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onlyhereforthestories · 3 months ago

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Sing, Well, Try To Sing For You (Mapi Leon and Ingrid Engen x Reader)

Day 14. This is the first time I have tried writing a three person relationship. I hope you enjoy, can't believe there only 10 days left of this!

The snow had started falling just after sunset, a steady drift of large, soft flakes that blanketed the street outside and made the night feel like a scene from the snow globe you knew was sitting on your windowsill in the other room. Inside the warmth of Mapi and Ingrid’s cozy apartment, the three of you were settled in for a festive, low-key evening. A string of Christmas lights cast a gentle glow around the living room, where the three of you had a small Christmas tree set up, already half-buried in gifts you’d been excited to exchange.

You had yet to move in with your lovers having been in a relationship with them for a little over a year now. The two of them taking a liking to you the instant you joined Barcelona two seasons ago but taking a little while to work out their feeling and the logistics of said feelings for you. They had finally brought it up with you just before Christmas last year at the club you and the team had gone to in order to celebrate the holidays. Mapi and Ingrid had saved you from a weird man trying to grind on you on the dance floor and had confessed that they were more than just protective of you because you were a teammate. Luckily for all of you, you had felt the same way about the women just didn’t know how to approach a conversation around it.

This all lead you to the here and now, where Ingrid set down three mugs of steaming hot cocoa, each one topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. “I think that’s the last of the whipped cream,” she said, her cheeks pink from a combination of the heat and the sight of you and Mapi curled up together on the sofa.

“Perfect, just in time,” Mapi said, grabbing her mug and settling herself back on the couch, patting the space on the other side of her. A gesture that made you pout a little in protest to not have the Norwegian sandwiching you between them. “Can’t do karaoke without fuel.”

You raised your eyebrows, your mind shifting away from the thought of being sandwiched by your lovers. “Karaoke? We didn’t exactly decide on that yet,” you teased, knowing full well Mapi had been hinting at it since earlier in the day.

Mapi shot you a playful grin, tossing a pillow your way only to be scolded by Ingrid about the steaming mug of cocoa you had in your hand and how that could end up in your lap burning you. “Oh, come on! It’s Christmas. What else are we going to do? Go stand outside in the snow?”

Ingrid laughed, snuggling close to Mapi and pulling the fluffy blanket over all three of you. “You’re both lucky. My usual Christmas karaoke partners have been my family back home and trust me, my dad’s version of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ is something no one should have to hear.” There was a small grimace on her face as she spoke, a testament to how bad it really must be.

You snorted, imagining Ingrid’s typically reserved dad belting out the holiday classic, and leaned in to make your pitch. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it a try,” you said. “But don’t expect any Grammy-winning vocals. I am no Adele.”

Mapi grinned, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Oh, we’re definitely expecting something memorable.”

Grabbing her phone, she queued up a playlist of Christmas karaoke songs, and before you could change your mind, the familiar opening notes of All I Want for Christmas Is You began to play. Mapi shot up, hand outstretched in your direction like a microphone, her eyes daring you.

“You’re first,” she said, bouncing slightly with excitement. She had been waiting to rope you into her singing antics for the last week or so, knowing full well Ingrid would only get involved if you did. The Norwegian was powerless to saying no to the both of you together.

Giggling, you took an exaggerated breath and launched into the first verse, immediately straying off-key. You were painfully aware of how shaky your voice was, but a quick look at Mapi and Ingrid’s laughing faces only spurred you on. You poured your heart into each word, completely butchering the notes, throwing in an extra dramatic flair as you went. Your hands were thrown out left and right and you even tipped your head right back when you were trying, and failing, to hit the higher and longer notes.

Ingrid was beside herself with laughter, her face buried in her hands, while Mapi watched in wide-eyed delight. By the time you hit the chorus, you were practically yelling, arms outstretched as if you were performing for a sold-out arena.

Bagheera was sleeping peacefully on the arm next to Ingrid when you had all settled in, she was now sat up looking in your direction in as much disgust as a cat could display. As you started the chorus the cat had obviously had enough, meowing her distaste and jumping off the sofa before quickly heading for your open bedroom door. Mapi finally lost it, doubling over with laughter and clapping her hands. “I, dios mio, I can’t breathe,” she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes.

You shrugged, looking unbothered. “What? You were the one who asked for karaoke.”

Ingrid tried to contain herself, though she was still giggling. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone commit that hard to singing a song that off-key before. You really went for it.”

“Oh, just you wait,” you warned, grabbing the imaginary mic and thrusting it toward her. “Now it’s your turn!”

She gave you a look of wide-eyed horror, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’m any better,” she protested, but with Mapi’s look of encouragement and pure eagerness, she finally took a breath and began singing along to Last Christmas.

To your surprise, Ingrid’s voice was soft and surprisingly melodic, though she was shy about hitting some of the higher notes. Mapi looked at her with a proud smile, nodding along to the beat, and you couldn’t help but join in, trying to match you tune with her, which was impossible for you. Eventually, you pulled Mapi in, and soon all three of you were singing at the top of your lungs, Ingrid’s occasional nervous giggles blending into her notes.

Mapi put her arm around both you and Ingrid as she danced and sang along, her loud and raspy voice making each note sound hilariously exaggerated. You watched her, laughing so hard you were practically doubled over, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was having a blast.

When the song ended, you were all out of breath and still chuckling. Mapi grabbed the imaginary microphone back and put on a low, dramatic voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, next up, I give you…” She made a drum roll with her hands, looking pointedly at you. “The Christmas Karaoke Champion!”

You groaned, already laughing again. “Mapi, I think you’re just saying that because I’m the worst singer here.”

“Not at all,” she replied, adopting a very serious expression. “In fact, you are by far the most memorable.”

She queued up Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and as soon as the song started, you began belting out the lyrics, sounding more like a drunk in a club than anything resembling the original tune. Mapi doubled over in laughter, thoroughly enjoying your enthusiasm, while Ingrid clapped along, nodding with an encouraging look directed your way.

When you finally reached the end of the song, you took and over the top bow, before thanking your fans like Elvis would have “Thank you, thank you very much!”

Ingrid was giggling as she took the “mic” from you, cueing up Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. She and Mapi singing surprisingly well together. Mapi threw an arm around Ingrid’s shoulder, swaying her slightly with the beat, while Ingrid’s eyes sparkled as she playfully matched Mapi’s energy, swaying just as much as the shorter woman.

“Look at you two!” you teased. “A match made in karaoke heaven.”

Mapi shot you a grin, twirling Ingrid around. “All part of the show, love,” she said, before she dipped Ingrid in dramatic fashion causing the tall brunette to break out into a fit of giggles.

After a few more songs, the karaoke session began to morph into a full-on dance party. The three of you decided to abandon any attempts at singing and instead began grooving along to the holiday tunes blasting from the speakers. Mapi grabbed your hands, spinning you around the living room as Jingle Bell Rock played. She was a surprisingly good dancer, her movements loose and fun, her infectious energy impossible to resist.

Meanwhile, Ingrid took over with some light hearted dance moves, waving her arms and bouncing around with an enthusiasm that sent you into another round of laughter. Watching her, you couldn’t help but join in, mimicking her movements and earning a playful shove.

The three of you kept dancing until you were all out of breath, collapsing in a heap on the couch. Ingrid was on one side of you and Mapi the other, a blanket had been pulled over all your laps and your mugs had been abandoned on the coffee table.

“That,” Ingrid said with a sigh, “was the best workout I’ve had all season.”

Mapi smirked, nudging her with her elbow. “You think the team would be on board if we pitched holiday karaoke as part of training?”

Ingrid raised her eyebrows, considering it. “Maybe we just don’t mention the off-key singing part?”

You chuckled, nestling deeper into the warmth of the moment. “I think that might be an essential part of the experience.”

Mapi nodded in agreement, pulling you and Ingrid closer. “Agreed. No real karaoke session is complete without a little, what should we call it, personal flair.”

#woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #mapi león x reader #ingrid engen imagine #ingrid engen x reader

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year ago

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The Devil at Your Window |1: Snowed In|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 8k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series summary: In the middle of a New York City blizzard, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen accidentally lands himself on your fire escape–quite literally. When he accepts your invitation to warm up inside your apartment, you're surprised at how well the conversation flows all night with the curious and attractive masked vigilante. He's intriguing, though what you find even more intriguing is his unexpected returns to your window after that night–and his flirting. But when it seems like you're not the only one beginning to develop real feelings, he pulls back and you're left wondering two things: Why did he disappear and who really is the mysterious Devil that you've inevitably fallen for?

a/n: Just a short collection of one shots that I'll update whenever the ideas strike. It'll be told in a style like Falling for the Devil but it won't get nearly as long (unless y'all end up loving it, too). I just couldn't deny giving us all the fantasy of black suit Matt reappearing at your apartment window and all the flirting, sexual tension, feelings, and naughty things that might ensue... The installment list for this little series can be found here and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer

Picking up the steaming mug of tea you’d just finished making from off the kitchen counter, you cradled your other hand around the warmth of the ceramic and drew it towards your chest as you turned and headed back towards your living room. The small spot of heat against the front of your sweatshirt caused a shiver to run down your spine as your sock-clad feet padded along the cold hardwood floor and back towards your couch.

It was freezing inside your apartment tonight and the blustering snow storm raging outside in Hell’s Kitchen wasn't helping. Thankfully your office had already announced its closure for tomorrow before you'd finished work earlier this evening. The snow had already started to dump from the sky before you’d even left the office, falling heavy and wild as it accumulated in a cover of white that blanketed everything in the city. It would have been beautiful if you hadn’t needed to walk home afterwards in the frigid mess–especially with the way the large clumps of snowflakes pelted and battered you in the face over and over, the cold stinging at your skin.

The city was expected to get a whopping eighteen inches of snowfall minimum over the next twenty-four hours, so you were grateful that your boss wanted as little to do with making it into work tomorrow as you did, especially because you couldn’t afford to do anything but walk to the office. The last thing you wanted to do was trudge through all of that mess and slip on a patch of ice, inevitably falling in a massive pile of snow and leaving you stuck in damp dress clothes all day.

No, you'd rather stay dry and cozy at home enjoying a lazy day off of work.

You were just hoping the power in your apartment building remained intact throughout the fury of the winter storm. You didn’t want to think about losing the heat in your building in the middle of all of this. Another shiver ran through you as you pushed the thought away–hopefully not something you’d need to worry about tonight.

But since you didn’t have work first thing in the morning, you had every intention of enjoying your night. You’d immediately come home and thrown off your dress clothes before settling on something comfortable–soft sweatpants and a cozy sweatshirt sans bra underneath. Then you’d made dinner and cleaned it up fast before claiming your ‘spot’ for the evening on your couch. Which consisted of both of your blankets and the television remote while you binged a guilty pleasure show that you hadn’t had time to catch up on for the past few weeks. Tonight you were intending to stay up a bit late, cozy up beneath your blankets, drink some hot tea, and lose yourself in the plot and romance of the show before eventually dragging your tired ass to bed in the hopes of sleeping in tomorrow to make up for staying up late.

Eyes focused on the paused television screen as you moved, you rounded the side of your couch while drawing your steaming mug up to your lips. You sipped at the warm liquid, reveling in it for a moment before you swallowed it down. You could feel it heat you from the inside out as a pleasant sensation washed over you. Your eyes closed briefly for a moment–it was the first time you’d actually felt warm today.

Opening your eyes, you continued towards the couch and began to lower yourself down onto the cushions while trying not to spill any of your tea from the mug. Just as you were about to sit back down on the couch and cocoon yourself in both of your blankets, ready to settle in for more of your show, something outside the window to your right caught your attention. Your head spun in the direction just as a flash of black dashed past the window and a loud bang reverberated through your apartment.

A frightened yelp slipped out of you at the sound and you clutched your mug tight to your chest, your heart thudding heavily in terror. Whatever had just literally dropped onto your fire escape had been large, especially with the sound of that impact. Sucking in a breath, you held it as you stared transfixed at the window, almost ridiculously terrified it would be some sort of wild animal–like a bear or a wolf–on your fire escape.

Though, more realistically considering you were in New York City, you knew it was probably a burglar. Who else would be traversing fire escapes late at night? Especially dressed in all dark clothes? Except…that also seemed a little ridiculous, too. There was a literal blizzard happening outside, meaning everyone would be home. In their apartments. Making it impossible for a burglar to break into anyone’s place unseen. Plus, it was insane outside, what criminal would risk dealing with that right now?

So what the hell had just fallen onto your fire escape?

Another thought struck you soon after and your lips parted in shock at the idea as you blew out the breath you’d been holding. With trembling hands, you very slowly reached out, carefully placing your mug of tea onto the coffee table before you without taking your eyes off of your window. Gradually, almost nervously, you rose to your feet before taking hesitant step after hesitant step forward. Another sharp, surprised gasp flew out of you when you saw the dark figure sit upright on your fire escape, bent in half as if they were in pain. Which made sense, considering the fall they’d just taken.

But your body froze up instantly at the sight of the man dressed in all black bent in half and dusted in white patches of snow. He wasn’t a burglar at all. With the black cloth tied over his head and the form fitting shirt he was wearing, there was absolutely no mistaking who he was. You'd certainly seen enough images of him plastered across the media.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had just fallen onto your fire escape.

Eyes widening in shock at the infamous vigilante attempting to pull himself up to his feet, one of his gloved hands holding onto the metal railing of your fire escape, you were suddenly overcome with the urge to check on him. To make sure he wasn’t seriously injured from that fall.

Without thinking your actions through, you crossed the last few steps to the window and unlatched the locks before pushing it up. The masked figure immediately spun towards you at the sound as a bitter gust of wind burst its way into your apartment, chilling you instantly while those thick snowflakes once again assailed your face. For a moment you locked eyes with him–or at least, it seemed like you did despite the fabric covering half of his face–as your mouth hung open. You suddenly found yourself at a loss of what to say in the moment. And considering the way his lips thinned out along his face and the way he remained silent, he clearly wasn’t going to strike up a conversation with you, either.

Eyes darting down, you saw he had one gloved hand clutching at his right side as if it hurt him. His shoulders were hunched in on himself as his back faced the violent winds blowing snow relentlessly. Seeing him in person for the first time ever–something you’d never expected in your life considering how elusive the media made him out to be–you realized just how thin and unprotective his clothes really were. Especially tonight considering the cold weather. He had to be freezing.

An icy wind whistled loudly, another flurry of heavy snowflakes pelting you right in the face and breaking you from your thoughts. Blinking the snow from your lashes, you finally found your voice.

“Are you alright?” you asked hesitantly, unsure how one should approach the masked man. “I just–just saw you fall. It looked like it hurt.”

He gave a curt shake of his head, wincing before he turned more towards the railing. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he replied.

Something warm flooded your veins at the gravelly tone of his voice. It suited him somehow, even if it sounded fake. Like he was pitching his voice lower to sound like someone else in order to hide his identity. Not that you'd probably have recognized him anyway.

With his back partially to you now, especially this close when there was barely a few feet of space between the pair of you, you could see just how incredibly muscular this man was. His black shirt clung to him like a second skin, the toned abdominal muscles on his upper body clearly visible even from just his profile. Even the pectoral muscles of his chest were well defined and visible beneath the sheen of black. His arms were thick–far too big for just one of your hands to wrap around. And as your gaze lingered lower, you fought back the thoughts that entered your mind at the sight of how large his thighs were in those tight pants–and how pleasant a profile his ass also had. You wondered briefly if he'd gained all that from working out or if it had more to do with his nightly activities.

Though when you saw him grab onto the metal railing of your fire escape with both of his gloved hands, the movement drawing your attention away from observing him as he attempted to swing himself over it, you nearly screamed as you lurched forward. You lived on the fifth floor, was this man really about to fling himself off of the fire escape from all the way up here?

But the scream died in your throat the moment he cried out in pain, his feet slipping from off of the railing as he fell back onto your fire escape. He let out a hiss of pain as he clutched at his clearly injured side.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out, shoving the window open wider despite the cold and snow and leaning further forward. “You’re clearly not okay. Do you need something? An ambulance or something? Is there someone I can call? Or–or something I can do to help?”

The man rolled off his injured side and onto his back, gradually turning towards you as he lay on the fire escape. You hadn’t expected the amused and pained chuckle he emitted while the snow accumulated on the entire front of him, lightly covering the thin layer of his black shirt. Which you’d noticed had ridden up, revealing a small sliver of skin just above the dark, form fitting pants he was wearing. You tried hard to not keep glancing back at that patch of skin as it slowly rose higher and higher, unsure why you were so distracted by it.

The sound of his amusement soon drew you back to the moment and you cringed. Why the hell was he laughing?

“Are you alright? Did you…hit your head?” you asked him cautiously. “Maybe you have a concussion…”

Another amused sound slipped out of him, but that was quickly followed by a pained groan as he tried to once again rise up onto his feet. “I don’t have a concussion,” he assured you.

“You sure?” you asked, an eyebrow arching onto your forehead as you crossed your arms over your chest to stay warm when you began to shiver from the cold. “Because this doesn’t seem like a funny situation to me.”

“Well,” he grunted out, wincing as he drew back up to his full height, “normally I’m the one offering assistance, not the other way around. So yeah,” he continued with a faint shrug, your eyes once again catching the way he was holding his side, “it’s kind of amusing. In an…irritating sort of way.”

Your heart sank to your stomach at his words. “Oh, sorry,” you muttered, heat rushing up to your face instantly. “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I was just concerned–”

He took a half step forward, cutting you off as he waved a hand between the pair of you. He shook his head, letting out a slight huff of laughter. “No, I didn’t mean you were irritating. Just…this situation. The–the snow and the falling part.” In a quieter voice he added, “And having an audience for it.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you stood there studying him for a moment. He was injured and wearing barely anything at all in the middle of a blizzard. He looked like he needed help even if he seemed like the type not to ask for it.

“Do you want to come inside?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. “I mean, to get warm and maybe sit down for a moment? I could call an ambulance or–or a taxi or something to bring you to a hospital.”

Another amused huff of laughter slipped out of him as he shook his head. “No hospitals, please. I’ll be alright. But…if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind a moment to warm up.” His gloved hand lowered, pinching a bit of fabric from his shirt as he glanced down at it. “Admittedly this doesn’t offer much protection from the elements.”

You eyed the thin material between his gloves doubtfully. “Doesn’t look like it offers much protection from anything,” you told him.

A surprised bark of laughter peeled out of him, the sound drawing a smile onto your face. You’d made the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laugh. Now that was something you weren’t going to forget anytime soon. He didn’t seem like the type to break character easily.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” he agreed, his laughter subsiding.

Taking a step back from the window, you waved a hand towards him, gesturing for him to come inside. “How about you come in so I can close this window and we both can stop freezing?” you suggested, surprised at how bold you sounded considering who it was you were speaking with. “I’m shivering already so I can only imagine how cold you must be.”

You watched as his lips curled up into a charming grin at the corners, just beneath the black fabric of his mask. It was impossible to deny that he had a handsome face–at least, from what you could see of it. You imagined the rest of it to be just as attractive beneath that cloth and a sudden intense curiosity to know what the rest of it looked like overtook you as you watched him carefully climb through your opened window. He moved slowly, wincing in pain as he made his way inside. Despite his tough act, that fall must’ve really hurt his side and you frowned, wishing he’d accept your offer to help. There was no way he was as fine as he claimed to be, surely he needed medical attention.

“Takes a special kind of person to just invite me into their home so readily,” the Devil’s rough tone came out as he turned his back to you, shutting the window after himself. “Normally people prefer to avoid me.”

“You’re not dangerous,” you replied almost instantly.

The window closed with a sharp clack before his masked face turned over his snow-dusted shoulder, his attention fixed on you. “Oh?” he asked curiously, a smirk growing over his lips. “I’m not?”

Your eyes were drawn to his mouth, though it wasn’t like there was anywhere else to look when you spoke to him with that mask covering most of his face. The smirk appeared teasing, and for some reason that had the hair on the back of your neck bristling. You suddenly became very aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra beneath your loose sweatshirt and it was now cold in your apartment. Quickly your arms wrapped over your chest, hugging yourself tight. His lips almost seemed to curl ever higher in response.

“I mean, you are ,” you amended, “but to, you know, criminals.”

You swallowed hard when he remained still, gazing at you over his shoulder wordlessly.There was something almost predatory in the way he was studying you. It was easy to see how this lone man terrified the criminals on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, striking fear into them. He certainly had a presence. Goosebumps rippled beneath the sleeves of your sweatshirt at his continued silent stare.

“Right?” you asked tentatively, voice softer.

His smirk vanished as the other corner of his mouth curled upwards into what felt like a warm smile despite you being unable to see if it reached his eyes. He nodded gently, turning slowly back towards you as he did.

“That's correct,” he agreed, brushing the snow from his broad shoulders. “I’m only dangerous to criminals. So unless you’re hiding any dead bodies or have some outstanding charges…?”

You laughed, though abruptly you snatched your bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to quiet the noise instantly. He was witty and funny. You weren’t anticipating that. Or the way your reaction to his quips seemed to please him, like he was trying to charm you. Which seemed even more curious, considering who he was and what he spent his nights doing.

“Can't say that I do,” you said. “I'm probably the most boring person in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Well now,” he replied teasingly, “don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you're not taking that title all by yourself.”

That charming smile was back on his face and it had your stomach fluttering. Tearing your eyes away from him, you noticed the television was still paused on your show. Paused on a scene where the two actors on screen were clearly about to kiss. Cheeks burning, you hurried over and grabbed the remote from the couch and turned it off.

“You can make yourself comfortable if you want,” you told him, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your tone. “I've got a couple of blankets you can use to help warm you up.”

His heavy boots thudded with each of his steps as he crossed the room and made his way to the couch. You bent over, grabbing both blankets from your place on the couch where you'd previously been curled up as he passed behind you. The moment one of his cold gloves brushed against your back, you froze.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“No it's–it's fine,” you replied.

He passed behind you before settling onto the opposite end of the couch from where you had clearly taken residence. You forced a smile onto your face as you turned and leaned over, holding out the blankets towards him.

