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peppertoastuniverse · 3 months ago

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more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 5: mandarin

contents: gojo Satoru x reader, FLUFF , satoru being a little shit, 2 idiots summary: when you consistently ignore gojo’s frequent texts to hang out, he takes matters into his own hands wc: 3.2k

“whoa, didn’t expect you to fall for me like this,” he says, feeling his laughter through his chest, breathing life into the dark corners of your cavity. it was too much. he was always too much. regaining your senses, you squawk out of embarrassment, concrete realization of where you were in the form of his thumb moving back and forth on your side, a half hearted attempt to soothe you. self consciousness fuelling your uncoordinated limbs you scramble to separate yourself from him.

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ding. ding. it only took two impatient sounds to disturb your peace. slightly groaning as you hear the echoing source of your current pain: your phone. ever since gojo got a hold of your number it like was like his grating voice was constantly in your head. he constantly texted you, blowing up your phone about anything and everything. from what he swore was the best daifuku in Tokyo he discovered last week, or complaining about how unfair it was that ieri kicked him out of her room again or sending you photos of him post mission, peace signs prominent with a cheery grin while geto was in the background back turned, hunched over presumably throwing up from a particular nasty curse he had to ingest - gojo never failed to message you.

for the most part you didn’t respond to gojo’s constant messages, but that didn’t deter him, if anything it prompted him to text you even more. in your eyes, it was only a matter of time before he would get tired of you - you were just waiting for him to realise what you knew was going to happen. it was a reason why you kept your walls so high, you enjoyed the safety and predictability of the darkness and satoru gojo was too bright.

turning back to your desk you pick up your discarded pen, twirling it in your hands absentmindedly. how long have you been at this? probably 3 hours at least. you quickly skim through his messages while you regather your papers together.

gojo: hehe look at this (2:13pm) [image] (2:13pm)

you open the attachment begrudgingly, the unopened image taunting you, peaking your curiosity. it was a blurry photo of an annoyed geto, mouth open probably cussing gojo out, violet eyes flashing in warning looking beyond the camera with his arms attempting to grab the phone from him. his dark bangs frame his face as usual but the rest of his dark hair was pulled into two high messy pigtails. snorting in amusement, you download the image - ah a new treasure. sometimes gojo could be useful. you return to the message thread, seeing a flow of multiple messages.

gojo: bbbbbb <3 (4:03pm) im booooored booooooooooored lets hangggg (6:04pm) lets do something rn (6:10pm) omg when r u gna stop ignoring me lol (6:20pm) (◞‸◟；) stoppp (6:21pm) how come u never answer me "( – ⌓ – ) (6:22pm) not cool b (6:25pm)

you easily silence your phone before hastily typing in a message to appease him.

you: busy (6:40pm)

gojo: (ᴗ_ ᴗ。) busy??? the whole day?! (6:40pm) busy with what (6:41pm) with whaaaat bbb ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) (6:43pm)

you don’t bother answering him, instead choosing to ignore him for what seemed to be the millionth time . you really had to get this done – not that you wanted to hang out with gojo anyway. discarding your phone on your bedside table, you groan when you make your return to your desk. this was the worst part about being a sorcerer : the paperwork. you’ve put off the reports for the last 4 missions that you went on, plus you had to do the rest of your homework. you palm your temple with a sigh of anticipation in what surely was going to be a long night.

and then you hear it; a whine of your name beyond your door paired knocking on your door to an uneven rhythm. ughh. you could just imagine the overly dramatic pout on his face.

as to appease the assault that your door was taking, you opened the opposing barrier with a scowl on your face.

“how come you don’t answer my messages?” gojo immediately whines the minute he sees you.

“I told you, I’m busy!”

“but we’re friends! you answer suguru and shoko!”

“yeah because they don’t message me every 2 seconds – my phone is usually on silent anyway, so I forget to check.”

“ughhh… sooooo, can we hang out now?” he gripes, lowering his dark glasses, showing the crocodile tears dancing on his waterline.

“...i have all this paperwork to do, gojo.” you say opening your door wider, gesturing to your messy desk.

he sighs exasperate throwing his hands in the air. “…fine.” pout on full view he turns his firm back, not sparing you a second glance retreating into his room next to yours.

huh. that was easy. part of you felt validated in his easy retreat, it was something that you were used to, something expected – even from the strongest.

you settle back in to your desk, cursing your past self for putting this off for so long.

okay, okay, where were you? concentrate. ughhhh … what happened in nagasaki again? oh right it was that stupid scissor curse that cut you up pretty badly – not your best moment. geto really saved your ass back there with rainbow dragon. he ended up swallowing the curse later and annoyingly scolded you. but he also complained -

“babe!! i'm hooooomeeee!” the door handle rustles before abruptly opening, a mop of tousled white hair, barges into your room with no warning. your wide eyes narrow at the annoyance. waltzing in with a pep in his step, obnoxiously swinging a plastic bag filled to the brim of multiple cakes, sweets and sugary drinks was gojo with an aggravating smirk. you stare at him, hoping your heated glance would melt his grinning face off.

“don't give me that face, grumpy! i got ya some concentration snackies - aren't you glad i thought of you, huh? im such a good friend.” poking your shoulder in greeting ignoring your exasperated pout.

“no one appreciates me here! i'm more than just a pretty face, y'know.” gojo responds to your silence with a dramatic sigh. he settles the bulging bag on the floor he tosses his too long body onto your bed, jostling the soft pillows. you tsk in disapproval.

cooing as he spots Bun Bun peacefully resting on the middle of your bed, you watch as gojo's long limbs dramatically flail to pick up the pink bunny stuffie. “hey, lil’ guy,” he whispers, his slender nose nuzzling Bun Bun's plush cheeks, “i know, I know, babe’s not being fun again. yeah i know, i told her don't worry.” turning his head to meet your incredulous glare. your eye begins to twitch in annoyance, "that's not what he's saying!"

“uh huh, you're just jealous of our bond." he scrunches up his nose at you, " y’knowww you’re gonna get wrinkles early if you keep frowning so much!” gojo practically sings from your bed, infinity easily going up as you launch an eraser at him angrily. he snickers before settling on his side, moving Bun Bun lovingly to share the same pillow as him.

ignoring gojo was no easy feat, but luckily you were very experienced in that field. returning to your work on your desk, you bite your tongue with the urge to cuss him out. you wheel your chair around to fully ignore his distracting presence.

he always took up too much space, his very energy making it hard to focus.

resting your head on your palm, you prop your head up attempting get back into the zone of concentration.

alright, nagasaki. you smirk as you remember how geto complained how terrible it tasted and how amazing that ramen was that you and geto had after. he was worried about your shallow wounds despite your constant reassurance that you were fine, ugh suguru was way too considerate. you pretty much had to beg him to go get some food, you remember how you grinned self righteously as you watched his hesitation disappear the minute he tasted the broth. you had a suspicion it was partly because the curse tasted so bad. but that didn't stop geto from carrying you back on rainbow dragon despite your fear of heights. you wince as you remember ieri smacking you and geto when you got back because she was so pissed when you didn't return straight away with all of those cuts –

“whatcha doing?” you feel gojo's warm breath in your ear, the action making you shudder at the intrusion.

abruptly you turn your head to see gojo’s face right next to yours over your shoulder, nose daring to brushing his smooth cheek.

yelping loudly, you jerk to the side causing you to fall off your chair in a fright. you hear gojo’s amused snort as you close your eyes waiting to hit the ground but … it never came.

warm arms lightly grip your abdomen preventing you from hitting the ground, you feel gojo’s firm chest behind your back as you sit clumsily in his lap, legs swung over to his left side. his skin was warm and soft, invading your senses with his familiar scent. the weight of his body against yours felt foreignly comforting. engulfing your already panicked state in a new level of unease, you weren't completely sure if you enjoyed his warmth or resented him for making you question it. you unconsciously settle your hand on his forearm against your stomach finding an overwhelming needing to ground yourself. you hoped that he couldn’t feel your loudly beating heart through your chest, or that his six eyes couldn't see the deeply buried holes in your heart. “whoa, didn’t expect you to fall for me like this,” he says, feeling his laughter through his chest, breathing life into the dark corners of your cavity.

it was too much. he was always too much.

regaining your senses, you squawk out of embarrassment, concrete realization of where you were in the form of his thumb moving back and forth on your side, a half hearted attempt to soothe you. self consciousness fuelling your uncoordinated limbs you scramble to separate yourself from him.

