#maybe after my week off (!!!) i will Start Another Small Project

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

....oh. it's been a minute since i've finished a knitting project, huh :(

[g4rvez-r3id]

Protector

Boyfriend!Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer have been together a few months and he’s beginning to notice how often you keep your guard up and he converses with you about his concerns and so you tell him why you act the way you do.

Category: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: established relationship, spencer being a concerned bf, mentions of past physical assault, reader has ✨trauma✨, crying, kissing, mention of past trauma, dark humor (?), spencer lowkey doesn’t get dark humor, it’s cutesy towards the end, lowkey projected here sorry y’all

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i wanted to write another personal one-shot, i wanted to share my own personal experience on here so please tread this lightly :) i hope y’all like this one because this one did truly come from the heart. <3

He noticed it after leaving Rossi’s mansion one night. Spencer’s team had invited you out to dinner. You’d only been dating just a few months but they’d heard all about you from your dear old, doting boyfriend and were eager to meet you.

His colleague, author David Rossi had told your boyfriend to invite you to dinner over in his big mansion. You’d almost said no, that maybe it was too soon but Spencer encouraged you and well, he was good at doing that.

He’d met you at your workplace, a bookstore no less. He’d been looking for a copy of Slaugherhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. when he’d spotted you in your natural habitat, putting more books on the shelves, dressed in an outfit you’d been comfortable in topped with converse and he was hooked.

He started coming up with excuses, just to see you and even had the courage to talk with you about where to find certain despite his excellent memory but you didn’t need to know about that, yet.

Eventually, you’d figured him out and decided to ask him out on a date to put an end to his misery.

And since then, you’d been going steady for just a few months. And it was an understatement to say that these had been the happiest few months of both of your lives.

However, there were still things you needed to figure out about each other.

Like, when it came to Spencer’s job, you knew to be supportive and realize that you weren’t the only person in the world that needed Spencer Reid. Or that you loved the winter season despite not being a big fan of Christmas.

But this was something new and something he wasn’t sure if he should be concerned about. When you left Rossi’s mansion that night with Spencer, arm in arm with him, you held your breath and kept looking around in the streetlights. He noticed it on the way into Rossi’s place as well. Spencer had parked a little far than intended but assured it wasn’t too far but you seemed to have another thing on your mind.

Eventually, Spencer brushed it off and chalked it up to you being anxious to meeting Spencer’s team.

But then it happened again. You’d both gone to the grocery store at eight o’clock, wanting to get snacks for the sleepover you’d wanted with him after a long hard week of work on both ends.

And the whole time you’d been shopping with Spencer, you’d been looking at the other customers and even tensed up on the way out at an older man sitting on a bench nearby with a grumpy look etched on his face. Spencer had also noticed how you clutched your taser in your hand until you both got to the car that night.

He’d asked you if you were okay but you gave him a small smile and assured to him — “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just not used to going anywhere at night.”

And he’d had his answer. You didn’t like going anywhere at night. It was as simple as that.

But just to be sure it was nothing more, he began to secretly study you. And this was where he started to get concerned.

He began to notice how you often clutched his arm tightly while you two walked in the park and were by yourselves. He also noticed how you took your taser everywhere you went. And how you constantly looked over your shoulder, even if you were in a group of people. He also noticed how you never strayed far, keeping close to a big group and never went alone anywhere — unless it was work and even then, you took your taser with you.

Spencer even decided to ask Morgan to see if there was anything he could give him advice on and even Morgan didn’t know how to respond to that. “To be honest, I’ve never dealt with anything like that. The best thing you should do is just talk to her. See what’s up.”

So, Spencer waited. He waited until it happened again. And it did, you’d met up with him after work since you were going to his place tonight and you surprised him by going to the bureau — since Penelope had wanted to see you and who are you to deny the sweetest woman in the goddamn world?

He’d led you both back to the parking garage. And he noticed how even though the parking garage was empty, you still kept your guard up and kept looking over your shoulder.

So, as he drove back to his place in your car — he told you he was driving, no questions asked — he struggled with how to begin the conversation. You could tell something was up by the way he kept staring at you in the car. But he didn’t say a word.

And then, you both arrived back to his apartment and he still couldn’t say anything to you. I mean, he was talking to you but there was something behind his eyes that was holding something back.

It wasn’t until you both sat down on his couch, watching a movie and catching him stare at you every few minutes that you paused the movie and finally asked him what’s wrong.

Spencer crinkles his brows together, “What? Noth-Nothing’s wrong.” He tells.

“You’ve been staring at me since we left your workplace. And normally, I appreciate your gaze but right now, it’s freaking me out.” You explain and Spencer looks down, he never really did have a good poker face and he’d been known to slip up quite a few times. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

Spencer opens his mouth but you rake your fingers through his chocolate locks and all rational thought seems to go out the window. But he knows that you guys need to have this conversation since you’ve confronted him on it now.

“Are you… okay?” Spencer starts subtly, hoping on this being a way to start the conversation about your recent behavior he’s noticed.

“I am great, Spencer. Are you okay?” You ask with a small smile. A smile he loves seeing on your face. A smile he appreciates and wants to see everyday. A smile he envisions seeing every night before he goes to bed. He nods, “I’m okay. It’s just…”

Spencer sighs and maybe it’s just time to rip off the bandaid. It’s time that you two need to talk about this like adults. Because this has gone on for too long and he’s starting to become worried.

“You’ve been acting a little… squirrelly lately. And I can’t help but notice that… every time we go somewhere at night, you’re more…” Guarded? Nervous? “On edge,” He chooses. “And you hold onto me a lot when we’re both out and— not-not that I’m complaining about that, I love when you do that but… I’m just starting to grow a little concerned because— I like you a lot. And I just want you to feel like you can talk to me if something is bothering you.”

You look at Spencer and you can tell he’s genuinely concerned and really does care about you. You’re kind of flattered that he’s noticed a lot about your behavior, despite it being a little troubling. You know it can be to other people. You’d avoided having this conversation with him, not wanting to burden him with it like other people have claimed that you have in the past. The people that had you’re no longer friends with anymore.

You sigh and you know that maybe it is best to talk to him about it. Spencer had never been one to judge and you knew that he would never ever say anything negative about your fears — however, the fear that he’d think you were overreacting was scary to face. Especially when Spencer was such a logical person already. But he wanted to know and maybe it’s best to speak out your truth.

“Okay, okay, okay,” You sit up a bit and he does the same. “But please do not say I’m overreacting or being overdramatic because I’ve dealt with that too many times already and I can’t handle it from you either.” You find yourself telling him and he shakes his head assuringly, “I’d never think that.”

You take a deep breath and look at him and all you can see on his face is adoration and concern and hopefulness. “Okay, uh…” Where do you start? “When I was sixteen, I… went to this Halloween party. And… it was my first party so I was excited. I went with a few friends and… only one of us knew how to drive at the time, so they went to go drop another one of our friends off because of her curfew and was going to come back.”

“Well, while she was gone, the party got raided by cops and a lot of people left. It was just me and this one friend standing on the sidewalk waiting for our friend to come back. But while we were waiting…” You pause, the memories coming back like a floodgate and you close your eyes. It was not a happy time in your life and you blocked it out of your memory for good reason.

Spencer could see you getting worked up about it and he puts his hand on your thigh, grounding you in a way you can’t explain. “You don’t have to do this or explain it to me if you don’t want to.” You shake your head, “No, you should know.”

Spencer almost pulls his hand away but you hold him there and he lets you, knowing that maybe you need to physical touch right now.

“We were waiting and this car… stopped right in the middle of the road and three people came out of the car, a girl and a couple of guys and they were all wearing these clown masks and… they tried to take our stuff. I thought it was just some joke so I just told my friend to ignore them and walk away but…” You pause once more and Spencer waits patiently for your sentence.

“The girl punched me. Hit me right in the nose.” Spencer winces at this, hating to imagine your pain in that moment. And he almost doesn’t want to hear the rest of the story. “Luckily, I didn’t go down. I, uh, almost tried to hit her, actually. But I didn’t know what she had, a knife, a gun… so I told my friend to run. And we both ran. That was the fastest I probably ever ran in my life. And there were these people nearby that heard us yelling and they helped us. All I remember is… my devil costume and… my nose bleeding all over my outfit. I don’t think I ever wore that skirt again.” Spencer’s heart physically hurts from that sentence alone.

“For a minute there, I felt weak. And… scared. I didn’t go anywhere alone for a while and it was bad. That friend ended up telling everyone what happened when I wanted to keep it quiet.” Spencer knows that your fierce nature never goes unnoticed by him. You were so tough, so free-willed. When you had issues with customers, they were often dealt with by your attitude and to put it lightly, you were a badass. To hear that you were vulnerable at one point made him sad because that wasn’t who he knew you as and he hated that someone made you feel weak.

“Did anyone ever find those people that did that to you?” Spencer asks, his tone calm and steady. You shake your head, “I told my parents and we filed a police report but… no one ever caught ‘em. Not to my knowledge anyway.” You inform.

“But I’ve gotten better with it, but I still keep my guard up. I hate that I have to look over my shoulder every time I’m out of the house, I hate that I have to take my taser everywhere I go, I hate dealing with this. But it’s my everyday life.” You tell and Spencer looks from the ground to you. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

“I just… didn’t want to be a burden on you,” You sigh. “And I felt like I didn’t need to say anything because most people don’t get it. Some actually laugh because of how I phrase it.”

“How you phrase it?” Spencer asks, clearly confused because what’s so funny about someone attempting a mugging on somebody? “I always say… I almost got mugged by a few clowns.” You find yourself sheepishly laughing but Spencer, however, doesn’t think it’s funny. “I just kinda started making a joke of it. I figure it’s the one thing I can do to deal with it. Dark humor, I guess.”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Spencer said. “Something worse could’ve happened to you. It’s already bad enough you got punched in the face.” He explained.

“It was a really long time ago, Spencer. I’m okay, now.” You remind him and he takes a sharp sigh, “I know. I just hate the fact that you went through that. That everyone makes a joke of it, that no one else seems to care about the fact that you got hurt when I care so much about that because you deserved better than how you got treated.”

You take a deep breath and a weight is off of your shoulders. Part of you is glad you shared that with Spencer finally but another part of you is scared to be transparent with him about your fears. But the way he’s reacting sets all of those fears aside. He was the person you needed when you were sixteen and suddenly, you want to turn back time and tell your teenage self that everything is gonna be just fine.

“You’re such a sweet and good person,” Spencer takes his hands to your face, holding you lovingly and close. “I don’t understand why someone would want to hurt someone as sweet as you.” He mutters to you.

Suddenly, you fall forward, holding him tightly in a hug and he accepts the hug rather quickly holding you. He feels as your dig your face deep and droplets on his neck. Are you crying?

He pulls back and looks at you face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “I’m—I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “I don’t know why I’m crying…” Spencer gives you a soft look. “Sharing a truth, especially a difficult one, can make you feel vulnerable and exposed, leading to tears. It’s perfectly normal.” Spencer reminds you and you sniffle at this.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Spencer tells. “I know that wasn’t easy.” You nod, “You deserved to know. I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with but—” He interrupts you with a chaste kiss on your lips. He’s gentle and loving, in every way, shape and form. “You are very easy to love. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

Spencer holds you close that night. You continued watching your movie and had fallen asleep on his shoulder and he kept his arm around protectively. He watched you as you slept, vowing to never let anything like what happened to you at sixteen, never happen to you again so long as he could help it. He’d protect you until the day he died. He’d take a bullet for you, catch a grenade for you, he’d sacrifice never speaking again if it meant saving you. He’d never let anyone hurt you or even dare to touch you.

And he’d wished to take your fears, your guard and your trauma away just to see you feel happy and carefree. He hates that it’s all so normalized with you because of what you went through. And he swears to make you feel as safe as you need to be while you’re out. He’ll start going to stores at night by himself, he’ll keep on being your knight in shining armor, he’ll keep being the protector you need him to be.

“I love you, Y/n,” He whispers, saying the words he’d dare not say until he was ready to say them to you. “And I will always protect you.”

[chiasaaa]

— truly, madly, deeply…

itoshi sae x f! reader

summary: everyone has a moment of weaknesses. you happen to have that after being overworked to your limit and sometimes, all you need is one person to feel better.

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— dating a football superstar like itoshi sae has its pros and cons. for someone as busy and goal-driven as you, the pros have always contributed the heavier weight on the scale. dating sae couldn’t be more perfect with the how you easily align in terms of career plans. he had always been destined to become one of the greatest football players in the world, and you have glued your eyes on your fashion empire from the very start.

even so, sae always made sure to have time for you the same way you did to him. while you bend heaven and hell just to watch his matches, he always whips through sand and snow to celebrate every milestone and every occasion with you.

truly, you couldn’t ask for more from the loyal guy.

or so you thought.

recently, with the amount of work you’ve been drowning in, you couldn’t help but wish he was by your side to hold you through a breakdown. you never allow yourself to be vulnerable, especially when you’re alone. you need sae to be with you for you to actually let out a tiny bit of your feelings.

quite ironic, if you think about it.

the only person you can be vulnerable to is the one person in the world who seems to be rid of emotions. contrary to popular belief, sae is just the perfect person to confide to at one’s worst—well, maybe only yours.

you: i miss you

it was an attempt to start a small conversation tonight as you’re drinking your frustrations away with a glass of wine kept in your shared home. though, it feels more like it’s a single-person house with how much he’s spent time overseas.

the scent of his cologne no longer lingers in your cozy home. the scented candles that he gifted you so you won’t feel alone had run dry. even the love note he left on the fridge before he left fell down just this morning.

it isn’t like you to be dwelling too much on the little things, and you simply brush them off when it does come to mind in passing. whether it’s the alcohol entering your system or the fact that you’re reading the tabloids as to how so many of your loyal customers are expectant of your valentine’s product line, you simply knew that your emotions are running your mind.

not an ounce of logic is with you right now. quite the rare sight, would be sae’s opinion if he were there.

four hours turned to five and sae’s yet to respond to your desperate text. by now, you’ve downed at least half of the newly opened bottle and finally allowed a few beads of tears slip down. not enough to bawl your heart out, but to allow your vision to clear up a bit as it already pooled to the limit.

itoshi sae had no idea you’re going through such a rough patch in the three weeks he’s gone. supposedly, it was only for three days to settle his passport back in japan, but the blue lock project certainly caught his attention and had him cancelling his flight. he informed you of the changes and the reason to do so, and you were completely fine with it.

if anything, you hoped it would help your boyfriend somehow mend his messy relationship with his brother, and you were fully supportive of the notion. no one could have expected this, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault at all.

three weeks passed by so fast that the tear-stained baby that was you didn’t even notice that tonight was his flight back home. you heard keys faintly jiggling from the other side of the wooden door, sniffing as you figured it’s just another neighbor mistaking your home for theirs.

“ya llegué,” i’m home.

sae didn’t know what to feel the moment he sees your disheartened figure sitting on a stool by the bar counter, but the moment he hears your sobs, he dropped his bags down the floor and hurriedly walked to your side.

“what’s wrong, mi vida?” he asks gently, taking you in his arms upon instinct. the stool complied as it twists you around to face him, allowing you to finally go full-on sobbing on his chest. the sound of your wails brought a crack to his heart with every cry, and sae could only wish he’d endure the pain in your stead.

in the three years you’ve been together, sae had only seen you break down twice. the first wasn’t even meant to be a breakdown if it weren’t for him encouraging you to be more honest with him. the second was a little more intentional, surrendering to the fact that you’re in need of comfort amidst a lonely year.

this time, however, he doesn’t know what plagues your mind enough to start talking. instead, he placed a hand at the back of your head to soothe your scalp while the other ran itself up and down your back. he silently stood there and let you release all of your pent-up frustrations until you’re capable of speaking again.

“w-why are you here so soon?” you snap back to reality after a few minutes, lunging back straight to wipe the remaining tears in your bloodshot eyes. “don’t you have that match against blue lock? it isn’t til the 25th, right?”

“it’s already the 26th, cariño.” sae cups your cheek with one hand, wiping away a stray tear with his gentle thumb. he hates seeing you like this. one moment you’re completely out of your wits, then the next is your body returning to its natural programming like you didn’t just feel human enough to express emotions. sometimes, he wonders if you look at him the same. with how he’s cut off from his feelings most of the time and how he’s yet to actually go through a breakdown within your presence, maybe it’s a little hypocritical of him to wonder.

“the 26th? oh, god! i need to email the suppliers for next week’s shipment!” you were about to hop off the stool when sae stopped you and kept you planted down. “sae, mi amor, i’m glad you’re home. i just—“

“this isn’t just about me stepping foot in this house five minutes ago, mi vida.” he takes your chin between his fingers, fixating your gaze at his teal-hued eyes. “you’re overworking, and i’m yet to understand why you’re crying.”

“but—“

“please, take a small break.” he leans his forehead down to yours, hoping for you to receive his sincerity. “stay in the living room for me, mi vida. i’ll make us some tea to relax.”

you took a glance at the clock, realizing it’s already past midnight. sae must be tired from his trip, and yet he carried you down the sofa so effortlessly before heading back to the kitchen to make tea. you turned to watch him from the living room, noticing how he glared at the half-empty wine bottle and the wine glass you were about to finish. he swiftly drank the rest of it in one go, muttering how it does taste good and he now understands why you kept drinking it.

he brewed, he cleaned, and he sat down with you like how a therapist would approach their patient. you didn’t know if it was the alcohol kicking in again, but you can feel tears brimming your eyes as you realized just how much he cares for you.

“god, i’m so stupid.” you mutter, hiding your face in your palms.

“what did we talk about?” sae sighed, pulling you against his chest once again.

you flinched. “don’t berate ourselves…”

he nods, then takes your hand in his. with a swift motion, he intertwined your fingers and planted a kiss at the back of your palm.

“what’s going on, mi vida?”

and so, you talked about the entire process that led to your ugly breakdown. how you hate the silence that comes after a long day and the realization that sae’s someplace else. how it hits you like a ton of bricks when you read the tabloids that a lot of people are expectant of your creations. how both worlds somehow collided when you read the morning newspaper with yet another scoop on how sae may be dating behind your back, and how sae was conquering the world out there and you’re stuck in spain to chase after your own golden egg.

“i’m sorry. i was just feeling a little sensitive, so the sadness grabbed the chance to use it against me.” you joked, chuckling awkwardly as you now played with his fingers out of anxiousness. “i’m not usually like this. please don’t take this seriously. you don’t need to worry about me whenever you leave—“

sae must have been annoyed by how you’re suddenly patching up your scarlet wounds with useless bandaids because he shut you up right away with a slow and passionate kiss. he was never good with words, and his progress is quite slow, but he knows that the best way for him to communicate with you is through his actions.

the kiss was no mere act of affection that night. it was an assurance, a promise telling her that he will take care of her no matter how messy she can get. that he will be more attentive to her feelings, especially when he’s away.

“you act too tough sometimes,” he whispered against your lips, “you don’t have to be like that with me. i’m here now, mi vida.”

that was all you needed to hear to finally get a proper rest. sae didn’t stop you from dozing off after you both finished your tea, carrying you back in your shared room after a long day. as he laid beside you, he watched in earnest how your nose would scrunch in your sleep. how you resemble a baby and how he wishes for your future children to look more like you one day.

“te amo, mi vida.” i love you, my life.

[stanzo75]

could I ask for a George Weasley x reader where she's a Malfoy and they are dating in secret and her parents arrange a marriage for her after she finishes Hogwarts so she runs off with George?

Here we are, I hope you enjoy it 🫶

I have NOT proofread this so I'm sorry for mistakes, I tried my best:)

Please send in any hp requests omg I'm loving them🫶

"You're malfoy's sister, huh?" An unfamiliar voice piped up from behind you, you turn to be met with two tall identical boys. They had the trademark weasley ginger hair, various small scars across their bodies from pranks gone wrong, which you would eventually use to tell them apart before you knew them better, you could immediately tell that these were the trouble making weasley twins. Your brother, Draco, had complained about them for ages even before attending the school. You had just transferred in from ilvermorny, where your parents had sent you for the first 3 years so Draco could be the star at hogwarts. You and Draco were close in age, Draco only being 10 months older than you. Eventually your father had gotten tired of your complaining of ilvermorny, and allowed you to go to hogwarts.

"What do you need?" you ask them in a flat tone. All you had heard about them was that they were foolish and annoying, causing trouble everywhere they went.

"Calm down sweetheart" one says as the other adds on "we were just checking out the new malfoy," "hopefully she's not a wretched as her brother," "I sure hope not," "we don't need another entitled malfoy"

They go back and forth, talking as if you weren't even there. Maybe Draco was right, they are quite annoying, and rude.

You scoff and walk away, still hearing their banter from behind you.

Your second interaction with george was when you were unfortunately paired with him in potions class. You groaned as you heard both your names called out. You thought for sure you were going to fail the project, but surprisingly he worked well in class. And when you arrived at the library later that night to finish up the project, he was actually really sweet, and easy to talk to. Time flew by as the two of you chatted, laughing and talking about anything you could think of. He showed you his scars and explained each one, you listened intently. Your father would have never let you have even half as much fun as George did. That was when you started to grow fond of him, and when he realized that not all malfoys are jerks. And now at least you could tell him apart from fred, George has a small scar on his neck from fireworks gone wrong that fred didn't have. You talked until you realized that it was much past curfew, and you'd be in so much trouble with your father if you got caught and they contacted home. George helped you calm down after you freaked out and showed you a secret passageway that led you almost straight to your house tower, and you got in without getting caught. The project wasn't even finished, but you were still happy with how the night went.

Eventually, sneaking around with him became a regular thing, staying out late every night just to spend time with the sweet ginger boy. And when the yule ball was coming up, he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. You happily accepted, and instead of going to the ball you danced with him in his dorm. You wish that you could've been seen with him at the ball, but Draco would've snitched immediately and you would be sent straight back to ilvermorny.

