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apomaro-mellow · 6 months

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Every Baby Needs a Daddy

Part 1/?

Modern au rock star!Eddie & sugar baby!Steve; alpha!Eddie/omega!Steve

Fall was in full swing and a chill was officially in the air at all times. Most especially as the sun started to go down. Eddie was warm in his leather jacket but for a brief moment his heart went out to the guy standing outside the bar, arms bare to the wind. He was dressed in a striped polo shirt and jeans, not quite what one might see in a dive bar like this.

But he was probably waiting for someone, so Eddie went inside without another thought, catching just the smallest whiff of his scent as he walked by. An omega. He was definitely waiting for someone then. No one kept their omega idling for long. Once inside, Eddie took his shades off, the lights low enough to keep most from recognizing him.

It helped that he was flying solo tonight. No band members or bodyguards in sight. It was nice to be anonymous sometimes. Not that fame and fortune ever got tiring, it was just a good change of pace. He posted up to the bar, ordered a beer, and got comfortable. He was right in the middle of a conversation with another patron about the current season's fishing prospects when that scent washed over him again something like lavender and petrichor.

Although, when Eddie looked over, that second part might've just been the scent of actual rain. The omega from outside was sitting next to him. The tops of his shoulders and head were damp.

"Was wonderin' when you'd come in and grace us with your presence", the bartender said.

The omega simply rolled his eyes and didn't order anything. Eddie saw him shiver and without thinking, took off his jacket and placed it over his shoulders. He realized what he'd done when the other man froze.

"Sorry you just looked cold and maybe you were but I shouldn't've just done something like that I can-I can take it back", he reached out.

"No", the omega held onto the jacket. "No, it's fine. I was cold. Thank you."

"I uh, saw you outside. Boyfriend making you wait?" Eddie inwardly cringed. He meant to be more subtle than that. Meant to say something anything else.

"Don't have one." The omega got a strange look as he finally looked Eddie square in the face. "Have I...seen you somewhere before? Sorry", he shook his head and let out a breath of laughter. "What I line. I swear I'm not-I'm not trying to come on to you or anything, I just know I've seen you on like tv or something."

Eddie couldn't judge on pick up lines after what he said about a boyfriend. "You...you might've." He looked around and contemplated for just a second before he continued. "Ever heard of Corroded Coffin?"

"They're a band, right? That's where I know you from?"

Eddie grinned. "Yeah, that's where." He could tell this guy just barely recognized him and that it wasn't an act.

"God, Dustin would kill me. I can hear him now. Sorry, I'm probably not the kind of fan you like running in to."

"I'll take polite conversation over groveling any day. So do you know any of the member's names?"

"I know there's the guy Dustin likes the most because he can play drums and the bass. He admires talented people like that. And he goes on and on about this Eddie guy, but I can never remember which one-you?"

"Me, handsome", Eddie grinned. "And your name?"

"Steve. But I also answer to 'handsome'."

Steve. Eddie had to taste it on his tongue. "Steve. And were you waiting for Dustin before the rain brought you in?"

Steve smiled now, adjusting Eddie's jacket across his shoulders. "No, I wasn't really waiting for anyone. And before you ask, Dustin is definitely not my boyfriend. I'm completely untethered." Steve ran a hand through his hair, not so damp anymore after they had been talking.

"You gonna order something or keep taking up space at my bar?", the bartender asked.

"What's your poison, Steve?"

"Oh, I can't pay you back", Steve said.

"Then don't. Order something."

"I mean I really can't pay you back, Eddie. I was hanging around outside because I...because I'm between paychecks right now. And I'm not that kind of omega." Steve's shoulders hunched up in shame and he looked like he was about to remove Eddie's jacket.

"I didn't say you were. You don't have to pay me like that. I take many forms of compensation. Including sparkling dialogue with gorgeous men."

"Really?", Steve asked, voice flat in disbelief.

"Really."

Steve turned to the bartender. "Whiskey sour please."

Eddie smiled. "So, what's your opinion on farmed fish versus wild caught?"

---------------------------

Steve had been going through the worst day of his life. Work had been awful and he had wanted to scream. He ran out so quick that he forgot his jacket and was already halfway home when he remembered. He kept going. He wasn't going back there today. He got to his apartment, ready to fill his empty stomach with something only to find he was devoid of food.

Of course. He'd cleaned himself out with his last heat and hadn't gone grocery shopping since. He'd been eating out for the past week. And if he checked his bank account....

$10.43

And pay day wasn't for another three days. Steve was desperate. It was plenty of money if he went to the convenience store right outside his apartment. But the cashier there always gave him odd looks and he just didn't have the energy for it. He contemplated sending someone in to buy his stuff, but he wasn't feeling very trusting right now.

Which was how he ended up at the bar. The dollar store would've been an option last week, but it was a couple of miles away and his car was in the shop. He didn't even know what his plan was. Buy the cheapest drink and fill up on pretzels and nuts? It was why he was standing outside as the sun got lower, just feeling sorry for himself.

He just wished someone would take pity on him. Would see how hard he had been working and told him it was okay, he could take a break now and they'd take care of him.

Hell would probably freeze over first though.

Then the rain started and he couldn't waste time out here any longer. At least inside the bar, it was warm. Steve already wasn't looking forward to the walk home. What if it was still raining? He couldn't afford to get sick right now. He sat at the only empty seat at the bar and thought of the least pathetic way to ask for a cheap drink when something warm came over him.

It smelled of ginger and cinnamon and for a moment, Steve was drowning in it when he heard the owner of the jacket try to apologize for it and then take it back. Instinctively, Steve held onto it tighter.

"No, no, it's fine. I was cold. Thank you."

The alpha next to him said something about a boyfriend that Steve barely registered but figured out by context what he was asking.

"Don't have one." He shook his head and then actually looked the alpha up and down. Curly hair spilled over his shoulders and he looked smaller without the leather jacket that was currently over his own shoulders. There was something oddly familiar about him. Like he'd seen that face on his social media feed or something.

When Steve asked, he realized he was talking to a guy in Dustin's favorite band. He felt like an idiot. This guy was probably used to starstruck fans bowing at his feet and here Steve was, just treating him like a nobody. But try as he might, Steve couldn't pretend like he was some big deal, even imagining Dustin's lecture on proper celebrity sighting etiquette later didn't change things.

Then the alpha, Eddie his name was Eddie, introduced himself and then asked for his name, tacking on a compliment at the end of the question.

"Steve. But I also answer to 'handsome'." He couldn't help being a little hungry for some positive attention right now.

Then Eddie asked a very unsubtle question about Dustin, insinuating that he was some kind of boyfriend and Steve wanted to laugh. The little kid he had babysat that had been like the pain in the ass brother he never asked for definitely wasn't that. And he let Eddie know that.

"Dustin is definitely not my boyfriend. I'm completely untethered." He didn't know why he said it like that. He might as well have spread his legs and held up a sign that said 'open for business'. This guy was a literal rock star, he must have lustful groupies throwing themselves at him all the time. Wording it like that absolutely wasn't Steve intention. Even if his scent was so comforting and intoxicating.

Then the bartender urged them to order something and Steve felt his empty stomach drop. Eddie insisted on buying him a drink and Steve really wished he had the money for it because there was no way he was paying in any other way. And if Eddie was expecting that, he'd just as soon go back out into the rain, leaving the warm jacket behind.

"You don't have to pay me like that. I take many forms of compensation. Including sparkling dialogue with gorgeous men."

Steve searched his face for a bluff, any sign of dishonesty. But he saw none.

"Really?"

"Really."

So Steve ordered just as Eddie asked him something about fishing and clearly this night was not going to go the way he planned.

--------------------------

Eddie was halfway through his second drink and knee deep in a conversation about the pros and cons of fishing compared to hunting. Apparently Steve's dad took him out hunting before he presented and afterward, his grandfather took him out on a couple of fishing trips.

"One just seems more fair, is all I'm saying", Steve said, still nursing his first drink. "One has you sneaking up on an unsuspecting animal. The other one you're just luring them. Fish know what they're getting into. Deer don't until they're already in your sights."

"You think very highly of fish intelligence", Eddie noted.

"I once had a year long beef with a friend's pet fish. Long story. But fish are smarter than they look." Then Steve's stomach growled. Very loudly. Embarrassingly loud.

"I don't know about you, but all this fish talk is making me hungry", Eddie said. "Can I buy you dinner?"

"I suppose I've got about twenty bucks worth of more conversation in me", Steve smiled, appreciating what Eddie was offering.

Eddie paid the tab and Steve put his arms into the jacket, then remembered Eddie might want it since it was cold outside. "Did you want-"

"Keep it on. I run hot anyway and we just need to make it to my car." That was a lie, Eddie had the circulation of a failing newspaper but he liked the look of Steve in his jacket too much to give it up. And the rain had stopped so now it was just damp and cold outside.

Steve thought he should feel wary of getting into a car with a stranger, especially a famous one. But he had his phone on him and Eddie was taking him to a place with a lot of people, so it was fine. Eddie put his sunglasses on as they went inside and asked for a table in the back, which the person up front gladly accommodated.

"Not to toot my own horn", Eddie said as they were seated. "But I can never tell when and where I'll get recognized. And I don't want any tabloids tomorrow morning." Because right now, Steve didn't just look like some random guy that Eddie was wining and dining. Right now, he looked like he belonged to Eddie.

"Got any funny stories?", Steve asked.

Eddie grinned and rolled his shoulders as he got comfortable in his seat. "Well, there was the one time I was literally in a tv studio about to be interviewed with the band and someone thought I was the boom guy."

"If I was dressing up on Halloween as a boom guy, I think I'd put on this general look", Steve said, gesturing to Eddie's whole body.

"And there was the time I got recognized while at a fabric store. I'm standing in line, basket full of sewing supplies and a bunch of floral fabrics, and this woman in her sixties asks for my autograph."

"Aren't you in a metal band?"

"Yeah and some of our most hardcore fans are women over 40", Eddie said. "Don't underestimate 'em."

A waiter came by and took their orders and they kept talking. Steve couldn't believe how badly his day had started because now it felt like he was flying above the clouds. Eddie actually seemed interested in what he had to say. And Steve was constantly thrown by the different directions Eddie took the conversation. From fishing, to getting recognized stories, to horrible customers, to the perils of sailing a boat.

"Never?"

"I remember going once as a kid and was scared shitless the whole time", Steve said. "Whoever decided it was okay for me to watch Titanic in kindergarten really messed me up."

"So besides that one time you've never been on a boat?", Eddie asked.

"My parents tried getting me on a yacht once and I started hyperventilating on the dock. I stayed on the boardwalk", Steve said. Just one of the many ways he'd been a disappointment.

After the meal, Eddie offered to drive Steve home. He wanted to. But after drinks and food and talking to Eddie for so long about nothing at all, Steve felt cautious. Had his guard lowered? If he let Eddie see him to his door, would Eddie be expecting something? What made him even more hesitant was that he might let Eddie get away with it.

He was handsome and charming and had alleviated Steve's worries for a few hours. He was even going home with some leftovers in a box. For a second, Steve wondered if food was all it took.

"Hey, look, I understand if you don't want some strange alpha taking you home. What about if I just order you a ride?", Eddie suggested.

"You can take me home", Steve said quickly. "Just don't expect any dessert."

Before leaving, Eddie excused himself to use the restroom and Steve used that opportunity to do something that was probably really stupid. It was certainly pointless. But he could take a risk every now and then. He tore off a piece of the menu and used a pen at the podium up front and that was how Eddie found him.

"Ready to go?"

"Ready", Steve smiled.

The car ride was a little more quiet, both of them digesting both the food and what had happened tonight. Meeting a stranger that you clicked with, it didn't happen every day. Steve gave him his address and Eddie pulled up to the building.

"You should walk me up", Steve said. "Make sure I get there safe."

"Y-yeah, I can do that", Eddie stuttered, struggling with his seatbelt while Steve was already out of the car.

Eddie followed him to his apartment, glad now for the chill outside because otherwise he'd be sweating watching Steve's ass for so long as he walked in front of him.

"Well, this is me", Steve said.

"I had a great time tonight", Eddie said.

Steve laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Can we come up with anymore first date lines?"

"Hmm, how's about I'd love to do this again soon?", Eddie smiled, leaning in a bit.

"I'd like that." Steve took Eddie's jacket off his shoulders.

"What if I want you to wear it for our next date?", Eddie asked.

"If you want me to wear this, you better scent it properly", Steve goaded.

Eddie pinned him against the door and smashed their mouths together. His jacket was trapped between their bodies. Steve let out a soft sound and brought a hand to Eddie's cheek.

"We can't go on a second date until the first one is over", Steve said when he pulled back. He curled a lock of Eddie's hair around his finger just because he couldn't help it.

"Your number?", Eddie asked, licking at Steve's lips.

"Check your jacket", Steve breathed.

Eddie didn't take his eyes off Steve as he went through his jacket pocket and found what Steve had been scribbling on earlier. It was a ripped piece of the menu. And it had Steve's number on it.

Part 2

If I had a nickel for every time I steddified a Marilyn Monroe song I'd have two nickels.

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #okay maybe dont expect all the parts to be this long tho LOL

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 7 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 4

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

We didn’t do hot Glenn summer for him to LOSE. Spoilers for his story but MORE PROPAGANDA FOR YOU:

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Listen, I don't know this other character but I've seem some good arguments for her However Consider Glenn Close winning through no effort of his own in a bullshit way despite being a dick is the most in character thing ever. He leveled up three times and got a crab mech, we GOT to give him this win, it's fitting

I don’t regulate if minors follow me or not bc I’m a pretty chill space but I hope the world is aware that’s the only reason I haven’t been downright nasty about Glenn close. I’m down bad. I’m NOT in the boat of ��Glenn isn’t sexy but I want him to win bc it’s my fandom’. I would estimate I have 200+ drawings of Glenn on my phone that AREN’T safe for work. Way more that are. Where did they come from? That’s MY business. But I tell you this fact to assure you- Glenn IS sexy. I’m not voting to represent my fandom I’m voting out of TRUTH AND LOVE. IF YOU DON’T GET IT YOU DON’T GET IT!!! I just think my level of feral over this man is more powerful than y’all realize. If you don’t get his sex appeal that’s okay, but don’t doubt that this is my truth.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. Do you think pickman needs this to feel good about herself? Can she not accept a loss for the sake of a pathetic father? Can she shake hands with the minivan fucker and his human gun and just take the L on this one? He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

Is somehow the hot twin between her and Taako

Lup Bluejeans (née... Taaco? Tacco? Taco? Tako? who tf knows this is why I'm going with her husband's last name. doylistly she gets her last name from her brother whose last name is given as "Taako again but spelled differently"): Hot, funny, smart and undead. Is there anything else you could want in a woman?? Well, in case there is: she's also canonically trans

LUP IS THE HOTTEST. VOTE LUP.

#Round 4 #Glenn Close #Lup #Lup TAZ #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies #Glenn Close DnDads #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Balance

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nburkhardt · 9 months

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Was at Disneyland today and had a thought:

Disney cast member Steve being the one to escort Corroded Coffin & family around the parks. He’s trying very hard to stay professional and not give into Eddie Munson’s flirting.

He manages to make it the whole day with it, even if he really wants to. Steve isn’t ashamed to admit that he finds Eddie hot (he especially loves the pet names that fly out of the man’s mouth “hello honey pie!”)

The real problem is the next day, because of course the band has a multiple day pass. Normally Steve switches between jobs/areas, he was supposed to be working with Robin at Haunted Mansion, even already wearing the uniform when he gets told that he was requested by the band (more importantly: Eddie requested him)

Luckily he has another uniform with him and changes, apologies to Robin about her having to work with Keith again before heading to meet up with the band again.

But at the meet up point, he finds only Eddie there. With a lousy excuse for the other guys not being there. (they didn’t want to spend another day watching Eddie flirt, they went to Knott’s Berry Farm instead)

Steve is still professional though, because he doesn’t want to lose his job (Robin would kill him, especially since she keeps getting paired with Keith when Steve’s somewhere else) So, instead of out right flirting, he does give change up the normal gimmick/speech and at the end of the day, pretends not to see Eddie slip his number to him.

(It comes out months later on twitter. Fans go wild and try finding Steve at the parks not realizing he and Robin no longer work there. The two of them being folded into Corroded Coffin’s PR team instead.)

… please don’t ask me what cast members do when they escort people around. I’ve never done that. I just saw a few groups of people with one and thought “that would be a fun fic idea” and well, I’m heading home now and decided to write this out hahaha. If anyone wants they can use this!