Pull yourself together , you internally chastised yourself. Just because it's been a while since you've had a man here doesn't mean you need to react to every little thing. That's not what this is, obviously.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the blankets from your outstretched hand.

You nodded before sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch, keeping space between you and him. Curling your legs up under yourself, you watched as the Devil wasted no time throwing both blankets around himself, beginning to visibly shiver beneath them as he tried to warm up.

“Are you sure you don't want me to call anyone?” you asked him.

“No one to call,” he answered. “And a hospital would defeat the purpose of trying to remain anonymous.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you muttered, glancing away and spotting the forgotten tea on your coffee table. “Would you like something to drink at least? Some water or some hot tea, maybe?”

His masked head tilted curiously to the side at your question, a grin returning to his plush lips. “Playing hostess?” he asked.

“Well I'm sure you've got to be thirsty running around Hell’s Kitchen and fighting criminals all the time,” you explained. “I always sort of wondered if you stashed water bottles around the city or stopped for water breaks somewhere–not where you live, I imagine. Since you're trying to keep your identity hidden.” Your eyes narrowed as you added, “Or do you just let yourself get dehydrated every time you're out? Because that's not good for you, you know.”

The Devil's grin grew wider as he shifted on the couch, facing you even more from his place on the cushions. “Oh?” he asked, curiosity in his tone. “You've thought about me before, have you?”

Eyes dropping down to your lap, you smiled sheepishly as you shrugged. “I mean, I've had some theories circulating about you ever since you kept reappearing in the news,” you admitted awkwardly. “Sort of hard not to.”

“Well now you have to indulge me,” he teased. “Enlighten me on some of these theories of yours.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you continued to avoid his covered stare. “I mean, they're not that interesting…”

“Oh come on,” he tried again. “It's not like we don't have the time. And maybe I can confirm or deny some of them for you. Besides, I admit I’m curious to know what you think of me. Especially being so willing to offer help like you did.”

Chewing your bottom lip, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes. He looked far less intimidating beneath your blush pink blanket now. What would it hurt if you told him a few of your ideas about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? Maybe he might laugh at them, but would hearing that sound again be all that bad? And it truly would be interesting to learn more about the mysterious vigilante, something you'd probably never have the opportunity to do again.

“Okay,” you agreed with a nod. Straightening up on the couch, you turned to face him more fully. “So I've always thought with the way that you fight that you were trained by some sort of secret ninja assassin organization.”

A hearty chuckle filled your living room at your first theory. The pleasant and resonant noise left you grinning as your stomach fluttered in response. You briefly wondered how often the Devil actually laughed when he was out.

“I cannot confirm nor deny that,” he responded.

The playful smile that kept appearing on his face was beginning to further disarm you. You found yourself enjoying his company, soon becoming used to the way half his face was hidden from sight with that ridiculous fabric. And for some reason your unexplainable attraction to him was only growing.

“Next theory,” he prodded, the smile on his face apparent even in his voice.

“You're not wealthy,” you stated, leaning forward and grabbing your tea from the coffee table.

“Oh, ow,” he joked, playfully recoiling back from you on the couch. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand at him across from you as you settled back into the cushions, mug in hand. “Because you wear clothing that is obviously not meant to protect you very well in a fight,” you answered. “I imagine if you had money you'd have something…nicer. Meant for what you do. And,” you continued, pausing long enough to drink down some of your now barely warm tea, aware of him focused on you, “you protect Hell’s Kitchen. Only Hell’s Kitchen. This part of the city isn't exactly filled with the wealthiest people. And with how dedicated you are to everyone here, I assume it's because you probably grew up here yourself. Most likely still reside here, too.”

The Devil hummed appreciatively when you'd quieted, his masked gaze still on you. You swore you could feel it as you drank down more of your tea.

“You're observant,” he mused. “Maybe I need to watch myself around you.”

A surge of pride swelled in your chest; you hadn't expected his praise. Or the way it would make you feel. And apparently, you'd guessed something right about him.

“You're also not married or in a serious relationship,” you blurted before you could help yourself, wondering what more you could learn about him.

“Poor and unlovable?” the Devil asked with a surprised laugh. “That's what you think of me?”

“No,” you disagreed, laughing a little with him as you shook your head. “No, but I mean, I imagine you don't have time for someone else. And I figure most people wouldn’t like their partner going out and doing what you do. Putting yourself in danger.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, shifting on the couch and making himself more comfortable. “A partner would certainly be…a distraction. A liability. One I couldn't really afford to have. So no, you're not wrong, I don't have one.”

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with the mug in your hands. Half of you was hoping to hear that he wasn't with anyone–though you refused to admit to yourself why that mattered–but the other half of you had heard the way he'd said that a partner would be a distracting liability and you’d felt a sad pang hit you in the chest. Considering how much he seemed to be enjoying your company when he didn't even know you had you guessing that the Devil was a lonely man deep down.

But that wasn't a theory you felt comfortable sharing.

“Any others?” he asked, breaking through your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you focused back on him across the couch from you. His smile had disappeared, his lips now downturned at the corners just a bit. His posture had changed in your silence, the same as his mood, as if he'd picked up on the subtle change in yours somehow.

Strange.

“I imagine you're the kind of guy who's fridge is always empty,” you answered.

A ghost of a smile reappeared on his face as he huffed out an amused breath. You couldn't fight the smile returning to your own lips at the sight of his again.

“Well hey now,” he countered lightly, “there's usually beer. Sometimes orange juice and eggs.”

You giggled, unable to stop yourself. “Who'd have guessed the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is just your average bachelor?”

“Average?” he repeated in mock offense, his head tilting to the side. “I'm just average now?”

Quirking a brow at him in a challenging manner, your own head cocked to the side. “Maybe tell me more about yourself and I could say otherwise,” you boldly teased back.

“Well obviously,” he began, grinning at you in a way that had your body heating, “I can't exactly do that now can I? Defeats the purpose–

“Of remaining anonymous,” you finished for him. “I've picked up on the importance of that.”

A silence soon settled between the pair of you, one that slowly began to cause your nerves to grow with the way he kept smiling at you. Once again you desperately found yourself wanting to see the rest of his face, curious to know just how handsome he really was under that black mask. Though you settled for studying what you could see, your eyes tracing the soft curves of his pink lips, noticing the way they very minutely twitched under your scrutiny. Eventually your gaze dropped down, following the hard lines of his stubbled jaw. As your eyes trailed further down, they lingered on the part of his neck that wasn't covered by the blankets he’d wrapped around himself for warmth. A heat burned in you as the urge to reach out and just touch him, just to see if he was real, suddenly grew within you. It didn't help that it almost felt like you could feel the weight of his own eyes fixed on you beneath the mask, once again making you very aware of your lack of bra beneath your sweatshirt.

Catching your lip between your teeth, you noticed the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Had he been having similar thoughts? Observing you, too?

Inhaling a sharp breath through your nose at the idea, you knew you needed to stop this line of thinking and stop it fast. There was absolutely no way the Devil would be interested in you. Certainly not like that. That was absurd.

“Would you like something to eat?” you asked, trying to calm your pulse. “If your fridge is empty all the time I'm guessing you could use something to eat.”

“I mean, I suppose if you’re–”

He stopped short the exact moment that the lights died, throwing the pair of you into almost complete darkness. You sucked in a breath, turning to look out the window just to your right. It was eerily dark outside, a sight that was rare in the city. Even the buildings across the street had been thrown into darkness. There was nothing but the howling wind and snow outside.

“Guess it was too much to hope the power wouldn’t go out in this mess,” you breathed out.

“I suppose so,” he replied, his tone just as soft.

Reaching blindly forward, you set your almost empty mug onto the coffee table before you. For a moment you reached around on the surface until your fingers brushed against your phone. You picked it up and unlocked the screen, grateful for the bit of light it shed in the dark as you turned on the flashlight function.

“So I can’t offer you a nice cooked meal without power,” you told him, rising to your feet, “but I can get you an apple and a couple of protein bars? If you’d…like?”

“You don’t have to, but I’d appreciate it,” he said.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who does so much for the rest of us,” you told him, maneuvering around the couch and navigating your way to the kitchen by the light of your phone. “I’d feel awful leaving you hungry and dehydrated.”

Wrapping one arm around your chest to try to fight the chill that had been steadily creeping into you, you headed towards a cabinet near the sink. Reaching up, you grabbed a glass from out of it before taking a moment to fill it beneath the faucet before setting it along the countertop. Then you plucked an apple out of a fruit bowl on your counter, taking a moment to rinse it off first. The moment you’d turned off the faucet you heard his voice from across the apartment.

“You’re cold.”

For a moment you found it odd how his words hadn’t come out as a question but more of an observation, though you quickly shrugged the strangeness of that aside. You set the apple down on the counter beside the glass of water before sliding a step to your right and opening up another cabinet.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” you answered, trying to shine the light from your phone into the cabinet to read the labels on the boxes. “I wasn’t the one out in that snowstorm wearing barely anything at all.”

“You say that like I was out there naked.”

His voice had unexpectedly come from just behind you this time and it jolted your heart in your chest instantly. His sudden proximity mixed with his word choice had you startling on the spot. Your hand that had been about to pull the box of protein bars out of the cabinet accidentally bumped it instead, causing the entire box to slip off of the shelf. But before it could tumble to the floor and spill its contents, a black gloved hand darted out beside your face, catching it before it had barely fallen six inches.

You stood there rooted to the spot, his hand just brushing your arm as his held the box of protein bars. The hair on the back of your neck had risen, aware that he was standing barely a foot behind you now. Slowly, you turned over your shoulder to look at him. Your pulse quickened further at how close his face was to yours. He was looking at you, too. Or at least, he was facing you. Eyes dropping down, you couldn’t help but notice that mouth of his again.

“I apologize,” he said, your eyes watching as his lips moved. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sometimes I forget how quiet I can be. I just wanted to give you one of the blankets. No sense in me using both when you’re cold.”

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to form any other response.

With his attention still on you, he reached up and slid the box back onto the shelf. Then he seemed to take a purposeful step back from you, his lips set in a straight line. You wondered what was going on in his mind right now, because you were sure there had to be something. Had he felt the tension you’d just felt? Or were you just ridiculous and overly hopeful?

And why did it even matter? You were never going to see this man again after tonight anyway.

Blinking a few times, you returned your attention to the shelf. Reaching up, you slid your hand into the box that had nearly taken a nosedive to your kitchen floor and pulled out two protein bars. Keeping your eyes actively focused away from the Devil nearby, you closed the cabinet and slid a step back to your left, grabbing the glass of water in your hand with your phone and the apple in the same hand as the bars. Though before you could turn around, you felt something gently drape over your shoulders. Looking down, you noticed it was the pink blanket he’d been wearing.

“Like I said,” he repeated, “there’s no sense in me using both.”

“Right,” you whispered, pulse pounding in your throat.

Turning on your heel, you stepped past him and made your way back to the living room by the light of your phone. This time you heard the heavy steps of him following after you. You assumed that was intentional.

“So why were you out in this blizzard tonight anyway?” you asked him, making your way around the couch. You hoped having something to talk about would distract you from whatever it was he kept stirring inside of you. “Surely there aren’t a lot of crimes being committed in this weather?”

The Devil let out a light laugh as he accepted the offered glass of water and food from you. One of your brows quirked curiously onto your forehead at his reaction as you sat back down in your original spot on the couch. Though you noticed as he took a large drink from the cup while lowering himself onto the cushions that he’d sat closer to you than before. You watched as he ripped open a protein bar and tore off a large bite next, but he didn't answer until a moment later when he’d swallowed the bite down. Internally you noted he must’ve been hungrier than he let on with the way he was devouring that bar and you’d wished you’d had more food to offer him with the power out.

“You’d be correct,” he told you. “And yet I still stupidly made my way out into this storm tonight in the hopes of catching a lead on something. Instead all I got was my ass frozen and my side bruised.”

You watched as he took another large bite of the protein bar, chewing it almost contemplatively as his head canted to the side. You could still see him in the beam of light from your phone which you were still clutching in your hand. Somehow this lighting made him even more appealing as it cast sharp shadows along his jaw.

“Though I suppose unexpectedly meeting you was a highlight,” he added, causing your cheeks to flush. “But you know, you never did give me your name.”

“Well you never exactly gave me yours,” you immediately quipped back.

Those beautiful lips of his curved upwards yet again as he chewed the last bite of the first protein bar. What you wouldn’t give to see if that smile had reached his eyes.

“Alright, point taken,” he replied.

Tearing your gaze away from him, you focused on your phone. If you kept the flashlight running the battery would die in no time. And who knew how long the power might be out for, you might need it later. You supposed you didn't need it on just for a conversation.

“I’m going to turn the flashlight off on my phone for now, if that's alright?” you told him, fingers darting across the screen to do just that. “Might need the battery on this later.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, sounding as if he was chewing another bite of food. “I don’t need it.”

He’d made the comment just as you’d leaned forward to set your phone back onto the coffee table, but you’d paused as the words processed in your mind. Your eyes narrowed again as your mind raced. Something about the way he’d said that sounded as if it had another meaning to it. But before you could put too much thought into it, he’d changed the topic.

“You’re still cold,” he pointed out. “That blanket alone isn't helping.”

Brows furrowing together as you slowly sat back, you wondered how he could possibly know that. The pair of you were in almost pitch black again with your phone flashlight off. It wasn't like he could see you and you hadn't been shivering, though there were definitely goosebumps dotting your skin. How could he possibly know?

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling the blanket you had on tighter around yourself. “It’s bound to get colder here with the power out now.”

“And with how long you had your window open earlier,” he added. “The temperature is going to drop in here faster than it would have if you hadn’t helped me.”

You sighed, frowning in his general direction. “So much for being able to help you warm up,” you muttered. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he assured you.

It felt as if he was shifting on the couch nearby. Your brows knitted further together as you tried to make out what he was doing through the dark. All you could see was a faint mass of black that seemed darker than the rest of the blackness. Then moments later you felt a blanket being draped over your lap.

“No, uh uh,” you said, shaking your head and immediately grabbing the blanket. “There’s two blankets, we can clearly share.”

“You’re freezing,” he countered.

“And you’re not cold?” you shot back.

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve already been far kinder than I deserved this evening,” he replied.

You grabbed the blanket in your hands and stubbornly tossed it back in his general direction. An audible sigh sounded through the darkness to your left.

“You know I can just leave, right?” he told you. “Which would leave you with no reason to not use both blankets.”

Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound of his voice. “But then you’d be allowing more cold air into my apartment, which would only make the temperature drop faster in here,” you argued back. “Then I'd really be cold.”

He breathed out a laugh and you imagined the smile on his lips at the sound. You smiled triumphantly back at the dark shape of him because you knew you had a good point. Even though really, you could just layer on more clothes.

“Okay,” he relented. “That’s true. So how about…we share?”

The smile on your face quickly disappeared at his suggestion. Mouth dropping open, you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest. It took you a few seconds to regain the ability to respond.

“Share?” you asked.

“Body heat would certainly keep us both warmer,” he answered. “So would sharing two blankets instead of using only one.”

“Oh, uh, well,” you stammered, your mind racing at the thought of your body pressed up against his. “I–I–”

His deep laugh rumbled towards you through the darkness, the sound causing your lips to clamp shut.

“I’m not suggesting anything immoral,” he assured you. “Simply a possible solution to the very real problem of us freezing in here. Unless, of course, you’d prefer me to leave?”

“No!” you exclaimed.

Immediately your eyes widened in horror at how quickly you’d responded to that. And judging by his chuckle, he’d also noticed, too. Your face scrunched up as you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so eager to keep him here in your apartment.

“Well in that case, we could share the blankets and our body heat,” he suggested again. “Because the temperature has definitely dropped a few degrees already and it's only going to continue if the power stays out.”

Nervously your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You were trying hard to control the racing of your heart, positive he could hear it with how hard it was beating now. Of course you weren’t going to pass up a chance to basically cuddle the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for warmth during a snowstorm. You just needed to find a way to not sound so eager to accept his offer first.

“I suppose you…have a point there,” you said slowly, trying to keep your voice even. “That’s–that’s usually what people do in survival situations. Use their body heat to keep warm.”

An amused huff came from him and you realized he’d scooted even closer to you on the couch. Your breath caught in your throat the moment you felt his thigh bump against yours.

“So are we in agreement with sharing both blankets, then?” he asked.

“That–that appears to be the most logical solution to the problem,” you answered. “So yeah, I guess we…share the blankets.”

Despite the lack of light, the Devil seemed to move with ease and fluidity through the darkness, something you were paying close attention to as he gently sidled his way up against the side of you, managing to wrap both blankets around the pair of you. All the while you’d sat pin straight on the couch, aware that he was flush to your side from your shoulder all the way down to your knee. You clasped your hands in your lap, unsure of where else to place them. Truthfully, you had to admit you were already much warmer like this, with his body heat enveloping you beneath both blankets.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his tone far gentler than it had been all evening. “Because that's not my intention.”

“No,” you answered with a light shake of your head. “You're not.”

He chuckled softly, his body shaking yours slightly with the movement. Your head turned towards him and you wished you could see at least the part of his face that was visible right now.

“Then why are you so tense?” he questioned.

“I'm not tense!” you lied.

He laughed again, this time louder. The movement jostled you somehow further into his side, though your hand flew out and landed flat on his very solid chest as you tried to stop yourself from falling further into him. Your eyes widened in horror yet again, but before you could push yourself away you felt his arm wrapping around your shoulders and allowing you to sink even more into him. Heat was very much creeping up your neck and reaching your cheeks now in embarrassment.

“You're very tense actually,” he teased. “If you're uncomfortable I can move, but we aren't going to be sharing much body heat if you don't actually sit next to me.”

Slowly you removed your hand from his chest, lowering it to your lap. Though with the way you were sitting facing partially towards him now, your knuckles were brushing against his thigh.

“I am not tense,” you grumbled. “And you aren't making me uncomfortable. This is just…awkward. I barely know you and you don't know me.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “How about since you've guessed a few things about me, I think it's only fair you tell me a few things about yourself now.”

“I told you I'm not very interesting,” you reminded him.

“Ah, well,” he replied with a shrug, “I think I'd like to decide that for myself.”

Biting your lip, you turned your burning face and buried it into his shoulder, glad he couldn't see how nervous he'd suddenly made you. It was hard to tell if he was flirting with you or if that was just his vigilante persona–when he wasn't beating people, of course.

With your nose pressed against the fabric of his shirt, you noticed he smelled surprisingly good. There was the hint of his sweat, but there was also a faint clean detergent scent. You closed your eyes and tried to relax, inhaling a deep breath in. Even though he was still a stranger and a vigilante, he seemed kind and safe so far. And he also hadn't thrown you off of himself for getting even closer to him, either. Maybe you should just do what he seemed to be doing: relax and enjoy the unexpected cuddles tonight with an unexpected acquaintance.

“Alright, what do you want to know?” you whispered, eyes still closed as you focused on his scent.

Eyes fluttering open, you felt yourself waking from a deep, comfortable sleep. Though your eyes instantly snapped closed against the bright light that immediately assaulted them. Slowly you blinked them back open, trying to adjust to the surprising sunshine pouring through your living room window. Gradually you began to push yourself upright, realizing you were laying with your head on a couch pillow, both of your blankets snuggly wrapped around you. For a moment your face twisted into a look of confusion as you hesitated, staring down at the two blankets. Why had you been asleep on your couch?

But then flashes of last night came back to you. The masked man falling onto your fire escape. The joking and constant banter between the pair of you. Darkness when the power went out and the feel of his warm, muscular body wrapped around yours as he tried to keep you warm. The scent of clean detergent and his sweat. The feel of his spandex shirt against your fingertips and your cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder.

Had that all really happened? Or had you just fallen asleep on your couch and dreamt it?

Your attention shifted towards your coffee table and your sluggish brain processed the sight of your almost empty mug of tea, left abandoned all night, and an empty glass of water. Pushing yourself the rest of the way upright on the couch, your head turned over your shoulder. The lock on your living room window was undone.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really had been in your apartment last night. Which meant the pair of you really had cuddled together for warmth when your power had gone out. And you really did meet him. At least, somewhat.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out in awe. “He was really here.”

But just as the rush of excitement at meeting someone you’d always secretly admired filled you, it quickly vanished. Because you must have fallen asleep on him sometime last night when the pair of you were talking, and then he must’ve slipped out of your apartment before the sun came up, probably when the power had come back on. Which made sense, considering he wouldn’t want to be seen sneaking back to his own apartment in such a conspicuous outfit.

But what was upsetting you was the growing realization that it wasn’t just the first time you’d met him, but it would most likely be the last. And you’d gone and fallen asleep through part of that meeting.

Stupid stupid stupid.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock series #matt murdock #daredevil

887 notes · View notes

russilton · 2 months ago

Note

Huh crocheter George... I can see him doing it and he seems like a person that would make stuff for his friends?

Someone gave Carlos a crochet chili? So something like that

Obviously first to like Alex and Lando etc and now I want Lewis to be a bit jealous and offended that everyone seems to be getting something self made from George from him (except of course, it's fine to give something with potential mistakes to your best friend and other friends but to someone like Lewis? It would have to be perfect which means improving a lot before you dare present something....)

(Anon I have been working on this for months now- since you sent it, but you can’t complain it’s late or that I made it knitting instead of crochet since you got what is in essence, fic) (un-edited because my wife is sick, there was no planning, just vibes)

word count: 4679

It started as a stupid way to prove to Alex he did in fact have artistic skills. Somewhere between grainy YouTube videos and detangling knots it became a way to decompress between sessions, it made for good practice with repetitive actions and not making mistakes, something in following stitch patterns that isn't that different from memorising turns and breaking points.

Incorporating new colours and designs teaches him to build patterns in his head that help with race planning. It's surprising how much the skills intersect. The only problem that arose was just how many scarves he ended up with.

So, George makes everyone scarves. Everyone gets a scarf. It’s a straight line and easy to follow. He has to get rid of the results of his labour somehow.