You kept your relationship secret for years, only Fred knew, and Ron who had accidentally walked in on the two of you snogging once, but he kept his word and never told anyone.

And then hogwarts ended, you graduated 2 years after George did. (Although he still snuck in just to see you, and you spent weekends at his shop)

2 weeks after graduation you got the worst news of your life. You were being married off into another rich pureblood family. Your parents cared about nothing more than keeping the family line wealthy and pure, no matter how much you cried and begged. They were marrying you off into the flint family. To Marcus flint. Who was an undeniably ugly man, inside and out.

You cried for weeks, sending endless letters to your devastated boyfriend, who tried his best to comfort you despite his own sorrows.

And now was the night before the wedding, you laid in your bed, sulking. Your eyes were already completely cried out, you had absolutely nothing left to cry even if you had the energy to. You didn't want to do anything, you couldn't eat or sleep or shower and take care of yourself. You truly looked a mess and your parents screamed at you until their voices went hoarse. But you didn't care. You knew the house elves would clean you up tomorrow anyways, but it's not like you wouldn't show up to the wedding looking as if you had lived in the woods for the past month if you could. The only thing that brought you any joy was rereading letters from George, luckily you had kept them well hidden so no one had found them.

Suddenly you hear tapping on the window, and you look up to see am owl there, holding a letter. You immediately jump up to open the window and recognize the weasley's owl, letting it in and petting it before taking the letter. It stood on your desk as you read.

"Pack your things, take everything you will need. I love you sweetheart, I'll see you soon. -yours truly"

You had little to no idea what this meant, but you sent off the owl with a few treats and immediately locked your door to get to packing. Luckily your parents and your brother were off having dinner with another rich snobby family, but you couldn't risk it. You packed your hygiene products, perfumes, jewelry, important items, and clothes, leaving behind the wedding dress in the closet and hiding the packed trunks underneath your bed. You cleaned up your room the best you could, leaving it as close to how it looked before as you could.

When your parents finally arrived home late, they didn't even bother to check on you, they went straight to bed along with your brother.

You waited for hours until you couldn't help drifting off to sleep, awoken later with sharp knocks on your window. You jumped up in shock, glancing at the window to find.. George? He was in the passenger seat of the weasley family's flying blue car. You room was 3 stories off the ground, and it made you slightly nervous.

You open the window and speak in a hushed whisper, "what are you doing here?"

"Coming to save you, get your things" he whispers back, giving a small smile.

You hesitate before grabbing 2 packed trunks and hauling them over to the window. Fred, who was driving the car moved it around and popped the trunk, allowing you to lug your belongings in before turning the car again to the door of the backseat. Ron, who was in the back, opened the door for you. You hesitate, looking at the long distance between your window and the ground. If you didn't make this jump you'd be seriously injured, or dead. Ron leaned out and held out his hands to help you, and you took them, holding on tightly as you stepped up onto the window sill. Taking a deep breath, you jump, barely making it, and he pulls you into the car and shutting the door swiftly. And just like that fred hit the gas, speeding off before any of your family could notice the blue car outside of their mansion, or that you were gone.

Eventually they arrive at the weasley's home. You were nervous and you'd never actually met any of George's other family. But as George led you into the house while fred and Ron grabbed your trunks, molly was waiting at the door with open arms, pulling you into a hug.

"OH my sweet George has told me all about you!! You're just as beautiful as he described. You poor soul, I'm just so glad my boys could get you!" She exclaims.

The hug felt weird, but not in a bad way. You've never really been hugged before, but it felt,, comforting. After a moment you hug back.

"Thank you Mrs weasley, George is just amazing. You clearly raised him so well"

She pulls away with a huge smile on her face.

"Come! Come inside! Let me show you to your room" she urges you, leading you into the house.

It was beautiful, it wasn't as big as the mansion you had previously lived in, but you liked that. It was warm and smelled of cinnamon and caramel.

Molly leads you up some stairs, bringing you to a decently sized bedroom with the 3 boys following close behind. Fred and Ron drop off your trunks and rush off to the kitchen as they had missed dinner. George leaned against the doorframe, watching as his mother showed his girlfriend around the room she had worked so hard to set up. Molly eventually left, allowing them to get settled in as she prepared more food.

You sit down on the bed, it was amazingly soft, unlike anything you had ever felt. George sat next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

"So? What do you think?" He asks gently, "I know it's a lot and this is all going really fast but I just couldn't let you get married to that jerk, not when you belong with me"

You smile at him, this was all so new to you, and yes it was overwhelming, but you loved it.

"George, this is the most amazing thing you could have ever done for me" you whisper, your emotions already taking control of you. You could feel tears forming in your eyes, happy tears.

He leans in to kiss you gently, cupping his hands to your face and gently rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs.

"You better get used to it, I'm never letting you be away from me again." He whispers softly. Molly calls the two of you down for food, and you realize how much you were starving.

George smiles at you, "are you ready to start your new life here?

You smile and nod in response, "I've been ready"

**bonus**

After around a year, George had found a house for the two of you, and had recently proposed. You don't know what your parents were up to now, or if they even knew where you had gone, all you knew is that they had publicly disowned you, and you were fine with that. You had george's family who were a thousand times better anyways. You were at home doing dishes when you heard a knock at the door. When you go to open it, there is no one there, just a letter. It was addressed to you, written in green ink.

You open it and read it slowly.

"I hope this finds you well. I've missed you since you left, but I understand why. I hope you know that I never hated you, and I support you relationship with the weasley. As much as I hated them during school, George is good for you, and I'm glad you have him. I won't tell mum or dad about where you are, or who you're with. I've known for a while now, I just couldn't bring myself to write until now. If you're up for it, maybe we could meet and catch up. And if that goes well, hopefully we can finally have a good sibling bond. Love you Lil sis."

- draco

You smile and immediately start a letter back, excited to tell your soon to be husband of the letter you recieved when he returns from work.

This is the happy ending you'd always dreamed of, and you are more than grateful to finally be living in it.

[tteotlma]

Whiskey and Wishful Thinking

-- unrequited love and misplaced desires

Logan/Wolverine x Reader 6.2kw(😵‍💫)

a/n: this idea has been in my head for a while now and i didn’t really edit —

TW: 18+ MDNI AFAB!Reader, alcohol abuse/intoxication, sexual content (explicit), Emotional manipulation, unrequited love, mild violence (Logan crashing into things), infidelity (emotional), sexual encounter under the influence, emotional distress/angst, mild language, p in v

—

The quiet whirring of the air conditioner filled the cavernous space of the library, its cool breeze a stark contrast to the sweltering August heat outside. You circled the poster board laid out on the worn wooden table in front of you, your fingertips ghosting over the glossy photos and carefully cut-out newspaper clippings. Your chin rested on your hand as you examined the display closely, brow furrowed in concentration.

The new semester at Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was starting in a week, and you were determined to be prepared. This wasn't just about having a visually engaging classroom; it was about proving yourself. Your second year as a teacher here was right around the corner, and you still had people to impress—or maybe overshadow. The pressure to live up to the legacy of the school's illustrious faculty weighed heavily on your shoulders.

You were in the middle of rearranging a faded photo of Richard Nixon next to a more vibrant one of Mystique—a stark visual representation of the complex history you were trying to convey—when something caught your eye. A small tear in the corner of the Mystique photo made you frown. It was barely noticeable, but you knew it was there. Much like the small imperfections in your own mutation that you tried so hard to hide.

As you reached for the tape to add more photos, a thunderous crash erupted from the direction of the front door, reverberating off the mahogany bookshelves and causing the chandeliers to tinkle ominously. You startled, your elbow catching the edge of the poster board and sending a cascade of photos fluttering to the floor like autumn leaves.

"Dammit," you muttered under your breath, dropping to your knees to gather the scattered images. Each one represented hours of research and careful curation. There was Erik Lehnsherr in his prime, Charles Xavier before the wheelchair, headlines about the Mutant Registration Act—pieces of a puzzle you were trying to fit together for your students.

As you collected the last of the photos, another crash followed, accompanied by a string of muffled colorful curses that could only belong to one person: Logan.

You rose to your feet, brushing dust from your knees and straightening your top. A part of you wanted to ignore the disturbance and return to your work. After all, you weren't one of the X-Men, just a history teacher trying to make a difference in your own small way. But another part, the part that had brought you to this school in the first place, urged you to investigate.

With a last, longing look at your unfinished project, you began to walk down the corridor, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The warm wood paneling and lush carpets couldn't quite muffle Logan's gruff voice, slurred and aggravated.

"Who the hell locked the damn door?" he growled loud enough to be heard through the mahogany, followed by another thud that sounded suspiciously like a body hitting solid wood.

You rounded the corner just in time to hear Logan slam against the door again. Sighing, you approached, your hand hovering over the ornate brass doorknob.

"Logan?" you called out, trying to keep your voice steady. "The door's always locked after midnight. You know that."

There was a moment of silence, then a muffled grunt. "Oh. Right." You heard him fumbling on the other side, likely searching for keys he didn't have. "Must've... must've forgot."

You leaned closer to the door, lowering your voice. "Did you lose your keys again?"

"Didn't lose 'em," Logan grumbled, his words slurring together. "Just... misplaced 'em. Temporarily."

Rolling your eyes, you turned the lock. "I'm letting you in. But please, try to keep it down. Some of us are trying to work."

As you swung the heavy door open, the full impact of Logan's state hit you like a wave. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, more disheveled than you'd ever seen him.

His usually wild hair was a mess, matted in places as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His leather jacket was askew, one sleeve pushed up to the elbow while the other hung loosely at his wrist. The strong scent of whiskey wafted from him, mixed with something earthier – had he been in the woods?

His eyes, usually sharp and alert, were unfocused as they landed on you. For a moment, they seemed to look through you rather than at you.

"Work?" he scoffed, stumbling slightly as he entered. "It's summer, kid. Live a little."

The irony of his statement, given his current condition, wasn't lost on you. But as he brushed past, the scent of alcohol growing stronger, you couldn't help but wonder what had driven him to drink so heavily tonight. Logan had his demons, sure, but this seemed excessive even for him.

"Logan," you said softly, reaching out to steady him as he swayed. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He paused, turning to look at you. For a brief moment, his tough exterior seemed to crack, revealing a glimpse of raw pain underneath. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual gruff demeanor.

"I'm fine," Logan grunted, his voice rough as gravel. He shrugged off your hand with a forceful jerk that nearly threw him off balance. "Just need to sleep it off."

As he stumbled towards the stairs, you stood frozen in the foyer, a war of emotions raging within you. Frustration at the interruption of your work battled with genuine concern for your colleague. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, each thud against the hardwood punctuated by a slight scuff - clear signs of his unsteady gait.

BAM

The sound reverberated through your chest, jolting you into action. "Oh my- Logan!" The twisting knot in your stomach unraveled, replaced by a surge of adrenaline as you found yourself on your knees beside the fallen giant. The polished wood floor was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Logan's body.

"Are you okay?!" Your voice came out higher than intended, tinged with worry. You gently turned his body, your hands careful but insistent. Logan's face came into view, his rugged features slack, eyes roving aimlessly. They passed over your face without a flicker of recognition, unfocused and glassy.

"Clearly not," you muttered, answering your own question. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, worry and frustration mingling in equal measure. You patted his stubbled cheek, the coarse hair rough against your fingers. The familiar texture grounded you, a tactile reminder of the man beneath this drunken exterior.

"Come on, you big lug." Your fingers curled around his jacket collar, the worn leather an old friend under your grip. You could smell the years of use on it – a mixture of tobacco, whiskey, and that indescribable scent that was purely Logan. You tugged, your muscles straining against his dead weight. It was like trying to move a mountain, and you felt a bead of sweat trickle down your back with the effort. "I can't get you up those stairs, but we can try to find something else."

Logan stirred under your hands, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest. You could feel the vibration of it through your palms, like the purr of some great, dangerous cat. Keeping a steadying hand on his arm, you helped as he struggled to his feet. His muscles were taut under your touch, coiled with a strength that, even in his inebriated state, was intimidating.

The scent of whiskey hung heavy in the air around you both, an almost visible miasma. It mingled with the earthy smell of his leather jacket and something so distinctly Logan – a heady mix of cigar smoke and pine that usually brought a sense of comfort and safety. Now, it just emphasized the bitter truth that in trying to distance himself from his pain, Logan had simultaneously distanced himself from the man you once knew.

He was mumbling, disconnected words tumbling from his lips like scattered puzzle pieces. You caught fragments – "Jean" and "Summers" among them – each name landing like a small stone in the pit of your stomach. But you weren't really trying to piece it together, not now. Your mind was already racing ahead, calculating the logistics of moving him, wondering if you could manage to get him to the nearby study with its comfortable couch. And, if you were being honest with yourself, a small part of you was wondering how soon you could get him out of your sight and return to the normalcy of your work.

You watched, as if in slow motion, as Logan threw a heavy arm around you. The sudden shift in weight knocked you off balance, causing your body to shove even closer to Logan's as you struggled to support his swaying form.

You closed your eyes, trying to distract itself with thoughts of your discarded project in the library. You tried to reimagine your pre-arranged photos and timelines, hearing them calling to you like a siren song of productivity and purpose. But it was hard to focus on that, not with the heat radiating off of Logan's body making your skin feel like it was sizzling, every point of contact between you a livewire of sensation.

You could feel every hard plane of his body pressed against you, the heat of him searing through your clothes. The closeness was both thrilling and terrifying, and you quickly shook your head, pushing the confusing thoughts away. Right now, Logan needed a friend, whether he (or you) realized it or not.

"Alright, big guy," you said, your voice sounding strained even to your own ears as you adjusted your grip on his arm. Your fingers dug into the solid muscle there, seeking purchase. "Let's get you somewhere you can lay down before you fall again and cause some damage." You began to guide him, every step a careful negotiation between his unsteady feet and your determined support. It was like trying to direct a landslide – Logan's bulk and uncoordinated movements making each step a precarious balancing act.

"I-I'm fine," he slurred, his words thick and syrupy. His head bobbed with each trudging step, reminding you of those drinking bird toys. "Jus' needed a break." The words were punctuated by a hiccup that shook his whole frame, and by extension, yours.

"A break from what?" You grunted, the words coming out breathless as you strained to keep him walking in something resembling a straight line. The carpet runner in the hallway bunched under your feet with each step, creating small obstacles you had to navigate around. "It's the last week of summer."

The reminder seemed to hit Logan like a physical blow. He let out a loud groan, the sound rumbling through his chest and into yours where you were pressed against him. Suddenly, his body went limp, all semblance of cooperation vanishing in an instant. He stumbled again, but this time, anchored to you as he was, he dragged you with him.

"No, no Logan," you gasped, your muscles screaming as you struggled to keep both of you upright. Your feet scrambled for purchase on the polished wood floor, sliding dangerously. For a heart-stopping moment, you thought you were both going down, but somehow – through sheer determination or dumb luck – you managed to keep moving.

With a final, herculean effort, you maneuvered Logan's bulk towards the library. The giant sofa loomed before you like an oasis in a desert, promising relief from your burden. And of course, because the universe seemed to have a twisted sense of humor tonight, it was right next to your craft table. The carefully arranged materials – your planned escape from this chaos – now stood as silent witnesses to your struggle.

As you finally deposited Logan onto the couch, the leather creaking under his weight, you couldn't help but wonder how this night had spiraled so far from your quiet plans. The Logan-shaped imprint of heat on your body slowly began to fade, leaving you feeling oddly bereft despite your earlier desire to be free of him. You stood there, catching your breath, watching the rise and fall of Logan's chest as he settled into the couch, already half-asleep.

As you finally deposited Logan onto the couch, the aged leather creaked in protest under his substantial weight. You couldn't help but marvel at how drastically this night had veered from your meticulously laid plans. The Logan-shaped imprint of heat on your body slowly began to fade, leaving behind a peculiar sense of absence. It was a feeling that caught you off guard, considering your earlier desperation to be free of his burdensome presence.

For a moment, you stood there, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Your eyes traced the rise and fall of Logan's broad chest as he settled into the couch, his features already softening with the onset of sleep. The furrows in his brow, usually so pronounced, began to smooth out, giving him an almost peaceful appearance that seemed at odds with the tumultuous events of the night.

Shaking your head, you turned back to your project, eager to lose yourself in the familiar comfort of organization and creativity. Each piece fell into place with a satisfying click, the world narrowing down to the careful arrangement of photos and timelines. Time seemed to slip away as you worked, the rhythmic sound of Logan's breathing fading into white noise.

Despite the rhythmic process you had created, your mind managed to stray to the man beside you. Logan's presence, even in his unconscious state, was impossible to ignore. Your eyes drifted from your work to his sleeping form, tracing the rugged lines of his face that you'd memorized long ago.

A familiar ache bloomed in your chest, a bittersweet mixture of longing and resignation. How many days and nights had you spent like this, stealing glances at Logan when he wasn't aware, allowing yourself to imagine a reality where his eyes would light up at the sight of you? But that was a fantasy, and you knew it.

Your fingers absently toyed with a photo of Jean Grey that had fallen from your timeline. Even in this candid shot, her beauty was undeniable. Logan's voice, slurred with alcohol, echoed in your mind: "Jean." Of course, it always came back to Jean.

You couldn't blame him, not really. Jean was everything - brilliant, powerful, compassionate. And you? You were just... you. The history teacher who helped patch him up after missions, who listened to his rare moments of vulnerability, who silently loved him from afar.

A soft murmur from the couch drew your attention. Logan's face had contorted, his lips moving soundlessly. Was he dreaming of her even now? The thought sent a pang through your heart.

"She's with Scott, Logan." You shook your head.

The words tasted bitter on your tongue. Because that was the cruel irony, wasn't it? Jean was utterly devoted to Scott Summers. Her love for him was as clear as day to everyone - everyone except Logan. He clung to hope like a drowning man to driftwood, blind to the fact that Jean's heart belonged to another. Just as he was blind to your feelings for him.

You turned back to your work, trying to lose yourself once more in the familiar task. But your eyes kept drifting to the leather jacket draped over a nearby chair - Logan's jacket. How many times had you imagined him placing it around your shoulders on a cold night? How many times had you dreamed of being the one he looked at with that intensity, that raw need?

But those were just dreams. Reality was this: Logan, passed out on the couch beside you, murmuring another woman's name in his sleep. A woman who would never return his feelings. And you, silently loving a man who would never see you as anything more than a friend.

The spell was abruptly broken by a loud, guttural grunt from the couch. Startled, you whirled around, your heart leaping into your throat. Logan's peaceful demeanor had vanished, replaced by a mask of distress. His forehead was creased, beads of sweat forming at his hairline. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling as if grasping for something just out of reach.

The realization hit you like a splash of cold water: he was having a nightmare.

Pushing your chair into the table with a soft scrape, you rose to your feet. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you approached Logan. Years of living in a school full of mutants with varying degrees of control had taught you the value of caution, especially when dealing with someone as potentially dangerous as Logan in a vulnerable state.

You positioned yourself at the head of the couch, carefully staying out of range of his arms - and more importantly, his claws. Your eyes flicked nervously to his hands, half-expecting to see the glint of adamantium at any moment. Swallowing hard, you steeled yourself and reached out, your hand hovering uncertain over his forehead.

For a heartbeat, you hesitated. The man before you was a far cry from the intimidating, gruff Logan you knew. In sleep, trapped in the throes of a nightmare, he looked almost... vulnerable. It was a side of him you'd never seen, never even imagined existed.

Taking a deep breath, you gently placed your fingertips on his temple. The skin there was hot to the touch, almost feverish. You could feel the rapid pulse of his temporal artery beneath your fingers, a testament to the intensity of whatever visions were plaguing him.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet of the library. "It's okay. You're safe." He let out a soft moan. Your fingers comb through his unruly hair, something you had never dared to do before. His usual gruffness is stripped away, and what remains is raw, untethered vulnerability—both his and yours.

His breath is uneven as he shifts under your touch, but your movements remain steady, soothing him. The weight of unspoken feelings that have built up over the years presses down on you. The sight of Logan up close so troubled and lost pulls at your heartstrings in a way you can’t ignore anymore.

"Logan," you whisper again, this time more firmly, urging him back to reality. His eyes flutter open, hazy and disoriented. For a moment, they lock onto yours. There's no Jean, no Scott, no X-Men—just the two of you in this quiet, dimly lit room, the air thick with unspoken tension.

His hand moves up to catch yours as it rests on his hair, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the strength behind it. "Why... why are you here?" he mumbles, voice still hoarse and thick with sleep, but there’s something else beneath the surface.

"I'm here because you needed me," you reply softly, the words feeling far too loaded but still true. The tension in his grip tightens, and for a split second, you wonder if you're imagining the way his eyes darken, the hint of desperation and something else swirling within them.

"Don't you have someone else to take care of? I'm not worth the trouble..." His words are a mixture of bitterness and regret, and it cuts deep. You shake your head slowly, heart pounding in your chest.

"You are worth it, Logan," you whisper, barely able to believe the words have left your mouth. Maybe it’s the weight of the years you’ve spent suppressing your feelings, or the heavy air filled with alcohol and desperation, but something shifts between you two in that moment.

Without thinking, Logan sits up, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you closer to sit beside him, bodies pressed together. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, your body leaning against his, faces only inches apart. His breath is warm and carries the sharp, smoky scent of whiskey, but beneath it lingers something else—something raw, unspoken, and heavy between you. The proximity feels electric, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface.

For a split second, neither of you moves. You can feel the thrum of Logan’s pulse where his chest presses against yours, and his eyes, dark and stormy, search your face for something—maybe reassurance, maybe an answer to a question neither of you has dared to ask aloud. The weight of unrequited love hangs between you, an invisible thread that pulls you closer even as you hesitate. You've both been running from this, denying it, but now it feels inevitable.

