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tasteleeknow · 1 year

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CALL OF THE SIREN

PAIRING: siren!minho x fem!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. fairytale!au CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. WORD COUNT: 5.7k

SUMMARY: the effect he has on people is obvious, they’re drawn to him like he’s an oasis in a desert. then, with a small jingle of a bell that announces his arrival into your store, he attempts to ensnare you.

NOTE: my step back into writing after a little break. please let me know what you think! this is my interpretation of a siren. i know some people write them as mermaid type creatures. i wanted to write more the bird type, pretty bird singing in a cage and never touched and all of that jazz. whatever, hope you enjoy!

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

“Would you just come for an hour or so? Please?” you friend asks, tugging on your arm and giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

“You just go,” you whine. “I’ve just had a new shipment in, I really should—”

“It’s Sunday,” he interrupts. “Your books can wait,” she tugs you a little harder. “30 minutes.”

“45.”

Elsie was perhaps the only person you could call a real friend. She loved you, she’d proven that over and over throughout the years. Still, she was a very different person than you were. She sought out new faces and new company seemingly every hour of the day she had free.

“Why are you so obsessed with dragging me around like a sidekick?”

“Why are you so obsessed with this bookstore?” she retorts.

“Why are you so obsessed with that man?”

“What man?” she says, faking ignorance.

“Oh, come on.”

“Listen, you just have to meet him once, alright? It’s not—”

“It is that weird,” you correct before she can finish. “You and everyone else have lost your minds. I really don’t see how it’s possible for any man to—”

“You’ll see.”

You sigh. “Let me lock up.”

—

It’s as busy as the last time you’d been dragged to the monthly market. It always felt like the entire region descended onto the field far too small to accommodate them all. You weren’t used to crowds like this. Your days were happily spent in your village bookstore, room enough for your books and a small apartment out back.

“There!” Elsie exclaims.

A crowd surrounds a small stage, obscuring your view of whatever has captured their attention. Your friend grips your hand and tugs you so suddenly you barely manage to stay upright, ducking your head as she barrels through the sea of bodies. The bustling sound of the market fades as she pulls you to a stop. Her eyes are fixed on the small makeshift stage, constructed from various wooden crates stacked beside each other. He’s singing: the man on the stage. He stands there in front of you, white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows with his hair falling into his eyes. He’s pretty, you’ll give him that. But when you turn to speak to your friend, the look on her face makes the words stick in your throat. She looks transfixed. She looks like he’s offering her the world on a silver platter, holding it out to her with his bare hands.

A strange feeling bubbles up in your chest, like you should wrap your arms around her as if she might at any moment lunge onto the stage.

Then the singing stops.

“That’s him,” she breathes dreamily, still failing to pull her eyes from the man on stage.

“Thank you for coming,” the man on stage announces just before leaping off the stage and walking directly towards you. The crowd begins shuffling around, making their way to the small booth where they can offer their cash as a thank you for a clearly enrapturing performance.

“You looked away,” he says when he reaches you, like that means anything at all.

Your friend grabs your hand, as if she's afraid you might turn and run. “This is Minho,” she says. “He performs here every month. We uh—We had a drink last month and I said I’d bring my best friend next time.”

You tug your hand from your friend’s, a little amused by her clear infatuation. Then you hold it towards him, inviting the stranger to shake it. He doesn’t. Instead he looks down at it like you’ve just held up something rotten in his face.

“Minho doesn’t like touching people,” your friend explains, grabbing your hand again and saving you the embarrassment of letting it fall to your side.

“Right. Well, I uh— I enjoyed what little of your performance I heard. Your voice is nice.”

“Nice?” he says, cocking his head a little.

Nice wasn’t enough of a compliment for him? The man refuses to shake hands and has a big ego. Your brows draw together, growing confused at your usually very intuitive friend’s infatuation.

Elsie laughs, swinging your hands back and forth between you. “It’s heavenly, more like. Nice is a ridiculous way to describe it. Doesn’t it just… feel like it’s seeping into your chest? Like you could drown in it?”

The man—Minho—looks at you with anticipation, curiosity: like your answer is important.

“I—I mean, sure. I suppose.”

“Should we all get a drink? There’s a shake stall, just near the lake,” your friend says, pulling Minho’s eyes from yours as she leads you away.

—

The remainder of the day is uneventful. You stay an hour and your friend chats away with the strange man like a lovesick puppy while you make yourself sick on a far too large vanilla milkshake. Love gives people rose tinted glasses, you conclude that night as you fall into bed. He was pretty and he had a nice voice, but clearly your friend's view of him was magnified by her heart. Infatuation does that to people.

—

The gentle jingle of the bell above the door is one of those sounds you’d grown so accustomed to, you now barely heard it. It was background noise, like the sea birds or the crashing of the waves against the cliffs. You were so close to the cliffside here, it was the biggest selling point of the place. If you cracked your window open at night you could fall asleep to that sound. It was a stark difference to the car horns and sirens you’d grown up with.

“Excuse me?” a voice says, startling you from your reverie.

“Minho.”

“You remembered.”

“I’m good with names.”

He looks around the store, taking in the high shelves and the ladders installed to reach. “Yes, you’d have to be. Elsie told me you were… attached to this place.”

“I love it.”

He tilts his head a little, that look crossing his face again. You feel like you’re under a microscope.

You clear your throat, stepping down from the small step you carry around the store to reach difficult places. “Do you need help finding anything?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, gazing around the store lazily. “I don’t do a lot of reading to be honest. I could use a few recommendations.”

You brush your hands down your front. “Alright. What genres do you like?”

He shrugs, offering you a lopsided grin.

“You have to help me a little.”

“Give me three of your favourites.”

“We might not have the same taste.”

He shrugs again.

Okay, fine. He’d be buying either way.

He follows you around the store, a quiet shadow as you collect the first three books to come to mind. He’s quiet as he pays, placing his card down on the counter between you. Doesn’t like to be touched, you’re reminded. You slide the brown paper bag across the counter for him as you tuck his receipt inside.

“Here you go.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” he says casually as he scoops it off the counter.

You’re quiet for a moment, processing the question. “I’m sorry?”

“I know it’s an odd question.”

“Odd doesn’t—”

“Humour me.”

Elsie has a lot of explaining to do. “Sure. You’re pretty and your voice is heavenly. It seeps into my soul.”

He grins. “You’re lying.”

“Look, I think you’re strange. You… make me feel uneasy and—”

“Uneasy?”

“Not in a bad way. I don’t feel.. unsafe. I just… feel like I’m missing something. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Not knowing something makes you uncomfortable,” he says, still grinning. It isn’t a question.

“Why are you here? You clearly didn’t come here to buy books.”

He juggles the brown bag into one hand so he can hold out his other towards you. “I came to shake your hand.”

“I thought you didn’t like to do that.”

“I don’t.”

“So why are you—”

“Humour me.”

You sigh, reaching out and grasping his hand in yours. He jolts as your palms connect, dropping the contents of the paper bag across the floor as he stumbles backwards. Okay, he really doesn’t like being touched. You round the counter to collect the books from the floor, cringing a little at the way one of the brand new paperbacks has landed.

It’s only when you’ve collected all three and righted yourself you realise Minho is standing deathly still, silent.

You raise your eyes to him. He looks shaken. You can’t help feeling sorry for him. “I don’t know what—I don’t know why you don’t like being touched, but it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay to protect yourself.”

You place the bag at his feet and take a step away from him. “Did you—Did you feel anything?”

You frown.

“When we touched,” he clarifies.

“Like what?”

“Nothing. I uh—” he bends to collect the bag. “Thanks for the books.”

And with that, he’s gone. The small bell announces his exit.

—

It’s days like these, with the sun high in the sky and the gentle spring breeze, that you’re so grateful for life you can hardly contain it. You close the shop and take the small walk to the cliffside bench with a book tucked under one arm and a thermos in your chilled hands. She’s waiting for you there. She knows weather like this draws you out.

“The princess emerges from her tower, at last!” Elsie practically shouts as you lower yourself onto the bench beside her.

“No shouting on days like this.”

“Is that coffee?” she asks, gesturing to your thermos.

“Tea,” you correct, passing it to her before she can ask.

“Mm, prefer coffee,” she says just before taking a healthy sip.

“You should’ve brought some then.”

You’re both quiet for a while after that, opening your book to read silently as Elsie gazes out over the ocean, thermos grasped between her hands.

“Do you know something?” she says eventually. “I think you were right about this place.”

You place your book by your side as she passes you the half empty thermos. “Was I?”

“I know I tease you for it. But I get it. Why you spend all your time here, I mean. It’s nice.”

“Nice?” you laugh. “What an understatement.”

She turns towards you. “Oh, I'm the one understating the beauty of things now?”

“Don’t start.”

“I know he came to the store.”

“People do that when they want to buy books.”

“That man doesn’t need to go to a store to buy books.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you question.

“Come out with me tonight and I’ll show you.”

“Where?”

She grins.

—

“What the hell is this?”

“Minho’s home,” your friend answers.

“Elsie, this is a fucking palace. What the hell is he doing busking at the local market?”

She shrugs. “I asked him the same thing. Come on,” she says, attempting to lead you towards the imposing doors.

“I wasn’t invited,” you point out.

“I have a plus one.”

The sound of chatter and laughter floods through the door as it opens. Half the town are his dinner guests by the sound of it. Elsie pulls you through the stately rooms, each with high ceilings and decadent carpets.

When she passes you a drink, you still haven’t spotted him. You recognise faces from your store, people who have dropped by once or twice on a lazy afternoon and others who are regulars. Members of the local book club practically keep you afloat.

“Is this a celebration?”

“No, he just holds these regularly apparently. Has a private concert before dinner.” She tips back her head and finishes her champagne in one go. “That’s where they’re going now. Come on, let’s get good seats.”

It’s the kind of place you’d read about in fantasy novels, with high ceilings and chandeliers and carpets that could be worth more than your shop. It’s utterly ridiculous. A tiny sliver of embarrassment sneaks its way inside you at the idea of someone that had all this stepping into your store. You stamp it under your boot before it can settle. Your store is everything. You’d never been prouder of anything in your life.

When the man of the hour emerges, the room quiets. People shift in their seats, leaning ever so slightly towards the stage where he stands. This stage is nothing like the one at the markets. It’s a permanent, elaborate construction, raising him high enough that even those peaking their heads into the packed room from the very back can get a clear view.

Then he starts singing.

It’s just like the last time you heard him. It’s pleasant, beautiful even. But as you take in the faces of those around you, you get that frustrating feeling again: you’re missing something. He stands centre stage, lulling the entire room into a dazed wonder. You get the urge to climb on stage and shake him. Tell me what this is! But you don’t. You wait for him to finish, wait for him to release his captives.

