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saheed-uae-blog · 2 years ago

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The Benefits of Glass Doors

In the modern world of interior and architectural design, glass doors have emerged as a symbol of elegance, functionality, and innovation. These transparent marvels have witnessed a surge in popularity, and for a good reason. Glass doors offer a wide array of advantages that not only enhance the aesthetic appeal of a space but also contribute to practicality, energy efficiency, and overall well-being. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the myriad benefits of glass doors and why they have become a cornerstone of contemporary design.

Types Of Glass Doors

Aluminium Glass Doors: Aluminium glass doors combine the durability of aluminium frames with the elegance of glass panels. They are commonly used for both interior and exterior applications, providing a sleek and modern look while ensuring weather resistance.

Frameless Glass Door: Frameless glass doors offer a minimalist and contemporary design. They lack visible frames or hardware, providing an unobstructed view. These doors are perfect for creating a seamless and open ambiance in homes or offices.

Glass Doors Sliding: Sliding glass doors are known for their space-saving design. They slide horizontally rather than swinging open, making them ideal for areas with limited space. They offer the same benefits of natural light and transparency as traditional glass doors.

Glass Door Wardrobe: Glass door wardrobes feature glass panels as the front doors of the wardrobe. This design not only adds a touch of sophistication to the bedroom but also allows for easy visibility of clothing and accessories without the need to open the doors.

Stackable Glass Doors: Stackable glass doors consist of multiple panels that can be neatly stacked or folded away when fully opened. They are often used to create wide openings between indoor and outdoor spaces, providing a sense of continuity and flexibility in design.

Interior Glass Doors: Interior glass doors are designed to separate different living spaces while maintaining an open and airy feel. They come in various styles, including frosted, etched, and clear glass options, offering versatility in design and privacy levels within a home.

Benefits of Glass Doors

Transparency and Openness

The most evident benefit of glass doors is their ability to create an atmosphere of transparency and openness. These doors allow an unobstructed view of both interior and exterior spaces, blurring the lines between indoors and outdoors. This feature makes rooms appear larger, more inviting, and provides a sense of connection with the surrounding environment.

Natural Light Infusion

One of the primary advantages of glass doors is their capacity to usher in an abundance of natural light. The entrance of daylight into a space not only reduces the need for artificial lighting but also provides numerous health benefits. Natural light promotes productivity, enhances mood, and even contributes to energy savings.

Aesthetic Versatility

Glass doors come in a variety of designs, from classic to contemporary, and they can be customized to suit any architectural style. Whether you prefer a sleek and minimalistic frameless design or a more traditional framed look, glass doors offer the flexibility to match the aesthetic of any interior or exterior space.

Energy Efficiency

Modern glass doors are designed to be energy-efficient. They are equipped with advanced insulation technology, including low-emissivity (Low-E) glass, which reduces heat transfer and helps maintain a comfortable indoor temperature. This not only reduces energy consumption but also lowers utility costs.

Noise Reduction

Glass doors equipped with double or triple glazing can significantly reduce noise transmission from the outside. This feature is particularly advantageous in urban environments or areas with high traffic, contributing to a more peaceful and quiet indoor ambiance.

Easy Maintenance

Maintaining glass doors is a breeze. They are easy to clean and resistant to stains and odors. A simple wipe with a glass cleaner is often sufficient to keep them looking pristine, making them an excellent choice for spaces that require minimal upkeep.

Conclusion

The benefits of glass doors in UAE are abundant and diverse, making them a top choice for homes and businesses. From illuminating natural light to enhancing property value and providing security, glass doors offer a range of advantages that transcend aesthetics.Additionally, finding the right Glass Doors manufacturers is important in ensuring you get top-quality products. TradersFind, a reputable platform, connects you with trusted glass doors suppliers, further enhancing the advantages of glass doors in terms of reliability, choice, and affordability. So, when considering the benefits of doors, don't forget the added advantage of accessing the best sources through TradersFind.

#In the modern world of interior and architectural design #glass doors have emerged as a symbol of elegance #functionality #and innovation. These transparent marvels have witnessed a surge in popularity #and for a good reason. Glass doors offer a wide array of advantages that not only enhance the aesthetic appeal of a space but also contribu #energy efficiency #and overall well-being. In this comprehensive guide #we will delve into the myriad benefits of glass doors and why they have become a cornerstone of contemporary design.#Types Of Glass Doors #Aluminium Glass Doors: Aluminium glass doors combine the durability of aluminium frames with the elegance of glass panels. They are commonl #providing a sleek and modern look while ensuring weather resistance.#Frameless Glass Door: Frameless glass doors offer a minimalist and contemporary design. They lack visible frames or hardware #providing an unobstructed view. These doors are perfect for creating a seamless and open ambiance in homes or offices.#Glass Doors Sliding: Sliding glass doors are known for their space-saving design. They slide horizontally rather than swinging open #making them ideal for areas with limited space. They offer the same benefits of natural light and transparency as traditional glass doors.#Glass Door Wardrobe: Glass door wardrobes feature glass panels as the front doors of the wardrobe. This design not only adds a touch of sop #Stackable Glass Doors: Stackable glass doors consist of multiple panels that can be neatly stacked or folded away when fully opened. They a #providing a sense of continuity and flexibility in design.#Interior Glass Doors: Interior glass doors are designed to separate different living spaces while maintaining an open and airy feel. They c #including frosted #etched #and clear glass options #offering versatility in design and privacy levels within a home.#Benefits of Glass Doors #Transparency and Openness #The most evident benefit of glass doors is their ability to create an atmosphere of transparency and openness. These doors allow an unobstr #blurring the lines between indoors and outdoors. This feature makes rooms appear larger #more inviting #and provides a sense of connection with the surrounding environment.#Natural Light Infusion

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witherby · 3 months ago

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What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

#el speaks #littlest wayne au #batfam x reader #angst #platonic batfam #🍨#tw: depiction of seizure

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cubern · 2 years ago

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Houston Closet Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary gender-neutral ceramic tile walk-in closet remodel with flat-panel cabinets and dark wood cabinets

#medium wood floor #sliding glass doors #strip lights #modern closet design #glass closet doors #custom walk in wardrobe

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leyavo · 3 months ago

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| I am my father's daughter |

💖 Dad!Price x Daughter!reader

PART TWO: Agreeing to let Toff check you over, you make the decision of whether not you want to stay with your dad or just take off, which would be so much easier.

TW: Hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/comfort/ complicated father-daughter relationship/some TF141 too.

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

[Part one] [Series masterlist] 3026words

Toff lived up to her nickname, no letters dropped at the end of her words like the team your dad had around him. No she was posh, well spoken and had the accent of someone that came from old money.

The gold designer watch on her wrist and the rock of an engagement ring, also telling enough. Her fingers prodded the yellowing bruise on your rib cage, the rock dazzling under the light, blinding you each time she moved.

She doesn't fit in, too put together compared to the likes of your father. He's still wearing some sort of hat, whether its the ridiculous army bucket hat or a snug knitted fisherman one, if he's not it's stuffed in his back pocket. You're convinced he's still got the same Levi jeans, a few added scrapes and as he says, they wear well. There's an array of plaid and flannel shirts in varying colours hanging in his wardrobe, like another uniform he wears on his downtime instead of his camo gear.

Your dad had slipped that she went to some prestigious medical school before working in the military. Not that it mattered it to you, you'd see a vet if it meant they wouldn't talk to your dad.

Thankfully she made your dad wait in the hall, her office door shut as she assessed you. If you got this over with, you could leave and not have to speak of it ever again. You could just imagine him pacing the hallway, halting to greet the soldiers calling him captain and then resuming his pacing.

Being the Captain’s daughter also meant you had a shared family health plan with him. One you’d never heard of before. He did use to remind you to go for dental and medical check ups, but moving around when you were younger made it difficult. Your mother reluctant to fill out forms to sign you up to a new doctor’s surgery because she wasn’t sure if the new home was long term. Shocker, they never were.

"You won't, uh tell my dad?" You asked as you rolled the layers of clothing back down.

Toff tipped your chin up with her finger, "all patient records are confidential, even if your dad's Captain Price." She pushed her chair back wheeling it to the desk and picking up a pair of tweezers, sliding back to you.

She peered over her thick framed glasses at you, turning your face side to side inspecting the gash above your brow. The metal of the tweezer cool against your skin, she prodded the tape drawing back with a nod of satisfaction.

"Soap patched you up well," Toff said handing you a plastic cup of water and some painkillers.

"Sorry, what," you blurted out, choking on the water.

Humming Toff nodded, "he's good with light touch, probably why your dad got him to fix you up whilst you were out cold." She managed to get hold of some of your medical records, which she requested last night. No doubt your dad had called as soon as you fell asleep in the car and asked her for a favour.

You muttered a string of curse words under your breath, did the whole bloody army base know what happened last night? Toff was too busy reading your record, brows scrunching as she double clicked the mouse.

"You broke your wrist six years ago, but never had surgery," she said, turning the computer screen for you to see the x-ray. "The follow up on here, shows your bone moved during it was in a cast, but your guardian refused surgery." Her pen circling the area of the screen for you.

"We were moving and it felt fine," you shrugged, looking down at your wrist. You wondered if your dad knew about that one.

"Does it bother you now?" Toff said, returning to you and picking up your right wrist, pushing your sleeve up. "Huh, there's a lump there, does that hurt? Any regular pain? Does it restrict you from doing certain things, this is your dominant hand?" Her hazel eyes snapped up to yours as you snatched your wrist back and shoved the sleeve back down.

All of her questions spun around in your head, you hadn't even thought about the pain when there was other things to worry about.

Toff stood from her chair, palms raised as if you were going to bolt out of the room, you wanted to.

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Is that all you need me to take a look at?"

"Yes, thanks,” you snapped, flinging your hoody back on and zipping it up.

You're ready to bid your dad goodbye and never look back, but as you swung the door open you crashed into the back of someone else.

Soap's light touch kept you upright, you're trying not to think of him patching you up whilst you slept. The thought alone making you feel pathetic, small in his presence. Like you can't even look after yourself.

“Captain got called in,” Soap said, as if that’s supposed to mean anything to you. You’re used to him coming and going, more focused on his job than you.

More interested in his team, how he so easily referred to Soap as son. You haven’t even been there for a day and he’s found another family, leaving you to feel like a spare part. You want to hate Soap, but you don’t know him. Don’t know your dad the way they do.

The walls began to press in and you took off down the narrow corridor, your sight on the world outside. You needed fresh air, needed to catch your breath and not fall apart in front of Soap.

"Hey, woah," Soap called after you, his boots stomping as he tried to catch up. "dammit slow down would ya, like a fuckin’ greyhound."

You forced the door open with a bit too much force and they slammed against the stairs railing as you rushed down the steps.

"I am not a dog!" You spun around, jabbing his chest with your finger. The cool air swept your hair across your face, drawing a deep breath from you. You watched Soap's chest rise and fall as if he was coaching your breathing.

He tucked the curtain of hair shielding your eyes behind your ear, "feel better now?"

“I’d feel a whole lot better if you signed me out right now.” You raised your brow, wincing at the tape pulling it tight.