Logan's hand lingers on your arm, his rough fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine. His jaw clenches, and you can see the battle raging inside him, the unspoken words on his lips threatening to spill out. "I—" he starts, his voice rough and hesitant, like he's about to confess something too heavy to bear, but you don’t let him finish. You can't, not when you're both teetering on this razor's edge.

You lean in and kiss him, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative press. For a heartbeat, Logan freezes, his body going rigid with surprise, but then something in him snaps. His right hand snakes down your left side pulling you even closer, as his other hand cups the back of your neck, and he pulls you deeper into the kiss, his lips urgent, almost desperate. It's not gentle—it’s raw, filled with the intensity of everything he's never said. The kiss is a release of all the years spent pining for someone else, all the nights spent wishing for what he could never have.

You know this isn’t love, not the kind either of you have been hoping for. It’s about filling the hollow space left by the people who’ll never look at you the way you want them to. You’re both seeking something that’s just out of reach, using each other to drown out the ache of unrequited love that’s settled deep in your bones. Jean's name might as well be carved into the air between you, but tonight, that pain is dulled, replaced by the heat and urgency of the moment.

His grip on you tightens as the kiss deepens, a silent understanding passing between you. This isn’t about forever. It’s about right now—two people grasping for something real, even if it’s fleeting, even if it doesn’t fill the spaces you need it to. You know that come morning, things will be different, but for now, you both allow yourselves this escape.

Logan’s tongue licks tentatively at your lips, you give him the permission he’s silently seeking as your lips part. You feel lightheaded as his tongue slides into your mouth, and your groin feels hot as Logan lets out the filthiest groan into your mouth.

You let out a soft whine as you grab at his shirt, his muscles hot and firm under the fabric. As Logan continues to indulge in the taste of you, fingers trail down the front of his shirt all the way to and under the hem. Your fingers lightly drag across the thin sliver of skin and you feel Logan’s hip twitch, and he pulls away sighing lightly into your mouth.

He adorned the sexiest look on his smug face. Granted he still looked inebriated but this time instead of being drunk on whiskey.. he was drunk on you. Mother of all that is good and well, you know you should say something, be reasonable, smart, but dammit if there’s one thing you will stick by it’s that you will always help a friend in need…

You bring him close, hands clasping behind his neck and pulling him in as you swing your leg over his lap straddling him. His hands immediately meet the small of your back, and he leans in to kiss you again pulling you flush to his chest.

Now its your turn to take control in the kiss, Logan pliant as you lap at his mouth. He lets you think your in charge until he takes you by surprise and uses one hand to grab the hair at the back of your head. You lose your rhythm for a second and he takes the opportunity to push his tongue along yours, saliva pooling in your mouths and melting in the middle. He begins to suck on the slick pink muscle and you give in.

Whatever ounce of worry, hesitation, anxiety, any reservation whatsoever you could have had left your body and you gave in to desire. That bitch, that deliciously sinful demon had got her way as the muscles in your legs gave in and you relax onto Logans lap. He continues to slurp at your mouth, and you mewl. Never in your life had anyone done this to you before. Not only was it filthy, it was incredibly hot.

The heat in your groin burned your insides leaving you with an ache you needed to relieve. Your hips buck reflexively as you feel a wetness pool on the fabric of your underwear. You let a moan slip out of your mouth, and Logan let out a deep and throaty chuckle. His fingers go back beneath the waistline of your pants, fingers gripping the flesh of your hips and grinding you down against his pelvis.

You threw your head into the crook of Logan’s neck as he began to buck his hips into yours at a steady rhythm. His fingers digging harder into your skin, as he applied more pressure. You could feel the thin fabrics of your underwear and sleep shorts soak the more you rubbed against Logan. You began to gyrate your hips in tighter circles.

“Ah, fuck.” You breathed out as you pressed your forehead to the brute of a man beneath you. “Logan, Logan, come on, stop teasing.” You panted between breaths. Logan shifted a bit beneath you causing your neglected clit to get caught during your motions. Your head lolled to the side and then back as a whimper turned into a full cry of frustration. God, you wanted this pain, this ache you were feeling to go away and you’d do anything to make it stop.

Logan’s grip tightened on your hips, as he stilled your body for a second.

“What the fuck,” You hissed, trying to slide your wet heat on Logans definite show-er and grower but the man loved to tease. Logan continued to hold your hips and you began to grow frustrated. The feeling of his smirk against your neck causing tears to come to your eyes.

“Logan, please.” You whimpered, your voice shaking. You feel him freeze and you mentally shoot yourself in the foot— You didn’t want this to be a thing with emotions, it was bad enough that the first time you’re having sex with the man you’ve loved for five years is as a one night fling. You didn’t want to have to think about the emotional repercussions before having what you’re pretty sure is going to be the best orgasm of your life.

In a moment of panic, and wanting to shift the focus you lean forward, and your hands find the button of Logan’s pants. You unbuckle the belt, and he peppers kisses along your shoulders, your fingers fumble with the button, and he noses your jaw, you slide down the zipper and he pecks your neck. All of a sudden the intimacy becomes too much so you trail your hands at the band of his underwear and you begin to pull the fabric down. Coarse hair grazes your fingers, and before you can stop yourself your hand runs up his stomach, and down back to his groin— his breath shudders against the nape of your neck as he begins to nip at your skin.

Before you can fully expose the man he grabs your hand and puts it on his shoulder as if saying to let him do the work. You obey and lift your hips to give him space. Next thing you know your being guided back close to him, hovering over his groin.

While you hadn’t seen his dick fully yet, you knew the mutant was big. You could tell regardless of the scenario. The way he walks, the way he sits— legs spread so wide it’s like he’s constantly inviting you to kneel between them. Missing the opportunity this time didn’t make you think any different though, this man was massive. The heat within your body was already painful enough, but now the heat you feel outside your cunt was unbearable.

Your right hand slid between your bodies as you reached for Logan's thick dick. He let out a low growl as your fingers wrapped around his shaft. Logan's fingers reached for the fabric between your thighs, moving the soaked cloth to the side urging you to put his cock inside.

You guide the tip to your entrance and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing in anticipation. You feel heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, but the aggression in Logan’s breathing gives you relief that you’re not the only one desperate. But for who it was is a different story.

Logan got impatient and lifted his hips to push the tip past, and your mouth fell open as a silent moan possessed your body. God, you were right. He was so thick, the stretch was borderline unbearable but before you could fully adjust Logan began to thrust up even further. His dick going so deep, the tip hit the spongy part.

He let out a strangled grunt as he held your hips down, and you squirmed.

“You needa stop that.” He barked, as he rolled his head back against the couch rest, trying to control himself as he felt your hole clench around him.

“I’m sorry,” You sob, trying to adjust but the pain and pleasure were too overwhelming you could feel yourself losing focus.

“I just–” He shushes you by cradling you against his shoulder, arms enveloping you in a tight hug, and just when you think you’ve calmed down he devours you like you’re his last meal. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you from his lap before he brings you down and he thrusts up.

A sob escapes your lips as his hips fire off like a pistol, thrusting in and out, brutal but so worth it as your desires are finally being satiated. He’s holding onto you like if he let go you’d float away. A string of curses fill the air as he continues to pump into you.

“Fuck, fuck, Logan.” You mumble, words slowly leaving your mouth.

“Awe,” Logan tuts as his hips fall into a normal pace, his hand coming to caress the back of your hair. “Don’t tell me this pussy is lightweight, we’ve only just started and you’re already acting like this?” You don’t respond, and instead let out soft moans as he continues to fuck into your abused cunt. Logan uses the opportunity to pull you back by your hair (again) to examine your face. It’s flushed red, glowing with perspiration, your chest panting as you try to catch your breath.

“No baby that won’t do.” He caresses the hair out of your face and nuzzles his face against yours. His facial hair prickling your skin. He places a kiss on your forehead before he pounds into you faster, deeper than before. You can barely keep your eyes open and all the sounds that leave your lips are just pathetic little whimpers and sobs.

"M'close." He grunts and you can't help but agree. "You gonna come, sweetheart?" You can't find the words and nod, pliant like a ragdoll in his arms. He groans.

"C'mon. You can do better than that, can't ya? Tell me."

"Fuck yes," you pant, your voice barely audible between gasps. You writhe beneath him, desperate for something to anchor yourself to, but with his hands pinning your wrists, the only thing you manage to grab is the rough hair on his lower abdomen, the friction of it grounding you as much as the heat and slap of his body. "Please… don’t stop."

His grip tightens on your wrists, the pressure pushing you to the edge as he moves faster, his breath hot against your skin. Each thrust sends a jolt through your body, every nerve alight with anticipation and need.

"That's it," he growls, voice thick with control as he watches you fall apart beneath him. "Let go."

You can feel it building, the tension coiling in your core, and with one final snap of his hips, you shatter—your body arching, toes curling, a strangled cry escaping your lips. The world blurs, everything outside this moment fading as you hit your peak, wave after wave crashing over you.

But even through the haze, you feel him reaching his own release. His pace becomes erratic, his muscles tensing, and as he finally falls over the edge, his body tight against yours, he groans—a low, guttural sound—before the name slips out.

"Jean—"

The word cuts through the air like a knife, your euphoria draining in an instant, replaced by a sharp, hollow ache in your chest.

Your heart plummets, and the warmth of his body that moments ago felt so consuming now feels like ice against your skin. The name he whispered isn’t yours. It echoes in your head, louder than the pounding of your pulse, louder than the ragged breaths you're both still catching. You feel like you’ve been struck, yet somehow, you’re not surprised. You always knew this wasn’t really about you. But it doesn’t stop the ache spreading through your chest.

You close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat as the reality of it all comes crashing down. This was always going to hurt.

For a few seconds, neither of you moves. The weight of the moment lingers, heavy and unbearable. His body relaxes, but the guilt etched into his expression is unmistakable, and you can feel the shift in the air. The intimacy that just moments ago had been raw and consuming has evaporated, leaving behind only an awkward silence and a sense of regret so thick it’s suffocating.

You disentangle yourself from him slowly, the warmth of his skin now foreign, a reminder of what you never really had. You sit up, your body still trembling, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts. The room feels stifling now, every breath you take thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Logan’s eyes open, still clouded with the haze of pleasure, but they widen when he realizes what he’s done—what he’s said. Panic flashes across his face, but it’s too late. You’ve heard it, and you can’t unhear it.

“Shit…” he mutters under his breath, his hand reaching out as if to apologize, but you’re already pulling away, slipping out of his grasp like sand between his fingers.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, though the crack in it betrays you. You force yourself to keep moving, pulling your clothes back into place, each motion slow and deliberate, as if trying to hold yourself together with every button and clasp.

He doesn’t say anything, and for once, you’re grateful. You don’t want to hear an apology, you don’t want to hear him stumble over words of regret. You don’t want to hear him say her name again.

You stand up, back turned to him, your chest heaving not from passion, but from the pain you can’t quite swallow down. Your hands are shaking as you adjust your clothes, but you refuse to let him see it. You knew this was a mistake. You knew this wasn’t love.

“This was never meant to fix anything,” you finally say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I was just… trying to help.” The words taste bitter, but they’re true. You’d gotten caught up, you’d let yourself believe—if only for a moment—that maybe it could be more. But it never was.

Logan sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking at you with something that could almost be remorse. But it doesn’t matter anymore. He made his choice long before tonight.

With one last glance over your shoulder, you meet his gaze. His eyes are still shadowed by the weight of his unrequited love, and you can see it all too clearly now. You were never the one he needed. You never stood a chance.

“I’ll be fine,” you lie, turning back to the door, your footsteps heavy as you leave the room, abandoning the project you had started earlier that night, each step pulling you farther away from the moment that should’ve never happened.

But even as you walk away, you can’t shake the feeling that for a second, despite knowing better, you let yourself believe it was real.

———

a/n: i thrive off of feedback and criticism.

[mrsclrakey]

hey i love your writing so much!! I was thinking maybe a clarkey fic where the girl is part of chrismd or willnes production team and she meets george over the course of productions and george has a crush on her… eventually asking her out

Tysm for this request I loved writing it I changed my writing style for this one I hope u like itttt

STORY NAME - 📸Lights, Camera, Heartbeat📸

You never imagined that joining the production team for one of YouTube’s hottest channels would change your life. When you first started working behind the scenes for the ChrisMD production crew, you were focused on mastering every detail—from camera angles to perfecting the sound design. You were passionate, determined, and quietly brilliant, though you hadn’t yet noticed the way someone’s eyes would often linger on you during late-night editing sessions.

A New Role, A New Beginning

On your very first day, you found yourself amidst a whirlwind of creative energy. The set was buzzing with activity as the team prepared for another energetic shoot. In the midst of the controlled chaos, you caught a glimpse of George Clarkey—a charismatic presence with an easy smile and a quiet intensity that set him apart. He was one of the key creative minds behind the channel, known not just for his production skills but for his uncanny ability to make everyone feel at ease. Over the following weeks, as you collaborated on numerous projects, those fleeting glances grew into genuine smiles and warm conversations.

Moments Behind the Scenes

During a particularly hectic filming day, while you were busy adjusting the lighting for a challenging shot, George walked up and offered a hand. “Need a hand?” he asked, his tone light yet sincere. You smiled, accepting his help, and in that small act of kindness, something stirred. As the camera rolled and the crew hustled around you, there were moments—quiet, stolen instances—where it seemed as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. Over cups of coffee during breaks and late nights spent reviewing footage, your conversations wandered from technical details to shared dreams, favorite films, and even the little quirks that made you both who you were.

George’s interest wasn’t sudden or overwhelming; it was built gradually, like the careful layering of a perfectly edited video. He’d find excuses to discuss creative ideas with you or ask for your opinion on a scene, and each time you spoke, his admiration was unmistakable. It was in the way he listened intently, the way his eyes lit up when you described a new concept, and the subtle compliments that made your heart flutter.

The Unspoken Connection

As more projects rolled in, so did opportunities to spend time together off set. One evening, after a long day of shooting, the team gathered at a local diner to celebrate a successful production. Amid laughter and shared stories, you and George found yourselves lingering at the edge of the conversation. He recounted a mishap during filming that had everyone in stitches, and you laughed, feeling completely at ease in his company. In that moment, the casual banter slowly revealed something deeper—a spark of mutual understanding and attraction that had been quietly building over countless behind-the-scenes moments.

There were days when you doubted whether a personal connection could flourish amid the demands of high-energy production work. But every time George’s gentle humor and sincere interest broke through the professional veneer, you found your resolve strengthening. You began to look forward to his thoughtful texts, the small notes left on your desk, and the way he’d ask if you needed help long after the cameras were turned off.

A Heartfelt Confession

Then came the day when the production schedule finally slowed down—a rare moment of quiet after a whirlwind of projects. The set was nearly empty, and the soft hum of the studio was a welcome contrast to the usual clamor. You were reviewing footage alone when you heard footsteps approaching. Turning around, you saw George, his expression unusually tentative yet earnest.

“I’ve been meaning to say something,” he began, his voice low in the quiet room. He confessed that over the past few months, he’d come to admire not just your talent and creativity, but your kindness and the passion you brought to everything you did. Each shared laugh, every thoughtful discussion about a scene or a storyline, had deepened his admiration until he realized that his feelings had grown beyond professional respect.

Standing there, heart pounding, you listened as he continued, “I know we’re part of a busy world of productions and deadlines, but I can’t ignore what I feel when I’m with you. Would you… would you go out with me, maybe grab dinner, or even just a quiet walk after work?”

In that moment, the room seemed to fill with a hopeful warmth. All the little moments—the shared glances, the after-hours conversations, the unspoken connection—had led to this genuine, heartfelt confession.

New Beginnings On and Off Camera

You found yourself smiling, the kind of smile that reached your eyes and melted away any doubts. Saying yes wasn’t just an acceptance of a date; it was an embrace of a new chapter—one where creativity met emotion, and professional admiration blossomed into something more personal and profound.

As you left the studio together that day, the lights and cameras that had once defined your world now served as the backdrop to the start of something beautiful. The production team continued to create incredible content, but now, behind every shot and every edit, there was the subtle reminder that sometimes the best stories are those that unfold naturally—one shared smile at a time.

In this story, your journey from a dedicated production team member to the recipient of George’s heartfelt confession is woven together by the magic of creative collaboration and genuine connection. Whether you’re behind the lens or in front of it, every moment brings you closer to the realization that sometimes, the best productions are the ones that capture the true essence of the heart.

[emperorangel]

⋆｡°𓆟 Pretend Like It's The First Time

Choso x GN!reader. no curses/college AU. Friends to lovers. Choso and Yuji are amateur boxers. Fluff and a little angst. Dubious consent kinda, since you were both drunk but I don’t go into detail like at all.

Synopsis: Last week, in a drunken haze, you slept with your best friend. You don’t remember much, but it was good. After that night though, Choso and you haven’t really spoken. It’s almost as if he is avoiding you. Then you show up at his boxing gym. Word count: 4K A/N: Goth Choso is real to me, I need him BAD

Finally, you regain conscience. Sunlight peeking through the curtains waking you. A throbbing pain pulses inside your head. For a second you’re not even quite sure where you are. The sheets of this bed aren’t yours, yet they are familiar. Weird. Something big and warm lies next to you, and you hold on to it tighter completely disregarding who or what it could be. You’re cold, where’s your shirt anyway? 

Then the thing moves with a groan and you freeze.

Choso, your close friend and classmate, is waking up right next to you. Well, actually you’re waking up next to him. Now you recognise the room. You’ve watched movies here, taken naps and had long talks. But never woken up naked and dazed.

He rubs his eyes and seems just as shaken and confused as you are. Did you…? His eyeliner is smudged, you must’ve taken care of business immediately for him not to clean his face before bed like he usually does. After staring into nothing for a bit the memories of last night rush back. Fuzzy, but you remember now. Even if you hadn’t been able to recall anything, the marks on both your and Choso’s bodies were telltale signs of what went down last night. Fuck, he got you good.

You slide out of bed, mumbling something about the bathroom and collect your scattered clothes from off the floor. 

Once in the bathroom you rest one hand on the edge of the sink, the other holding your head. Turning on the light had proven to be a mistake. It felt like you were being hit with a stun grenade. 

At least you’ll get to play dress up coming Monday, picking between smearing concealer all over your neck or wearing something that hides all those hickeys. God forbid you walk onto campus like this. 

Your reflection stares back at you full of judgement. 

Water. You need water. Forming a cup with your hands you quickly drink before the liquid makes its way through your fingers and down the drain. After that you wash your face for good measure. The cool water clears your mind a little.

Should you take a shower? You want to, but maybe that would be overstaying your welcome. You shiver. Oh my god what have you done?

But it wasn’t bad. No, not bad at all. Quite a surprise, actually. You never anticipated Choso being such a freak. Sure, you’ve thought about scenarios like this, maybe more than you would like to admit. But you would’ve never taken such a risk as you did last night. Not sober, anyway, as has become apparent.

Right there you make a vow to yourself to not speak of this again. Having sex with your friends is what ruins lives. And you don’t want to lose Choso.

Once you’ve freshened yourself up you slip out of Choso’s apartment, not saying another word. 

The day you first met Choso started as an awful one. After hearing the words “group project” spat out of your professor’s mouth you groan and hide your face into your hands. You don’t even get to pick your teammates. You’re not the only one upset, all around you you hear small noises of protest from your classmates. Nobody likes them, and yet for some reason professors love to hand these kinds of assignments out. 

The list with group divisions appears on the giant screen in front of the lecture hall. Great, you’ll be stuck with a guy you don’t know at all and a girl that literally never shows up.

You peer over your shoulder, finding the aforementioned guy already looking your way. He’s got dark brown eyes -accentuated by eyebags that will probably never go away no matter how well he sleeps- that somehow still manage to pierce through your soul. His black hair is always done up in these spiky pigtails. Probably some alternative hairstyle that is really cool in his scene, or something. But what really sticks out about his appearance is the black stripe across his nose. A tattoo, you assume. Unusual but admittedly, it suits his face. He’s tall, wearing thick platform boots every day and all-in-all has a reputation of being kind of scary. Help…

The first time working together had you nearly puking in the college library toilet out of nerves. But you sucked it up, and decided to be brave. Plus you really needed to pass this class, so it’s not like you have a choice… How scary can this be? He’s just a guy after all.

Later you found out that despite his intimidating aura, Choso is actually pretty chill. He’s patient with you, soft spoken and while he isn’t really able to properly explain it to you he really understands the study material.

As expected, your missing third member never shows up. But you don’t even need her, Choso and you manage just fine. If anything you’re thankful for miss flaker to stay out of this, spending time alone with Choso is much more fun than you ever imagined. 

After a week you catch yourself getting excited for a class you would normally rather jump into traffic for. You weren’t falling for your mysterious, goth classmate were you? Well, by the way your heart flutters when he greets you, you could confirm that -shit- you were.

Getting to know Choso proved to be difficult though. While he spoke about school and assignments just fine, he initially didn’t reveal anything about himself. It felt like trying to break through a concrete wall with just a kitchen fork. What movies did he like? What are his favourite songs? It was all so close yet just out of reach. 

But once you got him to mention his brothers you could piece together some of Choso’s personal life. Talking about himself didn’t seem to be his strong suit, but talking about his brothers? That was a whole different story.

“Oh yeah, I went to their concert with my brother.” So he likes that band… score. 

“I saw that movie with Yuji once, it was good.” You added it to your watchlist later that evening.

He has ten brothers, which is insane, and a dad who is kind of an ass (evidently). Choso’s the oldest, which could explain why he seems somewhat nurturing at times, and most of his brothers are scattered around the country doing their own thing. Half-brothers, really. But to Choso they are family all the same.

