#and at my job it was two customers birthdays so i got to give them surprise cake! which was great! they loved it

[tojiscumdumpster]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ toji fushiguro x his favorite customer (revision)

✧ summary toji has a little soft spot for his favorite customer that he can't get enough of.

✧ content warnings reader is a black woman who uses she/her pronouns. chubby!reader and inexperienced!reader. rich girl in her midtwenties, very needy! usage of profanity, standing missionary, oral - m!receiving, doggy style, mixture of praise and degradation kink, breeding kink, unprotected, creampie and squirting, terms of endearment ─ pretty girl, princess, baby, baby girl, etc. softdom!toji with rough, passionate, and filthy intercourse. told in first POV ─ toji's. i got reader calling toji TJ, and i think that’s so cute pls.

✧ author's note happy birthday to my baby daddy toji fushiguro! we've been going strong now for years. just a little something something to celebrate him. this fic has been in the drafts since December. talk about black people time, old sksk. also, if you already seen the original of this fic on tumblr, it's mine lol. this is just a revision, so don't go around saying i copied someone! my writing has changed so i wanted to redo this and add some adjustments. i hope y'all enjoy. support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts. ♡ AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS AND/OR MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT.

 

 When it comes to women I fuck, I treat them the same because at the end of the day, they pay me good money to stuff their pussy with cock. 

 Don’t really care if they're married either. I usually get the old, desperate broads that aren’t getting any attention from their husbands at home, so it’s my job to make them feel good for the night. 

 I don’t do favorites. 

 I damn sure don’t give discounts. 

 And I definitely don’t get attached. But the moment I met Y/N that all changed. 

 My favorite customer. 

 Never did I expect a younger woman to pay me to get fucked, especially when she looks that good. 

 I’m almost positive she has a line filled with fuckers that’s desperately wanting to know what this tight, wet pussy feels like, yet here I am, living their fantasy. 

 I fucked Y/N once. 

 Then, twice. 

 Then, again.

 And again.

 And again…

 If I didn’t know any better, I’m fucking obsessed with her. Can’t even say it’s just for the money she’s paying me. Probably the best pussy I ever had.

 No. 

 It is. 

 So fucking warm, and she takes dick well, too. I usually give only an hour or two to my customers, but for Y/N? I reserved the whole night to relish her pussy. 

 The perfect fuck to end my day. 

 Those soft, sweet-sounding moans that slipped through her full brown and pink lips, having my previous cum shot staining them had me running wild. 

 But it seems like I’m not the only one who’s sex drunk. 

 Cock is all on Y/N’s mind right now. Whimpering and crying how big I am and thanking me for giving her dick. Tears pricks those chestnut-colored hues and I’m in fucking awe. She’s so damn pretty. 

 “You know how gorgeous you look taking cock like this? Being a good fucking slut for me, princess?” I ask, being met with a nod and her moaning in response. 

 Y/N’s pussy talks to me. Wet noises spreading throughout the room while I have my arms hooked under the fold of her knees, fucking her recklessly to push past any intrusion. 

 She’s jumping with me every thrust I make, causing her tits to bounce obnoxiously. I take one of her nipples into my mouth and suck on them like it’s my last dying breath, hearing that sweet whimper. 

 I belong in Y/N’s pussy, and she belongs to me, too, the way she’s gripping my cock and milking me. All of her cream and wetness drips between us and down my balls, and it feels fucking amazing. Every time I experience her velvet walls, I find myself becoming more animalistic, hungry and territorial over someone who should only be seen as a client. 

 But fuck, something in me says I would go batshit crazy if I ever found out she had other motherfuckers experiencing this. 

 Knowing how she looks when sweat coats her beautiful brown skin. How it feels to stretch her out and make her adjust to you. Just thinking about it makes me pound into her deeper and more aggressively. 

 “Toji, baby, yes. This feels so good,” she purrs. “Like that. Keep fucking me like that.”

 I hum. “Yeah? This is what you wanted, right? Paid me to please this good pussy?”

 By all means, Y/N isn’t a virgin, but she told me she doesn’t have much experience and I can tell by how tight she is. 

 Our sounds of pleasure resonate in the air, and I call her my good girl, praising how perfect her pussy is, to be met with her squeezing me and watery brown eyes. 

 “Toji… Toji… Yes. God, yes.”

 “Keep using your words, pretty girl. Tell me how much you love my dick in your pussy,” I ordered softly.

 “I love it so much. It’s so big, baby,” she tells me, slurring her words because of her lips still being on mine. “You’re going to make me cum.”

 I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. “Not yet. Come taste yourself.”

 Without hesitation, Y/N slides down to her knees and starts sucking my dick. I hiss at her swallowing me and the warmth of her mouth. She doesn’t take her time when sucking me off, immediately circling her head and throating me. 

 “Hot fucking mouth made to suck dick, huh, pretty girl?” I firmly grabbed her chin so she could look at me. “Eyes up, sweetheart. Open up your throat for me like a good girl.” 

 Y/N hollows her cheeks and bobs her head fervently on my dick, tightening her lips around me. 

 She sucks dick so fucking good, better than any other woman I’ve been with. And I just know I’m bound to bust quickly if she keeps doing this shit. 

 My hand finds the back of Y/N’s head to grip and I buck my hips deeper into her mouth, ensuring I hit the back of her throat everytime. I’m a fucking mad man when I begin fucking the gorgeous face, especially when she’s looking up at me with those big brown eyes. 

 A spoiled brat, prim and shy, who’s spending daddy’s money to get fucked and folded by an old bastard like me. Think I fucking developed a kink for this type because of Y/N.

 I pumped into her mouth more aggressively until she began choking and gagging on my cock. Drool and precum coating her mouth in the process. 

 Any type of control Y/N tries to take, I push past it because I want to use that pretty little mouth of hers how I want. She needs to get her money’s worth when fucking with me. 

 “Going to fuck my cum deep down that throat of yours, and you’re going to swallow it. Got that?” She nods and I softly tap the side of her face. “That’s it. Keep those lips tight around me.” 

 “Toji, pl—please,” she slurs, causing me to chuckle. 

 “Hm, look at you. Trying so hard to talk to me while sucking my dick. It’s cute.” I slow down my quick thrusts, but replace them with more fervent ones, pushing me and her head down until my cock outlines her throat. 

 My balls grow heavy and obnoxiously slaps Y/N’s chin, a clear indication I’m about to fucking cum. 

 Grunting, whining, gasping like a little bitch for air because head like this has a fucker like me sounding like a broken mess. 

 Blood rushes to my groin and I start getting sloppy, feeling my muscles tightening and ache burning between my thighs. I’m close, so fucking close to filling her mouth with my release, then I can finish fucking that fat pussy. 

 Everything about this damn woman is perfect. Her pussy. How she sucks cock. That fucking chubby and curvy body of hers. A pretty face with loaded cash.

 Yeah, she’s definitely mine after tonight. And I’m talking about anything lovey dovey. Meaning if I catch her being a slut like this to anyone else, I’d kill that fucker. 

 No hesitation. I-

 “Y/N, fuck!” I grunt while cumming in her mouth. This load is fucking heavy, but she’s trying her best to swallow every drop. 

 I groan at the sight of Y/N touching her tits and palming her pussy, knowing how much she’s turned on, too. It’s like the vibrations of her moans pulls more cum out my fucking dick.

 A mess I made on her face, but the joyful lust I see in her eyes tells me she doesn’t give a damn. 

 Good, because I’m not finished with her. 

 “All fours on the bed. Now,” I demanded. “Still gotta fill up your pussy.”

 Perfection is what I think when I see Y/N from behind, arched back, ass in the air and pussy dripping, ready for me to fuck. 

 I force an arch in her back and plunge my cock in her tight little pussy with one deep stroke. Y/N gasps in the air and I take the opportunity to pull her up by the throat and start pounding her cunt. 

 Why the fuck is she so goddamn wet? She takes cock well, bud shit, I abruptly slip out each and every thrust. 

 “Keep me inside that pussy, baby girl. Stop fucking letting go,” I gritted in her ear. She reaches behind her to hold my dick and push back into me with a tighter grip. “Hm, just like that. So fucking good to me, aren’t you?”

 “I need more dick, TJ. Fuck me harder, baby. I can take you,” she moans. 

 Begging for cock she’s already paying for… Shit, I get a kick out of how pathetically sexy she sounds. 

 I repeatedly slammed into her wet cunt, thrust after thrust, pussy creaming even further than before. If it’s one thing I can listen to for the rest of my life, it’s how Y/N sounds when she’s being fucked. 

 My name drips perfectly from her lips.

 Our skin smacking fills the air in the room along my hand striking her ass until I guarantee it’ll bruise in the morning. 

 “Look at this fat ass moving when I pound into this pussy. Fucking beautiful,” I growled.

 “Toji, please. I… I don’t care how much… I’ll pay more. Just keep fucking me like this.”

 I chuckle. “Atta girl.”

 I see why motherfuckers catch feelings when fucking pussy. I almost feel tempted to tell Y/N that I love her while fucking her. She has pussy that’ll make a fucker crazy… Possessive… Jealous.

 I applied more pressure to Y/N’s throat and pulled her against my chest. “You know who this pussy belongs to. Right, princess?”

 “God, yes, Toji. You… it belongs to you.” Her voice comes off as a faint cry and I know she’s on the verge of cumming. Especially with how her pussy is pulsating around me. 

 “Mhm, that’s right. Dreamed of my fucking dick pounding this tight little cunt, now I have you mindfucked. Huh?” I pinch her nipples with my free hand and increase my thrusts. “You’re about to come for me. Aren’t you, Y/N? I know you are. I can feel it. You should see the mess your slutty pussy is making between us.”

 “Fuck, I didn’t mean to, baby. It’s just… you feel good. So fucking good,” she whimpers, bouncing her ass back into me to meet with my thrusts. 

 “Maybe I should have you clean it with your mouth. Hm?”

 I release Y/N’s throat to shove her face into the bed and deepen her arch more than before. My single hand returns to her hips to grip, pulling her round ass back on my cock to kiss her center. 

 Can’t get over how wet—how tight and warm this fucking pussy is. The harder I fuck her, the louder her pussy gets and I grunt, curse underneath my breath at hearing the sound of her muffled moans. 

 I don’t give a fuck if one of us catches feelings after this. Actually, I want her to. I want Y/N to be dick hungry only for me. 

 I want her pussy to smell like I’m the only fucker that’s been running through her. I’m even fucking tempted to breed this pussy just so she’s mine.

 Why the fuck would I want to have sex with any other women after knowing what Y/N feels like? 

 “You take cock like a fucking pro. Look at you gripping me. Look at how this pussy is mine.”

 She spreads her ass cheeks to feel every inch of my dick. “Fuck me, Toji. Harder. Fuck me harder, I’m about to cum.”

 “Shit, me too, sweetheart. Such a perfect fuck toy. Going to fill you all the way up,” I rasped. “Fuck me back. Keep taking this dick.”

 My thrusts are sloppy. I throw my head back and swear into the air and moan her name. My balls grow heavier and heavier until I fucking but and empty my cum inside her pussy. 

 And she’s right there with me, crying my name and thanking me for giving her toe-curling orgasm. 

 Fucking enjoy hearing my pretty girl thank me for giving her cock. She just looks so damn pretty when she cums, too. 

 Dark brown skin sweating. The sight of her ruined makeup with mascara running down her cheeks. Moans sounding like a broken record. 

 Yeah, she’s a perfect fuck. 

 My favorite customer. 

© 2024 tojiscumdumpster Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost (sharing links is okay) anywhere. I only upload on tumblr and you will find some of my work in ao3.

#anime x black!reader #anime x reader #anime fanfic #fanfic smut #jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji smut #toji x black reader #toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro x black reader

[lavender---sunshine]

this was actually the first birthday ive had in a while where i was happy the whole day and genuinely enjoyed it

#theres a lot of factors i think #1 i didnt take the day off like i usually would so i didnt actually have time to sulk and mope #i got up and out of the house and i was at work where i love to be #surrounded by people i like to talk to #my parents always try to take me out to dinner but since i worked and dad is in arizona we didnt have any fights over where we're going #my dad always asks where i want to go and wherever i want is too far or has no parking or is too expensive #so we always end up at the cheesecake factory #or if i get my way my dad always has a little tantrum about the food or service #and right now mom doesnt have money to take me out but im actually happy #because i didnt have to tell her no i dont want to do anything #and i got to make myself dinner of exactly what i want anyway! duck and mashed potatoes. it was really really good #but she did stop by and drop off a cake for me and my coworkers and a balloon which was SO sweet #i really love that she did that #that meant more to me than anything she could have got me #my coworkers didnt know it was my birthday (good) so i didnt have too much birthday attention (which i hate kinda) until the cake got there #and at my job it was two customers birthdays so i got to give them surprise cake! which was great! they loved it #both of them separately and hours apart upon hearing it was my birthday too went 'ooh leo season!!' that was hilarious #work went by quickly and no random cousins tried to call me #i got to take a birthday bath and wear my fave outfit #and its like...done. #no sitting around feeling sorry for myself. no birthday blues. just a day well spent #:)

[lemoncrushh]

Tattooed Heart - Part II

SUMMARY: You are a cocktail waitress at a swanky lounge. Harry comes in one night, and you instantly dislike him. But another encounter eventually changes your opinion.

PAIRING: Waitress Y/N x Artist/Tattoo Artist Harry

TROPES: Enemies to Lovers

MUST BE 18+ TO READ

WORD COUNT: 3799

STORY PAGE

The pavement was wet from the rain as you stepped onto the curb. You cursed yourself for wearing your best shoes, knowing you’d have blisters by the time you got home. Looking up at the sky, you noticed the rain had let up, so you quickly shut your umbrella, eyeing the cafe in front of you. The HELP WANTED sign in the window caught your attention. With a sigh, you pulled open the door. If you couldn’t find a job today, at least you could dry off with a latte and a muffin.

“What can I get you?” asked the woman behind the counter.

“Yes, I saw your sign up front? What’s the job?”

The older man who had his back to you called out, “You got experience?”

“Uh, yes sir, if you mean waiting tables.”

The man turned around, his face expressionless. “What about cash register?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve done that too. All kinds of retail and customer service.”

“Any days you aren’t available? I need weekends.”

“Yes, sir. I mean…no sir, I’m free everyday.”

“Good. Fill this out.” The man reached behind the counter and pulled out an application, then grabbed a pen from a nearby jar, handing them both to you.

“Thank you,” you grinned. “Oh. And can I get a vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin?”

After paying for your order, you sat down at the nearest table to begin filling out the application. You were nearly halfway through it when a shadow fell over your paper and you heard a familiar voice.

“I don’t believe it.”

Looking up, you saw him standing next to the counter. He wore a black hoodie and shorts, his windblown hair pushed back by sunglasses.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, gripping the pen tightly. If it had been a pencil, it would have snapped. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…it’s a cafe. I’m getting coffee.”

Pursing your lips, you shifted your chair so you were facing away from him. You heard him order a flat white before his sneakered feet squeaked past you to a table by the window. You grimaced as you watched him open his backpack and pull out a laptop.

“Here you are ma’am,” said the woman who had been behind the counter.

“Thank you,” you smiled up at her as she set your coffee and muffin on the table. Then she walked over to Harry, serving him his order.

“I can’t believe this,” you mumbled to yourself, knowing he had no plans to leave any time soon.

Trying your best to concentrate, you managed to get to the last page of the application before raising your head to find Harry staring at you.

“Do you mind?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Looking for a job?”

You couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or genuine.

“What do you care?” you grumbled.

“I…” he began before changing his mind with a shrug. Then he took a sip of his coffee and returned his attention to his computer.

Signing your name at the bottom of the application, you rose from your chair to turn it in.

“Why’d you leave your last job?” asked the man after he scanned your paper.

Your stomach went sour, your throat closing up. You’d dreaded that question all day. Seemed no one wanted to give a smart-mouth cocktail waitress a second chance.

“It just…wasn’t the right fit for me,” you replied.

“After two years? Zelda’s huh? That some fancy joint?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you think this coffee shop is a better fit?” the man chuckled.

“I don’t know. But I’d like the chance to try.”

Hesitating, the man shrugged. “I’m gonna need a good reference. Is it alright to call your last employer?”

“Oh. Uh…” You thought you might throw up. “I don’t-”

“I can vouch for her, Stan.”

You swung around, incredulous to what you’d just heard. He was vouching for you?

“You know this young lady, Harry?” asked Stan.

“Yeah.” Harry stood up and walked over to you. “Celebrated my birthday at Zelda’s, and she was my waitress.”

“Oh?”

Harry looked you straight in the eye and said, “She was brilliant. Best waitress I ever had.”

If your knees hadn’t just about buckled then, you might have noticed your jaw dropping. What?!

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” offered Stan. “Tell you what. Come back tomorrow. Ten o’clock. We’ll see if it’s a good fit.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Did Harry just help you get a job?

“Thank you,” you let out a breath and quickly beamed at Stan. “See you then.”

Although he remained standing near your table, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Harry as you gathered your things, gulping down the last of your coffee. Then swinging your purse over your shoulder, you turned for the exit.

“Y/N,” you heard him say, but rather than make the situation more awkward, you merely muttered a quick thanks.

It wasn’t until you were out the door that you heard him call you again, this time louder.

“Y/N!”

With a deep sigh, you stopped walking. Harry caught up to you, something of yours in his hand.

“You forgot your umbrella,” he explained.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” 

As you took it from him, your hands brushed, sending an unexpected electric current through your skin. You finally looked at him then, his eyes sincere. For the first time, you noticed they were a light green, a darker circle lining the irises. The wind whipped around you, and you caught a whiff of his…cologne? Perhaps it was just soap or some kind of body wash. Either way, he smelled nice. Clean. Like he’d just showered, though he’d skipped the shave. You noted the facial hair on his top lip and along his jaw, and found yourself wondering how many unshaven days it took to grow.

Suddenly, you stepped back, worried that you’d been staring and that he’d noticed. Surely, he’d noticed.