Soap shook his head, falling into step beside you. He waved, signalling for the guard to let you both through the gate back into the residential area “Your dad’s a good man, why don’t you give him a chance?”

“Because I’m not a soldier, he had his chance six years ago.” The three years he didn’t reach out, didn’t bother checking in on you. Only to find out he had another kid, another family.

You didn’t miss the tic of his jaw or the gulp he took. All the little signs you looked for when you said the wrong thing, you were good at noticing the change in people. Knew how even the nicest ones could change like a flick of a switch.

Soap leant down, face close to yours that you could feel his hot breath fanning the curve of your nose. “Look, if you’re only here to piss off your dad, I’ll sign you out right now. Hell I’ll even take the blame for you leaving, just don’t go asking him about six years ago.”

“Got it,” you said, voice low but good enough for him to hear. The tension in your body kept you in place, breath trembling as he backed off and started walking ahead.

You trailed after him, keeping your distance incase he turned around again. The beating of your heart drummed against your chest, palms sweating as you balled them up inside your pockets.

Why were you so pathetic when confronted? You could just hear your dad’s voice in the back of your head telling you to knee him in the groin. Take up some space so they can’t take all of yours.

Space, exactly what you needed after being stuck in house with a team of men. You slipped through the front door, not glancing at Soap as you rushed to the safety of your dad’s room.

Shutting the door, you pressed your back against the wood panel. The lock sliding into place, your body slumping to the floor and arms wrapping around your legs as you brought them into your chest.

Your small area of safety calming you. After a moment of silence, you picked yourself up and climbed under the duvet. The memory foam mattress too hard on your back that you flipped over on your stomach, closing your eyes.

The constant buzzing of your phone drew you out of your sleep, your eyes heavy as you squinted at the window. You don't know why your dad opened the blinds, the sun making it harder for you to focus. His half of the bed smooth and tucked underneath the mattress, not a crease in sight till you tugged the duvet.

Numb tingles danced across your upper back, you groaned into your pillow and attempted to roll your shoulder. Searing pain stopping you before you could rise from the bed.

Eying the alarm clock, you stumbled out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. You're glad the others are training this afternoon and you can sort this out yourself. It can't be that bad.

You pulled your hoody over your head, wincing at the pull of your arm stretching the skin across your shoulder blade.

Peering over your shoulder, you looked at your reflection in the mirror and your fingers pressing into the red skin. A weeping wound oozed yellow pus just right of your back below your neck. You'd forgotten about the graze, too distracted by Toff questioning your broken wrist.

You added a little more pressure and clutched the edge of the sink, black dots lining your vision. You heard the thud before you felt your body fall to the floor.

Sweat ran down your forehead, the cool tiles beneath you a welcome addition against the heat of your skin. Since when were you so hot? your breaths quickened as you tried to focus on your phone across the bathroom. Your hand aching to reach for it.

Maybe if you just rested for a little.

John couldn't wait to sit outside and have a cigar. The day had knocked him, your call in the early hours of the morning throwing him off track and his duties as a captain, a father. He hated how he got called away whilst he waited for Toff to check you over, hoping to catch you before you went on another stroll around the base to get away from his questioning.

He pulled his boots off and added them to the shoes lined up by the door, the living room and kitchen were clear. The mumbled tones of his teammates drew his attention to the hallway. He dragged a hand down his face, hoping he wouldn't have to readjust yet another bathroom schedule.

John joined the guys huddled by the closed bathroom door, looking around Soap for a clue of what the hell they were doing. "I mean we could shimmy the door open, pop it out of the frame with a bit of force," Ghost said, his calloused hand tracing the wood.

They’re all covered in sweat from their training session. Thinking they’d revert back to their bathroom schedules like normal, but they’re locked out. Only the new recruits use the communal showers.

"I don't think kickin’ the door in, is gonna make the lass feel safe." Soap said, arm shooting across the guys before they could move. The warped door's been wreaking havoc since they were assigned the house, but they haven't been bothered about taking it off and shaving it down or replacing the temperamental lock. That or wait on the long list of maintenance services.

“What the hell are you boneheads going on about?” John grumbled, their heads snapping towards him as they finally realised he was there. He glanced to the lock picking device in Ghost’s hand and the dagger wedged into the crack of the door.

“The doors locked, she was talking a second ago…” Gaz winced as the captain’s fist banged against the door shaking the whole wall.

John held his hand over his shoulder silencing them all behind him, his head titling as he tried to listen for any movement. Another knock on the door, "hey kiddo, you alright in there? If you can hear me give me something, anything."

A light tap bounced back, the tension in the captains shoulders easing at the sound.

"Can't kick the door in, there ain’t enough room in there for it to fall. Could hurt her," Gaz said, he yanked the dagger out of the door and shoved it back into Soap's hand.

"Could take the window out and go in that way." Ghost added, as if they were planning to scale a building and ambush a rogue team.

Their mumbled voices merged together in the cramped hallway.

"Window it is."

Gaz volunteered to climb through the second floor window and break the lock from the inside. John holding his breath as he waited on the other side, his chest stung at the sight of you in Gaz's arms. The ringing in his ear and the hands pushing him forwards kept him in tow behind Gaz. You were so pale, words slurred and hand dropping over his arm like a dead weight.

John was no stranger to the infirmary, he'd been sat either at someone's bedside or the unconscious one receiving aid. What he wasn't used to though, was his daughter strung up with an IV and sleeping off the medication Toff had given her.

Nurses flitted back and forth from the bed, herding John to the side as they assessed you. Gaz and Soap had gone back to the house to sleep, Ghost fixed the door and the lock and stopped by to give the captain a strong flask of coffee leaving straight after.

The constant questions, ones he didn't know since he'd never been asked before. How could he not know if you were allergic to anything or if there were any underlying health issues? It hadn't even been two days since you'd come back into his life and he didn't know you at all.

Hours had passed since Gaz had carried you through the house and to the infirmary. Your skin pale and clammy, hair sticking to your forehead. He'd never seen you like that, lost for words as he trailed after them.

The marks of another man's grasp circled your bicep, green bruise fading, but visible as you laid in the bed. John thought the split lip and gashes on your head and brow were bad, the wound on your back much worse. Couldn't understand how you carried the pain so well, as if you'd mastered putting up with it. That scared him.

He nodded to the nurse as she finished her shift, the clipboard at the end of your bed falling to the floor. He picked it up flicking through the pages and shuffling them back into the file. His hands hesitating as he read your name, Marston not Price. Was he that detached from your life that you'd dropped his last name? He'd even put his surname for you when he'd signed you into the base and you hadn't said anything when you looked at the visitor pass.

A hand smoothed across his back, chair scraping along the floor beside him. “Lucky girl, Cap. Mild case of sepsis, good that you caught on to it early and brought her in," Toff said, she leant her elbows on her knees and ducked her head to catch John's gaze.

He couldn't glance at her though, his gaze on his hand on top of yours. "You were supposed to check her over," he snarled, more angry at himself for not paying enough attention than at Toff.

"She didn't show me the wound on her back, just some bruising and the marks on her face that were visible. If I'd have known John..." Her words cut off by John's hand patting her knee.

"How she looking?"

"You caught it in the early stages, could be a few days or a week or more. She'll need to be monitored here and make sure the infection has gone. A wound like that though with the placement, would have made it difficult for her to tend to herself." Toff flicked through the medical chart, eyes flitting to the heart monitor as she walked around the bed.

John didn't want to think about you alone, isolated from people that could help and care for you. How you lacked a family and friends to lean on during those times. His mind consumed with finding whoever did this to you. Ghost had already asked him if he wanted him to look into it.

Toff hooked up another bag of IV, silently bidding him goodbye and returning to her office over the other side of the infirmary. Door ajar incase she was needed.

A twitch of your finger tapped against John's, followed by the hurried beat of the heart monitor. You whimpered in to the pillow, rapid movement fluttering under your eyelids.

“You’re okay, kid. Just relax, your old man’s right here,” he said, adjusting your pillow and smoothing your hair out of the way.

“Captain,” you slurred, lazy smile tugging your lips. You struggled to keep your eyes open, but you clutched his pointer finger like you used to as a kid.

You’d called him Captain as a kid, your mother’s doing as she used to tell you stories about daddy becoming one, one day. Playing soldiers whenever he came home and he’d always let you be the captain, your little voice commanding him to play.

"I've got you kid, you're safe."

[PART THREE]

- thank you for all your lovely comments on the first part!! :) more parts to come soon! Hope you liked it - Leya

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pearlywritings · 5 days ago

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Hi!! Can I request Dan Heng + Euphonium BUTTT, the reader is the one who's correct 🤭

Took a bit longer, but it was fun to write for him hehe

Overdid it

pairing: Dan Heng x reader

prompt: "I hate to say, but I told you so"

word count: 1.4+ words

~ The Music of the Night event ~

His head is splitting. It feels like he was hit with a giant hammer, and he wouldn’t be surprised if his head was cracked in halves. But he can’t even check - his whole body seems to weigh a tonne, and attempts to lift an arm only makes the overall ache worse.

The eyelids are heavy too and it feels like a total bother to even move his eyes behind them. At this point Dan Heng isn’t quite sure if he is sleeping or is hanging somewhere on the brink between obviously needed sleep and torturous reality. He doesn’t want to be sure. He doesn’t even want to think.

His mind, however, is restless. There are numbers running through it, and who’s to say whether they are a part of some data or they define how many mugs of coffee he’s had in the last few days. Last few days..? And for what reason, he’s turned to such foolish means–

Realization hits him like another blow of a hammer and jade green eyes snap open. The headache immediately intensifies and the man hisses, shutting his eyes and knitting his brows in distress; the head sinks deeper in the pillow.

Wait a moment. It doesn’t feel like his pillow.

Groaning and with laboured breaths, Dan Heng raises himself on an elbow. He forces his hand up to press the heel of it into his forehead. The world around spins.

It’s only on the will’s effort that he manages to sit somewhat straight. Running the palm down his face, the male makes attempts to regulate his breathing. The hand ends up pressed to his chest. It takes some time, but eventually he manages.

His eyes hurt and are so tired, but Dan Heng is conscious enough to take in to his surroundings. In the darkness of the room, - your room, - he makes out the familiar silhouettes of the furniture: the desk with currently turned off PC and the chair over which you almost had to fight Stelle because it was comfortable; the wardrobe with mirror sliding doors, the shelves where you displayed mementos from various trailblazing missions, the walls decorated to your tastes, the bed he’s currently half-sitting half-lying on… And the nightstand with a singular source of dim light in the whole room.

It is kind of a nightlight, but instead of the lamp there is a plastic screen inserted in a wooden base which is filled with colored lights. Totally March 7th’s gift, and he saw you draw on it with a special white marker regularly to have a highlighted image.

Right now he could swear there is something written and he has to lean to the nightstand and squint to read.

In your pretty handwriting it says: “Take the pill and drink the whole glass. If you want me to come, press onto the bracelet. Love you <3”

There is indeed a glass of water and a pill next to the lamp, as well as a long-distance touch bracelet - one of the pair you got together during the visit to the planet Dan Heng can’t make his brain remember right now. His heart skips a beat, touched by your care, and a small smile graces his lips.