“ompff – uhh – careful where you're – ompff – stepping, babe!” he stutters quickly, worry and slight panic tinging his voice. his body attempting to shift with your fussing to neutralize your erratic momovements, “look, I don’t give a fuck – oh geez – but the clan still wants an heir so – please be careful“ a large hand goes to still your shin.

an heir? does he mean – oh. OH. in a panic you finally manage to slide down onto to the floor legs still draped over his thighs.

“d-don’t you have anything better to do?!” you deflect refusing to look him. crossing your arms across your chest, trying to distract yourself form thinking about gojo in that way.

gojo’s eyes widen. whoa, what's with that expression? this was ... new. he couldn’t help but notice how your face flushed, the heat gradually spreading to the tips of your ears, down your the column of your pretty throat...

“you would know if you checked your messages!” he huffs ignoring the way his ears turn pink, “we’re gonna hang out when you're done.”

when did you agree to this?

"who decided that?" you said fighting the blush you knew decorated your face, face full of defiance.

he whines your name, “c'mon!!”

“ugh, I still have to do the stupid paperwork! i’ve put it off too long.” you groan flopping on the ground, using your hands to rub your eyes. truth be told, gojo being in your room felt almost suffocating. the air felt too stifling, like you were backed into a corner forced to always playing defence with the strongest. and you didn't want to play his stupid games.

breathing softly you watch as the growing shadows on the your ceiling frame your nagging restlessness to get work done. gojo’s face popping into your view.

“why don’t you take a break? you’ve been working hard for hours – let’s have some snacks!” he adds, attempting to sweeten the deal. you shrug noncommittally, you just wanted to be free of that stupid paperwork. you hear the rustling of a plastic bag, as he digs through his haul, mumbling to himself, "not this.. ugh not this one either, hmm, that's definitely mine .. oh fuck i forgot i bought this heh.. where is it? i just..."

“m’ not in the mood for sweets, go–“

“i got you – I knew you’d want something boring!” you hear him rustling deeper into the plastic bag. you smell a burst of citrus. his grin comes into view again while he roughly shoves a few segments of a mandarin into your mouth, forcing the rest of the peeled fruit into your hand.

“mph! dude– “ you quickly chew the segment in surprise, mouth bursting with the refreshing juice, the orange’s soft flesh tangy and slightly sweet. “… huh. thanks.”

gojo hums victoriously, falling on his back beside you, legs bent, foot tapping out a rhythm.

you split your remaining mandarin in half, feeling for the larger portion and passing it in gojo’s surprised hands. slender fingers briefly mingling with each other, electricity brewing between them. you retreat your hands quickly, purposely ignoring his lingering fingers.

if he notices, gojo makes no mention of it, popping the whole mandarin in his mouth.

“so, why was suguru’s hair in pigtails?” you ask, amused smile growing on your face from the memory of geto’s disturbed expression. chewing on another segment, you could easily imagine geto's loud grumble and exasperation that you frequently heard when gojo was around him.

gojo barks out a laugh, half chewed mandarin still in his mouth. “idiot fell asleep in the common room and y’know… anything is fair game there,” he says shifting slightly to look at you.

“oh god. pff, yeah honestly he had it coming. poor suguru though, he’s been so busy lately, must've been exhausted… i’m surprised he didn’t murder you.”

“oh he tried, he summoned 3 curses,” gojo snickers, pushing his dark glasses up.

“… next time we should do space buns,” you grin mischievously.

“oh fuck that’s a great idea!” he shouts, repeatedly tapping the ground in excitement, matching grin on his face. gojo was practically vibrating with mischief, inching closer to you on the ground.

you couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. often times gojo reminded you of an overly excitable puppy, constantly wagging his tail, begging for attention. usually you'd get the puppy who would become your shadow, whining constantly for a walk and would harness their chaotic energy to trash a room just because. there's a reason why you were a cat person.

“but oh my goddd, have you touched his hair, babe? it’s so fucking soft? i don’t understand what he does but -" you watched gojo talk animatedly. his mouth dressed up in a boyish gin, pearly teeth on full display, emphasizing the dimple on his left side, embellishing the joy he was radiating. it was times like these where you were strangely more aware that satoru gojo was handsome. the soft slope of his cupid’s bow that lead to delicate lips, the slant of his slender nose, his soft cheeks -

you shake your head. god, he was so distracting. he was so annoying.

“ - hey? did ya hear me?” gojo asks, poking your cheek. you share back at him blindly, hoping he didn’t catch you staring. "huh?" stretching slightly you shift on to your side, curling your knees together so they almost touch his thighs. "what were you saying?"

“I said, I got you something!” not even bothering to hid his annoyed glare. he props himself up with his hand supporting his head, turning fully to you, mirroring your body. reaching into his back pocket, he takes out a silver phone charm. delicate and elegant, the neat row of varying silver and black beads strung on a intricate chain complimented the silver star at the end.

you blink at him. “wait- for me?” your eyes dart between the phone charm and his expectant smile.

“duh! it’s for your phone! so whenever you see it, it’ll remind you to answer my messages.” he jingles the keychain, waiting for you to take it.

you stare at him, a hidden expression on your face that he couldn’t decipher.

“man, I gotta do everything here, eh?” gojo pouts, rolling his eyes. he gracefully rolls over to reach for your phone on your bed side table with a sigh. plopping back down on his side, he loops the charm on to your phone grinning triumphantly.

“hehe, look, babe – now we have matching ones!!” he takes out his own phone to show you the same silver keychain on his phone. gojo hands you your phone back, immediately you admire the way the way the keychain captures the dim light of your bedside table. pretty. although gojo’s antics were dramatic and sometimes downright irritating, his constant effort to get to know you despite your adamant refusal was … endearing. you noticed that he was generous, not only constantly buying you, ieri and geto snacks or meals without prompting but generous in his time, annoyingly checking up on you when he didn't see you for a few hours. you had to admit that he did put up a good fight to your frank rebuffs. he noticed a lot more than you gave him credit for, he cared for his friends in his own way but fierce so. despite his arrogant and brash behaviour maybe, just maybe, he could be someone you could talk to once in a while, someone you could let in just a little bit. it wouldnt hurt to be on friendlier terms, right?

“… thanks gojo.” you say smiling in realization as you fiddle with the star of the keychain, unable to look at him.

something in gojo’s stomach flutters, not expecting your bashful demeanour. if you smiled at him like that, he think might collapse. he wasn’t even really sure what he did that granted him the privilege to see your smile, a genuine one - it was just a little trinket, an inexpensive thing he picked up because he was tired of radio silence from you. he smiled thinking about your reaction of something else, perhaps if he got you those specific chips that he noticed that you liked that were notorious for being be sold out at the convenience store or maybe a scarf since you always seemed to be cold or, or maybe even a necklace with his initials -

“… hey? gojo?" you ask softly.