“Um…good luck tomorrow,” you heard him say as you pretended to check for something in your bag.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Why was he being so nice?

“Well…see ya,” he gave a slight gesture of his hand before turning back toward the cafe.

“Harry?” you called after him.

“Yeah?”

You took two steps closer to him, but careful to still keep a distance.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why…did you do that?”

Harry shrugged as though the answer were simple. “I caused you to lose your last job. So I helped you get a new one.”

Unable to respond, you stood still as you watched him reenter the cafe, feeling completely bewildered.

You sat in the small room in the back of the cafe during your break, sipping on a nitro cold brew that your co-worker Jill had taught you how to make. It was only your third day, but so far you liked working there. It definitely wasn’t Zelda’s, but it was better than nothing. The clientele was different to say the least, but you were enjoying the somewhat pleasant and low-key atmosphere.

Stan, the manager, had seemed to take you under his wing. You wondered if it had to do with Harry, and what exactly his relationship was to him. You assumed he was a regular customer at the cafe, though you hadn’t seen him return since you started working there.

As you scrolled through your phone, you suddenly got a text message from Shae.

Look who’s having a special this weekend.

Underneath was a link to Fine Line Ink’s Instagram page. You’d told your roommate about the entire encounter with Harry and how he’d basically helped you get your new job. Shae had wondered why on earth you hadn’t just kissed him right there in the middle of the cafe, but she always was a bit dramatic.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to feel about Harry anymore. Your head told yourself you still hated him, that he was a dick who was feeling guilty and needed to cleanse his aura. But your gut told you that he was something more than that. That he truly was sorry for getting you fired, and wanted to make amends.

You scrolled through the photos on the Instagram page, beautiful and striking images of ink on skin. Everything from delicate bracelet tats to full back tattoos and sleeves, some in basic black ink, and some in a rainbow of colors. They were all exquisite. He truly was a good tattoo artist.

Checking the time on your phone, you realized your break was over. Tossing your phone in your bag, you returned them to your locker. After a quick stop to the restroom, you stepped out into the cafe to find him sitting at the same table as before, beside the window. This time, however, he didn’t have his laptop, but rather an iPad, a stylus pencil in his hand. Jill had just set down his flat white when she gasped.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. Then looking up, she saw you. “Y/N, c’mere, you have to see this!”

You shuffled hesitantly over to Harry’s table where he sat with his back to you. Gazing over his shoulder, you saw that he had drawn a raven. The detail was so intricate, down to the branches, flowers and moon. You almost felt as though if you were to reach out and touch the drawing, you could feel the bird’s feathers.

“Isn’t it amazing?” asked Jill.

“Stunning,” you breathed.

“He’s a tattoo artist. I keep telling him I’m gonna come get a tattoo from him, but I’m too chicken,” Jill laughed as she made her way back to the counter.

A couple at a corner table got up to leave then, so you quickly walked over to clean it. As you moved the sugar container, you heard your name. You looked up at him quizzically, though you didn’t say a word.

“How’s the job going so far?” he asked.

“It’s good,” you nodded sharply.

“I’m glad. I come here at least twice a week. Have been for a long time. Stan and Carol are good people.”

“Yeah…I…I can tell.” Carol, you’d learned the other day, was the woman who had been behind the counter when you’d walked in. She was Stan’s wife.

The door opened then and a young woman entered. You secretly hoped you could go help her as an excuse to stop talking to Harry, but Jill beat you to it.

“Do you…need another coffee?” you asked him as he lifted his cup.

He gave you a smirk. “Just got this one.”

“Oh. Right. Anything else?”

“No, I’m good.” Taking a slow sip, he watched you over his cup.

You gave a curt nod before returning to the counter. It was a fairly slow afternoon, and other than a handful of customers who came and went with their coffees to go, you didn’t have much to do. Jill continued to train you on a few more things, and you were grateful for the distraction. Because even though he wasn’t doing anything other than drawing on his iPad and sipping his coffee, Harry’s presence was getting to you.

Making the rounds, you refilled napkin dispensers and Sweet & Low packets, all while sneaking looks at what Harry was drawing. You didn’t know why it even mattered to you, but something about his art was captivating. You watched as his pencil glided across the screen, how he’d sometimes use his thumb and forefinger to zoom in and out. Once, you caught a view of a scene he was drawing - not just one focal point, but rather a series of buildings along a city street, nightfall in the background. Each building had various windows lit up, as well as street lamps. If you hadn’t known better, you’d have thought it was a photograph.

Sometime in the process, you finally took notice of his fingers, how long and slender they were. You paid attention to the way they moved and flexed as he drew, and most importantly, how nearly each one was adorned with some kind of ring. Lost in thought, you almost missed it when he lifted his head to look at you.

“It’s so easy to watch him, isn’t it?” remarked Jill, saving you from embarrassment as she stood next to you. “Sometimes I forget where I am!”

Clearing your throat, you grabbed the rag you were cleaning with and stuffed it in your apron. Then as you finished with the last napkin dispenser, you caught a small smile curling on Harry’s mouth.

Finally, an hour later - an hour and eleven minutes to be exact - Harry slipped his iPad into his backpack and zipped it shut. Pretending to busy yourself behind the muffins, you watched as he slipped his arms through. Then shoving his hand in his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, grabbing a couple of bills and leaving them on the table. As he made his way toward the door, he gave a small wave.

“Goodnight, ladies,” he said.

“Bye, Harry,” Jill called. As soon as he was outside, she slumped against the counter. “Oh my God, I hate when he’s here. I can hardly function!”

Holding back a chuckle, you asked, “Does he just come here to draw?”

“Mostly, yeah. Or sometimes he works on his website. He doesn’t just do tattoos. Like, that’s his livelihood and he’s really good at it. But he’s like…a legit artist.”

“Oh,” you sounded. “You mean, like in a gallery?”

“Mmhmm. I think he had some sort of exhibit a few weeks ago. It’s on his website if you wanna check it out. Harry Styles art dot com.”

Huh. So there was more to Harry than just some drunk prick at a bar. You were anxious to get your phone and look up his website.

“Oh my God!” Jill gasped from the table Harry had just left.

“What?”

“Harry usually just leaves a couple bucks for tip. He left two twenties!”

“Seriously?” you asked, rounding the counter. Why would he do that? “He only had one coffee, right?”

“Yep. What a sweetie! Here!”

Jill handed you one of the twenties, but you shook your head. “But I didn’t wait on him.”

“Doesn’t matter. We split tips at the end of the night anyway. This saves us time.”

Taking the bill, you mentally added one more reason to your list of why this Harry Styles was more than he seemed. Mysteriously generous. Was it a good thing? Or did he have an angle?

You didn’t know. But you were determined to find out.

Shae had a date. For the first time in forever, you had a Friday night off. It was weird, being in the apartment alone on a weekend night. After making a quick, easy meal and watching a couple of episodes of SVU, you were bored. You thought about visiting your old pal John at Zelda’s, but you didn’t wanna take the chance of running into your former boss.

Tapping on your phone, you opened the last website you’d visited - Harry Styles art dot com. Over the last twenty-four hours, you’d opened it at least half a dozen times. Displayed on the main page were photos from an art exhibit in January, the one that Jill had mentioned. While the art itself had no doubt been exquisite, your eyes kept veering to the photos of the artist. He stood in a suit, much like the one he’d worn at Zelda’a. In fact, he looked very similar to the way he had that night, the main exception being that he didn’t appear to be drunk, nor was he frowning. On the contrary, he was smiling in nearly every photograph. You noted the dimples in his cheeks, the crinkles beside his eyes when he smiled, the five o’clock shadow. Even you had to admit - albeit secretly - he was a very handsome man.

As you had scrolled through the various pictures from that night, you soon came across a handful of him standing next to a woman in a long, champagne colored dress that fit her curves, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Taking a closer look, you recognized her as the girl at the bar, the one whose ear was attached to Harry’s tongue.

Nicolette.

For some reason you felt a twinge in your stomach. Jealously? Shaking your head free of the notion, you continued to peruse the website. Eventually you came to a link that brought you to the site for Fine Line Ink. There you saw the announcement at the top, advertising thirty percent off all tattoos, and forty percent off body piercing, just like the text Shae had sent you the day before.

Setting down your phone, you thought for a moment. You figured he’d be pretty busy on any Friday, but particularly this Friday with the special. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, but somehow you found yourself driving to Fine Line Ink anyway.

The familiar fragrance of incense wafted through your nostrils as soon as you opened the door. Classic rock seemed to be the genre of choice for the evening as Aerosmith pumped through the speakers. You were right in assuming the shop would be busy, as three other customers sat in the waiting area, filling out their forms.

“Hi, how can I help you?” asked a guy who emerged from the back.

“Yeah, um…I don’t really know yet,” you replied. “I just need to talk to Harry…for a second.”

“Oh. Well, he’s in the middle of a tattoo right now.”

“That’s okay,” you grinned. “I can wait.”

“You sure? It may be a while, and he’s pretty booked up. We have other artists who can h-”

“It’s fine,” you held up your hand. “Seriously. I just need to talk to him when he has a minute.”

“O-okay.”

When the guy shuffled away, you took a seat in the waiting area. You scanned the walls, various artwork adorning them until you spotted a large drawing of the Beatles. Had that been there before? Had Harry drawn it? It was really good, the artistic detail spot on.

You watched another man say goodbye to a customer and then bring another one to the back before Harry finally made his way to the front. To call the look on his face surprised when he saw you would have been an understatement. As he chatted a bit with the client he’d just finished, you suddenly felt butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey,” he said when the guy left. “Kyle said someone was waiting to talk to me. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you let the words slip from your lips.

Harry shook his head, blinking slowly. “That’s not what I meant.”

You exhaled, hoping your quick response hadn’t offended him. Your reflexes were still on alert. Addressing the other customer who sat next to you, Harry smiled.

“I’ll be right with you, Carlo.”

“Yeah, no problem, man.”

Carlo and Harry both looked at you as Harry gave a tiny grin. “Wanna come back?”

Rising from your chair, you followed Harry through the shop, to the very back where he pushed open a door.

“Come on in,” he gestured.

As he shut the door behind you, you noted the desk in the corner, more artwork on the walls, and bookshelves. Pulling out a chair, Harry asked you to sit.

“Everything going well at the cafe?” he asked you.

“Oh, yeah. It’s fine. Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?” Harry leaned against his desk, his arms crossed. You noticed how tall he seemed standing while you sat.

“Yes,” you cleared your throat. “I realized I never properly thanked you…for helping me get the job.”

His lips twitched as he held back a smile. Or perhaps a smirk. “Alright.”

With a sigh, you looked up at him. “I’m afraid I haven’t acted very grateful. I let my pride and my ego get in the way when you-”

“Y/N,” Harry interrupted. “It’s okay. You have every right to hate me. Still. I said what I did to Stan because I regretted the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve any of it. It was…the only way I knew to make it up to you.”

“Okay…” you swallowed. “Still…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But…”

“But what?”

Harry shrugged. “I reckon I should have tried to get you your job back at Zelda’s.”

You smiled, looking down at your hands. “It’s fine.”

“Really? ‘Cause…you can’t possibly be making the tips at the cafe.”

Biting your lip, you lifted your head. “Thanks for that, too, by the way.”

“What?”

“The extra tip yesterday.”

“Who said that was for you?” Harry teased with a smirk.

You couldn’t hide your chuckle.

“Listen…” he continued, placing his hand over his chest. “I feel bad. I was honest when I said that wasn’t me that night.”

You nodded, sliding your palms across your thighs. Were you sweating?

“You’re an artist,” you commented.

“I am.”

“I saw your website. You do beautiful work.”

“Thank you,” Harry grinned.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

Shaking his head again, Harry pulled his chair in front of you and sat down. Then leaning towards you, he seemed to study your face.

“I gave you plenty of reasons to jump to conclusions about me. Can we start over?”

“Start over? What do you mean?”

His dimples dipping in his cheeks, Harry held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Harry Styles.”

Mimicking his grin, you gently shook his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m really excited to get to know you better.”

“Really?” you blushed.

“Yes. Do you work tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift.”

“How about dinner?”

“No, I don’t work the dinner shift,” you shook your head.

Harry threw his head back laughing, startling you. His cackle rang through the office, vibrating every pulse in your body. What was happening? How did this guy suddenly have this effect on you?

“That’s not what I meant, love.”

“Oh,” you blushed again. Damn it.

“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Oh.” Oh! “Um…you don’t work here tomorrow?”

“Nope. My night off.”

Though you tried your best to fight it, you couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across your face. “Yeah. I guess I can do that.”

After settling the plans for the next evening, Harry walked you out to the front where Carlo sat patiently waiting.

“By the way,” said Harry. “What happened with your friend? The one who wanted the tattoo.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you hesitated. “She um…went somewhere else.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Don’t be so disappointed, Harry,” you chuckled. “You forgot one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asked, holding the door open for you.

“I haven’t gotten mine yet.”

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry fic #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry smut #harry blurb #harry one shot #harry series #enemies to lovers #tattoo artist!harry #reader fic #harry reader fic

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Your Savior

Pairing: Cop!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: angst, being taken hostage at gunpoint, fearful of your life

Request by @jessicalynnann: What about cop/detective dean and him and the reader are in an established relationship and she owns a cute little bakery… well what if something happens like she gets attacked but doesn’t tell him and he finds out and is upset but comforts her… 

Summary: You have a little bakery that is your pride and joy and a boyfriend on the police force who you're so proud of. He doesn't have a lot of dangerous cases until one day, three gunmen decide to take a bank hostage. A bank that is a couple of blocks from your bakery.

Square Filled: criminal au (2022) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You have to bake two dozen cupcakes, a two-tier cake, and a half dozen cookies before the end of the day and you’re working as hard as you can to get that done. You have flour on your apron and face, quiet music is playing from your speaker, and you have your hands elbow-deep in a bowl of batter.

The bell on the front door rings signalling someone walked into your bakery store, and you try to peek out of the room to see who it is.

“I’ll be right with you!” you call out. “Give me one minute!” The person doesn’t wait for you to come out to them so they walk into the kitchen. You’re about to yell at them when you see who it is. “Dean!”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he grins.

Dean is a respected cop that everyone knows. He has been on the force since eighteen, and he’s only gone up from there. He walks behind the counter and kisses you even though some of the flour gets on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t stop by my girlfriend’s bakery?” You raise an eyebrow at him and he laughs. “No, I just wanted to say hi on my break.”

“Hi,” you smile. “Today has been hectic and I haven’t been open for nearly an hour. I just got this big order in for a birthday party this weekend. I’m trying to get as much as I can done so I don’t have to do it later.”

“Where’s Maria?”

“Coming in late. She has a sick kid at home, and her husband won’t be able to pick him up until after ten.”

“I was going to take you out for lunch but I can come here.”

“No, Maria can hold down the fort for an hour. I’d love to go out to lunch with you.”

“Okay.” He grabs one of the fresh muffins you made and takes out a ten dollar bill which he sets on the counter. “I’ll be back at twelve.”

“Hey, I don’t need your money.”

“It’s stealing. I’m a cop. I uphold the law,” he grins. He leans down and kisses you. “I love you.”

“I love you, too!”

Right before Maria shows up, your bakery filled with customers who are hungry for your sweets. With her at the register, you can focus on the big order which you’re almost done making the batter for. This whole bakery idea is all because of Dean. When you two were in high school, he encouraged you to continue bake. The school held a bunch of bake-offs which you participated in, and everyone fell in love with your food.

Starting junior year of high school, you started selling your baked goods for cheap until you got orders from practically everyone. His family owned a section of a building in the mall for their seasonal work, so they let you use it when they weren't. When Dean became a cop, you made cookies and cupcakes for all the officers in the office.

Being a cop is something you wished Dean didn’t pursue because it’s a very dangerous job, and you’re always worried that he’s not going to come home. He’s mostly a beat cop who does a lot of desk work and will occasionally do the big things like drug busts and hostage situations but those are far in between.

You don’t like it but you know he’s the best person for the job. He’s determined, he loves helping people who can’t help themselves, and he has a passion for the job. Just like you.

Noon comes faster than you think it does, and you start to clean your work space so that when  you return from lunch, you can start with a clean area. Dean walks in through the front door just as you’re finishing up.

“Y/N, Dean is here,” Maria calls from the front.

“Coming!” You put the dirty rags in the small hamper and take off your dirty apron. There is some flour on your clothes but not enough to cause you to not go out in public. That’s the reality of being a baker. You have flour on everything you wear. “Where are we going?”

“Razzio’s.”

“Italian food. Yum,” you giggle. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Have fun!” Maria smiles.

Razzio’s is located in the same block as your bakery so you two walk over there. The owner knows Dean from when he stopped a robbery fromt aking place, so now he gets free meals and discounts when he comes in. Dean still pays full price for the food even though Razzio doesn’t always take it.

“Dean! Welcome in!” Razzio greets.

“Hey, Raz. Got a table for me?”

“Of course. Window okay?”

“Perfect.”

Dean likes to try everything on the menu so he has Razzio cook him up something new every week without ordering, and every week, you end up loving what he brings to the table. It’s not unusual for Razzio not to lay menus down for you.

“So, I was thinking this weekend, we can take some time off,” Dean says.

“Like a getaway?”

“Yeah. My family has a cabin up north that I’d love to take you to.”

“It will be nice to relax instead of worrying about what orders I need to prepare for next week.”

“See? Win-win.”

“You’re a dork,” you giggle and kiss him.

Razzio is perfect like always, and you walked away with a free meal. What Razzio doesn’t take, Dean leaves as a tip for him. You walk back to your bakery hand-in-hand with a full stomach and a happy heart. You reach his police car when the radio he has strapped to his shoulder crackles to life.

“Unit 27, I got a 10-31 in progress. All three subjects appear to be armed. Please respond.”

10-31. You’ve been with Dean long enough to know that it’s a robbery. Subjects being armed means they have guns.