Taglist under the cut! (Also in the replies)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @strangersteddierthings

#fic idea #steddie #steddie fic #Steve x Eddie #stranger things #nburkhardt writes #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #I just think it would be fun :)

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wlntrsldler · 2 months

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I keep imagining the first time Luke and Mr. D met after Luke's hickeys/scratches went viral

LMFAOOOOO ANON THIS IS SENDING ME

here is how i think that conversation played out (suggestive content ahead):

"shit, five star, your dad is calling me," luke mumbled, eyes wide as he looked down at his phone. "he never calls me."

connor snicked from his bunk in the tour bus, "well, given that the whole internet is talking about you right now after the show you gave them last night, i'm not surprised."

"ha!" travis exclaimed, sitting up on his bed. "put it on speaker. i wanna hear him yell at you."

you rolled your eyes, "he's not gonna yell at you."

luke turned to you with hopeful eyes, "you think so?"

"well, he's probably not gonna yell at you," you scrunched your face up, rethinking your words, "like 55% chance he won't yell at you."

"i don't like those odds, babe."

"answer the fucking phone, luke."

luke clicked the green button on his screen, chewing on the nail of his thumb. he rolled his eyes, pressing the speaker button as travis kept egging him on. chris and clarisse opened the privacy curtain of chris' bunk to listen in on the drama.

"hey, mr. d," luke cleared his throat, ignoring the quiet giggles from the boys when his voice cracked. "what's up?"

"is my daughter with you?"

"say no," you whispered. so you were wrong about the odds. your dad was 100% about to yell at luke and you selfishly didn't want to get your ass handed to you just yet. you were going to avoid your dad's calls for as long as possible.

"uhh... no?"

"oh jesus fucking christ," you sighed, smacking your palm against your forehead, "that was soooo convincing."

you heard your dad type on his laptop before shutting it. there was some background noise that subsided after you heard the shut of a door. it seemed like your dad went into his office to get some privacy.

"hey, kid," your dad said, no doubt addressing you now.

"hey, dad," you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, leaning down to speak into the mic of luke's phone. "how are you?"

"don't start with me," he said, "would it kill you both to not do whatever it is you do that results in those pictures? pictures that are all over the internet by the way!"

a snide remark was on the tip of luke's tongue, because yes, it would kill him to not do the things that resulted in the pink marks on his neck and the healing scratches on his back, but that didn't seem like the right response.

"dad, you never had an issue with them taking their shirts off during shows before. and luke has gone out on stage like that before."

luke cringed, remembering one too many instances where he'd gone out on stage with hickeys all over his neck. it felt like a lifetime ago now, as if ever since you walked into his life that past version of him was someone he didn't recognize anymore. he much preferred remembering the name of the girl who left him marked up, especially preferring that it was only you who did that to him.

"that was before he started dating my daughter!" he replied, "i don't want to know anything about your relationship, but i'm in an unfortunate situation where i happen to manage the career of your boyfriend's band so i have to deal with it sometimes. so for the love of god, please please, stop."

"i'm so sorry mr. d," luke mumbled, "i completely forgot about them and by the time i realized, it was too late."

you could practically see your dad pulling at his hair, a habit he had when he was in stressful or awkward situations. he didn't speak for a good thirty seconds and then he sighed, "just keep your goddamn shirt on."

luke gulped, "got it."

when your dad ended the call, the entire bus erupted in laughter, including you. luke's face was as red as a tomato as he groaned and buried his head in his pillow. your shoulders shook as you giggled, laying on top of him. he instantly turned his body to wrap his arms around you.

"that wasn't so bad," you cooed, running your fingers through his curls, "and that was a shit apology, baby. you were smug as hell on stage when people pointed out the scratches."

"i wasn't thinking of the consequences of my actions," he said, "i was caught up watching people connect the dots that my girlfriend is not only hot but a fucking animal in be--"

"okay, that's our cue," travis cut off, closing his curtain. connor followed his head, popping in his airpods. clarisse sent you a wink before she disappeared behind the curtain with chris.

"i'll stop leaving hickeys on you," you kissed his face, enjoying how flustered he got. "but i can't promise too much on the scratches."

"i'm gonna stop taking my shirt off at shows, i think," he mused, toying with the hem of the shirt you wore. "i don't think i can take another surprise call from your dad. i think it took years off my life."

"your fans will be highly disappointed," you teased, leaning over to his ear, "but if you're gonna keep your shirt on, does that mean hickeys on your abs is fair game?"

luke licked his lips, tugging on his own curtain to give you two some privacy, "absolutely."

#frances replies #poisoned mercury chats #luke castellan x reader

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virtualluvr · 4 months

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Since Floyd canonically journals [written in the Brozone website], maybe something where his journal was left open accidentally and reader catches a glimpse of a page where he's gushing about them?? :3

FLOYD — TROLLS

BYEYYE sorry for disappearing, and for how short this is..i just wanted to feed u guys a lil smth smth

Floyd likes to spill his thoughts and many emotions into his journal. He finds it very relaxing and less embarrassing than telling someone, especially his brothers. (who would tease him..) he ALSO keeps it very private, putting a small lock on it to keep it from opening incase someone wants to read it.

He’s told you very few about it, he calls it ‘just a hobby’,,even though it looks super heavy and stacked..also how he hides it in his pod very well. So it was to your surprise (and his demise..>.>) when you found it wide open in his pod.

Maybe he was in a rush— no, he wouldn’t make such a silly mistake- You shook your head and looked around, a little suspicous if this was a trap or not. Nevertheless, you slowly approached the decorated book, a smile creeping on your face from excitement.

Your hands smoothed around the material, it was as heavy as you expected but not overly, the edges had a few scratches as if it was thrown around. Probably when he hides it. You quickly flipped through the pages, there were multiple writings about his day or random lyrics he wrote down with small doodles.

Although one page caught your eye.

The page had scattered hearts, swirls, and words written in pink ink. Floyd would definitely kill you if you read it…but hes not here.

“ i think i’ve come to realize my feelings for name. i’ve noticed how i care about them more than others, and how they’re always on my mind. they listen to me. they’re so...so kind and considerate. im always so nervous around them, maybe because their laugh is adorable, or because their smile is breathtaking. everything about them is perfect i could go on, maybe it could fill up my journal. ”

Your face felt as if it was on fire as you dropped the book in disbelief. When did your heart start beating faster?

The two of you had met after the band broke up, you listened to his frustrations and comforted him. Ever since you and Floyd were inseperable, always walking side by side, talking about anything and everything. So it was no surprise when you started to feel a different way about him.

As if on queue Floyd rushed in, his heart dropping when he saw your shocked expression and his journal laid on the floor. His throat was clogged, and he froze. His eyes trailed on the page it was open to, his breath hitching when be realized it was that one.

“name…I-” Floyd looked at the floor in shame, his arm smoothing on the other. Why did he leave it lying there in the first place?! And why did you—how did you even get in?

“I feel the same way Floyd. I actually think it’s cute how you described me. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy.” you quickly reacted, squeezing your fists and eyes shut.

“Oh thank god.”

@VIRTUALLUVR — dont copy my work, paste it, or steal !

#brozone x reader #fanfic #trolls #trolls 3 #trolls dreamworks #trolls x reader #brozone #trolls band together #trolls band together x reader #trolls fandom #floyd brozone #floyd x reader #trolls floyd

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asterias-record-shop · 10 months

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—𓆩[cufflinks (s.r.)]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[join the taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Husband! Spencer Reid x Wife! BAU Profiler! Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 1.4K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Spencer and a wedding ring never fit to you. The idea of marriage fit perfectly with him, but the idea of a band around his finger? No way. Instead, you both settled on cufflinks, both engraved with your initials and the latitude and longitude lines of where you both tied the knot. It wasn’t obvious though, not until a serial killer pointed it out.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - Cursing & foul language || mentions of sexual assault – not specific – please be wary || Y/F/I means your first initial idek || killer threatens Spencer through you || Spencer gets violent and angry || I think that’s it, let me know if you think any should be added!! ||

You didn’t have a problem with Spencer not wearing a ring, not one bit. He was always extremely open about how he rejected other women, always saying, ‘I’m married.’ to anyone who ever said anything to him. Besides, whoever paid enough attention could see how much he not only stared at you, but the way his hand would graze your waist when he went around you to write or pin something on the board.

At home or in public that was extremely far from the world of the BAU, he would wear a ring, the gold one engraved with the same thing – your initials, the lines of latitude and longitude, and as a bonus because it didn’t fit on the cufflinks, a line from your favorite poem engraved on the inner band.

On yours, besides the white gold band and your favorite gemstone encircled with diamonds, it had his favorite poem line engraved in the inner band as well. It was a later addition to your wedding ring, after your five year anniversary where he stole it and got it engraved for you.

This case though was different.

The killer was easily seen as misogynistic, especially in the way that he killed the women he did, specifically targeting married women and killing them after sexually assaulting them and leaving them in their bed before their husband woke up, or if he was gone.

This posed only one question – who was going to interview him?

There were different ways to go about this, you and JJ could go in as strong married women and tease him, or Matt and Spencer could go in as married men.

“JJ, Y/N – get ready to go in,” Emily says, inhaling as she stared at the man staring mindlessly at the two way glass. “We need to find out where Lucy is.”

“Got it,” you say, rubbing your wedding ring as you look over at JJ. “Ready?”

“Always,” she smiled, offering her hand for a fist bump before Spencer shook his head.

“I’ll go in.”

“What?” Emily paused, shaking her head. “No, you’re not-”

Spencer walked in before she could say anything else, quickly ordering Matt to follow him in as Spencer sat down in front of Ryan, the man they profiled to have been murdering these women after he killed his wife who cheated on him with his best friend, and best man at their wedding. Ryan’s eyes catch on Spencer who sat down in front of him, Matt standing and leaning against the two sided mirror.

“It was Agent Reid, correct-”

“Dr. Dr. Reid,” Spencer corrected, quickly fixing his cufflinks as Ryan’s eyes flashed to Matt and he smiled.

“My apologies. Dr. Reid. So, I see why they sent this… man in here, that shiny silver band on his finger, trying to intimidate me,” he moved to look at Reid. “But you… you don’t show obvious signs of being married.”

Spencer doesn’t break eye contact or move, that he could tell at least. “I’m not.”

Ryan smiles. “What’s her name?”

“Who’s name?”

“Your wife’s.”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“I don’t know if she’d like you rejecting the fact that you're married,” Ryan mocked him, copying his straightened form and interlacing his fingers. “Is she an agent?”

“How did it feel when your wife cheated on you with your best friend?” Reid’s question made Ryan’s face flash, Matt straightening slightly. “Must’ve hurt.”

“Not really.”

“Oh no? It didn’t hurt you enough to kill not only her but also your best friend and five other women who you thought resembled her? Women who were faithful to their husbands?” Reid leaned forward. “Unlike yours?”

Ryan swallowed. “None of them were faithful.”

“How so?” Matt finally spoke, Ryan smiling slightly.

“Does her name start with… Y/F/I?” Ryan tilted his head. “Was R the original first letter of her last name or did you change it?”

Reid tried not to react. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not married.”

“Is she an agent?”

“I’m not married.”

“Was she that H/C agent? She looks like my ex, I saw it the moment she came in busting down that door. It was kind of hot,” Ryan smirked, leaning forward. “Is she like that in bed, Dr. Reid? Or is she more submissive? You don’t look like the kind of guy that takes control, but damn would it be nice to see her beg-”

“The only thing that you’re going to hear begging is your own voice in prison when every man in there is passing you around like a toy,” Reid responded, tilting his head slightly. “Do you know where rapists stand on the totem pole, don’t you? And where you’re going… you’re going to be one of their bitches.”

Ryan’s smile falters as Reid smiles, tilting his head. “Where’s Lucy?”

“Who’s Lucy? I’m focused on that wifey of yours.”

“Could it be where you and your wife got married?” Reid asked, watching as Ryan’s eye twitched. That wasn’t hard.

Matt was already walking out as Spencer started to stand, Ryan leaning back in his chair. “Is your wife faithful, Dr. Reid?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reid responded, glaring. He knew you were faithful, going on being married almost eight years, sticking it out when he was arrested and through worse things like his addiction. “Those who cheat aren’t built for a relationship.”

“If she cheated, wouldn’t you kill her?!” Ryan sat up, attempting to force his wrists out of the handcuffs. “They were all cheaters, all of them!”

“My wife would never cheat.” Reid finally let the facade crack, slamming his hands down onto the desk. “Just because a woman cheated on a stupid, narcissistic, misogynistic man like you!”

“I should’ve hunted her first,” Ryan snarled, glaring up at Reid as he laughed. “Shoulda gone for the pretty wife of Dr. Reid-”

Reid’s actions were quick, his hand flying forward to slam Ryan’s face into the metal table, repeatedly bashing him into the table before Alvez came running in, wrapping his arms around Reid’s waist and dragging him out of the room.

“Reid, Reid!” You rushed forward, quickly running forward to cup his face. “Spence, baby, calm down. Calm down.”

It was as though you snapped him out of a trance, his body going stiff as your hands softly held his face, thumbs softly rubbing along his skin as you looked back at Luke. “Thank you, Luke.”

Luke let him go as you quickly hold Spencer’s shoulder, pushing your hands down his arms to hold his hands and pull him to one of the private rooms, cupping his face as he immediately leaned into your chest. He inhaled sharply as he kissed your neck. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I am so so sorry. I hated… I hated thinking of you with him… him touching you, anyone touching you other than me.”

“No one will,” you whisper back, pulling away to cup his face once again and press a firm kiss to his lips. “I’m yours, Spencer Reid. Forever and always, no matter what. You see this ring? I’m yours.”

He inhaled, nodding as he leaned forward to kiss you softly, humming. “I think… I want a ring instead of cufflinks.”

His words make you giggle, shaking your head. “You sure? I can get you more cufflinks.”

He laughed slightly, nodding. “Okay. I like cufflinks.”

“Then cufflinks you shall have, my love. And I’ll add something to that ring you have at home, too.”

He smiled, nodding as he leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to your lips. “I’ll hold you to that, Mrs. Reid.”

You giggled, nodding as you pressed another kiss to his lips. “You better.”

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪 𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪 𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪 𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪 𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪 𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪 𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪 𓆩[@c78r]𓆪 𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪 𓆩[@copypastedaphne]𓆪 𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪 𓆩[@xoxomoonlightbabe]𓆪 𓆩[@ineedmentalhelp123]𓆪

#asterias-record-shop #spencer reid #criminal minds spencer #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem! agent! reader

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melrosing · 24 days

Note

the thing that annoys me the most about the bullying claim among the stark sisters is that they talk about how much it affects Arya that she thinks she’s ugly and such and like she does, but she’s so much more worried about being “bad” she killed a boy. She’s also going through poverty and war and starving and being introduced to cults/bands of “justice” by murder

but nooooo she totally is more affected by being called horse face despite being compared to SOOOOOO MANY PRETTY PEOPLE AND THAT MEANS SHES GOOD (never mind that good looking=good person should NOT BE YOUR BASIS)

I think most people, and especially girls, know exactly how it feels to worry about your appearance and feel ugly and unattractive, and I get that this is a particular pain for Arya, who apparently has never been called pretty except by her dad one time in AGOT, in an offhanded comparison to her aunt Lyanna. I don't think attractiveness is the most important thing to validate in any child, but I do think that it is good and nice to affirm to your child that they have their own beauty, so that they can then negotiate their relationship with that word from a safer place in adulthood.

It's not about telling your child they don't look a certain way (e.g. no good telling Brienne she's a normal height and her nose is hardly crooked at all), but that the way they look is something unique to them and something they should take pride in, regardless of what others say. Like I think it's an OOC moment in the show, but I think it's sweet when Olenna tells Brienne she looks 'marvellous' or something. She's not saying 'you look like bella hadid', she's saying 'I love the way you look!' to a woman who has received nothing but insults (despite looking like fuckin. Gwendoline Christie lmao). that is nice. it's not the most important compliment anyone can receive, but it embraces divergence as positive.

as it goes though, Arya is a pretty girl and it's just weird that the adults found countless compliments for Sansa and none for Arya. and that's why I find it so bizarre that everyone wants to pin Arya's self-esteem issues on Sansa, a prepubescent child!! like, would Arya have taken these insults so hard if Cat had stepped in and said 'don't listen, you're a lovely girl and your father says you look just like your aunt Lyanna! sansa i am telling you off for calling people names'. children are always going to call each other mean names! it is one thing that is practically guaranteed to happen in any sibling relationship, and anyone who says otherwise is an only child or lying.

but it is much harder for a child to manage that hurt if they're getting called those names, and society seems to be reifying to truth of them at every turn! Septa Mordane is calling her ugly! Cat is calling her a mess! Ned has never complimented her till AGOT! etc! she has never received a compliment before! so how on earth can you say 'and Arya's self-esteem issues can all be traced back to the playground bickering between she and Sansa and Jeyne' when Arya is obviously getting the same message from what seem like far more authoritative sources! is it not worse that those sources are all complimenting Sansa all the time and never Arya? does that not make it worse when Sansa acts like a child about it? like!!

and yeah I agree that there are other more painful insecurities Arya is struggling with. I do think at least part of the reason that this argument keeps coming up in fandom is that people keep trying to claim that Arya's story is similar to Brienne's, in that she IS ugly according to society's standards and that's ok! which isn't true, Arya is canonically a pretty kid with a dirty face and unbrushed hair. that's all it is. so if we could just accept that, there'd be no excuse for the insistence that this is an important aspect of Arya's story.

because it isn't. like im sorry but the ugly duckling means nothing when there are plenty of people who don't grow up to be swans. they get called ugly as children, and they get called ugly as adults. look at Brienne: she has suffered far, far worse prejudice as a result of her appearance in childhood, and she doesn't get the catharsis of growing up pretty to show them all how wrong they were. Brienne has been treated like a fucking monster for how she looks, all of her life. this is a character for whom her appearance IS actually an important theme, and it will be meaningful to see her realise it's a strength, and find love etc. I'm sorry but Arya growing up to be beautiful doesn't mean shit to me lol. I fully accept it's canon, but it is not a meaningful story beat, in a story with people like Tyrion, Brienne and Sam. Arya's story has so many more fascinating themes about identity, trauma, justice, war, friendship and family. if Arya was pretty all along, why should I care?

