I write a bad pick up line on your cup every time I’m your barista’ Or ‘Should I be concerned about how much caffeine you’re taking in’ For Percabeth
“Coffee guy has a crush on you,” Piper says without preamble, flicking a page in her reading.
“Uh huh,” Annabeth mutters, dragging a highlighter over a line in her book. It’s only after she’s finished an irritated scribble in the margin that the words really penetrate. She glances up at her friend, who is leaning across the table looking amused. “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m always ridiculous. And always right. He keeps refilling your coffee.”
Annabeth, who has been lost in a haze of architecture for longer than the hour Piper has been sitting in the cafe with her, has not really been aware of her drink being refilled. She’s reached for her mug when she wanted a drink, and the mug has always had coffee in it. The logical inconsistency between the amount of times she’d reached for the cup and the cup never being empty had not really jumped out at her until now.
“If he’s refilling my coffee and not yours, that just makes him rude.”
“Oh, no. He’s been refilling mine. When you started swearing at your book before, it nearly overflowed, and it wasn’t because he was scandalised.”
Annabeth sighs, refusing to glance over her shoulder at the coffee guy in question. It’s not like she doesn’t already know what he looks like, the guy is six foot tall with a build like an Olympian swimmer and a jawline that could cut glass. She manages to drag her brain to a halt before it starts listing things to compare his eye colour to: Piper is smirking at her reading in a way that suggests she’s learnt how to read minds.
“He was probably impressed with my command of the english language.”
“He was impressed with something, all right.” Piper shuts her folder with a snap. “Right, i’m done here.”
“That reading was fifty-one pages, you’re so full of shit.”
“The fact that you know how long my readings are is terrifying, you know that?”
“Do your homework!”
“Can’t hear you, running away to get a restraining order!” She’s halfway to the door by the time she sing-songs that, leaving Annabeth with her nearly empty coffee mug and a cafe full of people giving her the stink eye.
“If you need an alibi, I can testify that you’ve been here pretty much all day.”
Coffee guy has a nice voice. Warm, smooth, just this side of deep without sounding like the trailer guy. It takes Annabeth an embarrassing amount of time to register that she’s thinking this because he’s standing right next to her, holding a coffee pot. It’s a good thing her self control is world renowned, because she uses all of it to keep from jumping out of her skin.
“What? I - no, she’s joking. We’re friends. Really.”
His grin is distractingly crooked. “I’m convinced.”
“I’m gonna kill her,” Annabeth mutters, hoping against hope that she’s not blushing, or something equally ridiculous.
“That’s probably not going to help in court.”
Her brain is - slowly - retreating out of coffee-and-study survival mode. A joke, she realises belatedly, and the rueful laugh escapes her before she can think to bite it back. And - something in coffee guy’s shoulders relaxes, just a little bit. Nervous, she thinks, and finds herself predisposed to like him. Smart boys know to think very carefully before approaching Annabeth Chase, and that’s the way she likes it.
She tucks an errant curl behind her ear. “I’ll plea insanity. Over-caffeination.” She glances down at her cup. “Actually, would you mind–?”
His face scrunches up with something like concern. “That’ll be your sixth cup.”
“Aren’t you the guy who’s been topping me up?”
“Grover seemed to think you might, I dunno, eat us or something if you ran out. I was protecting the good people of the cafe, but apparently cutting you off means stopping a murder.”
A groan escapes her, something like shame crawling up the back of her throat. Annabeth knows she’s got a serious case of resting bitch face (and she’ll fight anyone who suggests that’s a problem),but she doesn’t want the entire campus to be terrified of her.
“I’m not…actually some hyper-violent lady with a hair-trigger, honestly.”
“Oh hey no, I didn’t mean to–” And he’s groaning? He rubs the back of his neck, which is slowly turning red, and Annabeth starts to feel less off-kilter. “I’m bad at flirting.”
She’s definitely going to murder Piper. This is her fault somehow, Annabeth’s sure.