Thirty minutes later Elsie takes your arm as you filter out of the room and towards the dining room, only stopping when Minho steps in front of you—blocking your exit.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” he asks, a polite smile pulling the corners of his lips up.

It sets your friend off on a speech that makes you want to pull her aside and give her a gentle slap across the face. Snap her out of whatever has taken root inside her brain.

“And you?” Minho finally asks.

“It was fine,” you answer. He didn’t need his ego fed.

He laughs. Laughs. Like the idea that you weren’t totally enraptured by him like a sort of admiring zombie was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Your eyes drop to his neck as you wonder how your hands would look wrapped around his throat.

“Elsie, they’ll be starting service now. May I have a word with my guest? Just for a moment.”

Your friend looks between you both, like she’s missing something obvious. You understand the feeling. Then she leaves with a gentle squeeze of your arm.

“You’re rich,” you announce after a moment of silence.

“Very observant.”

“How?”

“And blunt.”

“I don’t like not knowing things.”

“Yes, yes I know,” he smiles. Then he collapses into one of the empty chairs and looks around the room like he’s never seen it before, like it doesn’t belong to him. “People are… generous, with their donations. They like my voice.”

You scoff, collapsing into a chair across the aisle from him. “You expect me to believe all of this is just from… busking?”

“They really like my voice.”

“Yes, I know. Will you tell me why?”

“Must there be a reason?”

He takes a deep breath when you give him a pointed look before pulling himself to his feet and crossing the aisle towards you. You get the urge to run, but you don’t. You hold your breath instead as he kneels at your feet. He holds his palm up towards you, like he’s expecting a high five.

“I’ll tell you,” he says. “If you hold my hand while I do.”

“You won’t fall over this time?”

“I'm much closer to the ground if I do.”

It’s a strange request, but everything about him was strange. You hate not knowing things. So you press your palm to his, watching his face for any discomfort. His eyes fix on where your hands connect as he folds his fingers to intertwine with yours. It’s far too intimate for someone you’d only met twice before, but you need answers.

“This will be… odd,” he says. “You’ll have to be open minded.”

You huff out a small laugh. “Yes, well I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

He smiles. It’s a sad smile.

“I’m cursed,” he says eventually. It’s blunt and plain, no room for doubting the seriousness of it. “I exist to tempt others, to lure them without ever being able to touch them.” He takes a deep breath, readjusting the way your hands are intertwined so he can rest them in your lap. “It’s a safety measure, I assume. No one can resist me so to counteract any complications that might create… touch is repulsive. To both parties. I sing and I tempt them with beauty… and they want me. They want me so badly they throw their money at me in the hope it’ll make me see them.”

“Cursed.”

You look down at your intertwined hands, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. Okay so he’s either teasing you or he’s completely insane.

“I can prove it to you,” he says, seemingly interpreting the look on your face successfully. “If I must. It won’t be pleasant.”

“We’re holding hands,” you point out. You weren’t in pain.

“Yes,” he says with a small smile. “We are.”

“Well, doesn’t that disprove your… story.”

He squeezes your hand a little. “You aren’t lured in the same way. My voice is ‘fine’, as you put it. I’m pretty enough, but I’m not—”

“What’s your point?”

“Curses can be broken,” he says. “Surrounded by all those books and you’ve never read a fairytale?”

You want to shove him onto his ass and wipe the teasing smirk off his face.

“You’re a curse-breaker. Come to set me free.”

You yank your hand from his.

“Is this fun for you? Do you want me to fall for this story you're spinning and make myself a fool just for you to waltz into the dining room and laugh about it with your friends?”

He frowns. “No.”

“Why do you sing?” you ask. “If this is a ‘curse’ that you hate so much. Why set up these events to sing for them all?”

“I need it,” he says, brows still drawn together. “Or I'll die. I… feed from their adoration, or the curse does. It’s wrapped around me, yanking at my soul. I feed it or I die.”

The look on his face, the tormented glaze to his eyes. It’s too convincing. He’s either as good of an actor as he is a singer or he’s…

“How would you prove it?”

He pulls himself to his feet. “I would let someone touch me. Your friend, perhaps.”

“And what would happen?”

“She would… be upset. She’d be in pain.”

“It hurts?”

“It’s excruciating.”

“You can’t do it to me instead?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the exception, angel. I can’t hurt you even if I wanted to.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“That’s what you feel like to me.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Alright.”

He’s quiet as you leave the room, as you leave his house. You pull your phone out to let Elise know you’ve left early. She’ll understand. You don’t like crowds.

—

It’s weeks before the small bell above your shop door signals his arrival. You’d almost managed to put him from your mind and then there he is, standing in your space with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“What do you want?”

He steps towards you. He looks nervous.

“I’d like to be free, angel.”

“I said not to call me that.”

“Right, sorry.”

You sigh, stepping down from the ladder to face him. “Okay, tell me what to do.” Humour him.

One corner of his mouth lifts up. “What?”

“How do I free you? Break the curse,” you say, gesturing at nothing in particular.

He looks around you, at the shelves crammed to bursting with books. “No fairy tales at all?” he questions. When you say nothing he redirects his attention to you again, suddenly looking a little more solemn. “I’m afraid you’ll have to fall in love with me, angel.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. “Oh alright, then,” you manage eventually. “Is that all?”

He isn’t laughing with you, you realise. It sobers you.

“I would really, really like to be free.”

“The fairytales you keep alluding to. Don’t they usually fall in love before the big curse is revealed? A little less pressure that way don’t you think?”

He pulls one hand from his pocket and rubs the back of his head. “It would feel… wrong. To spend time with you while keeping that from you. Wouldn’t you feel… used? If you did end up… feeling something for me and then discovering I had something more to gain from you.”

You frown. “Yeah, I guess I would. But if you want to be free that badly, why does it matter? You don’t know me.”

“Like I said, I can’t hurt you. It’s… maybe it’s part of it. I don’t know. I feel…” he trails off, eyes dropping to the ground. “It’s strange,” he continues after a moment. “I’ve known about you, that someone like you existed out there somewhere. Someone who could fix me. I just—How long have you been here? How long have you had this place?”

“5 years.”

“5—” he pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “Right.”

“How long have you been… like this?”

“6 years,” he says, shoving his hand back in his pocket. “You’ve been here this whole time. This curse is cruel, I shouldn’t be surprised. I just—”

“Swear to me,” you interrupt, taking a small step towards him. “Swear to me this isn’t some elaborate joke. I don’t want to see anyone in pain. I don’t want you to have to prove this to me. I just… I need you to look me in the eyes and swear to me.”

He takes a hesitant step towards you as he lifts his hands from his pockets. “Is there someone you… someone you don’t like very much?” he asks, a tiny smile forming on his lips. “Someone you wouldn’t mind seeing getting a very short jolt of pain?”

“You said it’s excruciating. Is it that way for you too?”

He nods.

“No, there’s no one I’d want to feel pain.”

He sighs. “I want to prove it to you. I want you to be sure of me.”

“You’ll have to prove yourself worth trusting. If I'm going to love you, I’ll have to trust you, won’t I?”

He reaches slowly for your hand. You let him take it, lifting it up so he can inspect it. He traces his finger over your palm, tracing the lines that cross your skin. “I’ll do my best,” he whispers.

—

It doesn’t take you long to recognise his patterns of behaviour. He visits the shop regularly, finding some way to touch you in these small ways before he leaves. You can’t help but stay quiet as he does, afraid to interrupt him. You can see it, the way he gets comfort from your touch. You suppose if you’d been unable to touch another person at all for six years you’d be a little desperate for human touch as well. Your hands are the focus of his attention. You’re sure he must know them as well as he knows his own. He traces the lines on your palms, plays with the rings on your fingers, wraps his fingers around your wrists.

He’s replaced the local bookclub as your biggest customer. It’s not possible for him to be reading all the books he buys. Still, he comes in once a week to ask for more recommendations. You slip in the occasional test. A vampire romance or fifty shades of grey. He never comments on it. Not until today.

“Are you trying to hint at something?” he says from the lounge chair tucked into a corner of the store. He’d taken to spending time reading as you worked. It was the only evidence you had that he read at all.

“Hint at what?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Your kinks.”

You choke on your tea, slapping your palm against your chest to prevent the liquid from entering your lungs.

“I’m sorry?” you choke out.

“I’ve noticed your recommendations are getting a little… adult. Do you have a thing for BDSM?”

You duck around the corner to check for any quiet customers lingering between the shelves. “Would you be quiet?” you scold as you march towards him. One of your regulars is perusing at the back of the store.

“Come on, angel. Don’t be shy.”

“Are you telling me you’ve been reading them?”

“I liked the one with the priest. Forbidden fucking is exciting, isn’t it? Doing it where you shouldn’t—”

You slap your palm over his mouth. You can feel his grin form. “If you don’t shut up, I’m banning you from the store.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief but he nods. You release him before wiping your palm on your jeans.

—

It’s only a few months after that when you notice it. He’s your employee. You didn’t hire him and you don’t pay him but as you hand him the box opener so he can start taking stock of the next box you find yourself frozen with the realisation.

He frowns, pulling himself to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing?”

He closes the box opener. “Well I was about to use this sharp thing to slice the tape from this box so I can take the books out.”

“Shut up.”

One corner of his mouth lifts up.

“You’re working here,” you point out.

“Am I?”

You nod. Silent.

“Would you like me to leave?”

You frown. “No.”

He smiles, sliding the knife open. “Then I’ll continue with the box, shall I?”

—

You stir awake at the gentle nudge against your shoulder. “Angel,” he whispers. “It’s late.”

“How late?” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes as you uncurl your body from the unnatural position you’d fallen asleep in on the lounge chair.

“I closed an hour ago,” Minho says. He crouches at your feet, hair standing on all ends from where he’s dragged his fingers through it. You reach out to smooth it down.

“Thanks,” you say through a yawn.

“Why are you so tired?” he asks, reaching out to take your hand so he can trace patterns across it.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Any reason?”

You trace over his face with your eyes, taking in his long lashes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his upper lip. “Would you… be spending time with me if I wasn’t…” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers.

Your eyes flick across his, the soft light from the lamp doing just enough to make the deep brown clear. He needed something from you. You’d barely known him a year and he was the strangest person you’d ever met. It was probably foolish to trust him, dangerous at the very least.

“I do,” you answer. “I… trust you.”

He rocks forward, bringing his head down to your lap so he can press his lips to your hand. He peppers little kisses across your skin and you tangle your free hand into the hair at the back of his head. It falls down the back of his neck now, longer than it’s ever been before.