#ask #asoiaf #arya stark

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waklman · 1 year

Text

Chatterbox

prompt: bob helps his teacher assistant girlfriend get her mind off work.

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni. fingering, oral (f receiving), slight size kink and dumbification if you squint.

a/n: dont ask me why im releasing one-shots before i even finish chapter one, because i dont know either okay. but anyway, here is a peak at bob and honeybee :).

word count: 2.3k

college au, frat boy au

the after party masterlist.

Bob never had a problem with how chatty you could get.

If there was one thing Bob was grateful for, it was his girlfriend's ability to fill in an awkward silence when needed. The blond was certain he could listen to you talk all day, running that pretty mouth of yours while he sat there nodding attentively. And it was just a plus that you looked so enamoring, eyes glittering in excitement and hands animatedly gesturing as you spoke.

However, Bob did have a problem with how chatty you got about your TA tasks—especially when you were supposed to be forgetting about them for now. The end of the semester always came with a bigger pile of work, but today was a Saturday. Yet, you're still thinking about school.

For once, the rowdy frat house was empty with everyone visiting home for spring break. It was a perfect opportunity for Bob to finally get you out of the grayed out dorm room you trapped yourself in, day in and day out. So, when he made the move to invite you over, he had every intention to ease your stress, hence the dress code of comfy attire only.

But this afternoon, it looks like Bob has to do more than just lay stomach down between the plush of your thighs, glasses set off to the side, letting you mindlessly braid his hair, and mindlessly run your mouth.

“Does he think I have no life?” Your pointed complaints are still ongoing, leaving you ignorant to the subtle movement below you.

While your brewing anger is very much directed at Professor Simpson, it’s currently being spewed towards Bob’s ceiling fan—which can do nothing to argue back—just how you like it. If looks could kill, the mean glare you’re giving the motionless object suspended over his bed would be on living its last day.

The remembrance of your professor’s threatening email to you about getting grades out, completely distracts you from the braid of blond hair in your hands, slowly losing its structure as your boyfriend shifts his weight under you.

Again, you let out an annoyed breath. “Five days of my spring break to grade some last minute assignment he just—conveniently forgot to mention to me?!”

You’re so lost in your story telling that you’re not even registering the hot breath dusting over your exposed tummy, and the gradual rise of your shirt as Bob uses his nose to drag the fabric upwards, ghosting his lips over your navel.

Bob shakes his head against you, mildly entertained by your cluelessness.

“Remind me to never work with the english department again,” you huff, hands now curling into fist at your sides, regretting your decision to assist with that course over the others available to you this semester.

“‘Cause now I have over eighty research papers to check ove–” With a light pull of his teeth, Bob loosens the drawstring of your sweatpants.

The sound of the thick cord coming undone from the knot is muted compared to your tangent, but your ears catch the noise, your stomach feels it, and your mouth clamps shut immediately.

Blinking at the ceiling dumbly, you open your mouth to say his name, but it just snaps shut again.

After a beat of silence, there’s two sets of fingers hooked into the loose band of your sweats next, giving your pants a suggestive tug.

Bob makes sure to keep his patience at bay, wanting to soak in your flustered state, just a bit more. Because, honestly, he would’ve ripped these sweats off you long ago if you weren’t so cute—already so meek and tiny under him.

With your eyes still refusing to meet his very own, you miss him running an intending gaze over the underside of your jaw, and making note of the bead of sweat running down your cheek. While you were the one mostly making him nervous in your relationship, it was a nice change of pace to inflict it back onto you once in a while. You were so obliging too.

Bob lowly hums, eyes dropping to the strappy pink lace sitting on your hip bone, revealed by his slight yank of your sweats. “Honeybee..” he commands your attention. “You gonna let me see these cute little panties you got on for me?”

Bashfully, you lift your butt off the mattress, letting him pull it off your waist. Because, yes, you will let him. Though, you’re sure they’re thoroughly soaked through at this point.

“There’s my good girl,” he sings, deep voice vibrating through his chest, pleased by your obedience.

If you weren’t very aware that his head was currently stationed between your legs, you would’ve clenched your thighs together at his raspy tone.

Finally, you suck in a nervous breath, redirecting your attention down to your boyfriend who’s starting to make his way down your legs—dragging down the thick fabric, leaving wet open mouthed kisses to the flesh of your thighs, to the side of your calves, and finally to your ankle.

Near the foot of the bed, he sits up momentarily to tear your pants off your feet. They go flying into his open closet. “B-Bobby,” your breath shallows at his sudden forwardness.

“What? Nothin’ to complain about anymore?” He quietly teases, a faint smirk playing on his lips, laying back between your ankles.

“Well…I—not really. No it’s just–,” you stammer, rubbing the wet pads of your fingers together.

“That’s what I thought,” he cuts you off.

Keeping his eyes locked onto yours, Bob makes his way back up your naked legs. All you can do is blink at him, arousal sitting heavy at your pulsating core. He almost looks unrecognizable. The baby blue eyes you’re so used to seeing are casted over in a thick, dark, cloud of lust.

With him settled between your thighs, Bob’s eyes snap down to your slick, leaking through the flowery lace pattern in front of him. “So fuckin’ wet for me honey,” he marvels, licking a slow, flat stripe to your covered folds, with a slight pressure against you, coating his tastebuds in your arousal. The tip of his tongue flicks your bud, teasingly, as he moves off.

“Please,” you thoughtlessly whine, heat blooming through your chest.

Without so much of a warning, Bob roughly tears off your panties with one hand, pocketing it for himself.

You raise your voice. “No! That was—” Again, he cuts you off.

In an instant, his front is pressed to yours, pushing you into the mattress, meeting you in a desperate, sloppy kiss. Eyes fluttering close, you return the eagerness, letting him swallow every small noise that sears through your throat. Then, a fuzz takes over your brain, eyes scrunching in pleasure as his knee nudges your exposed clit. The scratchy fabric of his plaid pants drives you on, more than you expected it to.

You can’t help but to buck your hips, chasing the feeling. But the moment you start a steady grind against him, Bob stills you, pressing a firm hand on your hip, ripping his mouth from you at the realization that you’re starting to get yourself off.

At the loss of his knee, a small whine escapes your lips, and your glossy eyes blink open again.

There’s a light threat resting on his tongue, but it immediately dies at the sight of you, pupils shot, underneath him.

Even with the steady hold of your lower half, you’re shaking as you struggle to remain still for him. The pinch of his eyebrows loosen, eyes dropping down to the heave of your chest under his t-shirt. But what finally does it, is the way his hand fully swallows the side of your hip. Experimentally, he stretches his fingers against you, scanning the amount of skin he covers with the move.

Biting your lip nervously, you start to pathetically plead with him again. “I’m sorry. I–I’ll be good. I–Please. Will be so good for you.”

He knows he should’ve held out longer, but for some reason—he’s spurred on to get his hands on you again.

In a matter of seconds, he dips back down, placing bites on your sweaty neck. You’re so sure it’s punishment for trying to ride his knee, because he’s leaving them in spots he knew would be hard to hide.

The hand that was previously keeping you steady, extends down to your swollen folds, forcing a pitched whine from your throat as he toys your clit. “Oh–Ah–F-Fuck,” you moan, clamping one hand around the back of his neck, as the other scrunches the sheet below you.

Dipping his thumb down to your dripping entrance, he collects your slick, before coating your bundle of nerves with it. Then, Bob bites down harshly on your collarbone, continuing to draw tight, uniformed circles as you mewl from the precision.

It’s almost heartless, the way his pointer and middle finger curl into you next, roughly working against your walls that instinctively tighten around him. You're glad no one's home, because you couldn’t be bothered to stifle the shaky moans and mindless string of pleas that falls from your lips, begging him for more. Because it just feels too good. But, even if some of his house-mates were present, you're not too sure if you could stay quiet.

"That good, huh?" He licks over one of the marks he's been littering across your skin.

Bob’s mouth pulls into a pleased smirk against the side of your neck, letting you chase his hand, hips snapping off the mattress as you soak him down to his wrist. With his other hand, Bob’s palm travels up your bunched up shirt, giving your left breast a quick squeeze before rolling the hardened bud between two fingers.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs in your ear, putting more pressure on your swollen clit, working in unison with the unrelenting drag of his fingers inside you. All you can do is blabber, brows knitted in pleasure—too caught up in the building knot in your stomach. “I—I want—” You careen off the mattress again, rolling against his drenched hand.

“What is it?” He clicks his tongue at your incoherent response, fucking his fingers into you harder.

In response, another jumble of unintelligible sentences is pushed out of you. “Want my mouth on that pretty pussy? Is that it?”

The palm under your shirt slips downward, as he removes himself from the crook of your neck, trailing down to your sopping core—all while keeping the bruising pace of his hand against you, eyes glued to the glossy sheen coating his entire forearm. It’s quick, the way he swaps from his thumb to his tongue, suctioning it around your clit, giving it all of his attention.

You’re not even sure you’re breathing anymore. There’s a burn rippling through your lungs as your jaw hangs open in a silent moan, unable to grapple the feeling of him groaning loudly against you.

With your orgasm growing in the pit of your stomach Bob pushes you closer to it, adding a third finger, splitting you open and hitting you at the exact spot that gets your thighs to clench around his head, muffling his ears. With the confirmation that you’re close, his eyes snap shut—lapping at you with such vigor that the intensity finally sends you over the edge.

The orgasm hits like a strong wave, washing over your trembling body as it racks every part of you. You're so sure, you felt your bones shake inside you. Underneath you, Bob slowly removes himself from your sensitive core, sweetly pressing his lips to your inner thigh, murmuring praise with each soft kiss.

You suck in a much-needed breath of air, trying to focus your vision. At the moment, Bob has two ceiling fans overlapping over each other.

“I–I don’t even care about the essays anymore,” you confess. How could you when your boyfriend ate you out like his life depended on it?

Tucking your chin, you curiously look down at him. With your wetness completely coating half his face, leading down to his bobbing Adam’s apple—he lightly laughs. He looks that good, and he has the audacity to laugh, causing your cheeks to heat up—as if you aren’t half naked in front of him.

You’ve always had trouble hiding your fluster when he smiled at you like that—So you’re certain, he can see how it’s affecting you.

“That was my intention, Honeybee,” he rises to sit his knees, gently scooping you into a sitting position.

The oversized tee drops down your upper body as you sit up in front of him. You shouldn’t be—but you’re embarrassed to feel his sticky hand on the small of your back as he holds you up. “I love you, but you gotta give yourself a break. I can listen to you all day, swear it. I just—don’t like seeing you stress yourself out for no reason.”

He kisses your forehead, almost as if he's implanting the reminder there. Bob then gives your back an affectionate rub, prompting your lips to twitch, a tell-tale sign they’re about to wobble next.

Biting down on your bottom lip to stop yourself, you lean forward, wrapping your weak arms around his neck. “I love you so much. Don’t deserve you,” you profess, brows knitted together—hit with the random urge to cry.

The only response you ever got from your incessant ranting were snappy remarks, telling you to shut up or go into another room if you were gonna talk to yourself. But here you are, in the arms of the first person to ever admit that they don’t mind it. On top of that, he even loves you—caring enough to voice his concerns about your habit of rambling, which only resulted in a build up of unwanted anxiety.

Bob softens, pulling you closer to him, petting the top of your head. “You deserve me,” he assures you. “And you deserve a bath too, with me,” he adds on.

You quietly sniffle. “And cuddles.”

“How could I forget,” he scolds himself jokingly, drawing a giggle from you. At that, his mouth breaks out in a smile. “Then you can catch me up on the stuff you were tellin’ me about last week. You haven’t told me what happened after Professor Benjamin was caught with Bradley’s uncle.”

“Oh! Right. So when I walked in on them…” Bob listens intently, coaxing you off his mattress, laughing at your—maybe too detailed—description of what you saw. Once you’re both inside the bathroom, you move onto your opinions and theories next. Bob leans in close to your seated figure on the bathtub ledge, letting you talk into his ear, tuning out the loud bath water shooting out the faucet.

His eyes widen, pulling back in surprise at your theory. “No way!”

“Yes, way!” You burst out in laughter, grabbing onto his shirt as he joins you. He makes sure to cradle your head so it doesn’t hit the sink by the tub. The sound of the running water can barely be heard over the obnoxious cries of laughter that come next.

After the bath, the rest of the day is spent with you playing with his hair as you stream through your gossip, updating your attentive boyfriend on what he missed out on. And he enjoys every second of it.

So, it just stamps it down further, that Bob never had a problem with how chatty you got.

note: thank you for reading, seeing that i'm struggling a bit to put something out for this series, i decided to put this out for now! :) as always, thank you for reading and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @blueoorchid @queen-of-elves @cherrylipgloss-baby @purplevortexx @goosterroose @floralfloyd @doggo-and-goosey @chicomonks @maplesyurp07 @grxcisxhy-wp @anna1523 @laylaskywalker

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fic #bob x reader #tgm smut #tgm fic #bob floyd au

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mangomonk · 9 months

Text

i caught myself

↳ summary: remus goes to a coffee shop for the first time ↳ content: fluff, oblivious idiots x idiots, coffee shop au, rock band!muggle ↳ a/n: i wanted to write something fun and i've been listening to too much of my punk rock playlists from when i was 15. feel very free to listen to "i caught myself" by paramore (or any paramore song) while reading..! i love portrayals of remus as an earnest loser where the reader/sirius is ridiculously infatuated with his endearingly awkward ways. in other news, i've given up on using 'y/n,' it killed me every time i had to type it so i just chose a random name, feel free to make a mental edit to 'y/n' if you're more comf with that.

It's rush hour when she first sees him. She almost doesn't — it's just her and her coworker today and her eyes are only moving from the cash register's buttons to each cup as she hastily scrawls names and orders onto the plastic.

"Hi, what can I get for you?" She asks half-distractedly as she finishes writing Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino before sliding it over to her coworker with an apologetic look. Frappes are the worse to make, and it doesn't help that the line is nearly to the door now. She almost doesn't look up but the silence to her question is a little too long, so Winnie darts a quick look up, hoping to see no one standing there.

What she's not expecting to see is a man with wide brown eyes and equally brown hair squinting at the menu above her head. Winnie thinks he's the most good-looking man she's ever seen. As she tries to recap the Sharpie, she stabs her own hand. "Shit," she mutters automatically.

"Sorry?" The ridiculously good-looking man asks politely, his gaze flickering from the menu to her. His eyes are the same color as caramelized sugar and Winnie thinks he looks just as sweet as she watches him pull at the frayed collar of his knitted jumper.

"Nothing, nothing," Winnie says with a dismissive hand as she puts on her best customer-service-smile. "What can I get you today?"

His brows furrow as he turns his gaze back to the menu. "What—" he begins, drawing out the word slowly. Winnie takes his hesitation to steal another appreciative glance at him — he's tall, his frame somewhere between lean and lanky, though it's hidden by a jumper that's clearly been knitted to be a few sizes too large for extra comfort. "—would you recommend?"

"Well, what do you normally like?" Winnie asks, casting a glance behind him. As much as she'd love to talk to this cute stranger for the rest of her shift, the line has started to wrap around.

The man rakes a hand through his hair, tousling already-tousled waves of brown. He looks sheepish and a little panicked. "I've never really had coffee before," he admits. A little strange, but Winnie's not one to judge, especially when he's looking at her with deer-in-the-headlight eyes.