The youngest, Yuji, lives with his grandfather just around the corner from Choso’s place and they see each other a few times a week. Even though you’re curious about him, it would take a while before you actually met Yuji at a movie theater.

After a month the group assignment is done -with a passing grade at that- and you fear that this is where you go your separate ways again. Choso always sits alone -he doesn’t seem to mind it- and you expect him to go back to his quiet and mysterious persona now that you’re not forced to get along.

And at first he does. 

A week goes by and neither of you speak to each other, and you fear all those times you got him to open up the past month were just a facade. Weirdly enough, you really miss him. There was way more where that came from and you’re not ready for Choso to fade into obscurity again. So when he suddenly spawns in front of you with your favourite drink when you were sitting alone on campus, you’re nearly unable to hide your excitement. 

By the end of the year you’re as close as friends can be, and it silently kills you inside. Waiting for Choso to make the first move is like watching paint dry, you might reach the goal but it’ll take you a century to get there. Maybe he doesn’t even like you that way, and the fear of losing such a great friend keeps you from doing anything impulsive. Still, the way his gaze lingers on you longer than is socially acceptable, the moments where your knees touch and neither of you pull away, the quiet nights together in his apartment where nothing really happens yet still there’s a certain tension in the air… It all must mean something, no?

Parties were never really your idea of fun, but when a girl from your class invites you to one you decide to go. It would be a good way to get to know other people on campus, but you don’t want to go alone…

Choso agrees to come with you, even though he probably wouldn’t have gone if you weren’t going to be there. Your classmate had invited him -she acted like he was going to bite her head off- and he had politely declined before. 

But here he’s stood on the doorstep of the specified address, next to you. 

“You look nice.” He says, doing a quick up-and-down look before clearing his throat and turning away.

Inside it’s crowded, looks like the hosts invited more people than their home could support. Choso’s hand rests on the small of your back as you shuffle through the crowd. The warmth of his palm seeps through the fabric of your top. It’s such a small gesture, but it gets you way more worked up than you’d like to admit. Whenever Choso does something like this, it reminds you just how touch starved you really are. 

The kitchen is much emptier, and Choso has the space to let go of you. Bummer.

Drink, you need a drink to let loose. You’re way too on edge for this. Choso isn’t helping at all. At the door you noticed he was wearing eyeliner, and fuck does it look hot. Why didn’t he do so more often?

After a few shots you feel better, lighter. The world is not spinning quite yet but walking in a straight line takes more concentration than it would sober. It’s time to dance. 

Choso slips back in front of you when he notices you’re on your way out, grabbing your hand to not lose you. At first glance it looks like he’s just leading you around like a guard dog, which yeah, he is. But he also probably just doesn’t want to be left alone at a party where he hardly knows anyone. 

Choso’s palm is pressed against yours, your fingers intertwined as you squeeze past wasted college students. The music is turned up to the max, people are singing along and stumbling around a make-shift cardboard dance floor.

The music sucks, but you don’t care. Throughout the night you fluctuate between the shoddy dance floor and the kitchen to drink. Song after song plays, yet they all sound kind of the same. This doesn’t make them less danceable though. 

The world spins and you can’t think straight anymore, choso’s face also looks quite flushed. His pupils are blown out, you blame it on the alcohol. 

“Why’re you not dancing?!” You yell above the music. “This isn’t really my thing!” He slurs back. 

You scoff and grab his hands, moving them along with your drunken dance moves. “At least try to have some fun!”

He rolls his eyes with a smirk and follows your lead, moving around a bit more than before but still putting in minimal effort. More songs pass, the people around you all seem to know the lyrics. They scream along, or at least try to. Most of them have lost their voice by now. What time is it anyway? Doesn’t matter, you’d like another drink. 

A new track starts playing, seemingly a different genre than most of the other songs that have appeared tonight since Choso’s head perks up. You chuckle at his sudden reaction. “You know this one?!”

“Yeah!”

“Will you dance with me then?!”

Choso laughs and nods, finally putting some energy into his steps. In your intoxicated haze it feels like you’re absolutely tearing up the dancefloor, all the while not letting go of Choso’s hands. Finally he seems to have shaken off the edge as well. He should let loose more often. In truth though, he wouldn’t mind standing by and watching you, as long as he gets to be around you he’s content.

One of his hair ties is nearly falling out, the bun unravelling before your eyes. You rest your arms on his shoulders, pulling closer and tiptoe to release his hair. Your fingers brush through his black strands while your head rests under his chin. Choso’s heart is nearly beating out of his chest, or are you imagining things? Ugh it’s hard to make sense of anything right now. How many drinks have you had anyway…

You look up when you feel his hands hesitantly move to your hips. Choso stares back down, his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead and his face flushed pink. You hold his face, your thumb tracing across his tattoo and before you’re even aware of it yourself you kiss him. You can feel his breath hitch before he reciprocates. Kissing back slowly, but growing more passionate by the second like a starved man.

All the other people around you seem to disappear, you’re only aware of Choso. The rest of the night is kind of a blur, as if you were possessed by a far hornier version of yourself that is usually pushed far away. 

The rest is a blur.

Sure, you remember bits and pieces and also take note of the fact that you’re even more flustered around Choso now, but it’s not much. 

But after that day you woke up in his bed, covered in his marks, he disappeared again. Just like he did in the first month you met. You tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up and on campus he avoids you. 

Pissed off, you decide to face confrontation head on. It’s been a week and at least now you know Choso’s not that scary. You want to know where you stand. Have the ‘what are we?’ talk, maybe slap him across the face for going ghost again. You’ll see how you feel when you get there.

Choso’s usual gym wasn’t very crowded this evening. There were 6 people total, including you, Yuji and him. Your arms rest on the half-wall that separates the sports area from the rest of the gym. Watching Choso beat the punching bag over and over, you didn’t notice Yuji basically spawning behind you. He gently baps you on the head with one of his boxing gloves, finally catching your attention. “What are you doing here?” He asks, clearly confused. You scoff internally. Is it that unbelievable to see you in a gym?

Yuji is young, about four years younger than Choso, maybe. Still in highschool and a talented athlete. If Choso jumps high, Yuji jumps higher. If Choso punches hard, Yuji punches harder. It appears he’s able to outdo his brother in everything. Not that Choso seems to mind. Actually, he seems very proud of the pink haired kid’s abilities. 

“I have some business to discuss with your brother. College stuff, very boring.” You lie and fix your hair. 

“I hope you’re not asking him for help, ‘cause he sucks at explaining.” Yuji turns toward Choso, who is still laser focussed on killing the poor punching bag. “And then, uhm. You kind of add this and it’ll, uhh…” Yuji lowers his voice by an octave to mock the way his brother tutors him.

“I know.” You chuckle, dragging out your vowels. “Nah, we’re just reviewing something. Like I said, very boring.” 

Yuji didn’t need to know that you pulled all of this out your ass. He nods with an understanding pout. 

“Choso! Catch!” The boy yells as he throws a boxing glove toward his brother, conveniently right when he’s taking a sip of water. Choso manages to catch it without spilling the bottle all over himself. But when he turns to face his assailant he nearly chokes. 

You, of all people, coming here was something he didn’t expect. Were you here to chew him out? Say you’ll never want to see him again after what happened? His mind was racing as he reluctantly came over. Dragging his feet and keeping his eyes to the ground.

“Here.” He gave Yuji his glove back and turned to you, meeting your eyes only briefly.

“Choso, can we talk later? I’ll be waiting outside, by the back door.” You say, pushing yourself away from the wall. He mutters an “okay” and turns to Yuji, who really wants to spar. You curse yourself, Choso getting all worked up and sweaty was something you’d love to see again. But no, you force yourself out of the building.

You close the door behind you and let the cool evening air wash over you. There are already some stars in the dark blue sky and a half moon greets you kindly from space. 

The gym building, old as it is, has those indented windows with a slope you can sit on. They’re not meant to be sat on, but everyone and their mother does it anyway. 

Moths and other bugs swarm the single streetlight posted near the back door. You take your place on the forbidden window seat and wrap your arms around your legs. Choso should be here soon, it’s not like him to ghost you after you’ve confronted him directly. Besides, Yuji would pressure him to go see you. His younger brother is too dense to sense the tension between the two of you, but he knows you’re good friends and won’t stand for Choso chickening out of a conversation like he tends to do so often.

Your head perks up when the door opens, but you deflate when two strangers appear. They pat each other on the back and plan a night out for tomorrow. Then they fade into the evening. It’s Friday after all. Usually you’d be planning something with Choso by now. Maybe if you set this right there’ll be room for plans again. 

With a low sigh you scratch some of the brittle cement from between the bricks. You’ve been sitting here for about fifteen minutes now. 

When the door opens a second time you don’t react, expecting it to be another random gym bro. But when Choso clears his throat you freeze. 

Damnit, you promised yourself you wouldn't make this awkward. But the way he stands here before you, hair loose and damp from the shower, strands sticking to his forehead and his face still tinted pink from exercising , it only reminds you of last week. 

It seems Choso’s words also caught in his throat, because he turns away from you, poorly hiding how red he’s turning and leans against the wall next to your window. 

For a moment it’s quiet, with the exception of the bugs trying to break into the streetlight. The soft dink! Dink! Dink! Of their bodies against glass is annoying enough for you to open your mouth and break the silence. 

“How’d the sparring match go?” You ask to lighten the mood.

“I lost.” He simply replies, still not looking at you. You don’t have to know that he couldn’t concentrate on beating up his brother. 

“Ah.” Silence again.

“So, uhm.” you mutter, rapidly trying to collect your thoughts. “About what happened,  you know…”

Choso crosses his arms tighter and chews some loose skin off of his bottom lip, his eyes glued to the ground. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, I-”

“No, no it’s okay.” You pause for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing in a softer tone of voice. “I liked it.”

“Hm?” 

You know damn well Choso heard you, why is he making you say it again? The possibility of him simply not registering your words doesn’t really dawn on you. 

Leaning your head against the cold bricks somewhat cools you down. Blood rapidly rushes anywhere but your brain and the pounding of your heart combined with the warmth of your cheeks is insanely distracting. 

“I keep thinking about it. About you. And…”

You backtrack and shake your head. What are you doing, saying things like this? That promise you made to yourself about taking this to the grave didn’t last long at all. 

“Agh, sorry for even bringing this up.” You slide off the windowsill and prepare to run away from your feelings once more. “Goodnight.”

“No.” Choso grabs you by the wrist before you get the chance to leave. You turn to face him, stomach doing a somersault. He held your wrists like that last week too, only then you were being pressed into a mattress getting your world rocked. 

“Me too.”

“What?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always in the back of my mind, even more than before.”

“More than befo-  Choso what are you saying?” 

All this time he had been feeling the same. You had turned yourself inside out over absolutely nothing! The sly bastard. 

His dark eyes meet yours, but he doesn’t seem to have the courage to hold eye contact and quickly looks away again. He lets your wrist go with a sigh.

“I’m sorry I avoided you.” He says. “I was afraid of what you’d say.”

You nod knowingly. “Yeah, same here.”

Choso finally meets your gaze, looking not too different from a kicked puppy. “Please tell me you meant something behind everything we did that night. I can’t go on pretending like it all never happened.”

Neither could you. Going back to normal after fucking the guy you wanted to fuck for months on end? Impossible. You’d probably pass away from heart failure, or something. 

You violently shake your head. “No, Choso, I… I really like you. I meant everything, even if I wasn’t sober.”

“Really?” 

You’ve never seen him so relieved, he’s almost crying. He embraces you, and if he didn’t look so happy you’d think he was trying to crush you to a pulp. “I like you too. So much.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

You smile into his shoulder and snake your arms underneath his to hug him back. His face hides away in the crook of your neck and for a moment you’re just stood there, frozen. 

Choso shifts his weight, turning his head to look at you. His eyes dart between your eyes and your lips and you chuckle. Pulling yourself impossibly closer to him, you tip-toe and bring your face toward his, eyes locked on his lips. 

“Sorry,” He pulls away, leaving you internally screaming. It’s almost as if he did that on purpose to tease you. God this guy stressed you out in the best way possible. “Can we pretend like it’s the first time?” 

“Of course.” You reply, your voice not more than a whisper. You don’t remember much of the actual first kiss anyway. 

He chuckles softly while trying to find a comfortable angle, tilting his head left, then right. When his nose bumps into yours he decides to just gently hold your face in place. His thumb swipes across your cheek when his eyes meet yours. Then he leans in and kisses you. Tender, softly and oh how you’ve missed him.

Reluctantly you break the kiss, holding his chin and swiping across his lower lip with your thumb. He’s like putty in your hands. 

“Hey, Choso. Please don’t avoid me next time there’s a hard conversation to be had, okay?” 

He nods with a groan. “I’m sorry. I’ll work on that.”

You hum affirmatively. “We’ll get back to that tomorrow. It’s late.”

“How about I take you out, as in like a date. To apologise.” Choso’s eyes darted toward his feet. He really, truly feels awful about his behaviour. You tilt your head, pretending to consider his offer. As if you haven’t been waiting for this moment the second you realised how you felt. But after everything, playing around a little like this is the least you’re allowed.

“You Promise?” 

“I Promise.”

A/N: Like half of this came to me in a vision. I was listening to a lot of goth love songs writing this, Temptation by New Order and I'm Addicted by Selofan kind of stuck out to me as the most Choso-esque. I really like Enchant Me by Faithful Dawn as well. I wanted to link one of these at the top but could not for the life of me imagine any of these getting played at a generic house party so I just kind of left it up to you to imagine the song that catches Choso's attention mwahh. I have a whole playlist for him and would loooove to ramble on and on about music but this author's note is getting too long so maybe another time.

[st4rlvr]

Forced together || KSM

There was nothing more infuriating than Kim Seungmin’s voice.

It was the way he always had something to say, dripping with sarcasm, every word calculated to get under my skin. He didn’t even have to try hard. All it took was that little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he knew exactly how much I despised him, and it fueled him even more.

And unfortunately, he was everywhere.

In class, he was the one who always had the answer to the teacher’s question before anyone else could. During group projects, he was the one who refused to compromise, arguing with me until I wanted to scream. And now, to make matters worse, he was assigned as my partner for the dreaded school charity event.

“How unlucky can I get?” I muttered as I stared at the assignment sheet taped to the classroom wall.

“You mean lucky,” Seungmin’s voice chimed in behind me. “You get to work with me. I’m practically the backbone of this event.”

I turned to glare at him, my jaw tightening. “More like the thorn in its side.”

His smirk widened. “Nice one, Y/N. Did you rehearse that in the mirror this morning?”

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that starting a public argument wasn’t worth it. “Just stay out of my way,” I snapped, brushing past him.

“Not likely,” he called after me, his tone light and teasing.

Forced proximity, as it turned out, really was a writer’s favorite tool. For the next few weeks, Seungmin and I were glued at the hip, planning decorations, organizing volunteers, and managing donations. Every little interaction felt like a battle.

“Those posters are awful,” Seungmin said, leaning over my shoulder as I sketched out a design.

I turned to glare at him, clutching my marker like a weapon. “They’re fine.”

“They’re boring.”

“They’re professional.”

“They’re basic.”

“They’re effective,” I countered, gritting my teeth.

He leaned back, crossing his arms as he studied my work. “Fine. If you want the charity to look like it was organized by an accounting firm, go ahead.”

I wanted to throw the marker at him. Instead, I handed it to him. “If you’re so great, why don’t you show me your brilliant ideas?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow but took the marker, crouching down to the poster. His hand moved quickly, sketching out bold, dynamic lines. I hated to admit it, but the design was… good.

“See?” he said smugly, stepping back. “I told you. Artistic genius.”

“More like annoying perfectionist,” I muttered, but I left the design as it was.

Despite how much we fought, we occasionally found ourselves in sync. One day, as we set up the donation booth, Seungmin handed me a stack of flyers without me asking. Another day, I caught him fixing the garland I’d hung when it started to sag.

It was a rhythm neither of us acknowledged out loud, but I could feel it. The banter turned into something less heated, almost playful.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said one afternoon as we stuffed envelopes.

“What?” I replied warily, glancing at him.

He smirked, holding up one of the letters. “You spelled ‘donation’ wrong. Twice.”

I snatched the envelope out of his hand, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I did not.”

“You did,” he insisted, laughing. “Don’t worry. I fixed it. You’re welcome.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

It wasn’t until the night of the event that everything changed.

The gymnasium was packed with people, the decorations twinkling under the soft lights. I stood by the punch table, surveying the crowd and feeling an odd sense of pride. Everything had come together perfectly.

“You’re staring like you just won an award,” Seungmin’s voice came from beside me.

I turned to him, startled. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be off bragging to someone about how great this all looks.”

He shrugged, his expression unusually serious. “Maybe I just wanted to see how you were holding up.”

I blinked at him, caught off guard. “I’m… fine. Why?”

“You’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks,” he said, his gaze steady. “You should take a break.”

The sincerity in his voice threw me completely off balance. “Are you… being nice to me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said with a small smirk, but there was something softer in his eyes.

Before I could respond, someone called his name, and he walked away, leaving me standing there, my heart inexplicably pounding.

The next day, Seungmin was back to his usual self—teasing, sarcastic, and insufferable. But I couldn’t shake the memory of the way he’d looked at me during the event, the way his voice had softened just slightly.

It wasn’t until we were packing up the leftover supplies that I finally confronted him.

“Why do you do it?” I asked, crossing my arms as I stood in front of him.

“Do what?” he replied, not looking up from the box he was taping shut.

“Push my buttons. Constantly.”

He paused, his hands stilling. Then he straightened, meeting my gaze. “Maybe because I like seeing how much fight you’ve got in you.”

I stared at him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

Seungmin stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “You’re not like everyone else. You don’t just roll over and let people tell you what to do. You challenge me. And, as much as I hate to admit it…” He hesitated, his voice dropping slightly. “I kind of like it.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Are you… complimenting me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible, Kim Seungmin.”

“And yet, here you are,” he replied, his tone light but his gaze steady.

I didn’t have an answer to that.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as insufferable as I thought.

And so, the lines between love and hate blurred, leaving us in a place neither of us could quite define. But one thing was certain: life was a lot less boring with Seungmin around.

[willcmsv]

Soft Launch - Alain Laubrac x Fem Reader (ENG)

The story that follows is in English for my English Voltaire High's fans, French version is posted there!

Requested by @babydeersblog

Synopsis: You and Alain got to know each other at the beginning of the year, and were involved in a number of group projects, which helped your relationship to evolve over time. However, after being mocked when you confessed your feelings to a boy, you decided to keep them to yourself and no longer show any signs of love. But Alain unfortunately makes you feel something you'd like to find out more about.

Warnings: small changes compared to the series.

Notes: don't hesitate to recommend oneshot ideas - I write in English and French!

Since the beginning of the year, you and Alain have been exchanging words during your class hours. You have the habit of drawing him little drawings while he writes you quotes or jokes, depending on his mood. Since his fight with Joseph a few months ago, you have become Alain's sort of guardian angel, you prevent him from going off the rails and you defend him when you have the opportunity in front of Joseph and his friends.

However, for the past few weeks, Joseph can't help but tease you by pointing out how close you are and assuming that you love each other as if it were a game. But Joseph was like that. Everything was funny to him and everything was not serious.

When you come home on weekends, you have the right to participate to the private interrogation of your brother Jean-Pierre, as if Joseph's bogus questions weren't enough. For Jean-Pierre, you were and will always remain his little sister who he must cherish and protect. He stopped watching you grow up when you were nine.

“Who is Alain?” Jean-Pierre asked the second you set foot inside your house.

"A friend. Next question?" You answered.

Jean-Pierre frowned. For him, there's no way you're dating a boy. Simone had reminded him several times that you were seventeen and old enough to have a boyfriend, but he was stubborn and didn't want to know anything about the subject.

“Apparently no, that’s not what Joseph claims to say.”

"Joseph! Do you really believe him?! He's an idiot and he likes to start rumors about everything that moves. I thought you were more intelligent…" You affirmed, grabbing a glass which you carefully filled with water.

After your exchange with your brother, you headed to your room and discovered a letter left on your bed. It is signed A.L.

You immediately recognized the sender's writing and his sentences, which were always so original and captivating. You couldn't help but smile at each of his letters, at each of his words, of his actions. But although this should make you happy, on the contrary, it made you anxious.

Every night before going to sleep, you thought about what you really wanted. You had two choices presented to you: confess your feelings to him and risk being humiliated like before, or keep them a secret and perhaps lose the love of your life.

The love of your life, maybe that’s a big word.

On Monday morning, after leaving your home, you arrived at school a little early. You especially hoped to see Alain.

“Morning.” A male voice called out to you.

Without even turning around, you could recognize this voice among a hundred, even if it wasn't pleasant for you.

“Joseph, what else do you want from me?”

"What do I want from you? What do you want me instead.”

You raised your eyebrow, unconsciously glaring at Joseph.

"Even though the school doesn't know me by that name yet, I'm excited to introduce myself, Joseph the Cupid." He stooped down, miming a curtsy.

“Joseph the what?!” You giggled at this unpredictable news. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do I look like it?”

My smile immediately faded from my face when I realized that indeed, he was completely serious. But Joseph, serious or not, is not someone you can trust.

“Go find another customer.” You responded, turning on your heel.

“Don’t you want to know what your dear Alain thinks of you?” A smirk formed on the blonde's lips.

“Not necessarily, and certainly not thanks to your help.” You declare.

"It's a shame, I know a lot about him and things that might interest you-" Joseph stopped in his sentence when Alain arrived.

“Are you okay Y/n? Joseph…” Alain gave Joseph a confused look. “We can already get ready for class, what do you think?”