“Keep me,” he mutters, just clear enough for you to make out. “Will you keep me, angel? Please. I can’t hurt you. I swear.”

“Okay.”

—

“What?”

You blink, finding Minho’s sparkly eyes fixed on you. He’s smiling, like you’ve missed something funny.

“You were staring,” he says.

You drop your gaze to the floor, feeling your cheeks warm.

His soft footfalls as he approaches are the only sounds in the store. It was a quiet day, heavy rain preventing many customers from venturing out. He arrives at the bottom of the ladder, holding it steady as you descend. When you turn he doesn’t remove his hands, caging you in.

“Am I pretty?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” he repeats with a small smile. “Have I grown on you?”

You fiddle with the tie on his hoodie as his fingers stroke through your hair. Grown on you felt like the wrong way to describe it. Inside you. He’d tangled himself with you and now you weren’t sure you could ever let him go. You’d spent a few sleepless nights imagining spending your days in the store without him. A small part of you was afraid. Afraid that if—when—you told him you loved him, he’d leave. Curse broken, needs fulfilled.

“A little,” you mutter, eyes fixed on his chest.

“Only a little?”

You look up into his eyes, then to his lips. “Would you leave if it was more than a little?”

“Hm?” he questions as he tugs a little on one of your earlobes.

“That’s what you’re here for isn’t it? You need me to—” you suck in a breath. “You need me to love you. Will you leave after that?”

He frowns, hand dropping to cup the side of your neck. It’s a comforting hold, his thumb stroking gently behind your ear. “Why would I leave?”

“I’m your curse-breaker, right? That’s my purpose? That’s what you need from me.”

“I don’t need anything from you, angel,” he says. It’s a little unfocused, like his mind is somewhere else. His thumb keeps stroking.“It’s been two months since I needed to sing. It let me go.”

You drop the hoodie ties and grip the fabric instead. “What?”

He offers you a small smile. “You freed me,” he whispers.

The curse is broken… and he’d stayed. “You’re still here.”

“Mm, do you want me to leave?”

“No,” you answer quickly before pulling him towards you, tasting him for the first time. He stumbles a little, humming into your mouth as he steadies himself. It’s a frenzied stumble around the store. You are hardly aware you’re moving at all before you find yourself pushed up against a wall of books.

“The store is open,” he mumbles into your neck.

“Don’t care,” you mutter before you grip his hair and pull his mouth back to yours.

He laughs, taking a large step backwards and detaching you with ease. “Yes, you do. I’ll be right back.”

You attempt to catch your breath as he locks up, dropping your head back against the books and closing your eyes. You loved him. You loved him and he knew and he didn’t leave you.

His finger traces your lips when he returns. “You’re smiling,” he whispers.

Your eyes flutter open. “You didn’t leave me.”

He frowns. “I was just locking up.”

You huff out a short laugh. “No, I mean… two months ago.”

“Ah,” he says before pressing his lips together and adopting an exaggerated thoughtful expression. “Why didn’t I leave?”

You press your finger to his cheek. “Do you think I’m pretty?” you ask.

His eyes flick to yours, the teasing expression dropping off his face. “Angel,” he whispers. “You’re wrapped around my soul.”

You’re both quiet after that, little noises of pleasure the only sounds between you as he pushes you against the shelves. You snake your hands under his hoodie, pressing your hands to his skin. He’s so warm. He’d taken your hands shortly after you’d entered the store, cold and wet from the downpower. You’d frozen still as he lifted them to his mouth and breathed over them, warming them gently.

“Love touching you,” he mumbles against your lips. “So soft. You were worth it.” His lips move to the corner of your mouth. “I couldn’t touch anyone… for years and you were there at the end… a soft angel come to save me, hm? Let me feel you…”

He continues muttering the same way as he presses kisses across your skin. You snake your hands up his back, lifting his hoodie as you go. He barely detaches his lips from you for a second as he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside.

The rain seems to get heavier as you’re consumed by him, offering you a curtain of privacy from the world. It feels completely safe, here with him, in your favourite place on earth. It's yours, this place, him. You bite into his neck, just enough to leave tiny marks in his skin. He grunts, threading his fingers into the hair at the back of your head. “The angel bites,” he laughs as he slips his other hand up your thighs and under your dress.

“Stay here with me,” you gasp into his mouth as his fingers brush your clothed centre.

“I’m staying,” he breathes.

“You can’t leave.”

He smirks as his fingers brush back and forth, barely touching. “Listen to me. I’m not leaving you, yeah? I’ll never walk out the door again if that’s what you want.”

“You have a—a palace,” you gasp as he hooks his fingers into your underwear.

His lips ghost over yours as his fingers explore you, slipping through your folds leisurely. “Would you rather live there?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you?”

He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing you. “Wherever you are,” he whispers as he tugs your underwear down your legs.

“Here,” you breathe.

“Alright, we’ll live here.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, like you can hold the sentiment inside him and physically prevent him from changing his mind. We, he said. We’ll live here. Suddenly his hands are under your thighs and he’s practically scooping you up, slotting himself closer towards you and lifting you up against the shelves. His bare torso is warm against your thighs as you wrap yourself around him securely.

“That sounds nice,” you mumble into the crook of his neck.

“Just nice?” he says back, the mischief clear in his tone.

“It sounds so wonderful, I could die from joy.”

He chuckles against your temple. “Don’t do that. Don’t leave me.”

“One condition.”

“Hm?”

“Would you fuck me now?”

He makes that face again, like he’s deep in thought. His mouth forms a straight line. You kiss it off him, forcing him to part his lips. “Alright, angel,” he mumbles. “I’ll fuck you now.”

His movements are lazy and patient as he pulls himself free from his trousers. You practically latch yourself onto his neck, sucking at his skin desperately. Then he’s playing with you, wetting the tip of his cock along your folds like he has all the time in the world. You’re on the brink of tears when he finally shoves you against the shelves and lets you sink down onto him.

“‘m inside you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You hum, dropping your head back. “Yeah,” you breathe. “You are.”

please don’t forget to leave feedback, it took me lots of time and effort and hearing your thoughts is what makes me want to write more. thank you.

#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #minho smut #minho x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios

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katz-chow · 4 months

Text

how time passes

a/n: domestic price is the only price i will take, thank you very much. my submission for @glitterypirateduck's christmas fics. song? "love to keep me warm” by dodie & laufey. why? you'll see :) merry christmas everyone 🎄

warnings: gn!reader, fluff, sfw, cold, snowy night, leading up to a smut ;)

For John, there’s a certain aspect of life that he isn’t all too familiar with. Domesticity seemed like a world away, hidden almost. Of course, he sees it all around him; in how young couples shop for decorations for their first Christmas, or how older couples shop for grandkid presents for their nth Christmas, how candles are rare to find nowadays, all the colorful ones taken by menorahs sitting on windowsills.

He remembers it clearly when he first realized how teasing a normal life can be. It was on the same cobblestone street that he finds himself on right now, right through the glass planes of a small cafe. In a way, domesticity found itself behind a China cabinet, displayed and just an inch away from his grasp, and yet the veil between them remained locked. The feeling of being a lover, a husband just right on the other side, staring back at him like window shopping. How frustratingly fleeting it is.

The wind blew a bit more wildly back then, snow caked upon the roofs of the many buildings that surrounded him, all occupied with families. He remembers the way his hands would go numb from the hours that he walked around the market square, just to avoid the rickety radiator in his flat.

But that was years ago and the heater of the cafe he’s sat in seems unbearably warm. John sat himself in the corner, two drinks on the table and a tiramisu that he knew he had to get as soon as he set his eyes on it. Unconsciously, he looked at the gold watch on his wrist, just to check the time instead of looking incredibly pitiful alone in a room of company. He cleared his throat, then looked around; a Christmas tree with paper ornaments of children’s drawings littered through its branches, the electric fireplace that changed colors, and the soft jazz that played through the speakers.

His phone buzzed next to him on the small round table. He looked at the notification with a dash of his brow, a storm’s approaching. More snow. A chuckle bubbles up in his throat as he thinks of the irony of his first Christmas back in town almost 5 years ago, the same cold but not the same emptiness.

Almost as if on cue, the jingle of the bell at the door rang out and there you were to greet him. Still in your work clothes but with a long overcoat and a much too big scarf around you. If John could say it to you, he would say you look swaddled up like a baby. But he’s a gentleman and he knew that if he did say that, you’d refuse to put on the much-needed layers and opt to freeze to death.

He waves you down when he sees the way you stand there, hands in your pockets as your eyes wander around. He sees your eyes land on him and you bright up as you waddle over in your snow boots. He stands to pull the chair out for you, scooting you in.

“You look toasty.” He compliments, sliding the warm mug of a mocha latte over to you. He smiles even more when he sees you take off your coat and scarf, quickly grabbing the mug and holding it close to your nose. “Don’t burn your nose off.”

You glare at him playfully as you take a whiff of the chocolate goodness presented to you. “Maybe then I don’t have to smell you and that detergent you accidentally bought.”

John throws his head back, exasperated. Did he buy the wrong detergent and does it smell so obnoxiously strong you have to dilute it with an unscented one? Yes. Will you let him love it down? No, unfortunately.

He watches as you take a sip, sinking your shoulders down as you let the warmth fill you up. “This is really good, I’m glad you picked this place.”

“Saw it a few years ago, thought it’d be nostalgic to be back.” He replies simply, taking a sip from his own.

You place the mug down and narrow your eyes at him, “Nostalgic? You took your ex here or something?” You say accusatively as you place your hand into his palm on the table.

He winces at how cold your hands are compared to him. “Something like that…”

The last time he was here, he ordered one tiramisu and one latte. He then stayed for hours, watching people walk in and out, taking advantage of the buy one get one half off promotion that the young cafe had to offer. He thought about how unfair it was that even drinks came in pairs during the holidays and he’s still painfully alone. So, something like an ex.

“Your hands are freezing, Baby. Where’d you put your mittens?” He asks as he holds your hand tightly, rubbing his thumb over your fingers.

You smile cheekily towards him, opting to stuff your mouth with a spoonful of tiramisu instead of answering. This caught his attention as he pressed on, a small chuckle following his words.

“I forgot them…” You mumbled, obviously, you did! You squeeze his hand back and look around the cafe, avoiding his gaze entirely.

You see him shake his head as he laughs, and you look back at him, laughing and smiling sheepishly along. The scene was unreal, music in the air, warmth filling every bone in your body, and your favorite person ever, holding your hand.