“Same,” she rushes out, before over-thinking can make this even messier. Her whole body feels energised, jittery, and she doesn’t think it’s the coffee. “Um. Just one more refill? To get me through the last bit of this chapter?”
“Wh - uh, right. Sure!” He squints at her. “You don’t mind?”
Annabeth rocks her mug from side to side, watching the dregs of her drink slosh from side to side. Black, no sugar. It seems like the safer option right now.
She takes a breath.
“Haven’t decided yet,” she says. “I’ll let you know when i’m done with this chapter.”
She’s not looking at him directly, but his grin is wide enough to be seen from space, let alone the corner of her eye.
“You got it,” he says happily, topping her mug off. He’s on the verge of pulling away when he pauses, like he’s remembered something. “It’s Percy, by the way. So you don’t have to keep calling me coffee guy.”
And then he’s gone, leaving Annabeth to seriously reconsider committing that murder.
Hiyaaaaaaaaaaaaa… I did it! Finally managed to finish this one! Thank you for everyone who enjoyed the preview, I really hope you buys enjoy the full thing. Please let me know what you thought of it! Lots of love, B xx
They’re funny little things.
Sometimes they take over your body and make you do things that you wouldn’t ever do if it weren’t for the obscene amount of hormones coursing through your bloodstream - you’d never eat a plate full of pasta and a whole chocolate bar right after or cry at the butter commercial cause that family looks just so damn happy that they have their butter and each other… And you would not, under any circumstances, be thinking about how much you want your friend to fuck you into oblivion if it weren’t for the hormones.
When Grantaire asks Enjolras out, he almost says no.
He doesn’t want to date Grantaire. Grantaire is antagonistic, apathetic, annoying, infuriatingly intelligent and nothing that Enjolras is romantically attracted to.
But Grantaire looked up at him with nervous eyes and Enjolras had wanted to go to that exhibit, and Courfeyrac had said he should try to fight with Grantaire less and it’s only one date, what’s the worst that could happen? It will be awkward then they’ll both forget about it.
Then the date is wonderful. Awkward at first, but they begin to talk about art programs in underfunded schools and they talk and talk and end up at a cafe, eyes wide and bright, listening to each other, trying to understand that other not just dismiss what the other says out of habit. They don’t fight, and when Grantaire quietly asks for a second date at the end of the night Enjolras doesn’t even think about finding a reason to say no.
So it goes week after week, date after date, and at some point they end up holding hands every time they are together, lips pressed to cheeks in greeting and goodbye.
It’s not something Enjolras particularly wants or needs but it is nice, he doesn’t mind. When Grantaire calls him his boyfriend, Enjolras likes the title, even if he doesn’t feel like Grantaire’s boyfriend. Grantaire is still antagonistic, apathetic, annoying, infuriatingly intelligent and nothing that Enjolras is attracted to. He doesn’t want to write sonnets about Grantaire eyes, or that curl right behind his ear, or buy Grantaire flowers.
But Enjolras still wants to go places with Grantaire, and hold his hand, and hear what he has to say about the world. And that’s enough.
And then Grantaire has a dance recital– he comes to ABC meetings right after rehearsal, still in leggings and a loose shirt, smelling like stale sweat, a smile on his face; “today we finally perfected that last pass, it should be ready for Friday, I hope you all can come–”
Enjolras goes home avoiding Combeferre, Jehan, Joly eyes filled with concern, “no I’m fine just a little tired.” Avoids Grantaire, “yes, of course, I’ll be there on Friday, I just need to go home right now.”
And then he’s alone at home and he thinks about the smile Grantaire had, the way the skin around his eyes crinkled, the way he almost hit Bosset showing how he lifts his partner and how his shirt rode up and
His first reaction is to call Combeferre, call Courfeyrac, but this is something that they can’t help with. This is him and Grantaire. He needs figure this out by himself.
Enjolras sits and he writes. He writes down every single thing about Grantaire, pinning him to paper, no detail left unnoticed, no virtue or vice dismissed. He sits and he writes for hours, turning over the man who had crept into his life without notice.