"How about I get you my favorite drink then?" She suggests, already reaching for the sharpie and another cup. It's a trick she's learned from working in the coffee shop for the past few months — customers are less likely to be unhappy with their surprise drinks if they think it's your favorite drink.

The man nods, his shoulders sagging with apparent relief. Matcha latte, she scribbles before looking up at him again. "Can I get a name?"

"My name?" He repeats, looking dumbfounded as if she had just asked for his number.

She lifts the cup and shakes it a little to draw his attention to it. "For your order."

"Remus," he says, straightening. He clears his throat. "Remus Lupin."

"Got it," she says as she writes it down. Remus Lupin. She's never had a customer give her a full name before, but Winnie doesn't have time to ponder it as she slides the cup to her coworker. "That'll be $4.50."

He fishes out a $10 and when she tries to hand back the change, he shakes his head with a soft, polite smile.

"Come again," she calls after him, pleased, before turning back to the monstrous line that had managed to form behind him. "I can help the next customer."

— — — — —

The next time she sees him, it's just her behind the counter. Since the rush died down an hour earlier, she's been leaning over the counter squinting at an eight count that she can't quite get right. When the door jingles, Winnie puts down her pencil and moves back behind the register.

"Hi! What can I get for you today?" She asks before she properly looks up. It's the fluffy-haired man from last week. Today he's wearing a scarlet and gold jumper bunched at his wrists and slacks the same brown as his eyes and hair. She doesn't recognize the lion emblem embroidered on his chest — it doesn't match any of the mascots of the nearby universities. When he unwraps his scarf, she can see that his cheeks are flushed red from the cold. It's a good look on him. "Cold outside?"

"Getting there," he says with a soft sigh.

"I can't wait," she says conversationally. "I love autumn."

"Hm," he says, ending the conversation rather abruptly.

Winnie tries not to grimace at the awkward silence as she pulls out her sharpie from the pocket of her apron. "So, what can I get for you today?" When he hesitates for a moment too long, his gaze darting back up to the menu behind her, Winnie tries for conversation again. "How was the matcha latte last time?"

Remus hesitates, his gaze darting to her. "It was very green."

The response is so unexpected that Winnie barely bites back a bark of a laugh before she catches herself. She wasn't a gifted conversationalist, but Remus was making her seem like a total extrovert. "It was," she agrees, smiling now. Up close, she can see shadows below his big eyes. Maybe he needed an espresso? Or less coffee and more sleep. "I'm guessing it wasn't to your taste? I'll let you order today—"

Remus seems to catch himself because he straightens hurriedly. "No, I'll have a matcha latte," he says firmly, already fishing out five dollar bill.

Winnie punches the numbers into the cash register and nods him along, but he hesitates, looking at her expectantly. "Don't you need my name?"

"Not unless it's changed from Remus Lupin," Winnie chirps cheerfully, biting back a smile as he blinks at her rapidly. "Has it?"

"No," he says, clearing his throat. "It's still Remus Lupin."

"Coming right up, Remus Lupin," Winnie says with a mini salute as she turns to start making the drink.

After he leaves, she notices a strange looking coin in the tip jar that hadn't been there before. When she squints at it, she can make out the carved word, Sickle. With raised brows, Winnie slips the strange coin into the pocket of her jeans.

— — — — —

The next time she sees Remus Lupin, he's wearing a long coat over a sweater vest. Winnie thinks he looks like a cute little professor.

"Hi, how's it going—" she's beginning to say just as Remus says choppily, "It's cold outside. Now."

They both blink at each other for a moment before Winnie grins a little, inwardly pleased that he remembered their last conversation. "Yeah?" She turns to squint critically out the window. "On a day like this, I'd kill to be in bed with a warm cup of tea."

Remus nods thoughtfully before pausing. "Not matcha?"

"Matcha strikes me more as a spring-summer drink," she muses.

He nods again, eyes darting to the menu above her head. Winnie is used to this now, so she waits patiently for his order. To her surprise, he looks at her again tentatively, his brown eyes startling bright. It feels as though she's been sucker punched.

"I'm not much of an autumn or winter person," he says. It takes her a moment to realize that he was still referencing their previous conversation. "The cold gets to my joints," he adds, looking a little sheepish.

"Ah," she says dumbly, nodding, before blurting, "Well, did you know that matcha has antioxidant and anti-inflammatory effects?"

Remus blinks at her as though she's clubbed him over the head. "Anti-ox-i-dant," he repeats slowly, as if saying the word for the first time.

Winnie inwardly grimaces. Why was she still talking about matcha? She had been so caught off guard that he was continuing the conversation and that his eyes were stupidly pretty that she had fumbled a little. "Er, so what can I get for you?"

"A cup of matcha then," Remus says, fishing a five dollar bill from his pockets. "For it's anti-ox-i-dant effects."

Winnie's cheeks burn a little as she waves him off. "It's on the house today," she says.

Remus looks surprised as he hesitates. "No, I can pay—"

"No, no, it's on the house," Winnie says firmly, thinking inwardly, For my piss poor attempt at conversation. Before he can insist, she takes her Sharpie and writes Matcha latte, even though it's only her behind the counter today. "Name?" She asks, half-teasing, half-hoping to distract him from trying to pay.

He blinks, looking startled. "Remus Lupin," he answers automatically, straightening.

"Just making sure it hasn't changed," she hums, smiling a little as she gets started on the latte.

To her surprise, Remus laughs, the sound low and rich and warm. "It hasn't yet," he says, glancing down at her name tag for a moment before looking back up at her, his brown eyes wide and bright as he drops the ten dollar bill into the tip jar. "Thank you, Winnie."

Winnie is too stunned by his laugh to complain.

— — — — —

Remus starts to come by more frequently. She can never quite figure out his schedule — it's sporadic, sometimes during rush hour where they can only exchange a few words, but mostly when the coffee shop is empty. She's grown so accustomed — and perhaps, has quickly begun to look forward — to seeing him that she can't help but look up hopefully when someone comes in.

Their conversations at the counter gradually grow less halting. She makes a point to always ask his name and Remus dutifully plays along each time, his lips twitching each time he gives her his name.

"You're always working on music," he observes one day. He must have come in without her realizing because when she looks up, she finds Remus nodding down at her paper.

"I am," she agrees mournfully. "I study music at the local university," she tells him, straightening her apron.

"That suits you," he says with the soft smile that she's grown terribly fond of.

Pleasure warms her chest as she tries not to beam at him. Though their conversations are mostly quiet and simple, it feels as though she's always trying not to smile a full-teeth smile at him.

She learns that he's only recently graduated from some sort of private boarding school. From his vague references, it sounded like one of those preparatory schools for gifted students. It doesn't strike her as much of a surprise — from his responses, Winnie can get a sense for how knowledgeable and bright he is, though to be fair, he always seems to bring a new book in when he visits. It might also explain how awkward and closed off Remus is, Winnie decides — she thinks public schools build thick skin. Winnie doesn't really mind the occasionally halting conversations though — Remus, for his credit, is a wonderful listener and always asks her questions when she talks about her band. And something about the attentive way Remus looks at her makes her feel comfortable about talking. She's almost worried that she talks too much — it's a welcome reprieve from the quiet slowness or the repetitive "Hi, how are you?'s" of the coffee shop.

"Sorry," she says one day when she brings him his drink. "I realize that I talk your ear off whenever you're here and I'm sure you've got things to do, books to read."

Remus shakes his head, sending his fluffy brown hair falling against his brow. It's gotten longer since the first time she's met him, the ends beginning to curl down the nape of his neck and around his ears. It's a good look on him, though admittedly, Winnie finds herself thinking that whenever he comes in.

"It's no problem," Remus says easily. Winnie nods, about to return to the counter when he clears his throat. "I... enjoy your company," he says with an impossibly tiny smile. At the sight of it, Winnie wants to fall to the floor, but she hasn't mopped it yet, so she opts to stand perfectly still instead. "If you ever feel inclined to take a break to chat, the chair is always open."

Some days when the shop isn't too busy, she takes him on his offer to sit and chat. Some days their conversations are long and winding, about nothing in particular, and on some days — mostly the days where he looks strangely exhausted — they both sit in a comfortable silence with Remus reading his books and Winnie laboring over her music.

One day when she's put all her focus on composing, Winnie nearly jumps out of her skin when Remus speaks up. "New song?"

Winnie looks up from her sheets at his question. A little thrill runs through her body when she sees that his book has been discarded to the side as he looks at her curiously. "Old song," she sighs. "I've been trying to finish these lyrics," she says, giving a frustrated glare to the paper. "I wanted to finish it in time for my band's next show, but I can't seem to get anywhere good with it."

Remus hums thoughtfully. "What's it about?"

"It's a love song," Winnie says before thinking. She darts a quick look at Remus as her ears burn, but fortunately, he's looking down at her lyrics thoughtfully. To be fair, she reasons with herself, she had started writing it before meeting Remus. "I've been stuck for ages now though."

"Hmm," Remus hums, leaning back in his chair to stretch his lithe limbs before letting his arms settle on his head. It's an effortlessly attractive motion — Winnie tries not to stare. "I'm sure you've tried already, but maybe you can draw inspiration from experience?"

Winnie clears her throat. "Oh, er, well, I actually don't really have..." She falters, feeling her cheeks burn. She's undeniably red now. "—experience in that realm," she finishes lamely.

"Ah," Remus makes a sound, his eyes widening a fraction as he re-rights himself to sit up straight in his chair. "Sorry, I just figured that you... That there'd be..." He stops himself, looking sheepish.

"That I what?" She presses, arching her brow to deflect from her reddening face.

"I just thought that you'd have experience in relationships," Remus coughs, his cheeks pink now. It's cute enough that it nearly distracts her from the mortifying conversation they're having.

"Ah, no," she says, swallowing. Then she adds hurriedly, darting a glance at him, "It's not that I don't want to date. It's just the type of guy I've attracted in the past has always been—" Winnie cuts off her rambling abruptly as Remus leans forward, brown eyes trained on hers.

"Has been what?"

"Oh, I don't know," she mumbles, scrubbing a hand over her face, grimacing. "You know, tattoos, eats cigs for breakfast. Maybe my nose ring gives the wrong impression," she lets out an embarrassed laugh, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow her whole to stop her nonsensical babbling.

"I see," Remus says slowly in a tone that very much sounded like he didn't.

"What about you?" She blurts. Remus looks startled, so she shoulders onwards. It feels as though she has nothing left to lose, anyways. "I'm sure you were popular in school."

"Ah," he says, making a noise at the back of his throat. He rubs the nape of his neck, looking embarrassed as he looks down as his discarded book. She bets he wished he never stopped reading. "Not really," he says. "I was always busy with school and, er, other things, so I never..." He trails off, making a vague motion with his hands. "Yeah," he finishes lamely.

"That's a surprise," Winnie says, inwardly relieved that he wasn't dating anyone. "I'm sure you had plenty of admirers."

Remus smiles at her wryly, a flash of embarrassment flickering across his face. "My mates had plenty of admirers," he says, though not enviously. Winnie waits patiently for him to continue — one thing she's gathered from Remus was that he often deflected talking about himself through talking about his friends. Sirius, Peter, James, she had learned were their names. "Sirius, in fact, was plenty popular." He darts a strange look to her, his brows knitted together and contemplative. "You'd get along well with him, I reckon."

— — — — —

Another day, during rush hour. She can see him waiting in the long line stealing glances at her that sends her heart stuttering. When their gaze meets, she offers him an apologetic smile. Remus just returns her smile and shakes his head, sending his hair down across his brow.

When he finally reaches the counter, he doesn't leave her any time to say hello. "I have a mate," Remus starts, pausing long enough for her to raise a brow.

"A mate," she drawls, trying to decode the peculiar expression on his face. He's visibly hesitating, his brow furrowing and relaxing as if he's overcoming some inner dilemma. Winnie waits patiently.

"A mate," he says again, rubbing the base of his neck. "That wants to learn how to play the guitar."

"I see," Winnie says slowly, patiently.

"It's Sirius — my friend that I told you about before," he adds, not quite looking at her but not quite looking away either. "Obviously, you can say no, but I thought that since you played the guitar, that maybe you'd...?"

Winnie thinks about it for a moment, an idea forming in her mind. She felt a twinge of guilt briefly for having an ulterior motive, before reasoning with herself that she was about to give a free guitar lesson. "I can give him an intro lesson," she says. "But only because he's your good friend."

Remus relaxes, his face breaking into a smile that only makes her feel better about her choice. Lord, she thinks, her eyes tracking his dimple. She thinks if he smiled like that at her, she'd do anything. "Brilliant," he beams.

A customer behind him clears her throat meaningfully, jolting Winnie out of the conversation. She had entirely forgotten she was working.

"So, a matcha latte?" She asks loudly. When she looks back at him, she's expecting him to sport his normal embarrassed half-smile, but she's caught off guard to see him grinning at her roguishly. Remus never fails to surprise her.

Remus nods, clearly trying not to laugh as he fishes out a bill. Winnie goes through the motions of punching in the numbers and preparing the cup. "We can do it at my flat, I have an extra guitar," she tells him as she finishes his order.

Remus smiles and nods, turning to leave when a thought occurs to her. "Oh, and Remus?" She calls after him.

He whirls around, brows arched and eyes wide and attentive. "Hmm?"

"You'll be there right?"

"Me?" Remus blurts, looking startled.

Winnie bites back a sigh. As she expected. Doubling down, she nods. "I'm not going to let a random man into my flat," she tells him, brows arching. She tries to ignore the customer behind him huffing impatiently.

Remus hesitates. "Sirius isn't a random man." Despite herself, Winnie likes this stubborn side of him.

"I've never met him," she sniffs, jutting her chin out mulishly.

"So you'll feel better if there's two random men in your house?" He counters archly.

But Winnie had been expecting this. She gives him a smile. Remus blinks, looking startled as any semblance of resistance dissipates. "You're not just a random man," she says meaningfully.

Remus blinks again. Then he turns, clearing his throat as he begins wrapping his scarf around his neck. Winnie thinks she can see a pink flush crawl up his neck before he covers it with a scarf, but she might just be seeing what she wants to see. "I'll be there," Remus says gruffly with a stiff nod.

Winnie mimics his stiff nod and bites back a smile.

"Thank you for waiting," she says to the next customer with her best customer-service-smile.

Before Remus returns for his drink, Winnie makes a split-second decision to write her number on a napkin. The idea has her stomach doing a dangerous, giddy flip in her stomach, but she does it anyways and slips it under his drink waiting on the counter.

— — — — —

The next three weeks is grueling for two reasons. The first is that she doesn't see Remus once, despite taking extra shifts. The second is because she waits for a phone call that never comes.

She's never given her number to anyone before so she doesn't quite know what the socially acceptable amount of time is before getting a call, but after the first five days of radio silence and his absence in the coffee shop, she's sure that she's made a terrible mistake.

She feels embarrassed and a little foolish, wishing she hadn't gotten swept up in her hopes and his stupid brown eyes. She had been silly — she was just an overly-chatty local barista and he was just a nice customer with a nice smile and nice eyes and nice everything who put up with her rambling. It's a little mortifying to think back on, so Winnie tries not to think about it, though every time the door's bell jingles, she's caught in a vicious cycle of hope, disappointment, and embarrassment.

She reckons that if he did ever come back, she'd either just pretend as though she never gave him her number or she'd hide in the storage room. The latter option sounded the most appealing the longer she went without seeing him.

She's closing up the shop one night when the door bursts open, the bells jingling loudly. Startled, Winnie nearly drops the bucket she had just finished mopping with. Her heart drops to her stomach.

"Hi," Remus says, pink-cheeked and breathless. "Are you closed?"

Winnie stares at him wide-eyed. She has a brief irrational flash of self-consciousness as she holds a mop and bucket in her hands, her hair and makeup unruly after a long shift. "I—" Winnie bites the inside of her cheek, looking at the clock. She was just a local barista, and he was just a customer, she reminded herself, swallowing back the growing burn of embarrassment in her belly.

As if sensing her hesitation, Remus straightens, clearing his throat. "I mean, you don't have to make a drink or anything actually, I just—"

"I can make a quick drink before I close up," Winnie says hurriedly, not quite able to look him in the eyes as she moves behind the counter. Memories of her giving him her number is seared in memory and it takes all her willpower not to crumble in mortification in front of him.

"No, it's alright," Remus says hurriedly, following her. "I'll help you close up."

"No, go sit over there," Winnie says, her voice a little too clipped. Remus hesitates, floundering before stubbornly following her again. Too close. She whirls around on him, exasperated and embarrassed. Pride wounded. "Remus, I'll make your drink just—"

"Winnie," he cuts in softly, his eyes tracking over her face carefully, quick to pick up her emotions. Winnie diverts her eyes mulishly. "I didn't actually come for a drink today," he says in a patient tone that only amplifies her growing embarrassment that she hides under irritation.