The pill slides down his throat and is quickly rushed by the cool water. The man doesn’t realize he’s chugged down it all in less than a couple of seconds. He feels like really could use more.

Next he picks the bracelet. It’s designed simply and has a moon ornament on the touch panel (yours has sun), but at the moment this little thing feels like the most sacred link between you and him. It’s not often when the vidyadhara allows himself to feel vulnerable, but he is exhausted beyond comparison, so if the press to the rising moon will bring you to him right now, he’ll gladly take it.

He lets out a trembling breath when you send him the same gentle signal.

Ten or a little bit more minutes pass, but he finally hears footsteps nearing the room. With anticipation the man watches the cabin door slide open, lifting his hand to shield the eyes from the bright light seeping into the room from the hall. It is gone as soon as it’s appeared however, and Dan Heng has the pleasure of seeing you.

You are standing there, closing the door behind you and balancing a tray on your one hand. Dressed in a robe over your casual homewear, you are an image of comfort, and your boyfriend wants nothing more than to have you close to him. He thinks he catches the glimpse of the bracelet when your other hand joins its twin and he glances down at his own, still clutched between his long slim fingers. Ah, he’s forgotten to put it back on the nightstand.

“How are you feeling, love?”

Your voice shocks him. Sounds tend to worsen his headache when it’s there - after all, all his inhuman senses are sharper. Yet your soft worried murmur of a question doesn’t aggravate it further. Maybe the pill has already kicked in.

“I…” He swallows, testing the vowel on his tongue, feeling his throat being hoarse. He feels like shit, but he is too polite to speak such unsightly truth. So he does something else - says another truth. “I overdid it.”

He sees how you tilt your head, studying him. Your gaze, scanning his face, his slouched form, brings a strange sense of embarrassment to him. He must be looking horrendously.

“You know, Dan Heng…’ You say slowly, stepping closer and putting the tray onto the nightstand, carefully nudging the night lamp and a mug further. “I hate to say it, but I told you so. Many times.”

Your lover downcasts his eyes. He knows you are not criticizing him, but softly scolding, yet it makes his stomach flip. He made you worry about him. That’s probably worse than you being wholeheartedly mad at him.

The mattress dips under your weight as you sit down, reaching for his face. The man leans into the touch instantly, closing his blood-shot eyes. Your palm is so warm… How can a simple caress bring a sense of tranquility? It will never be clear to him.

“I apologize, my love,” you softly murmur, shifting closer to him, ”I know you are not yet comfortable to sleep somewhere that is not the archive, but I couldn’t let you lie on a barely covered floor. So I made Mister Yang and Sunday carry you to my room.”

“Mhm…” he slightly nods, head still heavy, and accepts your fingers sliding between his, resting in his lap. He hears you sigh. It means there will be a lecture.

“Seriously though, when will you start taking better care of yourself? And I’m not speaking about your questionable choice of bed,” your words hold no malice and the tone is more puzzled than exasperated. “You are not a machine, you know. You do not have to rush. No one expects you to finish a week-worth of research task in a da-” you cut yourself when his forehead rests onto your shoulder. He tightens his hold on your hand.

“‘m sorry. I’ll do better. Promise.”

Your gaze softens. It is a rare sight - seeing Dan Heng like this. Raw emotion and lack of restraint is not what your boyfriend usually is. Moreso, he really looks like he needs a break - desperately.

So you decide to drop the conversation until he feels much better.

“I believe you,” a lingering press of your lips to the top of his head along with your other hand enveloping the lock of his and yours, and you can swear there are pleased dragon noises vibrating in his chest. Sometimes you almost forget he can do that. “I also brought you tea, if you’d like to. And a jug of water. Do you want anything?”

Tea, not coffee. Is he capable of loving you more?

“Can you…stay?”

Just stay with him… That would be enough.

“Stay? Of course, I wasn't planning on leaving. But are you sure you don’t want to drink something?”

“No,” he shakes his head against your shoulder, his own dropping, “feel sleepy.”

“Must be the pill finally working at its fullest. I'll sit with you, alright?”

It doesn’t take much time to get him to lie back down and adjust the blanket. Once you settle next to him to be able to monitor his condition, with your back leaned against a pillow and the headboard underneath, Dan Heng moves impossibly close to you. His hand ends up wrapped around your thigh and his face - pressed to it. You are so warm and soft.

He wants to be warm and soft too.

And as your fingers thread through the short black strands, gentle strokes bring him to sleep, letting the anxious mind rest, and the iron-heavy body float.

#the music of the night event #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #hsr fluff

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chilling-seavey · 7 months ago

Note

hi hi i don't know if i already asked this and you're definitely going to write about this regardless but i'm still going to ask about this anyways :DDDDD *me, completely okay about this at a normal level: sending endless asks*

how did they meet? :')

↳ A/N For those of you who keep thinking that TWIG has to be some idealized universe where reader is some famous model with beauty and money to blow, here's a little reminder that us normal working-class girls can still get the guy <3

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 3.2k

↳ Warnings: None.

The lobby of the five-star hotel bustled with employees working to tame the swarm of fans outside the front doors. You stood at your place at the front desk, politely assuring well-to-do guests that their stay would not be impacted by the rambunctious crowds out on the sidewalk. As yet another unconvinced woman in a designer wardrobe stalked off with her nose high, you glanced back out the large glass windows that lined the front of the hotel, watching how the local police service worked to keep everyone behind the red velvet ropes.

You hadn’t been working there long—only a temporary summer gig since you had graduated university and decided to take a year abroad—and right off the bat you were faced with the divide that came with the upper and lower classes of society. Clearly, it didn’t matter which country you were residing in; it was everywhere. From humble beginnings yourself, you found yourself drawn to the crowd of ‘commoners’ outside the luxury hotel doors, seeing yourself in their passion, their craving to get a glimpse or a signature from someone they admired.

You had heard of Formula 1 before, seen a race or two here or there on bar tvs when you were out with friends, but never enough to call yourself a die-hard fan. So when your boss had gathered the staff and alerted you all that a few of the drivers would be staying at your hotel during their local race weekend, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited. It was a whole other way of life you weren’t familiar with; the glamour and stardom. Something so far away from your reality.

They were to be treated like royalty, your boss told you all very clearly in that meeting. Anything they want, they get. No matter what it is; make it happen. Some of their teams were sponsored by your hotel, after all, so there was no margin for error. The lobby had been meticulously cleaned, their suites had their bed sheets ironed, and everything was stocked and ready for whatever might arise during their stay. It was an almost insane amount of preparation just for people who drove fast cars, you thought, but who were you to argue?

You were alerted of the VIP’s arrival by the rise of volume from the fans outside the hotel doors. The excited screaming and chants of names and flurry of papers or caps being thrown around for a signature filled the sidewalk and you couldn’t help but try to raise up on your tiptoes to try and get a glimpse for yourself.

The front doors were opened by the doormen and two well dressed security guards ushered the group of young men into the lobby with bellhops following behind with their bags. You and the rest of the front desk crew put on your best well-trained customer service smiles as the small group of men each found their way to one of you.

You greeted your guest as you did any other; with your usual practice welcome and polite request of the name for their reservation booking.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted you in reply with a warm smile, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder, “My reservation is under Albon. A-L-B-O-N.”

You typed his surname into your computer to pull up the booking, skimming his details on his stay, “Alright, we have you booked into one of our executive suites with check-out scheduled for Sunday, is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s great.” he replied with a polite nod, pulling out his wallet to slide over his sleek black credit card to you.

You took down his details and processed the payment, slightly all too aware of how he stared at you with that almost too-friendly smile on his face. You cleared your throat and passed back his card, “There you are, Mr. Albon, you’re all set.”

The computer set his keycard and you scribbled down his room number in the pamphlet before passing it over as well.

“Inside you will find your room key, room number, and the Wi-Fi password. If there is anything else you need, we are only a call away and we will be more than happy to assist you.” you said genuinely, your usual spiel taken up a notch for the sake of your VIP guests.

“I appreciate it.” he offered you another toothy grin as he took the pamphlet from you.

Just then, one of the other drivers appeared beside him, giving him a clap on the shoulder, “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Alex slid his wallet back in his pocket. He then looked at you once more with a genuine, “Thank you.”

You smiled politely and gave him a respectful nod.

It was then that his friend glanced over at you from the other side of the front desk. You met his gaze instinctively, about to offer another well-practiced wish for a pleasant stay, but the words seemed to halt in your throat the moment his blue eyes locked on yours. He stood no taller than the lanky man you had just checked-in, both of them with impressive stature and casually expensive fashion sense.

But the one who had just joined, the one who was staring at you with the biggest, bluest eyes you had ever seen, took your breath away almost embarrassingly fast. This was your job. You were not going to let a man distract you from delivering peak customer service no matter how much he resembled a fairytale prince.

Much to your relief, he earned a smack against his chest from Alex who cocked his head towards the elevators with an impatient, “Let’s go.”

You exchanged pleasantries in parting with the two of them and you watched him walk off towards the elevators. You could have sworn that the handsome stranger glanced back at you as he disappeared across the lobby.

With the VIP guests successfully checked in and now out of your hair for the time being, the small group of your co-workers at the front desk gathered to talk hurriedly about who they checked in. You spoke about how Mr. Albon was so smiley and polite, another mentioning how her guest didn’t speak much but still offered her genuine thanks and a generous tip before he walked away, and another talking about how her guest acted like the most normal guy she had ever met that she wasn’t sure he was even a driver.

“Well, my guest was a little too distracted to spark up a conversation.” another one of your co-workers announced.

“Don’t tell me he was on his phone.” another groaned, “I hate that!”

“No, no,” the first smiled cheekily before gesturing towards you, “he was too busy staring at someone.”

Your eyes widened as they all looked at you with a chorus of ‘oooo’, and you stumbled out a disbelieving, “What?”

“Why do you think he came over to you after I finished with him?” she challenged.

“To meet his friend?! I don’t know!” you protested, your voice rising in pitch a little.

“Oh, girl, you’re so oblivious.” she tutted, “Seriously, he couldn’t stop staring at you from the second he got to my desk. I had to ask him twice for his credit card. It was embarrassing, really.”

“You’re such a liar!” you laughed nervously, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I have his room number if you want it.” she teased, elbowing you playfully.

You scolded her by name despite the flushed smile on your face at your shared banter, glancing behind you to make sure your boss wasn’t overhearing such risky conversation. Yet, your mind felt like mush upon hearing this new information, wondering what truth lay in her words. It was a ludicrous concept—there was no way such a high-society figure would set his eyes on the girl in the polyester uniform behind the front desk—but maybe it was fun to dream.

The hotel computers held all the information you needed to know about every guest that ever stayed there. It was a vault of confidential information from credit card numbers to private addresses; most of which you never needed to look at. However, when it came to the presence of your VIP guests, each of their files held important notes that one might need to know when it came to how to make them feel the most welcome. Likes, dislikes, little quirks, ways to calm them down when something went awry.