Dean grabs the small radio and presses the button to respond back.

“Unit 27 responding.” He turns to you. “I gotta go.”

“Please be careful.”

“Always,” he winks.

He kisses you goodbye and hops into his police cruiser. You watch him peel out of the parking lot before going back inside. It seems like not a lot of people have come in while you were gone so nothing bad happened. You resume your baking in the kitchen and slide in two batches of cupcakes into the oven when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Something isn’t right.

You walk carefully to the closed kitchen door and peer out of the small window to see three men with big guns inside the store. Maria and the other customers huddle together in fear. Are these the three subjects the same ones that the dispatcher was warning Dean about? How did they escape? Why did they come here? Are they looking to steal some food?

You take your phone out and dial Dean’s personal cell and place it to your ear. Pick up, Dean, pick up. Come on, pick up. You get his voicemail because he’s probably busy with the situation he got called away on.

“Dean, I need you here. There are three men with big guns in the bakery. Please hurry. They might be--”

“Hey!”

You look up and lock eyes with one of the suspects. You quickly hang up and duck down but he has already seen you. The man storms into the kitchen and grabs your arm tightly. You’re thrown off balance that your phone is dropped when he drags you out where everyone else is. You don’t struggle to get away in fear of being shot and let them tie you up.

“Are you the owner?” the leader asks. You nod because you have tape over your mouth. “Where’s the money?” You shake your head and he cocks his weapon. “Where’s the fucking money?!”

You mumble something underneath the tape, and one of the them rips it off you.

“Fuck,” you hiss at the pain. “I don’t have a lot of money. You’re wasting your time here.”

“No, you see, I know you have money. I see you leave this store every day with a bag full of it. Where is it?”

“Not here.”

Like hell you’re going to tell them there is a big safe hidden behind a picture frame in the abc with a bunch of cash stored there. You have most of the cash in the bank but you keep a chunk of it here for emergencies only. You’re not going to give them your hard earned money.

“Okay.” The leader points his gun at you and Maria cries where she sits. “You have until the count of three to tell me where the money is or I blow your fucking head off. Deal?”

The fear has sunk in and you start crying not only for you but for everyone else here. MAria is such a good mother and wife, she doesn’t deserve to be killed. Every customer in here has a life, someone they go home to. You cna’t do that to them. You have no idea if Dean got your message so you can’t rely on him to be here and save you.

“One.”

You look up to answer when you spot someone moving behind him. You look and see Dean’s beautiful green eyes looking into yours. He has four other cops with him that snuck in through the back.

“Two.”

He puts a finger to his mouth to tell you to keep quiet, and you look back at the man who is threatening you with a gun.

“Thr--”

“Wait! I’ll tell you!” you gasp.

“I’m waiting.”

“Okay. If I tell you, you let them go. They have nothing to do with this,” you gesture to the other hostages.

“We’ll see. Where’s the fucking money?”

You look behind the three gunmen and notice Dean and the other cops come out quietly with their guns out.

“Right behind you.”

The leader turns right into the barrel of Dean’s gun. He goes to raise his own to fight but notices the other four cops with guns on them. They are outnumbered and they don’t want to die.

“Man, you three were hard to catch. Why’d you come here?” Dean chuckles. “Lower your weapons. All of you. Turn around with hands behind your backs.”

The three men do as they’re told, and three officers put them in handcuffs. Another ones goes over to the hostages and starts to get the out of their ties while Dean rushes over to you.

“Oh, my God, Dean,” you cry.

“I’m right here, baby. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” Once free, you get up and run into his arms. You break down crying and he smoothes down your hair in comfort. “I’m right here. You’re okay now.”

One of the cops calls for backup so that the gunmen are taken away in three separate cars. Paramedics come to check everyone out, and the money that the gunmen took is being processed to return back to its owners.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. They didn’t hurt us. Well, one of them grabbed my arm hard but I don’t think it’s enough to form a bruise. I didn’t think you got my message. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I will always come. I will always be here to protect you,” he promises.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction

[chuuyasfanboy]

Just had some random thoughts so pulled up an old blog I never used and am now deciding to write fics! I've had this stuck in my head for two days now but like- Skk as parents... enjoy <3

Wrote three sections! One with Chuuya, one with Dazai, and ofc them together. It can be read from either adopted or blood perspective, I hope? Kind of scattered, I was just goin for it guys

Iffff you liked this, please req something! I'm having major bsd brainrot and I need ideas...

Soukoku as Parents Platonic x Gn!Child!Reader

┌──────┐

└──────┘

The SILLIEST father EVER guys.

For actual years he was fully under the impression he HATED all kids with a passion. I mean guys look at how badly he treated Aku-

Well then he had you and things changed

It's just something about you being his kid, not a subordinate or random kid on the street

He's your dedicated apologist

In fact, he encourages your mischief!

When you were younger, it was a lot harder to handle you. He even found himself on his last fuse sometimes. Usually, he left Atsushi or Yosano to deal with you

He didn't want to revert to old habits and accidentally traumatize you :(

When he can handle himself, though, he's only halfway controlling you-

He's right along with you in the heinous activities half of the time

Hiding Ranpo's candy (for as long as it lasts), misplacing Kunikida's glasses, hell you two have probably snuck into the infirmary and changed the sheets to something very colorful and very childishly wolf themed...

He's not really a mature dad, nonono. But he's doing his best

He fully supports all of your wildest interests, even tries out some of the more entertaining ones

He struggles to act excited when you're younger and all your interests are very out of his range, but as you grow older he's actually a bit intrigued by them sometimes

Best birthday gift ideas, too. He's very creative when he wants to be.

He also has way more money than he should be ALLOWED to have

For your Sweet Sixteen, he most definitely got you an obsessively large custom pinata of your favorite character...

He makes sure EVERYBODY gets you gifts, because you are his world and thus you must be everybody else's as well

He really does try to keep you out of work, and especially away from his suicide biz

Maybe HE doesnt have a reason to live, but he certainly doesnt want you picking up those thoughts, because he knows you have a real big destiny to live up to someday

I mean, what would the world be without you?

When you hit the age of 13 though, its really hard to hide anything from you

You're so scary when you grow up! And you're way too smart!!4

Did you get that from him? oops...

Now, he doesnt have any plans of living that long, but if you do grow big and strong and smart one day, and you join the ADA, he's definitely got some favoritism.

Surprisingly, Fukuzawa actually gives you your first few proper missions with him

(Because he knows Dazai will not be letting any harm come to you, he trusts Dazai with his life and he knows you trust Dazai even more)

If you have different plans for adulthood though, he's still so supportive

If you go to uni, you're going to have to show him off

Why?

Because, guys, he's a dilf

Nobody's gonna be mean to the kid with a dilf father, they all want him

He jokes about it constantly

But rest assured, stupid and immature uni kids are NOT his type, no matter how nice the ones his age look

He's got his eyes set on that waitress and at least four other men at the moment

If you go straight into the workplace instead of uni, he's going to use his connections to get you a good job early!

Fukuzawa has a good way with words and Dazai himself is a pretty good reference contact

Just tell them he's your teacher, or something

It's not like they'll know his hobbies, he's wayyyy too big a mystery for that

Overall: 7/10 dad

A little rough around the edges, but he's trying hard to improve himself for you

And he's trying hard to give you the best life he can offer

┌──────┐

└──────┘

Did I say Dazai was a dilf?

I lied out of my ass.

Chuuya is the real dilf here

But we'll get to that later! (Just know he has plenty of men and women at his feet and they're definitely being way too nice to you because they want him so bad guys)

You're SO SO SO SO spoiled.

UNREASONABLY so

So bad you might even be a little bit of a brat growing up

It's fine, not toward him, he almost never says no to you so theres no need

There's absolutely no amount of money that can't be spent on you.

Luxury clothes, professionally cooked dinners, fancy rooms, home staff, the whole works

Despite all that though, he's insistent you go to a public/private school

He's not tutoring you, wont even hire one

It's not because he CAN'T, it's because he KNOWS how important it is for you to get your sense of independence early

Sure, you'll always have financial support, even if he dies (Trust fund babyyyyy)

But thats not what's actually important to your future

You need social skills, you need friends, you need and education and the taste of disappointment

Dont worry, though, he's not sending you unprepared

You're not eating school lunches unless you want to (but fuck why would you?)

He's sending you to school with top notch food every day

And clothes

And supplies

Plus, you'll have a tutor at the ready for anything you need a little extra help in

But for the most part he keeps as far as he can out of that section of your life

You friends are yours, not his

He's polite when they have sleepovers, and he's more than willing to host parties and hangouts

But he doesn't try too hard to impress them, and he doesn't talk to them unless its related to you

Because as much as he loves being around kids (a real big father he wants to adopt everybody he sees)

He doesn't want to impose on any boundaries YOU may have

As a side note though, he's still very observant of your relationships with them

If he overhears any manipulation, or shit talking (about you or not), he's not going to let it sit and exist

If it comes to it, he will contact the parents (And holy fuck they are TERRIFIED i mean imagine a publicly known MAFIA EXECUTIVE contacting you to tell your kid fucked with his ABSOLUTELY NOT GUYS)

If you're into any extracurriculars, he is ALWAYS there

Even if he's overseas on a mission, he has some lower rank attend and clears his schedule so he can watch through a call

Also guys, he practically funds your school?

Your teachers are terrified to cross you because if they do there will be NO SALARY

You complain about anything that happened? He's fixing it up in any way he can

You are his ANGEL, NOTHING will ruin your day as long as he can prevent it.

When you grow up, your options are very clear in his eyes

Either you go to uni and live independent of the mafia, or you inherit his spot when he dies

If you go for neither, he may be a bit shocked, but he'll hesitantly step back

He'll see how it goes, but he's not very confident at first

If it goes well? Fuck, great! He's always in your corner rooting for you

If it doesn't go so well, you always have him as a backup

He'll always be there to take you back with open arms and give you a second, third, fourth, fifth, etc chance. Always

If you do join the mafia, there will be no low rank experience for you

You're straight to the upper ranks. At first, you'll probably be in a position similar to Akutagawa under Dazai or how he was under Koyo

Direct subordinate, his apprentice, his prodigy

And when he dies, you're next in line for his exec spot

There's not even a worry about your skillset, he knows he's trained you well, ability or no ability.

Finally, back to the dilf topic I've mentioned at the beginning

If you go to uni, he has the same problem Dazai had, but WORSE

Fuck guys, he swears he tries to keep out of your friendships, but suddenly everyone's adults and they wont leave him alone.

It's at this point he stops hosting your events (except birthdays) and separates himself

No way is he getting involved with crazy college kids, no way

Overall: 9/10 father

He's a bit absent in your social circle, but he's your dad and thats that

He screams support from the stands and that's really the best you can ask for in a dad <3

┌──────┐

└──────┘

theyre so pathetic together-

theyre all the entertainment you need growing up

constant bickering (lovingly)

they dont involve you in all that

it comes with them both being in seperate factions, but they BOTH work very hard to keep you out of the professional lives

you're their kid, they dont want you in any of the doublesided danger that could get you in

you're probably a secret to everyone except the ADA and the other mafia

And your existence is on a need-to-know basis for everybody else

Dazai is the more present figure in your life, simply because Chuuya has to be a bit more distant

It's the nature of his line of work, anyone he's seen with is a target, and he doesn't want that to be you

He will be at your schooling events still, though. He will be YELLING AND SHOUTING in the stands

Into sports? Every time theres an unfair play he will cuss the living daylights out of the ref

And they just have to let him because theres nothing they can really do about

Dazais the same way, but with less scare factor and way less vigor

After games, he's going to complain WITH you about how lame the whole thing was if you lost, how everything was judged unfairly

They may not get along the best together, but they love each other and especially love you, so they're improving for you

Read: Chuuya is making them improve for you

Dazai thinks hes the victim in all this!

But oh well, if Chuuya makes him apologize when they argue in front of you, he will

When you're all grown up, they both encourage you to find your own path

You've got the chance, thanks to them, and they dont want you involved in their little wars

It's not like you can join any sides, because who would want to be against your dad :(

So really your only choice is moving out, maybe even away-

If you really do want into their business, they both insist you join the ADA

It's safer there for you, and Chuuya would rather have to order his men to not under any circumstances EVER hurt you, than have to watch someone he can't control put you in danger

Plus, he knows Dazai will keep you in the safest position possible

Overall: 7/10 together

They're a nightmare at dinner, and Dazai is sleeping on the couch almost every night

But they adore you and every move you make, so there's no way you're feeling unloved at all

#dazai #dazai osamu #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #osamu dazai #nakahara chuuya #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #x reader #child!reader #dazai x child!reader #chuuya x child!reader #x child!reader #dazai parent au #chuuya parent au #dazai dad au #chuuya dad au #dad dazai #dad chuuya #headcanons #scenarios #imagines #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd x child!reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x child!reader #dazai x reader platonic #chuuya x reader platonic

[graveyardvalentinee]

hii can you do where reader comes back home crying because of people at work making fun of her and saying bad stuff about her relationship with ney

of course lovely :)) thank you so much for your request !! I’m not sure if by “people at work” you meant her co-workers or customers but I just made it where the customers were being rude.

—————————

consequences / neymar jr

pairing : neymar x reader

When I said yes to Neymar after he asked me be his girlfriend , I didn’t realize all the criticism it would come with.

We met at my job - a jewelry store. He had went in looking to buy a birthday gift for his mom , I just happened to be the only available employee.

I didn’t know who he was at first , until after he had asked for my number and left. My co-worker basically screamed once I told her and she revealed to me who he was.

And after that everything was history between us. He was the best boyfriend I could ever ask for , the best partner I could ever have.

He had his own way of loving , and it’s one of the main things that made fall for him so quickly.

He’s easily a charmer.

On our first couple of dates he would always surprise me with small gestures - flowers , books that I had mentioned I wanted, small jewelry pieces , and much more.

I would always protest and insist how he didn’t have to buy me any of that stuff - that those weren’t the reasons why I accepted to going out with him but he would always brush me off , saying how he wanted to give me all these things.

He showers me with compliments any chance he gets , making me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

I also deeply enjoy his touchy side. Kisses everywhere - no matter where we are or what we’re doing. His hands somewhere on me at all times when we were together. He claims he can’t sleep properly through the night if I’m not there next to him - or wrapped in his arms.

But all that aside - he’s very attentive to me and my feelings.

He always makes my feelings valid , he always insists on talking everything out with me. I don’t think there was ever a time where he’s been unthoughtful towards me.

I was iffy at first - to open up to him about everything but he made me feel so welcome in his embrace , and I easily was able to tell him anything that would be wrong with me.

But today - that all changed. I had never dealt with hatred towards me like this before.

When me and Ney started our relationship I made it clear to him I still wanted to have a normal life - I didn’t want him to expose me to the media.

Sure he would post pictures of us , but none ever showing my face.

We thought we were safe up until 2 weeks ago when the paparazzi took a clear picture of me and ney outside his house.

I tried covering my face once I noticed the paparazzi but it was too late.

The media soon found out who I was through Neymars following - I made the stupid decision of not making my account private.

My co-worker had tagged me in a photo of a work party we had - also tagging the location. I’m guessing that’s how Ney’s die hard fans found my job.

Every day since then it was a lot more busy , people specifically requesting me to take their orders.

When the pictures got out to the public , Ney insisted I quit my job and just let him work for the both us - something he’s been trying to make me do for moths.

But me being me - I told him nothing about his fans going to my job and acted as if the paparazzi spotting us changed nothing in my life.

I now realize that was a stupid mistake.

Earlier today I was helping two girls who had walked in and came straight to me for assistance. One blonde and another brunette , both seeming to be around 16 or 17.

It was all going swell until the questions started.

“So Y/N - how did you manage to snatch Neymar all for yourself ?” The brunette asks.

“I don’t discuss my personal life with customers.” I tried to remain as calm as possible , giving them a small fake smile. This was the first time anyone had actually mentioned our relationship to me.

The brunette looks at her friend , turns back to me and laughs.

“No seriously - are you like a you know service girl of some sorts ?” The blonde asks me now, whispering the last part.

Is this what people think of me?

“Excuse me? I am not!” I fight back , trying to hold back any tears. I have no idea what to do or say.

“Come on , Neymar couldn’t have seriously chosen you for no reason - I mean just look at you. You don’t have much to offer.” The blonde continues , her eyes raking down my figure , gaze filled with disgust.

I shamefully look down. My hands start to shake and no words come out of my mouth.

The girls start to snicker to each other. I can’t make out all the words that their saying because of their low tone but I do hear the words -

“If I knew Neymar went for the first hooker he saw on the street I’d been on that street months ago.”

“Security ! Please escort there two girls out.” I finally get the courage to speak.

“What ? We haven’t done anything! We’re simply shopping for a pair of earrings.” The blonde says , putting on a fake voice.

I look up at our security - Marcus , me and him get along very well and he’s been very aware of all the fans coming in and out of the store.

I mouth a “please” to him , just wanting these girls gone as soon as possible.

“Ladies please do not make me drag you out of the store. The exit is that way.” Marcus firmly says.

The two girls look at me and roll their eyes before walking out of the store.

I grab all of my stuff from the back room and clock out , not caring to warn anyone about me leaving.

I get into my car and rush home. As soon as I step into the house I burst into tears , letting myself fall on the floor.

When I left the store I didn’t even check the time - 5 pm.

The exact time Neymar gets home from practice.

My mind was so fogged with everything that had just occurred I didn’t even have time to notice Neymar on the couch.

His eyes look up and meet mine. He rushes up off the couch and comes to my side.

“Amor what’s wrong ? Por que minha linda garota está chorando?” He softly says holding me in his arms. [why is my pretty girl crying ?]

I’m so dumb. I should have went to my friends house or something instead of coming here. The last thing I wanted was to tell Neymar about the humiliating things they told me at work.

I bring my hands up to my face and wipe my tears off , trying to get out of his tight grasp.

“It’s nothing Ney , I’m fine.”

“Y/N everything is obviously not fine. I’m not letting you go until you tell me what is wrong.”