He lays out both his palms in front of you, signaling for you to take advantage and settle your own hands on his. You do and he cups them together, rubbing some heat into them. Softly as ever, his beard tickles your knuckles as he gives them a small kiss on his lips. You feel your cheeks heat up just a bit, stinging from the cold they were previously in. You slip your hands out from under him and place them on each side of his neck, he grumbles, annoyed.

“We’re so cringe…” You muttered quietly, now hyperaware of the public setting the two of you were seated in.

He grasps your hands again and holds them close. Deciding to completely ignore the comment you made, he switches over to pepper your knuckles in kisses instead. “Wanna get outta here then?”

You nod and he lets go off your cold hands, which you promptly stick in between your thighs to warm up. John waves to a barista, pointing out to the snowy scenery. She seems to understand as she gives the two of you two paper cups and a box for your cake.

The two of you link arms and he pulls you out of the cafe, bundled up even more than when you came in with his beanie on your head. His other hand holding the bag of your little treat.

Snowflakes gently and steadily fall on your shoulders and head as he leads you back to his car, you having taken a cab over from work. John looks around at the nearly empty streets, most people taking shelter within the shops or in the comfort of their homes. He looks at you, a content smile painted your face even if the tip of your nose was turning pink and your hands still cold in his coat pocket and in his own hands.

You didn’t seem to complain about the how Jack Frost nips at your cheeks. And even if you did, he knows it’s not all too serious as you still down the packed streets full of cars.

“You cold, Darling?” He leans down a bit to whisper in your ear.

You look at him, your eyebrows raises in the cutest way. You shake your head and continue to watch the way the two of you were headed.

John didn’t think much about anything else, just the way your thumb rubs over his hand in his pocket, the crunching of score under your boots. He didn’t even think about his movements as he turned and backed you into the nearest wall, his body shielding you away from the world as you felt his breath on the tip of your nose.

“You’re so beautiful…” He grins down at you. The to-go bag now hook onto your arm as your hands found solace in his pockets.

You giggle at him and kiss his nose, then both his cheeks. John’s hands find either sides of your face as he cups it. His thumbs rubs and pinches the apples of your flesh.

He leans down and gives you one good kiss on your lips, you quickly melt into it and your hands escape to wrap around his waist under his coat. The kiss rushes through your veins, your body not feeling so cold anymore.

He pushes your head back a bit more with the force of his kiss. Fingers sliding back into the locs of your hair and into the back of your head, cushioning it from the hard, cold bricks.

“I’m warm now…” You giggle as he pulls away from you. Your teeth makes in contact with your bottom lip and your eyes big and glossy to draw him in.

He laughs and gives you a kiss on your forehead for good measure. John gives out a shaky breath as he leans to the side of your face, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “How about we hurry home and I warm you up more effectively?”

A breath hitches in your throat as you nod just a bit. He chuckles and kisses your cheek, pulling you into a u-turn when he realized y’all meant to take a right at the cafe.

#katzwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #fanfic #cod ghost #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x imagines #price x reader #john price x reader #price call of duty #captain price x reader #cod price #captain john price

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billskeis · 3 months

Note

hi, can u do 2008!tom x waitress!reader at a small cute coffee shop and they just like eachother after this n stuff (the rest is what u come up with!) tyy

ᡣ𐭩 tom and his waitress

the bell attached to the door jingles as people walk in and out within the cafe. it was a quaint sunday and the twins were just out and about looking for places to kill time as they just moved for the new school year.

it was a small town where everybody knew everyone and there was basically only one high school for them to attend there. bill didn’t mind the secluded area but his brother did.

“coffee? but you don’t drink that shit..” bill asked his twin brother.

“sshshhshshshush! you—you just have to wait and see..” tom exclaimed as he left his little brother confused, following behind him.

the sweet yet bitter aroma of coffee wafted around the small establishment. it was quite cute. european style. plants decorated the interior while the furniture was mostly that of dark oak, some of the windows were stained glass and classic jazz played in the background.

and there you stood, wiping down a small table with a clean, or could be dirty towel rag that hasn’t been thrown out—but still useful for who knows how long now.

your work uniform entailed that of just a slim fitting white tee as you wore blue skinny jeans that accentuated your curves. the dark brown apron only amplifying that as it was tied oh so tight around your waist, a bow behind to finish the look off altogether.

hair laid in a neat ponytail, your fringe framing your face and jawline just right. tom couldn’t help but stare, bill attempting to look around first until he found what his brother was staring at.

and of course, it was you.

“oh.. now i see,”

“isn’t she beautiful, bill?”

“mmhm, do you know her name?”

“nope! this is my first time entering in actually, i’ve passed by this coffee shop maybe two or three times?? never had the balls to actually WALK IN unless i brought you,”

“…”

“what?”

“you’re fucking lame.”

“oh shut up—hey! what’re you doing!?” tom semi shouts at bill as the slimmer twin attempts to push tom’s somewhat burly body closer to the table you were cleaning at.

“making a move tom, since it took ya this fucking long!” bill yelled at his brother to his surprise was able to even move him an inch? had bill been working out? tom stumbled as he was now met with your table and obviously, you.

“o-oh! hello! welcome!” you smiled brightly and put on your best customer service voice as you were met with two peculiar but cute looking boys who seemed around your age.

looking and analyzing them more made you question whether the pair were a set of twins.

“i uh.. uh.. can we sit here?” the baggier clothed wearing one asked you as the latter facepalmed himself. “of course you can silly, please sit! my name is y/n, what can i get you guys to drink?” you immediately shove the rag down into one of your apron pockets and pull out a small notebook and pen, clicking it in anticipation to write what they request.

as the two analyzed the small menu engraved on the table, the black haired boy spoke “i’ll do a caffé mocha, please,” as you scribble his order down now looking at the dread haired boy.

“coca cola.” he answered.

“a huh?” you asked, hearing him well, you were just, confused.

“a coke..?”

“no—sorry—i heard you the first time it’s just, you want soda at a cafe??”

bill looked at his brother as if he was totally and utterly fucking stupid. one could say, you can hear bill exhale so hard from disappointment that the amount of air that dispelled out of him could probably blow someone away.

“well shit, ummm what do you recommend?” the boy asks eagerly as he leans his body closer to yours while sitting in the chair. excitingly waiting for your answer.

it is said that someone’s coffee order says a lot about them.

you press your pen to your chin as you held the notebook under your arm. giving it some thought, you yourself weren’t the coffee drinker but now having worked in a cafe for soo long it become a part of your personality. “hm..”

“i would have to go for a flat white!”

“flat white it is then, y/n :).”

you write down his order, clicking the pen.

“alrighty! could i get your names please?”

“tom.”

“bill.”

“okay tom and bill, give me ten minutes!”

you skip away to begin working on their drinks as tom waves you away, bill just watching him, “you’re ass is grass tom,”

“i don’t know what you mean,”

“you. head over heels for some girl you couldn’t even talk to!”

“aren’t you the one preaching about love at first sight though?? yeah, come talk to me when you’ve actually got that.”

“eat shit, tom.”

“get some bitches, bill.”

“aaand i’m back! i hope my two new and favourite customers haven’t been waiting too long!” you place down the mugs gently on the table as you hold the large plastic serving tray behind your back. “nono, you could’ve taken as much time as you needed,” a smile coming from tom as bill rolls his eyes quickly enough at tom that you don’t see but returns the smile.

tom brings the cup to his lips as he takes a sip of the brewed beverage. he licks his lips whereas a remnant of the foam encoated and slightly smacks them to review the flavour.

unknowingly, you were anticipating his reaction more than bills. maybe it was because of how he looked at you, with such attention. or how he was way more willing to speak to you than bill was.

your stomach felt uncomfortable with a thumpy feeling, you choose to ignore it.

“soo.. how is it?”

“amazing.. i’ve never had coffee this good in my life!”

the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach grew stronger. your cheeks also somewhat felt warmer. a beating in your chest that just would not go away.

did he see it yet?

“yay! i’m so glad :D what about you bill?”

“couldn’t have been any better,”

“well, i’ll leave you alone—i have other customers, but do let me know if you need or want anything else!”

a silence was met as you left the table where the two young boys sat. they looked at one another, knowingly. telepathically. it’s like one knew that something was wrong with the other and it didn’t even need to be spoken.

“tell the truth tom.. how was it,”

“it was fucking terrible..”

tom contorted his face in disgust as he lifted up the mug to his face once more to breathe in the smell of the coffee.

how can something that smells so good taste like shit?

he kept his disgusted face plastered on as bill giggled at his brother’s antiques. that was until you innocently made eye contact with him and smiled, to which he just begins chugging the coffee (yes, burning his throat in the process) signalling you a thumbs-up as you laugh at him.

it wasn’t that the flat white you made was bad. you were the best barista in the tiny shop, and at such a young age too! it was that no matter how much tom drank it or whatever type of coffee that tom drank.

he. fucking. hated it.

“wow, you got it bad for her huh..”

“shut up.. i need her number now. i can’t keep drinking this nasty shit.”

as tom played with the tiny spoon that he used to mix his coffee within the mug, bill’s eyed widened at the sight that sat below him on the table, slightly gasping, “tom!”

“what? what is it?” tom now looked at bill who’s smiling and holding up a piece of paper. it was the napkin that decorated the circular plate accompanied with your mug.

there on it was decorated a subtle lipgloss stained kiss along with some writing.

“call me xxx-xxx-xxx c:”

bill wiggled the napkin in front of his twin brother at tom gripped it out of his grasp quickly but softly enough to not rip or ruin the frail napkin.

“well it looks like she beat you to it.”

he looked up from the napkin to watch you interact and tend to other customers. god he wishes that were him instead of some stranger, making you smile and laugh like that. it was almost criminal at the impact you had on him.

you catch tom and bill staring at you as you work, bill obviously looking away but tom kept his gaze on you. you noticed that he held a napkin in his hand as his whole body was shifted towards your direction.

wink.

“holy sh1@!8 bill! did you see that she winked at me!!”

tom swears he can feel his heart come out his chest as he clutches the enlarged shirt from the upper middle of his torso that draped over his body.

“i didn’t, but if you really wanted let’s go pay now before she gets off cash!”

“i—i can’t bill, here take the money,” as tom shoves a $20 bill into his brother’s hand as he makes his way towards the exit, “tell her i said i had to walk georg—i mean, our dog!!”

“but..! ugghhh…”

“chickened out? was the napkin too much?” you ask bill as you cash out the money he gave you, returning the extra change by placing the coins into the palm of bill’s hand.

bill scoffs and almost laughs, “i don’t think so, i think he’s just a pussy. but he reallllyyy likes you, like, it’s insane i’ve never seen him act like this before.”