You were working the overnight shift at the front desk that Saturday night when the phone rang. It was almost midnight and the lobby was entirely empty apart from the doormen and a singular woman reading by the fireplace. You and your one other co-worker were manning the desk, both of your eyes flitting to the phone when it rang.

You quickly typed in the caller ID room number into the computer database to pull up the information on that guest. Of course, one of your VIP guests this weekend. This would be interesting. You lifted the receiver to greet him by name, “Good evening, Mr. Russell, how can I help you?”

Through the line, a calm and smooth British accent answered, “Hello, I ordered room service about an hour ago and I still haven’t received it. I tried calling the kitchen but there was no answer.”

“Oh,” your heart sank, anticipating backlash for such poor service, “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Let me handle this for you personally. Do you mind telling me your order again just so I can make sure the kitchen is working on it?”

You balanced the receiver between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed your notebook and a pen.

“I’d really appreciate that, thank you. I just ordered a chicken wrap and a mug of boiling water with lemon.”

You scribbled down the order in your notebook, “Perfect, I got that down. I will check on this right away for you.”

“Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Russell.” you replied before the line went dead and you hung up the receiver.

With one last glance to the computer screen and a few more helpful notes jotted in the margin of your notebook, you alerted your co-worker that you had to drop by the kitchen to make sure his order was being fulfilled. Leaving her alone at the desk, you made your way through the staff hallways and through to the kitchen.

The overnight chef—someone who barely saw customers and orders apart from the odd drunken request for French fries or cake—was leaning against the counter in the near-empty kitchen on his phone. The sound of the door closing behind you had him startling.

“Excuse me?” you said sternly, “We have a VIP guest who has been waiting for his room service order for over an hour. Where is it?”

“Oh-” the chef shoved his phone into the pocket of his apron and turned around in a circle as if he had completely forgotten where he was for a moment. “Yes, of course. Uh- what was the order?”

“A chicken wrap.” you replied in near disbelief. You then noted the kitchen phone left unattended and you walked over to it to note the ‘missed call’ light flashing. Turning back to the chef, you asked, “Where is the room service operator?”

“Smoke break.” he replied as he hurried to wash his hands and get to making the food.

“For an hour?” you gaped.

The chef just shrugged and tossed the chicken into the sizzling pan.

Although you had been starting to see the divide in class structures since beginning your job at such a luxury hotel, you also were learning that money couldn’t buy intelligence. There were going to be incompetent people anywhere and it just meant you had to take things into your own hands to keep things from falling apart.

While the chef prepared the wrap, you took it upon yourself to boil the water in the kettle and slice up a fresh lemon to add in the bottom of the mug. As per the computer’s notes, the guest’s favourite type of dessert was listed from the last time he stayed, so you sliced him a generous piece of cake and added it to the tray free of charge. (You figured avoiding the bottle of wine would be smart since he was in town to drive and those two things did not go well together).

Once the chef plated the wrap, added garnishes, and topped it with the metal cloche, you set it on the rolling table with the rest of your spread and made your way to the service elevator. You truly had to do everything yourself to get it done right, or so it felt.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ‘ding’ at the 24th floor and you carefully rolled the table out onto the plush hallway carpet. Silently, with your notebook in hand with all of your helpful scribbled notes, you made your way down to his suite near the end of the hall. Once you were outside the proper room, you pocketed your notebook and then knocked three times.

You weren’t sure who you were anticipating to answer the door but the handsome man who had been staring at you from the other side of the front desk only three days earlier was not your first thought. He wore a casual t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants, his brown hair still slightly damp from a shower and drying slightly at the ends in funny directions as it framed his face. It was endearing if nothing else. For a second or two, the two of you just stood there in surprise.

Finally, you cleared your throat, trying to remind yourself you were working, and you displayed the table-cloth lined room service table that held his simple late-night order, “I am terribly sorry about the delay, Mr. Russell. As promised, I made sure it was handled personally.”

“And delivered personally?” he replied with a small quirk of his lips.

“I- Well-” you let out a soft laugh, “Yeah, that too.”

“You’re too kind.” he said genuinely, stepping aside to hold the door open so you could roll the table into the suite. “Please.”

In the living area of the suite, only the floor lamp was on, casting a comforting glow around the room. His laptop was open on the coffee table to a paused F1 race replay, the computer framed in loose papers with various graphs and things printed on them, and an open notebook with colour-coded handwritten notes on top of it all. You stopped the table to the side of the spacious room and used your toes to lock the wheels so it stayed in place.

He appeared beside you as you lifted off the metal cloche from his plate, his eyes skimming everything as if making sure it was all in order.

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” he said gently as he gestured to the plate with the slice of cake.

“No, that is just something from us as an apology for the delay.” you told him.

His handsome face broke into an amused smile, “Cake on the night before a race? I would think you’re trying to sabotage me.”

Your polite smile fell quickly, your hands raising quickly to cover your mouth, stumbling over your words as you saw your job vanishing before your very eyes, “Oh my God, I didn’t even think- That was not my intention, Mr. Russell, I’m so sorry.”

He simply laughed, the sound warm and sweet, reaching out just enough to dust his fingertips over your arm reassuringly, “It’s alright! No harm, it was a kind gesture. Thank you,”

He glanced down to your name tag pinned to your collared uniform shirt, finishing his thanks with a gentle addition of your name.

You tried to take a breath.

As if he had now been introduced to you properly, he offered his hand out, introducing himself in return, “George.”

You accepted his handshake, momentarily speechless. Then, always trying to find solutions to everything—a habit you picked up since your first day at the hotel—you offered, “Maybe you can save the cake until after the race tomorrow. A little reward for winning or something.”

George’s face broke into a grin and his eyebrows raised, his hand still lingering in yours, “You think I’m going to win tomorrow?”

“Well,” you scoffed modestly, “I guess we’ll see.”

You shared smiles.

Your hands finally broke apart and he looked back down to the table, “I don’t see a cheque here. Is the charge just put on my room?”

You shook your head, “Oh, no. I can’t allow you to pay for it after the trouble. It’s on the house.”

“I cannot have you do that.” he chuckled, “It’s a chicken wrap…it’s, like, €14…I can pay it.”

“Mr. Russell-”

“I want to pay it. Please?”

You sighed.

He offered you a cheeky smile, “Either you let me pay for my dinner or I’ll insist you come to the race tomorrow as my guest.”

You hurriedly pulled your notebook out of your pocket to take the cheque from the inside cover where you had tucked it earlier and you shoved the paper at him.

He laughed, taking it and your pen, “Ouch! You hate Formula 1 that much?”

“No! Oh my gosh, no.” you said quickly, eyes on him as he bent over the table to sign it to his credit card, trying not to entirely offend him with everything you said that evening, “I just- the last thing I want to do is put you out of your way.”

George stood up again and folded the cheque in half to pass it back to you, “Well, you already bet over this slice of cake that I’d win tomorrow. What if you’re my good luck charm and you’re not there?”

You took the cheque and pen back from him with a reluctant, “I can’t. I work tomorrow anyway.”

“A shame. Well, you’ll find your way to a race someday, I’m sure.” he said like it was a genuine promise.

“Hope so.” you smiled in return.

The two of you lingered there for a moment, staring, staring, in the warm light of his suite at nearly 1am.

“Okay,” you took a step back towards the door, “I should get back to the desk…make sure no one is trying to set the hotel on fire.”

“Of course.” George followed after you to open the door for you.

The bright light from the hallway spilled into the hotel room and you stepped out into its blindingness.

George spoke again as you turned to face him, “Thank you again for your kindness.”

“Leave a good word with my boss?” you joked lightly.

“Gladly.” he chuckled, “Good night.”

“Night.”

He closed the door behind you quietly as you started back down the hallway. The grin that was spread across your face was almost entirely involuntary and you lifted your hand up to touch your cheek that was intended with the curve of your smile. Such a simple interaction with another guest and somehow it left you with this indescribable warmth across your skin as if there was so much still left unsaid.

As you waited for the elevator, you unfolded the cheque in your hand, skimming past his signature to the handwritten tip of €30—more than double his order’s total—and the little note in the margin punctuated with a phone number:

If I win tomorrow, you’ll have to share this cake with me x

And, if you were wondering, he did win the race the next day.

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aquamarixx · 4 months ago

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breaking the internet

chapter seven Hiori and Miss Journalist share more than just a passionate night, opening up about their relationship and the uncertain future that lies ahead. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, suggestive nsfw masterlist

After the heated confrontation on the JFA party balcony, the two of you decided to run into the night.

The music and laughter echoed behind as you navigated through the crowd on the dance floor, weaving past a sea of bodies. Like mischievous teenagers sneaking away, you let Hiori sweep you away, his hand clasping yours tightly as both of you shared hushed giggles on your way out.

Your heart races, feeling the adrenaline course through your veins. But you know it’s not just from running but from the familiar excitement between you both.

A cab ride later, you arrive at Hiori’s apartment. The complex sat in a quiet neighborhood, far removed from the relentless chaos of the city. As the elevator hums upward, Hiori’s touch grows bolder. His lips find yours, his hands exploring you with an eagerness that leaves you wanting more.

By the time you reach his door, you’re tangled in each other, his kisses fervent, his hand cradling the back of your head while he fumbles with his keys.

“Maybe we should get inside first,” you murmur between kisses, barely managing the words.

“Nah, I like it this way,” he replies with a grin against your lips, his hand sliding to the small of your back to pull you closer.

When the door finally opens, the two of you stumble inside, breaking apart only long enough for him to catch your hand. He leads you further in, fingers intertwined.

Hiori’s apartment was modest but inviting. The living room is tidy, the furniture simple. Beneath a large TV, a PS5 sat neatly in its place, its controllers perfectly arranged. Everything else spoke of practicality rather than extravagance.

You couldn’t help but think of other athletes his age, often swept up in the luxury their careers afford them. Big houses in exclusive neighborhoods. Sleek sports cars. Designer furniture. Wardrobes filled with high-end brands. Nights spent clubbing, jet-setting, and entertaining an ever-rotating cast of partners.

But Hiori’s different. Even before stepping into his home, you’ve sensed it in the way he carries himself. And it even bleeds into his home. Simple, thoughtful choices define his home, save for the pockets of indulgence: the gaming setup and a few shelves lined with football memorabilia.

“Make yerself at home. I’ll grab ya some water,” Hiori calls out, disappearing into the kitchen.

You wander towards the balcony, drawn by the expansive window that frames the city skyline. Sliding the glass door open, you step outside, the cool night air wrapping around you. The city stretches before you, vibrant and alive, but softened by distance. Above it all, the moon hung luminous, bathing the world in silver light.

You can’t help but pull out your phone to capture the moment. The city below felt worlds away, a far cry from the relentless energy of your own apartment (that you share with a college friend), where even behind closed doors, the unsleeping city’s energy seems to reach and breathe life into.

But here, in Hiori’s quiet home, you feel safe from the usual chaos you live in every day.

“The moon’s real pretty tonight, don’tcha think?” Hiori’s voice breaks the quiet as he joins you on the balcony, a glass of water in hand. His gaze isn’t on the city or the moon—it’s on you.