Aleix? Scarf. Bono? Scarf. Marcus’ scarf has extra fancy tassels. Riki’s has his first ever pole time embedded in it in little pixelated number shaped stitches. Mike’s scarf is almost as long as he is tall, George finally conceding it was long enough when he ran out of yarn at that weekends race. Shov’s scarf is connected in a loop, when asked, George teases ‘it’s because you’ve been here forever, Andrew.’ and has to duck out of the room and set off running before it gets pelted at his head. Shov does keep it though, along with one George manages to slyly pay Anthony to slip into his bag for Jenson. Toto gets sent home with scarves for Susie and each of his children. His is hidden at the bottom, so George doesn’t have to look him in the eyes when he finds it.

George only has to squint at Fred with red ears and nose, on a chilly Silverstone test day huddled up beside Mick in their boyband style white puffers, before he’s handed a black and silver scarf a week later. It doesn’t matter how much he protests being from a northern circle country, if Valtteri got a scarf so does Fred.

The fact Valtteri’s attempt was one of his earlier ones and has a finger sized hole in it is of no consequence. After all, Alex’s scarf has more holes than it has clean runs, but George just tells him it’s to get him used to the Williams style of living. If James Vowles' scarf is a lot neater, George challenges Alex to go and fight him for it.

Charles gets one in a red so vibrant it almost glows, though it’s not until after a summer break, George wouldn’t be caught dead working with Ferrari red in his garage, even now. Mick’s is a similar red, if paler, patterned with a grid of white stitches, and he looks surprised when George drops it in his lap, but it morphs into his wide bright smile when George just nods at him. Even Nicky receives a scarf in Williams blue with little wonky maple leaves patterned in white down the length of it mailed to him after a particularly stressful season opening. Nicky's girlfriend sends him a photo of him wearing it while they stand in snow up to their ankles. It feels good to know he's doing alright.

Eventually George’s scarves get more and more complicated, new patterns and shapes appearing as he pushes the boundary of his easy little plans, and finds new ways to occupy his mind during the hardest parts of the season. Eventually even drivers George knows a little less well find themselves with an unlabelled gift George gets snuck to them— Yuki and Guanyu both have the good sense to not question it too hard. Esteban texts him a middle finger, but he doesn’t get it back.

Even Roscoe gets a scarf, perfectly shrunk in size for his boxy head, rows interwoven with yellow and purple that he wears proudly as a bulldog can for a modelling photo in his home in LA alongside Angela who’d been more than excited to partake in George’s unspoken mission. The Bulldog looks stylish and comfortable despite it not being even close to the right season for it. He’s a professional after all.

—

Lewis gets nothing, which, y’know, he’s fine with. Roscoe got one so that kind of counts, and he’s been told he’s hard to buy for with his eccentric fashion sense, doubled by the fact he has enough money that even he doesn’t know what to do with it all sometimes. He’s worn more scarves than most people have ever owned, the majority of them handed to him by his stylists and then neatly returned that same week, their loan period from the brands vying for his attention ending without much fanfare.

He’s only kept one or two that particularly held his interest, and while Lewis doesn’t know their exact price, he knows that they probably cost more than one of the team's laptops. While Lewis has long been comfortable with his wealth, every now and then it still catches him, like a missed tag in a shirt, itchy and distracting.

This was one of those times.

When he’d first seen the scarves popping up around the garage, in the early part of that season when they’re still racing in deserts and countries close to the equator, he assumed its a new fashion trend he just isn’t aware of yet. It doesn’t make sense to him the way trends usually do; the heat of the climate combined with the way all of them are so varied and different. The only connecting factor is the handmade air to them, holes and sloppy loops peppered across the lengths. He even starts to wonder if one of the mechanics partners was sending them to races with gifts.

Lewis is used to purposefully distressed fabrics, so it takes him longer than he’d care to admit to realise what’s going on. He really should have noticed when Bono got one, as notoriously intolerant to modern trends as he usually is, but it isn’t until Valtteri of all people texts him a photo of himself with one tucked around his neck and newly trimmed mullet on a cycling trip between races that he finally cracks.

———

[VB sent an image]

LH: Where the hell did you get that thing, I keep seeing them everywhere

VB: This is a moustache Lewis, you should be familiar with the concept

LH: Har har

LH: wise ass.

LH: I meant the scarf

VB: Ask your boytoy

VB: it was him who threw it at my head in Spa last week

LH: George???

VB: who else

LH: don’t call him that- since when is he buying everyone scarves?

VB: but you knew who I meant didn’t you

LH: answer the question

VB: I’m pretty sure he made it, there’s a lot of holes

LH: Since when does George knit?????

VB: these sound like questions for YOUR teammate, I have pedalling to do

VB: 👋➡️🚴‍♂️

LH: what the hell man

LH: did you seriously just ghost me rather than answer

LH: fuck you

LH: and your secrets

LH: I hope tiff beats you

LH: 🖕🏾

[Valtteri BottASS liked a message]

——

The conversation with Valtteri leaves him even more confused than he was before. Despite the fact he now has even more questions swirling around his head, he does not ask George what’s going on. The last thing he wants to do is find out why he’s been excluded from the man himself. Lewis chooses not to question exactly why that is.

He’s also glad he hadn’t asked his stylist to find it for him like he’d planned to, containing his mild embarrassment down to just Valtteri, who he’s reasonably sure won’t tell George he asked about it. Valtteri may deeply enjoy fucking with Lewis, but not enough to have a conversation with George about it. If there’s one thing Valtteri objects to on all levels it’s being involved in… whatever is going on between Lewis and George.

Lewis isn’t quite sure what it is either. They’ve been dancing around each other for years now, Lewis isn’t quite sure when George turned from colleage to friend, and he really doesn’t know where they stand now they’re teammates who spend almost every week together in some form. The formality of clear labels was lost somewhere in the late night strategy sessions and food shared at different tables across the world at every hour of the day, from late breakfasts in Qatar to eyes-barely-open meals at 3am in Singapore. He wouldn’t call George his best friend… but he’s not sure he would call George just his teammate anymore either. He’s George. Whatever that means.

That lack of definition bites him in the ass sometimes, such as cases like this one where he has no idea what he is to George in return.

In his final year with Mercedes it had only gotten harder to figure out where they stood. In the years prior it had been a little easier at least, they'd had their ups and downs as they fought the car and worked hard not to fight with each other, but they'd always settled somewhere level. George's warmth toward him had felt unshakable.

Now it feels like they're both in some kind of pendulum motion, sliding from a desire to keep some distance, to make it hurt less, to an almost clingy need to soak up the time they have remaining together. It feels silly really, it's not like Lewis is retiring, he'll still be there, a couple doors down from George...but he can't escape the reality of knowing it'll be different.

Coupling that with his already complicated and grief heavy emotions about the entire team, and the fact their needs don't exactly line up most weekends, it's been a hard year. Lewis is pretty sure he's pulled George into more hugs this season than he has any other teammate before, but that didn't stop the sting of weeks where George seemed to catch a glance at him and turn tail and run for his drivers room. He doesn't feel particularly emotionally intelligent, but the slip of pain and something pinched in George's too clear eyes had been plain as day.

He knows there's nothing he can really do about it other than let George feel what he feels, but it still felt like a balm when George would grab his hand after a good race with that crazed joy in his eyes he always got, sweat practically flicking off every strand of his hair, and smile so bright it shone reserved just for Lewis, rubbing away any awkward moments from that weekend, like when George had winced when Lewis as squeezed his hand in greeting in Silverstone, mumbling something about sore fingers that Lewis hadn't understood.

Coming into their final races together as they do now, every movement feels amplified, every gesture and discussion hangs with the weight of being potentially his last with his team the team. Thoughts about George and scarves get lost in the heat of desert tracks and a cloying grief he finally has to face head on without the facade of getting through the year. He's not sure he's ever felt this emotional in his life. Leaving Mclaren had been a breath of fresh air and a weight lifted even if he'd loved what they had achieved together. Leaving Mercedes feels like moving away from England for the first time, unsure of what will be on the other side, or if he'll be able to make somewhere foreign and so different feel like his home again. Unsure if he wants to.

George seems to almost disappear behind that. Lewis figures he's giving him time to say goodbye to his team uninterrupted. Despite the fact George had been part of the Mercedes family in a way almost as long as Lewis has driven for them, they both know there's something different about it, and he's thankful for the space. He can press down the guilty, aching and confusing emotions he has about George into a box in the back of his mind to be handled late. He doesn't have time to unpack Georges furtive, almost nervous peeking at him between monitors when he's listening to Shov present their debrief for what might be the last time.

That's does however leave him ultimately unprepared for when George does finally demand his attention, by appearing on the doorstep of his drivers room after they're wrapped up for the evening, qualifying finished and preparations for the race day concluded, with what appears to be a colourfully wrapped lump in his arms.

Lewis is still blinking at the shiny obstacle between them, overhead lights glinting off the chrome coloured paper, when George speaks.

'Sorry mate, I hope I didn't interrupt anything did I?' His voice is oddly high pitched, sounding a little like when Lewis knows he's trying to lie to Toto about how much sleep he's had.

'No man I was just packing up for the night'

'Mind if I come in before you leave? It won't take long I promise,'

Lewis murmurs a quiet uh sure as he steps back, gesturing George inside and then shutting the door behind them as he see's curious eyes in the engineering bay start glancing over toward them. Even Bono, Mike, and Marcus, still clustered in the corner as normal poking away at their laptops seem to be looking over, trying and failing to seem subtle as if Lewis hasn't had over a decade to pick up on what Bono looks like when he's trying to listen to gossip.

In the privacy of Lewis' drivers room George spins around to face him and before he can even ask what's going on, George is pushing the thing he brought with him into Lewis' grasp

The parcel isn't too dense, but there's a weight to it that feels like it has to be good deal heavier than the wrapped scarves Lewis had watched George pass out in the past, and it looks at least three times the size them. Lewis barely has a second to try and figure out what it is before George’s fingers twitch toward him, like he’s itching to pull it from Lewis’ hands and unwrap it himself because Lewis is being too slow. Wordlessly, Lewis holds the package back out, gesturing for George to go ahead, and rather than steal it back out of his hands, George crowds up into his space to start unpicking the paper.

George’s wrapping handiwork has never been strong, but Lewis can’t really pay attention to that when George is this close, towering above him but seeming almost small in his nervousness. The moment feels strangely intimate as George slips those long fingers between his own crumpled tape job, tugging the attached parts free until he pulls back the final fold to reveal his signature woven handiwork.

George steps back then, leaving Lewis holding his presented gift in a cradle of paper. Out of the corner of his eye Lewis sees him twist and wring his fingers together as he watches, but Lewis can barely focus on how George might be feeling as a wave of... something hot and warm rushes over him.

The lump turns out to be a jumper. It's a bright mustard yellow, rich and bold. Or at least, part of it is, the arms and chest in one continuous colour that ends abruptly partway down the torso when one line stops and continues in a slightly paler shade. The difference is almost imperceptible, and likely would hidden entirely if the colours weren’t butted up against each other like this, juxtaposed the way they are. Towards the hem of the thing, the colour shifts again, one step lighter for the last handful of rows falling at the waistline, the changes creating a gradient down the body. When Lewis traces it with his eyes, he can spot small areas in the neck and wrists where the pattern falters, warped patches that correct quickly but don’t quite line up with those around them. Rather than make the whole item look bad, there’s an odd personality to it, a touch of handmade individuality compared to a lot of the pristine items Lewis gets handed by his stylist, not a spec of lint in sight despite the fact they aren’t headed to a closed catwalk, but a dusty paddock.

As his fingers lift the folded bulk of it he spots a little detail along the neckline, a tiny, almost unnoticeable LH in a dark gold colour that would settle in line with his ear. Surely enough on the right side, there's a tiny 44 in the same font, the pair crowning his shoulders. Twisting the woollen form again, he sees there are tiny stars stitched into the cuffed sleeves in the same colour. There's seven by his count, and an eighth peeking out from the inner band where it would press against his wrist.

He's not sure how long they've been stood together now, silent but for the rustling of paper and the jumper as Lewis studies George's work. As he finishes his inspection he becomes aware of the anxious energy practically radiating off George in the silence that the same man finally snaps and breaks.

'I know its uh, pretty hot where we are but I figured, when you get back home- I mean when you get back to England you can- I tried to finish it earlier but-' George stumbles, words sounding unsure and faux light before Lewis interrupts him

'Did you make this?' He breaths, fingers pressing into the stitches as if it might tell him instead.

'Yeah, I wanted to make something... bigger. I know it's not quite what you're used to with the fashion stuff but I thought...well I don't know what I thought' George explains, words trailing into a lilting mumble. When Lewis' eyes dart up to meet his face, George's cheeks are glowing even in the low light of the one lamp he'd left on, face twisted as if braced for a blow. Like he thinks Lewis is going to be mad at him for this, somehow.

'George...man...'

'Sorry- It's stupid I know, if you don't like it I'll take it back, I won't be mad, I swear-' George isn't looking at him anymore, eyes darting around at his feet and his hands that he shoves into his pockets only to yank them out and wring them together again, fidgeting so he doesn't have to meet Lewis' gaze. His uncertainty makes Lewis' stomach hurt.

'It's perfect'

'I can even save the yarn, it's not actually that hard to unravel- what?'

'It's perfect, George, I really like it' He repeats, grabbing Georges arm with the hand he isn't cradling the jumper with, forcing George to stop trying to climb the walls with his eyes and look at him properly.

'You do?'

'Of course? Did you think I wouldn't like it?'

'I dunno I just- I wanted to make something special.' George rasps, surprisingly wet looking eyes boring into his. That stumps Lewis, and he has to drop his eyes back down to the gorgeous golden knit work, so undeniably a labour of care. It must have taken months, When Lewis was so deep in his own head trying to figure out if George felt anything or was just waiting for him to leave, the man himself was working in secret on something just for Lewis.

'How long did this take you?' He whispers into the space between them, not sure he even wants to know the answer, fingers still wrapped almost too firmly around Georges arm, a little worried George might run for the gates of the paddock if he lets go.

'You don't want to know- since before Imola at least. I normally just do scarves cause uh, they're just straight lines y'know.' George starts tentatively, before the dam seems to burst and he begins rambling 'I had to unpick half of it in October cause I'd counted wrong and it was shaped like a pear- there's still some wrong bits I couldn't fix, sorry about that- and I hope its the right size I had to ask Angela for them and she said they're a couple years old and-'

He continues but now it's Lewis' turn to freeze up, puzzle pieces clicking together in his head as he realises George has been working on something just for him since at least May. For over 7 months while Lewis was absorbed in fighting the car and his own emotions George was working away at something specifically for him, without even being sure if he would like it.

George has started to go off into a tangent about getting knitting needles through airport security when Lewis finally stops him, squeezing his arm.

'Why... why'd you do all that just for me?' He grits out, voice scratching against his raw throat, trying to make eye contact with George so he might read it in his face why the hell George put more effort in for him than anyone else.

'Just for you- Blimey, Lewis, cause I had to say thank you somehow, didn't I?'

'Cause I'm leaving?'

'No! No- 'cause you stayed. 'Cause you made me feel like this is my home too. 'Cause you listened to me and never made me feel too young or not good enough when I made mistakes and you never treated me like the enemy or just some guy across the garage. I know I keep saying it but you probably saved my career-'

'George- you would have been fine without me, you've always been good-' Lewis tries to interject, but George just steamrolls past him.

'Yeah but- you didn't make me figure that out on my own. I learned more in a month with you than three years at Williams. You made me a better person'

'George-'

'Please, I know it's a bit much, maybe, but I just had to do something before you left, so you knew.' George's voice cracks a little over the last words, and Lewis doesn't feel much better, eyebrows furrowed and throat clogging as he tries to choke down the indescribable feeling climbing up his throat and threatening to suffocate him in response to George's frank honesty. He's always been better at being vulnerable than Lewis.

He doesn't know what to say anymore, how to tell George that it was never a hardship to be his teammate, that Lewis was the one who struggled to articulate what George meant to him. That he's going to miss this like breathing and he wasn't prepared for that.

Words have never been his strong suit though, so instead he turns slightly and gently throws the jumper onto the nearest couch, ensuring its landed safely and ignoring Georges noise of confusion before he turns and drags George into his arms.

It's become natural, to hug George, another thing that's evolved over the last couple seasons when Lewis would have sworn himself touch averse for the most part. His arms wrap tight around George, one clutching at the middle of his back as the other skates up to cup around the back of his head, fingers slipping on shower damp hair and George's shirt collar.

George's nose tucks into his neck like routine, cheek pressed hard into Lewis' as he winds a long arm around the shorter man's neck to clutch at his shoulder, the other tugging at Lewis' shirt, gripping like Lewis is going to pull away, as if he hadn't initiated it.

Lewis squeezes harder than he imagines is probably comfortable, but George just makes a wet noise into his neck and digs his head down harder, fingers clutching tighter as Lewis runs a thumb over his hairline. There's a damp feeling growing on Lewis' shoulder but he doesn't care, he's not sure how he isn't tearing up himself, maybe he would be if he wasn't trying to memorise the feeling of how George fits against him.

It crashes over him then, blunt as a hammer, that this is what he's afraid of losing. He's afraid of losing this closeness with George when he leaves, when he's no longer going to be the experienced, advising teammate but just another obstacle on the grid George needs to climb over. He might lose the George who crowds into his space looking for Lewis to celebrate with him this way. He might lose the joy and adrenaline of George flinging himself at Lewis with the confidence that he will be caught, when it might be strange if they aren't teammates.

'I'm sorry' he blurts out, words crawling from somewhere in his lungs, only for George to make a confused noise, trying to pull back and stopping when Lewis only grips harder.

'What're you sorry about' George gets out, words wet and quiet where they are muffled against Lewis' shoulder.

'About this, the hugging, I just-' Lewis starts, but George just laughs at him, damp and a little hysterical, face tilting till their noses are practically brushing so he can look at Lewis from within his embrace.

'The last thing you ever have to be sorry for, is hugging me. You can do it more if you want'

Lewis stares at him for a second, gaze darting over George's lax but wet eyes, and the way his cheek smushes into Lewis' shoulder at an angle that must be uncomfortable but yet he makes no attempt to move away from, and yet another thing clicks into place, very much the theme of the evening. He was clearly teasing, but even Lewis can hear the truth under his words.

He brushes a seeking thumb over the nape of George's neck, dragging across the hot skin there. George shivers, fingers flexing against Lewis back, and that's all the permission he needs to tip his mouth onto Georges, lips slotting together in a kiss he hadn't even realised he'd wanted.

It's hardly picture perfect. George's face is sticky from his own tears and Lewis can taste it on his lips, his own cheeks are hot and itchy, and the angle they're at makes the seal of their mouths messy at best, and yet its the best thing Lewis has ever tasted. The hand George had at his shoulder slips along to thumb Lewis' jaw, pressing over his beard, and Lewis wants to drown in it. All his experience flies out the window in the face of following his gut and holding George as close as he can manage.

The slide of their mouths should really be indecent, wet as it is, and he's starting to think a little about being too loud, when he shifts slightly and George makes a breathy whimpering noise that sends any worries about being overheard right out of his head.

Time melts a little, as they curl together, until Lewis' neck really can't tolerate the angle anymore, and he has to pull back, panting harshly just in time for something to go clattering the the floor outside in the engineering bay, making them both jump and reminding them abruptly that they are in fact still at work, in thrown up rooms with paper thin walls that the cleaning staff are going to want to vacuum soon, as thorough as they are.

'We probably shouldn't be- well- we probably should have figured this out before now' George muses, still sounding awful breathless for an athlete Lewis seen run several miles for fun. They'd pulled apart a little in shock at the noise outside, but he's still gripping Lewis' arm, and there's that bright, beautiful smile creeping across his face again.

Lewis glances just over his shoulder, where the jumper is still lying haphazardly on the sofa.

'I dunno, Man. Better late than never?'

#asks #anonymous #gewis #mark's writing tag #f1 rpf #as you can tell by my character choices im stuck in 2022 and I refuse to leave #blink and you'll miss it shovson

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enha-hype · 3 months ago

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first snow ❄️

pairing : idol!euijoo x non idol!reader, established relationship

genre : pure tooth-rotting fluff

summary : surprising your boyfriend at work on a cold winter evening turns extra special as the first snow of the season makes its appearance <3

w.c. : 1.1k

a/n : help i'm so downbad i can't stop writing him. korea having its first snow a couple of days ago and all the idols posting about it inspired me to write this lol

You wait eagerly, your insides buzzing with excitement as you wait for your boyfriend to get done with filming. You hate how busy you’ve both been all week, to the point that you barely got to see each other despite sharing an apartment – you’d leave early for work before Euijoo woke up and then he’d come home late at night after you were asleep. With how cold the weather has been getting lately, you wish you could’ve continued with your cozy evenings and cuddly mornings together but unfortunately work had had other plans.

But it’s finally over now - you and your team managed to wrap up the project you had been working on today and you got to leave early. Euijoo had left for work earlier than he usually did in the mornings, which meant that he’d be done for the day that much sooner as well. Which is why you thought it would be perfect to surprise him.

Even from where you are sitting a good distance away in the car, you can see that he’s freezing, and it’s no wonder because it’s colder than usual today. His breath fogs up the air when he speaks or exhales. You honestly don’t know why his company thought it would be a good idea to have them film outside in this temperature. While you feel bad that he has to do this while you watch from the warmth of the car, you can’t get over how impossibly adorable he looks with all his extremities gone a soft pink from the cold – his ears, his nose, the tips of his fingers. You have to physically stop yourself from squealing every now and then as you watch him because the group’s manager is in the car with you. Whenever Euijoo gets a short break where he doesn’t have to be on camera, he pulls on his huge puffer jacket and shoves his hands into the pockets to warm them up. It makes him look so smol and cuddly and you want so badly to run out to him and you would have if you were allowed. You grit your teeth and tell yourself it’s just for a little while longer.