“I’m serious querido , everything is fine.” I try to get the words out and put a smile on my face but my tears betray me.

My thoughts going back to what those girls said of me , making me cry ever harder.

“Look at me” he whispers.

I look up into his eyes , my vision blurry with tears.

“Take your time amor. I’ll wait here for you to tell me what is wrong , you know I am always here for you. What ever it is you are going thru I won’t leave your side.”

He won’t budge , and it’s no use to keep it in , im sure those girls will upload the conversation we had to the media and Ney will find out one way or another.

“These - these -” I try to get out but more tears end up falling.

“Breathe amor breathe , I’m here for you , I’m right here.” He whispers , kissing my temple.

I take in a deep breath and finally calm myself. Ready to tell Neymar everything that had been happening.

“Ever since the pictures got leaked there’s been more and more customers coming into the store , specifically requesting me to take their orders - I’m sure you can figure out why. Everything was fine tho , no one asked any questions just eyed me a lot and looked very excited to be assisted by me. Until today - these two girls came in and told me the most horrible things.”

I can tell he’s bothered by me not telling him about the customers coming in but I continue before he has a chance to scold me about that.

“They asked me -”

“God. They asked me if I was your whore. They said I had to be a worker in that department of some sort because there’s no way you’d choose me out of thousands of girls.”

“Y/N -”

“Before you get mad at me for not telling you about all the people coming into my job , I’m sorry I really am - I should have spoked up earlier. I now see you are right about the whole quitting my job thing.”

“Meu amor I could never be mad at you , specially over something like that.” He begins

“What those girls said is no where near true and we both know it. You know why I chose you-”

“Do I really know why tho? Why did you chose me Neymar? You could have any woman you want.” I interrupt , a wave of insecurity going over me.

He drops his arms from around me and helps me to stand up , walking me over to the couch. He sits down and grabs my arms causing me to straddle his lap ,bringing one of his hands up to the side of my neck and letting the other rest on the outside of my thigh. Reaching up he gives my forehead , cheeks , and lips a small kiss before speaking -

“I chose you because when I walked into that jewelry store my eyes went straight to you. I could not take my mind off of you for the next week after that. I had to make you mines. I found any stupid excuse to go back there and just speak to you.”

“You have changed my life im so many unexplainable ways Y/N. There’s no other woman that I could ever dream of when I have you right here - all for me. You are the light of my life. I love and adore every single thing about you , you have bewitched me mind and soul.”

“I like to believe you were made just for me because there is no other woman on this earth that can make me go crazy like you. I will continue to show you-”

He leans forward laying gentle kisses on my neck.

“Every single day-”

His hand on my thigh starts slowly finding its way to my clothed center.

All my thoughts from what those girls told me earlier completely vanished , my focus now being on Neymar’s words and his hands making every inch of my body hot with desire.

I can tell he’s doing this to take my mind off things and it’s definitely working.

“That you are -”

I can feel his hard on under me so I decide to move forward - just a bit to tease him.

“The most utterly breathtaking-”

His hand at my neck now making its way to my behind , giving it a tight squeeze , causing me to roll my hips forward onto him again.

“And perfect woman for me.”

His face comes up from my neck before he smashes his lips on mine , i kiss him back immediately with everything in me.

I pull away to look him in the eyes and wrap my hands around his neck.

“I’m tired of us hiding linda. Eu te amo , e você merece ser mostrada como a beleza que você é.” [I love you and you deserve to be shown of like the beauty you are]

“Eu te amo mais.” I say back pecking his lips.

“And okay amor you win. But I’m really going to miss our privacy time together.” I add.

His hand leaves my center and comes up to my behind , giving me a squeeze before picking me up , causing me to squeal.

“We can have privacy time all the time princesa, just give me a heads up , the answer is always yes.” He says smirking before carrying me up the stairs while ripping off all my clothes.

“You’re crazy Ney.”

“Only for you meu amor.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n : okay first off - i had to use the pride and prejudice quote i just had to. i know it’s definitely not something ney would say but this is all fiction so let’s imagine like he would lolll.

also i feel like i drag out these imagines a little too long or i go a lot into detail , that’s how i like my writing but if you guys do feel like their a bit long please let me know and ill make them short or if you guys enjoy them this length or even want them longer please let me know.

finally thank you again for who ever sent in this request i really appreciate you taking interest in my writing and thank you guys so much for 100 followers ♡

#neymar jr #neymar #neymar fic #neymar jr one shot #neymar x reader #neymar jr imagine #psg #footballer one shot #footballer fic #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #pinterest #ao3 #neymar fanfic #fanfic

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter two: it’s getting late | read chapter one

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: would be lying if i said this was for tim's birthday tmrw. it was rlly just because the reception to chapter 1 was so lovely and i also did this with my other tim fic—posting chapter 2 early, i mean. but we'll just have to work with this. happy early birthday tim you are annoying and i want to study you under a microscope <3

You expect Red Robin’s appearance to be a one-off thing. 

It is not. 

Instead, the next day, you get Black Bat. 

It jolts you from the phone call you’re having.

“—understand the temptation to tell them to screw off but I really don’t want to get… shot…”

You trail off, watching, wide-eyed as your newest vigilante customer steps into Circle K. 

Black Bat cuts an imposing figure, her suit made up mostly of inky black material, with a few accents of gold, the Bat symbol on her chest standing out the most. Her black cape flutters behind her, moving like a shadow. She looks the most like Batman, you think, with the cowl and the pointed ears. Except the eyes of the mask are black and the bottom of her face is completely covered—stitched closed. Considerably more creepy, you think, goosebumps breaking out over your skin. Though that could be the fan you have on, fluttering your hair as it makes a slow rotation.

“Hey, did you die or something?”

“No,” you mutter, watching, your heart starting to pick up as Black Bat comes up to the counter.

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not—

“Do you have Red Bull?” Her voice is low and melodic. Not befitting of her… general aura.

Wordlessly, you point to the refrigerators at the back.

“Thanks,” she says, then she turns and walks away. You can only see the top of her head and the pointed ears of her cowl. A second later, you hear the suction-y sound of the refrigerator door being opened. 

A voice calls your name from the other end of the line. 

Your best friend, Stephanie Brown, who gave you a call to see how your summer break has been treating you. 

“Sorry,” you say, clearing your throat. “Just got distracted by something outside.”

“Something outside? That’s not reassuring. At all.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Like I was saying, I’m not gonna tell them that. It’s tempting but like I said, I don’t want to get arrested or some shit.”

“The charges wouldn’t even hold. It’s a free country. I can tell a cop to fuck off if I want to. That’s my god-given right.” 

“I appreciate the spirit, but I don’t think the GCPD would agree with you.”

“Well, the GCPD can kiss my ass.”

“You and me both, Stephie. You and me both. So, how’s, uh, Metropolis?”

“Metropolis is Metropolis. Brainiac nearly took control of the city yesterday but what’s new? Mom’s having a good time, though. Even if things are way overpriced over here. I mean, seriously. Eight bucks for a cup of coffee at this place we went to today. They’re crazy.”

Steph babbles in your ear for a few more minutes. Long enough for Black Bat to reemerge from the aisle, two cans of Red Bull and a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms in hand. You wonder who the second person is. Red Robin, maybe? 

He’d been odd about the hot chocolates. Odd in general. But that’s what you get with these vigilante types. 

No matter. You quickly focus on your current situation, giving Black Bat a small, embarrassed smile and pointing at the phone crammed between your shoulder and ear, mouthing Sorry. 

You shouldn’t be doing this on the job and you should’ve told Steph you had to go but quite frankly, you need the assurance of another person with you. Even if said person can’t do anything and is across the harbor in Metropolis on a mini-vacation with her mom. 

 Black Bat shouldn’t give you trouble about it. You hope. She just scares you a little more than Red Robin. Which is silly because he’s a guy and probably more potentially dangerous but. You know. Her suit is just… too similar to Batman’s, and he’s the one who scares you the most.   

Still, Black Bat just shrugs and waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

You nod your thanks, then scan everything and bag it. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her utility belt and you give her the change, which she promptly puts in the tip jar. A kind gesture, really, considering the twenty is a bit of an overshoot for her total, leaving you with a nice tip. 

You guess that if anything else, at least it’s nice that these vigilantes tip. 

After dropping the receipt into the bag, she takes it and waves at you. 

Mystified, you wave back. 

Then she steps out, cape fluttering behind her.

“Anyway,” Steph says on the other end as you focus on her voice again. “It’s pretty fun but I miss home. Can’t wait to be back in the city. We’re hanging out as soon as I do, by the way. How are things with you?”

Oh, you can’t keep it in. You have to tell her. 

“I saw the Flash two days ago.”

But she misunderstands.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I saw that in the news. ‘Cause of Trickster, right? Bet Batman wasn’t happy about that.”

“No,” you say. “I’m saying I saw him. Here. At Circle K. He dropped in to grab a bite to eat. I know you and Tim absolutely refuse to believe me when I say he visited me and that we’re friends—which, by the way, he totally reaffirmed when I saw him—but he was here.”

“We’re jealous, that’s all,” she says. “Just don’t want you running off with the Flash thinking he’s cooler than we are. Which, to be clear, he isn’t. Not me, anyway. Tim is up for debate.”

“Well, you’re about to be a little more jealous.”

“And why is that?”

“Because since he visited, weird shit has started happening.”

“Weird shit is always happening in Gotham. What is so special about this weird shit in particular?”

“Oh, he said something stupid to Red Robin—Red Robin came in a little while after he did, I guess they were working together to track down Trickster—anyway, he was talking about how I’m… scared of the Bats—”

“Are you scared of the Bats?”

You throw up a hand, though she can’t see it. “I have a healthy amount of fear and respect for them—and on that note, please don’t tell anyone else I’m telling you this.”

“Of course.”

“Right, well, Flash was just ragging him, you know? About how he has a better relationship with me, someone who doesn’t even live in Keystone or Central, than the Bats do.”

“So?”

“So,” you blow out a big breath, “Red Robin showed up yesterday to get some hot chocolate—”

“Hot chocolate?” Steph asks, disbelieving. 

“Yeah. He said it was a better alternative to coffee. Guess he’s not into energy drinks. Weirdo. The whole thing about it—weird. Like… I don’t know. He was just acting weird when he was asking if we had any.”

“… That is weird,” she says, an odd note to her voice. She clears her throat. “And then?”

“I knew why he was doing it so I told him he didn’t have to come around ‘cause he and the others obviously need to uphold a specific perception, right? Then he was all, Well, what does a civilian like you know about it? Can you believe they unironically call us that?”

Steph laughs. She laughs hard.

You wait it out, not entirely sure what or why she is laughing so hard but it’s not the first time she’s ever done that, so you can just let it go. 

“Okay,” she giggles. “Sorry. Keep going. What else happened?”

“He left. But then, y’wanna guess who just showed up right now?”

“Who? Batman?”

“God, no. It was Black Bat. She was nice enough. Gave me a big tip. Creepy suit, though.”

“What’d she’d get?”

“Two Red Bulls, a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms. Wonder who that second Red Bull is for. And the snacks. Red Robin realizing hot chocolate in June is weird? Hard to imagine him eating Takis, though. He’s probably like Tim, saying they’re ‘too hot’.”

Steph laughs again for a while.

“Oh, god, you’re killing me,” she gasps out when she calms.

You shake your head, rubbing your finger over a scratch mark in the counter. “I don’t know what is so funny but sure.”

“So, then, what? You think you’re just gonna some more vigilantes? ‘Cause it’s only been two so far.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you grumble. “But it’s two. When previously, this has never happened.” 

“True! Well… any preferences? For who comes next?”

“Anyone but Batman, thanks.”

Your next visitor is not Batman.

It is, in a turn of events that makes a little more sense, the Signal.

A few days after your call with Steph, things are fine, until your manager posts to the team group chat about wanting someone for an afternoon shift, saying someone quit unexpectedly. Not one to say no to some extra cash, you latch onto the opportunity—even if it’s an admittedly questionable idea. You try not to work weekends to let yourself recuperate from sustaining your not-so-great sleep schedule. 

Anyway, you feel and look like a zombie, but you get your work done. 

“I can help the next person in line,” you call. 

A tall, broad-shouldered stocky older man with long blonde hair and blue eyes behind coke-bottle glasses steps up, armed with two large cups of coffee. The scrubs he wears clues you into some kind of healthcare position. 

“Hi, did you find everything—”

The door opens, your eyes automatically flickering to the movement, and your voice cuts out sharply as you realize who it is.

The Signal stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment as all of you look—the blonde man at the counter and the other man waiting in line.

“Hey, you!”

You flinch, tensing, already fearing a confrontation as the other man steps forward, pointing at the Signal. The one in question tenses, shoulders rising, like he’s preparing to fight. You hope not. That would be a lot of paperwork for you. It’s the manager’s, technically, to report any damage done by vigilantes, but they always give it to you or the other employees on the floor.

But it is not as you feared. Instead of picking a fight, the man… thanks him?

“You’re the Signal, right? Right? You saved my son a few months ago from some muggers following him home from school. Thank you, man. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. He wouldn’t be here with me if it weren’t for you,” the man says, holding out a hand.

“Hey, man,” Signal says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It was nothing. I’m glad I was there to help.”

“Are you here to buy something? Let me cover you. Please. It’s the least I can do—”

“Oh, you really don’t need to—”

“That went better than expected.”

The soft-spoken voice brings you out of your thoughts and you belatedly realize you still have a customer to take care of. But when you look at him, he is watching the Signal try to tell the other man that he doesn’t have to pay for him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “Good thing. Signal’s a good guy.”

He turns back to you as you scan the cups of coffee, pulling out a wallet.

“He is,” he agrees easily—meaning his words, too, a genuine conviction you don’t hear often associated with the vigilantes of the city. 

Signal manages to hold firm on not needing the man to pay, repeating that he was just doing his job, and thankfully, the man accepts it with good graces. 

You quickly get your current customer wrapped up while the Signal steps into the chip aisle. 

You pass him the receipt. “Thank you, have a good day.”

He sends you a small, handsome smile, picking up the cups of coffee. “Thank you, you, too.”

The one after him steps up to pay, talking jovially with you, spirits still apparently lifted at seeing Signal and being able to thank him. It’s a nice moment, you think, and you make sure to respond in kind. 

The door swings shut behind him just as Signal re-emerges from the chip aisle, holding a can of Monster Energy and a bag of chile picante Cornnuts. The combination is… surely something. You let yourself slip with it, too, because you’ve personally heard a lot of good things about him. The fact that he works during the day helps his case, too. 

“I need the energy,” Signal says, seeing that thought in your face; he doesn’t sound mad, though, just vaguely amused. His suit is filled with more yellow tones, still intimidating but not as much in the daylight, a helmet of sorts leaving only his mouth exposed. 

“It’ll definitely give you… something,” you say, chuckling as you scan both.

He pats his stomach. “I have guts of steel. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not a problem as long as I never have to hear ‘guts of steel’ ever again. Jesus. Is that just a natural thing of your biology or is it evolutionary-based?”

“This life isn’t for the faint of heart or stomach,” he agrees, passing you a five dollar bill. “Adaptation is key.”

“I bet.”

Signal laughs, taking his change and dropping it into the tip jar. You smile, too, shaking your head slightly. 

“Have a good day.”

He tips his Red Bull at you. “You, too.”

Guts of steel. You nearly can’t believe it.

You pick up your phone, finding your conversation with Tim. You and Steph are hanging out tomorrow, so you’ll tell her about it, then. She asked him, though, and he said he was busy. Too bad. But that doesn’t mean he gets out of being subjected to those words, either.

no joke signal came in to buy a monster energy and cornnuts (a questionable combo) and when he saw me judging he said he has guts of steel

meta related do you think???

makes sense to me. you have a gene inside you that gives you literal powers i think they shouldn’t be having digestive issues/ibs like us common folk do

Your three texts, sent in quick succession, deliver. You bite the inside of your cheek as you see your previous ones still unanswered. It’s been like that for the past few weeks. Not him ignoring you but a bit of a dry spell going on in your messages that was only broken when you told Steph what happened and decided you had to tell him, too.

It’s not his fault. The dry spell from before or the lack of responses going on now. 

You started the first thing. So, it’s more your fault than anything for all of that. Steph’s talked to him, though, and she’s never let up on anything amiss…

You groan quietly, dropping your phone on the counter and burying your face in your hands.

Too complicated. Too much. 

It never used to be like that but… things changed recently. 

You, mostly. 

You met Stephanie Brown your second semester at Gotham University. 

Taking your required elective, you chose Intro to Psych. She was doing the same. Though, being a social work major, psychology was practically a cousin to it. 

The professor for the class turned out to be a total dud. Rambled during lecture, refused to give out study guides, and while he would give out hints as to what material might show up on exams, his questions were trick ones. When people complained, he said some crap about being in a higher ed setting and needing to do better because of it. Like his class was some 300 or 400 level course and not a literal intro course to a large and burgeoning field of study. 

But classes are expensive, so, you couldn’t drop it. Refused to, really, knowing you would face much more difficult classes later on, ones you knew you might need to drop and try again. So, you weren’t going to waste the money on this type of class.

Steph was of the same thought.

She sat next to you in the lecture hall. You two didn’t talk until after the first exam and everyone was upset about their grades, the exams having been handed back at the end of class. Your shared frustration brought you together, mostly as you two were ranting about it, you packed up and wound up leaving class together, the both of you just too caught up in your anger to realize you both needed to go in opposite directions for your next class. 

You initially agreed to be study partners, to cover more ground that way. But Steph managed to worm her way to your heart by the end of that semester. 

Your astounding lack of friends helped, too. Even if things had been that way since your junior year of high school, even if you wanted things to remain that way to protect what little remained of your heart, the loneliness hit you harder than you thought it would when you started college. 