"yes, my grumpy lil prince–" "shut up, before i take back what i'm going to say, idiot." you scoff, your dead pan glare, effectively doing the impossible in shutting up gojo. you sigh. god, were you going to regret this decision? "... if you give me like 2 hours in silence.." you palm your forehead, wondering if you've gone absolutely insane.

".... maybe we could watch a movie or something after?” you force out softly.

gojo smiles widely, almost bouncing up and down as he gets up from the floor, offering you a hand to help you up. you stare at his out stretched hand suspiciously.

“well, the sooner you get started the sooner we can watch!!”

hesitantly you accept his hand and his help. it was a strange feeling, one that you weren’t sure yet that you liked yet. you quickly sever the contact, dropping his hand immediately, not wanting to get used to this new sensation. you huff , moving towards your desk, reshuffling the papers with renewed energy.

turning around to face him, voice authoritative with warning, you meet his covered eyes “when I mean silence though gojo, I mean absolute silence.” he nods, looking back at you, he uses his slender pointer finger and thumb to zip his mouth, and toss away the key behind him, a promise in his bright eyes behind his dark glasses.

gojo resettles on your bed, with a triumphant sigh. he makes a point to grab Bun Bun to lay on his chest as he takes out his phone to play some games, his silver phone charm dancing in the light. you turn around, hands itching to finally get some work done, concentrating on summarizing the straight forward mission in hamura. an unusual silence aids the scratching of your pen on paper, propelling your rapid thoughts. but after 20 minutes of working, you hesitantly clear your throat, turning back to take a peek at gojo, his eyebrow quirked.

“… so, uh what movies are playing right now?”

you can hear the joy in his voice when he starts to weigh your options, even asking Bun Bun for his opinions and occasionally spoiling the plots for other options. With a soft grin, you found that this time you didn’t mind the chatter... or the company.

a/n: he just wants to spend time with you ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) --

head image credit: Itadakimasu dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #dividers by adornedwithlight #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #satoru gojou x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru x reader #gojo jjk #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru fanfic #satoru gojo x you

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withleeknow · 11 months ago

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six minutes.

pairing: seungmin x reader genre/warnings: friends to ??, fluff; a couple of swear words here and there bc who am i if i don't swear, mentions of hurling but it doesn't actually happen, not really unedited lol word count: 0.8k note: HELLO FELLOW WIFEU (you know who you are), number 13 was "things you said at the kitchen table" lol. anywhomst people, my first seungmin piece!!

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

when blinding sunlight playfully slips through the curtains, you wake up with an ache inside your head, then instant confusion as you take in your surroundings.

this isn't your bedroom.

the clothes you're wearing aren't the ones you put on before you went out last night.

there's someone on the other side of the bedroom door, and the rummaging of cabinets, the clanging of pots and pans.

you sit up fully, clutching the duvet cover close to your chest, evidently disoriented. there's not much for you to go on - the room is clean, tidy, barely any decorations except for what seems to be a few baseball mementos displayed neatly on the credenza sitting opposite from the bed, surrounded by empty cream-colored walls.

a dumb, possibly-still-drunken thought pops up.

oh my god, i've been kidnapped.

you blink, feeling fatigue in every limb, slightly alarmed but not scared even though you probably should be. (you've been told that your survival instincts aren't very sharp.) the brain fog must also be a contributing factor, but even in spite of the thought of being kidnapped, you don't register any sense of imminent danger. just a growing perplexity because not everything has clicked into place yet.

your eyes notice a framed photo on the bedside table when the light catches on the glass. upon closer examination, you gasp sharply, because why the fuck is there a photo of your dog in this strange bedroom?!

oh wait.

okay.

thank fuck. you've been here before.

it's just kim seungmin's bedroom that you're in, and it's just kim seungmin's favorite baseball t-shirt that you're wearing.

after a moment of sitting by yourself in total dumbfounded silence, you venture out of the bedroom on unsteady legs - not even the good kind of wobbly legs that you wished you'd experienced as a result of a freaky night tangled up in the sheets - to find your friend in the kitchen with his back turned to you, hunched over something you can't see on the counter next to the sink.

you take a seat at the kitchen island, making sure to scrape the chair across the floor loudly to alert him of your presence. he turns around at the sound, a bit startled - cute - then throws a smile your way when he realizes who the intruder is.

"morning, sunshine," he chuckles upon seeing the disgruntled look on your face, courtesy of your stubborn headache. "sleep well?"

"i don't even remember what happened," you grumble, bypassing his question entirely. "why am i here? why didn't you take me home?"

"you wouldn't let me. you made me take you back to my place, then you practically demanded to sleep in my bed too," he tells you, filling a glass with water and handing it to you before turning back again to continue working on whatever task he was occupied with before you interrupted him. "thank god you didn't hurl."

you scoff, but you take a grateful sip of the water anyway. "you would've made me sleep on the couch?"

"yes." zero hesitation. motherfucker.

"and they say chivalry is dead."

"you'd be dead too if you had puked on my bed."

"i almost did. i woke up thinking i was kidnapped."

seungmin laughs, extending a hand to his right to grab a container of salt. you recognize it because it's part of the spice container set that you got him as a housewarming gift when he first moved into this apartment.

"would a kidnapper let you wear his favorite shirt and drool on his pillows?" he asks.

"i was practically blacked out. you could've thrown me a potato sack and i wouldn't have noticed."

"yeah, well, you wanted the shirt, so..."

for some reason, it makes you warm all over. though you still feel icky as hell from the night out, the soft material of his tee covering your body becomes more welcoming, makes you want to wrap yourself in the fabric even more.

you clear your throat, trying to dissolve the lump that forms in your throat upon hearing his words. the mischievous sun makes an appearance again, tiptoeing from the bedroom window to the kitchen window, sneaking through the cracks to saturate seungmin in a generous dose of golden light.

he turns around to face you once again, before you can think of anything else to say. he places a plate in front of you, and the sight leaves you a little taken aback. soft boiled eggs, already peeled and halved, sprinkled with your favorite sea salt.

"i don't think a kidnapper would get up early and google how to soft boil eggs either," he says with a casual shrug, but there's a hint of a smile there, tugging at his the corner of his lips.

"you had to google how to boil eggs?"

"soft boil eggs," he tuts, mildly offended that you'd think he's that incompetent in the kitchen. "because you like them."

he lets the smile take over completely now, the very second you feel heat rush to your cheeks.

"google said it takes six minutes, by the way."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #seungmin fluff #seungmin scenarios #seungmin x reader #seungmin imagines #seungmin x you #stray kids #kim seungmin #seungmin

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umbrella-show · 5 months ago

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Solo Mission

Platonic Yan Rottmnt x Sibling Reader

“No. And that’s final.” Raph sternly determined, looking down at you with crossed arms and a frown. “I barely let Mikey go out on his own mission. But you? Not in a million years.” “Why?!” You outrageously exclaimed, obviously upset by the stubbornness of your older brother. “I know how to take care of myself!-” “No. You don’t.” Raph interrupted you, “you don’t know how to fight. You don’t know how to defend yourself-” “Yes I do!” You took out your own weapons, your kunai knives. Small sharp throwing knives you used to defend yourself. Your brothers begrudgingly gave you a weapon to defend yourself, after you begged for one, making the compelling argument of possibly needing something to defend yourself with when they weren’t around.