You nodded and the two of them walked off into the hallways. Alain leaned against the wall.

“If Joseph bothers you, tell me.”

“It’s Joseph, he’s like that.” You declare.

Alain lowered his gaze, as if he was upset, and upset by what had just happened.

During the first class of the day, you couldn't help but glance at Alain who seemed so focused on the class. You were as focused on him as he was on his lesson that you didn't realize that his gaze was now turned towards you.

His blue eyes were locked on you. He didn’t even move when your gaze met his. Your cheeks suddenly took on a tint of pink while a smirk appeared on Alain's face.

At the end of class, you cross paths with Joseph again who begs you to accompany you home since you live near each other.

Alain, who was walking a few meters further, was able to see your silhouette and that of Joseph walking side by side. He couldn't help but feel jealous. Why did Joseph always have to be with you when he only dreamed of being in his place.

***

The next day, you and Alain had a science assignment to complete, an assignment that required you to work with him for an indefinite period of time. You were already looking forward to being with him, but strangely, you felt pressure, as if this was going to go badly.

You quickly walk towards the science room, seeing Alain who was already sitting on a chair at the back of the room.

"Am I late ?" You asked.

“We would rather say that I am early.” Alain smiles at you before pulling out a chair for you.

The work progressed more quickly than expected, both of them were focused, but took a few poses to discuss things more entertaining and fun than science classes.

“You and Joseph, is there…” Alain began.

You widened your eyes before answering.

“No, no! He’s just a friend, I’m not interested in him.” You hastened to answer.

Alain glanced at his notebook without saying a word, as if your answer didn't suit him.

His fingers held tightly to his pencil with which he was scribbling in the corner of his notebook.

Your eyes roamed his entire face, from his brown curls to the fine curves of his jaw.

“Are you okay?” You finally asked.

Alain’s eyes fixed on you once again. They moved down to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Although he didn't speak, his gaze revealed so much more.

Your heartbeat accelerated and your lips itched with the desire to kiss him.

His face slowly moved closer to yours, your heart almost skipped a beat.

"Working hard?" A male voice blurted out.

You and Alain turn around with a start before seeing Joseph in the doorway. He smiled playfully at you like he did that on purpose. And you were sure that was the case.

"I need to go, Y/n. We'll meet up again tomorrow." Alain packed his things and gave you a brief smile before leaving, lightly brushing against Joseph.

"You find it funny?!" You declare.

“I thought you weren’t interested?” A smirk appeared on Joseph's lips.

***

In the afternoon, you went to the infirmary to take some medicine to treat your uncontrollable stomach ache. Before you could put on your vest again, the door opened to reveal Alain.

"Hey..."

"I- I didn't think I'd see anyone here at this hour." He affirmed.

His nose was bleeding slightly and you could notice blood on his knuckles.

“Did you fight?” You asked directly.

He didn't answer, his lips pursed and he looked away. Sometimes silence is louder than words.

You wet a cotton ball before gently grabbing his hand to disinfect it.

“It wasn’t me…I didn’t start it.” He whispered.

“It’s too simple to say that every time, Alain.”

He breathed in and out a silent 'yes' and gritted his teeth as you pressed against his wound.

The closeness between the two of you allowed you to hear his heartbeat and feel his gaze on you as you carefully disinfected his wound.

Placing the cotton on the table next to you, you felt Alain's still hand lightly brush against your thigh as you moved.

You bit your lip to hide your concern. Each of his movements, his looks or his words always gave you a feeling that was impossible to describe.

It had become more and more complicated for you to accept your feelings without always imagining the worst. However, you wanted things to work with Alain. You always felt butterflies in your stomach when you saw him smiling at you in the yard, or when he hid letters in your bag. Not to mention the times you could cross his path, like in the infirmary for example.

Everything led you to him and you felt something different, something captivating.

***

The next day, after classes ended, Alain invited you for a walk around town. At first, you walked in silence. Your interactions with him were never this awkward, and the mood was almost heavy right now.

“Sorry about yesterday…”

Alain turned his head, almost surprised that you apologized.

"It's not your fault." He answered briefly.

You bit your lip, you didn't know how to make the mood more joyful or even less morbid.

“Joseph is-” You start before being interrupted by Alain.

“It's still Joseph, Y/n. Except that Joseph takes great pleasure in bothering you, I notice that very well. You need to ignore him, because he's not going to stop so quickly. So make him stop, or I'll take care of it myself."

When he finished speaking, you couldn’t help but slip a short ‘no’ out of your mouth. You didn't want them to lash out like always.

You grab his arm to push him slightly towards you. Either you waited and perhaps risked the situation degenerating or ending differently than expected, or you took your courage in both hands.

Alain looked at you again with a look filled with desire. You didn’t know what exactly that look meant, but as much as you didn’t want to start imagining things, it wasn’t friendly in any way.

“I would like to have you to myself for once… to be able to act without someone cutting me off every time…” Alain affirmed.

You arrive in a small alley. You walked slower and slower, your bodies getting closer together as you went, until your hands brushed against each other several times.

Your two gazes met when you felt the other's hand. Alain walked in front of you and suddenly stopped, which led to you stopping too.

"Y/n, I wish you were more confident, you're pretty and smart. Don't hide or let anyone walk all over you."

Your eyebrows raised when you heard his words. Your cheeks immediately turned red despite the fact that you tried to hide them.

Alain slowly leaned towards you, his hand reaching out towards your arm. He didn't dare put it elsewhere and was mainly waiting for a response from you before doing so. His eyes lowered to your lips again. However, this time he didn't look away. Despite the hesitation, he finally placed his lips on yours and you immediately kissed back. His soft lips pressed against yours and moved in lockstep with yours.

A few seconds later, you both pulled your faces back and looked into each other's eyes before Alain gave you a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t have thought of doing that here… but it’s even better.” He smiled and finally placed a hand on your waist.

You were overcome by emotions and reached his lips again to kiss him. He pressed firmly on your waist at the same time as his lips pressed into yours.

His warm breath blew against your skin, and you felt it slowly speed up.

You felt his lips forming a smile against yours, and you couldn't help but smile back.

Once again, you felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach. His hand tenderly caressing your waist and the movements of your lips against each other only made you feel worse.

However, what you couldn't have known was that on Alain's side, tons of emotions and sensations were also invading his body and making his heart palpitate in rhythm with the beating of yours.

1758 words.

[firsttimewriter92]

Neighborly shenanigans Pt. 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! reader (Neighbor AU)

Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Description: You´ve just moved in a couple of weeks ago, trying for a new start. A brief encounter with your neighbor gets your endorphins and imagination going. What is it about the mask?

Warnings: cursing, some dirty thoughts, fluff, a little pining

Word count: 1.917

A/N: Hi everyone <3 This is my very first Simon Riley x reader fic. I´ve written about several characters of CoD but Ghost was always kind of an enigma to me. I never knew how to make him the love interest. But and idea popped into my head after reading some characterization that made it much easier to write for him. So here you go :) Let me know if a part 2 is something you´d be interested in.

“Jesus fucking Christ” you swore as you tried your best to push your heavy apartment door open and balance your bag and groceries through the door. It was a struggle to say the least, but you were damned if you did second trips. Grumbling through your teeth you saw no other possibility than setting down your bag, holding the door open with your foot and grabbing your groceries a little more securely. Bending your knee, you gave your door a forceful push and slid through into your small hallway. Foregoing taking off your shoes you made your way into your open kitchen and set the heavy paper bags down on your kitchen island.

A sigh escaped you and you took a moment just to stand in your kitchen and take in the chaos around you. Half emptied moving boxes were strewn all around your living room, amidst not yet hanging shelves, plastic plants and several DIY projects. Another sigh left your lungs with a huff. Moving and starting anew had seemed like your only option a couple of weeks ago but now you dreaded the silence. You wanted this, ___, you thought. It was your decision.

Your new job was everything you ever hoped for, and training turned out to be smooth sailing. You loved it, you loved your apartment, even though it was far from being finished yet. But still, what you´d left behind still lingered in the back of your brain all too clearly at times. Especially when your heavy door closed behind you every evening and there was nothing but you, your DIY projects, an occasional phone call with your parents and then silence. Silence to wallow in, rake your brain and memories. Memories not even a good Podcast or music were able to drown out.

You weren´t as close with your colleagues yet as to be invited out to the pub after work but that was to be expected. The chances were good though. Maybe just a couple of days more and you´d have at least some kind of social interaction. One step after the other, you reminded yourself. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Your own impatience with yourself was yet again trying to make you feel like you´d made a mistake by moving. A humorless laugh bubbled from your lips as you shook your head. Calm down, you thought. This is your life, your pace. Relax.

A couple of minutes later your food was stored away, veggies and salmon steaming away and finally you sat down on your couch, glass of wine in hand and Netflix on your TV.

“Bloody hell” you cursed as a shot of adrenalin set your brain into overdrive. Your bag. You jumped off your couch and hurried over to the door. Swinging it open with a yank you initially thought someone had put out the lights in the corridor. All you saw was black and not a second later you collided with something solid.

Shaking your head, you realized three things. It was 7 o´clock on a warm day in July, so it couldn’t be dark out already. Your hallway had several windows and yes, the sun was still out. The black wall you just ran into turned out to be a massive chest.

Heat was ascending your neck as you took a small step back and lifted your head to look at the face this quite impressive physique belonged to. What the…?

Before you stood a man, several inches taller than you, frozen in place with his arm lifted as if he was just about to knock on your door. He looked down on you with impressive, hazel eyes. Honey blond, tousled hair adorned his head, falling slightly onto his forehead, wet tips clinging to his temples and a bead of sweat disappearing behind his ear. But that was about all you could make out.

Seeing people wearing a facemask had of course not been an unusual sight for the last three years but he wasn´t wearing one of those surgical ones. His nose, mouth and chin were covered in thick, black material, even spanning over his cheekbones and disappearing behind his ears. When your eyes caught his again you saw them narrowing just slightly and one blond eyebrow ticking upwards.

Something wriggly moved inside your belly.

The man slowly lowered his arm, simultaneously lifting the other slightly, holding out your bag.

“This yours?” a deep, calm voice broke through the silence and the wriggly something inside you spread out towards your chest, down your arms and into your fingertips. You swallowed, trying to gather your wits again.

“Uhm…yes. Yes, that´s mine. Forgot about it” you said with a nervous laugh as you took it from him. He hummed deep inside his chest in understanding. The sound only letting your eyes snap onto his again trying to decipher if the squinting was an annoyed one or an amused one.

Amused, as it turns out. He took a deep breath, the black material of his running shirt as you now realized it was, stretching across the expanse of his chest.

“You know, that´s how you get your identity stolen. Or at least your wallet.” Yeah, there was no question now, he was grinning behind his mask, his tone mildly rebuking but not at all belittling.

A small smirk of your own crawled onto your lips as you cocked out your hip and nodded your head.

“You´re absolutely right, Sir. I´ll cuff my bag to my wrist from now on so this inconvenience shall not occur to you a second time.” You want to be cocky, mister? Fine with me.

Your answer made him chuckle. It was short but genuine. One hand in his pocket he stepped back slightly and only now did you notice the heat that his body had emitted. With one last narrow of his eyes, making the edges crinkle ever so slightly he answered. “Not an inconvenience, Miss. Have a good evening.” He nodded once and walked away to your right.

“Y-you too” you cursed the way your words tumbled. To your surprise he halted in front of the door next to yours and your heart jumped into your throat as he took out his keys. Your eyes still fixed onto his side profile (you still couldn’t really make out any features), he gave you one last look before opening his door.

“And thank you” you rushed out.

He only lifted one hand to give you a small little wave that seemed way too juvenile for a man of his stature and closed his door.

Kind of shellshocked you turned around yourself and let your door fall shut behind you. Clutching onto your bag you didn’t even notice how long you were just standing in your hallway, trying to sort out the wriggling nerves. Who was that? Idiot. Your neighbor. Your neighbor that you´d never seen before. A man like him you´d remember seeing. There´d never been any noise from the apartment next to yours so you just thought it was either a very quiet tenant or one that only went there to sleep.

Sitting down on your couch again you stared at the wall behind your TV. He was behind that wall, doing…things. Existing. Why did that feel so exciting to you? Maybe it was just because that´d been your first real social interaction apart from talking to your colleagues?

Laughing incredulously at yourself you buried your burning face in your hands and giggled. No. No that wasn’t it and you knew it. It was stupid. So very stupid and weird and nerdy and…that damn mask!!

“Whhhyyyy…..?” you moaned grinning and rubbed your temples, finally letting all the pent up adrenalin and endorphins rush through your blood stream unstopped. What was it about men wearing those damn masks? Not being able to fully see their face. Having to find out what there was to them by just their actions.

The fist time you really thought you´d lost your mind was when you actually developed a burning crush on a literal tin can from the Star Wars universe. Oh yeah, sure. Give me a brooding, sarcastic, overworked loner with PTSD and give him a freaking child to protect. Watch him become a devoted, loving single parent. Of course! Yes, let me thirst after him. And did it stop there? Of course not. The pandemic hit and the lockdown had everyone in a chokehold.

The only chokehold you wanted to be in at the time however was one carried out by a video game character called Ghoul from “Call of Obligation”. Tatted up, burly, sharp, dutiful, loyal and fucking hot.

The only thing you were able to see of him? His eyes. Just his eyes and an occasional forearm here and there. Everything else covered in tactical gear and a scary facemask. God that character haunted your dreams almost every night. And now, you had his existing, breathing, heat emitting, real human equivalent living next to you. You felt your insides burn as another funny noise came from your mouth. There had to be something wrong with you. Why was half a visible face or even less, so damn attractive to you?

“Shit must be some kind of kink” you murmured to yourself as you reached for your wine glass.

Why was he wearing that mask anyway? People weren´t obligated to wear one anymore. Was it some kind of training technique while running?

Anyhow, you appreciated the encounter. Your mood instantly better even though the both of you hadn’t talked much at all. He seemed witty. Cocky almost and you liked that.

Emptying your wine, you put the glass back in the dishwasher and walked over to your bathroom when you heard it. The shower in the next apartment was running. Immediately you halted all movement and tried to not even breath. The situation seemed so delicate, like thin glass ready to break. You stared at the wall when something else caught your ears.

No. Did you hear this right? Was he…?

You walked carefully over to your shower and stepped in. Trying not to care about how crazy you must look at this moment, you turned your head to the wall slightly, closed your eyes and listened as hard as you could. There it was.

Low, melodic and absolutely captivating. Over the sound of the water hitting the tile you heard your neighbor singing. Your forehead hit the tile and you breathed as quietly as possible, marveling in the baritone sweetness that could be heard through the wall. All too soon, about a minute later it was over. The water was shut off, the singing stopped.

As if in trance you got your nighttime routine going and a couple minutes later, slid into bed. Knowing where his bathroom was now, you were positive that his bedroom had to be next to yours as well. You tried to hear more, but nothing else penetrated the walls. It made you glad actually. If you would be able to hear him in his bedroom, sleep would turn out to be an impossibility to achieve.

This way, you closed your eyes, got comfortable and let your thoughts drift and wander. Not long after, you were dead asleep. Your dreams yet again haunted, but now, the usual scary mask of Ghoul was replaced with a solid black one and instead of clawing at a fully clothed head between your legs, your fingers tangled into soft honey blond curls.

_____________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading. Please consider interacting with this post and give me some feedback. Comments and reblogs always help not only to push my work that I love, but also help to improve my writing and get my imagination going.

Thank you for considering it <3

[estapa-edwards]

UNEXPECTED - R. MCGROARTY

paring: rutger mcgroarty x fem! reader

word count:3k

requested? no

warnings: use of y/n.

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I never thought I'd find myself in this situation. Of all the people in the University of Michigan, why did it have to be Rutger McGroarty? I mean, the guy was a hockey legend, scoring goals left and right on the ice and having his face plastered all over campus posters. But off the ice? Let's just say, we were like oil and water.

It all started in Professor Williams' Advanced Statistics class. We were assigned a semester-long project that would contribute a significant portion to our final grades. The catch? We had to work in pairs, and Professor Williams, in his infinite wisdom, decided to pair me up with Rutger. Great.

I slumped in my seat, trying to disappear into the lecture hall's worn-out upholstery as Professor Williams announced the pairings. When he finally called out, "Y/N and Rutger McGroarty," I felt like the entire room turned to look at me, probably to see my reaction. And what was my reaction? Pure dread.

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The first meeting was a disaster. Rutger strolled in wearing his Michigan hockey team jacket, a smug grin plastered on his face as he tossed his bag onto the table. "So, statistics, huh? Should be easy," he remarked, barely looking at the project guidelines I had painstakingly printed out.

I shot him a skeptical look. "Easy for you, maybe. I'm not exactly a math whiz."

He chuckled, "Don't worry, I'll handle the numbers. You can handle... whatever it is you're good at."

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

As the weeks passed, our project meetings evolved into something entirely unexpected. Rather than focusing solely on statistics and data analysis, our time together became a battleground of differing opinions and clashing personalities. Rutger, with his competitive spirit, always seemed eager to take the lead, often making decisions without even glancing in my direction.

One evening, as we were deep in discussion about our data collection methods, Rutger leaned over the table, his eyes locked onto mine with a mischievous glint. "You know, Y/N," he said, a playful smirk playing on his lips, "I think we should use my method. After all, it's tried and tested."

I raised an eyebrow, not amused by his arrogance. "And what about my method? Have you even considered it?"

He chuckled softly, leaning even closer, his voice low and flirty, "Teamwork? I thought you were just here to witness my brilliance."

I groaned internally, rolling my eyes at his audacity. How had I ended up with such an arrogant project partner?

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

During another one of our study sessions, tensions reached a boiling point. We were deep in a heated debate about the interpretation of our data, and Rutger's competitive nature was once again on full display. He suddenly stood up, towering over me with his imposing hockey player physique, making the small study room feel even more cramped.

"I still think my approach is better," he declared, his tone dripping with confidence and assertiveness.

I let out a deep sigh, trying to keep my frustration in check. "Rutger, can you please just listen to what I'm saying? This is a group project, remember? We're supposed to work together, not against each other."

He smirked, his eyes locking onto mine as he leaned down to my level, his face mere inches from mine. The audacity of his flirty demeanor in the midst of our disagreement only added to my irritation.

"Oh, I'm listening, Y/N," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I'm just waiting for you to see things my way."

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I pushed my chair back, creating some much-needed distance between us. "Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head in exasperation.

Rutger leaned against the table, his smirk never wavering. "Come on, Y/N," he coaxed, his tone playful, "Admit it, you're starting to see the brilliance of my ideas, aren't you?"

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach caused by his relentless flirting. "Rutger, this isn't a game. We need to work together and find a solution that we both agree on."

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Alright, alright, I'll try to be more open-minded," he conceded, though the playful glint in his eyes suggested he was far from giving up on his competitive stance.

​​As we continued to work on our project, Rutger suddenly changed the subject, "Hey, Y/N, are you free this Friday night?"

Caught off guard by the sudden change in topic, I looked up from my notes, "Um, yeah, why?"

Rutger's smirk returned, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Great! How about coming to one of my hockey games? It's a big one, and I'd love for you to be there."

I hesitated for a moment, surprised by his invitation. "I... I don't know, Rutger. I'm not really into hockey."

Rutger leaned in closer, his flirty demeanor returning full force. "Come on, it'll be fun! Plus, you get to see me in action. Who knows, you might even become a fan."

Despite my reservations, I couldn't help but feel intrigued. Rutger's passion for hockey was evident, and the idea of seeing him play, seeing a different side of him outside of our intense study sessions, was tempting.

"Alright," I finally conceded, a small smile playing on my lips, "I'll come to your game."

Rutger's face lit up with a triumphant grin. "Great! You won't regret it, I promise."

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The rest of the week flew by, and before I knew it, Friday night had arrived. I found myself at the university's ice rink, surrounded by enthusiastic fans wearing Michigan's colors and cheering for the team. The atmosphere was electric, with the excitement palpable in the air.

As the players took to the ice for warm-ups, I spotted Rutger, effortlessly gliding across the rink, his focus and determination evident. I had to admit, seeing him in his element was impressive. His skill and passion for the game were undeniable, and I found myself getting caught up in the excitement of the atmosphere.

Just as the game was about to begin, Rutger glanced up and spotted me in the stands. A wide smile spread across his face, and he waved enthusiastically in my direction. I waved back, feeling a warm flush of pride at his acknowledgment. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to me.

My friends, who had accompanied me to the game, noticed Rutger's friendly wave and looked at me with surprise. "Wait, did Rutger just smile and wave at you?" one of them asked, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

I chuckled, nodding in response. "Yeah, I guess he did. He asked me to come tonight." 

My friends exchanged amused glances, clearly intrigued by the unexpected turn of events. "Wow, Y/N," another friend teased, "I didn't know you and Rutger had become so chummy. What's next, joining the hockey fan club?"

I laughed, rolling my eyes at their playful teasing. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I don't even like him like that." 

My friends exchanged knowing glances, clearly amused by my defensive response. "We never said you liked him like that," one of them teased with a smirk.

I felt my cheeks heat up, realizing I might have been a bit too quick to clarify. "Well, I just meant... you know," I stammered, trying to find the right words. "He's a good teammate and all, but it's not like that between us."

Another friend chuckled, nudging me playfully. "Sure, sure, Y/N. Whatever you say. But we saw that smile on your face when he waved at you. Admit it, you enjoyed being his special guest at the game tonight."

I rolled my eyes again, but this time with a smile. "Okay, okay, maybe I had more fun than I expected. But that doesn't mean anything's changed between us. We're still just project partners."

My friends laughed, clearly unconvinced by my attempts to downplay the evening's significance. "Alright, Y/N," one of them said, holding up their hands in mock surrender. "We'll let you off the hook for now. But don't be surprised if we start seeing you at more hockey games in the future."