“haha.. well, you take care bill! i’ll see you at school tomorrow!” waving the twin brother away as he makes his way outside the cafe. “bye y/n!” bill had totally and completely forgotten that today was a sunday and monday was going to be their first day back in senior year.

...

wait.

“y/n goes to our school!?”

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel fluff #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz fluff #2000s #fyp

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ihearthes · 5 months

Text

Christmas Thyme part 1

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (1st person)

Rating: Smut (NSFW, 18+ Only)

Word Count: 2665

‘Tis a week before Christmas, and just as I am preparing to twist the “Open” sign to its “Closed” side, the bell over the door jingles. Inwardly, I groan. Outwardly, I paste on my brightest smile as I pivot towards my (hopefully) final customer of a very long, very exhausting day.

I freeze.

Because standing there in the doorway of my boutique is Harry Styles. THE Harry Styles. You know. As It Was. Watermelon Sugar. Sex on a stick. That last one isn’t a song. Just a description.

“Um, hi,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say, but then I quickly tack on a “How may I help you?”

His eyebrows draw downwards, and he looks around at the merchandise which, after a long day of Saturday sales in the last few frantic days before the most important gift-buying holiday of the year, is scattered everywhere.

I’ve no idea if I want him to decide to leave immediately or if I should beg him to stay and shop. I do neither.

But only because I spot another person on the street outside, pointing at one of the most sought after and most frequently purchased soy candles. She and her friend appear to be heading towards the door, so I summon the last of my energy and lunge for the door ahead of them, pulling the shade while simultaneously rotating the lock. My panicked movements mean I jostle the popstar as he stands nearby.

“Oops! I’m so sorry. I just…”

“Are you open or closed?” He asks, worry etched on his forehead where it peeks out underneath his black beanie. I take him in, recognising his face instantly. With a pair of joggers, he wears a black Pleasing crewneck, and I’m briefly jealous of how cosy it looks. I wouldn’t mind snuggling close – to the crewneck, of course.

I am, after all, a competent businesswoman. Pfft. Okay, I’m trying to be one.

“We’re closed now, but if you don’t have much to shop for, you’re welcome to look around while I tidy up in preparation for Tuesday’s maniacal clientele.

He grunts, and I assume it’s affirmation that he’d like to look around, so I nod. “Are you looking for something in particular? Or shopping for a certain someone?” Wracking my brain, I attempt to recall if he’s currently dating anyone, but I’ve no idea. Since opening up my pop up last month, I’d not had time to do much more than work daily until exhaustion forces me to crawl into bed with a heating pad on my back and warm peppermint compresses on my feet.

“Just looking…” He smiles, and I’m nearly blinded by the left dimple.

Holy shit. No wonder he’s so popular.

I have the silly idea that I should sniff him. It would be easy to make a tonne of money from bottling his scent and selling it. Then I would have enough money to set up a permanent shop to sell my organic candles, soaps, and lotions.

Resisting only because I have managed to maintain some self-respect after being yelled at and cursed at by customers all day long, I decide to provide him some privacy.

“Absolutely. Let me know if you have any questions.”

He nods once, and I swear my insides melt into a puddle like Frosty the Snowman when the sun has come out.

Stepping to the counter, I fiddle with the sound system, turning off the grating holiday tunes that permeate the atmosphere this time of year and sliding instead into some soothing jazz from Alfa Mist. As soon as the first song starts playing, Harry’s head whips around and he stares in my direction.

“Excellent choice.” His voice is gravelly and kind with a bit of surprise in it.

“It’s the kind of music I prefer,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say.

“Me too.”

It’s such a surprising thing for him to say that I do my own double take, but he’s returned already to smelling the candles on the wall display.

Shrugging, I move to the first shelves to the right of the register, straightening products, and making mental notes of what I need to restock. When I move to the next set of shelves, though, it’s clear that a mental note isn’t going to be of any help. There are simply too many hand lotions, soaps, and other products that need to be replaced. Sighing, I move behind the counter again, withdrawing a pad of paper. Quickly, I jot down what I need to replace on the first two shelves.

Turning my head, I see that Harry has barely finished sniffing one shelf of candles. “Um…” He glances up at my utterance. “...would you mind if I stepped into the back to grab some more stock?”

“Whatever you need to do.” His voice is so silky that I could easily wear it and nothing else against my skin forever.

In the small stockroom, I remove my shoes, wiggling my toes that have been screaming at me for the last two hours. Grabbing a basket I keep for just this purpose, I fill it with the items on my list before stepping back onto the main floor. The coolness of the tiles under my toes is soothing, and I sigh at the pleasure of it on my hot skin. Quickly, I restock the first two shelves, giving my feet a workout as I have to rise onto my toes multiple times. My knees also get to practise squatting so I can place items on the bottom shelf.

After I slide my protesting feet back into my shoes, I sneak a peek to check on Harry. He’s moved on to the next set of shelves, opening the sample shampoos and smelling them one by one.

At this rate, he’ll be here another hour at least.

Surveying the third set of shelves, I jot down the merchandise I need to pull from the back for this one. It’s the shelf of eye compresses I’ve made that include differing herbs to soothe the skin around the eyes and quiet the mind. With a quick glance at Harry, I return to the storeroom, trying to recall where I’d placed the box holding more eye compresses.

Spying it on a higher shelf, hiding behind a box of the scented rice neck pillows I’d designed to be heated and worn next to the skin, I stand on my tiptoes in order to reach. Just — one — more — inch — CRASH! Both boxes clatter to the ground, the sides splitting open on the box holding the neck pillows, and I sigh.

“Are you okay?”

His voice startles me, and I jump like that time I’d been forced to watch a horror movie by my previous boyfriend. The arsehole.

Placing my hand on my chest to calm my pounding heart, I smile at where his head has emerged through the curtain separating the sales floor and stockroom.

“Thank you for checking on me. I’m okay. Just knocked off a couple of boxes.”

“Shit. That looks annoying. Let me help.” He muscles his way past the curtain, assisting me by setting the box right side up. I locate the roll of packing tape I’d used earlier to package some items for a customer who wanted them delivered, handing the tape to Harry as he repairs the box. “I’m Harry.” His introduction is endearing, and I share my name too.

“No one else working tonight?” His hushed tones do things to my body that are inappropriate for work.

“No one else is working ever. It’s my shop, and I couldn’t afford to pay for help this year.”

“Damn. How do you manage?”

“Well, I take it slow on nights like this with the restocking and tidying because I know I’ll get the next two days to soak my feet and relax.”

“But how do you do it during the day with all the customers?”

“I think that’s clear from the state of the front. I muddle through.” My shrug is intended to communicate that there’s no real answer to that question.

“Can I help?”

“YOU?” I yelp, clamping both hands over my mouth at my shriek.

“Why not me?”

“Um, cause you’re Harry Styles.”

When he smiles this time, his eye crinkles come into focus, and I’m lost in him. I could stare at those crows’ feet all night, I think.

“And that means I can’t help?”

“It means that you probably have plenty of plans that don’t include stocking shelves.”

“Hmmm… tonight, I actually do not have plans. My sister and I were supposed to shop for our mum, and then my sister ended up ill, so…” Trailing off, he raises both hands to the side in imitation of a shrug. “You can pay me by helping me choose gifts for my mum and my sister. And my manager’s wife. And maybe the wives of my friends.”

“That’s silly. I’d help you with that for free.”

“Ah, well then, you can take me out to dinner after we’re done.”

My jaw drops. Dinner with Harry Styles?

Is he asking me out on a date?

“Just as repayment, right?” I ask.

“For starters,” he smirks, and my panties become uncomfortable as I rub my legs together. “I’ll take these boxes out front.” Bending his knees, he picks up the box of neck pillows with the box of eye compresses on top. Striding through the curtain, he drops the boxes on the floor and immediately starts artfully arranging the merchandise. Occasionally, he brings a pillow to his nose and breathes in deeply.

Mesmerised, I watch from the door to the store room. After a few minutes, he removes his coat, carefully draping it over the counter, smiling at me as I straighten the bottles of lotion on the table, ensuring that the rosemary mint doesn’t get mixed up with the rosemary thyme. It’s easy to get them confused as the labels are similar.

“How long did it take you to prepare all of this?” Harry asks, his hand encompassing the entire shop.

“All year. My dad –” I pause as emotion invades my throat, layering it with sorrow. Finally, I swallow, clearing the grief. “My dad was ill for the last couple of years, so I quit my job to move in and take care of him. I started growing the herbs in his garden. And then I needed something to do with all of the herbs I grew, so I started making soaps and selling them at the local farmer’s market. Demand was swift, and I’ve been expanding the line for the last eight months or so.”

“That’s amazing!” His face has lit up like the Christmas tree that’s in the corner of the shop, and his grin takes over his entire countenance. “And how’s your dad doing now?”

I wince. “He actually died in July.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.”

My watery smile hopefully conveys my gratitude. “He was ready to go. At least that’s what he told me. And I needed a project after his death to keep me busy while I cleaned out the house and prepared to sell it.”

“Sell it? Why?”

Moving to the next table, I straighten the bars of soap. Wiping a tear from my eye, I answer his question. “Too many memories. I’ve had a lot of loss in my life, and now I’m the only one left in my immediate family. So when I’m in the house, all I can see are the people no longer with me.”

“That must be hard.” His hand rests on my shoulder, and I’m startled because I hadn’t realised he’d approached.

“It’s life. Lucky for me, I have my dreams to keep me going.”

“Dreams of expanding beyond a popup shop at the holidays?”

“Something like that,” I nod.

“Sounds lovely. Listen, I’m done with these shelves, and those over there look pretty good. I, um, straightened them earlier when I was testing the product. Is there a broom so I can sweep up?”

Astonished, I blink at him. “No. No. No. I draw the line at having a number one pop musician sweep my floor.”

He giggles, his laugh growing until he’s slapping his knee, his full body moving with glee as he heartily releases his mirth. “So if I were the number one classical musician or number one jazz musician or number one country musician, you’d be okay with me cleaning the floor?”

Seeing the humour in my comment, I laugh along with him. “Okay. Okay. You’ve found me out. Only pop musicians aren’t allowed to sweep up. Everyone else is fair game.”

Bopping me on the nose, he grins. “Good thing I’m not a number one pop musician tonight. I’m just a customer who is quite taken with your goods.”

And the way he rakes his eyes over my body lets me know that he’s not talking about the merchandise on the shelves.

Dammit. Why don’t I keep a pair of spare knickers in my bag in case I run into the handsomest man alive? Because the ones I’m wearing right now are ruined.

Sticking his head through the curtain and peering into the back, he joyfully exclaims, “There it is!” Seconds later, he’s pushing the broom around the shop floor, and I am both pleased and appalled.