And Steph was nice and funny and listened to you and paid attention to you and you… were so very deprived of those things, so it was nice in the beginning, but then you realized, to your own horror, that you actually wanted her to stick her around, that just as she knew nearly everything about you by the end of the semester, you knew nearly everything about her, too, and you wanted to know more, wanted to be there for her like she always was for you. 

You have that and more now and you are so very lucky because of it.

Tim, though?

Tim was something else.

Steph told you she had a friend visiting.

Just that—that she had a friend visiting campus and she ‘hoped he could find his way to the computer workstation on the fourth floor because as soon as I sit down, I’m not leaving for anything other than to use the bathroom or some kind of world-ending event.’ 

It was a particularly grueling paper she had to churn out—twenty pages, heavily research-based with the kind of statistics that made your head spin.

Working at the front desk of the Martha Kane Library at the time, you humored her. Told her good luck and that you’d keep an eye out. The second part was a joke, of course, because she never said who was visiting her and how could you know if she never said anything?

You and Tim Drake wound up finding each other, anyway. 

Well, more like he found you. 

It sounds sort of romantic, right?

It’s… well, it’s certainly something.

“I’m just saying,” you’re telling him, totally neglecting your homework and the other duties you have at the front desk (you know this last part is especially true by the way your coworker, also at the front desk, is side-eyeing you but come on, there’s no one in line, so it’s fine!). “It’s a solid movie.”

Tim Drake gives you a comically disbelieving look. “A solid movie? It’s—it’s gaseous.”

“Did… you just make a physics joke? About the three states of matter?”

Tim turns an attractive shade of pink. “It’s four, actually, and, uh… yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Steph is right. You really are a geek. Anyway. Cloverfield still sucks.” 

“Your opinion is automatically negated by the fact that you think the Final Destination movies have any kind of substance to them.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I just think they’re good ‘cause of Mary Elizabeth Winstead. You probably think the Transformers movies are actually good, don’t you?”

He looks offended. “Don’t insult me. We hate Michael Bay in this house.”

“Sure.”

“But I do think Bumblebee—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bumblebee is good for a change, we all know it. You’re probably one of those Nolan stans, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of what you just said are real words.”

“Oh, they’re real alright. Nolan stans are constantly on his dick, they’re all like, ‘Nolan is so deep and thoughtful and there is no one else like him.’ Wrong. I could find ten of him in the movie industry.” 

Tim narrows his eyes accusingly at you. “Steph said Interstellar is your favorite movie.”

“It’s his only good movie.”

“Don’t count out Inception like that.”

“Never seen it.”

“Wow.”

“You know what you sounded like just now? A Nolan stan.”

Tim actually grins at you and your stomach flutters at the sight of it. It’s that that had drawn your eyes to him. The cute but confused looking guy loitering around nearby, systematically checking his phone and glancing around—presumably for a map of the confusing and ancient library. With dark hair, pale skin, and pretty blue eyes that make you feel unbearably seen, Tim Drake is a sight for sore eyes. Your eyes, to be certain. 

Of course, you also know he’s here for Steph. That he is the friend she spoke of. And also the ex-boyfriend. That reminder sobers you considerably. 

Kind of funny, really. 

Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

The adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. The kid who snuck into No Man’s Land on a dare and had to be extracted by the US military after his father made a fuss about it. Then later, became controlling shareholder at Wayne Enterprises for whatever reason, boosting him into a very powerful position. Then he got engaged. Then he was shot—he was meant to be killed but obviously, it hadn’t gone that way. All this at seventeen. 

But eventually it petered out. He stepped down. Engagement broke off. He recovered. Now? He does some work for WE. That’s all that’s known to the press, anyway. 

It’s like you said. Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

But most of your impression is from Steph. He plays Warlocks and Warriors sometimes. Is a bit of a computer geek and has built his own PC for gaming. Hits the skatepark every now and then. Likes to spend time tinkering on his car.  And… has strong opinions on movies. 

Above it all?

He is her ex. A good friend now! But still. That fact remains. 

“Anyway,” you say, adjusting your notebook, textbook, and bag of pens just to do something. “You’re here for Steph, right?”

“She told you?”

“Well, she’s obviously told you stuff about me.”

“Steph won’t shut up about you,” he says, seeming more amused than annoyed by that fact. “I can’t imagine it’s the same with me.”

“I know enough.” Like the fact that he is her literal ex-boyfriend. Even if Steph says their relationship wasn’t the greatest, had some very questionable decisions on both their parts, and ended a bit dramatically… he’s still the first person she ever fell in love with. She told you that much. “She’s upstairs on the fourth floor. Hit the elevators over there, then when you get to the fourth floor, turn left, then another left, and the computer workstations are on your right. Can’t miss them.”

“You should watch Inception,” he says, instead of acknowledging literally anything you just said.

You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “You should watch Interstellar.”

He taps a finger on the counter. “We should do both. You, me, and Steph one of these days.”

“I hate to say it, but that sounds like a good idea.”

Steph’s voice scares the shit out of you. You bang your knee on the desk, cursing.

Tim looks unruffled as she comes from the side—the direction of the elevators, joining him at the counter and nudging his shoulder as she goes. He nudges back. They keep the contact.

“Sorry, Stephie,” you say. “We got preoccupied.”

“Arguing,” she corrects, but she doesn’t look upset about it. Instead, her cobalt blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite identify as she drops her chin into her palm.

“We weren’t arguing,” Tim says next. “We were lightly debating.”

“Of course. My cute little movie geeks. I think Duckboy’s right, though—” Tim groans slightly and mutters her name in annoyance; she ignores it “—we should get together and see them.”

You scratch your cheek. “I don’t know. Finals—”

“—are not for another month. I say let’s do it.” She looks at Tim and jabs a thumb at you. “She needs more friends.”

“Stephanie, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Timothy needs more friends, too. Friends from, say, the other half.” She smiles mischievously, a joke known only by the two of them. 

Tim, for his part, rolls his eyes but says nothing in protest. 

You don’t need more friends. More friends is actually a very bad idea. Letting one person get close was bad enough. Another person? Hell, no…

But the look on Steph’s face tells you that you, quite frankly, have no say in the matter. And the way you and Tim ‘lightly debated’ movies for a solid half hour tells you, too, that it’ll be too easy for you and he to become friends. 

You decide to shelve the issue for now as Steph tugs him away, promising you that she’ll arrange for things.

Maybe it won’t pan out. Maybe he’s actually horribly arrogant and conceited. (Though, if he’s friends with Steph, the likelihood of that is admittedly low.) 

You don’t know. All you know is it’s dangerous to let yourself get close to someone else.

But that’s all rather dramatic, isn’t it?

And it didn’t turn out how you wanted—you met Tim in the first semester of your sophomore year; your junior year just ended this May. You’ve been friends with him for a year and half. Steph for two. No end appears to be in sight. But you’ve compartmentalized. It’s just two people. That’s fine.

It’s totally fine. 

Even if it’s two people to match the two others you lost when you were fifteen. Like a repayment for the pain.

(Or a way to double it.)

But you lost your parents in the earthquake. 

Scientists called that a once-in-a-lifetime event.

There are plenty of things going on in this city that could cost your friends their lives but… it’ll never be as devastating as the earthquake. 

The earthquake where you nearly died after a piece of metal pierced your thigh, barely missing your femoral artery, and you spent the entire time from after the earthquake, when they dug your body out of the rubble, and to when they decided to exile the city, in a coma from the infection. 

By the time you stabilized, you were on a helicopter to Blüdhaven, the rest of the city in a panic to leave, and your parents were officially gone by that point. 

They couldn’t even find their bodies in time.

It took almost three years before they did. The year in which the government turned a blind eye to the city and cast it away, then another two years to rebuild, to sift through the ruin and destruction, to find the bones of the ones left behind since they were decomposed by then, and identifying them was an even more arduous task.  

You only managed to receive the catharsis of burying them when you turned eighteen. 

You might tempt fate by saying this but even if you lost either of them, the fallout would never beat that. A blessing, in that way. 

But even you hate to consider the possibilities of them leaving you. For anything.

They won’t. 

Everything will be fine. 

It has to be. 

reblogs are appreciated!

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#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

I ║ Palomino

Jack Daniels x f!reader

 { Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2: Buckskin }

Rating: M (will be E in future chapters)

Summary: Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Warnings: Extremely self-indulgent solo travel romance, flirting, yearning, language, matchmaking themes, lots of horsey details, mention of breakup, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6.5k

Notes: This story encompasses a lot of firsts for me - first new series since Consent, first time writing Jack, first time writing something so action-heavy and close to my heart. While I'm not 100% confident I got everything right, I am so excited about this fic. I hope you're ready for the ride (I apologise in advance for all the horsey puns incoming)!

I want to call out (affectionate) LJ @prolix-yuy for lighting a fire under my ass for cowboy Jack with her incredible Westworld AU Cognitive Dissonance. I also need to thank Ani @deadhumourist for the idea of a company retreat that I used in this chapter, and for sharing with us her amazing Jack fic Under Marula Trees. And of course, Ash @mandoblowmybackout for enduring my almost non-stop screeching about Jack ❤️

More notes in the Series Masterlist on horses and travel, etc!

Palomino: a pale golden or tan-coloured horse or pony with a white mane and tail, originally bred in the south-western US.

The door creaks long and loud on its hinges as it opens, barely letting through a bustling figure before slamming shut so hard it rattles on its heavy oak frame.

At the long-suffering frown sent his way from across the reception desk, Champ holds his hands up in apology and tip-toes in exaggerated fashion to his desk. Ginger shakes her head fondly - being quiet is not one of her employer’s strong suits.

She presently returns to the phone call she’s in the middle of, using her most placating tone on this customer. ‘Look, we have regulars coming in the same week as you. They come every year for a company retreat, and they are just the loveliest people you can meet. I promise you’ll have a great time.’

The vintage Chesterfield groans under his weight as Champ settles down, and with a practised flick of his wrist, his cowboy hat lands on its designated hook on the wall. He turns to the ledgers Harry left on his desk two days ago - he can’t keep putting them off much longer…

His mind quickly wanders. He’s a people person, and he’s always been more interested in the dude ranch holiday part of the business. However, Ginger is so good at her job that she’s made him redundant, banishing him to the whiskey distillery side of things. 

It doesn’t stop him from keeping half an ear on the ongoing phone conversation though.

‘I’m so sorry, ma’am, it’s not our policy to offer refunds. But I promise you’ll have the best birthday with us on the trip.’

Champ steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair. Ah, a customer wanting to cancel. Always tricky.

‘Tell you what - since you’ve already paid a 40% deposit for two guests, why don’t I waive the 20% balance for your holiday for one party?’

Champ arches a grey eyebrow in curiosity.

‘Alright, perfect,’ chirps Ginger brightly. ‘We look forward to seeing you in a few weeks. Bye now.’

‘What was that about?’ he asks as soon as she hangs up.

Bringing up the reservations system on her computer, she types busily as she replies, ‘A guest booked a holiday with her boyfriend, but they broke up, and she wanted a refund for both their places. I convinced her to come alone instead with the discount. She’s here the same week as the Kingsman so she definitely won’t be lonely.’

Champ gives her a double thumbs up. ‘Nicely done, Ginger. And did you say it’s her birthday while she’s here?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll give Poppy a heads up to bake a cake in advance.’

‘Do you have a photo of her?’

Ginger’s fingers pause and hover over the keyboard, a warning in her voice. ‘Champ.’

He blinks innocently. ‘What? I’m a nosy bastard.’

With a sigh, she pulls up a Whatsapp profile picture and holds up the phone to him.

He puts on his reading glasses to look at the screen, and proceeds to nod thoughtfully. Finally, they haven’t had any single guests at the ranch for months on end. Surely, she’s his type…

‘Champ?’ Ginger’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. ‘Stop meddling!’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

She rolls her eyes affectionately. ‘He’s a big boy, he doesn’t need your help.’

Champ barks in laughter. ‘Like hell he doesn’t. Call the Kingsman and reschedule them, Ginger. I have a plan.’

You’ve never travelled on your own before.

Now that you’re speeding down the empty country roads towards the Bighorn Mountains - windows down, dust flying, radio blaring - you honestly don’t know why you waited so long.

You��re glad that the woman at the Statesman stood firm when you called a month and a half ago, asking for a refund. The discount sweetens the deal too.

To be honest, the week-long dude ranch trip you booked months ago had completely slipped your mind in the aftermath of the breakup. There were more pressing matters, like - what were you going to do with the house you bought and remodelled together?

You’d just finished tiling the backsplash with the vintage Italian mosaic you found at a flea market when you were informed that he didn’t feel the same way about you anymore. In fact, he hadn’t for some time.

You were only reminded of the trip when you started clearing your stuff out of the attic, finally having found an apartment you could afford on your own that is also not a shithole. You found the riding gear that you’d stashed away, gathering dust since you two started dating.

You should be thankful that at least there’s no costly wedding venue deposit to forgo or a pet custody battle to muddle through. He’s always hated animals - you really should’ve known. 

But you can’t bring yourself to not be bitter about everything. Not yet.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re going on this trip. That lazy bastard can start pulling his weight and sort out the house viewings for potential buyers for this week. He’s been dragging his feet - just because he can afford to pay both the mortgage and rent at his new bachelor pad doesn’t mean you can too.

You shake yourself out of it and crank up the stereo. Fuck it. You’re not thinking about him or the house or anything this weekend. It’s your solo birthday getaway and you’re gonna enjoy the fuck out of it.

And who knows? If you’re lucky, you could be rebounding with a handsome cowboy, like one of those awful Unicorn Club novels you used to read over and over again when you were fifteen.

You laugh, the pull of the muscles in your cheeks unfamiliar after weeks of disuse. A girl can dream.

You switch off the ignition, hands gripping the driving wheel tightly, and you take a moment to compose yourself. 

‘You can do this,’ you murmur, giving yourself a reaffirming nod in the rear view mirror.

Hopping off your rental truck, you shut the door behind you and start towards the only building you can see, a rustic lodge with a red roof. Statesman is blazened in iron letters, nailed proudly above a wraparound porch with welcoming rocking chairs and armchairs scattered about.

The gravel beneath your sneakers crunches loudly. You can hear in the distance sounds that you haven’t heard for a long time - clip clop of hooves, the drag of a barn door on rusty hinges, the low whinny of horses. You breathe in the mountain air scented with a whiff of sweet hay. Things that were familiar once upon a time. Your chest constricts at something blooming between your ribs, and a small smile lifts the corner of your lips.

There’s a bark out of the blue, and a border collie comes zipping towards you, wagging his tail so hard that his whole bottom wriggles from side to side. You coo excitedly and crouch down to give him a cuddle when a man with grey hair emerges from the lodge. It’s a warm day, but he’s wearing a suit with a cowboy hat.

In a booming voice, he calls your name in greeting and makes his way over to you. ‘We’ve been expecting you, young lady! The name’s Champ. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

You stand and shake his proffered hand with a smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Champ. It’s good to be here.’ You gesture to the empty parking lot. ‘Am I early or something?’

‘You’re our only guest this week, actually,’ he replies in a thick Southern accent.

You scratch the back of your neck, taken by surprise. ‘Umm, but the lady I spoke to on the phone - she said that there are regulars joining? A company retreat or something?’

‘Sadly, they rescheduled. It’s just you, my dear. You’re our VIP!’ he grins and claps you on the shoulder. ‘Come! Walk with me. I’ll have someone take your bags to your room. You can leave the keys in the car, it’s safe - but you keep any food to yourself or Jameson here will run away with it!’

The border collie barks at his name and Champ scratches him behind the ear, dispatching him with a wave of his hands.

Your host starts at a brisk walk. ‘So, how was your journey, young lady?’

You have to power walk to keep up with him as the gravel fades into firm sand. ‘Long, but glad to be here. I’ve been really looking forward to getting away.’

‘First time travelling alone, I assume?’ Champ smiles at you kindly.

You nod sheepishly. ‘I’m a bit nervous, to be honest.’

He laughs. ‘You’re entitled to nerves, but I promise you, you’ll forget all about that in three, two, one -’

Right on cue, you round the back of the lodge and you can’t help the gasp that slips out as you stumble to a stop.

The full landscape of the ranch comes into view beneath your feet. A picturesque river cuts through the green sweep of land, small lodges with matching red roofs are dotted all over one side of the bank, and bigger barn-like structures stand on the other. The Bighorn Mountains tower over the entirety of the property. You see horses grazing in a huge, fenced field, tails flicking lazily at flies.

Champ practically glows at your reaction. ‘It’s taken thirty years to get to where we are. I hope it will stand for many more decades to come.’

‘It’s - stunning,’ you say rather inadequately.

Champ winks at you. ‘Wait till you go into the mountains, my dear. Come along, now.’

You resume walking side by side, and he continues, ‘Now, since you’re our only guest this week, I can give you two options for your trip. We can do day-long rides with you, and you spend the nights here at the ranch. It’s more comfortable, but it does mean that you don’t get to go as deep into the mountains.’

Champ stops to take a breath. ‘Alternatively, you can go on a week-long pack ride with our cowboy and camp along the way, just the two of you. It's a magnificent journey, I can promise you.’

It’s a lot of information to take in so quickly, and you hesitate. ‘Um - ’

He holds up a hand at you and pauses abruptly, something catching his eye. ‘Ah, speak of the devil. Before you decide, you need to meet our cowboy. He'll be your guide for the week.’

You’re craning your neck to catch a glimpse when Champ bellows so loudly that you nearly have to take cover. ‘JACK! Son! Say hello to our guest for this week before you take the horses to pasture.’

Your ears still ringing, the silhouette of a man on horseback comes into view halfway across the yard. The dust seems to magically settle and part, and a handsome face framed by a cowboy hat, a tidy moustache and a wicked sharp jawline comes into focus.

‘Whoa.’

You belatedly realise that you said that out loud when Champ wriggles his eyebrows at you.

‘Howdy, ma’am,’ the cowboy calls back, tipping his hat politely. His voice rings brightly in the space between you, but the delicious lick of his Southern drawl makes goosebumps chase across your skin. You manage a weak smile and a wave, not trusting your power of speech at the moment.