“I helped you guys with Meat Sweats, Hypno, Big Mama, AND Draxum. I can handle a solo mission!” “What’s going on over here?” You and Raph looked over to see Leo, leaning on the wall and looking over at you and Raph in puzzlement. “Lunch is also ready by the way. Mikey made lasagna.” At the mention of his name, Mikey’s head peeked over from the next room where the kitchen was. “Food’s ready!” Raph let out a huff from his nose, looking back at you with narrowed eyes, his decision unwavering. “No solo missions. Not until you’re ready.” You scoffed, watching as he walked away to the kitchen, Leo shortly following after him giving you one last curious glance. You already knew he would ask Raph about your argument while you weren’t there, which made you even more irritated. You weren't a defenseless child. You knew how to use your weapons. You could totally complete a solo mission all by yourself, without your brother’s help. It enraged you how many times you had brought up the possibility of a solo mission to any of your brothers, and they all shot it down with the only argument being ‘you’re not ready.’

“You alright?” You looked up at Mikey, your cranky mood slipping as your face softened towards him. You let out a sigh, feeling the anger lingering. “I’m gonna eat lunch in my room.” You muttered, walking past him without another word. You went to the kitchen, wordlessly grabbing a plate from the cabinets. Raph and Leo were there as well, and you shivered as you felt them glance at you. You heard fragments of their conversation, quiet whispers from mostly Leo. You sent them a glare while they weren’t looking. You knew they were talking about you, and your previous anger sparked up again. You made sure to be extra loud, closing the cabinets with a thud and quickly scooping a portion of Mikey’s homemade lasagna on your plate before storming to your room. Your feet slightly stomped against the floor, speed walking to your place of comfort.

You threw the curtains, which acted as the door to your safe space, closed once you entered. You sat on your bed with your head laying in your palm. You honestly weren’t even hungry at the moment, Raph’s words annoyingly repeating itself like a broken record in your mind. He would never let you go on your own mission in a million, he had said, you weren’t ready. You put the plate of food on your bedside table, afraid you might somehow break it out of anger if you held it any longer. Today, you would prove your brothers wrong, you decided. You would go on your own solo mission and come back, unscathed. ‘But what would the mission even be?’ you thought, looking around your room and hoping to gain some kind of idea as to what you could do.

Your eyes landed on a framed photo on your desk, your whole family, including you, smiling at the camera happily. That picture was taken before New York was filled with dangerous mutants. Before your brother’s forbid you to go outside of the lair alone. Your eyes landed on your father, suddenly gaining an idea as to what you could do on your solo mission. You bolted out of your room, running through the kitchen and ignoring all the confused glances from your brothers as you sprinted to your dad’s room.

“Dad!” You suddenly yelled, starting him and almost making him drop his snack. “Green! You almost made me drop my hot soup!” “Sorry, dad.” You apologized quietly, glancing back at the door connecting the room to the kitchen and making sure your brothers couldn’t hear you. You scratched the back of your neck. “I was wondering if you needed me to run any errands for you on the surface.” “Errands?” Your father suspiciously questioned, and you prayed he wouldn’t be as protective as your brothers. “Yeah! Like, do you need me to pick up any snacks or food for the kitchen.” Splinter hummed, scratching his chin. “Well, I could go for some cake right now. And I’m on my last slice at the moment.” “I can get you a fresh one from the bakery! I-It’s not far from here.” “Hm. I suppose it would be nice. Thank you, Green.” “Your welcome, dad!” You hastily yelled, speeding out of the living room and the kitchen.

Your excitement from finally leaving the lair to complete your first solo mission was through the roof. Before you knew it, you had already pushed off the manhole that led into your home, with a bit of struggle. Once you made it outside, you put it back into place, running to the streets. You had dressed for the occasion, of course. You wore a baggy hoodie and some baggy pants that hid you hoped hid you well enough.

Your pace slowed as you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around at your surroundings in amazement. It was all the same as when you would go out with your brothers. The same bright lights. The same small amount of people still walking around at such a late time. The same cars that rode through mostly empty streets. But at the same time, it felt so different. It all came with an overwhelming sense of exhilaration and freedom, like you could do whatever you wanted. With that, you happily skipped through the sidewalk, ready to get your dad some fresh cake from the bakery and complete your first ever solo mission.

God, you were going to love rubbing this in your brother's faces.

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #yandere rottmnt #yandere #platonic yandere #rise of the tmnt #yandere rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise mikey #rise donnie #rise leo #rise tmnt #rise raph

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carolmunson · 11 months ago

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orange colored sky verse

He runs a finger tip over your cheek bone, all the way back over to trace over your ear. Your face contorts slightly, but you don’t open your eyes. He holds in a giggle at the way your lips purse and your brows pull in.

“So grouchy,” he whispers, mimicking your tone when you tell Gwen she looks upset. It’s been a while since he’s stayed up and watched you sleep. He felt like such a weirdo the first time he did it, laying next to you in your queen sized bed in your little studio apartment. The glow of the street lights coating your face in blue and orange light.

He just couldn’t turn his mind off — work stress, upcoming travel, checking in with Steve, falling in love with you — all whirring in his head. But the softness of your face, your gentle snores, the way you buried your face in your pillow when you’d turn around; it was comforting to watch you at peace. To feel so safe with him.

You tucked in early. Your stomach hurt, your body ached, you’d been up since 4:30 wracked with nerves for a work project.

You made Gwen dinner and then kissed them both goodnight. Eddie spent a few minutes explaining to Gwen that sometimes Mommy goes to bed early and that Gwen still had to go to bed at her bedtime. It was a mini battle to get her put down, but he always wins — earning a sloppy kiss on the cheek before he left the room.

Feeling like husband of the year, he came to the bedroom with a mug of peppermint tea, only to find you asleep with your phone still propped up in your hand — snoring even though you always argue with him that you don’t snore.

Quietly, he places the mug down on your bedside table tucking your phone next to it when he eases it out of your hand. With a quick click, the lights are off, save for a starry night light in the corner for when Gwen rushes in when she has a ‘scawy dweam’ or needs her daddy to ‘check fa munstahs’ under her bed.

You hardly stir when he crawls in next to you, fine to just read on his Kindle while you lay there — and it’s then that he remembers how long it’s been to just have you like this to himself. At ease, quiet, no baby on your chest, not just ‘resting your eyes’, but asleep and safe — safe with him.

After your grouchy face you adjust onto your stomach, half your cheek buried in the pillow. A crack of a snore leaks out and he holds in a bark of a laugh in its place. With one hand he grazes his fingertips back against your hair line, thumb rubbing your temple in slow circles. The other clicks his Kindle on to settle back into David Cullen’s Columbine that he finally decided to read so many years after your first date.

He wonders if that version of him knew he’d be lying next to you while he read it after putting your daughter to bed. Rings on both of your fingers. Wedding photos in custom framing.

He thinks he always knew. He’s sure he did.

After another rumble from your mouth and nose rises you with a jolt. You blearily look around and squint at the brightness of his e-reader.

“Whaddime-izzit?”

“8:14,” he says quietly, “You wake yourself up?”

“Hm?”

“That was a loud snore, I think you—”

“I don’t snore,” you say, flipping to your other side to face away from him.

“Of course not,” he replies calmly with a smile. Eddie’s eyes go back to the Kindle when he feels your hand reach back in search of his. A warmth fills his chest, reaching up to squeeze your bicep and go back to running his fingertips by your hairline the way you like. Your little delighted ‘hm’ lets him know you’ll be back asleep in no time and he doesn’t mind.

He loves this. He’s so glad he chose this.

#orange colored sky #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #OCS EDDIE GIRLS COME GET Y’ALL JUICE!

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chiefdirector · 1 year ago

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Searching | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One

Two Years Ago

Tim felt his blood run cold.