Reluctant to let him do all the work, I watch him and squirm. Using the broom as a partner, he dances to the music, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes.

“I remember when you couldn’t dance at all,” I reveal, then clamp my hands over my mouth at my rudeness.

“Some would say I still can’t.”

“Screw ‘em.” I grin. “Listen, I’m about to count up the money for a night deposit. Are you planning to pay with cash or credit?”

Wincing, he bites his lip, resting his arm on top of the broom handle. “Oh yeah. I was having so much fun that I forgot I was here to shop.” He looks around at the merchandise. “You’re taking me out for dinner, right?” One eyebrow raises while the other stays in place. It’s a talent not many have.

“I believe that was the deal in exchange for your labour.”

“Then let’s eat first. I can tell you about those I need to shop for, and you can decide what would be most fitting for each.”

“Hmmm…” I tease, “Are you trying to get out of buying products from me?”

“Nope,” he grins, stepping closer to me. “Trying to let you get to know me more.”

“Who's to say I don’t already know everything about you?”

“Ah, I see.” The expression on Harry’s face is smug. “You wanna have a quiz? Find out what exactly you know and don’t know?”

“Sure,” I smile, “but somehow I’m not sure I trust you. You could easily say all of my answers are wrong, and I wouldn’t be able to contradict you.”

“Let’s start. What colour are my eyes?”

“Are you taking the piss? They’re green. That one’s easy ‘cause I can see them.”

“Okay, okay. You got one right. What colour are my lips?”

Which of course drags my eyes right to the body part in question. And they look lush. Soft. Slightly chapped, but not enough to keep me from…

Shit. I’ve gotten lost in staring at his lips.

“I didn’t hear your answer.”

My tongue dips out to lick my own lips, and he steps closer, his eyes locked on my tongue. Shaking my head, I dart my gaze back to his eyes, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. Leaning forward, he reaches his arm to my left, and I briefly wonder if he’s going to wrap his arm around my waist and haul me to him for a snogging session.

Which is when he grabs his coat from the counter.

“Let’s count the money so you can make your deposit. I’m getting hungry.”

Really? I'm experiencing a powerful thirst.

Author's note: Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, please reblog. I know not everyone reblogs, but it really helps writers out.

READ PART 2 HERE

#harry styles #my writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles reader insert #original writing

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sayakasnonsense · 6 months

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Fall isn’t complete without you pumpkin spice lattes

Pairing: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader

Storyline: Neuvillette falls in love with the new drink, and the new cafe worker.

Goofy silly pun: sip sip hooray!

Fall. Undoubtedly Neuvillette’s favourite season. For him, the world gets ten times quieter during fall. Furina is less of a gremlin, less court cases during fall, less of Wriothesley and clorinde squabbling next to him. The world gets painted with that lovely orange-brown hue, and the leaves crackle under his shoes.

As he steps out of the Opera Epiclese, he inhales the warm scent of autumn, feeling his muscles relaxing. Neuvillette makes his way to his favourite cafe, gazing at the vintage exterior. The familiar reddish cobblestone walls have not changed at all, along with the wooden tables on the inside. However, what Neuvillette notices would be the unfamiliar silhouette by the counter.

…she’s awfully pretty…

He watches as you hum along to the jazz soundtrack in the background before opening the door, the jingling sounds of the bells cutting through the comfortable silence. You look up, smiling at him as you lead him to a table.

“Hello good sir, what would you like today?” Your gentle voice floats through the air as he scans the menu in front of him. Instead of ordering his usual earl grey macchiato, a new drink catches his eye.

“May I have… a pumpkin spice latte, please?”

Neuvillette’s eyes trail you as you flutter around the kitchen, looking almost ethereal preparing his drink. He forces himself to look away from you, it’s rude to stare after all.

When his drink arrives, he takes a sip of it, feeling the warm taste of autumn fill his mouth. As you rush around serving other customers, he can’t help but admire your beauty.

After enjoying his drink, he leaves after taking one last look at you, knowing he’d be back for you another cup of pumpkin spice latte.

#neuvillette x reader #neuvilette #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #neuvillette fluff

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augenblicklich-lila · 1 year

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cod incorrect quotes #6

I'm really enjoying posting these. Love y'all ♡

the usual jazz, mainly Y/N/Reader stuff, platonic and romantic. Also has some Soapghost & Alerudy!

I think the König/Y/N & Alerudy one might be my favorite in this batch uwu

- Lila

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ ♛ （ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)つ━━✫・*。 ⊂　　ノ　　　・゜+. しーーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨)

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

Gaz: It’s Christmas! Are you all in a Christmas mood?! Ghost: Merry crisis. Soap: Jingle bells, jingle bells, single all the way. Y/N: Hoe hoe hoe. Gaz: Guys, please.

Soap: Today at 7 am, Y/N poured a Monster energy drink into their coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing. Gaz: I watched Y/N brew their coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think they ascended into the astral realm. Price: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me. (Price is definitely NOT going full dad!mode on the inside what-)

König: I give up. I am so tired. Soap: Get the emergency supply! Price: carries Y/N and places them in front of König Y/N: smiles König: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO + Alejandro: I give up. I am so tired. Y/N: Get the emergency supply! Soap: carries Rudy and places him in front of Alejandro Rudy: smiles Alejandro: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO (WHY ARE THESE SO CUTE T-T)

Gaz: My life is a little too much panic and not enough disco. Ghost: My life is a little too much fall and not enough boy. Soap: My life is a little too much chemical and not enough romance. Y/N: My life is a little too much imagination and not nearly enough dragons. (The way my grammar program only wanted to correct Soap's part-)

Gaz: Where's Soap? Price: Don't worry, I'll find him. Price, shouting: Y/N sucks! Soap, distantly: Y/N is the best person ever! Fuck you! Price: Found him.

Soap: Why is Y/N crying on the floor? Gaz: They're drunk. Soap: And? Gaz: They saw a picture of Ghost's spouse. Soap: But they're Ghost's spouse. Gaz: I know.

Gaz: I told Y/N to grab snacks for everyone. Price, looking through the options: Why did you grab fruit snacks? Are you five? Who even likes Fruit Snacks? Gaz, Y/N, and Ghost raise their hands

Soap, singing to the tune of I Kissed a Girl: I killed a guy, and I liked it- Ghost, whispering: Should we call the exorcist? Y/N, also singing: The taste of his cherry chapstick. Price, appalled: Call the exorcist.

Ghost: I have the sharpest memory here - name one time I forgot something! Gaz: You left me, Y/N, and Soap in a Walmart parking lot at 2am a day ago. Ghost: I did that on purpose, try again.

Y/N: You know, Soap gives Ghost flowers every day, I wish you'd do that too. König: Okay. Later König: gives Ghost flowers Ghost: ??? König: I don't know, I'm confused as well. (these dumbasses I stg-)

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ 　 ∧＿∧ （｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。 ⊂　　ノ　　　・゜+. しーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨) “Hie thee home, little wanderer.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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The Third Day Of Christmas

Steve Harrington x WednesdayAddams!reader [0.7K]

When someone knocked on the front of Steve’s door, he was busy balancing two pizzas, trying to open the oven door with his foot.

“Hey, babe?” He called to you in the living room, already tucked into the blanket he’d given you when you arrived, tv remote in hand. “Could you get that for me, please?”

You did without complaint, socked feet sliding over Mrs Harrington’s hallway floorboards, ‘cause you’d developed an awful habit in which you’d do anything Steve asked you to.

You’re were disgustingly fond of him, not that you liked to vocalise it all that much. But the boy knew, he could see it in the way you looked at him, when your stoney faced expression melted into something softer at the sight of him, when you took his hand under the table, when you pressed your face to his chest when you grew a little tired.

And Robin and Eddie were quick to poke fun, to make soft noises at you both, ‘aww-ing’ in jest. And you’d be even quicker to tell them to shut up, glaring but you never moved away from Steve.

But it didn’t matter how much you liked Steve, you weren’t willing to stand at his front door and humour the carol singers on his porch.

There was a gaggle of them, all colourful scarves and pom-pom hats, lyric sheets clutched in their hands as they cooed at you, clearing their throats before launching into an off key version of Jingle Bells. It was cheery, too loud, too smiley.

You slammed the door, expression flat, with a hint of horror flashing in your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve was suppressing a grin as he appeared behind you, reaching an arm over your shoulder to open the door again, just in time for the first chorus. “Babe, baby. Be nice.”

It wasn’t even really an admonishment, not the way Steve said it with such sticky fondness, his arms catching around your shoulders before you could scamper away. He didn’t need to be facing you to know you were frowning, expression sullen and eyes heavy with annoyance as you stared at the carol singers outside.

But Steve wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest as he rested his chin on your head. You could’ve pulled away, he would’ve let you. But you felt the way his chest moved as he laughed quietly, far too pleased at how you shrank back into him, one pom-pom hat away from outright hissing at the holiday cheer, the colour and fluffy ear muffs.

“What are they doing?” You asked Steve, voice laced with disdain. Your eyes were wide, staring at Mr Peterson as he grinned and waved some jazz hands at you.

“Singing,” Steve snorted, Steve nudged his nose to your temple, smiled and raised an awkward hand to Mrs Jenkins when she winked at him. “Maybe not all that well… but they’re singing.”

“Why?” You demanded to know, blunt and sharp.

You felt Steve shrug rather than saw it, a lazy heave of his body against yours and he hummed, good natured and full of humour. “S’neighbourly. Apparently.” Steve grinned wide, pressed a kiss to the spot below your ear and made out that he didn’t see your haunted expression.

“You don’t like it?” He asked sweetly.

“Steven.”

The boy grinned.

Your reply was short and clipped but your hands reached up to curl around his forearms rested across your chest, so Steve only beamed wider. Eventually, the song ended and the group stopped singing. You breathed out a sigh of relief, rolled your eyes when Steve cheered, all faux and obnoxious, just for you.

And then:

“Rudolph the red nose reindeer—!”

“No.”

You slammed the door as Steve snorted, slapping his hand on his knees as you swept past him in a flurry of black clothes and he reached out to catch you just in time, arms wrapped around your waist as he lifted you into the air, making you squeak.

“Steve,” you were soft about it, tucking your knees up and into him, letting him manhandle you without any real complaint, the corners of your lips lifting.

“What?” The boy asked, letting you slip down the front of him, smiling prettily, leaning down to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. “You don’t wanna go carolling? I could get us matching scarves.”

You frowned at him.

“Pink?”

You glared and Steve grinned.

“Like, neon green, maybe? Highlighter yellow?”

“You’re insufferable,” you told him plainly before you walked back into the kitchen, hiding your smile by leaning down to check the oven.