‘Be back at four to take the lovely lady on her orientation ride, alright?’

Jack gives him a two-fingered salute. ‘Got it, boss. See you soon, ma’am.’

You watch unashamedly as the cowboy smoothly steers his horse around, and with a whistle, the dozen or so horses follow suit as he canters out of view.

‘So? What say you?’ Champ interrupts your thoughts with an expectant look.

You can’t help the stupid grin that breaks upon your face. ‘The pack trip sounds good.’

Champ claps his hands together so loudly that you jump. ‘Your wish is my command, ma’am. Or rather - Jack’s.' He winks. ‘He’ll pick out a horse for you and take you for a short ride to make sure you’re comfortable before the trip starts tomorrow. Sounds good?’

‘Perfect.’

Stopping outside one of the lodges near the river, Champ sweeps his arm in a flourish. ‘There we go, this is your lovely room for tonight, with the best views of the mountains. Poppy’s left some lemonade and sandwiches inside if you need a pick-me-up, and your bags will be with you shortly. Just make sure you’re ready by four. Got it?’ 

He holds up a hand to you, and you give him a high five. ‘Got it, Champ.’

‘Welcome to the Statesman, my dear.’ 

Watching you bound up the stairs with a spring in your step, Champ gives himself an imaginary pat on the shoulder. Well done, old chap. The plan is in motion.

You lay your outfits on the large bed as you chew on a delicious sandwich, weighing the options for your afternoon ride. You packed according to the list the ranch sent in your orientation email, but you wish you’d brought something nicer. They really should’ve included a hot cowboy warning.

You wanted to spend some time on the porch and enjoy the magnificent views of the mountains from your doorstep before the ride, but by the time you’re finally happy with your choice of clothes, you’re startled by rapping on the door.

Sucking in a steadying breath and smoothing back your hair, you turn the knob.

Fuck me sideways. This man is devastatingly good-looking on close inspection.

‘Hi, again,’ you smile, hoping your words didn’t come out as squeaky as it sounded in your head.

The cowboy returns your smile with teeth and tips his hat at you - black suede with a leather band - then offers you his hand. ‘Jack Daniels. Pleasure to meet you properly, ma’am.’

You give him your name and your hand. His grip is firm and assured, the slide of his palm against yours feels weathered and rope-worn. You cross your arms self-consciously, but the words that come out are bolder than you feel. ‘So, Champ says you’re my own personal cowboy for the week?’

He chuckles and plays along, giving you a small bow. ‘I’m at your beck and call, darlin’.’

His rich voice curls around every syllable, dipping and climbing with each inflection, but the languid cadence doesn’t waver. You decide here and then that this man can call you darlin' any time he wants.

He hooks one thumb through a belt loop, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. He runs his eyes up and down your body, both professionally assessing and not, lingering on your breeches, riding boots and half chaps. He arches an eyebrow at you and says in a playful tone, ‘So, I see you’re one of those fancy English riders.’

You gesture at the flannel shirt you’re wearing, the ends tied in a knot to give it a cropped fit. You think you look cute - hopefully. You choose to crack a joke, ‘Give me some credit, cowboy, I’m trying to fit in.’

He holds his hands up in surrender, pushing himself off the door. ‘My apologies, darlin’, where are my manners? The illusion is perfect. You ready to go?’

You grab your riding hat. ‘Absolutely.’

Jack takes one look at your helmet and tuts, plucking it from your fingers. ‘Oh no, that won’t do. That is one thing I don't allow on my rides. We’ll find you a real hat.’

It’s a short walk to the stables. You hang back with all the subtlety you can muster to quietly study the cowboy you’ll be sharing close quarters with for the next week. His walk is deliberate, he almost prowls, narrow hips undulating with the rhythm of his strut. When he reaches up to adjust his hat, his shirt strains over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up in the afternoon heat. Your eyes are about to dip a lot lower when he turns back to look at you, and you duck your head like you’ve been caught with your finger in the pie.

Are you imagining the touch of self-satisfaction that’s crept into his warm eyes?

‘So, how long have you been riding?’ he slows down so you can catch up with him. You’re relieved he doesn’t call you out on your very obvious appraisal of him.

You shrug. ‘Since I was a kid, but I haven’t been on a horse since - ’ You pause to rearrange your words. ‘- for almost five years. And I’ve always ridden the English way, so I don’t know how well I’ll do with Western riding.’

He brushes away your concern. ‘Western is easy, it’ll be a piece of cake for you, I’m sure.’

The stables are large and airy with rustic beams framing a vaulted ceiling. Utility barns are clustered outside in close vicinity, but all is still in the mid-afternoon hour. Your footsteps echo as you make your way down the concrete corridor, Jack’s sturdy cowboy boots treading heavier and louder than your riding boots. Large and tidy stalls line either side, some empty and some occupied.

‘The horses spend most of the summer outdoors,’ explains Jack. Stopping in front of a huge chalkboard nailed to the wall, he gestures at the daily schedule listed next to each name, written in a neat hand. ‘We keep them on a weekly roster to make sure their workload is evenly distributed.’

Resuming your slow course deeper into the stables, Jack asks conversationally, ‘What are you looking for in your horse for the week?’

It’s a broad question that you don’t quite know how to answer. You purse your lips. ‘To be honest? I don’t know, it’s been a while.’

‘Ok. Let’s put it this way - what’s important to you?’ He ticks off the options with his fingers. ‘Character? Temperament? Speed? Stamina?’

Is it just you or did his voice dip an octave on that last word?

Flustered, you struggle to come up with a reply. ‘Um - ’

Seeing that you’re overwhelmed, he wipes the slate clean with a wave of his hand. ‘I apologise, I didn’t express myself well.’ He changes tact. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your favourite horse?’

That you can do. You think about the last horse you really loved, before you met your ex, casting your mind back to long weekend afternoons at the local stables. The answer comes easily to you as your eyes fall to the tips of your black boots.

‘I like a horse that's forward-going but responsive to contact, and on the hot-blooded side with a bit of an attitude - I like a challenge.’ Feeling his eyes on you, you lift your gaze to his apologetically. ‘Sorry, was that way too vague or way too specific?’

‘Not at all. I appreciate a lady who knows what she wants,’ he reassures you, seemingly pleased at what he’s hearing. ‘I got just the horse for you.’

You must be in the middle of the stables structure now, when Jack makes a sharp right turn into a spacious room. Your eyes widen at the rows and rows of beautifully polished Western saddles, bridles and an assortment of other tack, some of which you don’t even recognise. Eyeing the signs above each saddle, you remark, ‘I see there’s a recurring theme in the names.’

Jack hoists a gorgeously embossed tan saddle off its rack on the wall, holding it against his side as if it weighs nothing, then grabs the bridle next to it and a saddle pad. ‘What do you expect from a ranch that also runs a distillery?’

Your eyebrows shoot up. ‘A distillery?’

‘Whiskey,’ he replies, making his way to the exit. ‘I’ll show you when we ride up the mountain, it’s on the other side of the ranch. Champ spends most of his time in the distillery nowadays.’

‘Can I help with anything?’ you ask, your hands feeling very empty as you trail behind him.

‘Not a chance, darlin’, you’re the guest. But you can watch if you want,’ he adds mischievously.

Lord have mercy. This man has gotten you more wound up in the last fifteen minutes with a few cheeky words than anyone has in a long time. Pull yourself together, woman.

You pass at least another dozen stalls - this is easiest the biggest stables you’ve ever seen - before Jack’s long strides ease, and at his whistle, the handsome face of a palomino pops up from behind a door. He nickers and nudges the cowboy familiarly on his arm, ears pricking up in alert when you come into view behind him.

‘Meet Scotch,’ Jack says in introduction, giving him a firm pat on the neck. With an easy swing, he rests the saddle on the top of the door and unlatches it, leaving it ajar for you to shuffle in behind him.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ you can’t help but coo, running your palm from his forehead - painted with a fetching white star - to his grey, velvety muzzle. ‘He’s sweet.’

‘Wait till you get him on the open road - he’s a speed demon.’ 

You must have let your nerves show, because Jack reassures you, ‘But only if you want him to be. He’s just as happy going steady.’

You lean against the wall as Jack makes quick work of tacking up. You admire the gentle way he fits the bridle over Scotch’s head and the bit in his mouth. Reaching out, you help untuck his white mane from the browband, etched with pretty flowery patterns, and brush out the tangles with your fingers as Jack fastens the clasps.

You can’t help but catch your bottom lip with your teeth when, with a soft grunt, the cowboy lifts the saddle over Scotch’s back. His shirt, tucked neatly into his jeans, stretches taut and you eye the hint of a soft belly underneath. It rests above an almost obnoxiously large belt buckle in the shape of - are you shitting me - a flask with Statesman spelled out in capital letters.

You quickly look away before you’re consumed by the want to reach out and check if it’s a real flask.

The Western saddle has far more bits and bobs than you’re used to, but you’re too far gone to pay attention to what Jack is doing with his nimble fingers anymore.

‘There.’ He straightens, dusts off his hands and places them on his hips, one dark eyebrow up. ‘I hope you were paying attention, ma’am, I might quiz you later.’

Oh shit. You stammer, ‘Um, I mean, you were quite quick -’

Jack crosses his arms and smirks. ‘I’m pullin’ your leg, darlin’. You’re so easy to rile up.’

Before you can restrain yourself, you take a step forward and give him a playful shove in rebuke. The joke’s on you though - the pectoral muscle underneath your palm is lean and hard, and your push makes no impact at all.

‘Employee of the year, ladies and gentlemen,’ you jest, retracting your hand reluctantly.

He leans in close and gives you an almost insolent smirk, voice dropping intimately. ‘Stop distracting me, darlin’, or we’ll never make it out of this stall.’

Fuck’s sake - your cheeks literally flame. You’re about as subtle as a bucking bronco.

Taking mercy on you, Jack herds you out of the stall with no further teasing, and Scotch follows obediently behind. You’ve barely scraped your brains back together when he stops by a doorway at the end of the stables, holding up a hand that brings the gelding to a smart square halt.

‘Stay,’ orders Jack in a stern voice as if Scotch was just a very large golden retriever - he has the colouring after all. He then nods at you. ‘Come on in, darlin’.’

Stepping into the small room, you gasp in delight - every conceivable surface is covered with cowboy hats of all colours and materials.

‘Let’s see what your size is,’ Jack mumbles to himself as he plucks some options off the wall. There’s no mirror, and you hold your breath when he steps into your space, putting one hat after the other on you as he narrows down the sizing. His face is set seriously, the bow of his upper lip drawn downward, brow wrinkled in concentration.

Eventually, you run out of oxygen and you breathe him in - summer grass, leather and smoke. Your tongue darts out and wets your suddenly dry lips.

In the minutest of glances, you catch his eyes flickering to your mouth for just a second. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have spotted the fleeting stutter in his movements as he fits you with a cream suede hat with a brown leather braid. It sits snugly on your head without any pinch.

‘Try tipping your head forward and back,’ he instructs you, breaking the quiet tension. The hat doesn’t slip, and with a tap on the brim and a smile, he declares, ‘I think we’re good to go.’

Stepping into the open air, the bright afternoon sun makes you wince, and you pull your new hat a bit lower to shield from the light. You follow Jack across the yard, heading towards a chestnut with white stockings, fully tacked and waiting at a wooden post. Ruffling his thick mane, Jack says proudly, ‘Darlin’, meet my horse, Whiskey.’

‘How very fitting,’ you remark, smoothing a hand on his strong neck. ‘Hi, Whiskey.’

Scotch, who has been following you two dutifully, bumps noses with his friend in greeting. Reaching for his reins, Jack looks at you with a question in his eyes - all the tacking up, prepping and joking around is done. Suddenly, the likelihood of falling off your horse and flat on your bum in front of the cowboy seems extraordinarily high. Maybe you really didn’t think this through -

‘Hey,’ Jack cuts short your thoughts, chucking you gently under the chin. ‘Don’t be nervous. It’s all muscle memory - like riding a bike, you can’t forget. You do know how to ride a bike, don't you?’

Your shoulders quake with a laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood.

He tilts his head at you. ‘May I give you a leg up, darlin'?’

At your silent nod, Jack brings Scotch around, and you hope he doesn't see you wipe your sweaty palms on your breeches. One hand on the saddle horn, the other on the cantle you bend your left calf up and back by the hinge of your knee. 

Jack steps in right behind your heels, his frame dwarfing you even as he leans down at the ready. One strong hand closes around your ankle and the other just below your kneecap. His voice is deep and brushes against the shell of your ear. ‘On three, darlin’.’

He hoists you up so easily that you nearly go all the way over the other side of the saddle, but you grasp the horn just in time and land squarely in the seat, albeit a bit clumsily. You can’t help but wonder what else he can do with his easy strength - a whole lot of other things, you reckon -

Scotch shifts underneath you as he adjusts to your weight. The basic instincts of being on horseback kick in slowly but surely. You gather the reins in your non-dominant hand, put the tip of your toes through the stirrup irons, push your heels down and sit up tall. You inhale deeply and smile at Jack, who’s checking the tightness of the girth and the length of your stirrups.

‘All good?’ he asks you.

‘Yes,’ you reply, relieved that you feel less like a fish out of water than you’d feared.

Jack unties Whiskey from the post. Slotting his foot in the left stirrup, he effortlessly pushes off the ground and swings his leg over the saddle, settling gently into his seat. It’s really not fair that he’s able to do it so easily in jeans that tight.

Whiskey starts leading the way towards the back of the property and Scotch follows, obviously not pleased to be left behind. Jack holds Whiskey back so that you’re walking alongside him. ‘You’ve seen people ride Western?’ 

‘I get the general idea. Reins in my non-dominant hand. Leg aids are similar.’

‘If you want to turn to the right?’

‘Reins to the right and shift my weight the same way,’ you reply, recalling the research you did before the trip.

Jack nods approvingly. ‘Sounds like you’ve got it sorted, darlin’.’

Going up a gently sloping path, the ranch disappears behind you as you begin to climb above the property, and the landscape dramatically opens up. Your breath catches at the sight of the rolling plains that stretch too far for your eyes to see, towards the Bighorn Mountains. Scotch’s ears prick up in excitement at the space, nickering and chomping at the bit. You keep your contact on the reins light even as he prances underneath you, mindful not to pull on his mouth.

Jack smiles, and you hope you're making a good impression. ‘Wanna warm up with a little lope?’

‘Lope? You mean a canter?’ you retort jokingly.

He chuckles at your cheek. ‘Alright, ma’am, look at you with your fancy words.’

With a stern finger pointed his way, you warn him, ‘You’re not allowed to laugh if I fall off, deal?’

‘I know you won’t, but for your peace of mind, I’ll cross my heart,’ he jokes and traces the motion over his chest with his thumb. ‘After you, darlin’.’

With the lightest nudge of your heels, Scotch steps straight into a smooth canter. The sudden movement jolts you forward in the saddle and out of balance, but you quickly adjust, and your hips begin to follow the flow of the familiar four-beat motion. The wind sings in your ears over the steady rhythm of hooves hitting the earth, the mountainscape blurring into green and blue.

Jack is keeping pace next to you from a safe distance, meeting your eyes when you send the biggest grin his way.

For the first time in months, you feel joy.

The sun sets on a mild evening, so you agree to an al fresco dinner by the fire when Jack poses the question to you on your return from the afternoon ride. 

After a quick shower and changing into casual jeans and a sweater, you meet the rest of close-knit Statesman team at the dinner table, and Champ explains the logistics of the pack trip to you.

‘Since it’s just the two of you, you’ll only need one packhorse. You’ll sleep outside for the first two nights, then on the third, you’ll get to the Halfway House.’

The peculiar name piques your interest. ‘Halfway House?’

Champ chuckles. ‘Halfway as in halfway through the trip. We’ll drive out to stock up the house, bring you fresh clothes and anything you’d need for the second half of the trip back to the ranch. We’ll also collect your dirty clothes and have them laundered by the time you’re back. So make sure you pack two bags, we’ll sort them out tomorrow.’

Turning to Poppy, he starts discussing the provisions for the trip, and you take the chance to shuffle closer to Ginger. Jack is at the far end of the table, deep in conversation with a man introduced to you as Tequila (you didn’t ask), so you’re sure he can’t overhear you. You clear your throat. ‘So, I was wondering what the… lavatory arrangements are like out there?’

She gives you a encouraging smile. ‘It’s all au naturale, I’m afraid. But there are plenty of bushes so privacy won’t be an issue. We bring a portable shower for guests for the days you camp out, and there’s running water and electricity at the Halfway House. But at this time of the year, Jack usually just washes off in the river.’

Your jaw drops at that revelation, and before you can close your big mouth, you babble, ‘Wow… um, by wow I meant… bathing in the river must be… cold?’

Ginger gives you a knowing grin and clinks your glass. ‘I think you’ll have a great time on this trip, honey.’

It’s early, as the first day of a pack trip always is. The chill from daybreak still clings to the thin mountain air, but the glare of the sun is already strong, even from behind his sunglasses.

Jack runs through his usual checklists. Vetting the horses, triple checking the tack, bedding, food, supplies, first aid kit. He’s collected your bag from your doorstep and loaded it on the packhorse. You pack light, which he appreciates.

He spotted you at the breakfast table earlier, almost done with your toast, when he crossed the yard with the horses, so he reckons you’re on track to make a punctual start. With the heat forecast, he wants to make it to the cover of the forest path before midday. If you make good time, a sunset dip in the lake is on the cards.

As he double checks if all the straps on the saddle bags are properly buckled up, his routine is disrupted by a firm pat on his back.

Champ is a bundle of energy even at this early hour of the day, his suit on just the right side of presentable despite the wrinkles. ‘Have a good trip, son, and make sure you show our guest a good time. I like this one.’

‘You like everyone, Champ,’ retorts Jack, but there’s no real bite in his words. ‘Not sure it counts for much.’

‘I got a good feeling about her, I’m telling you.’ 