The words all made sense out loud, he knew what he was being told. But he himself could not make any sense of it. How could he? How could he make sense of any of this? How could she have just vanished? It wasn't meant to go like this; Tim wasn’t meant to lose her.

His body tensed as his mind began to race. He was meant to protect her, he should've been there to make sure that she was safe. He should've been there with her. He should have done something. He had failed her.

Grey repeatedly told him that he couldn't have changed the outcome, as if that would convince the man. Deep down inside Tim knew that was true. There was no way that the LAPD would let him anywhere near this operation. The pair of them were already on thin ice considering that they were both stationed at the Mid-Wilshire precinct. But despite the knowledge that it wasn’t his fault, Tim could not help the guilty feeling creeping back. He was her husband, he had vowed to always keep her safe. Now she could be in mortal danger and he was incapable of helping her.

Grey had also tried to send Bradford home. He lost that battle very quickly. Tim wouldn’t just sit at home and let other people take over. He couldn't. He had to help; he had to find her, even if it was the last thing he would do.

Search parties and covert operations were authorised, Tim took point on anything that he

could. Captain Anderson gave him a chance, she knew it was risky with how strongly Tim felt about this but she also knew that nobody would look as hard and as thoroughly as he would.

He lasted two days before he was removed from the taskforce.

——————

One Year Ago

Files were strewn across the coffee table. They had been for days, it was easier to keep them out than put them away every day. It was what he had spent the most of his free time doing, searching through files that he had already read back to front at least a hundred times. But maybe, just maybe, on the hundred-and-first time would he find something different, spot something that had been missed. Maybe in these pages he would find the answer he longed for.

But even at this point, Tim could feel the thought that this was all pointless, that (Y/N) would never be found, creeping in. He was a cop, he knew that the chances of finding a missing person after the first forty-eight hours plummeted drastically, and the chances of finding them alive was even less.

Still he picked up the file again, flipping to the beginning where he saw the initial missing persons report. They used two pictures, one was her portrait taken by the department, and the other was one taken by Tim. The two of them had gone away on a road trip for their honeymoon. At the time, (Y/N) had not yet cut her hair shorter, so the winds of the Grand Canyon were blowing it crazily in all directions. She smiled as wildly at the camera, eyes shining in joy. After Tim had taken that, another tourist offered to take the camera so the young couple could have a nice photo together. In that one, (Y/N) no longer faced the camera but her husband, and somehow her smile was even bigger.

That second photo was framed and carefully placed on Tim’s bedside table. It was his favourite photo and if she was never found, it was the way he wanted to remember her: happy, spirited, and free.

Tim didn't know what it was, whether it was the growing helplessness or the nostalgia of seeing his wife’s smile but he stood up, letting the paper fall to the ground, and meandered towards the bedroom. On the dresser stood her jewellery box, it hadn't been moved since she had left. He gently opened the lid and took out a simple chain. Next he slipped the ring from its place on his left hand and mounted it on the chain before attaching it around his neck.

——————

Six Months Ago

Life went on.

He knew it would, it was expected but that it didn’t mean it wasn’t any less daunting. He learnt to handle the day-to-day. He went grocery shopping, he did laundry, chores, cleaning, errands. He went on, one day at a time, it was the only way he could survive. Weeks seemed like years, months like decades. So Tim counted every single one of them: 547 days since she had disappeared. 562 since he last saw her.

But life went on nonetheless. No matter how he documented it, the seconds, hours, minutes all flew by. (Y/N) just became another face in the sea of LAPD cold cases, another name that people would vaguely recall. And as she disappeared from the memories of many of his coworkers, he became more and more ghost-like. He never regained that joy he had from when he had her by his side.

He became a hardass, a stickler for rules, vengeful, angry, lost.

He was lost, but that was okay. He was okay with being like that because that meant the memory of her was not. He would remain a ghost, stuck in the past. A being that would never move on from what was taken from it. It provided comfort in some sort of sick and twisted way. He could relish in the memory of her, he could close his eyes and pretend she was there beside him.

He could guide others, help them not become him. Help them be better. He would take on another rookie, he would mould them into a model officer, and he would have to hope and pray that their fate would be better than his.

Part One | Part Three

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989

Tags are open

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford imagine #the rookie imagine #the rookie #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 2 months ago

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Rule 1: If An Opportunity Falls Into Your Lap, You Take It.

There were five rules to being a sugar baby—or so you’d heard.

If an opportunity falls into your lap, you take it.

Everything is purely transactional.

Don’t let the lines blur between your sugar daddy and your personal or professional life.

Never meet anyone in his inner circle—no close friends, no family.

Unless it’s in writing, underlined, signed by two lawyers, and you get a new Hermes handbag afterward, don’t fuck your sugar daddy.

Rule 1: If the opportunity falls into your lap, you take it. If there was one thing you had learn throughout this whole experience, it was this: when the universe threw signs at you to just fucking stay home, you should probably listen.

It was supposed to be a normal Monday. As normal as a Monday could ever be for you, anyway—rushed, groggy, but doable. Still, you always made it work. But today? Today, the universe had clearly decided you were its personal chew toy.

It all started with the alarm—well, the lack of it.

You had stayed up way too late the night before with Anna and Ororo, convincing yourselves that one more movie wouldn’t hurt. Of course, that one more movie turned into a trilogy of bad decisions, complete with spilled popcorn, empty wine bottles, and the kind of belly laughs that shake the walls. The clock had crept up on you before you even realized it. By the time you flopped down on the couch, half-drunk on both wine and exhaustion, it was already 2 AM.

Your apartment, normally a place of calm and order, had become a reflection of the chaos in your life. Empty wine glasses were still perched on the coffee table, and the floral throw blanket you loved so much was crumpled into a heap on the floor, abandoned in the aftermath of last night’s impromptu movie marathon. The dim glow of the streetlights outside slipped through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. It was quiet now, the kind of stillness that only comes in the dead of night, but it wouldn’t last.

The universe, as it turned out, didn’t care about your late-night escapades. So when your alarm finally did go off in the morning, you slept right through it.

By the time you actually opened your eyes, the sunlight was already pouring through the window, far too bright for the morning. That was your first clue that something had gone horribly wrong.

Your heart sank. You shot up in bed, your blankets tangled around your legs, and grabbed for your phone. 8:37 AM.

Shit.

You had thirty minutes to get to work. Thirty minutes, and you weren’t even out of bed yet. Panic surged through you, hot and sharp, as you bolted from the sheets. Your bedroom was a mess, clothes from the weekend strewn across the floor, and your dresser was cluttered with half-empty cups of tea and scattered earrings. The small, framed photo of your family on your bedside table seemed to mock you with its serene smiles as you scrambled around the room in a frenzy.

Your body felt heavy with the remnants of last night’s indulgence. Rubbing your eyes, you stumbled into the bathroom, where the mirror greeted you with a reflection that was, to put it kindly, a disaster. Your hair was a tangled mess, dark circles under your eyes told the story of your late-night binge, and the wrinkle lines from your pillow were still fresh on your cheek.

You didn’t have time to care.

You grabbed your toothbrush with one hand while attempting to shimmy into your pencil skirt with the other, already regretting every decision you’d made in the past twelve hours. The bathroom, like the rest of your apartment, was a reflection of your life teetering on the edge of chaos. The soap dispenser was nearly empty, and the hand towel you’d meant to replace days ago lay crumpled in the corner.

Half-dressed and with toothpaste still foaming in your mouth, you rushed back into your bedroom, yanking open your closet doors. The closet, normally your sanctuary of neatly hung clothes and color-coded hangers, was in disarray. You pawed through the mess, desperately searching for something—anything—that didn’t look like it had spent the last month crumpled at the bottom of the laundry basket.