He reaches for a stray strand of your hair, absently twisting it between his fingers.

“It is,” you reply softly, eyes on the horizon. “It’s... breathtaking.”

To him, though, it wasn’t the moon or the view that captivates him. It’s you.

The moonlight softens your features, erasing the tension he knows you carry. He never understood when books and movies talk about being completely stunned by someone’s beauty. He never did.

But somehow, you basking under the moonlight got his heart pounding, he swore it would leap out of his chest.

In that moment, you look at peace, and he wants nothing more than to etch this image of you into his memory.

You finally face him and when you reach for the water, he smirks and pulls it away. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a sip but doesn't swallow. Instead, his free hand slides to the nape of your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

Caught off guard, you felt the cold rush of water spill into your mouth. You gulp instinctively, then gasp when he pulls back, a boyish grin lighting up his face.

“What was that?” you ask, half-laughing, half-stunned.

“Just somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to try.” he shrugs, brushing a stray droplet from your lips with his thumb.

The two of you go back inside and you finish drinking the remaining water in the glass. After placing the now-empty glass on the coffee table, Hiori catches your hand again, this time pressing soft kisses along your fingers, your palm, your wrist. Each touch grows hungrier and draws you closer to him, pulling you toward his open bedroom door.

Compared to the simple living room, Hiori’s bedroom offers a more vivid glimpse into who he is. It’s still nothing fancy but the first thing you notice is the sleek, high-end PC setup in the corner. The multi-screen rig and glowing keyboard look like something out of a tech enthusiast’s dream. You can’t help but wonder how many months of your salary you’d need to build something even half as impressive.

The soft glow from his wide-screen monitors lights up the room. Its screensaver displays a scene from a game you don’t recognize. Posters and shelves line the walls, filled with a mix of manga, books, and meticulously arranged character figures. Your gaze lingers on a strikingly detailed 2B and 9S pair. When you look closer, you spot a familiar keychain.

It’s a small 2B that matches the 9S one he gave you before you guys stopped talking to each other.

“Ya can look around,” Hiori says, his voice low and amused. He sits on the edge of his neatly made king-size bed, watching you with a mix of curiosity and an almost shy anticipation.

You wander towards his manga collection, fingers lightly brushing along the spines as you read through the titles. When you pause and open one, your eyebrows lift slightly. It’s a shoujosei title, and the mature, steamy panels on the page catch you off guard.

Hiori notices and shifts a little, a hint of nervousness creeping into his expression. He’s never felt this self-conscious before. Talking about his interests with you had always felt easy, but now, with you here in the flesh, seeing it all up close, he wonders:

Does she think it’s weird? Childish? Too much?

It’s not like he’s inexperienced. He’s dated before, even hooked up with others in the past. But he’s never brought anyone home. The thought of sharing this space with someone had always felt too personal.

And yet, after kissing you on the balcony, he knew he couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else bringing you home. The very memory of Reo asking you out sends a fresh wave of irritation through him.

“Hey,” Hiori calls, casually pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion. “Something caught yer eye?”

Startled, you snap the book shut and turn toward him. Warmth blooms across your face as your eyes land on the now half-naked midfielder, his lean, toned torso illuminated by the monitor’s soft light. He pats the space beside him, smirking slightly.

It’s one thing seeing him all sweaty and his jersey sticking into his body during games. But being up close, behind closed doors and seeing his toned torso got you holding your breath for no good reason.

You shrug off his cardigan and drape it over his gaming chair before walking towards him.

“You’ve got some impressive collections,” you say, attempting to sound casual. “I’m kind of jealous.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Ya don’t think it’s childish?”

Hiori’s hand finds yours, and before you can answer, he gently tugs you onto his lap.

“I—uh… no,” you manage, a little flustered. “It’s very… you. But I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who reads shoujosei. Especially the, um, adult-rated ones.”

You shift slightly, unsure of your own weight, but Hiori’s hands steady you. His grip is firm, and his thumbs trace slow circles on your hips through the fabric of your trousers.

“Well,” he says, his tone light and teasing, “What can I say? M’just a cultured kinda guy.”

Your arms wrap around Hiori’s neck, pulling him closer as his hands find your waist. His touch is firm yet hesitant, as though he's afraid to push too far.

Before you can process it, you tug your top over your head and toss it aside. In one smooth motion, he flips you onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours. The mattress sinks beneath your weight as he moves to unbutton your trousers, sliding them off and leaving you in nothing but a matching set of black lingerie. His gaze lingers, taking in the sight of you in nothing but your underwear.

Hiori stands briefly to shimmy out of his pants, leaving only his boxers. He kisses you again and it deepens even further, growing even more bolder. His lips trails down from your mouth to your jawline, then your neck, where he pauses to draw in a deep, shaky breath.

Every touch is deliberate. Firm yet reverent. Like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his fingers. But at the same time, there’s a certain hunger in his touches that feels restrained, as if he’s holding back. And you feel it too. The tension, the longing.

When his hands slide over your thighs, you instinctively move to cover them, a wave of insecurity about your stretch marks hitting you. But before you can, Hiori gently moves your hands away, leaning down to press soft kisses against the marks. There's a certain tenderness to it that makes your heart ache.

“Yer beautiful,” he murmurs to you, peppering your thighs with light kisses.

His words send a warmth flooding through you, and your heart races. But as his fingers hook around the strap of your bra, he pauses. His forehead rests against yours as he exhales heavily, his breath hot against your skin.

“I don’t want this to be just physical,” he says softly, his voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want ya thinkin’ this is just for tonight.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. He looks away, as if afraid of what he might see in your eyes.

You cup his face, gently guiding him back to meet your gaze. “I don’t think that,” you whisper. “And if we’re not ready for this, it’s okay. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

A small, relieved smile plays on his lips. You both chuckle at how awkward and intense things have become, and he pulls you upright so you can lean on his chest.

He exhales, his shoulders relaxing as though a weight has been lifted. Then he begins to talk.

“I’ve never been uninterested in romance,” he admits, his gaze shifting to the window, where the faint glow of moonlight seeps in.

“It’s just… no one’s ever made me feel like it was worth the effort. I liked the quiet and peace of being on my own. Maybe I’ve even convinced myself that I didn’t need anyone. Easier that way.”

You stay silent, your heart tightening as he continues.

“Maybe it’s because of my parents,” he confesses, his voice dipping with a hint of bitterness.

“They’re both Olympic athletes. Together, they’re the perfect story on the outside: power couple, world-class achievers, everything you’d think people dream about. But growing up, I realized their love wasn’t the kind of love that brought happiness. It was convenience.”

He briefly pauses, remembering that night when he found his parents shouting at each other for not doing better to make him the best. His heart twists at the memory of falling down the stairs, the sharp sting of pain in his knee as he fell.

He hadn’t meant to overhear them arguing, but their raised voices were impossible to ignore.

"He’s slacking because you’re too soft on him!" his father had yelled.

"And you’re too harsh! No wonder he looks miserable every day!"

Hiori had stood frozen outside their door, his small hands trembling. He thought playing soccer made them happy, that it brought them closer as a family. But that night, the illusion broke.

"I still remember the exact words," Hiori murmurs, half to himself. "'We can’t waste his potential. He has to be the best.'" He looks away, his jaw tightening.

"I realized that night," Hiori says softly, his voice laced with quiet bitterness, "their love wasn’t real. It was convenient. They stayed together because I was their project—not their son. Not for each other, either. Just… to protect their legacy."

He pauses, the weight of it all settling over him again. What if love really is just a transaction? A compromise? The thought had scared him then, and it still did now.

"I kept playing soccer after that," Hiori continues, his voice steadying.

"Not ‘cause I loved it, but ‘cause I thought it’d keep the family together. That maybe it’d be enough to stop the cracks from showin’. But it never was." He swallows hard, his gaze clouding.

“Soccer stopped being mine. It became theirs. A chore I did for people I didn’t even love anymore.”

His words hang in the air like a confession he’s been holding for years. He hesitates, looking back at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“That’s why I’ve always kept people at a distance, even when I tried dating. I just… couldn’t care. I felt detached. Until ya.” His voice softens, but the rawness remains.

“Yer different," he says, his voice low but full of emotion.

"Ya made me wanna know everythin’ about ya. Made me wanna be bothered, be interrupted. I… want ya to look at me. Not anyone else. Just me. I want ya."

For Hiori, this moment feels surreal. It’s been so long since he’s let himself get close to anyone like this. Not just because he’s unwilling, but also because his life as an athlete has left little room for romance.

Between grueling schedules and the endless pursuit of perfection, there was no space for vulnerability—or so he thought.

And then you happened.

You walked into his life and unraveled his carefully constructed walls without even trying. Now, with you here, wrapped in his arms, the raw intimacy feels new, almost overwhelming. He hadn’t realized how much he craved this until now.

“I didn’t know how much I wanted it until I thought I might lose ya.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he searches your eyes. “Ya scare me,” he admits. “Ya make me feel things I don’t know how to handle.”

The depth of his words stuns you, leaving your chest heavy with emotions you can barely name. Without thinking, you sit up and you lean into him and pull him into a fierce hug. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“You scare me too,” you confess, your voice trembling.

“You’re the only one I see. Always have been. I meant every word I said earlier. And I’ll say it a thousand more times if you need me to.”

You pull back slightly, your hands cupping his face as you meet his gaze.

“You’re… unreachable, Hiori. And I can’t even begin to understand what you see in me.”

“It’s hard to explain,” you continue, your own voice faltering under the weight of your honesty.

“You leave me speechless, and yet I could talk about you forever. Getting to know you these past months—through games, through work—it’s felt unreal, like something out of a movie. And that scares me because liking someone like you feels impossible for someone like me.”

His brows furrow, and you see the protest forming on his lips, but you press a gentle kiss there before he can speak.

Hiori reaches up, his hands covering yours as they rest against his cheeks. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of hesitation before he speaks, his voice quieter now but no less steady.

“You don’t have to wonder,” he murmurs. “About what I see in you. All I know is ya make it feel like it’s worth a try. I don’t have all the answers, but… I know I want to try. With ya.”

His words land softly. You don’t respond right away, the air between you thick with unspoken fears and hopes.

Finally, you nod, your lips curving into a small, uncertain smile. “I don’t know if I’m good at this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to try too. With you.”

A small, almost incredulous laugh escapes him, and you feel the tension in his shoulders ease as his hands slide down to rest on your waist. “That’s good enough fer me,” he says softly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile.

You both sit there, holding each other, the quiet between you no longer heavy but comforting. The weight of expectations, doubts, and past fears seems to lighten, even if just a little. It’s not perfect—there’s no dramatic declaration, no grand resolution—but it feels real.

And that’s more than either of you had dared to hope for.

The soft rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, painting the room in a warm, golden glow. You stir, body stretching lazily before realizing Hiori is still sound asleep beside you.

Tangled together, your leg drapes over his, he cradles you against his chest. Peaking thru your lidded eyes, you see his features softened in a rare moment of peace. The sight tugs at her heart, but a glance at the clock reveals it's almost noon.

