup has the same topping.
“Aww, that’s so sweet of you.” You say moving to hug him.
“It’s just hot chocolate. It’s not a big deal.”
You sit back down bringing the mug up to take a sip and immediately gag, “Oh my god, how much mix did you put in this?”
“Three scoops.”
“Three.. Are you trying to kill me with hot cocoa.”
He takes a sip from his mug, “It tastes fine to me.”
#mha#mha x reader#bnha x reader#bnha#shouta aizawa#aizawa x reader#aizawa#aizawa shouta#aizawa fanfiction#x reader
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