You managed to pull out a white blouse, but as you jammed it over your head, toothpaste dribbled down your chin and splattered onto the fabric.

Perfect.

You let out a string of curses, tearing the blouse off and throwing it across the room in frustration. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your pulse was loud in your ears as you yanked a plain black top from the hanger. It was wrinkled, sure, but you had no other options. You slid it on, grabbed your blazer, and tried to smooth out the worst of the creases with your hands, but it was no use. Today was already a mess. You just had to survive it.

When you made it to the kitchen, the sight of last night’s chaos greeted you like a slap in the face. Empty wine bottles and bowls still littered the counters, and the remnants of the evening’s snacks were scattered across the stove. The coffee maker, which had been your saving grace on so many mornings before, sat untouched and idle. There was no time for breakfast, no time for coffee, no time for anything. The simple ceramic travel mug you normally took with you to sip on during your commute sat lonely and abandoned on the counter, a silent witness to your rush.

Your apartment, once a cozy and organized haven, now felt like a battlefield. The little details you normally loved—the potted plants by the window, the mismatched cushions on the couch, the soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the walls—were lost in the chaos of the morning. It was a reminder that you were too busy chasing after time to enjoy the small comforts you’d built around yourself.

You grabbed your phone, your keys, and your purse, and bolted out the door like a woman on a mission, the sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floor echoing in the empty hallway. You barely noticed the chipped paint on the doorframe as you rushed past it, the little scuff marks you’d always meant to fix but never had time for.

The moment you stepped outside, the crisp October air hit you, a sharp contrast to the warm, cluttered apartment you’d just left behind. The trees lining the street were shedding their leaves, golden and red, fluttering down like confetti celebrating your disastrous morning. The sunlight was too bright, too cheerful for how you felt inside. You were already late, already spiralling into the kind of panic that made your chest tight and your thoughts race.

The subway was a lost cause by the time you made it to the station. The train doors slid shut just as you arrived, the screech of metal on metal mocking your pitiful sprint. You stood there on the platform, panting and swearing under your breath, watching the train disappear down the tunnel, taking your last hope of getting to work on time with it.

As you waited for the next train, you leaned against the tiled wall, trying to catch your breath. Your reflection in the dirty glass across the platform looked like someone who had already lost the battle with the day. Wrinkled clothes, messy hair, smeared makeup. You hadn’t even made it to the office yet, and you felt like you were falling apart at the seams.

When the train finally arrived and you squeezed yourself into the crowded car, the smell of too many bodies crushed together in too small a space made your skin crawl. You clutched your purse tighter, your knuckles white with tension, and tried to focus on something—anything—other than the fact that you were late. You practically stumbled off the train, your pulse racing as you navigated through the throng of people. The station was a blur of hurried footsteps and muffled voices. You checked the time on your phone for what felt like the hundredth time, your heart sinking as you realized just how close you were cutting it.

I can make it, I can make it.

The mantra repeated in your head like a lifeline as you pushed through the turnstiles and broke into a brisk walk. Your mind was already at the office, imagining the look on your boss's face if you were late again.

A red light stopped you at the intersection just outside your office building, and you stood there, practically vibrating with stress, watching the seconds tick by. Each one felt like a hammer pounding away at your resolve. You shifted anxiously on your feet, willing the light to turn green.

When it finally did, you dashed across the street, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts. You barely registered the people you passed as you rushed through the front doors of the office building. The cool, air-conditioned air hit you like a wall, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it.

The elevator doors were just about to close as you sprinted inside, earning a few raised eyebrows from your fellow passengers. You tried to calm your breathing, smoothing down your hair as best you could, but the mirror’s reflection didn’t lie—your hair was a mess, and you could feel the sweat on your forehead. You glanced at your phone again, watching the seconds tick down.

By the time the elevator doors dinged open on your floor, you had mere seconds to spare. You rushed out, almost colliding with a coworker, and made a beeline for the office doors. Your heart was pounding, your nerves frayed to the point of breaking, but you were here. You had made it. That had to count for something, right?

Except, of course, the universe wasn’t done with you yet.

As you pushed through the office doors, the weight of the morning’s chaos still heavy on your shoulders, you realized you were in no shape to face the day just yet. You needed a moment—a breather, a mental reset before you could even think about diving into your work. And more than anything, you needed caffeine. Cccc c cc sfdffffffffffffffffffffffffffffZFDRFRZRDcs

Without a second thought, you changed direction, detouring toward the break room. The thought of hot, fresh coffee was the only thing keeping you from falling apart at this point. The office buzzed around you—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, coworkers already deep in conversation—but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was getting to that coffee machine.

When you stepped into the break room, it was thankfully empty. The fluorescent lights were harsh against your tired eyes, but the quiet felt like a small mercy after the chaos of the morning. You exhaled slowly, allowing yourself a moment to just breathe.

The coffee machine whirred as you set it to brew, and you stood there, watching the dark liquid drip into the cup. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, and for the first time that morning, you felt a small sense of relief. It was a tiny victory, but you’d take it.

As you waited, you leaned against the counter, your mind still racing but slowly beginning to settle. You thought about the train ride, the rush to get here, the constant pressure of being on time, of staying on top of everything. It felt like you were always teetering on the edge, like one more small inconvenience would send you spiralling.

The coffee cup finally filled to the brim, and you pulled it from the machine, taking a tentative sip. The warmth spread through you, grounding you, offering the smallest bit of comfort. But as you stood there, allowing yourself this brief moment of calm, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the day had more in store for you—that the universe wasn’t quite done testing your patience.

The door to the break room swung open, and a coworker poked their head in. “Hey, they’re looking for you,” they said, a little too chipper for your mood. “You’ve got a meeting in five.”

You blinked, your stomach sinking. Of course you did.

“Right,” you murmured, taking another sip of your coffee and trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever awaited you. You forced a smile. “Thanks.”

As they left, you stared down into your coffee cup, the fleeting peace you had felt quickly evaporating. The clock was ticking again, and you had no choice but to jump back into the fray.

With a resigned sigh, you straightened your shoulders and made your way out of the break room, coffee in hand, trying to mentally brace yourself for the day ahead. The ride to the office had felt like an eternity, but the day? The day was already shaping up to be a whole new battlefield. You could practically feel the weight of your tasks piling up before you even reached your desk.

You took another sip of your coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in and magically transform you into someone capable of navigating the chaos. If only it were that simple.

You rounded the corner, your mind still chewing on the details of the upcoming meeting, when it happened.

The moment your body collided with his, time seemed to stretch unnaturally, like the universe wanted to ensure you witnessed every agonizing second of what came next. You barely registered the solid, unyielding presence of the person you’d run into before your coffee cup slipped from your hand.

It tumbled through the air in the most tragic slow motion, and you could only watch in helpless horror as the dark liquid arced, suspended for a split second, before splashing down all over him.

And it wasn’t just anyone you’d run into.

It was Remy LeBeau.

The CEO of your Fortune 500 company. The man whose face graced the covers of business magazines and who was regularly featured on Time’s ‘50 Under 40 Most Influential People’ list. The man who, if the tabloids were to be believed, spent his weekends jetting off to exotic locales with supermodels and starlets.

And now, that man—the one who could fire you with a single word—was standing in front of you, covered in your coffee. His perfectly tailored suit—a suit that probably cost more than your rent—was soaked, the dark stain spreading like an inkblot across his chest and down his sleeve.

Your heart stopped for a beat, then started again, pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You stood there, frozen, staring up at him, wide-eyed and panic-stricken.