When he’s finally done and ready to leave, you watch with barely contained delight as the staff point him to the car you’re seated in. He looks a little confused as to why he’s being told to take a different one (he can’t see inside the car owing to the tinted windows) from the rest of his group members. Nonetheless, he obliges, thinking that maybe he has some extra work left to do as the rest of them head back. He tries not to let his disappointment show. He’s the leader, after all. As he’s making his way towards the car, you ask the manager if he would mind stepping out for a bit if he doesn’t wish to be subjected to your PDA. He complies a little too eagerly, making you chuckle. He’s probably still scarred from the time he walked in on the both of you passionately making out. The manager flashes your bewildered boyfriend a knowing smile as he walks past him.

“SURPRISE!” you squeal when he opens the door to the backseat. His eyes widen and he freezes for just a second before breaking out into the biggest smile and immediately scooching in and closing the door behind him. He pulls you into a hug, his arms locking tight around you.

“What are you doing here?” he laughs, delighted. You pull back and enclose both his hands in yours. His fingers are ice-cold.

“Jeez baby, you’re freezing!” You exhale hot air on them and rub your hands against his, hoping the friction will add to the warmth. Euijoo doesn’t mention that he has hot packs he could use in his pocket – he likes this much better. He gazes at you, his heart feeling like it’s glowing. You look up at him, at the warm fondness in his smile and can’t help smiling too. You notice his nose is still pink from the cold and you have an idea.

“What am I doing here? Hmm, let’s see . . . I’m here . . .” You pause to pull him closer and place a kiss on his lips. “. . to . . .” A kiss on his nose. “ . . . warm . .” Lips. “ . . you . . .” Nose. “. . . up!” Lips lips lips.

And that is all it takes for him to melt into a puddle – the man is a blushing, giggling mess. He nuzzles up against you, burying his face in your jacket.

“What, don’t I get any in return?” you tease. He emerges from your jacket immediately and proceeds to smother your face in kisses with his ice-cold lips. “Gahh wait,” you giggle and hold out your hand to keep him from continuing. His brows furrow in confusion, lips still puckered in a half-pout. “Cold lips,” you explain.

“Well clearly they need some more warming up,”

You give him a look as if to say is that so? but wind your arms around his neck and lean in as he does. Your mouths glide against each other’s, warmth against cold, until both of your lips are the same temperature. You run your thumb over his lips. “There. Nice and warm now?”

“Mmm. Nice and warm.”

. ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆

You’re in the parking lot of Euijoo’s favourite cafe, waiting for the manager to return. Euijoo had wanted to get hot chocolate before heading back home, but he fell asleep on your shoulder on the way and you didn’t want to wake him just yet, so the manager offered to go instead.

And it’s as you’re sitting there staring out at the pretty lights outside, basking in the quiet comfort of his presence next to you that it happens – dazzling silver flakes slowly flutter down from above, softly coating everything in a layer of sparkling white – the first snow of the season. It’s beautiful.

As if he somehow sensed it unconsciously, Euijoo stirs awake and smiles sleepily at you.

“It’s snowing!” you whisper-exclaim, squeezing his hand in excitement.

The next minute you’re both out of the car, arms outstretched while trying to catch the falling crystals. Euijoo grabs you all of a sudden, making you squeal. He lifts you up and spins you around, his face beaming as you giggle.

The manager returns with your drinks just then, and Euijoo sheepishly puts you down – although the former doesn’t mind; the parking lot is fairly empty.

“I’ll wait inside, take your time,” he says, handing you both your drinks and getting into the car.

The two of you lean against the side of the car as you continue to watch the snow drift lazily to the ground. The world feels quieter all of a sudden, softer. Euijoo touches his cup to yours and raises a toast.

“To more first snows with you,”

You return the gesture, feeling a warmth spread inside your chest despite the chilly weather. “To more first snows with you,”

« you can read my other works here »

divider credits: @hayatoseyepatch @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#kpop fluff #andteam imagines #andteam fluff #andteam #andteam ej #&team scenarios #&team fluff #&team #&team x reader #byun euijoo #euijoo x reader #euijoo fluff #&team ej #jpop fluff #jpop imagines #&team imagines #kpop imagines #&team euijoo #andteam drabbles

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abbysimsfun · 3 months ago

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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 95 (Meeting Clones in Henford-on-Bagley?!)

Despite her late Friday arrival, Heather's family welcomed her and Lavender with open arms. Winterfest wasn't far away and they planned to return for the holidays, but between guilt trips from father Neal and the birth of her second nephew, Heather had returned to her childhood home in Henford-on-Bagley for a weekend visit.

The towns were only an hour apart on the Simmerloop Superhighway, but climate in Simlandia can be strange sometimes. While coastal Brindleton Bay was coated in snow from the first day of winter to the last every year, Henford winters were grey and rainy, which usually helped Daisy's winter garden grow just as plentiful as any other season.

Daisy excitedly bounced Lavender in her arms while she caught up with her eldest child. "The Winter Harvest Festival is this weekend. Did you bring your produce?"

Heather nodded. "Thank you for letting us come one night early."

"You're always welcome, Buttercup. And how is my gorgeous granddaughter?"

"She learned to grab her toes earlier this week, and we think she's just about ready to sit on her own." Bragging about her daughter's milestones was a welcome distraction.

Heather was grateful her family didn't press her for details of her early arrival this evening. River was too busy teaching Michael not to empty his mother's paint tubes on the floor while Cass tried to get Sammy fed. Neal and Daisy were working in their garden, since their exotic produce could always draw a bit of a crowd on Finchwick Fair days.

Heather wanted to get Lavender back to bed and figure out her feelings after Conrad's confession at the dinner table. But as often as she leaned on her family, advice was the last thing she wanted right now.

She cuddled her nephews, helping River and Cass get Michael bathed and ready for bed. She stayed up late waiting for Conrad's call, though she dreaded talking to him just the same.

She wanted to be so much angrier at Conrad than she was. About the lies - over a criminal ex-girlfriend, no less - and about a lack of trust, but in truth she was already ready to forgive him. Almost. She knew what it was like to be under the spell of someone who was wrong for you. And she knew Conrad to protect those he loved with a passion she attributed to his inability to save his mother when he was young.

He'd earned the benefit of doubt, but she wanted him to know he could trust her to handle even the darkest parts of himself and his past. They were a team, through thick and thin. That's why they were getting married, wasn't it?

But she didn't want him to think he could make her fold so easily, and wanted to wait until they were together again to completely forgive him. So their phone call was short, but not devoid of their usual 'I love you.'

The next morning, her family was ready to pry into the reasons for her early arrival, and her father and brother cornered her after breakfast. "I told you Conrad went to work and he'd be investigating a d-e-a-d body all night. He wanted us to come early." She spoke carefully because four-year-old Michael was in the room.

"Is that out of the ordinary?" asked her father.

"There aren't a lot of cases like it in Brindleton Bay."

Neal scoffed. "Isn't his fancy security system enough to keep you safe? Why didn't he want you in town?"

"It's a dangerous case, and he's just worried about us."

"He lied to you, didn't he." River could read through any facade. "And now you're lying for him."

"River, please," she begged. "It's not like that."

He shot her a knowing look. "Yes it is."

She needed to be alone with her thoughts, so her family agreed to watch Lavender while she played in the yard with the family's elder dog, Bernadette, and rambunctious Michael. She focused on his childlike giggles before he went back inside to find his parents.

Taking advantage of the lonely moment, she wandered around Finchwick. The sun had come out and she soaked in the nostalgia of her hometown. Air crisp and dry, the world was quiet. She needed this.

It was still early when she heard the familiar clatter of metal - the sound of local grocers and gardeners opening their stalls to sell fresh saplings and produce to local growers.

With plans to rebuild her clinic in draft stages, Heather needed to make sure she had enough to pay the architect on completion, and she'd saved up enough for a money fruit seed. The purchase was extravagant and she should have run it by Conrad first, but she was mad enough at him to make this decision by herself.

It was an investment in her own clinic and her children's futures, anyway. Growing a money fruit tree - properly caring for and cultivating it - was a more honest way to make simoleons than the Landgraabs were doing, even if it felt like an unfair advantage reserved only for those who could afford it.

Yet with purpose she approached the flower stall with its green awning, where Everett's grandmothers, Agnes and Agatha Crumpcakes, sold seeds and blooms for decades before their deaths. Pulling out her wallet, she approached the stand ready to greet the new owners with a friendly Henford hello, only to find herself face-to-face with...Agnes Crumpcakes?

She was shocked to see none other than Everett's grandmother - (formerly?) deceased, now alive and well behind the stall curtain. "Heather Nesbitt!" she greeted warmly. "It's been too many years. How's your son, Ash?"

"He's great! So smart..." She stammered as she placed the purchased seeds in her pocket. "Mrs. Crumpcakes, is it really you? I thought you and Agatha passed away. I was so sorry to miss the funeral."

"Oh! We did die, dear. But we knew before we passed that we couldn't face an uncertain eternity without one another, so we contacted a scientist in Newcrest named Aileen Blackburn. She's slightly mad, but I mean that as a compliment - not least because she offered to clone us," explained Agnes. "She even let us keep our memories! But this time we weren't born, so we can't die. We can't even get sick now!"

Heather listened, awestruck. "Wow, Mrs. Crumpcakes, she sounds kind of amazing."

"She is! And as memory serves, I can say quite objectively she's gorgeous, too. But Agatha and I jumped at the chance for immortality knowing we'd be together. We'll never need to face saying goodbye to one another again. And the whole process was almost entirely painless."

The idea didn't sound romantic to Heather at all. Would she really want to live forever as a zombie clone to outlive her own children? Watcher, no! But she wouldn't judge Agnes and Agatha Crumpcakes for their choices.

Strange as it was, as Heather reacquainted herself with the old clones running the flower stall, she felt as though she'd known them all her life. And maybe she had...sort of.

Heather loved coming home, but as the Finchwick Fair began and the square started filling with locals, she knew her heart was in Brindleton Bay investigating a murder case. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

RECAP: I made Agatha and Agnes married and playable when I started this save - they're not cousins don't worry! - made Agatha the mother of Bob Pancakes and Agnes his stepmom (with MCCC!), and that's how I learned all the other Henford NPCs get replaced with new sims, but Agnes and Agatha get cloned. So I've actually been playing about 30 sim-years with two versions of both and I've just pretended they're the same person. I came up with the clones thing before Agnes and Agatha's playable sims died because I must have an outlandish reason why they're still around. As I got deeper into reading the adventures of mad scientist Aileen Blackburn and her family, it was obvious to me who was behind it!

In this scene Heather really is meeting the NPCs for the first time and of course Agnes loves her immediately because she's unflirty. That hug was completed Agnes-initiated!

THANK YOU @dreamyyesenia for letting me shout out the mad brilliance that is Aileen Blackburn and your epic, stunning save file! I hope you love that its now canon for me that she's the reason the Crumplebottom ladies never, ever, ever die... 😂

NOTE: When I say I will find a way to crossover mention all your stories and save files eventually (with your permission!), I very likely mean it. 😂

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #cassandra goth #agnes crumplebottom #agatha crumplebottom #henford on bagley

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studentbyday · 6 months ago

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a september packed with purpose 🏵️ (goals for the 2024-2025 academic year)

an attempt to live a meaningful life even if it's really busy.

🎓 academic goals:

stay on top of my schoolwork. not feeling like i'm running after deadlines but staying organized, calm, and methodical, even if there's a lot.

change up my study strats! turn text into diagrams! shorter focus periods followed by an active break to ease myself into the semester!

study 8h per day or less if at all possible (for official schoolwork)

👩🏻‍🔬 career goals:

finish databases courses to increase my career capital (i sped read so good they can't ignore you this summer and it was both inspiring and practical - grateful for the feeling of having a roadmap...even if it's vague.)

do everything to become so good the lab i'm interested in joining can't ignore me (i have pretty much no current affiliation with them or their university so this is gonna be an uphill climb unless maybe i seem like a perfect fit...)

🌳 lifestyle and adulting goals:

develop a can-do attitude and work on my growth mindset

continue to practice driving at least 3x per week before it snows

become a 6AM girlie (or an 8PM girlie, if you're looking at the sleeping time lol) so i have a few hours of calm, focused silence in the morning which will minimize the amount of time i need to spend studying after dinner (planning to take advantage of the jet lag and the fact that the sun sets earlier in winter, making me sleepy sooner 😠)

re-gain some level of fitness to counter my couch potato summer habits and all the sitting i'll be doing this semester

🤸🏻‍♀️ more fun goals:

apply to volunteer with my local horticultural society and hopefully start volunteering soon (hoping to work on their newsletter as that's something i miss from my high school days! something familiar will also be good for easing into my "reintegration into society" era as a previously "studying hermit". perhaps once i get so comfortable i feel like i'm plateauing, i can branch into being a volunteer gardener! i have absolutely zero successful experience with plants, so it would be really nice to have some guidance from people who've made and maintained such pretty gardens in my community 💗)

make time for piano (ideally at least 1h 3-4 days of the week, but i will be happy if i even get to touch the keys for less than 1h of practice 3-4 days a week. if i can do this, then i can more reasonably justify getting a real acoustic piano at home and maybe even take lessons again when things get less busy...and i don't have to fear not making progress or even getting worse on the digital in the meantime because my fingers and brain get re-accustomed to the acoustic feel and sound options surprisingly, happily quickly even if i only get to play on one for a few days of a year, which is already quite a privilege 🥺🙏🏻 in the meantime, i need to maintain/improve my dexterity, sight-reading skills, and theory knowledge. i don't plan to read the theory book front to back anymore, i'll just read the bits i'm most interested in and maybe eventually that will mean covering the whole book but i won't start with that intention in mind 🤷🏻‍♀️)

sOmEhOw have the energy to comprehend even 1 duolingo lesson in japanese ~daily if only to one day get to a level where i can read more japanese books (and maybe even watch some animé without subs? no pressure tho since i'm very picky about animé 😂)

💭 nice to have but not pressing:

make it a habit to read a nerdy book or academic article that isn't directly for schoolwork to help me find my research interests, learn more about labs in my physical area, and/or re-ignite my passion for/sense of wonder with STEM and STEM-related issues 🔥

each week read something from suggested/recommended course reading lists if there are any

each month read a book completely unrelated to academics, something that distracts me or that feeds my soul or both (or if i can't do that, then just 1 such book each semester, i'm just after something rather than nothing)

🐝 productivity advice from one of my role models that i want to follow religiously this semester:

prioritize rest in order to think and act fast (10 hours of sleep! downtime! meditating! gentle exercise!)

schedule down to the minute but understand that as long as you're doing what you planned to do within the hour you planned to do it, you're good (that is assuming life doesn't happen and derail the entire day's plans but most days thankfully are not like that). give yourself lots of buffer (bigger, not smaller blocks of time in the calendar!).

understand that prioritizing means that you may fall behind in the unprioritized areas from time to time and have to catch up and that's completely expected and completely fine.

be selective about what you're "perfectionistic" with (it's not really about applying perfectionism, more like being picky about where you apply extreme conscientiousness). that is also part of prioritizing.

✏️ post schedule: 1-3x a week depending on time, energy, and what that means for my mental state 😅

#cottagecore aesthetic #cottage aesthetic #cozycore #stemblr #studyspo #studyblr #study motivation #med studyblr #goal setting #astudentslifebuoy #heydilli #heyfrithams #becoming that girl #100dop #100 days of productivity #100 days of studying #100 days of self discipline

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daenerysmacfarlane · 17 days ago

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Friends Will Be Friends - Rupert Campbell-Black and Declan O'Hara

Rupert Campbell-Black x Bestie Reader, Rupert Campbell-Black x Taggie O'Hara, Declan O'Hara x fem reader 18+

Authors Note: Another Rivals fanfic from me?!!! What?!!! Told you the brainrot is real. Spoilers for Rivals, you’ve been warned. This one is not a full smut warning just a little bit of spice with our dear Irishman, Declan but also Rivals does not do Rupert as a bestie justice. The books go into great detail about how he can actually be an amazing friend, especially to Billy Lloyd-Foxe. Inspired by a shit week in my world that only didn't get to me because I'm moving in with my bestie soon. Readers nickname is Snow White which is what my nan used to call me because all animals love me hehe. Characters belong to Jilly Cooper. Enjoyyyy!!!!!

Rupert Campbell-Black was worried. It was a strange feeling, he was never worried. His time as a show-jumper taught him how to be calm and collected at all times. But the woman he called his little sister, his best friend since her birth, his Snow White on account of all animals wild and domestic loving her instantly, wasn’t “feeling great” and cancelled Friday family dinner.

Something was wrong. She cancelled dinner. She always has Friday family dinner no matter what. If she was having a bad week, it was the thing that always healed her. Especially since Taggie had joined. She was the first one Rupert told about him and Taggie and she was over the moon, after all he loved her most besides Taggie and the animals. Rupert’s hands trembled dialling the O’Hara’s number. A sweet voice belonging to his other half answered the phone.

“Rupert what is it?” Taggie’s voice calmed his thumping heart but only a little.

“It’s Snow, she cancelled dinner.” His voice cracked.

He heard Taggie call out over the phone. “Sorry Freddie, Caitlin and Daddy are watching the football. Maybe she just needs a night to herself. Daddy said it’s been rough at work and he caught her crying in her office.”

Rupert sighed, feeling guilty. He was the one who recommended Snow for Venturer. She was the perfect employee, insanely talented, hardworking and everyone adored her. Declan was more besotted with her than anyone and always singing her praises. Rupert suspected Declan’s feelings were always a little more than professional towards her.

“I’m going over there. She wouldn’t leave any of us alone if we weren’t okay. You’re coming too, don’t bring any food I’ll grab a big greasy pizza on the way.” He said.

Taggie hums. “You know she might be sick so the pizza might not be a good idea. And I have to start dinner for Daddy, Caitlin and Freddie. I assume that he’s staying, Valerie’s not much of a cook.”

“She’s not fucking sick, Tag. I know her! Fuck the dinner, bring them too. And Gertrude. Love you darling, see you in a bit.” Rupert put down the receiver.

He winced. She wasn’t sick. She would’ve told him if she was, she’s told him about her bowel movements before for Christ’s sake. He thought back to the day she was born. Rupert was ten, waiting in the hall with his dad. Snow had been born around about three hours earlier. Her dad ushered them in and told his father to say hello to his new goddaughter. Rupert fell in love with Snow the minute he saw her. A real sibling love that he never felt with Adrian. Everyone joked that Snow was his favourite sibling and she was in many ways. All the girls Rupert ever brought home were insanely jealous of her, everyone except his Tag.

He promised her dad to protect her when he passed six years ago but Rupert had been protecting her from the moment they met.

But he couldn’t have protected her from this week. It was just a week that everyone gets, that makes them tilt their head to the sky and ask any deity ‘why?’

To begin the week off, it rained sideways whenever Snow went outside. Then she had to fire an assistant audio engineer. The little shit was incompetent and it was her job as Venturer’s head of Audio but she hated conflict. She then stayed at the studio and worked until the wee hours to fix up the mix on Declan’s interview with Princess Margaret. All in all, she was sure she’d only got around 8 hours sleep all week. After a tense meeting with the rest of the consortium, Rupert’s dearest Snow White fled to her office and just sat in her chair. It was only when Declan O’Hara, absolute angel he is, came to check on her after that everything just got far too much and she had enough.

Declan sat there, brows furrowed at the bawling, snotty girl in front of him. He felt a bit guilty himself having been a bit of an ogre lately waiting for his and Maud’s divorce to go through. He felt a little selfish too as he’d actually come in to ask her out on a date… and a possible shag. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she clung to him and moaned in his ear in their late night tryst last week. Fuck, Tag and Rupert were going to kill him if they found out about that.

He was brought back by her mentioning that his daughter and Rupert were due at her house that night for family dinner night.

“I just… I can’t remember the last time I had a night all to myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever have one ever again!” She cried even harder than Declan thought a person could.

“Cancel the dinner.” Declan said.

“What?”

“You heard me. Fuck em, say you’re sick. Run a bubble bath and watch a movie.”

She sighed. “Wonderful idea, Declan but I’m a terrible liar.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll keep Taggie occupied. Football’s on tonight and Caitlin is home, I’ll just invite Freddie over. Take tomorrow off as well.” He smirked.

“I could kiss you.” She sighed.

“Could ya do more than that, darlin?”

She did exactly what Declan said, hoping to all the gods above that Rupert believed her and took Tag out to Bar Sinister like she suggested. Snow snuggled up on the couch in her fluffiest dressing gown post bubble bath, having just put a tape of Young Frankenstein in the VCR. She’d order some takeout in an hour but she just wanted to destress and enjoy the silence. She knew she’d have to thank Declan later.

Not ten minutes into the movie, there was knocking and doorbells going off. She had the latest VCR courtesy of Rupert which came with the game changing feature of pause. She paused the movie and went to the door. Snow was met with a chorus of her name for there were her friends. Rupert, Taggie, Caitlin, Freddie, Lizzie and Bas who were bored and tagged along once they found out where the group were headed. Behind them was Declan with a sheepish grin on his face. The bunch were holding all sorts of treats and drinks and Rupert gave her the biggest bear hug.

“I’m sorry it’s been a shit week, Snow. You should’ve told me.” Rupert sighed.

Her arms tighten around her best friend. “Would you have still shown up if I had?”

“Of course. You would done the same for us.” Taggie joined the hug and squeezed her.

She moved aside and the others filed into her house. Lizzie noticed the movie first.

“Ooh what are we watching?” Lizzie asked

“Young Frankenstein. I’ve only just started it. The remote is on the coffee table. Rewind it and I’ll get some of the snacks ready.” She smiled.

Declan held up the popcorn and headed to the kitchen. Snow began to follow behind when she heard Bas in the living room.

“Right how the fuck do you work this fucking thing?” Bas mutters.

Freddie’s laughter ran through the house. “Oh giz it ‘ere. They don’t call me the King of Electronics for nuffink.”