The younger man sighs, one hand on the rump of the packhorse and one on his hip as he braces himself for the usual spiel. ‘C’mon, boss - ’

‘You’re young, you’re single! If you insist on hiding away on this ranch in the middle of nowhere, you might as well at least try to have a good time when the opportunity presents itself.’

‘Why don’t you bother Ginger about it? She’s young and single too,’ grumbles Jack as he resumes his checks.

‘Because I know she can take care of herself. But you?’ Champ makes a face.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss,’ he grumbles. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’m not hiding from anything. I actually like this job, but half the time I think you’re just trying to get rid of me.’

Spotting you over Jack’s shoulder, Champ gives him one last clasp on the arm. He leans in and says in a low voice, eyes sincere. ‘You don’t have to punish yourself forever, son. Live a little.’

Jack shakes his head as Champ moves away and calls out to you, his boisterous voice carrying even further in the cold air. He knows Champ means well. It’s not the first time he’s tried to set him up with someone, and he can confidently wager it won’t be the last. 

He knows for a fact that his boss rescheduled the Kingsman’s annual trip to engineer this one-on-one pack trip - they’ve been coming to the ranch the same time every year without fail since he started this job. He has no doubt they were more than delighted to be in cahoots with Champ in a scheme like this. 

Jack huffs a dry laugh to himself. He must be coming off as really fucking sad for Champ to go to such lengths this time. 

He straightens his well-worn denim jacket as you approach, looking almost shy this morning. You’re wearing a light fleece over what appears to be the same outfit from yesterday, hands tucked into pockets, hat dangling from the chin strap looped around your wrist.

He gives you a smile. ‘Mornin’, darlin’. Sleep well?’

‘Morning. Probably not as well I should have, considering we’ll be sleeping on the hard ground for the next couple of nights,’ you answer with a yawn, leaning on the post where the horses are waiting. You rub their noses affectionately. ‘Morning boys, how are we this fine morning?’

Jack gestures at the third horse. ‘This is Bourbon, our packhorse.’

‘Hey Bourbon.’ You give the pinto a firm pat, smoothing out his matted forelock.

‘You ready?’ asks Jack.

You put on your hat and nod determinedly. ‘Now or never.’

‘It’s not too late to back out, you know, ’ he jokes as you both start untying your horses from the post.

‘Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy,’ you quip.

When you’re both mounted, Champ and Ginger make an appearance, waving and beaming from ear to ear as you ride by. Champ grins, ‘Have fun, we’ll see you in a week! Don't come back unless you have plenty of stories to tell!’

You retrace the same path you took yesterday, up the back of the ranch and into the mountains. As the orange sun crests the top of the Bighorn, it dawns on Jack that he hasn’t spent any amount of time alone with another person for a long while, let alone seven continuous days with someone like you. 

He shakes his head. You’re a guest, that’s all. One who hasn't lost your gentle hands and soft seat despite not having spent any time in the saddle for years; who is quick on your feet yet easy to fluster; who laughs at his jokes and poorly concealed innuendos - but a guest. It’s his job to keep you safe this week, and he’s good at it. He’s done this for years and years.

Sometimes, he thinks that it’s all he has. 

Something like anxiety gnaws at his chest. You’re quiet, and he picks up on the stiffness in your shoulders. He clears his throat. ‘Nervous?’

You turn to him at his question, sucking in your bottom lip. ‘I suppose. Not about the riding, but… I’m a bit nervous about spending the week with you, to be honest. No offence.’

Well, at least he’s not the only one.

‘None taken,’ he shrugs nonchalantly. ‘And don’t worry, darlin’. Ol’ Jack doesn’t bite.’

His pulse skips a beat when you send him an almost impertinent sidelong glance. ‘I hope you do a little bit, cowboy.’

It takes him a second to let out a bark of laughter, and your whole body relaxes at the throaty sound. ‘Maybe I’m the one who should be nervous, then. Shall we stretch our legs? Start the day with a lope?’

Scotch recognises the word and whinnies, tossing his head excitedly.

A gentleman at heart, Jack adds, ‘Or later, if you prefer. We can go as fast or as slow as you want, darlin’.’

A slow heat burns under your skin at his words. Surely he must know what that sounds like, especially in that raspy drawl of his.

It must be the altitude that’s throwing your judgement out of the metaphorical window. Brazenly, you drag your eyes over him. His left hand grips the reins loosely, resting casually on the saddle horn, thick fingers of his other are splayed on his firm thigh, hips rocking to the pace of his horse.

You meet his curious stare in a challenge, imbuing your words with as much meaning as you could, letting a coy smile stretch your lips.

‘Let’s go fast, cowboy.’

As soon as your heels touch his sides, Scotch takes off at a lively stride, and Jack watches you go with a chuckle to himself.

‘Careful what you wish for now, darlin’,’ he mutters under his breath, and then he comes after you - fast.

Notes: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this first part! Comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated. If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please fill in my taglist.

If anyone is interested, there are some more horsey notes below (if it's boring, please let me know and I'll shut up lol):

About 'gentle hands' and 'soft seat': a kind rider uses 'quiet' aids to communicate with the horse (i.e. no pulling on the bit or flapping legs), and follows the horse's movements with their hips (i.e. their seat) to be gentle on the horse's back. It's a very subtle skill and you use a lot of core strength that is built over the years - sitting quietly on a horse is much harder than it looks!

If you can't tell, I ride the 'English' way and have never ridden Western. I've done as much research as I could, but if there are any inaccuracies, please let me know!

#jack daniels au #jack daniels xf!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels #kingsman fanfiction #kingsman golden circle

[lunerenzo]

more prison gf! Ymir hcs ♡

♱ Content. drugs, swearing, fluff , NSFW , not proofread, pls let me know if i missed anything :)

♱ Notes. I see yall love her just as much as me 😋. These are just hcs of her when shes out of jail.

♱ Word count. 848

Pt. 1

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

lower case intentional, Enjoy!

prison gf! ymir…who knows how to do your everyday make up and for some reason it always looks better even though she does the exact same steps as you. as well as the more extravagant ones, like the type of make up naezrah does, it always looks amazing cause she has such a steady hand. there is only one rule when she does your make it’s that you HAVE to be straddling her waist when she does it.

prison gf! ymir…who knows all your orders by heart (even your long ass starbucks order) and will order for you so that you don’t have to.

prison gf! ymir…who will side eye you and will order for you anyways if you say “oh im not hungry” while ordering take-out.

prison gf! ymir…who will smack tf out of your hand if you try taking her food with out asking first. somehow you still end up with half of it and she has a small scowl on her face but she still loves you.

prison gf! ymir… who REFUSES to let you smoke her product or get involved in her business no matter how many times you beg and plead.

prison gf! ymir…whos had a polaroid of you in her phone case.

prison gf! ymir…who makes fun of you for eating mint chocolate or cookie n’ cream (whichever you prefer) as if she dosen’t eat pistachio.

prison gf! ymir…who will knock your ice cream on the floor if you make fun of her for it. (don't worry she’ll buy you another.)

prison gf! ymir…who owns two cats with you and if your petting her cat ( you have a “child” and the other is hers) she will grab him and say “leave my son alone”.

prison gf! ymir… who knew you in hs and you were one of her dalma’s when she had her quince. You picked the dresses and if any one complains she would give them the nastiest stank eye.

prison gf! ymir…who was all giddy when she found out her contact name was “pretty girl🩷” with the contact photo of her in her quince dress.

prison gf! ymir…who has a pintrest board for you guys future wedding and has it privited so you don’t know.

prison gf! ymir…who follows you on pintrest and buys you stuff based off what you pin.

prison gf! ymir…who wears this cologne that makes you weak in the knees. before you guys moved in she would spray extra on so that your apartment still smelt like her after she left.

prison gf! ymir…who if she feels like it or is around when you get your nails done will get a matching set with you.

prison gf! ymir…who loves going to the beach with you.

prison gf! ymir…who will carry everything from the car with the maddest look on her face but you better not help cause she will tell you to “push off”. like damn my bad.

prison gf! ymir…who will be sitting there looking like a fucking guard dog if your tanning. let a volleyball accidentally lands near you. she ready to catch another felony.

prison gf! ymir…who will give the ball back, buck at ‘em, and will call them a “pussy” if they flinch.

prison gf! ymir…who is big australia hater

prison gf! ymir...who instigate fights at the waffle house.

prison gf! ymir…who is a big cory and berlezzy fan. like she ALWAYS quoting berlin.

prison gf! ymir…who, if your an artist, keeps every drawing that youve made of her. 

prison gf! ymir…who will be all over you if you wear a skin revealing/ clinging outfit. no matter if you rarely wear stuff like that or most of the time. this is the main reason why you guys are late to parties sometimes. homegirl is struggling with her self control. most of the time she does a good job others? *evil laughter*.  

prison gf! ymir…who loves spoiling you and got you a custom necklace that says your name and a pandora bracelet for your birthday. then got you a chrome hearts necklace for valentines day.

prison gf! ymir…who picks up everything you put down in the store and doesn't care about the price. if you worried about spending her money she’ll tell you it’s fine cause “your worth going broke for ma” with a kiss to seal the deal

prison gf! ymir…who will buy you anything the moment your eyes start tearing up and that little pout comes out. Then she will kiss that little pout away no matter how many it takes.

prison gf! ymir…who buys a strap in your favourtie color.

prison gf! ymir…who would apologize if you tell her its to much and then immediately slams her hips afterwards. 

prison gf! ymir…who would kiss your tears away and say “aww don’t cry”.

prison gf! ymir…who whines and bucks her hips like a bitch in heat when you give her head.

prison gf! ymir…who grips your hair so hard she damn near rips it out. If you have a wig on don’t worry she’ll pay to get it reinstalled but damnit you just put it in. now you hairstylist is cussing you out.

prison gf! ymir...who is absolutely inlove with you.

♱ A/N. My favorite jailbird ❤️. Also THANK YOU @hotxcheeto FOR HELPING ME WITH SOME OF THESE. MWAH.

© 2023 lunerenzo, please don’t plagiarize work or translate work.

#𓆩♡𓆪lune show𓆩♡𓆪 #𓆩♡𓆪lune writes𓆩♡𓆪 #aot x black reader #black fem reader #black reader #aot imagines #ymir x black reader #ymir x reader #aot x reader #prison gf! ymir #she is so unserious yall

[ghost-proofbaby]

I would love a Getting to Know Eddie with your coffee shop blues Eddie. (I’ll let Abi ask for Maroon). 😘

(oh i don’t think i could tell abi much more about maroon eddie than i already have. the space under my desk when im writing maroon literally has her name on it <3)

alright. so. COFFEE SHOP BLUES EDDIE. first and foremost, that eddie is from my purely self indulgent barista!au for those of you who don’t know. for legal reasons, it’s totally not based on true experiences or a very real company. totally not. for legal reasons. but, the entire premise is this eddie entirely untouched from the upside down — non-canon compliance so we can be happy for once baby ! — and just playing around with who he is without all that. he gets the job as a barista, he’s a damn pessimist, and- well, i liked to play around with what would happen if he was the grumpiest barista to ever exist and got reality checked by a sunshine-incarnate barista. and, spoiler alert, the boy would probably melt. he does melt.

my inspiration is drawn entirely from uh… well… can i have a lawyer if i admit this? nah im just kidding he’s based on my own experiences! and contrary to what plenty of people have said to me (if i had a nickel every time said they imagine me as reader i’d be far richer than i am which makes me so 😭), eddie is the character based around me. i think he’d react very similarly to how i do most of the time at work. being grumpy, being so easily inconvenienced by every small thing, always huffing and puffing and wanting to be better. and i think reader is what i’d like to be. at the end of the day, it’s just a nice way to romanticize life, i guess. <3

my favorite headcanon that i’ve never shared in the story is that everyone actually finds that he’s very good at his job. it’s emphasized he isn’t necessarily friends with the other baristas, and there’s a whole lot of him internally comparing himself to the people he thinks do the job better (*cough* reader *cough*), but that whole “i can do better. i have to do better” mentality has led him to being quite good at the job actually. he puts himself down, says he isn’t that good, etc. but he is. customers like that feline grumpiness (the girls that come in regularly for frappucinos in the afternoon are always secretly hoping he’s there, definitely living their ‘i can fix him’ fantasy despite reader already having set sail on that boat), his coworkers admire him albeit they get a lil scared of him due to resting bitch face, and all that. he makes a mean fucking cappuccino. his drinks always just taste better. he’s just good. he’ll never admit it, but damn is he good at his job.

on a casual day, this man is living in comfy clothes. big band tees, plaid pajama pants or sweats. the only time he puts on jeans these days is when he works. which, i mean, listen — he works often. he lives his days by what shift he has, not by days of the week. weekends are nonexistent to him. he’s earned some damn comfort when he’s just at home, ya know? (also, most of his clothes that aren’t graphic tees or comfy pants just stink of coffee these days. ugh.)

his favorite food is probably the cake pops at work. he’s a sweet tooth fiend with them. someone accidentally breaks one when opening the packages? oh no !! he’ll take that off their hands. all of his free food mark outs? 50% cake pops. he’s on food? he’s definitely accidentally bagging and slipping one or two off to the side for himself. sometimes coworkers will try to convince him when he’s on the food position to slip them a free cake pop as well, and every time, he’s flipping them the bird and a quick “steal on your own time, bud”. (unless it’s reader. unless it’s sunshine. then, he’s caving, handing over the birthday cake pop he just marked out for himself without second thought. even if he rolls his eyes as he does it — he’d give her the world if she just asked).

his family situation is pretty close to canon — wayne. and obviously he has hellfire, he has corroded coffin, but all of those are just… small things. he’s finally graduated in this universe, so hellfire doesn’t meet as often. corroded coffin’s members are still in their senior year, so sometimes studying for a calculus test is overriding band practice for them. which i mean, was a bummer and led to him needing a distraction like a part time job (also — money) but it’s all good now, cause he gets to bug Sunshine on his days off when he’s bored. they’ve definitely exchanged numbers, and they’re definitely sending each other an obligatory dumb meme a day. sorry, i don’t make the rules.

he likes pop music. don’t ever ask him about it, he denies it, but Sunshine got him into all those radio hits. he’ll find himself humming along to the radio at work constantly too. and, the one time he and Sunshine worked a very rare, LITERALLY only happened once close together, they definitely were belting out britney spears’ “hit me baby one more time”, dancing around the closed stores and eddie using the mop as a mic while Sunshine tried to stock up all the cups. the shift on duty was unamused, to say the least.

he’s pretty pessimistic in all avenues, but there’s something deep inside of him that’s just a bit hopeless romantic. especially after meeting Sunshine. he listens to her prattle about her romance books all day, and he hates the fact that he finds himself smiling at some of those different scenarios she’s gushing about. but it’s cute, okay? besides, it’s only giving him more ideas about how to wow his favorite barista. sex, on the other hand, he’s still pretty bland on. he’s had one or two one night stands, names he’s forgotten at the Hideout after shows, and he’s not really got the energy to be some sex-crazed fuckboy. listening to his coworkers’ hookup stories and relationship problems work pretty well to remind him he could be doing far worse (but if anyone were to ask him what he thought of Sunshine in that context? oh. oh the poor boy. the scary dog facade fades, and his ears have never been pinker as he’s stuttering about having to grab something from the back that he just stocked. he’s just grateful she never seems to have her own escapades to talk about — he probably wouldn’t survive the world-ending jealousy that would cloud his vision.)

pessimistic. so so pessimistic.

a couple months ago, he would have said his room. alone. or practicing with cc, on his guitar. or behind his dm screens, watching as his little sheep panicked over the latest twist he’s revealed for his current campaign.

but now? maybe he’s just gone soft, but the first place he thinks of is a rainy afternoon in the back of his van, his head in Sunshine’s lap as they listen to the slight drizzle bounce off the roof. he swears if he closes his eyes, he can still feel her fingers against his scalp.

---

JO. JO. I DON'T HAVE THE ORIGINAL POST FOR THIS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT PARAGRAPH IS ANSWERING WHAT PROMPTS. but honestly, even now that i'm free of the siren, i wanna post this. i love prattling on about our little grumpy barista. i luv him.

#tumblr keeping THIS ONE in drafts has to be grounds for fighting right? #like? #it's BARISTA EDDIE #how dare this not post? or maybe i wasn't done answering??? i don't even know anymore #thank u ily <3 #jo <3 #coffee shop blues #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #still laughing at the way i insert the under the desk joke any time i can

[humansofnewyork]

“We’ve got to get Jessica’s flowers ready. She just started her company Golden Sol Florista. Today is her first event, and she’s freaking out that we’re going to be late. I’m telling her, Jessica. Relax. I’m a phenomenal driver. Me and Jessica have the same birthday: March 2nd. I’ve got a birthday card from her on my bed stand saying: ‘You’re a beautiful person, put you first.’ She’s always dropping gems like that: ‘Don’t weigh too heavily on things. Nothing is permanent. You’re always exactly where you’re supposed to be.’ She is a visionary. A pourer of love. A light. She is the definition of Golden Sol. But punctuality is not her strong suit. I got here at 8:30 AM. My job was to drive, but nothing was ready. So I’m like: ‘At least give me an apron.’ We’ve been out here making flowers all morning. The block is lit. Somebody brought us Mimosas which is maybe why I’m like ‘woo’ right now.’ Two little girls came by and we gave them custom bouquets. It’s crunch time and Jessica is starting to do the bumble bee, buzzing all over the place. I’m telling her: ‘Jessica, relax. You’re right on time. And exactly where you’re supposed to be.’”

[thistlesofgrace]

Whenever I find myself bothered by something I try to understand why I feel a certain way and what the root cause of the issue may be.

Last week, my brother and his wife (who never make the drive to come visit in the town we live in, always have to go to them) came up for dinner. Felt odd, but discovered it was to announce they are pregnant. It’s very early - like 6 weeks along. My mom was very excited for them. I’m not sure I’d announce so soon, but they did.