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

After the game, as I waited for Rutger outside the locker room, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected experience. Despite our rocky start and the constant challenges we faced during our project, I had gained a newfound appreciation for Rutger and his passion for hockey.

When Rutger finally emerged from the locker room, still in his gear but looking exhilarated, he flashed me a wide grin. "So, what did you think?" he asked, his tone hopeful.

I smiled back, genuinely impressed. "You were amazing, Rutger. I never realized how exciting hockey could be."

His grin widened, his eyes shining with happiness. "Told you, you might become a fan."

As Rutger and I began to walk away from the locker room, we were approached by two of his teammates, Ethan and Mark, both still in their Michigan hockey gear. They wore playful grins, clearly having spotted our interaction earlier.

"Hey, Rutger," Ethan began with a teasing tone, nudging Mark with his elbow. "Is this your girlfriend?"

Mark joined in on the joke, winking at me. "Yeah, Rutger, you didn't tell us you were bringing your special someone to the game tonight."

Rutger chuckled, rolling his eyes at his teammates' antics but not seeming entirely surprised by their teasing. "Very funny, guys," he said, his tone light and amused. He glanced over at me, offering a reassuring smile. "Ignore them, Y/N. They just can't resist a good joke."

I laughed, brushing off the playful teasing with a wave of my hand. "Don't worry, I'm not taking it seriously. But thanks for inviting me tonight, Rutger. I had a great time."

Ethan and Mark exchanged knowing glances, their grins widening. "Anytime, Y/N," Ethan said with a teasing tone. "You're always welcome to come and cheer for us... and for Rutger, of course."

Mark nodded in agreement, his playful demeanor still intact. "Yeah, maybe next time we'll even get you to wear a Michigan jersey... with Rutger's number on it."

I chuckled, shaking my head at their persistent teasing. "We'll see about that," I replied, glancing over at Rutger, who was still smiling despite his teammates' antics.

As we continued to walk towards the exit, Rutger's playful demeanor returned. "I hope they weren't too much for you," he said, his tone light.

I shrugged, smiling back at him. "They're just having some fun. I can handle a little teasing."

Rutger grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Good to know. And thanks again for coming tonight, Y/N. I'm glad you enjoyed the game."

I nodded, feeling genuinely grateful for the unexpected experience. "Me too, Rutger. It was a great game, and you played exceptionally well."

His smile widened, and for a moment, the playful, competitive edge that had defined so much of our project seemed to fade away, replaced by a genuine warmth and camaraderie.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The day had finally arrived to wrap up our project, and Rutger and I found ourselves in the university library, huddled over our laptops and notes. The tension in the room was undenible, not just from the looming deadline, but also from the lingering awkwardness between us.

As we worked on the final touches, I noticed Rutger's eyes drifting from his laptop to me more than a few times. Each time our eyes met, he quickly looked away, but I couldn't help but feel his gaze on me.

"Is everything okay, Rutger?" I finally asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us.

Rutger looked up, seeming caught off guard by my question. "Uh, yeah, sorry about that," he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "I was just thinking about the project, that's all."

I raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by his explanation. "You seem distracted. Are you sure there's nothing else on your mind?"

Rutger hesitated, his gaze meeting mine once again. This time, he didn't look away immediately, and I could see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "Honestly, Y/N," he began, his voice softer than usual, "I've been meaning to say something."

I felt my heart skip a beat, curious and slightly apprehensive about what he was about to say. "Go on," I urged, setting aside my work to give him my full attention.

Rutger took a deep breath, his eyes searching mine. "I just wanted to say thank you," he said, his tone sincere. "Despite our differences and the challenges we've faced, you've stuck by me and put in the effort to make this project a success. I really appreciate it."

I was taken aback by his honesty, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. "You're welcome, Rutger," I replied, smiling genuinely at him. "Despite our disagreements, I think we made a pretty good team in the end."

Rutger grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, we did," he agreed, his gaze lingering on me a moment longer than necessary. "And for the record," he added, his tone teasing, "I wasn't just staring at you because you're distracting. I was also trying to figure out how to ask you out after we finish this project."

I chuckled, caught off guard by his candidness but also intrigued by his confession. "Oh, really?" I responded, raising an eyebrow playfully. "And here I thought you were just lost in thought about the project."

Rutger laughed, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair. "Well, the project was definitely on my mind, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also thinking about what comes next."

I felt a warmth spread through me, a mix of surprise and excitement at his bold admission. "Well, now that the project is done," I replied, my voice tinged with amusement, "I guess you have your answer, don't you?"

His eyes met mine, the playful glint replaced by something softer, more genuine. "I do," he said, his voice low and sincere. "So, what do you say, Y/N? Would you like to go out with me?"

I smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation and curiosity about where this unexpected connection might lead. "I'd like that, Rutger," I answered, my own voice softening.

Rutger's smile was infectious, his eyes shining with happiness as he stood up, extending a hand towards me. "Great," he said, his tone light but sincere. "How about dinner tomorrow night? We can celebrate our successful project and whatever this is."

I accepted his hand, standing up to meet his gaze. "Dinner sounds perfect," I replied, feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect of getting to know Rutger beyond the confines of our project.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

I sat across from Rutger at a quaint French bistro nestled in the heart of downtown Ann Arbor. The restaurant had a warm and intimate atmosphere, with soft lighting, rustic wooden tables, and a hint of romantic charm in the air. It was our first official date since wrapping up our project, and I was both nervous and excited.

Rutger was in the middle of sharing a funny anecdote from one of his hockey games when the door to the bistro opened, and in walked Ethan and Mark. My heart sank as I saw them, and I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Of all the restaurants in Ann Arbor, they had to walk into the one where Rutger and I were having our date?

Ethan and Mark spotted us almost immediately and made their way over, their grins widening as they approached our table. Rutger looked up, clearly surprised to see his teammates, but his expression quickly turned amused as he saw Ethan and Mark's cheeky smiles.

"Hey, Rutger," Ethan began with a teasing tone, leaning against the back of an empty chair at our table. "Fancy seeing you here."

Mark chimed in, winking at me, "And with Y/N, no less. Who would've thought?"

Rutger chuckled, clearly unfazed by his teammates' interruption. "What are you guys doing here?"

Ethan shrugged, still grinning. "We knew you two would finally get together. Just wanted to see it with our own eyes."

I felt my cheeks grow even hotter, wishing the floor would swallow me up. Rutger, however, seemed to find the situation amusing.

"Alright, alright," Rutger said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "You've had your fun. Now, give us some space, will you?"

Mark chuckled, raising his hands in mock defense. "Alright, alright. We'll leave you two lovebirds alone. But remember, Rutger, you owe us for this."

Ethan nodded in agreement, pointing a finger at Rutger. "Yeah, don't forget it."

With one last round of playful teasing and laughter, Ethan and Mark finally retreated, leaving Rutger and me at our table, slightly flustered but also laughing at the unexpected turn of events.

Rutger shook his head, grinning at me. "I'm sorry about that, Y/N. My teammates can be a bit... overbearing."

I chuckled, feeling more at ease now that the awkward encounter was behind us. "It's okay, Rutger. It was bound to happen eventually, right?"

He smiled, reaching across the table to take my hand. "Absolutely. And who knows, maybe we should thank them. Their little interruption broke the ice, so to speak."

I laughed, feeling grateful for Rutger's easygoing nature and his ability to turn a potentially awkward situation into a moment of shared laughter.

"Maybe you're right," I agreed, squeezing his hand in return. "After all, it wouldn't be a true Michigan experience without a little interference from your teammates."

Rutger grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Exactly. So, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me as I remembered the conversation we had been having before Ethan and Mark's unexpected arrival. "You were about to tell me about that overtime goal you scored last week."

Rutger's face lit up, and as he launched back into his story, I found myself once again captivated by his passion for hockey and his infectious enthusiasm. Despite the awkward interruption, our date was turning out to be more enjoyable than I had anticipated, and I was grateful for the unexpected twist that had made our evening even more memorable.

[sonotkari]

On Top

Mo Jihye x Fem Reader

[ Synopsis ]

Jihye loves saving her favorites for last, and the strawberry on top of her shortcake was not an exception.

Fluff

[ Word Count ]

1.2k berry berry short

[ a/n ]

Yes I said I was gonna be on hiatus but ended up finishing this draft that's been collecting dust TT it's been a while since I actually did not run away from my drafts and the typical "written in a short period" so heads up (why do I always give heads up these days... oh well) See you guys, never /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

To sweet souls who love strawberries, dis for u bae <3

Jihye took a bite of her strawberry shortcake with a satisfied hum, a small smile appearing in sight as you too, followed and took a piece of your chocolate cake, savoring the sweet taste spreading, satisfying your taste buds.

What felt like a forever-lasting week had finally come to an end, and you and Jihye had both been on a tight schedule for so long now, making it hard to find the time to spend some quality time together.

Upcoming tasks and projects every 2 days, and Jihye starting her part-time job at the newly opened cafe by your apartment, made it hard for you to match both timings.

When you were back from uni, Jihye was already off to work, and by the time she was home, you'd be already in your dreams. When Jihye woke up, you were already off to uni, and by the time you got home, she was off to work and it felt like a never-ending saga.

So it still feels almost unreal that you and Jihye were sitting comfortably at the corner of a small cafe, cakes, and cups of hot lattes served in front of two while chattering your hearts out, catching up on the things you had missed.

"Do you eat it first, or save it for last?"

You gazed up to see your girlfriend grinning at you as she let the fork sink in and cut a piece of the cake on her plate.

"Hm?? What are you referring to, Ji?"

"The strawberry on top, silly" 

Your eyes shifted at the big red strawberry placed perfectly on Jihye's shortcake. You then remember a funny little memory of how you committed a bit of a harmless crime by stealing one of Jihye's strawberries back in high school, where the girl would drag you out to every cafe to "investigate" which had the most scrumptious cake in town.

Somehow, you were never fond of strawberry shortcakes. The cream was kinda too sweet, maybe even kinda mushy...? Not knowing specifically why you never got fond of the cake, you wouldn't even try and order it for yourself unless someone insists on giving you a piece.

But Jihye's strawberry shortcake?

The urge to see how she'd look shocked after taking that big red strawberry and how she'd pout like a half-crying puppy was just coming and you couldn't help but swiftly stab the poor berry and quickly take a bite while looking at Jihye, a wicked teasing smile creeping across your face as you do so.

It sank in well that you committed one heavy crime as soon as you saw her actually pout like a lost puppy who just got dumped in the streets. One typical story, but oh why you look at her face. As much as you found it adorable, it was heart-wrenching at the same time.

But it all soon wrapped up well at the end when Jihye had hummed happily, diddle daddling her way out of the cafe with the small white box in her hand, another perfect shortcake sitting inside which you bought for her to pay for the sin you just committed a while ago. 

Recreating that same teasing smile, you raised your fork from the chocolate cake and smirked at Jihye. 

"Is that an invitation?" 

"Ah-" 

Slowly pulling her plate closer, Jihye looked at you with a side longing stare before the both of you burst out giggles and chuckles. You endearingly took glances at your girlfriend happily munching her cake, trying to avoid the center where the so-called "perfect strawberry" was sitting.

Jihye had always saved her strawberry for last, every time she would have a shortcake. It doesn't only apply to that but mostly everything she eats, she saves favorites for last. 

"Saving it for last makes the happy feeling last longer" 

Just like a catchphrase, you remembered how Jihye used to always say that phrase every time you both would go eat, and you were there looking at the girl with her lips curved into a big big smile while savoring the last bit of her food.

As much as the girl was always good with her appetite for food, making it was also one of a million things she had skills with. 

==========

That one time when Jihye had a pretty high fever and felt too unwell to do things, you stepped in for her and did the work around the house. You were capable of what you needed to do to take care of your poor sick girlfriend. Except for one small thing. 

Cooking. 

Your cooking method never changed since you started learning back when you were little.

No instructions, no recipe to follow, no measuring of any sort of kind, just imagination. 

So it wasn't surprising when Jihye woke up to go and get a refill of water in her glass and saw you rushing here and there to the kitchen with a not-so-tidy table and sizzling noise coming from the pot (which is the not-good way of a sizzling sound) 

"You doin' good there Y/nnie??"

"Oh- uhm, hi Ji...!!" 

"Did your "imagination cooking tactics" not work this time??" 

You were trying to make her a rice porridge and in some way (which Jihye will never know where, how, or why) you failed to do so. So now it was her turn to step in and do the mixing and stirring while you were by her side looking a bit guilty that you made Jihye do all that while she was sick.

"I'm not wife material at all" 

"uh- what??" 

A soft chuckle couldn't be helped to escape Jihye's lips seeing you sigh as you repeated your words. 

"Y/n, you literally did everything you could for me today. If it wasn't for you I think I wouldn't even be here standing" 

Jihye says so and takes a spoonful of hot rice porridge, giving it a few blows before carrying the spoon by your mouth as you gladly open up to taste the best porridge you've ever tasted (even this to was meant for Jihye herself) and at the same time wondering how that mess you made a while ago turned into this five star Michelin. 

"Besides" 

She murmurs, gently wiping off the corner of your mouth before smiling softly again. 

"You're wife material to me and that's all that matters, no?"

==========

After some time of recalling nostalgic memories, you look up to see Jihye having her last bite of the cake, but one thing on her plate catches your eye.

"Really saving it for the very last huh??" 

After Jihye took a bite, she looked down at the neatly preserved strawberry before smiling. 

"Mhm. Saving it for last makes the happy feeling last longer"

She says so and takes the strawberry with her fork. But unexpectedly, she held out the fork in front of you. Taking turns looking at Jihye and the strawberry right in front of you confusingly, Jihye giggled at your questioning state before she spoke up.

"Giving my happiness to my dear girlfriend"

"Oh? I thought that was your most prized possession tho??"

You teasingly smirked a bit before outing a chuckle.

"Well, I guess I just love you so so much. So much more than the strawberry on top"

Somehow, you were never fond of strawberry shortcakes. But Jihye's strawberry shortcake? Specifically, the strawberry on top? Well, that might be your favorite one in the whole wide world. 

I act. made a rice porridge and ate it while writing this lmao

[lillaydee]

One Heart Part 12

Sheriff Joel Miller / Reader

Trying and failing miserably to recover from an inconceivable loss, you accepted your best friend's invite to spend time with her and her family for a summer, hoping for a chance at a new beginning. Little did you know that the new beginning you were stepping into was a little too close to home.

WARNING:

Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Grief/Mourning, Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Ellie is mentioned, Sheriff Joel, Sarah plays matchmaker, No age gap, Joel is in his 30s, Joel is Trying His Best (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Fluff and Angst.

SERIES MASTERLIST

PART 11

---

After two weeks, you went back to work. He drove you, of course, despite your many protests. It was useless at this point, anyway, since he was cleared to drive, annoyingly. You were sure there were threats involved in Santi’s decision to let him do that. He was not due to go back to work for another month, but he was restless, wanting to keep busy. He tried to improve your tiny house, and of course you had to threaten him with finding elsewhere to sleep if he so much as moved or fixed one item in the house. The men at the farm had to fend him off with sticks to stop him from lifting bales of hay for the horses. Omera started slamming the door in his face when he tried taking his restlessness to her furniture. Jenny straight up locked the door and took away his key when she caught him measuring her kitchen cabinetry.

And then one day he stopped. He stopped trying to help, seemingly found a project he was happy with, that apparently was given approval by Jenny, since Benny, Tommy and Will were helping him out, and doing the heavy lifting. She absolutely refused to tell you what it was, though, so you decided to shut up and stop asking. But he looked happier, lighter, a pep in his step, you might even say.

You found out what it was a couple of weeks later.

Jenny asked you to help her with one of the houses one Sunday. The tenant had just moved out and the house had been refurbished, but she could use your opinion on the kitchen layout before putting it back up for rental. Let’s go take a look at the house, shall we?

It was the three bedroomed house on the other side of the property. You had seen it before, of course, and had known the family that lived there. You knew that the father was a park ranger and had requested a transfer to be nearer to his parents, who were getting older. The house looked as if it had been spruced up. Painted, at the very least, and a small plot had been transformed into an area that was filled with planters – ideal for a small garden. The house was lovely. Not too big, and definitely nowhere near as small as yours. The whole house smelled of fresh paint, and it was clear that it had been refurbished. It looked like new. Normal, Jenny said, for every time a long-term tenant moved out.

Except, the kitchen was bare. No cabinetry, no stove. 

“What would a professional chef do with this kitchen, do you think? I know it’s not that big, but I could use your opinion,” she said.

“Well, I’m only a professional chef at the restaurant, and professional kitchens are too sterile for my liking.” You began telling her what would work, given the size and style of the place, as well as the layout of the kitchen and living room next to it. Where the stove would go, the sink, the fridge, inadvertently telling her what your dream kitchen for a place like this would be like, not that you would tell her that.

“And I would put a small island here, big enough to work on, and maybe have breakfast for a small family, but nothing too big, and it should be perfect. Won’t cost too much, and there would be plenty of space for storage,” you finished, picturing yourself being in the kitchen, a bit jealous of the new people living there.

“Would there be enough space to make out in there?” Joel’s voice asked, making you jump.

“Oh my God, you are such a pervert!” you joked, rolling your eyes, going to give him a hug. He wrapped his arms around you, asking you what you thought of the house. Apparently, him and his brothers had worked hard refurbishing the house. You were about to chastise him, but he put his hands up, promising that he only supervised, and did some painting.

“I like it, it’s kinda perfect. Especially for small families.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve always liked this house. I even thought, at one point, that I would bring Sarah to live here when she’s old enough. The last time this place was vacant she was still a baby, with how sick she was it wasn’t practical for me to live here with her.”

“I think she’d like that. You could put a swing in the back.”

“And she and Jello could have breakfast at the kitchen island? Do her homework on the dining table?”

“Oh, that would be so cute. I can just picture it.”

“Could you picture yourself living here with us?” his eyes were fixed on his feet, not daring to look at you.

“Maybe, one day.”

“How far away is one day? Cause my version of one day is as soon as we can get that kitchen you just described in and furnish this place.”

You were stunned.

“Will you move in with me and Sarah? Please? Start a life with me? It’s fast, I know, but…”

“Yes.”

“Yes? You’ll move in here with us?”

“Yes.”

He hugged you. Tight. Like he never wanted to let go. He took your lips in his, murmuring ‘I love you’ and ‘thank you’ over and over. He pinned you to the kitchen wall, eager to christen the house.

“Joel, your wound.”

“Fuck it. I need you,” he protested, before trying to lift you to get a better angle and winced, an involuntary hiss escaping his mouth.

“I told you! Are you okay?”

“Yeah… maybe we’ll wait until we’ve moved in before I do all the things I’ve been planning to do to you in here.”

God, please give you strength.

---

The three of you walked hand in hand through the headstones, the morning dew sticking to your feet. Before you were hundreds upon hundreds of headstones, varied in sizes and design, all in neat lines, some with flowers, some without, the grass well maintained, the sounds of the city somehow muted despite the cemetery being right next to it. You squeezed Joel’s hand, and he and Sarah hung back, while you walked on. You stopped at a large headstone, two names on it – the two people whose loss made you want to give up on life altogether.

Eric Williams 11th May 1985 – 21st November 2016 Beloved Husband and Father Ellie Williams 30th August 2014 – 26th November 2016 Beloved Daughter Angels Taken Too Soon Father and Daughter, Together Forever

You sat in front of the headstone, brushing your fingers over their names. You placed the flowers you brought in the vases, swiping errant leaves and sticks off the base.

“Hi Sweetheart, hi Jellybean,” you said, able to speak clearly here for the first time. You had always been too broken to do so, often just crying silently, wishing you were with them. “I’ve missed both of you so much. I hope you are happy, wherever you are, having lots of fun, and missing me,” you laughed a little, trying to make small jokes. “I’m doing okay, I’m moving away, so I won’t be able to visit as often, but I promise you that I’m taking you with me, you are with me every day, here…” you placed your hand over your heart. “I hope that’s okay.”

You took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to tell them who you’ve brought with you.

“I brought some people to see you two if you don’t mind. They’d like to thank you, Jellybean. They are good people… I’m moving in with them. Now don’t be jealous sweetheart,” you said, a bit teary now, touching Eric’s name, “You will always be in my heart, you will always be my first love. But I’m taking your advice, and I’m moving on… thank you for encouraging that… couldn’t have done it without you…”

You stopped to compose yourself a little bit. “I’m gonna call them now, but before they get here, I want you both to know, that I love you both so much, with every little piece of my very broken heart. I’m trying to piece it back together, and I promise that you will always be a part of me. I’ll come see you again, okay?”

You brought your fingers to your lips and placed them on each of their names. You wiped your tears, turned around and nodded to Joel. He lifted Sarah up, and came to you, set her down between the two of you.

“Eric, Ellie, these are Joel and Sarah.”

“Hi,” Sarah said, her sweet voice filling the open space.

“Hello, you two,” Joel said.

“I’ll give you guys some time,” you said, before brushing your hand on the headstone one last time and walked away.

Joel took a knee in front of the headstone, one hand around Sarah.

“I wanted to thank you two, especially you, Ellie, for what you’ve done for Sarah here. There are not enough words in this world that can help me convey how thankful I am to you. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have met, from what Lynn and Maria told me about you two, you sounded like good people, and I’m sure Sarah here would’ve gotten along swimmingly with Ellie. I hope you found peace, and please know, that you will never be forgotten as long as we live. Thank you again, for the role you have played in our lives.”