In the kitchen, Declan and Snow got the bowls out and put the popcorn in the microwave. Declan had a cigarette hanging precariously between his lips and was taking in Snow’s gown and fuzzy slippers. She looked back at the handsome man and frowned. He gave an apologetic shrug.

“I tried darlin’, I really did.”

“Oh yes I’m sure you did.” She laughed.

He smirked. “Ya got anything on under there?”

She smiled and pulled the Irishman close to her.

“Were you going to come by later to find out?”

“Nah, you needed tonight to rest. But tomorrow… you heard Maud and I are finally done?” He held the lovely girl close.

She nodded. Tag had told her earlier, glad to finally be done with Maud and her mess. It had explained why Declan had been incredibly foul all week although she knew he’d make it up to her later and she was most definitely looking forward to that. He could do that while she was thanking him. She plucked the cigarette from his lips and took a puff, something she only did in times of stress and once every six months.

“Christ, you’re magnificent.” He sighed.

Declan leant down and captured her lips. She moaned instantly, her hands going straight to his curls. The pair pulled apart and rested their foreheads together.

“Can I stay tonight, Snow?” He asked quietly.

“What about Rupert and Tag?” She replied.

He shrugged once more, not caring in the slightest. “They’ll have to find out sooner or later.”

She sighed as his hands roamed her body, resolve crumbled by the second. She met his lips again as they waited for the popcorn to cook. However it’s not the ding of the microwave that pulls Snow White away from her Prince Charming, but rather Rupert’s anguished cry after what he’s just witnessed.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” He seethed.

Snow looked between her lover and her best friend. “Well shit, cat’s out of the bag now dearest.”

#rivals hulu #jilly cooper #rupert campbell black x reader #rupert campbell black #rupert campbell-black #rivals #rivals 2024 #rupert campbell black x fem reader #rupert campbell-black x reader #declan o’hara #declan o'hara x reader #rupert x taggie #taggie o'hara

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clarisse0o · 6 months ago

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Camp Wiegman-Part 62

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5K

Masterlist

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Friday, February 26; 9:00 AM - Zoo.

"Come on, hurry up," my brother urges next to the car.

"Joan," I tease. "Stop it, please, and stay here."

"If you don't listen, we'll turn back," Lucy scolds him.

That threat earns a grumpy response from my brother. He turns his back on us, crossing his arms. I smile, keeping an eye on him in case he seriously considers walking away. Meanwhile, Lucy grabs our backpack, which we prepared last night while Joan was already asleep. Since we couldn't go yesterday, we rescheduled the zoo for today. Joan was over the moon once he figured it out. We didn’t talk about it at all yesterday. We were too busy. We ended up at a small fair with our friends after visiting the local market. My brother had completely forgotten about the zoo because of that, and in the evening, when he asked, we pretended we weren't going anymore to surprise him. It worked quite well. He's very excited now. I hope today will be better than the fair. We came home late, in the late afternoon. We offered to have our friends stay for the evening, but they politely declined, likely feeling awkward about being invited again. Perhaps it was for the best. Joan was so exhausted that he fell asleep right after dinner. We managed to get him to sleep in the guest room thanks to that. Sure, he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning and squeezed in between us, but we couldn't hold it against him. At least we almost got an entire night to ourselves. Joan sulked all morning, but it seems like his bad mood has vanished. Now he’s beaming with anticipation.

"Alright, we’re good to go," Lucy announces, shutting the trunk.

Joan spins around excitedly at the news. His smile brightens, and he looks at me, waiting for my go-ahead.

"Go ahead, but stay in front of us, okay? I don't want to lose you in the crowd."

He nods and takes the lead. I smile, following him with my hand in Lucy's. Lucy sighs softly, probably relieved that we’ve finally arrived. Joan was unbearable the whole ride. I've seen him impatient before, but never like this. It felt like he was deliberately trying to annoy Lucy, and he succeeded. I had to keep him entertained, or else Lucy would have lost her mind.

"I hope today goes smoothly," she says.

"There’s no reason it shouldn’t. Though, there are more people here than I expected," I remark. "I didn't think it’d be this busy."

"It's Friday, the last day of school vacation before the weekend. Of course, it’s packed," Lucy replies. "At least the weather is warming up a bit. It’ll be more pleasant."

I nod. It’s still a bit chilly, but unlike what one of Lucy’s neighbors told us earlier this week, the icy wind has finally died down. The snow has also melted, and in a few weeks, the temperature should finally rise. I can’t wait for that. In Barcelona, we rarely experience bad weather, if ever. It’s the complete opposite here. It’ll be tough at first, but I think I can get used to it. There are perks to the snow and cold. First, you can have fun in different ways, and with the cold, you get way more cuddles. Not that we don’t cuddle in Barcelona, but it’s much more enjoyable here, under a blanket. We reach the ticket booths. We wait a bit before it’s our turn. I handle the tickets, not giving Lucy a chance to argue. It’s about time she lets me contribute financially, even though I’m not working yet.

"I could have paid," she says once we pass the security gates.

"No," I reply cheerfully.

"Yes."

"No, and that’s the end of it. Today, it’s on me."

She rolls her eyes with a small smile before Joan reminds us of his presence by tugging on my jacket sleeve.

"Come on, Ona! We need to keep moving!"

"The animals aren’t going anywhere, you know," I say with a small laugh. "Come on, give me your hand. There are a lot of people here."

"I'm not a little kid anymore," she complains.

"That’s not the point. I just said there’s a crowd, and I don’t want to lose you."

I accompany my words with a stern look. He’s been arguing nonstop since we got here, and I’m starting to lose patience. He sighs and eventually gives me his hand. In the meantime, I turn toward Lucy, but I notice she’s no longer beside me. A brief moment of panic sets in until I spot her at a nearby map stand. I sigh in relief before dragging us over to her.

"Hey, if I tell Joan to give me his hand so I don’t lose him, it’s not an excuse for you to run off."

She laughs softly, leaning her head toward me.

"Sorry. I saw the maps and thought they might be useful."

"Haven’t you done the zoo before?" I ask, surprised.

"No. It’s a first for both of us," she says with a little smile.

I return her smile. She finally takes a map and stops when she sees my hand extended toward her. She laughs but takes it without protest.

"Alright, let’s go."

"What should we start with?" Joan asks, looking around with excitement gleaming in his eyes.

"Well, let’s check the map."

As I speak, Lucy unfolds the map. Everything is super organized. They’ve laid it out by zones based on the animals’ origins. My attention lingers on the penguins. Knowing Joan, that’s what he’ll enjoy the most.

"I’d save that for last," I say, pointing to that part of the map.

"Okay, well, let’s start here then," she points to the opposite direction.

"Should we join a tour group?" I ask, noticing one gathering beside us with a guide.

"No, that’s boring," my brother groans.

"Looks like you’ve got your answer," Lucy says.

"Alright, alright," I reply with amusement. "Just us, then."

"Can we start with the lions?" he asks.

"That’s actually over that way. Let’s go."

We move forward through the crowd to start with the African animals. Joan might be excited, but so am I. I love these kinds of outings, just the three of us. I also love animals. We linger at some exhibits and pass by others more quickly. It’s our first time here, but the layout is really well done. I’m sure we’ll come back, just Lucy and me. The zoo is organized like small villages at various points along the path. They’re often animated by staff, and they even offer activities in certain spots. We managed to get Joan to participate in one of them. He didn’t really want to at first, but in the end, he seemed to enjoy it. Then, we had the chance to feed the zebras. We were lucky to arrive at the right time. That was definitely Joan’s favorite part. Of course, the activity was supervised by staff, but they weren’t obligated to involve the visitors. The African section ends with the lions, which he kept talking about the entire time, even after all the things he got to do. I mentally note that my brother is becoming more and more spoiled and that I need to talk to our mom about it. I’m not the one responsible for his upbringing, but it’d be good for her to keep an eye on this not-so-pleasant change.

"What’s the next section?" I take advantage of my brother’s distraction to ask Lucy.

"The Asian animals. Then the Australian ones. But I think it’d be a good idea to grab lunch before that since we’ll be near a restaurant."

"Okay, that works for me," I reply with a smile.

We’ve been walking for two hours now, so that sounds like a good idea. By the time we finish the next section, I imagine we’ll be ready for lunch just before noon. It seems less busy than the one we just completed, according to the map. That’s good news, considering the crowd around us. Lucy was right earlier. The weather is mild, and it’s the end of vacation, so people are making the most of it. We’ll have to consider these factors next time if we want a more peaceful visit. Lucy kisses me and then wraps her arm around my shoulders. I keep an eye on my brother, who’s been ahead of us for a while now. He’s captivated by the lions. He’s holding onto the railing, looking down as if he never wants to leave this spot. Unfortunately, I have to burst his bubble if we want to see everything.

"Come on, Jo, let’s go."

"A little longer, please," she pleads, pouting.

"No, we’re moving on," Lucy jumps in. "Otherwise, you won’t be able to see everything. There are other animals like leopards and jaguars."

"Tigers too?" she asks excitedly.

"Of course. We’re getting to them soon, but we need to keep moving. »

Finally, without further resistance, he complied. He walked ahead of us. From the start, he had been negotiating to stop holding my hand. It must have been torture for her to see the other children running around while he couldn't. I agreed on the condition that he stayed in front, didn't run, and didn't stray too far. I also didn’t want to spend my day holding his back. So far, he had respected my terms, which was a first since this morning. Lucy had gotten so fed up with his behavior in certain situations that she left him to me to handle. She was probably right. I had noticed that the more Lucy got involved, the worse his behavior became. I imagine it will take some time for him to adjust to having someone else in my life. After all, he had never really seen me with anyone before. When I was with Mapi, he was too young to remember, which was for the best. He would probably have made a fuss about us no longer being together, given how much he adores my best friend.

With these thoughts in mind, we continued along, taking our time to observe everything. The scenery was beautiful, a peaceful place where you almost forget the disrespectful kids shouting everywhere. Almost. Lucy might complain, but at least we didn't have to deal with that with my brother. As someone who dislikes drawing attention, I appreciated this.

Finally, it was time to eat. As planned, we arrived just before noon. There was a bit of a wait, but not as bad as it could have been.

“I’m not hungry,” my brother mumbled. “Do we have to stop?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You’re not alone, and knowing you, you'll be hungry as soon as we leave.”

“But there’s still so much to see!”

“And we’ll have time to see it all.”

“But—"

“Joan, that’s enough,” my girlfriend interjected with a stern look. “My threat from this morning still stands.”

“Oh, stop. He’s been good all morning.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at me, and I pressed my lips together. Last night, she’d told me it would be a good idea to support her when she said something to Joan, to avoid making her look like the bad guy. Admittedly, apart from a few grumpy remarks, which I had managed so far, Joan had behaved well this morning. My girlfriend sighed softly and turned back to Joan.

“We’re eating now. If you’re not hungry, you don’t have to eat, but don’t complain later.”

In response, my brother groaned, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks. It seemed like his favorite thing to do since he arrived, and it was pretty funny to watch.

“Come on, move along,” I guided him with a hand on his head as we advanced in line.

“But I’m really not hungry,” he insisted, looking up at me. “My stomach hurts,” he added, rubbing his belly.

“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, eyes filling with tears. I sighed and glanced at Lucy, who shrugged. I knew she was aware, just like me, that this was probably a lie.

“Well, I suppose you can take some medicine beforehand. We brought those dissolvable sachets, just in case.”

In reality, we only had tablets. I would have crushed one if she truly needed it, as he can’t swallow them whole. It’s not like I don’t know how to do that. I also knew he hated it, which was clear when he grimaced at the idea.

“No!” he whined.

“Well, what? You’re feeling unwell, aren’t you?”

“I-I think I feel better now.”

A small laugh escaped me. I shook my head. So the negotiations were working after all. Lucy wasn’t wrong to have me handle this. It seemed effective. We finally reached the buffet, which reminded me a lot of a school cafeteria. I grabbed a tray for Joan and myself, while Lucy took care of hers. We helped ourselves to the food. Lucy and I got chicken cutlets with fries and a green salad, while Joan chose spaghetti Bolognese. For dessert, we picked cookies. I think I also slipped a few snacks into the bag in case we got hungry later. We finished with drinks—iced tea for Joan and me, and water for Lucy. Once everything was ready, I paid, and we found a table. The place was somewhat crowded but not so much that we had to wait for a table to free up.

The meal passed peacefully, with Joan chattering nonstop. It was the first time he’d talked so much, so we let him. He had just started his first year of primary school, and since I no longer lived at home, the change was pretty drastic. Not just in personality, but intellectually as well. This morning, he had fun reading all the signs to me, showing that he could read now.

“And then Paul got a new dog. It’s so cute! I wanted to go to his house to see it, but Mom wouldn’t let me.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded with her mouth full. “I wanted to have a sleepover, but we already had plans that day.”

“I see,” I chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

“When are you guys going to get a dog?”

Lucy, who had been silent until now, nearly choked. I stifled a laugh. That question caught me off guard too. I’d forgotten how unfiltered Joan could be. If anything, he talks more now than before.

“Why do you think we’d get a dog?” I asked, once I composed myself.

“Well, I already asked Mom, but she said no. So now I’m asking you guys. It’d be great! I could take care of it when I visit.”

This time, I laughed out loud. It wasn’t like he would be spending half the year with us. Besides, knowing him, even if we had a dog, he wouldn’t actually take care of it when he was here.

“We’re not getting a dog, Jo, I’m sorry.”

“But why?” she pouted.

“Well, we’re hardly ever home right now. It just wouldn’t work.”

"Home." The word slipped out before I realized it. It didn’t seem to bother Lucy, though, as she kept watching us with a faint smile. I cleared my throat and continued, giving a more realistic explanation that Joan could understand.

“Don’t you think a dog would be miserable, locked up in an apartment all alone? And dogs require care, which we wouldn’t be around to give since we don’t live in the apartment during the week.”

“Or on weekends when you don’t have leave,” Lucy teased, continuing to eat as if nothing happened.

I stuck my tongue out at her in response. She had said that on purpose. The worst part was that she was the one who enforced this “punishment.” It was funny, though, and I appreciated that she still saw me as the person I was before we got together. It meant she hadn’t labeled our relationship or changed how she viewed me. Now that I think about it, our behavior toward each other hadn’t changed either. Joan’s voice brought my attention back to her.

“But yeah, not now, duh! You could get a dog once you’ve finished school and have a house. You said you love Lucy, so that’s what will happen, right? You could have a dog then, and you wouldn’t even need a baby!”

Lucy burst into laughter—literally. Meanwhile, I died of embarrassment, hiding my flushed face behind my hands. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to say that in front of my girlfriend. I could feel Lucy’s eyes on me from across the table, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I forced myself to, though, and saw her smiling at me with amusement, clearly expecting me to respond.

“You’re really talking nonsense. We don’t know yet. And who says we won’t have a baby, huh?”

“Well, I’m already here. You don’t need one. And besides, you can’t have one anyway. I’ll just move in with you.”

Once again, Lucy snickered softly. Joan, who seemed very sure of what he was saying, pouted and crossed his arms. I bit my lip to hold back my amusement. He was definitely giving me plenty of stories to remind him of later.

“All that, huh?” I asked.

“Isn’t it a good idea?”

He was sulking. I recognized the tone in his voice when he did that.

“Where did you get all these ideas, huh?”

“Well, my friends say two girls together can’t have a baby.”

I ran a hand through my hair. He must have talked to them about me. I knew he often mentioned me to them, so it wasn’t impossible. Poor thing must have a lot of questions if he’s already discussing this with his friends—or anyone else, for that matter. It must be tough for him to understand everything at his age. I couldn’t wait for him to grow up, if only to understand this better.

“They’re right,” Lucy said. “But there are other ways.”

“That’s true,” I confirmed. “Like adoption, for example.”

I gave him the simplest version of the truth, something he could grasp. Lucy and I hadn’t had the chance to talk about it yet; it was way too early for that. But if I were to give my opinion, adoption wasn’t something I’d want to prioritize. Joan seemed to latch onto the idea instantly, and his reaction caught me off guard.

“Then you can adopt me!”

I rolled my eyes playfully and grabbed a napkin to wipe the tomato sauce covering his face. A few more seconds, and it would have dripped onto his clothes.

“And why would we adopt you, huh? You have a home with two parents. Adoption is for children who don’t have that, you know?”

I can see through his eyes that all the hopes he had thought so much about have evaporated. I don't like seeing that glimmer. I feel bad for him.

“So, you don't want me?”

“We didn’t say that,” Lucy responds. “You can come see us as often as you want, and we’ll visit you in Barcelona too.”

“But… I want to stay with you! You’re way too far from home, and Mom and Dad aren’t around much anyway.”

I give him a sad smile. I know what that’s like, unfortunately. I run my hand through his hair before pulling him into a hug. He lets himself go without any fuss.

“I know, sweetheart, but we can’t do any better. It’s not that we don’t want you, but you can’t just leave home like that. Besides, Lucy and I will probably have another busy year ahead. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t take you in permanently.”

I think about the opportunity at the Art school for me and the opening of the gym for Lucy. This upcoming year will be just as busy and complicated as this one, if not more. I dread it as much as I’m excited to see what the future holds. I’m still waiting on a phone call, and I’m starting to worry that I haven’t heard back yet. Lucy says it’s normal, and I hope she’s right.

“Hmm… I would have preferred to live with you anyway,” he admits.

I don’t know what’s going on at home, but there’s clearly something wrong. I think I’ll call my mom when I get the chance. If Joan isn’t feeling comfortable there anymore, I need to know so I can get my mom to react. There’s no way I’ll let him go through what I went through. I know how that ends, and if we don’t find the right person to help, things can go very wrong.

“Alright,” Lucy interrupts. “We should finish up quickly if we still want to do everything.”

This news brings a small smile to my brother’s face before he quickly resumes where he left off before our conversation.

“Slow down, please. Otherwise, you’ll really get a stomach ache.”

He nods but doesn’t slow down, which makes Lucy and me laugh as we exchange a glance. She may not have said much at the table, but I know she heard everything. I’ll ask her what she thinks about it all when we’re alone. We finish dessert, then head off to explore another area. Even though Joan claimed he wasn’t hungry, he still ate well. The day goes on, and surprisingly, Joan has become calmer than before, which delights my girlfriend. It’s understandable. As much as he pushes her limits, it’s annoying to have to constantly put him back in his place when we’re supposed to be having a good time. He must have realized that his tantrums don’t work with us. Maybe I should call Sofia as well to see how she reacts to his. Unlike my mom, I don’t doubt Lucy knows how to manage him as I do. It’s just that my mom doesn’t have patience for this sort of thing, so it’s very hard for her to react calmly. She loses her temper rather than defuse the situation.

“Hey,” Lucy calls out after a while. “Stop worrying. It can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t know,” I admit with a small, anxious smile. “We’ll see. I’ll call my mom tonight. I need to know what’s going on.”

She nods understandingly before giving me a soft kiss. Unfortunately, it’s the moment Joan turns around. His new habit is to let out disgusted noises whenever he sees us. But it seems he didn’t hear the rest. We change the subject as we finish this park, which Joan seems particularly fond of. It’s true—it’s very well done. We’ll definitely come back.

Friday, February 26th; 9:00 PM – Lucy’s apartment.

We’re back home. Everything is peaceful. It was six o'clock when we got back. The day was good. We all enjoyed it, especially Joan, who has already showered, eaten, and even gone to bed. He fell asleep in the guest room without even protesting. In fact, he went there on his own with his new penguin plush. We managed to finish the park, and it seems I was right—Joan loved it, and I couldn’t resist buying him a plush when he asked for it. He earned it with how well he behaved in the afternoon. As for Lucy and me, I had just settled on the couch with Netflix on in the background. I had already showered, and Lucy should be joining me soon. I hadn’t heard the water running in the bathroom for about five minutes. Now that everything is calm, I wanted to call my mom. Joan’s behavior wasn’t normal. I knew he had behavioral issues, but now we needed to figure out why. Nothing ever happens for no reason. It seems like everyone’s already forgotten what happened with me. I’m not going to let them forget. Just as I was about to call, an unknown number appeared on my screen. I don’t recognize it, but it seems to be from here, from Manchester. I frown, intrigued by the late call. Could it be Feli? Would she really come here? How would she even know where I am? The thought makes my stomach knot. I inhale slowly, glancing behind me to check if Lucy is around. Not yet. She’s still in the bathroom. After the fifth ring, I force myself to pick up.

“Hello?” I answer cautiously, my voice uncertain.

“Miss Batlle?” a voice asks.

“Yes...?”

“Hello, this is Bennett Fields! I’m sorry to call so late. I lost track of time,” he says with a small laugh. “Am I disturbing you?”

Bennett Fields, Bennett Fields... Oh! He’s the gallery director. I immediately sit up straighter on the couch, as if he could see me from afar.

“No, no! I’m at home,” I tell him.

“Good.”

If he were in front of me, I’m sure I’d be able to see his smile. It’s amazing how you can read him so well.

“How are you?”

“Well, I’m pretty nervous now that you’re on the line,” I admit, which makes him chuckle. “And you?”

“I’m well, thank you. I apologize for not contacting you sooner. I had a rather busy week. I know I said I would get in touch with the person who sent me your drawings, but I preferred to speak with you directly.”

“No problem.”

In any case, I would’ve gotten the answer tonight since the other person is also in this apartment. I now understand why he asked for my number at the end of our meeting. He seems to like dealing with people directly, which is completely normal.

“I’m calling to follow up on our meeting.”

“I figured,” I reply with amusement.

I like the way we talk. I should be stressed, but he puts me at ease. His laugh is contagious.

“You impressed me a lot, Ona. Certainly not by your lack of experience, but by your undeniable talent.”

Blushing, I feel flattered to hear that from a professional.

“So, here’s the thing. I have a proposal for you. Of course, as we discussed, it would mean going back to school. Are you still okay with that?”

“Of course!”

We haven’t discussed next year much with Lucy yet, but we both kind of know what to expect.

“Good. However, the offer wouldn’t be for the Manchester gallery…”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a bit worried.