Finally, at two in the morning, he puts his pen down, leans back and thinks aloud ‘I have a crush on Grantaire’
and chaste, firm, upright, hard, candid, terrible Enjolras, blushes and—
‘I have a crush on Grantaire,’
He picks up the phone and calls him because Enjolras doesn’t waste time or emotion and—
—and Grantaire had, at some point, without him noticing, become the most contacted, most thought about, most important person in his life.
and Grantaire sounds so concerned fuck, Enjolras still hasn’t explained why he left the meeting like that, why he was acting so oddly and it can wait because right now the most important thing is
“Grantaire I have a crush on you”
“Enjolras our year anniversary is coming up in 2 weeks what do you mean you have a crush on me?”
Loving Isak Valtersen means countless of things, all wonderful and magical in their own way.
It means carrying him to their bedroom without waking him up at midnight when he falls asleep after studying for a test, tugging the blanket under him and making hushing sounds as he drowsily opens his eyes and hums in lieu of a question. It’s stroking his hair until he shuts them again, his head resting on Even’s chest.
It’s walking him to each of his classes just to get the chance to kiss him goodbye every single time, even if that means having to run to his own.
It’s gentle, careful touches in quiet nights with the only sound of soft whispers echoing through their apartment.
It’s wrapping arms around his body, rocking him back and forth as he quietly sobs on Even’s shoulder after something came up with his parents. It’s kissing his forehead and saying he doesn’t need to apologize for soaking his shirt, and that he can soak all of his clothes if that means he will feel better after crying it all out.
L-Corp stands tall and bright, not quite looming overhead, but there’s no mistaking it. Usually when Kara flies over at this time of night, only a few lights are left on, but now it’s a beacon against the stars.
There’s a faint heartbeat in her ears, steady and sure, and Kara follows it as she steps through the doors. The guards barely offer her a glance anymore, waving her through after she steps through the detector.
Her back aches, and her shoulders protest as her arms hang by her sides. She needs to go home and curl up under the blankets, hide away from whatever is her fate at the hands of Snapper in the morning.
Summary: Punk!Phil has a crush, so when Pastel!Dan is manning a kissing booth for a school event, he finds himself showing up with a pound in his pocket.
Word count: 5364
Special thanks goes to Harley (@danslester) for giving me the idea for this fic and encouraging me as I was writing it, and to Gisele (@fringegaps) for reading it over and promising it was okay to post. (Also let me know if you’d be interested in seeing more of this version of Dan and Phil because they were fun to write and I have a few ideas.)
Summary: (Bucky POV) Nat tricks you into leading a road trip with Bucky, Sam and Steve. Her plot is partly to get the boys to travel for fun for once but mostly to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky, who seemingly despise each other.
Word Count: 5226 I’m excessively wordy. Deal with it.
Author’s Note: Here we go! This is the last part! It is longer than it probably needs to be, and there are some parts I don’t love, but hopefully you like it. :)
Laying on the couch in that massive hotel suite with her stretched and exhausted body half on top of mine, all I can think about is how warm and soft she feels like this. I can feel everywhere that our skin meets like I’m glued to her smooth warmth, her cheek pressed flat against my chest, eyes closed, her fingertips lightly tracing over my neck and shoulders, occasionally sending a shiver running across my entire body. I don’t want to move or think, I just want it to be quiet like this, swirling lazy circles over her back like this. This is how it should have been days ago, this is how close I want her all the time.
Summary: In which Killian confesses to David and Emma. Spoilers for 6x12.
Notes: I had a lot of feelings about the end of 6x12. Title from The Quality of Mercy by William Shakespeare. Much love and gratitude to my instrumental wife @ripplestitchskein for reading this through for me.
The worst of it, Killian thinks, is that for a moment, he doesn’t recall the man’s face.