He got up, leaned into Eric’s name, touched the headstone above it, and whispered, “I’ll take care of her for you, Eric. I promise. Don’t you worry about her. I will protect her with my life if I have to. She told me about her dream, what you said. Glad to know I have your blessing. Thanks again buddy, I’ll visit again soon.” He patted the headstone like he would a friend’s shoulder, brushed Ellie’s name with the back of his forefinger, just as he would Sarah’s cheek, and stepped back. He blinked back tears, and asked Sarah if she wanted to say anything.

You watched as Joel spoke, and after a while, he turned and walked back to you, leaving Sarah alone at the headstone. You watched as he wiped a tear from his eye and gave you a hug.

“She wanted to speak to them alone.”

The two of you watched, as Sarah sat down, cross legged in front of Ellie’s name, Jello in her lap. You could only imagine what she was saying, but you and Joel giggled a little at the thought of her introducing Ellie to Jello the purple bear. After a few minutes, she got up, and leaned on the headstone above Ellie’s name, giving it a hug, before doing the same to Eric’s. She came running back to the two of you, tears in her eyes, raising both arms at you, silently asking for you to carry her, her head on your shoulder, sniffling quietly. 

Just as you turned to leave, she said quietly,

“Bye Jello. I miss you.”

You and Joel looked at her, Jello still in her hand.

“Jello’s right here sweetie,” you said. “She’s coming home with us.”

“No… Jello stays,” she said, acceptance in her voice, waving a sad goodbye to the headstone.

You looked at Joel questioningly, he shrugged.

You got in the rental car, Sarah got into the back seat, standing between the two front seats while Joel rechecked her car seat – it was a different model and a different car, and the Papa Bear in him needed to be sure it was safe. You got a text from Lennie, asking what time the three of you would meet her and family for lunch, excited to meet Joel and Sarah. The picture of Eric and Ellie popped up on your locked screen.

“Jello!” Sarah said excitedly, pointing at Ellie’s picture.

“No sweetie, that’s Ellie. You spoke to her just now, remember?”

“No, that’s Jello.”

Joel picked Jello up, “This is Jello, BabyGirl, that’s Ellie.”

“No, this is Teddy now. That's Jello. Jello stays here,” she said, before hugging the bear and getting in the car seat, waiting patiently as Joel buckled her in, a sad look on her face.

A thought came to you. Sarah had never seen that picture before; Joel had always been strict about her playing games on phones that were not his or Jenny’s. She had never seen Ellie’s picture. You and Joel looked at each other in realisation, thinking of all the Jello involved menaces that had happened in the past few months, both of you huffing a laugh, tears in your eyes.

Your sweet, sweet Ellie. Your Jellybean.

Jello.

---

Joel closed the door behind him, placing his keys in the bowl on the console table. A delicious smell was wafting in the house, the sliding door and kitchen windows cracked open, letting the cool autumn air in. He toed his shoes off and walked into the kitchen, greeted by the sight of his little girl colouring on the kitchen counter, Jel-Teddy on her lap. You popped up from behind the counter, a tray of lasagna – the source of the smell, no doubt - in your mitt-proofed hands.

Joel leaned against the wall, taking in this sight he had dreamed of since that first time you cooked omelettes for him at your place. The three of you had officially moved in yesterday, spending the entire weekend unpacking and finally sleeping at the new house for the first time the night before. This morning, you made him omelettes – fast becoming a favourite of his – for breakfast, letting him feel you up as you made them, proving that there was, indeed, room for making out in your new kitchen, before Sarah woke up and joined the two of you. It was even better than his dream, he thought. He went to work with a heavy heart, looking forward to coming home to this exact sight, his heart feeling so full it could burst.

You placed the lasagna dish on the cooling rack, taking the mitts off, seeing Joel standing against the wall, his face the definition of contentment. He smiled when you noticed him, coming over to kiss Sarah on the head, giving her a squishy hug, praising her colouring skills, before going around the island to give you a breath-stealing kiss.

“Honey, I’m home,” he murmured against your lips.

“Welcome home baby.”

You basked in the feel of him, in your new home, with your newfound family.

There was a knock at the door, signalling the arrival of Jenny, Omera and Winta for dinner. They were delighted seeing the house all moved into, excitedly looking around, when a little voice piped up.

“Mommy, Daddy, I’m hungry.”

You swore your heart skipped a beat.

Mommy.

Joel gave you a side hug, eyes fixed on you, silently asking you if you’d be okay with her calling you that.

You got on your knees before her, hugged her little body tight, your ear on her chest, your eyes closed, revelling in the steady heart beats, filling your still healing heart that you thought would never be full again.

---

“Sarah sweetie, please don’t go outside, you can play on the swing later, I don’t want you to get your dress all dirty.”

Sarah closed the sliding door back up, disappointed to have been caught, and joined her cousin Winta on the couch. She was dressed in a fluffy white dress, a pink bow on her waist, with a matching headband in her hair. Teddy, a boy now, apparently, was looking particularly dashing, having been dry cleaned (a request by Maria, who had to gently wrestle the bear from her tiny hands) and dressed in a smart little tux and bowtie that Jenny had sown for him. A newly pregnant Maria was sitting on your couch, brushing a similarly dressed Winta’s hair. The doorbell rang, and you rushed to get it, dropping Maria a glass of water on the way.

You opened the door to some very excited faces, all smartly dressed in black suits, a white rose tucked neatly in their lapel. Tommy, Benny, Frankie and Santi entered, Tommy immediately drawn to his wife and nieces on the couch, the others straight to the kitchen to see what last minute treats you had available. Joel stood outside, looking sinfully dashing in his suit, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars for him.

“Hello, can I help you?” you asked him, leaning on the door frame.

“Baby…” he said, looking you up and down, before coming close to pull you into a kiss and a hug, “you shouldn’t look this good. It’s not fair to the bride,” he whispered, giving your earlobe a nip, making goosebumps sprout all over your body. “How long do we have to stay at the wedding?”

“One, you haven’t seen the bride yet, and two, the wedding hasn’t even started, and you’re already thinking about leaving?”

“One, no one holds a candle to you, even the bride, and two, how can I not when you look like this?” he murmured into your lips, his hand trailing down from your waist to your ass.

You playfully smacked his hands away, earning a pout from him, which quickly disappeared as soon as he saw Sarah and Teddy, going over to them, full of praises on how good they looked.

Your house had become Bridal Central, and the men were here to see the bride, currently being prepped in the bedroom you shared with Joel. The nervous groom was escorted to the farm earlier, needing the burly men working there to stop him from coming over for a peek at the bride.

Life had gone by swimmingly since you moved here. The restaurant was doing well, the farm was flourishing, Sarah had started attending daycare, adjusting well, making new friends, and you and Joel were just… in bliss.

The wedding was beautiful. You watched as the newlyweds Omera and Will danced to a slow jazzy tune, happiness clear on their faces, Joel and Tommy dancing with the girls on their feet, while you, Jenny and Maria sat at your table, taking in the sight, talking about nothing and everything.

There was a tap on your shoulder, Joel asking you to dance with him. Sarah had gotten tired and decided she wanted to sit on Gamma’s lap instead.

Joel swayed you side to side, your bodies pressed together, his eyes never leaving yours, making you blush, as if this was the first time you had ever laid an eye on him.

“Why are you blushing baby?”

“Cause the handsome Sheriff kept staring at me.”

“Maybe he has a crush on you.”

“You think?”

“I know he does. Has had one since you opened the door for him to yell at you.”

“And called me a pedo.”

He shook his head, embarrassed, but still an undeniable smile on his face.

“He fell for you right away, you know?”

“I think he fell for me because I flashed him.”

“That certainly helped,” he said, a cheeky smile on his face, his eyebrows wiggling meaningfully.

You smacked him on his chest. He continued swaying with you, humming to the song.

“You think you’d like to have one of these parties for us one day?”

“Do you?”

“Definitely,” he answered, without hesitation.

“Then, when you’re ready, all you have to do is ask.”

He stopped swaying, pulling back to look at you, excitement on his face.

“Really?”

“Yes, but not today. It’s Will and Omera’s day.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Yes, Sheriff Miller, that is a thing.”

“But you’ll say yes?”

“Eh… I’ll think about it,” you said, before pulling him back into you to sway some more.

He kissed you, long and deep, smiling into the kiss throughout the remainder of the song.

You are happy.

You made the right choice.

You braved your way into coming here.

You opened your heart again.

You stayed.  

---

THE END

[bbearthyy]

intro for a possible dad!carl grimes fic

none of my works are ever proofread!

i can’t think of what it’s called for the life of me but there’s an owen wilson movie where like the hotel or something they’re staying in gets attacked by someone and he has to chuck his kids off of the roof onto another that his wife is standing on ready to catch them. and like i have always seen carl as being such a good dad one day and you KNOW he’d do anything for his kids. so this is kind of like a background story for a small x oc fic i wanna write that is fully inspired by that one scene because I CAN SO HA. um, yeah. k bye! (pls reply letting me know if you’d like to read this fic, i haven’t started writing it yet so i can easily back out of the project)

~🪐~

alexandria fell months ago. carl didn’t know who survived, if anyone did. he was with his family when the community first began to burn, but they got separated. he’d been looking for them, but it felt pointless now. last week he’d accepted it, the fact that they were dead, and had processed it his own way (his own way being finding a liquor store and chugging so much he’d passed out, not even thinking of the dangers outside. he couldn’t help but let his eye water when he awoke and realized it wasn’t all a bad dream.) but he was still moving now, the apocalypse leaving no time for grief.

it was quiet today, it always is. until it wasn’t. until carl heard the screams of a little girl, sounding too much like his judith. he took off into the woods, following the sound. carl ran into a clearing, gun at the ready, when he saw them. a girl, most likely the same age as him, stuck on top of an abandoned golf cart, holding on to a much younger girl, four years old at the most.

carl spotted a gun on the ground, assuming the oldest must’ve dropped it in her hurry to get to safety, taking note of the group of walkers surrounding the golf cart. in all fairness, it was a small group, one he could handle easily. but the brunette had a child with her, and maybe she couldn’t handle a group like this.

carl leaped forward, dropping his book bag and snatching his machete from its holster. in less than two minutes, he’d completely cleared the group of walkers. the boy turned in his place for a few moments, waiting to see if any more unwanted creatures would make themselves known. when they didn’t, carls head tilted upwards, eyes immediately locking onto the girls, still on top of the golf cart.

“hey,” carl began, having to pause and clear his throat due to not using his voice for so long. “it’s alright,” he tried again, hand outstretched, “i’m not gonna hurt you, i wanna help.” the older girl just stared at him, a cautious look in her eyes, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for carl to tell her what she owed him now that he’d saved them.

it was the younger girl that reached out first, taking one small hand off of who carl assumed was her sister. the tot reached a hand out to the young sheriff, clearly having no issue trusting him. before the oldest could stop her, the younger girl hopped off the golf cart, fully expecting carl to catch her. he did, of course, but not without a grunt of surprise after frantically dropping his machete to grab her.

“hi,” carl had said, giving a gentle smile to the girl in his arms, “my name’s carl.” the girl looked at him curiously, head tilted to the side like a puppy, eyes flicking over the bandage covering his left eye, his sheriffs hat, his abandoned machete. “like a combat carl?” the first words she ever said to him. carl didn’t hesitate to love her like she was his own.

~🪐~

it’s been a year and four months since then. well, a year, four months, and twenty seven days according to beth, the sweet little girl who had leaped into carl’s waiting arms. carl felt like it was the universe punishing him for something. bringing him little beth, with her dirty blonde hair and willingness to trust anyone and her sweet southern accent and the fact that carl couldn’t breathe when he first heard her name and realized just how similar she was to his first puppy crush. mickey (the older, not so trusting, now his loving girlfriend) had said that carl would get used to beth’s love for numbers; he still hasn’t. but he’s learned to appreciate it.

carl was utterly baffled when he found out that beth was in fact not mickey’s little sister, but her child. the third night after carl had found the girls, him and mickey stayed up most of the night, talking about their past. carl talked about the prison, she told him about how her family abandoned her. carl told her about enid, mickey explained that her only boyfriend was the one that got her pregnant at the ripe age of 14, and ditched her upon finding out. the night ended with them wrapped up in each others arms, beth giggling upon seeing them the next morning. the small girl was delighted to call carl her daddy.

they’d been devoted to each other since then, and have made every decision together. including the decisions to allow two more members into their group along the way. the two other members being children as well. they’d found dottie first, six months into their escapade, a sweet nine year old girl who hadn’t been alone for more than an hour before they found her. her bright red hair was a stark contrast against her ebony skin. the poor thing was shivering, standing in the road in nothing but a men’s XL t-shirt. the article of clothing was soaked with blood, luckily not her own. carl scooped her up immediately, and all he had to do was look at mickey for her to give an agreeing nod. dottie fit in like a missing puzzle piece, and within a week was calling the young adults mama and daddy.

the next child they found was lincoln, a spritely twelve year old boy, who could tell you everything there is to know about bugs. mickey spotted him trying to sneak materials out of the car they’d taken over for the night, and snatched him up immediately. the brunette carried the curly haired boy over to her boyfriend, explaining what she’d seen. but before either of the young adults could speak, lincoln burst into tears, telling them that he was only trying to find something to eat. the boy had lost his family a month before, and had been left to defend himself ever since, with nothing but a dull butcher knife.

lincoln was starving, the hunger had taken over, and he figured it’d be easier to steal food someone else had already taken than to struggle to find his own. mickey and carl took pity on the boy, welcoming him into their family with open arms. lincoln settled in quickly, and had no issue calling mickey his mother. but when it came to being around carl, the boy was tense, hands reaching up to pull on his soot colored curls. it wasn’t much of an issue, lincoln still trusted carl with his life. it was more that he struggled to be comfortable with him. but his adoptive sisters didn’t have a problem with the man, so he guessed he was okay.

tonight, carl had cleared 4 floors of an abandoned hotel, herding them all into the biggest room he could find on the third floor. once the children were all tucked into the king sized bed, carl joined his girlfriend on the air mattress they’d set up on the floor, easily slipping into his place as little spoon.

the family dozed peacefully, appreciating the safe space as long as they could.

~🪐~

let me know what you think! like i said before pls reply or reblog if you’re interested in seeing more of this. i haven’t began writing any full chapters yet so it’s no issue if it doesn’t do well.

[pixelatedraindrops]

RAINCODE COMIC COLLAB~☔️

BEHOLD THE FRUITS OF MY LABOR!!

3 full weeks of work and its finally completed!

So @kazinsblog and I did another raincode art collab together but this one was a HUGE project! This one's a full 18 page comic!

Idk if you all remember the comic idea that Kazin was planning to do that involved Yuma overworking himself until he gets sick and then gets tended to by everyone else. But when I saw it, I decided to ask her if she was willing to possibly collaborate on it, remaking it where she sketched it and I colored it.

Kazin's Beta images: 1 2 3 4

So here's the results of all that work. We've been at this since December 17th so this has been an almost full month collaboration. And of course mine's a bit more altered to my own style as well as adding my own touches and making it a little more whumpy/extreme... X'D I also freehand drew shinigami in my version as well.

Both our versions look pretty different! The only thing that are the same are the poses. So feel free to check out Kazin's traditional version as well!

Since its an 18 page comic, I decided to put it under a keep reading so it won't clutter everyone's timelines. Also, I will be narrating the pages because I love narrating sick filler type stories. So brace yourself for a VERY LOOONG post!! Def need time to read this one! (and no purple tinted filters here this time!)

Also note: If the writing is blue, it means the character is thinking, just like in the game! :)

And I apologize on the inconsistency of Yuma's bangs... I thought it was one way before so half of the comic he looks like he has square bangs... oof XD I fix it around page 10

ANYWAY, hope you enjoy this soft buffet, Raincode Community! 🌡️💕

(Page 1)

Our story begins on an ordinary day in Kanai Ward. Rainy gloomy and depressing as ever. Our little victim... wait... XD I mean protagonist Yuma decides to go out to investigate more about Kanai Ward to try to track down it's supposed ultimate secret. Yakou sets him off wishes him well and tells him to be careful. However, as he's out, he finds out a lot of people in the city need help. Because of his good nature and unable to turn down someone in need, he decides to help whoever he can. (the ultimate side-questing lol) Before he knows it, he's soaking wet and he had helped 10 people in total. Time passed and it was almost evening so he returns to the submarine. Yuma was completely unphased by this. (and he didn't dry himself off for 4 hours due to being occupied with tasks)

(Page 2)

Yuma returns to the Agency's submarine to greet his chief holding his meatbun order. (that also got wet) But Yakou notices that the trainee is sopping wet to the core and shivering. He immediately loudly demands that he sit down so he can tend to him. Yuma does as he's told and sits on the checkered sofa. Yakou rushes to the shower room to grab some small towels to help him dry off. But because Yakou is so panicked, he ends up being very rough in drying Yuma, pulling his hair and causing the small boy pain. After he dries him off, he tells Yuma he isn't allowed to leave anymore for the rest of the day and demands him to rest. Yuma tries to retaliate using puppy eyes, but it doesn't work. Yakou is immune.

(Page 3)

The next day Yuma asks Yakou if he can go out to work after he finishes his morning chores around the place looking very eager. Yakou still looks a little concerned by how tired Yuma looks, so he tells him to not go out alone. He assigns him a partner to go with the rest of the week.

On the first day he's paired with Halara. The two of them are asked to investigate the art gallery of Ginma. (maybe after the nail man case) But over time, Yuma starts developing a lingering cough that persists for quite some time. Halara asks Yuma is he's okay, to which Yuma lies saying that it's due to the dust of the room. But of course being sharp, Halara isn't buying it. But they decide to not persist him further.

On the second day, he's paired with Desuhiko. They're asked to go help out at the Aetheria Academy with another case (not murder related this time) However on the way to the school and in Ginma, Yuma starts slowing down, he's shaking and is a little wobbly. Desuhiko notices this and asks if he wants to go to the cafe for a drink. Yuma nods and as they go to the cafe and order some coffee, Yuma takes off his hat and coat and Desuhiko finally realizes how pale he looks. He's even slower at replying to him as he speaks, as if he's in a daze. Desuhiko decides to take Yuma back to the agency after this.

(Page 4)

On Day three, he's paired with Fubuki. But he doesn't even make it to the case as when he goes to the sun and moon hotel to meet with her, Fubuki notices and points out that Yuma's face looks red. The boy clearly had a fever building. Yuma argues with her but Fubuki persists. The two of them try to go to the case but Yuma nearly collapses. So Fubuki returns him to the agency.

On the fourth day where he's supposed to be paired with Vivia he spends a majority of the day passed out. Vivia decides to watch over him using his forte to not disturb him. During the night while he's asleep, his breathing gets more labored and he's completely restless. Vivia looks at him deeply worried for his dear friend's well being.

The next morning Yuma somehow finds the strength to get himself up. Maybe that one day of rest was enough. But Yakou insists that he stays put today. Angrily yelling at him to be still and take today off as well.

Meanwhile, a certain two seem to notice each other...

(Page 5)

Vivia's spirit notices Shinigami and decides to give her a warning. Make sure Yuma listens to Yakou and doesn't leave. Giving her the iciest glare, Shinigami fearfully agrees.

But this effort would be for naught, despite how he feels, Yuma's relentless determination forces himself up, putting on his rain attire and heads up the steps of the sub to the outside when Yakou isn't looking. Shinigami does what she can to stop him, but he doesn't listen...and Shinigami being a ghost, there was nothing she could do to physically hold him back. All she could do was follow, and prepare for the inevitable.

By some miracle he makes it to the church, up the stairs to speak to the nun. Who tells him to play therapy again for the townsfolk. He nods and heads to his first client. But when he returns to kamasaki to speak to him, he can barely make out what he's saying as he lets out a few more coughs.

Once he leaves the client, before long, Yuma could hear something in his body snap.

(Note: I direct most of the story, but Vivia conversing with Shinigami in spirit mode was actually Kazin's idea! So credit to her for that, So silly and fun! ^^)

(Page 6)

Yuma's body had finally reached it's limit. All the fatigue, chills and body aches had hit him all at once at full force like armed weaponry. His head began throbbing, he was shaking violently and uncontrollably, he felt nauseated by the rain's smell, and his body heat and the lingering dizziness was unbearable. He found a safe corner in the alleyway of Kamasaki to collapse. Telling Shinigami she was right and he should have listened to her, while the burning fever and cold rain wrecked his delicate frame even further. His voice was hardly audible, but Shinigami still heard and practically tells him to go back. But Yuma had no strength left...

Then like clockwork as they finish speaking, he could hear his name called. At first it sounded kind and questionable. But that rapidly changed, the voice now angrily yelling out his full name. As he looked up this voice belonged to...Yakou. He looks down at the boy in pure disappointment and anger.

Turns out a certain someone was tailing him. And alerted Yakou what happened just in time.

(Note: I make the red darker the more extreme the temperature and lighter the less extreme. I got to experiment with all sorts of new ways to color fevers hehe~ >w<)

(Page 7)

Yuma shockingly looks up at Yakou. Oh no, he was so BUSTED! Shinigami even says as much. Yakou practically scoops Yuma in his arms carrying him back to the agency. As he was lifted Yuma's world begun spinning. He could barely hear the chief nagging him in a panicked tone. It was all distorted and it was making his head hurt more. Yakou placed a hand to his cheek and was shocked by how hot it felt. All Yuma could do was apologize and hope his world stops spinning and that Yakou eventually stops yelling... (also I put numbers for the order to read the speech bubbles in)

Upon returning to the agency, Yakou dries Yuma off, asks Desuhiko to give him a warm set of clothes to borrow and put him to his own bed. Grabbing a basin of very cold water, washcloths and a digital thermometer. He placed one of the wet cold cloths under his bangs and upon reading the boy's temperature, it was high. Almost high enough to visit the ER. Yakou was even more mad, but speaks in a non yelling tone. Giving Yuma another stern warning to not leave the bed. To which Yuma weakly agrees to.