“Well, here’s the thing. My gallery is expanding. I’m developing new locations in the region. I’m about to open one in Cardiff, and I’m putting together a team. I think you’d be a great fit there, under the direction of my new manager.”

Cardiff? The news leaves me speechless. What should I say to that? I definitely can’t accept such an offer on the spot. My lack of response prompts him to speak.

“I know it’s a big decision to think about. You’ve already traveled a lot, but this would be an excellent opportunity for you.”

“It definitely requires some thought…” I murmur.

“I didn’t expect an immediate answer. I’ll give you time to think it over. Just so you know, there’s also an Art school there, and the program can last two to three years, depending on the student’s choice.”

Two to three years? My vision blurs. There’s no way I’m staying away from Lucy for that long!

“If you’d like, we can schedule another meeting in two weeks. Do you think you could get some time off from school for a weekday meeting?”

“I-I’ll have to check.”

“Well, call me when you know. That way, we can set up a time to meet and talk face-to-face. Can we do that?”

“Yes, we can do that. I’ll call you then.”

“Great! Well, I wish you a good evening. Talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon, Mr. Fields.”

I hang up, completely overwhelmed by the conversation. Damn it! I think I’d have preferred if he’d just rejected me rather than making me face such a decision!

“Who was it?”

I jump, not having noticed Lucy’s presence. I turn toward her as she slowly approaches to sit beside me.

“Ona?” she calls gently. “Is everything alright?”

“I think we need to talk…”

Concern flashes across her eyes. Oh yes, she has reason to be worried. If she only knew how I’m feeling inside right now... I almost feel like crying.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #ona batlle #barca femeni #lionesses #woso soccer #sefutbol fem #ona batlle x lucy bronze

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boy-comics · 15 days ago

Text

HOME SICK

── .✦ pairing; jungsu x gn!reader

── .✦ summary; home is a complicated word.

── .✦ word count; ~6.0k

── .✦ tags; alcohol use, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, fluff, small town romance, childhood best friends to lovers, not actually unrequited love, seungmom™, momsu™, the mortifying idea of being known

── .✦ a/n; still alive!!! happy valentine's day everyone n just know that i am sending you all a big heart <3

Stifled and sweaty inside your layers of winter wear, the heat in the car turned up to the max, you sit boneless in the passenger seat and wish for the summer.

"We missed you, you know," Seungmin says behind the wheel. He seems unfazed by the temperature, not a drop of sweat on his brow. "Now we'll get to hang out again like we used to."

You hum.

The reason the heat is still blasting is because you had told Seungmin earlier that the plane was freezing. Telling him that it's too hot now feels like an inconvenience, and you don't feel like removing your coat.

"I visited in September," you say.

Your cousin sniffs loudly, the telltale sign that he's about to start nagging. "That was three months ago," he says, "and you've called maybe twice since then." You lean against the window, closing your eyes when the cold glass sticks to the side of your head. "And you mostly slept the whole time. Plus, you completely avoided Jungsu, who didn't even know you were visiting home—"

You keep your eyes firmly closed when his name comes up. "Does he know what happened?"

"I didn't tell him …" He trails off, and your heart sinks before he even continues. "But … Auntie must've, because he confronted me about it last week. I'm sorry. You know how your mom is." His tone is softly apologetic as you exhale. "He was pretty hurt you didn't tell him yourself."

You know.

That had been your plan, telling Jungsu. But the shame hasn't eased like you had hoped, and before you knew it, two weeks had passed and it currently roils in your stomach along with guilt when you think about seeing Jungsu in person now.

You just didn't want him to know you're a failure.

"Maybe this is for the best." Seungmin turns into the exit, calm despite the flurries of snow flying into the windshield. The roads have long since been salted and you think you can feel each chunk being ground to dust underneath the tires. "Think of it as a time to finally rest? All you did for the past two years was work."

"I got laid off right before the holidays, Seungmin. This isn't really a vacation."

His eyes dart over to meet yours for a split second before you look out at the snow-covered fields blurring by.

Seungmin sighs a little. His hand finds your shoulder, patting it through the winter layers.

"I know. Just trying to help."

That's all anyone in this town ever does, you think, the sounds of the heater and the rumble of the tires taking over what's left of the conversation.

—

Your childhood bedroom is the same as you had left it. Well, mostly; the decade-old bedsheets have since been cleaned, and there are fresh tracks in the carpet from when your mother had vacuumed earlier today. You leave your suitcases and bags by your desk to unpack later.

"Auntie told me to stay for dinner," Seungmin tells you, falling back onto your bed and unlocking his phone. "So you'll have to put up with me for a couple more hours, at least."

"You're not gonna help with dinner?"

"I offered, but I got permission to hang with you instead."

"Suck-up," you say, and Seungmin rolls his eyes upward, poking his cheek with one finger.

You join him on the bed, taking a peek at his messages. He lets you be nosy. This is what you do best when you spend time with Seungmin—even now, you guess, you're just a kid in grownup clothes, watching your cousin navigate life and relationships with a maturity you try your best to emulate. You envy him as much as you love him, sometimes.

While watching him catch up on his mutuals' Instagram posts, your own phone buzzes beside you. Reluctantly, you flip it over, and your mouth parts when you see the notification.

"Who is it?" Seungmin asks, eyes still glued to his screen.

"Um," you slowly swipe the lock screen away, "Jungsu."

His attention turns to you fully when you admit as much. "What'd he say?"

You open your messages, a little self-conscious as Seungmin scoots closer to see the conversation. The last time you'd texted Jungsu outside of the group chat was a month ago, when you were still blissfully unaware of the upcoming layoffs and merely amused by a funny animal video that reminded you of him. The thumbnail of the cuddly, sleep-rumpled kitty is halfway visible, Jungsu's emoji-filled reply nestled right between it and the text he had sent just now.

jungsu: was your flight okay?

"Does that sound … passive aggressive to you at all?" you ask tentatively.

Seungmin squints at the message, scratching his head. "Nah, I don't think so. He's just asking."

"Okay."

you: it was fine. seungmin picked me up ^^

jungsu: good!!

jungsu: i wish i could've gone to the airport too to welcome you ㅠㅠ

you: me too haha but it's ok

"He should be off work in about an hour," Seungmin tells you, then nudges your shoulder with his own. "You want him to come over for dinner? Your choice."

The thing is, you should say yes. It should be as natural as breathing, because that's how it had been for as long as you can remember, and because Jungsu is probably still a little upset even if he doesn't admit it.

But you hesitate, and Seungmin takes it as a no.

"If it's too many people, that's—"

"No, it's okay. I don't want to leave him out," you murmur, already typing.

Like Seungmin, Jungsu will be in your life until its unspectacular end. And despite how distant you've been lately, that is still where you want him to be.

you: seungmin's staying for dinner, u wanna come over too?

—

An hour later, the doorbell rings, and you open the door to a stiff breeze, stray snowflakes, and Kim Jungsu.

His nose and cheeks are rosy from the cold. The front bangs of his hair (blond, freshly dyed, longer) stick out from underneath the knitted cap he's had since high school, dusted with snow, and the white of his breath dissipates before it can reach the toasty threshold of your home.

(You think, as you always have, that he looks pretty.)

His eyelashes flutter when he meets your gaze.

You bite the bullet. "Hey."

"Hi," he breathes.

You move to let him inside. He quickly sheds his winter gear, and you get a whiff of ginger and fried food when he gives you a hug.

"Welcome home," he whispers before he pulls away. He smiles at you, and even though you look for it, you can't find a single drop of resentment.

You manage to give him a small smile in return. His hands are a bit cold when they squeeze yours once, but the rest of him is warm. You try not to linger too close.

"Yo, Jungsu!" Seungmin leans over the back of the couch just a few feet away, and Jungsu walks over to hug him as well. "How was work?"

"Good, just busy. Some out-of-towners are staying the night because of the storm warning."

"Oh." You trail after Jungsu and Seungmin to the kitchen, where your mother has set the food out. Jungsu greets your mother affectionately, and she responds in kind before filling her own plate and heading to the living room to allow the three of you to gossip. "Anyone our age?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

"You know the only people that pass through here are old couples and families with little kids," you say, settling into your chair. The arrangement is the usual one—you on the side closest to the sink, Seungmin on your right, Jungsu right across from you. "We've never had anybody our age stop here for the night."

Seungmin points at you with his spoon. "No, there was that one guy when we were in high school, remember? The one with the shady van. Our moms thought he was trying to sell us drugs."

"He told me he was an artist," Jungsu adds, "but the entire time he stayed at the inn, I didn't see any artwork or supplies. He just had a small duffel bag that he carried everywhere."

"Drugs," you say.

"Or money from drugs," Seungmin says.

"He was really creepy." Swallowing his food, Jungsu leans forward as if you hadn't talked about the strange man countless times before, on nights just like this. "But he paid for the two nights he was here."

"In cash, right?"

"Yeah."

"If he was an artist," you say, thoughtfully, "he would have painted the view behind the inn."

Jungsu nods with a smile. "I think so, too. I don't think an artist would've ignored it." His glance towards you sticks. You shift just slightly in your seat as he chews his bottom lip and then asks, tone careful, "Do you guys want to go tomorrow morning? The sunrise will be pretty after the snowstorm."

"Sure," Seungmin readily agrees. He raises his eyebrows at you. "[Y/n]? You game?"

You open your mouth for a reply that you haven't yet formed. "... Oh, um," you finally say, nervous from the two pairs of eyes peering over into yours, unassuming and familiar though they are. "I don't know. I'm kind of tired from the flight ..."

Seungmin's mouth presses into knowing disappointment at the corners. Jungsu blinks and nods; his hopeful smile shrinks the tiniest bit, though to you it might as well be by a mile.

"Ah, right, you should rest," Jungsu replies in a softer voice, and he reaches across to pat the space in front of your bowl. "Maybe later this week?"

You stir your food around. "Sure."

"I can still meet you at the inn tomorrow morning, Jungsu," Seungmin says. He keeps his gaze on you. "I'll leave at seven, so if [Y/n] is awake, we can walk there together. Sound good to you, [Y/n]?"

The offer is well-meaning. You wonder how much pity your cousin holds for you right now, for it certainly bleeds into your own self-pity, and there is not much for you to do in response other than bob your head half-heartedly. Underneath the table, Seungmin's foot bumps yours.

The three of you finish dinner in relative silence.

And yet, after you use your excuse of fatigue once more and hug them goodbye for the night, taking a hot shower and settling into bed, you set your alarm for a quarter to seven.

—

"You're here." Jungsu sounds surprised within the warmth of his scarf and winter jacket. "You're not too tired?"

You note how the snow rises up above your knees as you nod slowly. Jungsu's eyes crescent with a hidden grin, and he takes a hold of your arm as the three of you march across the yard towards the edge of the hill behind the Kim family's inn.

Jungsu's family has owned this property for several generations, but it was only during his granddad's generation that they had decided to develop it and make a bit of money off the folks who pass through your hometown. The building is a small thing, but it is clean and very well taken care of, and the meals are always warm.

The best part of the inn, however, is the view.

It's still pretty dark outside. You stop at a bench, brushing it off and sitting down between Jungsu and Seungmin while you observe the thin sliver of orange peeking out from behind the trees.

"It's too cold."

"Don't fall asleep," Seungmin teases. "You'll get hypothermia."

"I won't," you grumble, though your eyes are half-lidded. "Jungsu has the coffee, doesn't he?"

"Here," Jungsu says, handing a small thermos to you before suddenly retracting. "Ah, wait. It might still be too hot." He unscrews the lid, steam bursting upward into the icy morning air and then sideways as he blows over the top of the drink a few times, taking a tentative sip before deeming it acceptable to share. "Okay, here."

He brings the thermos almost to your lips, but then seems to think better of it and simply hands it over with a slight blush, though not quick enough to beat the blood crawling to your cheeks.

"Thanks, Mom," you mutter, drinking from the cup. Truthfully, the drink is more of a hot chocolate, with some instant coffee added in. You refrain from being greedy and pass it to Seungmin.

Mouth and throat and stomach now warmed, you settle back, watching the sky as the darkness slowly peels farther and farther back.

When you hold your breath, you can almost hear the sun stirring underneath the indigo.

"I think you're right, Jungsu," Seungmin says over the lip of the thermos. "This is going to be a really good sunrise."

"They're always extra beautiful after a storm."

"Wow. Deep."

"It's too early and cold for deep thoughts," you mutter.

Jungsu tilts his head. "Do you need more layers? We have some inside."

"Oh, no, it's okay. I'm just finding things to complain about ..." still, Jungsu's brow remains furrowed, and you stumble slightly over your words, "as one does ..."

"Have some more coffee," Seungmin says, pushing the thermos in your direction.

You do as you're told.

The red-orange dappling the clouds has given way to something light and golden. As the minutes creep by, the sun shows itself above the trees, a shock of bright yellow whose glow reaches out and up.

It's blinding, the light, but you look anyway, wondering how something you've seen a million times can still feel like the first.

"Wow," you state into the still air, mostly to yourself.

The boys hum in agreement. You continue staring at the sky, hearing Jungsu finish rest of the coffee and snap the lid shut.

"I have to pee," Seungmin says suddenly. "See you guys inside for breakfast?"

You blink rapidly. As your cousin stands up, leaving only you and Jungsu on the bench, the slightest bit of nerves overtakes you. "Oh, I—"

"Okay," Jungsu says at the same time you start to stand, and you freeze. He is still seated, though now he casts you a surprised glance. "Oh. Do you have to go too?"

You avoid Seungmin's eyes and slowly sit back down, shaking your head. "N-No, I just thought we were all going now. Let's stay for a few more minutes."

"... Alright."

The crunch of Seungmin's boots through the snow fades into the distance as the two of you look back at the pale sky. Golden sunlight brushes the expanse of snow at the bottom of the hill, smooth and bright.

You burrow your chin into your scarf, the winter morning showing its bite in exchange for the view it is granting you.

"It's really pretty."

Jungsu's soft voice breaks through the silence. His expression is one of perfect contentment; his eyes catch the early light in a gentle way, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words.

When he meets your gaze, you smile quickly with your eyes, and a laugh like a small bell escapes through his scarf.

"[Y/n]," he says, "I'm glad you showed up."

"You didn't think I would."

"I hoped you would. You usually do, even though you always complain about waking up early." Jungsu pauses for a moment, and then his gaze flickers downwards. "But ... I don't know. It's been a while, I guess, so I just didn't want to get my hopes up."

He doesn't have to specify that he's talking about more than just the sunrise.

"I'm sorry." The apology is quieter than you had thought it would be, and the shame speaks louder than you had anticipated. You clear your throat. "Are you still upset with me?"

"Honestly?" He sighs. "I was still pretty upset until yesterday. But then I went to your house, and you opened the door—and then, well. I was just happy that you were back."

Oh. "Oh," you say.

Jungsu is quiet again. He tugs on the fingers of his gloves, and you track the movement idly, hyperaware of the hands that those gloves keep warm, steady hands that hold and play and tap. You swallow. Your throat feels tight.

"Can you promise me something, though?"

"Yeah?"

"Just be honest with me from now on," he requests. "We're best friends. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

"I know, Jungsu." The sentence is little more than a breath, but he hears you nevertheless, and he smiles before making a noise of realization.

"Ah, right, we should head inside, huh? Seungmin's probably waiting."

"He's a patient guy ... it's cold, though."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that once or twice."

You chuckle sheepishly as Jungsu stands and holds out a hand, helping you up. The sun shines behind your heads while you walk back to the inn, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You think about what he had said, and about the feeling of his hand in yours, and your heart clenches as if in warning.

Anything, but not everything.

—

Two weeks pass, and the boys still find things to keep you busy nearly every day. You suspect that it is partially at the request of your parents and partially due to worry they had mustered on their own; you are currently unemployed, after all, and they fear that idleness will make you depressed or delinquent or some other "D" word that describes small-town people your age whose hopes and dreams have been crushed by the big bad world outside. If you occupy yourself with cooking dinners and buying groceries and taking snowy winter walks, you won't have time to spiral into despair (which also starts with "D").

Today, the activity is preparing classroom decorations for the new year. Seungmin has tasked you with making lanterns and people out of colored construction paper, and so you have cluttered the table in the corner of the inn's dining area with clippings of various colors, being careful not to drop any on the floor.

"Wouldn't it be easier to print a coloring page and cut them out?"Jungsu asks after he finishes cleaning the other tables, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a way that looks too good to have been done thoughtlessly. He leans over your shoulder, and the back of your neck prickles with heat. "Where's Seungmin, anyway?"

"Went to the store to get more stickers and colored duct tape," you say, unsheathing a craft knife to tackle the more minute details. "He'll probably come back with snacks, too."

Jungsu hums. "You're good at this," he says, sitting down next to you and picking up a cutout. You had clothed it in layers of different-colored shapes of paper, and he inspects the hem of their skirt with the tips of his fingers. "I bet you could become a teacher's aide for Seungmin's classroom."

"Probably." You take the cutout from him to paste googly eyes onto it. "Waste of my degree, though."

"… Well … I don't think we have any good tech startups around here. Or any at all. Maybe an IT job?"

You remain noncommittal, cool, even as the thought of job hunting all over again fills you with gut-curling dread. "That's probably what I'll end up doing," you say. "Not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

Your voice must hold more bitterness than you think, because Jungsu looks a bit uncomfortable at your words, furrowing his brow.

"Is it really that bad to live here?"

Count on you to sour the mood again. "I—no," you reply slowly, "but I mean, come on, Jungsu. You know all the good-paying jobs for me are in the city, right?"

"Seungmin and I are doing okay," Jungsu defends.

"Your family has been here forever and runs a business here, so of course you'd stay. And Seungmin is Seungmin. He'll be okay wherever he is." You tilt the cutout back and forth. The googly eyes move in response. "But I'm just me. I have to take every opportunity I can so I don't waste my life."

Jungsu opens his mouth and then closes it. His lips purse, and you can tell that you've displeased him.

(Jungsu has always been the sentimental type. He has found his dreams within the realm of your hometown; even while you both had gone to college in the city and been dazzled by the promises of big careers and changing the world, in the end, he had kept his love for the simple comforts of family, the inn, and the known. And so he had come back to stay. You understand, and at the same time, you don't think you ever will.)

"I'm never going to change your mind," he replies, laughing a little dryly. "Am I?"

"Probably not."

"Geez ..." A long sigh escapes him. He fixes you with a wistful smile and picks up a pair of scissors. "Then I guess we should keep putting you to work while you're stuck here, wasting just part of your life."

You kick him underneath the table. Jungsu snickers, taking a sheet of paper to cut out the lantern trapped in the middle of it.

The box of permanent markers is on the other side of where he's seated. You stand up slightly to reach around him, hooking your fingers over the edge of plastic and dragging it closer.

"You could've just asked me to pass them to you."

"Well, you were being mean, so"—you make the mistake of turning your head to look at him, and promptly choke at the close proximity—"so, uh ... um ..."

He tilts his head unbearably slowly, blinking up at you with a look of both amusement and bewilderment as you make a fool of yourself once more. Your eyes trace down the slope of his nose and pause on his lips, and your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.

"... Are you okay?"

Soft.

"I'm ffine," you blurt, sitting down swiftly with a hot face. You do your best to hide it from him. "Stop slacking and go back to work."

"Now who's being mean?"

Jungsu gets up after cutting out the rest of the lantern, pushing it and the offending box of markers closer towards you. He pats your back gently before sauntering off to continue his daily tasks.

—

"Aw, look. It's Ankle Sprain Seungmin."

Seungmin drops his head back against the couch. "Once again, that's the dumbest thing you guys could have ever called me. C minus. F, even."

"It's more about how you got it," you explain, elementary school yearbook propped up against your torso as you tap a scrawny, cheeky-looking Oh Seungmin in the corner of one page. "It was a warm spring day, and you just had to show Kim Hayeon that you could jump down from the top of the jungle gym." Seungmin rolls his eyes. Jungsu bites down on his bottom lip, muffling a laugh, and you continue somberly. "Instead, you sprained your ankle and we had to carry you to the nurse's office."

"It actually worked, though," Jungsu counters. "Because Hayeon came up to him afterwards and asked if he was okay."

"All part of the plan. She thought I broke my ankle and was pretty worried for me."

You give a thumbs down. "Boo. Lamest way to pick up a girl."

Your cousin shrugs and takes a swig of beer. He purses his lips, flicking at the tab of his now-empty can as he says casually, "Didn't you have a crush on our homeroom teacher in sixth grade?"

This time, Jungsu bursts into laughter. "Oh, my god, you totally did!"

You slam the yearbook shut, mortified, and hit Seungmin over the shoulder with it. The jerk doesn't even have the decency to look sorry. "Shut up! Why would you even bring that up?!"

"What, I can't counterattack?"

"You're older than me, so you have to put up with it."

Seungmin squints. "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"No! Jungsu, you're the oldest. Tell him to toughen up."

"Okay, okay," Jungsu steps in, hands out in a placating gesture even as he recovers from his laughing fit. "Let's just say you're both even now. We all had embarrassing crushes."

"Speaking of which, Jungsu, I only remember you having one crush in high school," Seungmin says. "What was her name? She was in choir."

"Oh Jimin," you answer.

You remember Oh Jimin.

"Yeah, Jimin. She had a really nice voice."

"She did," Jungsu agrees. "I was too nervous to ask her out, though. She actually got married last year to one of her classmates."

"Really?"

Seungmin pulls his phone out to show you the wedding photos on Instagram. You look with mild interest. She's beautiful, has that glow that brides have. Her smile is the same. You remember when it would reduce Jungsu to wide-eyed, red-faced silence.

Seeing her now makes you feel guilty for the resentment you held for her as a teenager.

"Seungmin, please get married soon," you say, attempting to redirect yourself. "People will start to think something's wrong with the three of us if you don't."

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. "Find me someone to date, first," he shoots back. "And why should it be me? Why don't you or Jungsu get married?"

The 'or' in the second sentence does a lot of heavy lifting in your mind.

You cross your arms, scoffing. "To who?"