“You love me!” He called back.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #UDWS12D

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catgirlbussy · 8 months

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Listening to @momusu-saval, on my headphones when I muted in the call for a moment, in complete awe as she quickly devolves into a vocal scat jazz performance of jingle bells that she has zero memory of doing, was honestly one of my top musical experiences ever. Please understand this is saying a lot, I've been a performing musician for most of my entire life, I've seen incredible things. And then she's up in here, having so much rizz she blacks out in the spirit of christmas IN SEPTEMBER and bangs out the hardest rendition ive ever heard. That's fucken wild.

#christmas #rizz #sam moment #biblical music experience #im wet

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incorrect-mairuma · 6 months

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Elizabetta: Merry Christmas, everyone! Are you all in a Christmas mood?!

Allocer: Merry crisis.

Jazz: Jingle bells, jingle bells, single all the way.

Lied: Hoe hoe hoe.

Elizabetta: Guys, please...

#m!ik #incorrect m!ik quotes #m!ik incorrect quotes #mairimashita! iruma kun #mairuma #mairuma incorrect quotes #mairimashita iruma kun #shax lied #andro m. jazz #ix elizabetta #allocer schneider

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bearlytolerant · 4 months

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Fandom: Starfield

Pairing: Delgado x OC

Chapter rating: M

Chapter: 7

This is part 3 and the final part of the Bannoc IV chapters. More on AO3 or start at the Beginning.

It’s late and alcohol buzzes in his veins as he palms the nav table with slumped shoulders. There’s a brunette sucking him off that he’d brought back from The Last Nova. It’s been three weeks of worrying and he needs to find pockets of relaxation. So, the brunette offered relief and a blow job’s a blow job. He’s never been too picky about it before. But this one? It’s not that it’s bad and it could be categorized as pretty good. It’s just not—it simply is not her. It’s not great.

Delgado grits his teeth together and vacantly stares as the red lights in the command center flicker. Fucking annoying. He’s losing focus. But he shouldn’t have to concentrate this hard. It’s a goddam blow job. Shouldn’t he be thoughtless and less tense by now? Maybe if he just imagines the mischievous glint in her eyes or the feel of her teal strands in his grasp the tension might unravel. He closes his eyes to paint her picture but it’s blocked by flickering orange behind his eyelids. Flicker. Flicker. Suck. The suction is pleasurable but his mind is so fickle, and he falls flaccid with the languid lathing of the pirate’s tongue. Fuck, he can’t even remember this one’s name.

He backs up and tugs her off. Teeth scrape against sensitive skin and he winces. “Go.”

“But I—”

Raised finger like the reaper, he points at the fated door, his pants bunching around his ankles. The pirate doesn’t even huff right as they saunter from the room. Delgado yanks up his pants, and strolls those few steps to the exit. He marches down the stairs to the command center. There’s not a single glance spared in the direction of the displaced pirate.

The trip to ship services is the same as always minus the interruptions from Murdock. Instead of entering Jazz’s space though, he leans over the counter like any regular customer, waiting for her to notice him at the window. Eyes on her computer screen only, she doesn’t see him there.

He taps the ‘ring for service’ bell once and its jingle echoes throughout the atrium. “Have you heard—”

Jazz sighs and cuts him off. “No, still haven’t heard anything from your precious pirate.” Her brows furrow as she continues typing, the glow of the computer screen highlighting her annoyance.

Naeva barked out a laugh. “Your little friend probably ran off with the money by now. Do you really think someone who steals from you every chance she gets is going to suddenly become loyal? What reason does she have to bring it back here?”

“I hate to agree with Naeva on this one boss,” Jazz says while her fingers clack against the keys. She briefly glances up at him.

“You agree because deep down you know I’m right.” Naeva folds her arms across her chest, leveling a hardened stare at Delgado. “I say you hunt the bitch down and take back what’s ours.”

“Alright, Naeva. That’s enough,” Del says, his tone remaining cool and even. “Jazz. Ready my ship.”

A small smile graces Naeva’s lips and she almost nods approval. “I am leaving The Key in both of your hands while I am away.”

“You are leaving it in good hands.” Naeva’s smile grows bigger.

“Oh and Jazz, I need my ship prepped for Bannoc IV.”

Naeva’s face falls and the clacking of the keys ceases.

“You have got to be fucking joking,” Naeva says, throwing her hands up in the air in disbelief.

“I mean, I do have prototypes of both the ComSpike and conduction grid but they are just that. They are prototypes. I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“I do not tell you often but you should know that I have great faith in your capabilities, Jazz. I do not need the concern. I simply need my ship outfitted with what you have.” He turns away.

“Del,” Naeva reaches out to grasp his wrist.

“I know what you are going to say. But I need you to trust me on this one. Just one last time.”

Naeva releases his wrist with a sigh. “Fine but if you don’t come back—”

“I trust you and the others to take care of the fleet. If I don’t come back, you can say I told you so to the ghost of my memory.”

“Ha. Real funny,” Naeva says, shaking her head.

Jazz sighs. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am sure,” Delgado states without hesitation. “So outfit my ship while I gather a crew.”

He exits, heading back to the bunks. Hopefully, he will be able to scrounge up his usual crew and they won’t be too drunk or high.

#bear writes #starfield fanfic #Delgado x oc #vergado #split skin #chapter 7 #there’s a bit of spice at the start #brief bj mention

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esmedelacroix · 5 months

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27 days til' Christmas

going caroling with jung wooyoung ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

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

You and Wooyoung had been boring and practically rotting to death in your apartment with nothing to do. You randomly started singing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" just because, well, yes. "Hey, I love that song," Wooyoung said looking up from his phone. He sang a log and soon the two of you could've made your own choir.

"Oh my god, Wooyoung! We should go caroling!" you declared putting your hands on his shoulders.

"We should go to the boys' houses too!" he added.

The two of you got all bundled up in matching sweaters. The first house you drove to was San's house. He opened the door after you rang the bell a million times. You immediately started singing "Silent Night" in beautiful harmony.

He tried to hold in his laughter but was pleasantly surprised at how good the two of you sounded. Once you were done you finished off with jazz hands and San couldn't contain his laughter, all three of you laughed together. "That was amazing, you lovebirds want to come in?" he asked, opening his door wider.

"Thanks but no thanks, we still have other houses to torment," you said, nudging Wooyoung.

Your next stop was Jongho's house, one of the funniest of Wooyoung's bandmates. The moment the two of you knocked on his door it swung open. You folded your hands like choir singers and began to sing "We Wish You A Merry Christmas' ' in harmony. Jongho, just being who immediately joined the two of you adding a beautiful harmony, the three of you clapped for yourself and his neighbor yelled at you all to shut up. "Are those matching sweaters?" Jongho asked. The two of you opened your jackets further to reveal the ugly sweaters you were wearing.

Jongho sent you off with some cookies he was making and the two of you ventured to Hongjoong's place. Seonghwa was over because you could see his car in the driveway. The two of them appeared at the door and started to sing “Jingle Bells” dancing along when you heard a loud—SLAM! Did he just—you thought to yourself before looking up to see the door in your face.

You and Wooyoung exchanged looks before laughing together. The door opened again to Seonghwa and Hongjoong again. "We're just joking," Hongjooong chuckled before hugging both of you.

"Why are you guys standing outside? Come in, you must be freezing!" Seonghwa worried before Wooyoung wrapped his strong arms around you.

"I'll keep her warm, don't you worry," he reassured as he looked down at your flushed face.

You were usually fine in the cold but Wooyoung couldn't help but notice that you were shivering quite a bit so he took some mittens on your cold hands and the two of you entered the nearest Café and got cozy with some hot cocoa.

Your plans didn't exactly work out then again you would sit in the amazing Café with some of the best hot cocoa you have ever had and end the night watching "Home Alone" off of some random kid's iPad(Every time the kid turned around the two of you quickly looked away and started whistling and trolling him).

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taglist:

@aripet22

#wooyoung fluff #wooyoung x y/n #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez x you #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #jung wooyoung x reader #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung imagines #christmas fluffdown

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allthe-queens-men · 6 months

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An impromptu subjective ranking of...

Jazz!

Don't Stop Me Now

Fat Bottomed Girls

Bicycle Race

More of That Jazz

In Only Seven Days

Leaving Home Ain't Easy

Dead On Time

Fun It

Let Me Entertain You

Mustapha

Jealousy

If You Can't Beat Them

Dreamer's Ball

(God this one was harder than I expected)

Anyway here are the comments I made to myself while listening (out of order and out of context, of course)

"This is what rock music means to me"

"Not only one of the best songs on this album but one of their best songs period."

"That line does go hard though"

"I actually like self-references"

"This is a great showcase for him"

"Stone Cold Crazy without the grit but maybe more technical"

"I like this song better when I'm actually listening to it"

"The guitar sound ruins it"

"A lesser band could do this"

"What Hot Space should've been"

"Jingle bells section"

#isr #queen #queen band #freddie mercury #brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #these are opinions

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thedaughterofblackberries · 6 months

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It's the imperfections that truly make things special, isn't it?

Ꮺ : ♡₊˚ 🌟 The cool breeze of the city gently caressed (Y/N)'s skin as she entered the antique store, seeking refuge from the seasonal bustle outside. She was wrapped in a dark brown fur coat, leather boots lent a casual yet charming allure, and her sapphire necklace twinkled in the dim lighting, all while the pleasant warmth enveloped her. The serene ambiance was accompanied by the faint notes of soft jazz that flowed through the air.

As she walked through the shop, her fingers delicately grazed against the surfaces of the vintage artifacts, producing a gentle melody as her bangles jingled with each movement. She stopped to appreciate a detailed antique pocket watch showcased behind a glass case, its complex craftsmanship fascinating her. "Quite a treasure, isn't it?" The shop owner's voice broke her train of thoughts. He stood behind the counter, a smile on his face. (Y/N) turned, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "It's lovely. Do you happen to know its story?" The shop owner chuckled softly, a glint in his eyes. "Every piece has its story, but sometimes it's up to us to speculate their stories." Her nod mirrored an agreement, a nostalgic smile gracing her lips.

Meanwhile, a young woman walked into the store. She approached the counter and asked the shop owner, "Good evening. Do you have any old maps? I'm decorating my new apartment."

(Y/N) couldn't help but overhear the conversation. Her eyes landed on the young woman. The shop owner led her in the right direction and followed her behind to assist. While the customer browsed, (Y/N) inspected another vintage pocket watch, turning it in her hand. Her thoughts drifted to the stories this simple timepiece might tell if it could speak. As the antique store's bell chimed again with the arrival of another customer, (Y/N) remained entranced by the shop's pleasant ambiance. Soon the shop owner approached (Y/N) after he assisted the other shoppers.