"Then I'm guessing you came to mess with a small local business," she grumps unfairly to herself, stomping behind the counter to drop the mop and bucket into the storage closet. Remus follows her doggedly.

"No, that's not why either," he says, huffing out a good natured laugh. Winnie ignores how smooth and honeyed it sounds.

"Then why'd you come so late? Seeing as how you haven't come in the past three—" Winnie cuts herself off, mortified, before stalking past him to busy herself with wiping down the counter.

"That's exactly why I came," Remus says from behind her. "I haven't seen you in three weeks and I wanted to see how you were doing."

Winnie swallows, caught off guard by his straightforwardness. And then she continues to scrub the counter aggressively, refusing to turn around and be swayed by him, though she could feel her grievances begin to dissipate. "Well, you could have called," she grumbles pointedly.

"I, er, don't have a telephone."

"You don't have a telephone," Winnie repeats automatically, before turning to balk at him. He looks embarrassed, his fingers fidgeting compulsively with the sleeves of his lumpy cardigan. In disbelief, she squints at him suspiciously. "Listen, Remus, I really won't be offended if you weren't interested, so there's no need to make up an excuse—"

"It's not an excuse," Remus interjects, straightened. He looks visibly affronted, his lips twisting into a slight frown. "I don't have a telephone."

"Oh," Winnie says dumbly, her voice small. And then she frowns, still skeptical. "How do you get into contact with your friends? Carrier pigeon?"

Remus lets out a huff of a laugh, mirth flickering in his brown eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

For some reason, she believes him, so she drops it. It's probably the warm fondness in his eyes that neutralizes her. "I see," she says finally, unsure about whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Remus seems to notice because he clears his throat. "I would have called you, really," he says. He's looking at her with those brown eyes again, big and earnest, and Winnie can't help but stare.

Flustered with the way he was looking at her, she turns to grab a tray of milk cartons. "I thought you were ghosting me," she grumbles. "I mean, I give you my number, you don't call and stop showing up. What's a girl supposed to think?"

Remus follows her, even closer now, close enough that she can smell his cologne — he smells good, she notes distractedly — and gently takes the tray of milk cartons from her hand, his big hands enclosing over hers briefly. Winnie nearly drops the whole tray. "You're not getting paid for that," she says, flustered and embarrassed and—

—and Remus is smiling at her with an impossibly patient and endeared smile, the sort that softens his eyes into little half-moons. Lord, Winnie thinks, her mind going unhelpfully blank as any memory of her mortification fades quickly.

"I would have called you," he says again, turning to look at her properly. He clears his throat, his eyes snagging on to hers intently. "I wanted to call you." He's holding the tray of cartons and she's trapped in the corner and the whole thing feels a little ridiculous, especially with the way her heart is stuttering under his gaze. He steps closer, his shoulders curving over slightly as he tries to match her height to appear less imposing. "I'm sorry for not giving you a heads up — I got swept away for work, but I'll let you know next time that happens."

"There's no need," she mumbles, flushing now. God, he probably didn't even know what he was doing. "It's not like we're..." The words die on her lips. She doesn't really know what she wants to say. Were they friends? She sure hoped so, but she could see how she was just a local barista and he was just a regular.

Remus ducks his head a little so that they're looking at each other properly again. They're close enough that Winnie can see his long lashes fluttering across his cheeks. She can see the splay of freckles across his tan skin. The thin shadow of a scar across the bridge of his nose. It's like she can't escape as her mind goes unhelpfully blank again. His eyes are warm and apologetic and earnest and Winnie feels like she's being seen right through. "How can I make it up to you?" He asks, looking entirely sincere.

Winnie's mouth — her heart — moves before her mind does. "My show," she blurts.

His brows furrow ever so slightly. "Your show?" He repeats, understandably not following because she was barely coherent.

"Yes," she says, straightening and doubling down. "I'm having a small show. With my band. This weekend. You should come." God, Winnie thinks, grimacing at how choppy her words were. Remus is looking at her with those distractingly pretty eyes again, so she steels herself, taking a steadying breath. "I mean, I'd love it if you came."

Remus nods, his lips twitching as if she hadn't just given an awful word-by-word monologue. "I'd love to."

— — — — —

The venue isn't terribly large, but even on stage staring into a dark crowd of faces, Winnie can spot Remus immediately. That's how she knew she was in trouble. Well, maybe she had already known she was in trouble the first time she heard Remus laugh properly.

She's had shows before, but this one feels different. It feels as though it's only her and Remus. So as Winnie plays her guitar and sings her songs, she gives in to the enamored thrill blossoming in her chest and pours it into her music. She hopes he can hear it.

The show passes by in a euphoric blur. All Winnie can really remember is Remus beaming at her from the crowd — and her beaming back — but she thinks it went well. Backstage, her bandmates are energetic and grinning widely, clasping each other on the back. "One of our best," their drummer proclaims, cheering.

Winnie tries to smile and listen, but the excitement of the show has started to turn into a bundle of growing nerves as she waits backstage with her bandmates.

"Waiting for someone today?" Doreen, their bassist, asks astutely as she starts moving some of their equipment.

"No," Winnie blurts unconvincingly, only gathering delighted hoots from the others.

"I knew this one felt different for a reason—" Doreen shouts gleefully, before falling silently abruptly, her eyes falling on someone behind Winnie. It takes all of her willpower to look casual and not whirl around. "Oh. He looks like he should be in a band," Doreen's voice drops into a hushed whisper. "Can we please add him? He can... play the triangle or something. He can be the face of our band. Our new mascot—"

At this, Winnie frowns and turns around. She wouldn't exactly say that Remus, with his soft jumpers and fluffy hair, looked like he'd be the face of a rock band—

"Hi," A voice, smooth and pitched low, says. "Winnie, right?"

Winnie stares at this stranger uncomprehendingly. He's strikingly handsome, his eyes the color of mercury and his hair the color of ink. He's all sharp angles and perfectly unruly curls and devilish smile, the type that Winnie has seen before. It comes with the crowd a rock band attracts, though this man in particular looks as though he was carved out of marble with his aquiline nose and high cheekbones.

Winnie blinks at him. "Yeah," she says uncertainly, scratching her cheek. "Er, do we know each other?"

"Winnie, this is Sirius," a familiar voice cuts in from behind the dark-haired man. Winnie straightens, her eyes snagging immediately on him as he steps out from behind Sirius.

Unlike Sirius's leather jacket and tattoos, Remus looks so painfully out of place in his sweater vest and slacks. She's impossibly endeared at the sight — in fact, all she can really do is stare dumbly at him. He's holding a little bouquet of yellow flowers. Her heart gives a dangerous squeeze.

Doreen clears her throat, jolting her out of her fixation. Winnie tears her eyes away from him to give his friend a polite smile as she shakes his hand. "Hi there." Distractedly, she turns back to look at Remus. "I didn't know you were going to bring a friend—"

"We love friends," Doreen says brightly. Winnie bites back a laugh at Doreen's lovesick scheming as her gaze snags on to Remus again. "Friends are always welcome here."

"I've heard loads about you," Sirius says smoothly, flashing her a charming smile. She swears she can hear Doreen faint next to her. "Remus, in fact, doesn't ever stop—"

Winnie's stomach does an Olympic-gymnastic-level flip as she watches Remus indiscreetly dig his elbow into Sirius's ribs. Sirius seems unbothered, but he stops and gives Winnie a smarmy grin.

"How was the show?" She asks, her gaze darting to Remus. It's like she can't stop looking at him.

"Brilliant," he blurts, beaming. "Absolutely brilliant. You were amazing," he says, eyes bright. "I mean, I knew you loved music, but seeing you in your element..." He stops abruptly, looking embarrassed. She isn't sure if it's the lighting, but his cheeks look pink. Or it's a reflection of how red her face has turned. Pleasure blooms in her chest so violently she feels a little dizzy.

"I'm glad you liked it," she manages, uncharacteristically bashful. She can feel her bandmates staring at her, slack-faced, and forces herself to ignore it. "I wasn't sure if it would be your type of music, but..."

"No, it was," Remus says hurriedly, turning to look at Sirius. "Right?"

Sirius nods, looking between the two of them with great interest. "Remus was practically on his knees—" Another jab into his ribs.

Winnie bites back a laugh, flushed and pleased, before nodding down at the bouquet in his hands. "Are those for me?" She asks, half-bluntly, half-hopefully.

Remus looks down at his hands as if he only just then remembered what he was holding. "Oh, yeah, yeah," he says. Winnie thinks she's dreaming for a moment, until Remus thrusts it into Sirius's hands. "They're from Sirius."

She blinks. Sirius blinks, an equally baffled expression on his face though he covers it up quickly. "Oh," the dark-haired man says slowly, his silver gaze flickering to his friend. "I guess—"

"—as a thank you for agreeing to the lesson," Remus cuts in hurriedly as Sirius hands it to her uncertainly.

Winnie takes the bouquet, bewildered now, but she plasters a polite smile on her face. "Er, it's no problem at all," she says, unsure about whether to say that to Sirius or Remus.

Sirius takes it in a stride though. "I would kill to play the guitar like you," he says, voice dripping with charisma. "How'd you—"

"You can try my bass, if you'd like," Doreen interrupts from behind her. Winnie's jaw goes a little slack — Doreen's the most protective with her bass — but her bandmate shoots her a meaningful look.

"Brilliant," Sirius says brightly. Winnie turns to watch Doreen in disbelief as they disappear into the backroom.

"Now he's not a random man, right?" Remus murmurs to her, his breath coasting against the shell of her ear. She nearly jumps out of her skin at the proximity.

"I suppose not," she says, trying to keep her cool but Remus is looking at her with bright eyes. It doesn't help when his lips quirk triumphantly, smugly. "But—" she interjects before it can widen any further, "—if it turns out that your friend is horrendous at the guitar, I think it's only fair if you also have to suffer through it."

Remus's brows shoot up. "And if he's good at it?"

"Then you get to witness my masterful teaching."

He huffs out a laugh, a little disbelieving, a little amused. "Fine," Remus sighs, but he's clearly trying not to smile. She finds herself wishing that he did. "I'll be there."

— — — — —

Sirius, as it turns out, is awful at the guitar. Winnie tries to chalk it up to it being his first time trying it out, but even then, he seemed... challenged.

She had been teaching him for an hour now — her sitting on one of the kitchen stools she had pulled into her flat's shoebox of a living room-bedroom situation, Sirius sitting on the couch with her old guitar precariously balanced on his knees. Remus tried to excuse himself once he realized his friend was musically challenged. Feeling merciful — and also realizing that Remus's presence was making her too nervous to focus on teaching Sirius — Winnie nodded him towards the kitchen. She had spent all morning meticulously cleaning her flat — even she knew she was being a little ridiculous and overly nervous when she started scrubbing at the oven — in preparation for the session. Even then, the knowledge that Remus was in her flat filled her with a different type of nerves.

"Let's take a break," Winnie huffs finally, setting her guitar down.

Sirius rises to his feet and stretches, looking relieved. "I'll get some water for us?" He offers, already making himself at home. Winnie nods, waving him off as she tries to fight back the incoming migraine from stressing over Sirius snapping her strings. At the reminder of his hand-eye coordination and all the glass she has in her cupboards, she springs to her feet quickly.

"Maybe I should just charm the guitar," Sirius is murmuring when she walks in to the kitchen.

"No amount of charisma will charm the guitar," Winnie says, amused. The boys straighten, looking strangely guilty.

"But Sirius is particularly charming," Remus supplies abruptly, darting a quick look to Sirius, who just looks startled by his friend's sudden proclamation.

"I see," Winnie says slowly, exchanging a baffled glance with Sirius.

"Right, well, I ought to practice some more then," Sirius says, giving a salute as he leaves the kitchen.

"Is he that bad?" Remus asks once Sirius leaves.

"It's like he's never used his hands before a day in his life to do anything," Winnie whispers to Remus with a solemn nod.

Remus makes a choking sound as though he's trying not to laugh. Winnie wishes he did. "You don't know the half of it," he huffs, lips curling as if he's sharing a secret.

"He's not really not very good with his fingers," Winnie admits honestly, lifting her cup to her lips.

"That's not his reputation among the girls," Remus blurts.

Winnie chokes on her water and starts coughing violently. Alarmed, Remus reaches out and pats her on the back. "What?" She rasps around a sore throat as she turns to give Remus an incredulous look.

His expression is too carefully neutral as he shrugs at her. "Sirius has always been Hogwart's most sought after bachelor," he recites, as if she's supposed to know what this meant.

"What's going on, Remus?" Winnie questions, her brows shooting up higher. "You've been acting strange recently. It's like you're trying to sell me this poor boy or..." She falters, turning to look at Remus. To his credit, he looks sheepish as he looks away to inspect her cabinets. "Remus," she begins, her voice dangerously low. "Please tell me you're not trying to set me up with your friend."

Remus goes pink in the face and it's all she needs to confirm her suspicions. Inwardly, her heart drops a little, but outwardly, she just stares at him, waiting for a proper response. As if realizing there wasn't a way of getting out of this, the brown-haired boy sighs a little, raking a hand through his hair. "I just thought you two would get along well together," he says, looking at her with earnest eyes.

It hurts. Much more than she cares to admit. Trying to swallow back the disappointment, Winnie turns so that he can't see it on her face. So that's what this has been about. "For how long?" She asks, her throat dry. She can feel a headache coming on.

"How long what?" Remus asks. He sounds confused.

"How long have you been thinking about setting us up? Did he even want to learn the guitar?" Winnie thinks back to Remus's reluctance on coming to her flat. She thinks back to him bringing Sirius along to the concert. She thinks about how much she likes Remus and how she thought he felt the same way. So it had all been one sided. Humiliation burns in her stomach as she stares down at her hands.

"No, he did, he did want to learn how to play the guitar," he says quickly. "Or, er, he was interested in learning after I told him about you. Sirius is a great guy, really!" Remus, all too late, seems to sense something amiss when she doesn't respond. He straightens, an expression of growing alarm on his face. "Are you... upset?"

"No," Winnie says. She wasn't, for once. In fact, she just wanted the ground to open up and swallow her hole. "I'm just..." She trails off, pinching the bridge of her nose before exhaling quietly.

"Sirius is a great guy, I promise," Remus says again, slowly as if not to spook a wild animal. But Winnie has already been spooked.

"Yeah, he is," she says, her voice pitched just slightly too high and just slightly too clipped as she turns to flee the kitchen. "But not very great at the guitar, so I'd better go check up on him. I suspect he'd find a way to set fire to my flat with just a guitar."

"I'm an idiot," she mutters to herself, closing her eyes for a moment.

A cheerful voice chirps up from the couch. "So, when can I join your band?"

— — — — —

Winnie doesn't go to work for the rest of the week. She asks her coworkers to cover her shift with a fake cough and a groan of a headache. The headache part isn't really a lie — ever since her conversation with Remus in her kitchen, she's felt a dull ache drumming behind her eyes. So she's holed herself in her apartment — specifically her bed, under lots of blankets — sulking and moping by herself.

By the fifth day, Winnie realizes bitterly that she can't keep this up. She has rent to pay. On the day that she's decided to come back into the coffee shop, her phone rings. "Winnie, are you coming in today?" her coworker asks.

"Yeah, I'm feeling better," Winnie lies as she stuffs her apron into her bag.

"Great," her coworker says before pausing. "There's been a bloke coming by asking for you."

Winnie can feel the headache come back full force. "A bloke," she repeats, knowing full well they both knew who she was talking about.

"Tall, brown hair. I told him you've been out sick, but he seems worried, so you ought to give him a ring."

To her chagrin, Remus is there the first day she comes back.

"Hi, welcome," she says, her voice tight. Winnie plasters a too-bright smile on her face to compensate. "What can I get for you today?"

Remus blinks. "A matcha latte. How have—"

"Coming right up," she says, punching in the order with rapid speed. Still smiling brightly. "That'll be $4.50—"

Remus hands her a five before she can finish.

"Here's your change, sir—" Winnie tacks it on at the end of the sentence before she can help it. Remus's face crumples in confusion for a moment, his brow furrowing together as he watches her for a moment longer. It feels as though his eyes are burning through her.

"You can keep the change," he says softly, still looking at her.

Winnie forces out a thank you. She feels as though her smile is starting to look like a grimace. Her cheeks are hurting. He's still looking at her with those stupidly pretty brown eyes. She knows he's waiting. She forces herself to look back down at the register before straightening. "Next in line, please."

— — — — —

To her relief, she's not on cash register duty the next time he comes. Winnie ducks her head with forced concentration as she makes an order. She's definitely too concentrated on making the drink that she doesn't notice the way his face brightens again when he sees her as he nears the counter. She's definitely too concentrated to hear her coworker take his order of a matcha latte. She's definitely too concentrated to feel his eyes on her as she busies herself behind the counter. She definitely wasn't paying attention.