"I dunno." Seungmin pauses. Then, to your horror, he lifts a finger and waggles it between you and Jungsu. "But at this rate, if both of you are still single in twenty years, you might as well marry each other."

It's almost two o'clock in the morning. Perhaps you can blame what happens next on the late hour, or on the presence of alcohol, or maybe if you are really honest, you can just blame it on yourself.

Jungsu's cheeks have long been flushed, but you wonder if they've become just a little darker when he responds, chuckling, "O-Oh, no. No, [Y/n]'ll find someone before then."

You blink, your heart ripped in two.

"Wow, not even a maybe?" You do your best to sound upbeat, but your voice pitches oddly at the end, and you know Jungsu notices when his smile stiffens. "Am I that bad?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No, I meant that you'll find someone else—"

"But what if I didn't?"

The living room falls silent. The way Jungsu's expression turns pained tells you all you need to know.

Seungmin utters no more than half your name before you stand up and dash out of the room.

Your cousin's house is small. You reach the guest bedroom within seconds and fumble with the doorknob to open it, closing the door hard behind you.

Your feet carry you towards the hidden space between the bed and the far wall. Once you sit down, what feels like a decade's worth of waterworks turn on, and you cover your mouth and sob.

You had imagined Jungsu's rejection time and time again. But recently, you had also begun to think that, maybe—

Well. Maybe it was never.

Hiccuping, you draw your sleeve across your eyes.

Why would he even want you, anyway?

You spend what feels like hours wiping your face until your nose and cheeks feel scraped raw. More than once, you think you are finished, only for Jungsu's pitying expression to resurface in your mind and open the wounds all over again.

But eventually, the tears begin to run dry, and that's when you hear a knock at the door.

"[Y/n]?" It's not Jungsu, but Seungmin. His tone is coaxing. "Can I come in?"

You gulp. The backs of your eyes ache, and you wipe your nose. "Okay."

The latch bolt clicks. You hear the sock-clad footsteps of your cousin approaching before he sits down beside you.

He says nothing for a moment. When you lean against him, eyes closed, he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Seungmin says. "I don't know why I said it. You can hit me, if you'd like."

"You know, don't you?"

Your voice is tiny. Seungmin squeezes you and exhales slowly, and you slump, defeated.

"Yeah."

"Does he know?"

You are deprived of an answer for a good minute. Finally, Seungmin clicks his tongue softly, and he says, "I think the two of you should talk to each other and clear everything up."

"He knows, doesn't he?"

"If he does, he'll tell you. He's still here, if you're willing to talk to him now. I just figured I should check on you first. But you need to talk to him and he needs to talk to you."

"I don't want to."

"But you have to," Seungmin says. His warmth leaves you, and you look up at him desperately as he grabs the throw blanket on his bed and tucks it around you. "You're strong. However it goes, you'll get through it."

The corners of his lips quirk upwards. You can't manage a smile, but his words touch your heart, and you curl into yourself.

"He's still here?"

"Want me to go get him?"

You nod almost imperceptibly.

A few moments later, Seungmin returns with Jungsu and a glass of water. The glass of water is given to you, and Jungsu receives a pat on the back before your cousin leaves the two of you alone.

You bring the glass to your lips and take a long, thin drink. It's cold, but not too cold, with no ice. It makes you feel marginally better.

Eventually, Jungsu speaks up hesitantly.

"Can I sit down?"

You nod, not looking at him.

So he sits down beside you, carefully moving the blanket wrapped around you so as not to sit on it. He brings his knees to his chest. There is an inch of distance between you and him.

You rest your mouth on the rim of your glass, the water touching your lips but going no farther.

"[Y/n] …" Jungsu starts. "I'm really sorry."

The second rejection stings more than punches, alcohol over the raw cut. You breathe out steadily.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"I hurt you." You can hear the quiet shake of anxiety in his voice. "I shouldn't have laughed, but I—I got nervous, and then your question caught me off guard, too, and I panicked and didn't know how to reply—"

"Jungsu." You turn to meet his eyes, and you hear him swallow. "I'll be fine. It was a stupid question." You rip your gaze away again, digging your toes into the carpet. "Deep down, I think I already knew it wouldn't happen, anyway."

Jungsu is quiet for a long time.

You realize, with a shameful belatedness, that this is a painful conversation for him as well. Jungsu feels others' emotions like they are his own. He shies away from negative ones, sensitive to them like paper to a flame, and more often that not he appeases them with tight smiles and agreeable responses.

But here, in the dim lamplight of the bedroom, he is holding himself over the fire. He cannot run anymore, just like you.

He finally speaks, his voice nearly a whisper.

"It's not because I don't feel the same way."

Your world stops on its axis.

Your head snaps up. You stare at him with wide eyes. He faces you fully, and you scan his expression for a hint of dishonesty, but it is once again nothing but open. He looks sad. Small.

"What?" you rasp.

"I would," he confesses. "Marry you twenty years from now. Or ten, or five. If I had moved with you to the city, or if you moved back here with me. But we're ... I don't think I could make you happy."

You are sure this is your third rejection. But you are still reeling, because it sounds like it is not your feelings that he is rejecting.

"You're afraid to even try."

"You have bigger dreams than here."

"You had bigger dreams once, too. We could have been together in the city." Old grievances rear their head like a reflex to pain, souring your tongue. "But you backed out."

Jungsu's face pinches. "And if I had stayed with you in the city, what then?" he replies. "We'd hardly visit home? Call Seungmin once a month? Work ourselves to death at a place that wouldn't think twice about getting rid of us?"

Blood rushes to your face.

This is too much. Too many different feelings mixing together, too many things spilling out.

You wring out a laugh and grip the glass in your hands until it's just shy of shattering.

"You liar," you huff, new tears spilling over. "You said you weren't upset anymore."

"Well, maybe I am," Jungsu says.

But his voice wavers, and you know that he is no better than you.

So much for talking it out. The room feels as cold as it had when you'd first entered it.

You don't bother to dry your tears this time. Beside you, Jungsu sniffles quietly, the shuffle of fabric letting you know when he rubs his sweater sleeve against his face.

Somehow, it reminds you of years long past. Crying then didn't feel nearly as pathetic.

"I miss when we were kids."

"... Me too."

You stare into your glass, then drain the rest of the water and set it aside.

"I shouldn't have said that," Jungsu mumbles into his knees. "I'm sorry."

"It's ... it's okay. Um." You lick your lips and say, slowly, "I don't think I ever actually apologized for not keeping in touch as much as I should've. I'm sorry."

"… I forgive you."

"You do?"

He nods.

You relax just the slightest bit. Your shoulder touches his, and when he leans into you in turn, you feel a small amount of relief, heart no longer angry but still sore and bruised.

There's nothing left to lose now. You might as well say everything that's on your mind.

"Jungsu." He hums. "You've always made me happy. Just so ... just so you know."

His brow furrows. "I just made you cry."

"What I mean is that it's always been you."

You are being honest, like you had promised, and the way Jungsu flushes to the tips of his ears is honest as well.

"You deserve better," he says.

"I don't deserve anything. I want you. Don't you feel the same way?"

"I do, but ..." He takes in a breath, his hand finding the crook of your elbow and squeezing. "If we hurt each other and never talked again, I don't think I would be able to handle it. These past two years were already ..."

He trails off. There is a pang in your chest as he bites his lip and presses the edge of his sleeve against one of his eyes, and it dawns on you then just how much you have to atone for.

"I really hurt you," you murmur. "Didn't I?"

Jungsu turns. You are suddenly enveloped in a tight embrace, warm wool and clutching fingers. His heart beats against yours, and it's enough to make you tremble, knowing that this is far more than you will ever deserve.

"Jungsu ..."

"Can you wait for me?" The request is a whisper. "Just give me some time?"

You breathe. "Of course."

His weight bears down on you until you're nearly crushed. You find it within yourself to crack a small smile as he clings to you.

Pressing your cheek against his shoulder, one last question leaves your tongue. "Can we still be best friends?"

His answer is muffled and soft, but sure.

"Always."

—

(You wait for him. Jungsu waits for you, as well. It's a long and slow journey but you find yourselves and, in turn, find each other again.

And you are happy.)

#jungsu x reader #kim jungsu x reader #xdh imagines #xdinary heroes x reader #xh jungsu #jungsu #xdinary heroes #xdh #xh #beecee's writing #xh one shots

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heylittleriotact · 19 days ago

Text

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

“If you’d like to bring in Mr. Kaminski’s clothing today, someone will be in until five… yes, I’ll be here till five too… oh, okay - go ahead…” Rook hit ‘print’ on the open Funeral Director Statement of Death document and adjusted the phone against her ear to hear better over the sound of the nearby printer coming to life.

Emmrich was standing in front of the raised ledge of her desk, tucking his business card into the inside cover of the folder that Rook was preparing that they gave to families during arrangements. It contained a number of helpful checklists and pamphlets containing grief counselling resources, estate administration assistance, urn catalogues, memorial jewelry offerings, and of course, the Funeral Director’s Statements of Death that were generally required by banks and businesses in order to close accounts on behalf of the deceased.

“Undergarments? Completely up to you, and not required. Many choose to provide socks and underwear for their loved ones because they were just part of what they normally wore day-to-day. There’s no need to go out and purchase new ones if you don’t want to.” Rook finished, listened, smiled. “Oh no, don’t worry - lots of people ask the same question. It’s not weird at all.” She quirked an eyebrow at Emmrich who looked amused as he stepped behind the desk and took the freshly printed stack of Statements of Death, returning to his side of the desk, and reaching under the overhang in front of Rook, feeling around for the desk seal.

“Okay, thank you, Glenn… see you before five. Take care.” Rook hung up the desk phone and started signing the Statements of Death that Emmrich had managed to seal while she was on the phone. “You guys do tell people during arrangements that it’s fine and completely normal to bring underwear for their loved ones, don’t you? Because I feel like people are constantly asking me that question.”

“We do,” Emmrich sighed, still smirking slightly. “But they tend to forget - much is discussed during arrangements and it can be overwhelming, given the circumstances.”

He handed Rook another stack of sealed Statements of Death and lifted his gaze to the window behind her. It was Saturday so there was only one administrator scheduled to work over the weekend, and it was Rook’s turn. Truth be told, he got the impression that she preferred her solitary weekends, even if it meant being a bit more strategic with her time management when things got busy. She seemed perfectly confident and capable, however, as she ran the office on her own, fielding calls from families, writing and submitting obituaries to the local paper, setting up and running identifications, and whatever else may come up - which in this profession could be nearly anything.

“It’s still snowing,” Emmrich observed before resuming his task of sealing the Statements of Death, slipping the bottom corner of a page between the plates of the seal and pressing down on the handle; withdrawing the paper, then doing the same with the next. “I could drive you home again, if you don’t feel like standing around in the snow?”

If he drove her home today, it would make it the third day in a row since the first day he managed to coax her into his car earlier in the week. He really didn’t mind doing it - even if it was very much out of his way. He did enjoy driving, and he knew that even though she hadn’t said as much, Rook appreciated getting home in half an hour instead of the usual hour-plus her regular commute stole from her day.

She had been much less combative the day before as well, which surprised Emmrich. She was still far from chatty, and remained somewhat guarded when he asked questions or made conversation, but she hadn’t called him a creep once yesterday, and that had to be some sort of progress.

“Um… oh. You don’t have to,” was her reply - he knew it would be.

“I know I don’t have to. I’m asking you.”

She didn’t like burdening people with herself, he’d discovered. She was stubbornly independent: a useful trait to have for one pursuing this calling - taking initiative was not something that could be taught.

“I… yeah, okay. I guess if it’s not any trouble for you. I know it’s really out of the way for you…”

This was word-for-word the exact same thing she’d said yesterday. It was like she was worried that because it wasn’t necessarily convenient for him, he was going to turn around and demand gas money for his troubles… or something else.

“No trouble at all,” he assured her, accepting the signed Funeral Director’s Statements of Death from her and slipping them into the folder.

“Alright then. That would be awesome. It’s still really shitty out there and weekend transit service means there’s even more time between buses, so it was gonna take me forever to get home and I’m going out tonight.” She set her pen down and updated the checklist she had open on the computer monitor on her right. “Thanks, Emmrich.”

And then she smiled. A real, genuine, proper smile - the kind she gave families.

He couldn’t help feeling like he’d won some long-fought battle. Unlocked some great secret that dwelled within the simplicity of the expression.

“Of course, Rook,” he tipped his head politely, and picked up the folder. The office administrators were supposed to bring them in and hand them to the funeral director so they could be introduced to the family as they would be working with them a fair bit in the coming days, but Emmrich always thought it felt rather archaic to accept the package from the obedient administrator and introduce her like she was the Girl Friday of the death-care profession: instead he just mentioned the administrator by name, and told the family that they would be in touch to assist in the coming days, and that they would physically at the chapel each day to assist, even if he wasn’t.

The doorbell chimed, indicating someone had just entered the front doors. Rook looked up at the chapel schedule displayed on the large monitor mounted on the wall and stood from the desk, smoothing the front of her skirt.

“I think that’s the Lawrence family here for Mr. Lawrence’s urn.” She breezed past Emmrich out into the foyer without another word. “Hello,” he heard her say to whoever was there in the same friendly, amiable tone she’d used on the phone.

He picked up the folder and returned to the arrangement office, still feeling like he had accomplished something.

He pulled into the garage, put the car in park, and set the parking brake before cutting the ignition. The interior lights blinked on when he opened the door to get out, but he paused when his eyes landed on a small, round object sitting on the passenger seat that hadn’t been there before.

Rook’s headphones. Oh dear.

They must have slipped out of her coat pocket without her noticing.

Emmrich picked up the smooth blue case and sighed, not quite sure what to do: he knew Rook was incredibly attached to her headphones - he’d seen her walk through the doors in the morning with them in her ears enough. Had seen her jam them in her ears as she walked out the doors at the end of her shift. She even had them in during her breaks, where she could be found in the staff room at the end of the table, eschewing conversation with co-workers in favour of her music as she tucked into her daily styrofoam bowl of instant noodles.

She’d be gutted when she discovered that she’d lost them…

He could drive them back over to her apartment, he supposed, but she’d mentioned that she was going out tonight, so she might be gone by the time he made it all the way across town again. Besides, he got the feeling that showing up unannounced in her lobby might net a negative reaction from the already defensive and guarded young woman.

At the very least he should tell her that she forgot them in his car, and they were safe and accounted for, and he’d return them to her in the morning.

Yes.

She couldn’t possibly take offense to that.

Of course she could, he reminded himself, closing the door and withdrawing his phone from his breast pocket and pulling up the shared internal company directory that included the personal home and cell numbers of every employee of McDermott & Rafferty. She’s not going to be pleased that I’m taking it upon myself to text her.

I could call her instead.

No… no that would be worse.

Or I could simply not say anything and just return her headphones in the morning without crossing a boundary and imposing myself on her evening.

But if I do that, she’ll be taking the bus into work in the morning without any music to listen to, and no idea where her headphones have gone. At the very least if I tell her she won’t have to worry, right?

His thumb hovered over her number on the spreadsheet as he continued to weigh the pros and cons of his intentions.

“‘Creepy dude’ indeed,” he admonished himself, copying the number and pasting it into the To: field of a new message.

‘Hello, Rook. This is Emmrich. I’m very sorry for the intrusion of your privacy: I got your number from the company directory. I just wanted to let you know that you left your headphones in my car in case you were looking for them and were worried you’d lost them. I’ll hold onto them tonight and give them back when I see you at work tomorrow. Take care. Emmrich.’

Not allowing himself to think about it and doubt himself any further, he hit Send, and with the affirmative and cheery ‘bwoop’ indicating the message had gone through, he tensed, waiting for the response that would surely be something along the lines of: ‘Wow. I let you drive me home three times and suddenly you think that’s an invitation to start texting me? God you’re so creepy.’

But no such response came.

No response came at all.

He stared at the message: the little footer under the bubble of text that said ‘Delivered - 6:46 PM’ stayed that way until 7:03 when he finally blackened the screen and pocketed the phone. It was entirely possible she had read receipts turned off and had read his message and was currently sending a screenshot of it to all of her friends with the accompanying text: ‘Look at what this horny old pervert from work just sent me - he thinks he’s being subtle’ punctuated by a number of emojis or something to that effect.

So be it - at least he’d done the right thing. If she chose to misinterpret that, it was her problem, not his.

He’d been nothing but courteous and professional in their dealings: it was hardly his fault if she perceived every kind word from another person as a threat. If anything it was rather sad.

He unlocked the garage door and entered the darkness of his townhouse, light flooding the entryway from the garage behind him as he was greeted with the pulsing trill of the alarm system telling him he had thirty seconds to disarm it, and the harmonized meows of Manfred as the bone-white cat emerged from the darkness, paws pitter-pattering over the hardwood as he looked up at Emmrich and began to regale him with the events of his day.

He keyed in the code to the alarm system and crouched down to scratch under Manfred’s chin.

“Hello Manfred. Did you have a good day?”

“Mraaaaow!” The feline responded brightly, rubbing his cheeks against Emmrich’s hand.

Emmrich beamed and straightened, his knees cracking audibly.

“Now let’s see what you’ve gotten into today, shall we?” He pocketed the headphones which were still in his other hand and flipped on the lights, thoroughly wiping his shoes on the mat before embarking down the hallway, Manfred trailing eagerly behind him, tail stuck straight up in the air, chattering merrily.

It didn’t take him long to find today’s target: a phone charging cable bitten cleanly in two, one half still plugged into the electrical outlet. Holding the severed portion of the cable, Emmrich regarded Manfred: his fur was indeed looking a little staticky, standing unusually upright and lending him a slightly demented look.

Emmrich was generally good at remembering to store unattended electrical cables away from Manfred, but he must have forgotten this one in his rush to leave that morning.

“You only have so many lives, you know, and this is far from the first time you’ve chewed through a live cable.”

“Mrrraow,” Manfred agreed, licking his lips and sitting on the floor in front of Emmrich, looking eminently pleased with himself.

Emmrich sighed and pulled the other end of the cable from the brick and disposed of the two pieces in the kitchen garbage, turning on more lights as he moved around the main floor of his home.

“I suppose you’d like to watch your stories, hm?”

Chirping affirmatively, Manfred leapt up onto the brown leather sectional in the living room and settled into the well-formed indentation where he usually sat.

Emmrich didn’t watch television: he found it an unproductive and uninspiring use of what little spare time he had. The sprawling, 70 inch, 4k UHD TV he had purchased solely for watching movies, as he considered himself to be somewhat of a cinephile, but tuning mindlessly into endless news segments and banal reality tv was boring.

Manfred, however, loved television - specifically 90s sitcoms. He wasn’t sure why - perhaps it was the canned laugh track - but Emmrich had unwittingly discovered years earlier that letting Manfred watch his shows was a reliable way to keep him occupied and distracted from his seemingly never-ending compulsion to kill himself via misadventure. He did set limits though: only an hour of television per day. It wasn’t good for people to watch too much television, so it only made sense in his mind that too much time in front of a screen wasn’t healthy for cats either.

He queued up an episode of Seinfeld for Manfred and scratched under his Italian leather collar before setting down the remote and returning to the kitchen.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and fished his phone out of the pocket, glancing at the screen to see if Rook had responded while he was seeing to Manfred - she hadn’t - and setting it on the counter alongside the headphones before washing his hands and trying to decide what he’d have for dinner.

While he waited for the frying pan to heat up and the pot of tomato soup he’d settled on to warm, he opened a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass - he wasn’t on call tonight, so he’d allow himself this rare indulgence. Something to calm his nerves was welcome anyway - he kept eyeing his phone, waiting for the screen to light up. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong by texting Rook, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow gotten himself into trouble.

When the pan was hot, he dropped his cheese sandwich into it and picked up his glass, swirling the wine inside of it and resuming his vigil of staring at his phone.

It was 7:34 now.

Rook was constantly attached to that phone of hers even though Derek and management were borderline militant in enforcing their ‘no personal cell phones allowed’ policy during work hours - she and every other staff member under thirty-five had mastered the slick and nonchalant trick of palming their device and slipping it into the inside left pocket of their suit jacket with alarming elegance at a moment’s notice: they would be the envy of any street magician with such sleight of hand.

Knowing this, it struck Emmrich as unlikely that she hadn’t at least seen his message yet. What was taking her so long to respond? It was simple, wasn’t it? Just a plain, ‘Thank you for letting me know’ would suffice, surely?

He turned from the island back to the stove, flipped the cheese sandwich in the pan, and stirred the pot of soup. He had just set down the spoon on the spoon rest in the middle of the stove when he heard the ‘bzzzt-bzzzt’ of his phone vibrating against the granite countertop.

Snatching it up, he unlocked the screen and braced himself for Rook’s disgusted response.

Jaw clenching, he allowed his eyes to focus on the words in front of him.

‘At first I thought this was a really pathetic excuse to text me, but my headphones are actually missing and unless you managed to pickpocket me while you were driving, you must be telling the truth.’

Three dots popped up underneath the message, indicating she was typing something else. Then they went away.

Then they came back.

‘Thanks Emmrich.’

He stared at the pair of messages, reading them over and over, genuinely taken aback at the lack of vitriol in her words. Snarky, yes. Snide, certainly. But a far cry from the outright revulsion he had anticipated.

Perhaps she was finally warming up to him: they’d worked together for four months now, it only seemed natural that they build some semblance of rapport over time, regardless of her misplaced assertions that he was some sort of deviant.

Could it be that she was finally beginning to realize that he wasn’t panting after her like the weirdo she assumed he was, staring at her ass whenever she walked in front of him, and wondering what the tattoos that peeked out from under the cuffs of her shirt looked like? He’d never had such thoughts. Never once had he wondered how much of her skin they covered; whether they ran all the way up her pale arms and resolved at her shoulders, or if they curved across her collarbones, dipping down past the swell of her breasts, and–

The sound of the smoke alarm punctured his unintentional reverie, deflating it instantly as the bitter smell of burnt toast filled his nose and he slammed his phone down on the counter to deal with the urgent matter of his burning grilled cheese sandwich.