It’s noon. Shit. You find your phone under the pillow and check your messages. There’s one from your roommate, who’s worried you didn’t come home. Both of you share a GPS tracker on your phones to ensure each other’s safety.

miko: WOMAN I SWEAR TO GOD IF U DONT REPLY I WILL CALL POLICE WHEN IT HITS 24HRS

miko: IS THIS WHERE UR BODY IS BURIED?!

[image attachment]

Attached is a screenshot of your geolocation on the app, your avatar image zoomed in.

miko: if u hooked up with a guy, do a sister a favor and tell me in advance!

miko: also, i want all the details when u get home. stay safe! xoxo

You laugh breathlessly, trying to slip out of Hiori’s arms without waking him. Stealthily, you slide out of bed. You’re still in your underwear, so you decide to grab Hiori’s shirt from the floor and wear it in the meantime.

At this point, you’re already contemplating going home, but you don’t want to leave him so abruptly. Closing the bedroom door behind you, you head to the apartment’s kitchen. Maybe you can cook brunch and eat together before heading home.

The fridge is surprisingly well-stocked. There are eggs, beef, chicken, vegetables, and fruits. The cupboard is filled with cup noodles, chips, and snacks. You decide on a simple but hearty brunch—pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit.

The rhythmic sizzle of the stove fills the apartment, and the aroma wafts into the bedroom. Hiori stirs awake, his hand instinctively reaching for the space beside him—empty.

She’s gone.

Panic rises in his chest as his eyes snap open, heart pounding. Memories of last night flood back, and he bolts upright, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He hurriedly gets up and stumbles into the hallway, his heart racing.

Then, he sees you in the kitchen, wearing his shirt and humming softly as you tidy up the countertops. You’re on your phone, replying to your roommate to inform her that you are indeed alive and kicking. The tension in his body melts instantly, especially when you pout for the camera and snap a quick selfie to send to your roommate as "proof of life," as you call it.

You take the plates and notice him looking a bit dazed.

“You’re up,” you greet him with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind me raiding your kitchen.”

Relief washes over his face, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “Ya scared me. I thought ya left.”

You tilt your head, your expression softening. “Why would I just leave?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks over to stand beside you, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he absentmindedly tugs at the hem of the shirt you’re wearing.

“It smells good,” he murmurs, his voice warm against the shell of your ear as he takes a plate from your hands.

You and Hiori sit at the small dining table. Hiori has done the liberty of putting on some sweatpants and a shirt.

Thank God, or he might’ve been my breakfast, you think.

He takes a bite of the pancakes, his expression shifting into one of pleasant surprise.

“This is really good,” he says between bites.

You grin. “Not bad for someone who usually orders takeout, huh?”

You pop a piece of sliced apple into your mouth, watching him while sneaking a quick peek at your phone when it vibrates with a message from your roommate.

Hiori leans back, his eyes lingering on you. “Stay a little longer.” His voice softens, hesitant.

“You don’t have to go home immediately. I just... I don’t want ya feelin’ like ya hafta rush off.”

You smile, your chest tightening with a mix of surprise and affection. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

After brunch, you decide to take a shower. Hiori lends you a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a loose shirt. The clothes are oversized, practically swallowing your frame, and Hiori can’t help but smile at how cute you look in his clothes.

Once you're done, he takes his turn in the shower, emerging moments later in similar attire—black sweatpants, but he opts for a black hoodie instead.

When he steps into the living room, he finds you on the floor, flipping through old photo albums and yearbooks that he must’ve taken from his home. It’s been years since he’s touched them. You’re currently looking at photos and clippings from his Blue Lock days.

He sits beside you and starts walking you through the memories. There’s one photo of the Blue Lock team celebrating after their victory against the U20 team. Isagi’s arm is slung over his shoulder, pulling him close as they all smile together.

Another photo shows the Bastard Munchen team at the start of the Neo Egoist League. The group is stiff, awkward, but undeniably cute—especially the younger Noel Noa standing in the middle of a group of teenage boys. You spot Hiori between Isagi and Ness, wearing the same jersey, his face deadpan as ever. The boyish energy surrounding him makes it just so endearing.

As Hiori recalls some fun stories behind the photos, you snap pictures of them. When he asks why, you casually answer, “For my personal photo album collection.”

While Hiori fires up the PS5, your eyes catch a familiar cutout. It’s the clipping of the article you first wrote about Bastard Munchen earlier this season. The sight of it brings a nostalgia, and you pause for a moment, letting the emotion wash over you before carefully closing the album.

You both settle onto the couch, deciding to play Overcooked 2. It was meant to be a chill game (Hiori’s words, not yours) but your competitive streak kicks in, and suddenly you’re both obsessed with earning three stars on every level without missing a single order.

It’s chaotic and hilarious. Hiori doubles over with laughter, teasing you for taking it so seriously. But your energy is infectious, and soon, he’s caught up in the challenge as well. For a while, everything else fades away—the world outside no longer matters. It’s just the two of you, working in sync, caught up in the frantic fun of the game.

Then, a sudden realization dawns on Hiori. One night, the two of you were just casually playing online together, and now—here you are, comfortably (and fiercely) competing in his apartment, with nothing more than each other’s company to keep the world at bay.

The game is in full swing when a notification pings on the screen, briefly interrupting the action.

“What was that?” you ask, eyes flicking to Hiori.

A stream of messages floods the tv.

isagoat: hiori where d heck r u isagoat: check ur phone kyuuurona: check gc now!!! jintan: whos the girl raichinumbahwan: damn everyones panicking abt u rn and ur playing overcooked?!

Hiori picks up his phone, his brow furrowing as he scrolls through a deluge of messages in the Bastard München group chat.

Ness: look what i found /Hiori Ness: [image attachment link] Isagi: So this is why you were gone immediately? Igarashi: You were supposed to be my wingman last night /Hiori 🙁 Gesner: damn hiori has more rizz than raichi wwwww Kurona: [chiitan bonk gif]

Hiori clicks on the link from Ness, and you can’t help but peek over his shoulder. The screen loads a gossip article with a headline that's as bold as it is damning:

THE MOST ELUSIVE BASTARD MÜNCHEN MIDFIELDER CAUGHT KISSING A MYSTERY WOMAN AT THE JFA PARTY—AND LEAVING TOGETHER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE EVENT!

The accompanying photo is blurry, but unmistakable.

It’s you and Hiori, his navy-blue cardigan shielding most of you from view as he cradles your face, kissing you.

Your face pales. “Oh god…” You immediately cover your mouth, mortified.

Hiori groans, running a hand through his hair. “I knew someone’d see us. Shoulda been more careful.”

The two of you sit in stunned silence, staring at his phone as the comments continue to flood in beneath the gossip article. Some are playful, others more speculative:

Is the new girl a celebrity? Is she someone from JFA? Hiori Yo a womanizer?! Is Miss Journalist out of the picture? HioRizz caught on 4K Edited, that’s not Hiori lolol Does anyone else think she’s kinda familiar? Like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Hiori going public with a girl? Wild. Who’s next, Niko Ikki?

You scroll through them, a tinge of panic rising in your chest. The sudden spotlight is definitely not what you need right now. You don’t want to cause any trouble for Hiori—or yourself.

Especially not for him, since he’s already a public figure. Someone who’s been fiercely private about his personal life.

You glance up at him, worry etched on your face. “Hiori, this could cause problems for you, right?”

He meets your gaze, unwavering. “I don’t care what they say ‘bout me. M’more worried ‘bout ya. Are ya okay with this?”

“As long as you’re okay, I’ll be fine,” you reply, nodding more to reassure yourself than him.

Hiori notices the subtle shift in your expression, and without a second thought, he places his hand over yours.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, squeezing your hand gently. “We knew this could happen. Not this soon, but... I won’t let it get worse.I won’t say anythin’ about us till yer ready.”

You look up at him. “But what if they don’t leave you alone? What if they keep bothering you? I don’t want to cause you any problems this early on.”

The tension in the room begins to ease as the two of you talk through the complexities of the situation. Hiori leans back, propping his feet up on the coffee table, his fingers running through his hair in thought.

“We can’t ignore it,” he admits, his voice firm but calm. “Our lives are too connected, professionally and personally. The media will be watching, and people will wanna know more. But I don’t want that to dictate us, either.”

You nod, the weight of the situation sinking in. “It’s hard, though. I mean, we’re both in the public eye. You with your career, and me with mine. If this becomes a story, my job could get involved too.”

“I don’t want to put you on the spot, or make you uncomfortable, or—”

“Hey, hey.” He cuts you off, meeting your gaze. “Ya don’t hafta worry ‘bout me too much, alright?” His fingers intertwine with yours.

“But you—”

“It’s not just me in this. It’s both of us. So lemme worry ‘bout ya too, ‘kay?” He leans in and kisses you softly on the lips.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he assures you. “We don’t hafta let them dictate how we handle this. Not until we’re ready.”

You look at him, your heart swelling with appreciation for his honesty, his understanding. “We can keep it private for now, right?”

“For as long as ya need,” he says, his eyes soft with affection. “Let’s just focus on what we have. No distractions.”

The conversation lingers in the air, but Hiori gently pulls you into a quiet, comforting silence. After a few moments, he leans in, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead.

“This isn’t something we have to solve today,” he murmurs, his voice steady, calm. “Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll deal with it. But right now, we’re here.”

You smile up at him, the warmth of his words melting the uncertainty that had been growing inside you. “And that’s enough, right?”

“Yeah,” he says with a gentle grin. “That’s enough.”

Hiori holds you close, his arms wrapping around you, and the noise of the outside world fades into nothingness. The article, the comments, the chaos—they’re all just background noise in your little bubble, and for the moment, that’s all that matters.

amari's notes: this is my fave chapter so far! i was originally making this a smut chapter (but i suck at writing one) and it didn't felt right for some reason with the both of them. but nevertheless, this one is really close to my heart, i love hiori and miss journalist's dynamic so much huhu anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (if you wanna join the taglist, just comment or send me a message!)

taglist: @inu1gf

#blue lock #hiori yo #blue lock x reader #hiori yo x reader #bllk hiori yo #bllk x reader

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aezuria · 1 year ago

Text

*ੈ✎ you know i'm such a fool, for you

—linger; the cranberries

content: leo valdez x daughter of aphrodite! reader

╰┈▸ back cover: part I | part II | part III

╰┈▸ warnings: cursing.. are we surprised tho, also drew is not a stuck up bitch because rick totally mischaracterized her IDC IF HES THE AUTHOR she just gives mean older sister who secretly thinks ur alright okay???

librarian's annotations: long awaited part 3 guys + tagging the moots that i think were waiting ! @hopelesslyromanticshark @s1utlvr @crownofgildedlilies @pinkdiorluvr

"so... how are we gonna break it to him?"

jason looked up from his book, his glasses sliding back up his nose. "break what to who?"

"you know.. break it to leo that y/n might not like him?" percy gestured, before throwing his turtle plushie up like a ball.

frank blinked owlishly at him. "what gave you that idea?"

the other boy caught the plushie and paused. "what do you mean?"