Remy LeBeau—the man whose influence stretched far beyond this building, who could make or break careers with a simple glance—was looking down at his ruined suit, then slowly back up at you. His dark eyes gleamed, the expression on his face unreadable for a moment.

He didn’t look angry.

No, he looked amused.

Your brain struggled to catch up with the situation. You had just spilled coffee on the Remy LeBeau. The man who could ruin you with a snap of his fingers. The CEO. The most powerful person in the building. And there he was, standing before you, smirking like this was some kind of entertaining sideshow.

“I—oh god—I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your voice trembling. Your hands fumbled for the napkin in your bag, frantically trying to wipe the coffee from his suit, even though you knew it was a lost cause. “I didn’t see you, I wasn’t paying attention, I—”

Remy raised a hand, gently catching your wrist. His touch was warm, firm, and his grip was light but commanding. The sudden contact made you freeze.

“Easy, chérie,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with that unmistakable Cajun drawl that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—dark, intense, and glimmering with amusement—locked onto yours. “Ain’t no need t’ panic. I’ve had worse happen on a Monday.”

You stared up at him, your heart still racing, completely at a loss for words. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t yelling. In fact, he was smiling—smiling—at you, like this was all just a minor inconvenience, not the most humiliating moment of your professional life.

Your brain scrambled, trying to make sense of the situation, but it was impossible to think straight. You’d just ruined his suit—his suit—and he was standing there, calm as ever, like this was all just some forgettable hiccup in his day.

“I—I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” you blurted, though you knew full well you couldn’t afford it. That suit probably cost more than your entire wardrobe put together.

Remy chuckled softly, the sound rich and smooth, like velvet. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, waving off your offer with a casual flick of his hand. “I’ve got plenty of suits.”

You blinked, still trying to wrap your head around what was happening. Remy LeBeau, one of the most powerful men in the world, was standing in front of you, completely unfazed by the fact that you had just drenched him in coffee.

Before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps approaching snapped you back to reality. You turned your head just in time to see Yelena, your coworker, striding toward you with wide eyes and a look of barely-contained disbelief. Her blonde hair was pulled into its typical messy bun, and her sharp brown eyes darted from you to Remy, then back again, clearly processing the scene in front of her.

“Oh my god,” she said, her heavy Russian accent making her words sound even more incredulous. “You spilled coffee on the CEO?” She let out a short, breathless laugh, as if the sheer absurdity of the situation was too much to process.

You groaned inwardly. Of course, Yelena had seen the whole thing.

“Yelena, please,” you muttered, your face flushing with embarrassment. If there was any mercy in the world, she’d take the hint and leave you alone. But Yelena, being Yelena, had no intention of sparing you.

“You are joking, right?” she said, her eyes wide with mock surprise. “You actually spill coffee on Remy LeBeau? The Remy LeBeau?” She glanced at him, then back at you, a grin tugging at her lips. “You are disaster, yes?”

You shot her a look that screamed please, shut up, but Yelena just laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “No, no, this is too good. I knew you were mess, but this? This is... spectacular.”

“Yelena,” you hissed through clenched teeth, your embarrassment reaching new heights. “Not. Now.”

But Yelena, being the relentless force that she was, wasn’t done. She turned her attention to Remy, giving him a cheeky smile. “You see what I deal with? Every day, she is like this. One time, she trip and fall into glass door. Another time, she forget she have meeting, show up in gym clothes. Always something.”

Your face burned hotter as you glared at Yelena, praying for the ground to swallow you whole. But instead of being annoyed, Remy’s smirk only deepened.

“Sounds like she keeps things... interestin’,” he drawled, his dark eyes flicking back to you, clearly entertained by the exchange.

“Interesting?” Yelena snorted, crossing her arms. “That is polite way to say ‘disaster waiting to happen.’”

You wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and never resurface, but before you could even attempt to salvage the situation, Yelena gave you a wicked grin. “Well, if he shows up with new coffee later, I am calling it.”

You shot her a panicked look, but she just winked at you and sauntered off, clearly enjoying your discomfort. The room seemed to ripple with the awkward tension she left behind.

You turned back to Remy, your heart hammering in your chest, your mind still racing. He was still smiling, his eyes twinkling with amusement, like this whole thing was some kind of inside joke that only he was in on.

“I—uh—I’m so sorry, again,” you stammered, not quite sure what else to say. You were completely out of your depth. The man standing in front of you wasn’t just your CEO, he was a legend, and you had just turned yourself into a walking catastrophe in front of him.

Remy held up a hand, cutting off your nervous rambling. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, his voice still that smooth, easy drawl. “I’ve got a meetin’ in...” He checked his watch, his expression shifting slightly as he sighed. “Fifteen minutes.”

Your stomach dropped. Not only had you ruined his suit, but you had also potentially thrown off his entire schedule. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you repeated, this time with more desperation. “If you’re late because of me—”

Remy chuckled again, shaking his head. “Chère, it’s not the end of the world. I’ve been late to plenty of meetings. But I’ll tell you what—” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he leaned in just a fraction closer. “You owe me one now.”

You blinked, confused. “Owe you?”

He nodded, a slow, easy grin spreading across his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me with a proper cup of coffee? A fresh one this time.”

You stared at him, still trying to process exactly what was happening. He was supposed to be furious. He was supposed to be annoyed. And yet here he was, casually suggesting that you—you—grab coffee with him after you’d just destroyed his suit.

“I—uh—are you serious?” you asked, your voice slightly shaky.

Remy raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “I don’t joke ‘bout coffee, chérie.”

You blinked, your heart pounding in your chest. “But... you have a meeting.”

He shrugged, glancing down at his suit again. “Gotta go change first anyway. And besides,” he added with a wink, “I think I’ll have time for a quick stop on the way. You in?”

You stared at him, completely thrown off balance. The most powerful man in the company—the Remy LeBeau—was standing in front of you, casually asking you out for coffee. After you’d just spilled it all over him.

“I—uh—thanks, but I can’t,” you stammered, your heart racing. “I have a meeting I need to get to.”

Remy’s grin didn’t falter for a second. In fact, it widened, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. “Chérie, skip it. I’ll write you a late pass or whatever,” he said with a wink, clearly joking. “Tell ‘em the boss said you’re busy.”

You blinked, completely thrown by his offer. “I-I really can’t,” you insisted, trying to sound firm, but your voice wavered. “It’s important, and—"

Remy waved a hand, cutting you off. “Cher, there ain’t nothin’ more important than a cup of coffee after a spill like that,” he drawled, his tone light and teasing. “Trust me, I know these meetin’s. They’ll survive without ya for a bit.”

You hesitated, glancing at the clock on the wall. You did have a meeting in less than fifteen minutes, one that had been on your calendar for weeks. But this was Remy LeBeau, a man who could probably get you out of any meeting with a single phone call. And he was standing there, in his coffee-stained suit, telling you to blow it off like it was no big deal.

“Besides,” he added, his grin turning slightly mischievous, “how often you get a chance to have coffee with the CEO, hein?”

Your stomach flipped at the thought. You couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“I—uh—” you started, trying to come up with a logical reason to refuse, but your brain was still short-circuiting. “I don’t know if I should—”

Remy leaned in just a little closer, his voice dropping to that low, honeyed murmur again. “Chérie, I’m the one tellin’ you it’s okay. I think you’ll survive missin’ one meetin’.”

You stared at him, completely flustered by the way the situation had escalated. He was joking, sure, but there was something about his tone, his easy confidence, that made it impossible to argue with him. And wasn’t he right? How often did anyone get a chance to have coffee with the CEO?

You bit your lip, feeling your resolve crumbling under the weight of his charm.

“Okay,” you finally breathed, your heart still pounding in your chest. “I’ll skip it.”