This game of concentration can only go on for so long, Winnie realizes belatedly after she finishes making his drink. She stares down at his name on the cup glumly for a moment before putting her best customer-service smile back on. "For Remus," she calls out without quite looking up. Though she knows that he's sitting patiently at his normal table.

When he comes, Winnie puts a straw on the lid, trying not to look as tense as she feels.

"Hi," he says, looking at her fully in the face.

"Hi," she says back, not quite looking at him, but also not quite looking away. This time, there's no line and nowhere to escape to.

Remus fiddles with the straw wrapper slowly. "How..." He falters, his eyes imploring as he tries to catch her gaze. His brows are furrowed slightly. "...have you been? They said you've been ill?"

"Ah yeah," Winnie says weakly, busying herself with tidying up the straws and napkins by the register. "Caught a cold."

"It's not Dragon Pox, is it?" He says, his brows furrowing even further, a crease of concern between them.

Winnie blinks at him. "Dragon Pox?"

Remus blinks back at her. "Oh, maybe not then," he murmurs hurriedly before clearing his throat. "Er, if you're still feeling ill, I have this—" He reaches into the pocket of his long coat and pulls out a small vial. Winnie stares at it blankly. "—that helps with cold symptoms."

She squints at it, dubiously. "Is that medicine?"

Remus fiddles with the little glass vial. "Something of the sort."

"You just carry that around... in your pocket?"

"Well no," Remus says, looking embarrassed now. He clears his throat as his eyes dart down to the vial. "I wanted to give it to you, but I thought that dropping it off at your flat might be too much."

"Oh," Winnie says dumbly. Her stomach does a traitorous flip and she forces herself to also look down at the vial as her last defenses against him begin to crumble. She should've known this was going to happen. "That's sweet of you."

"It's nothing," he mumbles, setting the vial on the table. "Er, are you busy today?"

Winnie swallows. "Yeah, I've been out, so I ought to pull my weight around here," she says, though she thinks the both of them knows that it's a lie. The coffee shop barely had anyone else in it. But Winnie doesn't look up at him to see his face fall — she knows that if he just flashes her his doe eyes, she'll be back at square one. She forces a smile on her face.

Remus nods. His disappointment is clear on his face as he stuffs his hand back into the pocket of his coat. Winnie tried not to think about it. "Right, well, I'll be over there if you need a break."

— — — — —

Her landline rings again for the third time in the past fives minutes as she tries to get the chord progression correct. Though she's been trying, she's hit an even bigger music-block recently. Winnie squints at the number — it's the same one that's been trying to dial her. With a frustrated sigh, she sets her guitar to the side and picks up the receiver from the landline with a little too much vigor. "Hello?" She asks, the irritation in her voice cutting through clearly.

"Winnie?"

She pauses, taken aback. "This is she," she says after a moment. Who would be calling her nearly at midnight?

"Sorry, were you sleeping? I just got a telephone and I wanted to call, but I didn't realize it was this late—" The person on the other end sounds a little out of breath.

"Sorry, who is this?" She asks, bewildered now.

A pause. "It's Remus."

Winnie nearly drops the phone. "Remus?" She repeats.

"Yeah," he says uncertainly. "Remus Lupin," he adds, as if that'll help.

"Of course I know who you are," she says, a little disbelieving.

"You didn't sound like you did a few seconds ago," he says good-naturedly.

"Well, I wasn't expecting a call from someone without a phone."

He huffs out a laugh, soft and quiet. Hearing it close to her ear through the receiver makes a warmth spread through her chest. This was dangerous. She settles back on the couch as Remus continues talking, his voice soft like he's trying not to wake up his flatmate. "Well, to be fair, I did just get it."

"I never thought I'd see the day," she murmurs despite the danger bells tolling in her head. "What made you take the technological leap?"

Winnie can almost hear his eye roll through the receiver. "Well, I may have offended a girl at this coffee shop I frequent by not having one. Thought I should right my wrongs."

Her heart stutters dangerously in her chest. She's glad he can't see her because she can feel a pleased warmth flushing across her face as she lies down on the couch and kicks her legs over the armchair. She wants to scream from the giddiness. And then scream again for having no dignity. The thought that he had gotten a phone to call her is entirely absurd, but Winnie almost lets herself believe it. "I see," she says after she collects herself for a moment. "Sounds noble." A pause. "So you kept my napkin."

"No," Remus says automatically. "Sirius threw it away."

Winnie frowns, her brows furrowing. "Then how'd you get my number?"

"I memorized it."

She nearly falls to the floor at that, the phone rubbing against the couch as she sits up swiftly.

"Hello?" Remus's distant voice calls uncertainly through the speaker. "Winnie?"

"Hi!" Winnie chirps into the phone quickly, too brightly. She's beyond glad Remus can't see her face — she knows she's bright red now. And she's trying hard not to grin ear to ear. "Sorry about that, poor connection," she fibs.

Remus pauses. She can almost hear the frown in his voice when he speaks up again. "Is it my phone? The man at the store said it might—"

"No, no, that was on my end," she says quickly, fanning herself now. She needed to calm down. Immediately. "So, why did you call?"

A pause. She can hear him shuffling like he's sitting down. "No reason," he says. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I like this. It feels like I can hear you smiling."

To hell with calming down. She was getting no sleep that night with the way her heart was palpitating. "Holy hell," Winnie murmurs out loud, very sure now that Remus was trying to kill her. Death by heart attack. Remus Lupin, the secret ladykiller.

"What was that?" Remus asks through the phone.

"Nothing," Winnie mumbles, closing her eyes.

They both fall silent, though Winnie is sure he can hear her thumping heart through the receiver. "Er, Winnie," Remus speaks up finally. "The other reason I wanted to call was I suppose it had felt like it's been ages since we last spoke and I missed talking with you."

Winnie's heart does a dangerous quiver. And then she catches herself, all too soon, and all too suddenly.

Even after the past few weeks of trying to get over her unrequited crush, all it took was a few sweet words from him for her to cave and start at the beginning again. She couldn't keep being pushed and pulled and pushed and pulled. If she wanted to properly move on, she needed distance. Proper distance.

As if sensing something, Remus speaks up again hesitantly. "Did I do something?"

"No," Winnie says, closing her eyes. She can almost hear him breathing on the other end of the call. This would be easier to do over the phone, when she can't see his big brown eyes staring back at her earnestly — although she feels as though she's committed it to memory and can imagine it. "It's me, I— It's nothing that you've done or anything, I just need space."

"Space," Remus echoes quietly.

She tries to let out a light laugh. "Yeah, I've just got a lot on my mind recently. It's nothing you've done."

Remus is quiet for awhile before he speaks up again. "I'm here to listen if you ever want to talk through anything," he says softly. "We're friends, after all, right?"

"Friends," she murmurs to herself before straightening. "Right, of course."

More silence. "Well, it's late so I'll let you go." A pause, as if he's waiting for a response. Waiting for her to keep talking like she always did. Waiting for a reason to keep talking.

"Good night, Remus," she says instead, her fingers tightening around the receiver.

"Good night, Winnie." Winnie can hear the disappointment in his voice and lets it sink into her like a dagger. She needed to remember it to move on. Then maybe they could properly be friends. Winnie hangs up the phone first.

— — — — —

"Morning, Winnie," a bright voice chirps.

Winnie looks up, startled to see a pair of striking, but familiar gray eyes peering back at her. Sirius Black is standing in front of the counter, grinning at her widely. "Sirius," she says, surprised. "What can I get for you?"

Sirius gives the menu a cursory glance. "Huh, matcha," he says to himself thoughtfully.

"That's what Remus normally gets," she offers, trying to be helpful.

Sirius looks back at her, his eyes bright and startling astute. "You know," he says, dropping his voice to a secretive murmur. Despite herself, Winnie leans closer curiously. "Remus thinks matcha tastes like grass."

Winnie recoils, bewildered. That wasn't what she was expecting to hear. "Grass?" She repeats, a little affronted now. "It does not taste like grass—"

"Winnie," he says again, arching a delicate brow at her. "Remus thinks matcha tastes like grass."

She shoots him a baleful glare that goes against her customer service training. "Okay," she exhales. "So what drink would you want then?"

Sirius sighs as if she's being terribly daft. "What I'm saying is that Remus hates the taste of matcha but comes here nearly every other day to drink it. Isn't that strange?"

Winnie blinks. Once. Twice. It's as if Sirius can see the thought forming on her face because he starts to grin. "But," she says stubbornly, mulishly. Sirius's grin falters. Winnie takes secret pleasure in that. "—he drinks it every time."

Sirius's expression goes slack, but Winnie refuses to be deterred. She had already tricked herself twice into thinking that there could be more between her and Remus, she wasn't going to put herself through that again. "Merlin," Sirius exhales, scrubbing a frustrated hand over his face. "You both are so bloody stubborn—"

"No, he doesn't," a voice cuts in from behind her. Her coworker steps in with an equally exasperated expression. "Winnie, I'll be honest with you, he only ever drinks it when you make it. Whenever I hand it to him, it just sits there."

Sirius's grin returns, full force, as he nods excitedly. "I'm only telling you so that you can both stop dancing around each other. And so he can stop playing your bleeding cas— casserole... Merlin, what are they called? The little magical music squares?" Sirius flounders and turns to her coworker for help.

"Cassettes?" Her coworker supplies uncertainly.

"Cassettes!" Sirius agrees, looking relieved before he rounds on Winnie again to continue his berating. "So he can stop playing your bleeding cassettes around the flat!" And then he pauses. "Er, no offense, your music is great, but I just can't keep listening to the same album—"

"He has my cassettes?" Winnie whispers, wide-eyed.

Sirius stares at her like she's being impossibly dumb. "Yeah," he says, solemnly. "Everyday I'm a little tempted to throw them—" He seems to catch himself because he shoulders on smoothly. "Anyways, while he's been sulking around the flat, I finally found out that Moony was being ridiculous and was trying to play cupid. He can be incredibly dense for someone so smart," Sirius sighs, grimacing. "By the way, I actually was interested in learning the guitar."

Winnie stares at him dumbly, a little shell-shocked. "Oh," she says as Sirius gives her a wink.

"He's coming by later," he says as he turns towards the door.

"What?" She blurts. Remus hasn't come by or called her ever since she had asked for space, expectedly. She had been ignoring the empty feeling since then, reasoning it to be a necessary development for her to move on.

"I told him you had called on the — what's it called? — phone-tele saying you wanted to see him."

"What?" Winnie exclaims, but Sirius is already fleeing through the door. Dimly, she thinks that he didn't even order a drink.

"Go easy on him, sweetheart! He likes tea!"

— — — — —

"One matcha please."

"Name?"

A small, uncertain smile. A hesitant hint of a dimple. Her heart quaking again. "Remus Lupin."

"Coming right up."

Winnie tries to still her shaking hands as she makes him a drink. It doesn't help that she can feel her heart bursting through her chest. She takes a steadying breath and rakes a hand through her hair before taking the drink to his table. "For a Remus Lupin," she announces, setting the cup down in front of him. It's near closing time and there's no one else in the coffee shop.

Remus looks up, his brows shooting up below his waves. "What's this?"

"Earl gray," she says, matching his gaze.

His brows furrow. "But I ordered matcha."

"It's a personal recommendation from the kitchen," she says, nodding down at the tea. "I heard that matcha tastes like grass."

Remus's face pales, but he manages to cover it up with a nervous laugh that only confirms her suspicions. And her hopes. "Matcha doesn't taste like grass—" he begins, but his voice falters when he catches sight of her smiling.

"Remus," she says brightly, her smile broadening. "I finished the song."

"The song," he says blankly, looking startled as if he's trying to keep up. He blinks at her rapidly.

"The love song I've been stuck on," she reminds him impatiently.

"Oh! Oh! See, I knew you'd be able to finish," Remus says, still looking bewildered.

Winnie smiles at him. "It was inspired by you."

"Inspired by me," he parrots for a moment, nodding, before his eyes widen fractionally. "Inspired by me?" He blurts.

"What I'm saying is," she begins, folding her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. "I like you."

Maybe the only way to move on was to be properly rejected. Or maybe the only way to move on, Winnie thought selfishly, was to give in to the hope that Sirius had planted.

Remus's face goes slack. And then, wonderfully, a soft pink flush begins to crawl up the nape of his neck, dusting his cheeks in two brilliant splotches. "I— Winnie— But you're—" he flounders, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. Dimly, Winnie thinks it's a little unfair how adorable he looks flustered. She also thinks that she wouldn't mind always seeing him flustered.

"But I'm so what?" She asks, tilting her head to the side casually, despite her thundering heartbeat.

"But you're so, so—" he's stammering now, flushed and a little wild-eyed. "—incandescent."

Winnie thought she had control over the conversation, but at his admittance, she feels a little dizzy. "Incandescent," she repeats in a wide-eyed whisper. In that moment, she knew that no boy would ever call her anything as meaningful. That there would be no other boy that would mean anything to her.

Remus's face only turns a brighter scarlet as he backtracks. "I mean, you're you and I'm— I'm Remus," he says nonsensically.

"Remus Lupin," she corrects with a weak laugh, heart still thumping dangerously.

Remus nods earnestly, as if that's supposed to make any sense. "Yeah," he says, throat bobbing as he swallows. "And, and you could do so much better." Winnie's heart clenches a little at the way he can't meet her eyes. "I'm— I'm not good with people— I wouldn't be good for you."

Winnie chewed the inside of her cheek uncertainly. "Remus, I can't tell if you actually think that or if you really don't like me and are just using that as an excuse because I'd rather it if you just rejected me outright—"

"Of course I like you," he blurts a little frantically with a disbelieving laugh. Winnie's heart trembles so violently that she thinks she needs to take a seat. Remus, on the other hand, pales a little at his outburst as he scrubs a hand over his face. "I mean, anybody would. But you could do so much better. I mean, I'm not good with people or talking and I don't—" She can see that he's begun to work himself up into some sort of frazzled frenzy. "I don't have tattoos or eat cigs for breakfast," he blurts.

Winnie does a double-take. "I know?" She says, bewildered. "Where is this coming from?"

"You said the type of guy you're attracted to has tattoos and eats cigs for breakfast."

Winnie balks at him for a moment before she realizes what he's talking about. She wants to laugh but instead holds it in as she stares fondly at the man in front of her. "Remus," she sighs again, stepping closer to him. The knowledge that he liked her back sends thrilling waves of adrenaline through her. Even though he's taller than her, she feels as though she's the one towering over him.

Emboldened, Winnie takes a deep breath, rises to her toes because he's so bloody tall, and grabs him by the cheeks. Remus's mouth clamps shut as his eyes widen. She wishes she could pour all her emotion into her palm and just press it against him so that he would understand.

"I said that those were the guys I attract, not that I'm attracted to. And I think you're lovely, to say in the least. You're kind, brilliant, a wonderful listener. I think your eyes and your smile are stupidly distracting— Actually, I think you're just the prettiest boy I've ever seen. And I wish you could see these things for yourself, but if it means that I have to love you for the both of us, I would be happy to. If you'd let me."

"Oh," Remus blurts, two bright scarlet splotches flushing on his cheeks. Up close, Winnie can see the way the light catches like gold in his brown eyes.

"Sorry, I'm always talking your ear off," she whispers, her fingers curling a little in the waves his hair. His skin is soft and warm beneath her fingers. "It's fine, really, if you want to reject me. But it's not fair for you to make the decision based off what you think I should want. Because I know that I want you and that's enough for me, yeah?"

Remus parts his mouth and Winnie is so sure that he's going to say something stubborn again.

"Can I kiss you?" He murmurs, brown eyes blown dark and wide as they dart to her lips.

Caught entirely caught off guard, all Winnie can do is make an assenting sound before his head is dipping down towards hers swiftly, as though that was all he was waiting for.

There's no soft, chaste exploration she had expected — instead, Remus kisses like he's burning up from the inside, like he's melting into her. His mouth is warm and sweet — he tastes like the earl gray tea she had made — and his lips are soft as one of his hand rises to catch her jaw, his other hand slipping gently to cradle the back of her head, his long fingers in her hair, as he tilts her face up.

Winnie's mind went blank the moment his lips slotted against hers, but she's rendered entirely useless when his teeth tugs at her bottom lip gently. All she can do is cling onto his neck and shoulders — she doesn't even know when her hands had moved from cupping his face — as Remus tries to guide her even closer to him. Winnie doesn't even have the capacity to feel embarrassment at the appreciative sigh that's pulled from her lips when he deepens the kiss.

To her mingled disappointment and relief — because she's started to run out of air and was feeling light-headed — Remus pulls back just far enough to peer at her with wide eyes. "Sorry, was that too much?" He whispers, voice wonderfully hoarse, his lips still brushing against hers. His brown eyes dart from her eyes to her lips and back around as if he can't decide where to look.