"isn't it super obvious that they both like each other and are mutually pining over each other?" jason closed his book. "like, i didn't see it at first, but it was so obvious after leo finally followed her."

"she does? wait, so i wasn't actually lying to leo when i was hyping him up?" percy sat up, his face brightened at knowing that he was guilt-free.

"well, i wouldn't say you weren't lying-" frank started before the door slammed open.

"are you guys having a gossip session? without me?" leo appeared in the doorway of poseidon's cabin, an utterly aghast expression on his face. "um, what the actual flip?"

"there is no way you just said that."

"i was using it ironically!"

alldaladiesluvleo shared a note "having a gossip session without me is a new low i hate ALL OF YOU FOR REALS THIS TIME" ╰┈▸ loveloveyn replied to your note "STOP WHY DID MY FRIENDS LITERALLY DO THE SAME THING"

leo went back to his bunker after frank had shoved him back out the door. he was taking a much needed phone break after working on another contraption he had yet to finish. "holy shit!" leo almost dropped the phone on his face after getting the notification. oh my gods, she just texted me! play it cool! but playing it cool was not wired into his brain.

‎‏alldaladiesluvleo ‏‏does that mean were matching rn ‎‏‏‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎loveloveyn‏‎ omg i think so

you sent the message before you could think about it. wait, wait wait. does that count as flirting? that's gotta count as flirting, right? a giddy smile spread across your face as you rolled over in bed. the "group meeting" annabeth had shooed you away from was quickly forgotten, replaced by your current conversation with leo.

loveloveyn ‏‏so like if ur friends left u and MY friends left me.. alldaladiesluvleo ..we should totally ditch them and hang out tgt‎‏‏‎?? loveloveyn ‏‏YESS

we're actually gonna hang out! leo sat up in shock. was it that easy!? he started to regret the months of longing glances and waiting around for nothing. was i was too forward? i wasn't, right? she used all caps and an extra letter at the end so that must mean she wants to hang out too, right? yeah! without his designated hypeman, he had to go and hype himself up.

alldaldiesluvleo going to ur cabin rn

"what the fuck!?" you rolled out of bed in a panic and tripped on the mess of clothes you had yet to put into your wardrobe. you muttered another curse and hauled yourself up to look in the mirror. the sight before you was not one to behold; your bedhead was crazy, your camp half-blood shirt was wrinkled, and your makeup was smudged from your unplanned nap.

you took a brush and combed it through your hair, trying to get the knots out as quick as humanely possible. drew watched your fix-up frenzy from her perch, legs swinging over her bunk. "someone's got a date!" she smirked. "you look disgusting. need some help?"

"don't think there's any time," you grumbled, trying clean up your smudged mascara and smooth out your shirt. "now do i look like i didn't just get out of bed?" you spun around in a slow circle under her watchful eye.

she shrugged at your stunning presentation. "you look as good as you can get? now go and have fun with your ugly boyfriend." drew hopped off her bunk and pushed you to the door.

"he's not ugly! and he's not my boyfriend!"

"yet!"

drewtanakax shared a note "hate couples praying on their downfall rn (JUST DATE ALREADY)"

"hey," leo waved as he reached the cabin. you were just about to flip drew off when you caught sight of him.

"hey!" you waved back, already feeling the nervousness creep up on you. shit, i didn't think this through! what if he thinks i'm weird for acting like we were already friends?

"so." leo's voice broke you out of your thoughts. "shitty friends we have, huh?"

"totally," you nodded. "like, that was just so unbelievably rude. after all we've done, too." you put a hand over your heart dramatically.

"exactly! i thought they were like, my best friends. where am i ever gonna find a replacement?" he gave you a pointed look, his eyebrows raised as if he was waiting for you to say something.

you took the hint and grinned. "hey! i could be your new bestie!"

"really!? you're a lifesaver!" in a spur of the moment, leo took your hands in his and jumped up and down.

you laughed and jumped along with him, caught up in his enthusiasm.

"that means.." leo stopped bouncing, a mock serious expression on his face. "we have to show them what they're missing by having the most fun day ever!"

"yeah!"

drewtanakax shared a story caught these bitches frolicking in the fields can they go die

you replied to their story stop being such a hater this is why u dont have a gf

alldaladiesluvleo tagged you in a post hanging out w my newer, cooler, AWESOMER bestie WITHOUT U GUYS

herseaweedbrain WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS LEO jasongrace is this what a hard launch is? frankzhangnotocean does this mean ur gonna shut up now

loveloveyn tagged you in a post notice the good time im having with my super cool and better bestie INSTEAD OF YOU FAKES

thepiedpiper WHERE THE FUCK DID THIS COME FROM hiswisegirl is this where youve been all day?? ditching us for a MAN tell me everything rn hazyhazel omg! are you guys dating now?

librarian's annotations: sooo i wanted to make this the last one but i feel like it would be moving too fast if i made them FR get tgt in this one so (next one will probably be short cause im running out of ideas HELP ME)

#*ੈ✎ stories #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo #pjo hoo toa #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson and the olympians

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vmsplusblog · 10 months ago

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The Benefits of Glass Wardrobes In Modern Homes

The latest bedroom design with designer furniture and Italian marble floors seems incomplete with a typical wardrobe. You should know that a wardrobe is important in improving your room’s aesthetic. The main thing which comes to mind in a bedroom is the wardrobe and bed. Most modern homes have one specific wall devoted to adding a customised wardrobe. As it completely covers the bedroom wall, it is our accountability to make it attractive without forgoing its functionality, as its major cause is to keep the area organised and neat. Look at functional and stunning glass wardrobe designs that will update your bedroom’s beauty.

However, with different trends in wardrobe design, people normally need help selecting the best. You can find the services of the best glass-door wardrobe designers who can help you build the best collection of wardrobes by following the latest trends. One of the famous options is a glass-door wardrobe. The door panels are built from different kinds of polished or matte glass, offering them the finest look. Usually, glass sliding door wardrobes are transparent, permitting you to see through them to explore the clothing you are searching for. You can find any item without a problem while keeping your wardrobe free from dust.

An attractive bedroom wardrobe design with glass is timeless as it gives enough storage space, is available in modern designs and styles, and is easily customisable. Glass in wardrobes improves the interiors while adding some kind of beauty, making the rooms look attractive and modern. Here you can check some advantages of modern wardrobe doors:

Modern Feel

Shining glass wardrobes add a beautiful and modern feel to your room’s interior. These are not just beautifully pleasing but even an attractive choice that adds elegance. Typical sliding doors are made of aluminium, but these are simple-styled sliding doors enclosed in glass to match the windows (floor-to-ceiling) perfectly. You can even utilise a glass wardrobe to make a stylish, one-of-a-type, and wonderfully designed wardrobe that meets your exact needs, with either a stylish translucent effect or a lacquered exterior.

It can be utilised as a Mirror

If you do not need the complete material of your cupboard on display, you can select panels of mirrored glass modern wardrobe design. These look especially stylish and good when treated as a wonderful large mirror. As the glass surfaces reflect and bounce light all over the area, the interior decoration seems contemporary and light, making an outstanding visual impact. The sliding wardrobe design with mirrored panels emphasises the room visually. However, remember that glass is fragile and should be handled carefully to prevent breakage.

Increase flooring space

If you have storerooms with normal hinged doors, you should leave space opposite the door so that it can swing openly. Instead, if you use glass, you can also open them inside. This offers you more flooring space for your rooms, and you can easily style your interiors with imprinted glass on the wardrobe without forgoing space. They are super functional and organised, with customised-designed drawers and shelving, which make the best use of your area.

Simple to clean and organise

Clear sliding door wardrobe designs are the best option for your wardrobe. The advantage of having clear glass is that everything is noticeable, permitting you to keep your drawers and shelves organised meticulously. Glass is even simple to maintain and clean as it can be easily cleaned with a soft cloth and good quality glass cleaner. The usual wooden sliding wardrobe is tough to clean and degrades over time. The only disadvantage is that the panels of the glass cupboard should be cleaned daily as fingerprint marks will be left on them.

Glass wardrobes are fashionable and unlikely to go out of fashion for several decades. Visually, they are simple and appealing to maintain. Know that sliding doors take up just some space in the room. Modular wardrobes provide many advantages, like multiple design options, quality, project support, etc.

So, visit VMS Plus today and create the best-customised glass wardrobe for your home.

#sliding glass wardrobe design #modern glass wardrobe design

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vmsplus · 2 years ago

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Slim Partition Dealers in Ahmedabad | VMS Trade Link

Get in touch with us if you’re searching for slim partition dealers. VMS Trade Link is your one-stop shop for all your slim partition needs in Ahmedabad. We offer a wide range of partition options, expert installation services, customizable to fit your specific need, and durable and long-lasting materials. Our team of experts will work with you to find the perfect solution for your space and budget.

#Slim Partition Dealers #Manufacturer of Aluminium Series Partition #glass partition #sliding wardrobe designs catalogue #slim partition in ahmedabad

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love-archer · 5 months ago

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More to love. . .

♡ pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 (You're here!) ♡

♡.Obey me!

♡♡.TW? SFW! Pregnancy, Fem!reader, Implied couple

♡♡♡. Two years brewing in my drafts 😵‍💫

. . . A S M O D E U S !

♡ Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust and embodiment of beauty, isn't typically associated with family life. Your fingers trace the lab report nervously. A baby. Your baby. His baby.

♡ That’s what’s whirling in your head as you stare at the lab report in the waiting room, fingers trace the laminated papers nervously

♡ Would he accept this slowly or would he freak out? Wait, how can you tell him? Text? Drop it in a conversation randomly? Do those cute pregnancy reveal on Deviltube?

♡ The moment you decide to tell him is during a rare quiet evening in the Devildom. Asmodeus is meticulously applying his nightly skincare routine when you enter the bathroom, lab report clutched behind your back. "Darling?" His perfectly arched eyebrow raises, sensing something different in your demeanor. You slide the report onto his marble vanity, next to bottles of expensive serums and perfumes. His eyes widen, scanning the document. Silence. Then

♡ "PREGNANT?" His shriek could shatter glass. Dramatic reaction confirmed: tears sparkling like his favorite glitter eyeshadow he launches himself into your arms. "A BABY? MY BABY? OH MY HELL!"

♡ His brothers will definitely hear this announcement. Lucifer will probably pinch the bridge of his nose. Satan would smack his door down, "Quiet down!". Mammon will immediately start calculating potential 'baby sponsorship' schemes with his modeling sessions. ♡ Asmodeus's excitement rapidly transforms into hyper-planning mode. ♡ Within days, he's calling every demon realm's top pediatric specialist. The pediatric specialists he consults aren't just doctors - they're the crème de la crème of the Devildom medical world. He has Solomon double-check their credentials and even gets Barbatos to recommend time-tested professionals who've dealt with human-demon pregnancies. ♡ He's ordering custom designer maternity wear for you (in matching sets, naturally). The maternity wardrobe he designs is EXTENSIVE. We're talking: silk robes with delicate demon realm embroidery, stretchy but luxurious dresses that "showcase your divine glow", custom pajama sets with his sigil subtly woven into the fabric, special occasion outfits for each milestone of pregnancy, even the undergarments are designer, because "comfort and style should never be compromised!"