Manfred appeared around the corner of the island and meowed loudly, making his displeasure at this interruption of his ritual television hour inescapably clear.

Emmrich looked down at the blackened sandwich in the pan, then to Manfred, who was licking his lips hopefully.

“No, you may not have the sandwich,” he said sternly and dumped the ruined grilled cheese in the garbage. He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and turned off the element the tomato soup was on.

He reset the smoke alarm and paced over to the back door beyond the breakfast nook, wine in hand, pausing to grab the pack of cigarettes and the lighter he kept in the console table next to the patio door before stepping out into the cold and lighting up.

Rook Ingellvar was going to be his undoing at this rate.

He’d managed to salvage the remainder of the evening and resume his normal routine: he’d had his soup and just a plain cheese sandwich, poured another glass of wine, fed Manfred, had a long hot shower, and climbed into bed to settle in and read until he was ready to fall asleep.

Manfred was curled up on the bed at his feet, purring loudly - it wouldn’t last long. He would be up again in a few minutes to persistently smash his face against the edges of Emmrich’s book as he tried to read it, attempting to bully him into putting the book down in favour of petting him, which was clearly more important. Emmrich would eventually capitulate and do exactly that.

The antique analog alarm clock on his nightstand indicated that it was going on eleven o’clock, and Emmrich had just closed his book for the night and reached over to turn off the lamp when his phone lit up on the charging stand next to it, vibrating insistently to alert him to the incoming call.

Emmrich frowned: he was certain he wasn’t on call tonight - Lindsey Finch’s name had been listed as the overnight on call funeral director on the service schedule that day, and he certainly wasn’t expecting any calls from anyone… not at this hour.

He picked the phone up from the charger and frowned harder at the number on the call display: it wasn’t a number he’d saved in his contacts, so there was no name. It looked familiar, though, like he’d seen it recently…

His stomach twisted on itself. It couldn’t be. No. Why would she?

“...Hello?”

Loud, distorted music crashed through the earpiece of the phone. The bass was clear, but everything else was a muffled cacophony that he couldn’t make out. He could hear Rook’s voice, but couldn’t discern what she was saying: she was talking loudly - practically shouting. Then there was a male voice, equally unclear. Fabric shifted against the mic, making a harsh scratching noise that had Emmrich holding the phone a few inches away from his face.

“Hello?” He repeated, but received no response: she must have pocket-dialed him accidentally.

She was at a bar with live music by the sound of it. He heard her voice again. Managed to catch the words, “kinda hot” before the exceptionally loud band drowned out what she said next.

But he heard her laugh then, and it rather caught him off guard how different it was from her usual facetious, dry tone.

It was light and free and joyful.

He ended the call then, feeling ashamed: like he’d just intruded on something private that he was not welcome to. Judging by the brief snatches of conversation he’d overheard, she was clearly on a date, and if she’d known that he’d been eavesdropping - even accidentally - there was no doubt in his mind that he’d never hear the end of it.

Setting the phone back on the charger, he folded his glasses and set them down before he turned out the light and rolled onto his side, facing away from the nightstand so he wouldn’t be able to see the screen if it lit up again.

Lonely thoughts were no stranger to Emmrich in the silent hours of the night, but tonight for some reason, they felt heavier than ever.

Manfred woke him up a few hours later when he managed to find a way around the locking child-proofing tabs Emmrich had installed on his dresser, and began systematically pulling articles of clothing out from the top drawer, dropping them on the floor whilst having a loud conversation with himself.

“Manfred…” Emmrich grumbled sleepily, slipping out from under the covers and crossing the room, plucking the cat from the top of the dresser and ignoring his protests, setting him gently on the ground. “You’re far too clever for your own good.” He re-affixed the tab as best he could and stooped to stroke Manfred’s soft back before plodding back to bed. “Please let me sleep,” he entreated groggily, feeling Manfred’s weight join him on the mattress.

What time was it anyway? He could tell it was still dark beyond the blackout blinds over his window, but that meant little at this time of year.

His antique alarm clock wasn’t backlit, so he fumbled around in the dark until he felt the base of his charging stand. Following it upwards, he tapped his phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden light.

3:40… ugh…

He had to be up in less than an hour anyway.

Resolving to get at least a bit more sleep, he was about to collapse back onto the mattress when something on the illuminated screen caught his eye.

A notification.

He pulled the phone from the stand and propped himself up on one elbow, finding his glasses with his other hand and shoving them onto his face.

It was a message from the same number that had called him earlier - Rook’s number.

3:34 AM read the timestamp - only a few minutes ago.

Blinking a few times and feeling suddenly much more awake, Emmrich keyed in his passcode and opened the message.

It was a picture of Rook - a selfie, he supposed - and she appeared to be home - or in someone’s home - judging by the fact that she was obviously in a bed, her long black hair cascading over a red pillowcase as she cheesed up at the camera. Her crimson lips were contorted in a picture perfect snarl that showed off her straight white teeth and she was holding up her fingers in a peace sign. She was clearly drunk: her gray eyes were glassy and unfocused, and her heavy black eyeliner was somewhat smudged.

‘thx again for looking after my headphones♥️’

Why was she texting him at this hour?

And why did she send him a picture of herself?

And why did she feel the need to thank him again?

He stared at the heart punctuating the message, turning question after question over in his mind as his own heart decided to behave like he was halfway through running a marathon.

His eyes were drawn to the lower half of the photo, and he couldn’t help but notice that the thin black tank top she was wearing was certainly more revealing than her uniform, confirming that her tattoos most definitely did not end at her shoulders.

He swallowed, his tongue feeling three sizes too big for his mouth.

She’d only just sent him this. There was a good chance she was still awake…

Dare he?

‘You’re welcome. E.’

He hit send.

The three dots heralding an incoming message popped up almost immediately, followed by Rook’s reply.

‘holy shit y r u even awake rn?’

He let out a short huff of laughter at this, gently pushing Manfred away, as he had finally been drawn by the light of Emmrich’s phone.

‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘because i just got home and need to eat something lol’

‘I see. I’d better leave you to it then.’

‘u didn’t answer my question: y r u awake?’

Emmrich glanced down at the purring ball of fur next to him that was trying desperately to nudge the phone out of his hands.

‘My cat woke me up.’

‘lmao u have a cat?! u don’t really seem like a pet person tbh’

‘He more or less adopted me, as it turns out.’

‘crazy’

The dots popped up again, then vanished.

‘anyway - i need to go to bed. c u in a few hours i guess lol’

‘Goodnight, Rook.’

He stared at his phone for a few more minutes, but no more messages appeared.

He scrolled back up to the picture she’d sent him. Despite the fact that she was clearly potted, she looked so… unbothered. There was an easy joy about her that she didn’t have during the day while she was working. Perhaps the date had gone well.

But… she mentioned that she was at home, so perhaps it hadn’t.

He didn’t know why, but he found himself hoping for the latter outcome.

His eyes drifted back to the shape of her plump, pert breasts, pressed together slightly due to the angle and position of her arms.

“That’s enough of that,” he chided himself, darkening the screen and forcing himself to set the phone down.

Deciding that he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, he got out of bed instead and started his morning early: he had breakfast, fed Manfred, and did his morning workout, trying to find stability in the comfort of his predictable routine.

As he stood under the nearly scalding water cascading from the showerhead above him, he took himself in hand and stroked - slowly, languidly at first, but before long he was jerking off in earnest, leaning into the dark granite tile of the wall as he breathed heavily, soft moans nearly drowned out by the rush of the water falling around him.

He couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t get the image of those perfect breasts from his mind. The shape of them. The way they looked pressed together in that picture. The crisp black lines of the mirrored serpents and roses that spread from the front of her shoulders down towards the neckline of that skimpy top. He was filled with the treacherous desire to trace the lines of those tattoos with his fingers… his tongue…

A strangled cry pulled from his lips, and he came hard, his seed spilling forth, one steady pulse after another. It fell to the floor, and dripped down his hand into the drain below.

Guilt slammed into him before he even finished cumming, ashamed of himself as he watched the last of his release vanish with the water.

It had been quite some time since he’d had a romantic partner, but he worked with this young woman… taught one of the courses she was enrolled in at the university. They were colleagues - professionals - and here he was, fantasizing about her body while he jacked off like the pervert she so frequently accused him of being… proving that she was right all along.

And worst of all, he was going to have to look her in the eyes later that morning and pretend that he hadn’t brought himself to orgasm hours earlier while thinking about her.

“You’ve really done it now, Volkarin…” he sighed, raking his fingers through his wet hair and shutting off the water.

It was very rare for Emmrich to have a cigarette before he went to work.

He had one that morning.

#emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrook modern au #modern au #funeral home au #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #emmrich volkarin #emmrich #dragon age emmrich #this is an emmrich thirst post #rook is a bratty mall goth #dragon age #datv #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age fan fic #dragon age fan fiction #v writes #ao3

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eddiediaaz · 1 year ago

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hellooooo! i read a lot of buck/eddie fics, literally everyday, and earlier this december i thought "why not share some of my favorites that i have read this month?" so here we are! i couldn't include everything i've read and enjoyed, the list would be really long. but i've picked a few fanfics that i've read (for the first time) in december that were really huge favorites and stayed with me for a little while these past days/weeks. i will try to make these on a monthly basis, because fanfic authors deserve all of the recognition! oh, and happy new year!

both blades and branch by @cal-daisies-and-briars 62k | mature | canon divergence | completed: december 2023

The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

this fic is absolutely incredible. i couldn't put it down once i started. it's extremely well written and brilliantly planned out. the angst is heavy but so is the reward: this is an amazing story. easily an all-time favorite!

my blood on your skin (my rose on your snow) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels 80k | explicit | alternate universe | posted: october 2023

When Eddie needs cash and fast to take care of Christopher, his LAFD Academy buddy suggests a job as a bouncer at Elysium - an exclusive sex club in downtown Los Angeles. Eddie doesn't care what goes on there, so long as he's paid, but he finds he cares a lot bout the club's enigmatic owner, Evan Buckley, and it's not long before the two of them are violating every boss-employee rule in the book. But there's something different about Buck and the club, something not quite... human. If Eddie wants to keep Buck, he's going to have to delve into the world of immortals, and all the risks that implies.

another exquisite fic from this author. they never miss!! this one explores a dynamic i don't read that often (sub eddie) but it works SO well here. extremely well done, as usual. i also absolutely love this buck here.

burn a bridge, learn how to swim [series] by watermelonshorts 34k | mature/explicit | canon verse | completed: july 2021

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

they are GIANT disasters in here! really loved the humoristic tone of this whole thing. i just wanna shake them and yell learn how to communicate properly damn it!

dead reckoning by euadnes 28k | mature | canon verse | posted: december 2022

In which a tragedy on the edge of a firestorm leaves part of the 118 stranded and struggling to survive in the wilderness. Left entirely to their own devices, the survivors fight to come home, alive.

buck, eddie, and ravi survive a plane crash, and it's amazing. incredibly well written, i was hooked from the very start and couldn't put it down until i was done.

here comes the jackpot question in advance by @lamardeuse 4k | teen+ | canon verse | posted: december 2023

Buck is determined to start the new year right.

this is very very very cute!!! i always love a cute holiday themed get together story. as always, this author nailed the characterization!

being eddie by @cal-daisies-and-briars 79k | teen+ | canon divergence | completed: august 2023

When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica

incredible concept!!! all the moments chosen for eddie to revisit are perfect and make so much sense for his character. this was such a great read and an absolutely amazing character exploration fic.

a blaze in the dark by @woodchoc-magnum 117k | explicit | canon verse | published: december 2023

Set post-Season 6, where Buck has inadvertently sacrificed his friendship with Eddie in order to focus on his new relationship with Natalia, and is shocked when Eddie comes out to the team and subsequently reveals that he is dating a guy.

okay so i literally read this in one sitting and went to bed at 7am to finish it. i couldn't put it down. the angst is SO good and frustrating and delicious and painful. but the payoff is so worth it!! this is really really really good. i loved all the dynamics, especially eddie and karen's friendship.

#buddie #911 #9-1-1 #911 abc #911 fox #fanfic #ficrec #buddie fic #alie's monthly faves #if anyone wants to be tagged in any future posts like this please let me know!#userabs #*ficrecs

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violetsaffron5 · 1 year ago

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NSFW Gojo Week (3)

Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader

Satoru has always had a fantasy about fucking you in his office in nothing but a barely there lingerie set. Today, you make his dreams come true.

cw: established relationship, lingerie, body worship, semi-public sex, oral sex, face-fucking, getting walked in on

an: it's my birthday y'all 🥳

words: 2.1k

Masterlist • Day 2 • Day 4

Walking down the halls of Jujutsu Tech, your white heels click against the hardwood floor. You texted your husband this morning to see if he had time to get lunch with you later today, telling him there were some things you wanted to discuss and that you would meet him in his office before heading out.

Satoru has always had this fantasy, of you coming to see him at work with nothing but a little, silk lingerie set, letting him fuck you until you’re both sore in his office.

Today, you decided to be a nice, loving, and gracious wife because when you were shopping in Tokyo the other day, you saw a gorgeous silky, soft, snow-white lingerie set on a mannequin in the window of a lingerie store, and you just knew Satoru would love it.

Despite the price you bought two sets, knowing how your husband is. Wild, brazen, and unabashed when you wear something new for him, especially when it’s a surprise. The first one would be torn off, the barely there fabric ripped into scraps and discarded on the floor. The second might make it through the night when you inevitably wear it for him again.

You knock on his office door before opening it and peeking in, Hey, I’m here.”

He looks up from his desk, and to your surprise, he actually appears to be working on something. Knowing him, he probably got up to something with the students earlier in the day and heard an earful from Principal Yaga.

Satoru smiles when he sees you before quirking an eyebrow at your attire, “A little warm for a trench coat, don’t you think?”

Of course, you didn’t want to walk through the halls of the school almost completely naked, so before you left the penthouse you threw on the longest coat you could find in an effort to cover yourself until you were in the safety of his office. When you’re finished with your little surprise, he can just bring you back home in a heartbeat.

“I was cold, plus we won’t be out long anyway.”

He nods slowly with furrowed brows before shaking his head slightly, “Alright. Let me finish what I’m doing and then we can head out.”

You watch quietly as Satoru turns his attention to the cabinets behind his desk to file a few of his reports away, grabbing another folder and turning back around.

“So what were you wanting to disc-”

Satoru stares at you with wide eyes, mouth agape as the papers from the folder he just grabbed fall to the floor, “holy shit…”

When Satoru turned around, you removed the coat and locked his office door. Now you stand in front of him in a white lacy cage bra and thong set with matching stockings held up by garters. He looks you up and down as you slowly make your way toward him, hips swaying with each step.

You’re sure this is the quietest Satoru has ever been in his entire life as you place your legs on either side of his hips, straddling him to the best of your abilities. As you place a few kisses along his jaw and nibble his ear, your heart sinks a little, wondering if you somehow got it wrong, and this isn’t what he envisioned.

“Is this okay? I can change if-”

“No. No, no, no, no,” He says quickly, breathlessly, “This is amazing. You just took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting… this.” He gestures to your outfit.

Biting your lip, you giggle, “I just got it the other day, but I’ve wanted to show it to you so many times.”

“Jesus… Stand up, I need to just look at you for a minute. Fuck.”

You can sense he’s having a hard time holding back his excitement as you move off his lap. He removes his blindfold before closing the blinds of his office while you make your way to the center of the room.

He licks his lips and snakes his lip between his teeth as he moves slowly around you, taking in the sight of the outfit you’re wearing just for him. He had mentioned a few times that he found strappy lingerie almost intoxicating when you discussed your fantasies, and there was no way you could pass this one up.

As he makes his way around, he gently bites one of his knuckles in anticipation which makes you laugh before he cups your face, giving you several gentle kisses before whispering, “We’re not making it to lunch.”

“It’s crazy how lunch was never on the menu.”

“For you. I plan on eating out,” He grins salaciously making you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes.

“Don’t be gross.” You smack his chest playfully.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I’m just excited…”

You chuckle, rubbing your hand on the front of Satoru’s slacks feeling how already painfully hard he is just by looking at you. He lets out a few soft groans as you push him back to where his chair is, “I can tell.”

Satoru watches as you swiftly unbuckle his belt before cupping your face, giving several deep kisses where your tongues dance together as his slacks fall to the floor, and his briefs will soon follow suit.

He moves his licks and kisses across your jaw, whispering, “You look perfect,” causing your cheeks to flush, and look away from him shyly. He chuckles as you clear your throat, biting your lower lip and pushing him down onto his chair.

“Sit back and relax. This is all about you.”

“And why is this all about me?”

You shrug, “Felt like it. Wanted to show you appreciation for being such an amazing-”

“Hm.” He hums in affirmation as you kiss his lips between words.

“Caring-”

“Mhm.”

“Loving, husband.”

You give him a deep, sensual kiss, tugging on his lower lip as you pull away, and trail several kisses down his neck until you meet the fabric of his uniform. Lowering to your knees, you lift his shirt and tell him to hold it up, he does with a grin.

Satoru shudders in anticipation as you kiss along his abdominal muscles, making your way to the ‘v’ at his hips, giving one side a gentle lick. Moving one hand to his balls, you caress them, eliciting a soft moan from Satoru as he leans his head back in the chair, eyes still intently watching your every move.

On his thigh, you bite down, sucking a small red mark to his surprise, making him gasp. He chuckles quietly, knowing you just did that to him because of all the times he’s done it when he’s teasing you to no end.

He sighs, moving one hand to stroke your hair as you grab the base of his cock and stroke gently before putting the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around.

Normally, you would take some extra time and tease him a little longer, but you’re not really sure how much time you’re realistically going to get here in his office.

“Baby?” Satoru mutters, watching as you hollow your cheeks, flicking your tongue over the tip of his cock before giving a few short, shallow bobs, “Think you can take it all?”

He sounds desperate, voice huskier than usual, almost pleading for you to say yes.

You hum, working slowly to take him deeper into the warmth of your mouth, towards the back of your throat.

He places his hand on the back of your head, guiding you, gently, deeper and deeper until your pretty throat is bulging from taking all of him, and your nose is pressed neatly to his groin.

“Goddamn, you look so good,” he moans, throwing his head back as you pull back and swirl your tongue on the tip again.

You stare up at him through your long lashes, humming against him, sending vibrations along the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch in your mouth as you do so.

“R-Relax your throat, baby, relax your throat,” he says hurriedly, “Wanna f-fuck your face. Just for a second.”

You have just enough time to do so before he pushes your head further onto his cock, bucking his hips into you wildly. You choke and gag with each thrust, every time he forces you to take the length of his cock, but you love it.

He’s close, you can tell, with the way his cock twitches at the back of your throat and the way his thighs are shaking on either side of you. Satoru lets go of the back of your head, with your insistence, allowing you to release his cock with a ‘pop’, working on catching your breath.

His hips seem to have a mind of their own, following you as you sit back, his ass off the seat whimpering at the loss of your warmth.

Slowly, you start to lower yourself on his length again. He sucks in a breath between his teeth just as there’s a knock at his office door, startling you both.

“Shit,” He whispers, helping you move under his desk, hoping whoever it is doesn’t notice your shoes underneath.

He rolls his chair in enough so whoever it is doesn’t catch him with his pants down, literally.

“Yeah?” He says breathlessly, leaning forward slightly as you continue to slowly stroke his cock gently.

“Satoru, where are those reports I asked for?” Yaga opens the door, immediately chastising him. You chuckle quietly under the desk and feel him move his leg, as a way to tell you to quiet down.

“I’m working on them,” He answers taking a deep breath. Just to be a brat, you move deeper between his legs and kiss the sensitive tip of his cock, making it twitch.

As you lick the underside of his cock, he moves a hand under his desk, cupping your face. You know he’s wanting you to stop, but you’re not going to. So you kiss the palm of his hand and go back to licking the tip of his cock gently.

Yaga grunts at Satoru’s answer before pointing out, “There are papers on the floor.”

“And my blinds are closed. I have a headache. I’ll have them finished by the end of the day.”

Yaga is quiet for a moment, but grunts and goes to leave the room.

“Close the door, p-please,” Satoru says in a higher pitch than he likely meant, as you take him to the back of your throat once again.

You can hear Yaga’s footsteps stop and you can imagine he’s scrutinizing Satoru before nodding, stepping out of the room, and closing the door behind him.

“Jesus,” Satoru sighs, leaning back as you swallow around him. His dick twitches in your mouth and you know if you keep this up, he’s not going to last much longer. He’s too worked up about this outfit and having fun in his office.

“That…” He chuckles, running his hand through his hair, “That was not fair.”

He’s watching you with parted lips, running his hand through your hair while lifting his shirt again, so it’s not in the way.

“Baby,” You say with a quiet saccharine voice, “Show me how you like it again.”

His eyes grow wide and bright, quickly digging his hands back into your hair and forcing you down to the hilt as you moan around him.

Satoru’s cock is slick with saliva and you know the sounds you’re making are driving him wild because the grip on your hair has tightened and he’s picked up the pace, moaning alongside you.

Looking up through your lashes, you can see his pink cheeks, parted lips, and so much enjoyment in his eyes as he thrusts his hips up to your mouth.

“I’m close, baby, so c-close,” He mumbles as you hollow your cheeks again and he forces your head down his length, holding you in this position until he releases his warm seed down your throat with a loud groan; white hot ropes spurting out as you swallow, making sure not to waste even a drop.

Once he’s done, and loosens his grip, you lick against him, cleaning him off before standing up. You watch as his chest rises and falls with half-lidded eyes like he just sprinted a very long, very dirty marathon.

“Love that the strongest sorcerer is putty in my hands… well, mouth, really,” You tease, leaning over and giving him a deep kiss where he’s sure to taste himself on your tongue, “See you tonight, babe.”

Your original plan was to have Satoru warp you back home quickly, but with the way he’s not saying anything and still breathing heavily, you’ll let him relax and spend the rest of his day thinking about the events that just took place in his office.

#jjk fanfic #violetsaffronfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #nsfwgojoweek2023

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