I too am excited for them but I would be lying if one of my immediate responses wasn’t “oh man, another year about them.” Ouch, Hannah, why?

I recognize the feelings from that come from, they got married last April and for over a year leading up to the wedding, there were all kinds of events, trips and projects. My brother married someone who has high expectations and they spend a lot of money, in my opinion, keeping up with their friends. In fact, while I was going through peak stress meltdown from my former job and some health issues, they guilted me into creating custom corn hole boards for them for their wedding. It was somewhat expensive and something that took several weekends to complete. They also repeatedly used M’s handyman skills to help build an elaborate display wall that held all their champagne glasses at their wedding. It was fancy. And they sold it for like $1000. Profited off M’s labor 🫡

Back during the planning (I’m not kidding there was a wedding binder and wedding Wednesdays!) they decided that they’d have the maid of honor and best man give speeches. To my own surprise, my feelings were hurt by that and I actually spoke up and said that I wanted to give a speech. I’m your own sibling and I’m great with words (and funny!) Come on! My brother acted like he had no idea that I would even be interested which was wild to me.

So they made room in their very tight wedding schedule to allow me to give a speech. And out of the 3 speeches given, it was pretty obvious I was the only one who put time, thought and practice into mine. Go figure.

Anyway. I think this is all good background information to process my feelings regarding last nights events.

Last night we went to dinner with them and they started talking about baby names. Knowing my brother, he’s not sitting around pondering names of his future children but his wife immediately spouted off “their” list. Which contained TWO of my most favored names that I’ve been vocal about since the early days M and I got together. I know at some point, I would have shared this information with her/them.

My face had to have been obvious, I was shocked. But then it occurred to me. I have become such a side character in their lives and everything is about them. It kind of made me spiral and rethink about their wedding. And how they ditched my birthday in October to be with their friends instead. And they didn’t come to our Christmas because it was more important to go to her families for the second consecutive year. It just seems to be a theme but the name thing really had me internally screaming. It’s not even a common name, and the way she immediately looked at me and said “I found it in some book..”

To make the conversation even more cringe worthy, his wife asked if my best friend had given birth yet. Yep. 7 months ago. I’ve posted tons of pictures, talked about them endlessly and even traveled to visit. It took some serious self control not to ask to leave the table.

While I’m not currently pregnant (that I know of) I just felt unseen and small to the person that has known me my entire life. And somewhat because of who he has chosen as a partner.

I swear if they really choose my favorite name, I’ll make some unhinged comment about how weird it will be for two cousins to have the same first name. 🤣 At this rate it’s not like they’ll know each other that well or be in the same school systems.

And finally. Perhaps just for myself to note, I don’t think anything they do is out of maliciousness, I truly think they are just living in their own world and none of this is apparent to her. My brother might have some ability to reflect, if a conversation takes place. But we never really spend much time having meaningful conversations and I hate to make him feel bad.

So instead I’ll write it down here.

[brotherbandarchive]

OKAY OKAY

Ingvar & Edvin fluff

OR

Stig & Jesper "trust"

*throws pot lids jubilantly up into the air, a cacophony ensues*

Doing the second one, because I love the Goldilocks Brigade forcing mental health into Jesper (they're called the Golden Paladins when Jesper is being Jesper the Magnificent, Grand Herald and Sovereign Arbiter of the Exalted Beryl Coronet, etc, etc.)

Anyway, here goes!

-

"She isn't going to like it." Jesper's grip tightens on his jewelry hammer. "Almost finished, Stig, I promise. Just give me a half hour."

"That's what you said this morning. Have you been here all day?"

Judging by the circles under Jesper's eyes, Stig is pretty sure he knows the answer to that question.

He leans forward, peering at the silver spoon on Jesper's worktable. Hannah's name is picked out along the handle in miniscule dents that sparkle when the light hits them, and her favorite flower- a daisy- is embossed onto the back of the concave.

"It looks great," he says honestly. "It's just what I wanted. And she will like it."

Jesper swipes a wayward lock of hair off his forehead. "This is my first commission. And it's for her birthday. It's got to be perfect."

"Jes, you've been working on this for two weeks. You know my mam will love anything I give her, even if it is ugly. Which-" Stig adds hastily, seeing a flash of uncertainty cut through the frustration on Jesper's face- "she won't. Think it's ugly, I mean. It's beautiful."

"But it could be better. I can do a better job."

Stig sits down on the bench beside his friend. "Maybe you can. But you don't need to. Trust me, she'll love it as it is."

"Not good enough," Jesper says shortly.

"The customer is always right," Stig points out.

"Except when he's wrong. Stig, you're rocking the bench. Stop it."

Stig stops rocking. "Sorry."

"Tell me what she thinks of it. I think it's all right, but... oh, and tell her happy birthday from me."

"Will do. You know, I have a feeling you'll be getting a lot more commissions once my mam shows this to her friends."

"Hope so."

"Oh, you will. Trust me."

#thanks for the prompt!!!! #keep them coming #brotherband chronicles #the brotherband chronicles #brotherband #jesper stormrunner #stig olafson #stig ironskin

[weyrleaders]

it's my birthday so legally no one can stop me here have 1k words of two characters ive never said a word about anywhere before. theyre both characters i made for remember you will die and would never actually meet because theyre both The Merc but i can do whatever i want forever

“Look, here’s the thing,” Ray says as he spins the chair around. He drops into it, arms crossed over the back. “I’m rooting for you! Really!”

The man tied to the other chair gives him a dubious look, blond hair falling messily over green eyes. There’s a streak of dried blood down his face. His nose probably isn’t broken, but Ray’s fairly certain it was a near thing. A palm to the face was the fastest way to knock him away from the blade Aster nearly put through his neck. As it is, the cut along his jaw is still bleeding sluggishly.

“My friend out there—”

“We aren’t friends,” Aster interrupts from the other side of the door.

Ray rolls his eyes.

“My associate out there is the one you should be worried about. I’m trying to help you out.”

The man is still glowering.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Ray says, “but the thing is, all that matters is the package. We don’t have to kill you if you just tell us what we need to know. Help me help you help me.”

“The fuck does that mean?” The man mutters, confusion overpowering his suspicion.

“It means if you don’t work with me, you’re going to have to work with him,” explains Ray. “And, well, he’s got that kit of his. Y’know, he’s got a knife in there specifically for chopping off fingers. A skinning knife, too.”

The man’s facade cracks. Ray watches the blood drain from his face.

“And those pliers have to be custom-made, or else there’s just some really specific-ass tools in the world. It’s got a bladed end to cut into the gums so you can get a better grip on the teeth. I don’t know what exactly the wedges are for, but—”

“Jesus!” The man spits. “Okay!”

“Well, it can’t be pleasant,” Ray adds. “And I have to watch if he does all that so I can report back to Orla, and I don’t wanna see that shit.”

“Fuck, alright, fine! I’ll tell you what I know!”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem stabbing someone to death, or whatever,” continues Ray, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I just think that’s all a bit excessive, y’know? One time he took out this dude’s eyeball and made him eat it—”

“Fucking hell, 7th Street hired my boss to steal the damn trunk! I don’t even know what’s in it!”

The door creaks open as Aster prowls inside.

“Of course it’s fucking 7th Street,” he growls. “And it wasn’t his eyeball, Ray.”

Ray twists a bit to look at Aster over his shoulder. He opens his mouth as if to speak but thinks better of it. He shrugs and returns to their prisoner. It really is unfortunate. Ray was hoping their thief was a Viper. Aster may just shoot the poor bastard on principle.

“But you don’t work for 7th Street, and had no idea they were involved until after the fact,” he offers, eyeing the black case Aster sets on the table nearby.

The man follows his gaze. He stares for a moment, until understanding and the faintest hint of panic spark in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he replies. “The boss didn’t tell me who it was for, or who it belonged to. Just wanted me to snatch it.”

Aster pops the latch on the case, and the top rolls open on well-oiled hinges. Ray can’t see what sort of toys he has in there, but he can guess based on what he’s seen Aster use in the past. Orla tries not to have them work together at all if she can help it, but sometimes a job calls for a little game of “good merc, will-absolutely-torture-you-to-death merc” to get things done.

Aster lifts a large knife from the case and holds it up to the scant light. His cybernetic eyes already give off an eerie yellow glow in the dark, and it’s worse reflected in the shining metal.

“Huh, that one looks pretty choppy. Is that the finger one?” Ray asks.

Aster doesn’t reply, just admires the blade. Their prisoner draws a shaky breath.

“They—they’re taking the trunk to this warehouse down at the docks! I don’t know the address, but it’s supposed to be the only one tagged with a blue cat!”

Aster turns his head slowly and arches a brow. He doesn’t say a word, just studies the man, and Ray decides to finally listen to the impulse telling him to shut the fuck up for once.

“I swear!” The man shouts, tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t know anything else! Please!”

Ray coos and looks over at Aster, who sighs and places the knife back home in the case. The man sighs and goes limp.

“You can cut him loose,” Aster grouses.

Ray obliges. The man stands slowly, rubbing his wrists while Ray leans down to take care of the rest of the ropes. There’s a brief moment where the man tenses, and Ray wonders if he’s thinking about kicking him. Ray eyes the man’s Achilles tendon.

But the moment passes and the man backs away as Ray straightens.

“You should probably get the fuck out of here before we change our mind,” Ray suggests cheerfully.

The man takes a few more slow steps back. There’s only one door, and Aster and Ray make no move to let him pass. He swallows, eyes lingering on the gun strapped to Aster’s thigh.

That’s another thing Ray doesn’t like about working with Aster. People see a gun and assume Aster is the only scary one. Ray has had to prove otherwise enough times for it to get annoying. Sure, Aster will skin your arm if he thinks it’ll get results. Or shoot off a few fingers. Or mail a body piece by piece back to their boss. Or—Alright. Maybe he is the scarier one.

The man takes a deep breath and practically runs between them. Ray starts to stick out his foot to trip him, but Aster’s already glaring at him. He still could—Orla would be pissed if Aster maimed him—but then he’d have to listen to Aster bitch about it all the way to the docks.

The man stumbles outside. Ray feels a prickle of unease down his spine and instinctively tenses. Aster barely moves, just enough for Ray to realize what’s happening a split second too late to stop it.

The crack of the gunshot is loud in the small room, and Ray hears the thud as the man drops out on the street.

“Oh, fuck off,” he hisses. “I hate that you can do that ‘fire from the hip’ bullshit.”

Aster’s stony expression cracks into a grin.

#rywd

[tortoisebore]

what do you think sirius and remus would work as in their teenage years

hmmmm let’s see let’s see

i think remus would get a job at some weird little antique store or a bookstore that gets like zero business but the owner just keeps it open for funsies with their retirement check

some kind of place where there’s not a lot of foot traffic but when there is, he can help people find really specific stuff and talk to them about recommendations and all that. it’s nice and quiet and he doesn’t have to stand up for eight hours straight, he can sit behind the register and read his book or do homework or sort through boxes of new trinkets the weird old owner found at an estate sale or off the side of the road one day.

he gets paid only a little over minimum wage but he works long shifts on the weekends and some weeknights after school because he likes going in, it’s cozy and warm when it’s rainy out and the afternoon sun comes through the windows really nice on bright days. his friends like to come bother him and he’s usually the only one working (unless the owner is hauling in new boxes to sort through) so james and peter and sirius will lounge about on one of the big comfy chairs between the shelves and occasionally buy something stupid that catches their eye.

and sometimes sirius comes in alone and flirts with remus at the counter until he gets too distracted to work and huffs and rolls his eyes all cute. but then he’ll shove the box over and say “you sort it, then.” and then sirius will hang out behind the counter the rest of remus’ shift and dig through boxes and price all these weird old books and knick knacks until it’s closing time. and they’ll stop for takeout after and remus will pay for both of their dinners as a thank you for sirius helping 🥰🫶🥺💕🤭🤧💓💞

sirius gives me either food service or music store vibes, no in between. he’s quick on his feet and has a near photographic memory and he’s extremely charming so he’d be a great waiter, he’d make all the tips, all the old ladies at the diner would love him. and he’d give them free pie every time they visit and he’ll go “it’s my treat, dottie, really!!” and then they leave him several large bills as a tip on the way out. he’d be back in the kitchen chatting up the line cooks and bugging the shit out of the manager bc he always looks like he’s not working but his tables are always perfectly taken care of and he’s never forgotten to come back with ketchup or a to-go box, ever.

and if he works at a diner obviously his friends are coming there constantly for the 15% friends and family discount and reigning terror in the back booth for hours. and on weekends he’s not working or nights when their shifts are opposite, remus will stop by after work or for dinner and sit at the little bar and they’ll flirt shamelessly over pancakes (blueberry for sirius and chocolate chocolate chip with bananas for remus, obvi) until sirius’ manager makes him get up and sweep, so he just sweeps a three foot circle around remus’ feet for the last hour of his shift

music store!sirius is also so real and valid. he’d be able to wear his cool outfits at work and grab the new releases before they’re on the floor, he’d be able to give great recommendations bc he likes to guess what people will like based on their *vibe*. and he hogs the aux cord when he’s on shift and the weirdest playlist is going for the next eight hours. like he’s giving customers whiplash bc it’s jumping from two doors down to ariana to björk.

also while he works there everyone’s getting vinyls for christmas and birthdays. EVERYONE. bc he gets a discount and he’s so good at picking records for people that he thinks they’ll like it’s kind of scary. ((he put remus on lana bc he got him lust for life for his birthday and now it’s everyone’s problem))

#u ask tortoise answers #anon #tortoise writes a novel ab an ask for no reason

[cartoonsbyandie]

I almost got scammed! How to avoid my mistakes.

I’ve been pretty quiet on my social medias for a bit for a lot of reasons, and one of them being that I very nearly fell for a scam that would’ve cost me $2000. Several calls to my bank later, it’s finally all been sorted out, which means I can finally talk about the whole thing. Even though I didn’t end up losing much of anything (certainly nowhere near $2000), I don’t want any other commissions artist to go through this for the crime of giving someone the benefit of the doubt that doesn’t deserve it.

I do commissions online. I got a message on Instagram from someone wanting me to do a picture for their daughter’s birthday this month, offering to pay me way above my commission rates ($200) for what I assumed was a rush job. They provided pictures and lots of details about what their daughter liked and what would be good to include in the picture, and I even drew up a sketch for them. The way my commissions work, I take the full payment once the sketch had been approved, and so far, everything was looking normal.

That is, until, they revealed they were going to pay by check. And really I’m just going to give you the biggest TL;DR piece of advice: Just don’t take checks. It’s not worth it. The reason is that they’re prone to scams because when you deposit a check, the funds will show up in your account. That doesn’t mean the check has cleared, and won’t bounce. This is incredibly annoying to research because so many google results will tell you that a check ‘clears’ within 1 to 2 days, but that’s because the law requires the funds to be made available that quickly. If they find out the check is forged or bad-- WHICH CAN TAKE A MONTH OR LONGER-- you not only get hit with a returned item fee, but the money vanishes from your account.

So say, if the person you’re assuming is trustworthy has told you they “accidentally” wrote a check for $2000 instead of $200, and gave some excuse why they couldn’t simply write a new check, and came up with the brilliant suggestion of just having you deposit it and then Zelle them the remaining $1800-- If you do all that, suddenly you’re out $2000.

I came dangerously close to falling for it. When the person wanted to email me a scan of the check (so I could use mobile deposit, which I did because I figured it’s a rush job and they didn’t want to wait to mail the physical check, look I’m not smart okay--) AND THEN suddenly demanded I use Zelle to instantly give them the money, that’s when I got suspicious. I literally googled “Scams that use Zelle” and found my exact situation. But I figured it’d be fine if I waited until the check fully cleared and kept my bank in the loop, which is why I risked depositing it. I figured I was at no risk until I actually sent them the money, and I still wanted to believe this was a legitimate customer, and I really liked the idea of making $200. Which definitely blinded me to better things I could’ve done. Like, you know, not depositing the check and demanding a different method of payment.

It’s been about a forty days since I deposited the check. Three calls to my bank’s fraud department + one physical visit (two of which told me they might find me culpable for depositing the check and burn my account, which was scary) is what it took to get this mess sorted out. ONE OF THOSE CALLS TOLD ME THE CHECK HAD 100% CLEARED AND HAD A 0% CHANCE OF BOUNCING. I almost Zelled this person the money that night.

Seriously. If you get a bad feeling, trust that. That’s the only thing that saved me here. So did getting lots of advice from family and friends about how this stuff works.

TL;DR Here’s a quick and dirty list of red flags I learned just from this single experience:

Insisting on paying with a check is a red flag by itself if I’m honest, but especially if they just mail you an image of it and expect you to mobile deposit it. Seriously just don’t do this I don’t know what I was thinking

Especially especially if they insist on paying with a check and then want you to give them money with some instant form of payment, like Zelle.

If all their accounts have different names. (This one was Jessie something, their email was Shawn, they wanted me to Zelle to another account with a different name.)

If their account is a generic name + number thing. (Like jessie.10 or something.) I know a few legitimate people with accounts like that but it’s just one of many boxes to tick.

If they seem way too trusting to give a stranger on the internet a crazy amount of money with the expectation that you’ll pay them back. I’d never met this person and they were saying they trusted me with the $2000, I just had to give them my word that I’d give it back.

If they’re offering you well above your commissions prices. They want to blind you with the idea of a big payday when they’re paying with imaginary money.

If they put a ton of pressure on you to respond quickly. This person kept spamming me with Instagram audio calls early in the morning or while I was at work.

If they say stuff like this, which honestly was the biggest gift they could’ve given me because it just removed all doubt:

#not art #I don't even know how to tag this #There's a lot I'm leaving out like. A lot #Like I'm aware I'm an idiot but there's gotta be a million idiots like me out there and I don't want anyone else to learn the hard way #Or the REALLY hard way of the scam actually succeeding #I don't want to think about what would've happened if I gave them the money #The account's name right now is andrea_34vo though #And I'm sure these accounts are a dime a dozen #But I might as well share since apparently they're targeting people like me