Total ladykiller, Winnie thinks dimly. Somehow, he always managed to catch her off guard even when she thought she was in control. "Um," she manages, breathless, her heart nearly giving out now. "Wow."

When she catches sight of him properly, another thrill runs through her. His pretty eyes are dazed over and his lips reddened and flushed. He looks a little dizzy. "Yeah," he murmurs back, equally nonsensically. He brushes a thumb across her jaw, sending a shiver down her spine. Catching this, Remus just smiles at her, as if impossibly endeared, and it does little to calm her heart. "How about a date tomorrow?"

"Not a coffee shop, I hope," Winnie says mulishly in an attempt to deflect from her warming cheeks. But Remus, as always, can see right through her.

A soft laugh rumbles in his chest as he smiles down at her fondly. "We can go wherever you want."

— — — — —

It's rush hour again. There's a dozen cups lined up for her to make and she's begun to lose track of what she's doing. When she glances down at the name of the one she just finished, Winnie doesn't bother hiding her grin as she calls out, "An earl gray for a Remus Lupin!"

Winnie's smile widens when she catches sight of him in his knitted sweater. And then, "I'm missing a drink."

Her smile falters in confusion as she looks down at the earl gray in his hand. "Hm?" She hums, frowning now.

Remus nods down at the other drink she had finished making, his lips twitching. Winnie blinks at his smile distractedly before peering at the cup. "Matcha latte for Cariad?"

Remus just smiles innocently at her, his eyes warm and fond. "That one's for you."

a/n: hope you enjoyed! love love love hearing your thoughts, so let me know what you think! <3 i feel like i could make a whole remus coffee shop -verse of oneshots now... if that's something.... we would be interested in............. i love the idea of wizards interfacing with muggle society and how shite they would be (re: sirius not knowing how to do anything). even though remus's mom is a muggle, i imagine since he's been at hogwarts for most of his life from 11-18 and spent his childhood moving around a lot and living in the more rural areas, i wanted to play off the idea that though he's been in muggle society, he's probably awkward as hell in a muggle city. edit: more remus x winnie oneshots on my masterlist! >> my masterlist!

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secretpostsposts · 5 months

Text

I'm going to call this Sibling Change

To avoid confusion, I'm going to call the adult version of the brothers John Dory, Bruce (they are the ones whose name can best be changed), Adult Clay, Adult Floyd and Branch, the young versions JD, Spruce, Young Clay, Young Floyd and Bitty B; unless it's Branch talking to the younger versions and he used the correct names (I imagine calling Spruce Bruce a mistake sometimes)

But more or less this is what I have in mind:

The adult siblings are very "emotional" as they see BittyB and have many feelings of guilt or regret because, their brother could have remained a sweet and gentle baby, but they ruined him, especially John Dory, I imagine that at some point he didn't. He endures it and only carries Bitty B and hugs him as if fearing that he would disappear into thin air and cries and asks, no, begs him to forgive him (taking into account that it was 20 years, I say John Dory seems to have traveled a lot, at some point). point returned to the Trolls Tree, so he could, for a while, believe that Branch was... Dead; I'm an older sister and I may not get along with my brother, the mere idea of losing him like that or having that idea, kills me inside, so John Doy may have that trauma, so not only does he apologize to Bitty B, he wants to believe that if he takes care of this version of his brother he will fix something about his now adult brother that he lives with) so I see a lot of part of the adult siblings these scenarios of regret and helplessness because they have this baby Branch in their hands and they know what to do but they feel bad, because he is their brother, but not their brother at the same time, they feel that they are trying to "replace" him in some way. shape.

While with the Band (I will refer to them that way since they are still a band and act more like brothers according to me) they are "floating" in the situation they feel unreal, they have their little brother, who is a baby, he wears a diaper !, and out of nowhere this adult Trolls Branch appears who claims to be Bitty B but in 20 years in the future and is so drastically different from his little brother, they understand that their little brother will change as he grows, but there is something wrong with this Branch, he doesn't seem to know how to deal with them, mistakes Spruce for "Bruce" and doesn't find Clat funny, and. Bitty B loves Clay's jokes, he seems nervous, and seems ready to have a heart attack every time he mentions or sees a Bergen too close to the tree, he also makes faces every time JD says something about the band or Harmony. Perfect Family; and not to mention Grandma, they just don't know what to do with this Branch, they know he's their brother but it's like having a perfect stranger in the house and their colors are so dull that they're starting to get sick with worry, and Branch is starting to ( I don't know if it's stealing or undermining) he will take JD's authority over the Band (brothers), he doesn't even let Grandma be in charge, he takes charge and it's strange.

This is more like a base of what the brothers' relationship will be like in these situations, a fanfic will be made, someone asked about it in the previous post, and Tumblr won't let me respond to the comments, so if anyone has something to say , the question box is open

#trolls band together #trolls #trolls brozone #trolls branch #trolls john dory #trolls clay #trolls spruce #trolls bruce #trolls floyd #brozone #Sibling Change

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polliwoggers · 1 year

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been struggling to draw lately so i went through some older stuff of mine and found this, only to realize i never posted it. i don't imagine anybody's still doing stuff for this weird social media-clan au thingy anymore, now that the meme of it has died down, but anybody's free to these names for whatever uses they want, if they want them :)

bonus lore to get it out of my head:

Yarrow-whisker was the previous medic before Quarrypaw, who has yet to gain their full status as a medicine cat in their absence

Geckopaw and Prairiepaw are siblings. Yewtail is only a so-so mentor at the best of times, so Foxfire effectively mentors them both. However, Prairiepaw has swooped in to support Yewtail when they decide to do something stupid and unsustainable on multiple occasions. they really shouldn't have been granted an apprentice tbh. i recently re-read Fire and Ice in the original warriors series so the parallels to Graystripe being a poor mentor to Brackenpaw are intentional

Skypelt came out of retirement to mentor Duskpaw, since they serve such similar real-life purposes. Skypelt doesn't understand everything their apprentice says or does but is generally supportive of such a similar application

Marsh-singer, Whitestep, and Thymeface are all siblings, and are collectively the youngest of the warriors (not accurate to the actual ages of the applications, but eh). to say they are all total gossips would be an understatement. they're also really interchangeable and forgettable. like the Runningwinds of apps.

depending on how positively you want to view the whole "reincarnation" trope some of the canon warriors books have, you could say that Tickpaw is a reincarnation of Musiclight. Otherwise, they just look really similar.

all of the "Cats Outside of Clans" cats are kittypets, with the notable exception of Furzebark, who is a banished rogue with a concerning amount of influence on the Clan(s?). maybe there's a whole band of rogues who are based on insidiously/surprisingly influential applications or online entities! various appstore/playsotre applications could fall under this category, as well as like. roblox, apparently. which is beyond weird to me since that's a game and not a wider application, but it got scarily profitable during lockdown, so...

Redpaw was Yewtail's sibling, but died during their apprenticeship. Probably to the same thing that killed Gravelpounce, but i have no idea what that would be

Flaxflower is generally considered WAY too old to still be alive (since the real internet explorer died a bit ago by now), but since he'd "find a way to be late to his own funeral", he has yet to kick the bucket.

the whole twittypet drama is EASILY the juiciest gossip the clan has had in ages, ESPECIALLY the half-clan checkmark-kits. in-universe, im interpreting the poor management of twitter that's been driving it into the ground irl as a negligent cat owner unintentionally driving their pet to spend more time outdoors with other cats (namely, dashclaw) to get away from them, which resulted in kittens. drummed-up anti-kittypet sentiment aside, many clan cats looking in on the situation just feel bad for her.

Vinewatcher is the most consistently "present" of the StarClan spirits, but is also the most consistently unhelpful. numerous potential prophecies later turned out to just be inside jokes of theirs they decided to continue rehashing into the afterlife. Quarrypaw, having not gotten much experience identifying what makes a legitimate prophecy yet, finds this exceptionally annoying behavior, and would like them to stop. They do not.

#my drawings #tumblrclan #twittypet #warrior cats #warriors #this got way longer than intended oops

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 7 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 5

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Glenn is the goofiest sexiest character there is and I will die on this hill! I will ride into battle for him! what Dndads created is truly unique and Glenn is a key part of that and for that he deserves to win. I said it before and I'll say it again - GLENN SWEEEEEP

Can we talk about how he says ‘baby’ casually? Like he just calls people that?? That’s HOT. THAT IS HOT!! He’s also bilingual and knows Japanese!!!! He’s a big dumb idiot with a lot of charisma!!!!!! HE WORKED AT A BDSM PLACE FOR TWO SEPARATE ONE SHOTS. HES SO SAD BUT PLAYS IT OFF LIKE HE’S CHILL ALL THE TIME!! HE DOESN’T THINK OF HIMSELF AS SINGLE BECAUSE HE DIDN’T DIVORCE HIS DEAD WIFE!!! He’s like.. the perfect guy. We need this win.

I’d also like to add the fact I made this. Which is the first 11 episodes edited to (almost) only have Glenn in them <3 which is a level of insanity I hope to reiterate. These took hours to make. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea):

Middle aged woman who punches sharks to death. My hero

If you love me you'll vote for amber gris I swear to everything holy on earth amen

Amber is butch, instant win

Amber Gris has a negative charisma modifier and she pissed her pants on purpose in order to trick a guard and knock him out. She tied up a dude. She once killed an evil magic shark (they're out for murder. not like real sharks) by punching it and then picked it up and smashed it into another shark, also killing it. She talks in a southern accent. She calls people guppy because it indicates a lack of respect. She has a big pair of magical green arms that come from her stomach. She got a fancy jacket and immediately ripped its sleeves off. She has a gay thing going on with one of the political leaders in the city. She gets in fights with people and doesnt do vulnerability and tries to lay low and not get in any social trouble she doesn't have to. She jumped through a portal into a new world because she could. She's now the god of said world, alone with only afformentioned political leader, who was previously possessed and she had to fight. She spends her time in a bar called the Cloaca. She calls people she doesn't like claspers, because it means shark penis. She and her friend, an old man named Uncle Joshy, sneak attack each other and yell VIBE CHECK! She tries to talk fancy to impress people and she's really bad at it (verily).

She’s everything and more. She’s irreverent. She punches sharks for a living. She becomes God. What more do you need in a butch.

amber gris propaganda: she is straightup the physical embodiment of "women want me, fish fear me." also she's an appalachian post apocalyptic sea captain. that's just objectively cool.

AMBER GRIS IS PUNCHES SHARKS AND IS (one of) THE MOST BADASS BLACK WOMEN PCS IN DND SHOWS IVE EVER SEEN. SHES INCREDIBLE AND A WIN FOR DYKES EVERYWHERE

amber's creator said she was based off of the type of working-class woman you commonly see in appalachia where "this is the sort of woman that you see walking past CVS, and you know that a truck could hit her and it would just split around her as she continued to go pick up whatever she had to do that day." and that's pretty hot

guys Amber becomes lesbian god of the new world with her childhood “”friend””

#amber gris is LITERALLY a middle-aged butch #she would win this entire tournament in a just world

Last time Amber got horny was when she killed that shark

"it was a savage bummer though, don't-- trust me, there's nothing that great about a history. You know? I got one. What did I do, killed a bunch of sharks? Last time I got horny, god and christ I can't even tell you-- well, it was when I killed that shark. But! Hey. We're all just kinda figuring it out."

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia):

She's a hot elf with mushrooms growing on her. She has 1 level of barbarian. She's bisexual. She shapeshifted into a dragon and ate a god.

how tf does the post not mention Moonshine’s giant boobs her greatest asset

Moonshine has canonically gone down on a woman for a solid hour without asking for anything in return. Moonshine edged a dryad just by kissing them. Moonshine faced down someone being controlled to kill everyone in his path and told him if he still wanted to hurt her, she would take his blows as a friend. Moonshine makes jambalaya for her family and friends. Moonshine mispronounced someone’s name for a month and that woman still wanted to hook up with Moonshine. These are just a few of the reasons why Moonshine is sexy.

shes illiterate

canonically huffs dirty water from a bong

has big tatas

wears a belly chain with a demon trapped in it

almost became the queen of hell

ate a god

turned into a pregnant moose & gave birth

The woman she went down on for an hour asking nothing in return is still hung up on her, 200 years later. Moonshine is unmatched

To be clear the woman whose name Moonshine mispronounced for a month and then hooked up with is the same woman she went down on for an hour, and the same woman who is still flustered over her 200 years later. The rizz is unparalleled. She’s also incredibly kind and accepting of others, and goes out of her way to bolster her friends. The party always requests one big bed.

moonshine cybin is a druid who learned counterspell through sheer force of will. moonshine cybin turned one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse into a dolphin, flew him 60 feet up into the air, dropped him on the ground, and then spit spores into his face to kill him. moonshine cybin turned into a dragon and bit the head off of a double god. moonshine cybin was willing to confine herself to an eternal hell to save the world. moonshine cybin is a dragon rider. you know what you must do.

Amber and Moonshine Together

Look at them. They should not have to fight when they could be gay instead. Imagine the power they would have combined... Every lesbian in a hundred mile radius of the post would swoon. It may be an odd alliance, but from an Ethersea fan to Bahumia fans, i believe this will strengthen both our odds. I have always been insane about Amber Gris but through this poll I have also learned about Moonshine and come to love her too. Take my hand... We can do this together...

OKAY HEAR ME OUT MOONSHINE AND AMBER WOULD GET ALONG SO WELL

appalachian sapphic solidarity!

Art of Amber and Moonshine from @pirateknight.

#Round 5 #Glenn Close #Glenn Close DnDads #Moonshine Cybin #Amber Gris #Not Another D&D Podcast #Bahumia #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Ethersea #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies

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geralts-yenn · 6 months

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Memories - part 2

Walter Marshall x OFC Maxine (second-person pov)

summary: You finally have to face Walter and talk to him about what happened in that night, years ago

warnings: 18+, minors DNI! drinking alcohol, vaginal fingering, oral (F,M receiving), protected p-in-v sex

word count: 4,6k

A/N: sorry for leaving you with a cliffhanger, but I'm not cruel, so here we go, here's the second part

Part 1

My masterlist

As you approached your table, you shot death stares over to your sister-in-law who happily smiled back at you. She kissed your brother on his cheek and acted as if she didn’t know at all why you were glaring at her.

You sat down on your chair, trying your best not to look at anything or anyone. You pretended not to be here at all. A deep huff behind your back told you he had found out about the seating situation now, too. Walter dragged his chair a bit back and sat down.

“Max!” he muttered under his breath and you answered with a nonverbal grunt and a nod. Both of you did your best to stare into different directions.

“You really like seeing me suffer, huh?” he asked after a while, still avoiding your gaze. “What do you mean?” You had done nothing and still, he was already angry with you. “Like there wasn’t any other table where you could have seated me. You need to humiliate me in every possible way.” Hold on? Did he think you were responsible for this bullshit? You were suffering just as much as him.

“So it’s humiliating to sit beside me? For real? What’s wrong with you, Walter? And just so you know, I’m not happy either, having to spend the evening looking into your dumb face.”

Walter scoffed at your answer and the two of you went back to ignoring each other until another guest approached you. An older lady sat down opposite of you two and introduced herself as Mrs. Goldstein, an aunt of Vicky. She smiled at you and Walter. “You’re such a sweet, good-looking couple.” Both Walter’s and your eyes got wide and you both started mumbling.

“No, no, we’re not a couple!” Walter said determinedly. “Just, uhm, old friends.” you added, not sure how to name the relationship you had with Walter in a friendly way without lying.

The lady raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, feeling for Walter’s biceps. “Oh, then you don’t mind if I make a move on this attractive man?” Her eyes were glistening with mischief as she gave you a wink. You had to grab your champagne and take a huge sip to hide the laugh that was going to slip you. She repeated her wink as she turned to Walter and to your surprise he reacted with a playful smile. But when his look met yours and he saw your amusement, his eyes went dark.

Thankfully, the table filled with more guests that helped you to ignore each other. The first course was served and you started eating. Which ended in the next argument with Walter. Being left-handed, you had to move your arm opposite to him and your elbows crashed together more than once as you tried to cut your meat. Every time you touched each other, Walter gave you an angry glare. “Would you just eat like a normal person without bumping into me all the time?” he snapped and you answered with an eye roll. “What do you expect? I can’t do this any different. Sorry that I’m not normal enough for you.” Of course, you could have tried to be more careful, you even would have been able to switch hands. But not for him. Especially not if he was acting like a baby over it.

To your own surprise, you made it through dinner and toasts without killing each other. The band started playing and you could have just mixed with the other guests, but you weren’t in the mood. You kept sitting beside Walter, who looked just as pissed as you.