But Yakou's back to yelling again, feeling paranoid Yuma would be missing by the time he gets back from getting the supplies. So he drills that message right into the boy's already throbbing head once more. Everyone else in the office awkwardly listen in as the sick trainee gets scolded.

(Note: Just an FYI, Yuma's speech bubbles being wavy is a sign his voice is raspy and the text being a bit hard to read means his voice is hardly audible)

(Page 8)

Yakou leaves Yuma alone and walks into the office in his raincoat telling the other detectives that he'll be leaving soon and to watch over Yuma in his absence and NOT let him leave. He is so full of anger and anxiety that he yells at all of them too.

Everyone agrees and as Yakou leaves, they all discuss among themselves Yuma's state the days they were partners with him. He was in bad shape. And he only got worse as the days went by. They all knew.

(Page 9)

Meanwhile back in Yakou's quarters, Yuma was getting lectured yet again. This time by his death god partner, Shinigami. The poor trainee only wanted peace and quiet to make the pain in his head go away, using what little energy he has remaining speaking in his head he tried telling her to stop.

But the aggravated spirit persisted, saying that as his mentor she had the right to scold him just as much as Yakou. She continued her rant, until an abrupt sound from her master shut her up.

The few coughs that came from Yuma eventually erupted into a full blown coughing fit. The coughs sounding more wet, rough and serious. After coughing 10 to 15 times in a row Yuma was exhausted. Shinigami looked down at him panting with concern and pity in her eyes. She decided to stop the lecture for his sake.

After the fit, Yuma was left raggedly breathing. As Shinigami gave him her permission to rest and take it easy, he didn't answer. He couldn't. That fit completely mangled his throat. He was not able to speak vocally or in thought process anymore due to his head being in too much pain. As was the rest of his body, aching and burning. So he didn't answer her. All he could do was hope sleep would eventually take hold of him to make all this awful heat and pain stop even if for a just moment.

(Note: That's the penalty Yuma... x'D Sorry I gotta make him suffer lol. Also this is the only page that’s actually read left to right. I messed that up, sorry!!)

(Page 10)

After some time passed it was time for the Master Detectives to all take part in taking care of Yuma. The whole agency had a day off to do this. So upon his return, Yakou instructs everyone to look after Yuma in 2 hour shifts through the day. Even if it was just to watch him sleep. He couldn't be left alone.

Halara was first. Their task was to help Yuma take the medicine that was bought. There were three types of medicine for him to take. Antibiotics (white pills) for the general illness symptoms, painkillers (red and white pills) for the headache/fever, and finally...cough syrup. (aka his least favorite... XD) Halara made sure to be very gentle with Yuma propping him upward as his whole body was burning and he was very shaky. He even had trouble drinking the water, so Halara had to get a mug instead so they could help him drink it by holding the handle, and using the other hand to support his back. Despite the struggle, Halara worked diligently to complete their task as a caretaker in full. (as for who paid them to do this...idk I'll leave that to your imagination XD)

(The cough syrup idea was inspired by this fic :3)

Desuhiko had the second shift and the whole time he was waiting for his turn, he was writing a song for Yuma. Having the delusion that his angelic voice would lul the sick boy to sleep, he played his guitar and began singing. Yuma's headache did improve enough to speak in his head now, but that wouldn't last, as the loud noises from the guitar made his head pound even further with every strum. Shinigami begs for the noise to cease fire on her poor eardrums, but Yuma doesn't have it in him to stop Desuhiko. The gesture was kind so he decided to try to listen to the whole song, despite the noise. He does eventually tell him to stop though (using hand gestures) when another song comes afterward. So then the two spend their time conversing for a bit, (though desuhiko does more of the talking as yuma just nods or makes small noises/hand gestures due to his throat still hurting too much to talk) Desuhiko even telling him he could keep the sweater and shorts he had lent to him. To which Yuma softly smiles at him as a thank you before he eventually falls asleep again.

Fubuki has the third shift, and her task was to feed Yuma the warm vegetable soup that was bought earlier and that Halara had just finished making, along with Fubuki's help. She volunteers to feed him as she remembers a time she was ill as a child in the clockford mansion and one of her servants tended to her, feeding her soup just the same. Unfortunately, because this was a memory of her early childhood, she repeats similar phrases as the servant did when she was feeding Yuma, who was clearly not a small child. Yuma's fever had dropped enough to where he could find a bit of strength to try and sit up on his own now, and his once mangled throat’s condition had improved for him to speak a little bit. As he listened to Fubuki's rambling he tries to play along with her despite the whole thing being a bit embarrassing for someone his age. At least the soup was nice and warm. It felt good going down his very sore throat.

(Funny Fact: The order that Yuma is both partnered and tended to by each detective, is the same order as the chapters in game he's partnered with them LOL)

(Page 11)

It was evening, and now it was Vivia's turn to take the fourth and final shift. At first he was just going to sit and watch Yuma while he read his book quietly, but Yakou suggested that he read one of his books out loud to Yuma to help him relax better like a bedtime story. Vivia was unsure at first, as he's never read to anyone before. But he decided to give it a try. He asks Yuma what his preference in literature is before he starts, and Yuma tells him he enjoys detective novels the most. So he pulls out the novel that was in his reading list and begins to read it out loud to him. Turns out he was quite a natural at narrating, and his slow voice was very soothing. Yuma felt so relaxed that he felt like he would fall asleep any minute, but he tries to stay awake to listen to the story a bit more. Shinigami however, conks out immediately. (fyi: yes this is the novel Vivia talks about in his final gumshoe gab. I tried to make up stuff based on it.. X'D)

Once the clock strikes 9pm and night falls, the Master Detectives all wish Yuma well and leave to return to the hotel to retire for the night. It was just Yakou and Yuma now. Yakou, who had just come back from another errand, walks over to Yuma who was now fast asleep. He looked a little better so Yakou removed the towel from his forehead and places his hand onto it. It still felt warm but no longer as hot as it did hours ago. Meaning he was out of the danger zone, much to Yakou's relief. He places the towel back in the water basin wringing it out and re-applying it to his forehead. Then he lets out a yawn. He was pretty tired. He decides that instead of sleeping in the office on one of the sofas, he'd stay by Yuma's side. His removes his jacket, goes and turns off the overhead lights, sits down and places his head down on his desk. Then after telling the sleeping trainee goodnight he turns off the small light by his desk.

OKAY FUN FACT: The comic WAS going to end here going on to the final page... Buuut~ We were STARVING for some good ol' Yakou Fathero :3 So... Enjoy these bonus 6 pages of Yakou having a shift of his own to look after Yuma in the middle of the night. And its the longest shift.

This ones for you Yakou Fathero fans! Eat your fill!

(I know we sure did :3)

Also I apologize if the lighting here is inaccurate ;w; I tried my best I'm no pro LOL

(Page 12)

A little past midnight, Yuma was stirring in his sleep. Making all sorts of groaning sounds as if he was in pain. He was likely having a nightmare. This is confirmed by his eyes suddenly opening and him violently flinging himself up screaming, and the cold cloth flying off his forehead.

This sound wakes Yakou up immediately as he puts his glasses back on asking Yuma if he's okay. He flicks the light by his desk on to check on him. Yuma's found shaking with tears in his eyes stating quietly that it was just a dream. Yakou sympathizes with Yuma as fever dreams were usually not fun, but a fever NIGHTMARE was always bad. The chief offers the shaking trainee some water to try to help him settle down.

(FYI: Shinigami is going to be absent from this part of the story because I think her banter and antics would ruin the fluff, so she'll just be lurking above in the shelf like a cat the whole time.)

(Page 13)

Yuma accepts the water practically snatching it from Yakou's hands and quickly gulping it down. Yakou tells him to pace himself not wanting him to choke. Once he exhales from the water drink, Yuma sheepishly apologizes for waking Yakou up with his scream, feeling like a burden. Yakou reassures him it's okay and decides to ask him the question of why he pushed himself this far while he was still awake. Hard enough to make himself sick. Why did he do it?

Yuma was surprised by this but decides to try to tell him. He hands the water glass back and began talking. Under his raspy voice and somewhat heavy breathing, he says that he wanted to be useful as he felt like a burden to everyone since he lost his memory. He also says that he likes helping others and that it feels familiar to him. Determined to try to unlock a core memory of his past he kept doing this, even to the point of pushing his limits.

Then he suddenly stopped speaking...

(Page 14)

...aaand cue the coughing fit. Yuma's throat got scratchy and irritated after his long explanation, causing him to cough about 5/8 times in a row. Not as bad as his previous fit but it was more than enough to startle and worry Yakou.

Yakou quickly hands Yuma the water glass he had just taken from him hoping it would soothe his throat. He tells him that helping others is a good thing but he shouldn't push himself to the point that his health gets affected. Yuma quietly nods and as he sips the water still shaking, Yakou feels bad and decides to apologize to him for being harsh before. Stating that he only lost his temper because he was scared and worried for him. He also places his hand to Yuma's cheek in both comfort and to check his temperature. It felt slightly warmer than a few hours ago.

Yuma quietly apologizes to Yakou for worrying him, still holding the water glass. Yakou forgives him. Then he takes the glass from him and then the towel that fell off Yuma's forehead. He grabs a fresh one and soaks it in the basin wringing it out and places it back on the trainee’s forehead unintentionally a bit roughly. Yuma groans and shivers a little from the cold of it.

Yakou then lies Yuma back down, tucking him back in trying to make him comfortable. But his actions were a bit too comforting. He was not meaning to in any way and he wasn't sure what came over him, but he was treating Yuma like a little kid. Yuma notices and feels a little embarrassed by it, but decides to only say it in his head.

Yakou decides to do one more thing before he lets him go back to sleep.

(Note: Hey far as anyone's concerned Yuma, you are practically his BABY when you are having a sick day, so deal with it hehehe :3c)

(Page 15)

Temperature taking page time :D (my favorite, teehee! I know some cultures and in anime they take the temperature under the arm, but there's just something so endearing and adorable about a sickie with a thermometer in their mouth <3 OKAY MY RAMBLING ASIDE...)

Yakou is now a bit concerned that Yuma's fever spiked again after that little harsh coughing fit so he decides to take his temperature one more time before letting Yuma go to sleep again. Yuma obliges and goes along with it opening his mouth as the device is inserted.

After 15 seconds the device beeps and Yakou takes it out. Yuma shyly pulls the duvet up to his face and hides as he meekly asks if its any better feeling a little nervous. Yakou responds that it is better than it was the first time, where it was a dangerous degree.

However, he still wasn't out of the woods yet. The fever was still there and although it went down, it was still in the red. Yakou states that he's still feverish to which Yuma just apologizes. Poor thing just wants this to be over, he really doesn't want to trouble anyone anymore.

(sorry yuma I can't let you off that easily hehe 😈)

(also yes I put an instruction manual for how the thermometer works, I am so obsessed that I even give the thermometer lore LMAO. Sorry if I'm inaccurate in any of those readings. I used google... ^^;)

(Page 16)

Yakou places the thermometer back on the desk and tells Yuma to go to sleep. Saying the fever will likely break by morning. To which Yuma states that he's in Yakou's bed and that he should return to the checkered sofa so his boss could sleep, attempting to try getting up. But Yakou puts a hand on his shoulder stopping him and denies this and says his desk is fine and that Yuma needed the bed more than him.

He also says that if Yuma had another bad dream that he would be there for him. Yuma smiles at Yakou quietly thanking him as he's tucked back into the duvet. Yakou pats it gently telling the trainee to close his eyes.

It isn't long before Yuma is back to being fast asleep. (and shinigami too)

Yakou monologues to himself for a bit groaning at how much trouble this small detective has been for him since he showed up. But then he switches his tune and places a hand to Yuma's head petting it softly. He says he's happy he's working hard for the sake of his memories but right now he needs to work on getting better. Saying it would help everyone in the agency if he wanted to help people.

He wishes him well continuing to pet his head for a bit longer to soothe him before going back to sleep himself turning the light off again.

(Page 17)

2 hours later, Yuma was stirring and whining in his sleep once again. Yakou groggily wakes up wiping his tired eyes upon hearing the soft noises the small trainee was uttering. And he was crying again. Can only be one thing: Another nightmare.

Instead of turning the light on to wake him up, Yakou moves his chair close to him sitting at his side. Not saying a single word. (cept in his head lol) He reaches his hand for Yuma's as it twitches and he takes hold of it gently.

Yakou eventually leans on the bed as he does so and falls asleep sitting up again. Yuma's groaning and and heavy breathing begin to settle down a little as he felt Yakou's presence close by.

Then he smiles as he closes his hand in his sleep holding Yakou's hand back, leaning a bit close to it. He felt safe again... <3

(Note: This poor thing has way too much trauma... ;w; I headcanon that he's prone to night terrors on occasion, but when he gets a fever, its even WORSE. Fevers do be messing with your head... x3)

(Page 18 Final)

The next morning when Yakou wakes up, he checks on Yuma. He still felt slightly warm but he looked much better. Seemed the worst was over and it would likely last just one more day.

When he's fully awake and at his desk, Desuhiko shows up asking Yakou if Yuma's okay and offered to wake him up. Yakou denies it saying Yuma needed one more day of rest, the fever may have been only slight now, but in the rain it would rise again easily.

Desuhiko agrees and declares that he's going to work hard today. Likely to make up for Yuma's absence. Yakou teases him and the two have a bit of a banter.

Yuma meanwhile is asleep peacefully. Still having a slight red tint to his cheeks, but he's able to sleep a lot easier now. His fever was slowly but surely breaking. (now in the yellow) Shinigami sleeps beside him, making sure she protects him from any nightmares in yakou's absence. (after all only SHE can give her master nightmares)

He wakes up fully recovered the following morning thanking everyone for taking such good care of him, and he makes sure to not push himself anymore. And continues searching for the city's ultimate secret while pacing himself to help others from now on.

THE END ❤️

(I practically made this into a sickfic in its own right... XD)

Thanks for reading!! Hope you enjoyed!! This is just a little artist credit page I made for Kazin and I c: Also art semi-face reveal?? xD Kinda?? Idk lol (we just two gals that like our sick comfort haha x3)

Anyway thank you again Kazin for doing this with me!! It was hard work but it was a blast and the final result came out amazing. Its surely a project I will cherish forever~ 💜🩷✨🌡️

A wholesome story to start 2024 on a good note.

[tactical-jellyfish]

For Joanna (pt. 1/3)

Warnings: Mild injury to reader (they are stupid an thwacked themself with a tool or fell or something)+ Nikolai is a depressed bisexual man.

There are a lot of things Nikolai knows that he can never hope to understand.

One of them is how many truly brilliant individuals lie unknown, being that single guy at the end of an "I know a guy" trail that's always way harder to follow than it sounds.

Price had said he knew some other tech who knew someone who was nothing short of a genius with a toolkit. Nikolai had never met them, but when Price showed him a gun that this mystery person had worked on, the Russian was sold, no contest.

So, now he stands before an only slightly rusted hangar space, cloaked by the depth of night and shielded from the chill by his leather jacket. It's small, for aircraft, but it will definitely fit his Joanne. He knocks hard on the shutter, and hears an almost girlishly loud yelp over the buzz of tools that sounds out despite the stupid late hour.

In a minute or two, the shutter opens, to reveal a very much upset person behind it.

They're wearing a thick shirt, probably flame retardant considering a welding torch was in their hand, turned off only recently.

"You better have a good reason for fucking up my last electrode and my gas shield, you little-"

"Привет."

Seemingly, they had not planned on Nikolai being there, because they quiet almost immediately, and swallow.

"I don't know you."

Nikolai fights back a small chuckle at how flat your voice is, just noting a fact right after being seemingly ready to tear his throat out and throw it in his face.

"Correct, you do not know me."

You seem to pull back a little bit at his voice, eyes opening just a bit more before your face hardens again, steeled even under his piercing eyes, catching the light of the moon.

"You're... very Russian."

This time, Nikolai does chuckle, but your brows pinch together, and you snip back at him.

"You heard of me from a man named Johnathan Price, didn't you?"

That makes Nikolai freeze in place, some mix of confusion, anger, and... a sort of fear in his eyes. Price had referenced you to him once, two and a half years ago, said he'd had a short conversation with you, nothing crazy.

And now, you stood before a man you didn't know, correctly identified why he was here, and knew exactly how he found out about you.

Seemingly, his pause brings you some sort of satisfaction, and you give a chuckle. It's a sharp, almost mean sound, like a cat batting a bloody mouse around in its paws, sinking its claws into flesh.

"Bring me my project in a week. Saturday, no later than 8 pm, or you're moving to the back of the line. Check only, don't bring cash."

Nikolai feels something bubble in his guts. It's hot, but not like anger, it doesn't twist and pull like lust, but it's close to both. His throat feels like it's been shrouded with drought.

He swallows, and you seem satisfied enough with yourself to let the shutter fall closed again, and Nikolai hears a lock click.

God, what is he getting himself into?

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

This client was... odd.

Even weeks into the repair process, even after acknowledging that he thought you were good at what you did, Nikolai hung in the corners of your hangar, always in a radius of Joanna, like it hurt him to be parted from the dinged-up thing for more than five fucking seconds.

A Pave Low, which you knew wasn't cutting edge anymore, named Joanna. And it's not uncommon to name a plane, or, in this case, a helicopter, but... it feels different, here, solemn. But that story isn't your job, fixing the little shit is. So that's what you'll do.

Your drill is whining under the force it takes to screw in yet another loose panel, but Nikolai remains in his spot, unmoving.

It's starting to annoy you, enough that you lose your focus for a critical moment, you don't pull away the drill fast enough.

Right as you turn to cuss at him, maybe just kick him out of your shop altogether, the screws holding the panel steady snap under the force of being bent, and your drill gives out, sending half of the thing flying toward you.

Your eyes widen, and a portal to hell seemingly opens in your throat as you fall backward, hand stinging and ground fast approaching.

"FUCK!"

Nikolai lets out a matching noise (much deeper, of course, and somehow still accented), and rushes forward.

He isn't fast enough.

It wasn't a long fall, but the air is knocked out of you anyway, leaving you panting and teary-eyed as you desperately try to coax air back into your lungs.

Your hand is at a, frankly, terrible angle, and as Nikolai stand over you, you try to move more.

Biiiiiiiiig mistake.

It's sprained, badly, but not broken. After your entire career up to now, you've (majorly) injured yourself at work with your least favorite client rushing to try and make sure you're not fucking dead.

"ты в порядке?? Are you dead??"

You choke on a sniffle, and cough to clear your tight throat, finally managing a full inhale.

"'M-" When you try to push yourself up onto your hands, you grunt in pain, prompting Nikolai to stoop to a knee before you, set his big hands on your back instead.

"M' fine. Just fuckin' dandy." You finish, despite not at all being dandy. Nikolai knows it from the way you grit out your voice, and you know it because you think you might have a broken tailbone.

It's that night that Nikolai starts forcing himself into your work day.

This first instance, it's... obnoxious, but acceptable, sitting in your spinny chair and letting the big man wrap up your hand, nice and tight, and hold some ice to it.

It's then that you finally get a good look at him. After weeks, yes, you're a little late, but you finally do.

He's... uncomfortably pretty, for a grown-ass man. There's a slight bump in the bridge of his nose, like it's been broken and healed before, thick but short-trimmed, scratchy stubble and neatly-combed-back hair.

It's professional, but almost boyish, antithetical to everything he should be on paper. He's military, or close to it. Russian, and you have never once met someone entirely content who had grown up with such boring, brutalist architecture.

But he still talks your ear off for the rest of the night, sends you home dizzied and confused, with a lot more knowledge on how to wrap up an injury.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After that, you had thought (maybe stupidly) that Nikolai would fuck off a bit, maybe leave you the hell alone while you work on his trash-copter and honor your little "alone space".

He does not. You have decided, in all your wisdom, that this is an act of the highest disrespect because he not only doesn't trust you but distrusts your methods and your work.

So, you work doubly, hard, doubly good, just to get him off your ass for the next few days of repair.

Little do you know, Nikolai stand in that corner for a different reason now. He stand there to admire, to watch you do what he can't, and, to some extent... protect you.

He had been too slow, that day. He had been too slow and you had gotten hurt. Not only had it slowed the progress on this project, but he could still see you wince when you tightened down bolts with your dominant hand, grimace when you moved your wrist too far in any direction.

The final day rolls around faster than either of you think it will. You're excited to never talk to him again. Nikolai wants so dearly to thank you for saving his most prized possession.

It's a shock when you see the Russian bring more than a check and a few choice words as payment.

He's holding a small packet of biscuits, brightly colored, with a little cartoon cow on them, some Russian word you can't read in gold cursive. It looks cheap, but charming, like a childhood snack.

Seemingly, your look of question doesn't deter him, because Nikolai talks before you can question his intentions any further than you already have.

"For you. Because you did such a good job repairing her."

You feel... something odd in your mind open a set of floodgates, and realize that you've been misinterpreting at least three months of interactions.

This is nothing someone would do for someone they disrespected, this was a gift on top of a check that is at least two-hundred dollars more than what you had been asking, and even that price had a little wiggle room for your sake.

This is a present.

You take the biscuits into your hands first, trace the smooth, embossed letters of the packaging with a callused finger.

And, for the first time in a while, you find yourself... thankful.

You look up to Nikolai, see big, warm brown eyes looking back at you.

"Yeah... come back any time you need, alright? My door's open for you."

He nods. Nikolai, that motherfucker, he just nods like he hasn't uprooted every thought you'd had of him and turned it on its head. He smiles, like you didn't hate his guts before this conversation.

But you'll keep this promise anyway.

Nikolai is you best customer, after all, who would you to turn down... a friend? Yeah, a friend.