Her gaze turned to a shelf filled with a mixed collection of vintage glassware, she took in the collection of mismatched teacups and saucers. "I've always found beauty in the incompatible," she mused, her voice as soothing as the faint background music that enveloped the store. The shop owner nodded in understanding. "It's the imperfections that truly make things special, isn't it?" (Y/N) smiled warmly. "They have their own stories, sometimes concealed in plain sight." Her fingers danced along a dusty bookshelf, admiring the weathered novels that seemed to call her name, each a gateway to an overlooked tale. "Old books have a certain charm," the shop owner observed, noting her interest. "You seem drawn to the stories they contain." (Y/N) turned to him. "Absolutely. It's like holding history in your hands." 　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　　　　　　　

With a bittersweet feeling in her heart, (Y/N) entered the last time into antique store, the day before her departure for Los Angeles. The familiar chime of the door greeted her, and the cozy ambiance welcomed her like an old friend. Wandering through the aisles, she found the collection of mismatched teacups and saucers. The charm in their imperfection matched with hers, just like the life awaiting her in the city she was soon to call home. She carefully selected a handful of these mismatched teacups, each with its unique design, some chipped and worn, bearing the scars of their past. Holding them delicately, she walked to the check-out. At the counter, she smiled at the shop owner. It hit her that this was her last purchase before leaving. The mismatched teacups nestled safely in a small box she carried, clinking their delicate edges against each other. A/N: IM SO NERVOUS HELP this was more like a prologue im so excited to include la la land scenes and references!!! i have never posted something i wrote on the internet before sooooooooo i hope this is good

#johnny cage #mk1 #mk11 #mortal kombat #johnny cage x reader #mk x reader #mk1 2023 #x reader #slow burn #fluff

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akairawrites · 10 months

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Not Your Gwen Stacy pt.4

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@ella-fella-bo-bella @ayoitsurfavdesigurl

Later that night, after spending some time outside, you finally made your way back into your apartment. You reached into your coat pocket, recalling the faint buzz you felt while swinging through the air with Spider-Man. With a shrug, you tossed off your jacket and placed it on the couch. Opening your new messages, you found one from your friend Betty Brant, whom you hadn't spoken to in a while due to her being sent away on business. She was one of your closest friends.

That's why you didn't hesitate to accept her offer to grab some coffee, which is how you ended up in a cozy booth, watching the rain cascade down the window and paying little attention to the passersby. The soft jazz playing in the background complemented the sound of rain hitting the pavement, and the coffee aroma filled you with a warm, nostalgic feeling.

Amidst the ambiance, you heard the tiny jingle of the bell above the door, signaling the arrival of another customer. You shifted your gaze away from the window and toward the source of the sound. In the doorway stood Betty Brant, exuding confidence. Heads turned as she entered the room, and she held her head high as she inhaled the scent of coffee. When her eyes met yours, her lips, stained with a shade of red, curved into a wide smile.

Her stylish bob haircut bounced as she confidently approached you, and you stood up from your seat to greet her with a warm hug. She exuded the fragrance of expensive perfume, and her high heels added a few extra inches to her height. You felt somewhat small compared to her, especially in your colorful windbreaker.

Betty removed her jacket and neatly placed it beside her when she took her seat. "I've missed you so much, Y/N. How have you been? I heard about what happened; are you alright?" Her chin rested in her hands, and her warm brown eyes remained fixed on yours.

You hesitated for a moment before responding, "Uh... Yes, I'm okay. I've just been pretty lonely since you left." Betty let out a sigh and gently grabbed your hands. "Hon, I am so sorry I left on such short notice. You know how Jameson is." She squeezed your hands, wearing an apologetic expression. You reassured her, saying, "It's okay, Betty, really."

Curiosity sparked in Betty's eyes as she asked, "Does this mean you haven't met anyone new?"

You paused briefly, then continued, "Not exactly. Do you know Parker? Peter Parker? He works at the Bugle as a freelance photographer. I hadn't noticed him until we were assigned to work on a page in the New York Times together." You figured that since she had been working at the Daily Bugle longer than you, she might know who he was. Peter Parker still remained a bit of a mystery to you.

“Yeah, I think I know him. He's the scrawny kid with messy hair, right? Hey, he's kinda cute. What else have you guys been doing besides working on this project, huh?" Betty playfully wiggled her eyebrow, catching you off guard.

"Betty! I didn't even know this guy existed until a few days ago," you exclaimed, feeling a bit flustered. You looked down and began to stir your half-empty cup of coffee. "Besides, he's weirded out by me. He gets all shy and distant when I try to talk to him."

Betty leaned in and offered some reassurance, "Maybe he just isn't a people person. He'll come around." Deep down, you hoped she was right. You didn't want this project to be the only thing that kept the two of you connected.

"We'll see," you replied with a hint of uncertainty in your voice.

For the rest of the afternoon, you enjoyed catching up with Betty, sharing stories of what you'd both been up to during her absence. Time seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, the sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the city. Betty had to leave suddenly due to a phone call, and although she offered you a ride back to your apartment, you politely declined. The rain had stopped, and you didn't mind a short walk home.

As you strolled through the darkening streets, you couldn't shake the feeling of being followed. It intensified with the fading light. You pulled out your phone, hoping to distract yourself from the unease. Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks and glanced behind you, but there was no one there. For a moment, you believed you were alone, until a grumbling noise from an adjacent alley told you otherwise. A disheveled homeless man emerged from the shadows, clutching a half-empty beer bottle. He downed the remainder of the bottle and carelessly tossed it, shattering it on the ground nearby.

You swallowed hard, feeling like you were stuck in a clichéd scenario: a homeless drunk guy approaching a girl in a dark alleyway. All that seemed to be missing was Spider-Man swooping in to save the day.

Just as the man was about to say something, he was yanked back into the alleyway with a thud. In his place stood the familiar figure in red and blue.

"We really gotta stop meeting like this," Spider-Man quipped, leaning casually against the brick wall with his arms folded. You rolled your eyes, staring at him for a moment in disbelief. "Maybe if you weren't following me..."

Spider-Man straightened up and dropped his arms to his sides, approaching you with a softer tone. "How did you know I was following you?"

"How else would you have gotten here so quickly?" you retorted.

He paused, chuckling. "I guess you're right."

Unbeknownst to either of you, you had closed the distance between you, and since he was taller, you looked up at him through your eyelashes. At this proximity, Peter could perfectly see the color of your eyes and the small details on your cheeks. The silence was starting to make him nervous, and he wasn't sure if it was because time felt like it was slowing down or the familiar feeling churning in his stomach.

"Can I walk you home?" Spider-Man asked.

"Sure."

"Why were you following me?" You inquired as the two of you began walking down the sidewalk. He let out a nervous chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay."

As you looked up at the now-dark sky, it began to drizzle, and suddenly, this two-block walk felt like a twenty-mile run. "Okay, well, thank you." You finally reached your building after what felt like forever. The rain started to pick up, so you pulled your hood up, even though you knew it wouldn't help much. "For walking me and saving me from that weird drunk guy."

"You're welcome. I don't get much appreciation, so I appreciate you appreciating me." He smiled under his mask but stopped when he realized how silly that sounded. You just laughed and walked up the steps to your building. Before you slipped inside, you whispered, "Night, Spider-Man."

"Night."

---

The next few days seemed to drag on for you. Due to the incident that occurred at the Daily Bugle, you had some unexpected time off while they repaired the office. As a bit of a workaholic who liked to keep busy, you decided to use this time to finish up the news column. While you were stuck at home working, you received frequent visits from Spider-Man himself. He chose to visit you rather than stalk you, something you greatly appreciated.

Each time he greeted you with a warm hello or a cheerful good morning, and you started to look forward to his visits. One day, as you sat down at your desk to continue working, someone suddenly slammed a newspaper in front of you. You looked up and saw Betty standing there, her red lips curved into a bright smile.

"Y/N, I read your column, and I just have to say it's beautiful."

"Thank you,"

"But she took a seat on the edge of your desk. 'You know Jameson; he's not gonna let this fly.'" You frowned, reflecting on how Jameson might react to your column. You had considered how he viewed Spider-Man as a menace, but then you thought about how Spider-Man had saved your life more than once, while Jameson had done nothing for you except yell at you and provide a paycheck.

"Well, he didn't tell me what not to write about. He just told me to write about Spider-Man," you explained, glancing at the front page of the paper that advertised your column with one of Peter's pictures.

Betty sighed, expressing her concern. "Yeah, but you're risking your job over some Spider guy, you know that, Y/N? You don't even know this guy."

"Yeah, and you don't know him either," you retorted. She rolled her eyes and got off your desk.

"Don't be so naive," she muttered before walking away. You couldn't help but scoff at her, staring daggers into the back of her head as she headed to the other end of the office and into the break room. Unbeknownst to you, Peter stood just out of view and had heard everything. You only realized he was behind you when he spoke up.

"Morning," Peter's voice was soft and gentle as he greeted you. Your scowl turned into a smile as you turned to face him. "Good morning, Peter." You picked up the newspaper and handed it over to him.

"I wanted you to be the first to read it, but I guess people got to it before you could," you explained. He took the paper and flipped to the page, but before he could start reading, he looked up at you. "Why me of all people?"

"Well, mostly because you are my partner... and I guess the other half is because I wanted your approval. I could care less about anyone else's opinion; yours seems to matter to me the most."

Peter didn't say anything, and his brown eyes scanned your face for any signs of deception. When he didn't find any, he sighed softly.

"Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot," Peter said, pulling up a chair and starting to read the newspaper.

As he read, you noticed his body becoming stiff, and he gripped the paper tightly as if someone were threatening to take it from him. You couldn't read his expression.

"Peter...?" you said almost inaudibly, starting to feel a little scared. You couldn't tell if he liked it or hated it.

“We have to be come greater then what we suffer. My wish for Spider-Man is to become hope people need that hope and if he fails what better way is there to live?”

Those words repeated in Peter's head, but instead of Y/N's voice, it was Gwen's. His eyes welled with tears as his throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. Somehow, Gwen's voice became softer and all too familiar.

"Peter, are you okay?" Y/N asked with genuine concern.

He blinked away his tears and cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine." Peter hid his grim emotions with a smile. "It's really amazing, Y/N. I'm sure Spider-Man would really appreciate this."

You could see the sadness he was trying to hide, and while you weren't sure why he was feeling this way, you respected his privacy. "You're welcome. It means a lot."

As Peter continued reading your column, you couldn't help but wonder what was troubling him, but you decided to let him share it when he was ready.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.5

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