He was nothing but a liability, standing between his crew and enough riches to carry him from one day to the next, bleeding out a living until he could sink his hook into the crocodile’s neck. And he doesn’t recognize David’s father at first, because he’d been merely one in the stream, one of the nameless voices that whispers to him late at night, or early in the morning, growing louder and louder, until he’s forced out of bed – and out of the endearingly tight circle of Emma’s arms – to wander along the line where the town meets the sea.
Only now, this one has a name, and the longer and harder he peers down at the drawing, the more familiar he seems. Not only from a hazy memory, but from the set of his brow, the swell of his cheeks, features he sees in the man he now calls his friend, and in the woman he longs to call his wife. And here, in the midnight shadows of the home he shares with her, he holds tight to the incriminating pages, a wisp of the darkness still stirring in his heart suggesting he surrender them to the sea.
The first part to this novella received such incredible feedback and a generous amount of notes; I am honestly so thrilled that people enjoyed the first section of it. I really am. You guys are absolutely amazing and I love you. I know I suck when it comes to writing angsty, fight/argument scenes so I’m really glad you all enjoyed it and took time to read it.
This chapter - and probably part 4, as well - is a filler section. Not as lengthy, not as long, not as detailed. I think I underestimated some things in this series and probably could have squeezed it into three sections… Haha.
You woke up one minute before your alarm went off, you groan in your bed but manage to drag yourself off of your dorm bed. Like every other morning, you forget how high it is and ended up sprawled on the floor. You take a thirty-second nap on the floor, using your boots as a pillow before reminding yourself that you had to take a shower before everyone started filling up the bathrooms.
You grab your shower caddy and put on your slippers. The hallway was dimly lit, only one light bulb in the center was lit, and even that source of light was flickering, threatening to waste away anytime now. You turn the corner and open the double doors, all of the showers were separated by a brick wall and the only thing shielding you was a frail little curtain that could be ripped away in no time. You were terrified that one day someone would accidentally open the curtains and see you naked. That’s why you always chose to wake up an hour earlier than everyone else and take the shower in the far corner of the big room.
You rub your eyes and open the curtain. Pressed up against the cool brick wall is a petite girl with blonde wet hair, half of her face was hidden by a broad shoulder. Your eyes widen when you see a couple half naked kissing in the corner. It’s until you see the familiar set of dark eyes when you regain control of your body.
“Can’t you knock?” The blonde girl hisses.
“On the curtain?” You snap back, irritated. Jungkook closes the curtain in your face.
I took this photo so I could take a better look at my skin (since it’s kinda hard to look at your cheek in a mirror for a long time lol), and even though my face is all red and blotchy with eczema, I actually quite like this photo (?) for some reason.
No flattering lighting or angles or anything. It’s just me c:
this was inspired by something @key-called-home said, but i don’t remember what. i dont know if it makes any sense bc i just kinda put everything out there and it made me cry but oh well enjoy
Here he is. With his back against the wall, face turned towards
Neil, here he is. There’s a cat in between them, and one at Andrew’s feet, the
window must not be closed all the way because cold, biting wisps of air hit
Andrew’s face, but here he is. Neil’s eyes are closed, and it’s a rare occasion
when Andrew gets to see him like this. He looks, for all intents and purposes,
like he shouldn’t be here. Fast asleep he looks a lot less like the smart mouth
Andrew knows and a lot more like someone who should never have been with The
Foxes to start with, but here he is.
Warnings:NSFW 18+. Smut, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy!) chocolate pie porn.
Request: Hello! I have a request, could you do one where the reader starts working for Tony and soon after the reader and Bucky start a secret affair? Thanks love! - Anon
A/N: Here you go my dear! Sorry that it took me so long!
‘You can do this.’
‘You have worked hard for this.’
‘You deserve this.’
The pep talk you were giving yourself as you drove up to the gate surrounding the Avengers compound wasn’t helping your nerves at all. You leaned forward to look up through your windshield at the concrete walls. This place was a fortress.
You rolled your window down when you approached a booth. You hit the green call button and jumped at the electronic voice that spoke.