♡ He's set into drafting elaborate nursery designs with themes ranging to "Royal Demon": Rich crimsons and blacks, with plush velvet and his signature roses to "Paradise Garden": Soft pastels with ethereal touches, butterfly motifs, and enchanted flowers that never wilt or to "Modern Devildom": Sleek lines with pops of neon, metallic accents ♡ Speaking of the nursery, with his never-ending favors to call in, he'd corner Leviathan or rather pester...

♡ "Leviiiii~ Don't you want to be the coolest uncle?" ♡ Finally, Leviathan would agree to use his brains and the cluttering materials in the ever-dim room to make a baby mobile. He'd throw ideas like Crystal flowers that catch and reflect light like anime sparkles or Something engraved with Asmodeus' mark in hot pink or one with a mirror....perhaps? ♡ From the moment pregnancy becomes real, Asmodeus persuades yoga into your monthly schedule after days with his sweet voice tugging you off the couch to pin you in his bed, cuddling and his hands rubbing your hips, his fleeting kisses on your cheek, "My darling.......Tension isn't good for either of you. Let me take care of those muscles."

♡ His idea of prenatal yoga is pure luxury - transforms his room into a private studio with scented candles, silk cushions, and ambient lighting. "Ambiance is essential for both beauty AND wellness, darling~"

♡ Always positions himself behind you during poses, hands carefully supporting your waist. "Just like that, love. Let me guide you..." His touch is surprisingly gentle, more caring than flirtatious.

♡ Gets absolutely delighted when the baby moves during sessions. "Oh! They're already developing my sense of rhythm!" He'll pause everything just to feel the movement, pressing soft kisses to your belly.

♡ Creates a special pre-natal skincare routine for you, researching safe ingredients for hours. His bathroom counter becomes divided between his products and yours, all labeled with cute heart stickers.

♡ Insists on documenting everything. Weekly photoshoots of your growing bump, decorated with flowers and silk ribbons. Has Solomon enchant a special album that captures magical 3D memories.

♡ The first time he holds the baby, his usual perfect composure completely dissolves. Tears pool at his eyes, but for once, he doesn't care. Keeps whispering "perfect, perfect, perfect" while counting those tiny fingers and toes.

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tarithenurse · 14 days ago

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Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Eventually Bucky x fem!reader, Loki x fem!reader, Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 1827 Contents: Time to celebrate! A/N: I know that I only have a few readers on this but I love sharing this story that got me started on the path of writing fanfic. Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 11

“What on earth d’you use all those floors for??”

Standing at the edge of the landing platform, you’re looking down from the Stark Tower in New York, amazed at how tiny anything below is. People appear to be the size of ants and cars like match heads.

“A bit of this’nd that,” Tony waves you along after the others, “offices for non-profit organizations, financial offices for Stark Industries, y’know…the usual. Tried to sell the place not too long ago but the buyer went back on the deal.” He shrugs and passes through a glass double door.

The decorative style of the pad up here’s similar to the one in the Bunker, flaunting a stylish design with authentic artworks adds to the luxurious feeling of the place. Appearing on the opposite side of the official entry with an open area in between and glass ceiling above which adds its light to what’s streaming in from the right where the hall leads to a living room in three levels, as it turns out. The first contains a bar (by now you suspect any property owned by Stark must have one), a few steps are leading down from there to a lounge area with a pool table tucked away in one corner, and an arch leading to what seems like a kitchen and dining area on the other side.

Leaving the lounge and following a few steps further down, you reach the windows and sliding doors leading to an enormous terrace continuing around the corner and out of sight. Again, the view’s astonishing due to Park Avenue stretching like a gleaming river below, its lights turning on one by one while the sun is setting.

… …

After a full day of exploring the neighbourhood and enjoying the quirky little shops in the side streets, you collapse on the enormous bed with the intend of enjoying a nap before the night’s party, but you’ve only just laid the head down when Natasha’s knocking on the door.

“Time for some girl-time!” She’s showered already and is wearing a towel around her hair. With her she’s brought a wardrobe worth of clothes and makeup. “FRIDAY, find us some good music!” She whirls around to face you as the familiar tunes of Caro Emerald flow from hidden speakers.

You’re not quite sure what to do with yourself as all of this is very unfamiliar behaviour on your mentor’s behalf, but the redhead comes to the rescue.

After sending you out to get a shower, Nat starts rummaging through your luggage and as you emerge again, you’re ordered to grow your hair out long with big, soft curls. Natasha’s found the dress and shoes her make-over-victim, you, already had planned to wear and laid it out on the bed for you. Supposedly, that means she approves.

“What’s going on? Normally you trust my abilities to get dressed...”

“Well, I know something you don’t.” Frowning, you try to think of an occasion where that hasn’t been the case but come up blank. “Someone’s been asking questions ‘bout you…the possibility of you attending tonight convinced them to come.”

Normally, she can control her facial expressions, making it appear as if it’s carved in stone, but this time she’s sporting that devilish smile that you recognize from when she’s teasing someone.

“Who?” But she refuses to answer. Time to drop the bomb. “Speaking of men...what’s with you and Banner?”

She blushes! Actual, authentic blushing! “...of course you’ve noticed. Don’t tell the others.” You can see she’s considering the next words carefully. “It’s not a secret as such, but it’s...like a balancing act. We each don’t want to see the other one hurt, but in fear of doing that…we sometimes push a bit away. Does it make sense?”

“It sometimes feels, like the other’s better off without the hassle...”

Now she just nods. Sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in the lap, the fierce spy suddenly looks so small and fragile. “It’s the second time we try...well...I guess that depends how you look at it. First time lasted a battle...then the big guy stole a plane and disappeared...”

“He’s not running now.”

It makes her smile softly for a moment, but the tenderness is gone just as quickly and she’s back to business, sorting first her own hair and makeup while bossing you around until giving up on your desperately hopeless attempts and taking over for you (“How can you not know how to do this?” “I only use mascara ’n’ the rest feels so odd on the skin now.” “Rubbish! You just have to get used to it”). As a finishing touch, she grabs a single long metal stick, bundles your hair loosely and pins it up. Getting into her own clothes, she proclaims that you’re allowed to get finished dressing.

I’m very good at following orders by now.

“That should work...”

She seems very pleased with the results and judging by the reflection in the mirror you actually understand why. It might be conceited, but yes...you look damn fine. The knee-long dress is figure-hugging with a plunging back while the front’s surprisingly modest, only showing a minimum of decollete above the deep-blue colour of the silky fabric which is enhanced by a few simple, yet elegant, silver accessories. It’s tempting to implement the hues into the colour your eyes, giving them a hint of something no one else has.

…

By now there are well over 50 people mingling with each other as well as two bartenders busy at work and some waiters walking around with petit fours and drinks. Coulson grabs himself and you each a flute of Kirr du Pêche, but you don’t get any further before a big kid sidles over to the two of you.

Immediately, he begins talking fast, almost ranting. “You’re Coulson, right? That’s so cool! Mr. Stark said you’d be here, but I didn’t believe him and then he’s right and that’s like super embarrassing, but then not really because I finally get to meet you!”

You’re almost out of breath and he’s the one doing the talking. As he continues, he manages to introduce himself as Peter, knock the drink out of the hand of someone passing by (thankfully also grabbing it without spilling a single drop), and start to explain about a project he’s working on in his spare time.

That’s when you realize what he is. Focusing on his glittery particles, you notice how they pulsate in a way that makes you think of Bruce and Steve. Nat’s got a hint of it too, but it’s not as obvious. Watching the glitters of the people surrounding her, you discover a pattern that makes it possible to discern normal humans from humans that have somehow been enhanced yet aren’t Inhumans.

As you amuse yourself with formulating a theory, a new person with special swirls in his silvery particles arrives and you recognize him already – there’s no mistaking the missing arm.

Natasha approaches you from behind, silent as a cat. “You seem distracted?”

“A bit,” you admits as you turn around to face the mentor…away from the door, hoping that you’re not blushing in anticipation. “I think I cracked the code on how to recognize who’s what.”

The agents doesn’t even have to ask what you’re talking about. “Better save the explanation for some other time but nice to hear. Bruce will be very thrilled.”

Meanwhile, Barnes’s entered and is greeting Steve and Sharon. I will not turn to look. Nat’s keeping an eye on you still.

“Lotsa people, so I’m a bit...strained. Sorry.”

Thankfully, Nat accepts the explanation and suggests that you get some fresh air on the balcony. It’s almost empty thanks to the autumn weather, you see, so maybe it’s not a bad idea. As you move, you register Barnes starting in your direction, but then stopping as if he changed his mind and next moment Natasha’s slid the door shut behind the two of you.

Outside, a big metal-dish has a fire burning in it and there are blankets strewn on the chairs and benches.

You’re just about to ask about Peter when Nat excuses herself for a moment, explaining that she forgot her drink and then heads back in, leaving you alone with the view of the city. Resting on the elbows, you lean as far out as you can to watch the activity down on the streets so far away that you can’t sense people. For a moment, you feel normal and almost able to ignore the figures in the apartment behind you.

Not for long though, as the sound of the doors sliding open to let Barnes out brings you back to the very real world. He stops a few steps away, maybe not sure of what to say as the dotted, silver shape of his heart’s beating hard…just like yours and you don’t dare to turn and face him.

… Bucky’s PoV …

Bucky’d caught a glimpse of her softly curling hair that accentuated her neck as her back was to him just as he entered the place, but before he could get closer, he’d been facing Steve and Sharon and there was no way he could just ignore them. Besides, he didn’t want to seem desperate.

Steve’s been a proper wing man the last days, dropping bits of information and hints about this mysterious [Y/N], and even now his pal has the foolish grin on his face that means he’s got something planned. I’ll probably regret that. Looking over Sharon’s shoulder, Bucky sees the balcony door open and close, isolating the dame and Natasha from the rest of the crowd.

“Well…I guess you better say hi to people.”

Steve’s knowing smirk’s infuriating, but the sound of the door sliding back and forth one more time distracts him. He’s already heading that way to check it out when Natasha passes him, alone…and winking to him as if she’s in on some plan. She pro’ly is. He nearly walks straight into the glass and curses himself. This’s not how he normally reacts…but out there in the dim light’s a woman that he needs to know more about. She’s shaken him, which is nearly impossible for anyone or anything, and that has to stop.

Swiftly he slips out in the cool air, determined not to make a fool of himself this time, he looks up as he gets closer. Fuck me. She’s resting the elbows on the wall, leaning forward slightly which causes the already figure-hugging dress to show off her waist, the curves of her hips, and ass which is tilted slightly sideways because she’s carrying the weight on one leg. Further up, just where the bra would cross over her smooth, skin, the dark blue fabric splits leaving the middle of her back bare.

When she talks, it sends shivers down his spine calling forth an inkling of guilt that he hastily shoves away. “Good evening, Mr. Barnes.”

#reader insert #Inhuman #mcu #fanfiction #x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #avengers #fanfic #writing #bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes

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