When the third woman asking him for a dance got rejected, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer. It was just boiling in you. “Why do you keep saying no? All those ladies would love to have some fun with you. And I’m sure they would be in for a treat. You were good, even back then when we didn’t even know what we were doing. Guess you learned a few more tricks since then.”

Walter looked at you with more hatred than you had ever seen in his face. “Do you really want to talk about this? Here, now?” He was barely holding his voice down. You knew immediately that you’ve gone too far. Heat flashed over your cheeks as you only pressed out an embarrassed “No”.

“Good! Because I surely don’t want to!” Was his voice trembling? You felt awful, and you silently cursed at your sister-in-law who ruined your evening by setting you up with your ex. No, ex wasn’t the right word. But what would you call it? The crush you fucked and then ghosted? You decided to just stop thinking about it.

Mrs. Goldstein sat down on her chair again after a dance with one of Josh’s friends and was apparently eager to start another conversation with the two of you. “Walter, what do you do for a living?” she asked and Walter told her about his job as a police officer. He didn’t get into detail, but Mrs. Goldstein was glued to his lips. Then she turned to you. “And you, young lady?”

Usually, you loved talking about your job, but now, with Walter listening, somehow you felt stupid. As if you were still the teenager who wrote fan fiction. “I’m an author.” you said, hoping she would turn back to talk with Walter, but her curiosity wasn’t satisfied yet.

“Oh, interesting, what do you write, romances, something steamy?” She wriggled her eyebrows at Walter who couldn’t hold back a scoff. Meanwhile, you wanted to disappear, so you never would have to look into Walter’s face again.

Why did you feel so ashamed? You were a good author. You puffed out your chest and answered. “No, mostly I write thrillers and crime stories.” This earned you another disapproving huff from Walter.

Mrs. Goldstein didn’t seem to notice the hostility between the both of you. “Oh, so you can ask your friend for help when you need advice about police stuff.”

Now Walter couldn’t hold back any longer. He let out a derogatory laugh. “She would never ask anyone for help, She’s too proud for something like that. Guess she rather still gets everything wrong. Like always.”

Now you were the one glaring at Walter. What was he talking about? “What did I get wrong?” you shouted at him.

It shocked you not to see anger and hate in Walter’s face as he looked at you. Instead, you saw hurt. “Me! You got me wrong! I was in love with you, Max. So much. But you broke my heart. And you never got it, did you? You never saw it? How much you hurt me, for giving me one night in heaven and then years in hell.” He shot up from his chair and stormed out of the room.

When you got into the foyer, there was no sign of Walter and you cursed that it had taken you a moment until you were able to react and run after him. You glanced around helplessly. The guy at the reception looked at you and gave you a small smile. He pointed at the elevator and made an upwards gesture with his thumb. You nodded in thanks and got into the elevator. Walter could be anywhere. Probably he just left for his hotel room. And as nice as the guy at the reception seemed, he surely wouldn’t give you Walter’s room number. But then you saw the sign for the rooftop terrace. That would be a possibility. So you pressed the button and as you waited to get to the top level, you tried to gather a straight and logical thought, unsuccessfully, of course.

But whatever thought you might have had, it got lost the moment the doors opened and you saw him. He was sitting on a stone bench, close to the balustrade, gazing over the lights of the city. He didn't seem to care about the drizzle, slowly soaking his suit. It reminded you of that night when he found you in front of that motel. In the soft light reflecting, even his face looked younger.

You saw how his body tensed when he noticed the sound of your heels hitting the concrete tiles, but he didn't turn. Not even when you stood next to him.

“Can I sit?” you asked and Walter brushed the sleeve of his jacket over the bench to rub it dry for you, even though he still kept his gaze locked on the streets. The gesture gave you hope. He accepted you at his side, he even took care of you.

You slowly sank on the bench next to him and pointed your gaze at the lights of the city, just as he did. Both of you stayed silent for a while and somehow it felt comfortable, peaceful. Not even the cold raindrops were bothering you. But when your thoughts got too loud in your head, you finally spoke:

“You know I regret my decision every day, ever since that morning I left.” You turned to look at Walter, but he still didn’t move, it appeared as if he hadn’t even heard you. His apathy killed that small spark of hope inside of you and it was as if something cold gripped your heart tightly. And just the moment you wanted to leave and cry your heart out, his eyes locked with yours.

“You do?” It was a whisper, barely audible. The look on his face didn’t give away any emotion. You cursed silently at this man’s stoic demeanor. Opening your heart would be so much easier if you could read at least a tiny expression on his face.

“I broke my own heart, too, that day.” You wanted to say more, but you just couldn’t. Your mouth was dry, and your tongue felt heavy. Instead, tears formed in the corner of your eyes.

Walter furrowed his eyebrows. He had tried to make sense of your behavior for years, hearing you say that you felt something for him too made everything just more absurd. He shook his head in disbelief as he asked you why. And you owed him an honest answer.

“I was so scared. I would have never thought you like me. I was sure it was just sex for you. And that you’d regret it. That you’d feel obligated to date me because you were stupid enough to screw your friend's sister who threw herself at you half naked and you got weak.” Something in Walter’s expression changed. He looked confused and hurt. He opened his mouth to speak, but you still needed to get some things out: “I thought you'd take me on a few dates and then find an excuse to get rid of me. And that would have made me fall in love with you even more. And then I would have had to see you anyway because you’d still hang out with Josh. The thought of this killed me. That’s why I decided to stop it before I got hurt. I thought it could save me from a heartache. And now look at me, still hurting after all those years.” The tears were falling now from your eyes, mixing with the rain on your cheeks.

Walter startled you when he pulled you to his side. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, placing his arm on top. His other hand on your cheek, you felt the warmth that he radiated. The gentle gesture made your tears fall more freely. You were shaking, overwhelmed by all the emotions flooding you, now that you finally allowed yourself to be honest.

“You should have told me, Max! I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you hated me for what I had done. For using you.” Walter’s voice was husky. “And I’m sorry I took opportunity of you. I am so very sorry.” He shut his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply before he spoke again. “ I should have done this differently. Asked you for a date, making it clear I want you as my girlfriend before…before that night.” He took another pause, shaking his head again. “You know, even though it hurt us so both so much, I never regretted that night. It's still my favorite memory. The moment I had you in my arms.”

Your heart was racing as you listened to Walter’s confession. “Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. I wanted it just as much as you. Damn, Walter, you’ve been asking me multiple times if I was sure.”

Walter sighed, a sad smile playing on his lips: “That whole day I was so upset. Charlie had told me about your plans. And how Paul was being an ass about it, talking about it in the locker room. I was so fucking jealous. I needed to clear my head, so I drove around town. Guess driving by the motel was a half unconscious decision to be near you. And when I saw you sitting there in the rain, in your beautiful dress, I just couldn't form a proper thought anymore. I shouldn’t have gotten into this bed with you, not before telling you about my feelings. But I did, and it was the best moment in my life.”

You turned to him, your face only inches away from his. Was this possible? Was it possible that he had feelings for you? It felt like it. The way he talked, the way he looked at you.

“We fucked this up badly, didn’t we?” he asked you, chuckling incredulously.

You shook your head. “There’s only one who fucked up all of this and that’s me. I should have given you a chance. Instead, I lied, I was mean and I hurt you, on purpose. Destroying the feelings you had for me and everything that could have been between us.”

“Max!” You could have melted by the way he said your name. “You can’t take the blame for destroying my feelings. They are all still the same. And there could be a future for us. If you want me.” Walter cupped your face with both his hands and sank his forehead down on yours. The world stopped turning and the only thing that kept moving was your heart racing in your chest.

He wanted you. He still wanted you after everything you had done to him. You got the chance to finally make the right decision. And you took it. As your lips collided with Walter's, the passion and intensity behind that kiss became palpable. As your tongues touched, everything around you blurred into mere background noise. And when your lips parted again, both of you were left breathless and struggling to grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. A spark of optimism ran through your veins. Maybe this was really a new beginning and your scars of the past could be healed. Everything ahead was uncertain, and it would have been a lie to say you weren’t scared, but with Walter's lingering touch still burning upon your lips, you felt the determination to nurture this second chance.

Walter still had your head cradled in his hands and pulled you in for another kiss. Your own hand reached for his jaw and your fingers raked through his coarse beard. His lips were soft and warm on yours and when he parted them your tongue slipped past, eager to taste him again. His cologne mixed with the scent of petrichor was intoxicating. A shiver ran down your spine as one of his hands slowly moved to your neck.

While you surrendered to your feelings, not letting go of one another’s mouth, the drizzle turned into a full-blown rain shower. It was only when the water was pouring down your faces that you finally broke the kiss. You were both laughing, sparks of joy in your eyes.

“I think we should relocate to somewhere dry.” Walter remarked. Not waiting for your answer he got up and dragged you with him. Waiting for the elevator, his mouth was on yours again, just little pecks in between smiles, but they felt just as good as every other bit of love he had shown to you in the last minutes. The ride in the elevator was short, and Walter distracted you with his mouth and hands roaming over every bit of skin he could reach. Not stopping the kisses, you stumbled along the corridor and Walter fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

Eventually, you were standing in a hotel room. Walter kicked the door shut and the next moment you were pressed against the wall. He stepped between your legs, his chest pining you in place, and resumed his assault on your mouth. His hands explored your body. One of them settling on your hip, the other one brushing down your thigh. He found the slit of your dress and took advantage of it, rucking up the fabric and feeling for your leg. His fingers caressed over the delicate material of your stockings, and he groaned when he reached the lacy border and then your naked skin.

“I need you to get out of this!” he said, his hands running over your dress. He found the zipper and pulled it down impatiently. The black satin pooled around your legs as he let go of the dress, and Walter took a step back to take you in. His eyes roamed over your face, then moved down, resting on your bare chest for a moment. As he moved further and looked at the lacy garter belt and the stockings attached to it, he bit his lip. “These need to stay on” he ruled. Just hearing him talking to you like this made you want to drop on your knees for him and surrender to your longing.

But Walter ruined your plans when he got on his knees himself, pulling down your thong unceremoniously. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. But the moment you thought you’d feel his mouth on you, he stopped. Instead, he let out a soft chuckle. “Damn, how many times did I curse myself that I didn’t get my mouth on that sweet pussy.” And then his tongue darted out to lick through your folds. You let your head sink back at the wall as he made you lose all your control, lapping and sucking on your clit like it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He rolled it between his lips and made you scream when his fingers pushed into you. He still knew exactly well where you needed to be touched. His mouth, his fingers inside of you, and his other hand playing with your hard nipple had you at the verge of toppling over the edge. But every time you thought you’d reach it, Walter stopped for a brief moment. You were squirming and whining and pleading, but Walter just chuckled.

When you thought your knees were about to give out, he finally showed mercy. His fingers pumped into you frantically as he grunted. “Come on my tongue, Max!” Hearing him, feeling him, you couldn’t do anything else as obey, and you screamed his name as your climax washed over you. His arms were cradling you, his hands firm on your sides, holding you close, when you weren’t able to control your own legs anymore. Walter raised to his feet again, picked you up and carried you to his bed. He dropped you onto the mattress, watching you hungrily. His hands made quick work of his bow tie and the buttons of his shirt, so when you knelt in front of him, you were able to rake your nails through the hair covering his chest. His shoulders were wider than you remembered, his pecs and abs more defined. “You’ve grown into a man,” you purred, and Walter laughed softly. You wanted to sink your teeth into his skin. And after kissing and licking over his neck, you did exactly this. You got rewarded with a deep moan.

You brushed his shirt down his arms, and then your fingers were on his pants, cupping the bulge that couldn’t be hidden under the soft fabric. Walter unbuttoned his slacks, and you helped him with the zipper and the boxers underneath. As soon as his cock sprang free a bead of pre-cum built at the tip of his cock and you licked your lip as you saw it. “Let me taste you,” you begged, and without waiting for an answer, your tongue flicked over his swollen head. Walter hissed at the sensation, his fingers digging into your arms. After wetting your lips, you took him into your mouth, slowly sucking and circling your tongue around the tip. Walter carefully pushed deeper into your mouth, and you let him, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. With hollowed cheeks you looked up at him, and the feelings that rushed through you as you saw him almost made you cry. He was watching you with hooded eyes, full of lust and love.

You both moved in the same steady rhythm, Walter’s hips pushing forwards and your head bobbing up and down along his cock until Walter was breathing heavily and curses were falling from his lips. Your hand cupped his balls, slowly caressing them. Walter let you keep going like that for another few moments, but when his moans got louder and more desperate, he finally pulled out of your mouth. His thumb brushed over your swollen and tingling lips, and he leaned down to press a kiss on them. “I need to have you, now!”

He pushed you to lay back and crawled between your legs, pumping his cock as his eyes darted over your tits and pussy. “Goddammit, you’re so beautiful!” he growled. Another few strokes, then he moved backwards. “Don’t you dare move. Stay exactly like this!” he told you, and you did. Keeping your legs open for him, biting your lip, you watched him as he searched through his jacket, fishing a condom out of his wallet.

Within seconds, Walter was between your legs again, his cock sheathed now. His body engulfed you, and then you felt his cock slowly stretching you open. You both moaned in unison, locking your eyes with each other when Walter bottomed out inside of you. He pressed his lips on yours, kissing you fervently when he started to move.

While he kept thrusting into you, your nails left red streaks over his back. You were desperate for him to take you, pressing your heels into his back, moaning and whimpering. Walter was just as lost in his desires as you, rutting into you almost violently. He grabbed your knee and threw your leg over his shoulder, straddling your other thigh. When he sank into you again, your eyes rolled back. His cock brushed over your most sensitive spot mercilessly, you felt him so deep inside of you. To make you go totally insane, he rubbed his thumb over your clit with every thrust. You were shouting profanities at him, begging him, trying to fight back the tears that started to fall.

“Let go, baby! Let me see how you look when you come around my cock!” He rocked his hips into you, faster and harder, until you finally exploded, your legs shaking. “That’s my girl,” Walter cooed, leaning down to press wet kisses on your neck. But he wasn’t yet done with you. He manhandled you to lay on your stomach. “Get your sweet little ass over here!” he ordered, and you moved to all fours, raising your bottom invitingly to him. His hands kneaded your ass cheeks, accompanied by a content groan of his. “Look at that juicy little pussy!” His fingers brushed through your folds, circling your entrance and then moving further up, teasing your puckered hole. You squirmed, a wanton gasp leaving your lips. “Hm, you like that, don’t you? I’ll keep that in mind for another time.” You could tell he had a smug grin on his face even when your face was buried in the bedsheets right now.

Then his cock was driving into you again. The lewd sounds from both Walter and you echoed through the room as Walter fucked you into oblivion. He lost his rhythm now, rutting desperately into you. You felt he was close. His arms wrapped around your chest, pulling you up to him. He sank his teeth into your shoulder when he reached his climax, spilling his seed into the latex as his hips stuttered behind you.

You both collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily, but with a smile spread over your faces. Walter brushed a sweaty streak of hair out of your face before he pressed his lips onto yours. This kiss was nothing like the passionate, hungry kisses you had shared earlier. It was gentle and sweet and lovingly. And your heart skipped a beat when you realized that all the love you both felt was still there, even after you had stilled your desire. It was still palpable and not threatening to vanish. Walter nuzzled his nose into your neck, holding you close. You could have fallen asleep like that, if that memory hadn’t appeared in your mind that moment.

You laughed, raking your fingers through Walter’s curls. Walter frowned at you, though not losing the wide smile that was spread over his face. “What’s so funny?” he asked, and you were a little ashamed to admit, but then you told him anyway.

“You really learned a trick or two. And you definitely worked on your stamina.”

Walter chuckled and pressed a kiss on your cheek. He whispered into your ear: “Hey, I don’t think I did a bad job back then, considering I was a teenager having his first time.” Your eyes went wide.

“What? It was your first time as well? But.. I didn’t know. I mean… You were in college. I thought you already…” You felt heat crawling up your neck. It wasn’t as if this information would change anything, but somehow it warmed your heart.

Walter laughed at your stammering. “I was waiting for the right one, Max.”

*****

You woke up and for a tiny moment you considered if everything was just a wonderful dream, but then you heard the soft snores at your back and when you turned you saw him, lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow, his curls fallen into his beautiful face. You must have watched him for hours, and still, there was nothing in the world that you wanted to do instead of it. Well, maybe one or two things, but these involved Walter as well.

Then he finally opened his eyes. When he saw you watching him, his lips curled into a smile. “Hey!” you greeted him, and he gave you a "hey" back, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

“You’re still here,” he remarked, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you close. You pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “I won’t run away anymore, Walter,” you promised him. You kissed again, and when you pulled away, you smiled mischievously. “Also, I don’t have any dry clothes, so I can’t leave.”

Walter chuckled. “What a pity. Guess we have to stay in bed, then.”

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