Remy’s grin widened, and he gave you a little nod, clearly pleased with your answer. “That’s more like it,” he said, his accent thickening just a bit as he spoke. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five.”

And with that, he turned and sauntered away, leaving you standing there, heart racing, mind spinning, and completely unsure of what had just happened.

You stared after him, watching as he disappeared down the hallway.

Did Remy LeBeau just tell me to skip my meeting?

The CEO. The most powerful man in the company. The man who could make—or break—careers with a single glance had just told you, with a smirk and a wink, to blow off your meeting… for coffee. Not just any coffee, but coffee with him.

Your heart was still pounding in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and disbelief coursing through your veins. You stared down the hallway where he’d disappeared, his last words still replaying in your mind.

"The boss said you’re busy."

For a moment, you considered following after him and telling him you couldn’t possibly skip a meeting. That you had responsibilities. That this was insane. But then you remembered the way he’d looked at you—those dark, mischievous eyes gleaming with amusement, his tone so casual, so confident, like nothing in the world could faze him.

And really, who would argue with the CEO?

You glanced at the clock again. Your meeting was in ten minutes.

A part of you wanted to rush to it, to play it safe, to stick to the plan. But another part—the part that was still reeling from the fact that Remy LeBeau had essentially just asked you out for coffee—was telling you to go for it. To take the risk. To see where this unexpected turn of events might lead.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out and saw a reminder flashing on the screen: Meeting in 10 minutes: Q3 Performance Review.

You groaned softly. It wasn’t just any meeting—it was the Q3 performance review with your team. One of those meetings where people expected you to be engaged, prepared, and on point. And now, you were supposed to just skip it?

You hesitated for a moment longer, your thumb hovering over the phone screen as you considered sending a quick excuse to your boss. How could you possibly explain this? Sorry, I spilled coffee on the CEO, and now I’m getting coffee with him instead. Catch you next time!

Your stomach twisted in knots at the thought.

But then, you remembered Remy’s parting words: “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five.” The way he’d said it, as though there was no question that you’d be there. As though it was a foregone conclusion.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. This wasn’t just some random encounter. This was an opportunity—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, honestly. What were the chances you’d ever get to spend time one-on-one with the elusive, charismatic CEO of your company? The man who everyone in the business world seemed to admire (or fear, or both)?

You couldn’t pass this up.

With a resigned sigh, you tapped out a quick email to your team:

> Subject: Apologies - Unable to Attend Q3 Performance Review

> Hi Team,

> Unfortunately, something urgent has come up, and I won’t be able to attend the Q3 Performance Review. Please proceed without me, and I’ll catch up on the notes afterward.

> Thanks,

You stared at the email for a second, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. But then, you hit send before you could second-guess yourself.

It was done.

You quickly stuffed your phone back into your pocket and took a deep breath. Five minutes. You had five minutes to pull yourself together before meeting Remy in the lobby.

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of what had just unfolded. Was this really happening? Were you really about to meet the CEO for coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world?

Your feet felt almost heavy as you made your way toward the elevator, every step echoing in the empty hallway. The office was humming with the usual Monday morning buzz—people on calls, the distant sound of keyboards clacking—but it all seemed so far away now, like you were walking through some surreal version of reality.

By the time you reached the lobby, your nerves were in overdrive. You glanced around, half-expecting Remy to have forgotten or changed his mind. Maybe this was all a joke? Maybe he was just being nice because you’d spilled coffee on him, and now he’d realized how ridiculous this all was.

But then, as if on cue, you spotted him.

Remy LeBeau, standing by the entrance, his phone in hand, looking more relaxed and put-together than anyone had a right to be after being doused in hot coffee. He’d changed into a fresh suit—navy this time, perfectly tailored, of course—and he looked every bit as smooth and unbothered as he had when you’d first run into him (literally).

He glanced up from his phone as you approached, a slow grin spreading across his face when he saw you.

“Right on time,” he drawled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Thought I might’ve scared you off.”

You let out a nervous laugh, your heart still racing. “I, uh... thought about it.”

Remy chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. “Smart girl, but I’m glad you didn’t.” He gestured toward the door, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he guided you outside. “Come on, chérie. There’s a café down the street that makes a mean espresso. We’ll get you some proper coffee this time.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the casual touch. His hand was warm, and even though it was a small, light gesture, it felt... intimate—like you were sharing some kind of secret.

As you stepped outside into the crisp morning air, you couldn’t help but glance up at him, still half-expecting this to be some sort of elaborate prank. But Remy looked perfectly at ease, his long strides confident as he led you down the street, completely unfazed by the chaos he’d left behind in the office.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice low and smooth, “you really skipped that meetin’ for me, huh?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves in check. “Well... you did say you’d write me a late pass.”

Remy laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver down your spine. “True. Maybe I’ll draft one up later, just for the fun of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, despite the butterflies fluttering in your chest. “I’m not sure ‘the CEO told me to’ will go over well with my boss.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “Trust me, it will. I got more pull ‘round here than you might think.”

Your cheeks flushed at the playful tone in his voice, and for the first time since this whole thing started, you allowed yourself to relax just a little. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as crazy as it seemed.

As you reached the café, Remy held the door open for you, his hand still resting lightly on your back as you stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, instantly calming your nerves.

Remy glanced at the menu, then back at you. “What’s your poison, chérie? Something strong to make up for earlier?”

You bit your lip, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “I think I’ll leave the recommendations to the expert.”

Remy’s grin widened. “Good choice. I’ll take care of it.”

As he moved to the counter to place the order, you found yourself watching him, still amazed by the ease with which he carried himself. He was Remy LeBeau, the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company, and yet, here he was, making time for something as simple as coffee with you.

Part of you still couldn’t believe it.

Minutes later, he returned with two cups, setting one in front of you before taking a seat across from you. “Here you go,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “Let’s see if this makes up for the earlier... incident.”

You lifted the cup to your lips, the rich aroma enveloping you as you took a sip. The coffee was smooth, strong, and absolutely perfect. You let out a soft, appreciative hum. “Okay, I’ll admit it. This is good.”

Remy leaned back in his chair, his eyes watching you intently, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Told ya. Always trust me when it comes to coffee, chérie.” You took another sip of your coffee, savoring the rich, smooth flavor as the warmth spread through your body. It wasn’t just the coffee, though—there was something about the entire situation that was making you feel… comfortable. Relaxed, even. Despite the earlier chaos, despite the fact that you were sitting across from Remy LeBeau, of all people, the conversation felt easy. Natural.

Remy, for his part, was leaning back in his chair, his eyes watching you with that same amused glint, like this was the most normal thing in the world for him. He had the ability to make everything seem effortless—whether it was leading a multi-billion-dollar company or sitting in a café with a woman who had just drenched him in coffee.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence with that smooth, honeyed voice of his, “what had you so flustered this mornin’?”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the question. “What do you mean?” you asked, feeling a bit self-conscious as you set your cup back down on the table.

Remy’s grin widened just a little, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, chérie, I saw the look on your face when you ran into me—before the coffee incident,” he teased, leaning forward slightly. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your neck. He wasn’t wrong. You had been flustered, but it wasn’t just about spilling coffee on him. It was everything—your morning, your nerves, the overwhelming pressure of trying to do everything right in a company where it always felt like you were one misstep away from disaster.

“I was just… running late,” you said with a shrug, trying to downplay your earlier panic. “I had a meeting. I guess I was a little... distracted.”

Remy raised an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly skeptical. “That’s it? Just a meetin’?”

You hesitated, not sure whether to admit the rest of it. But something about the way he was looking at you—genuinely curious, not judgmental—made you feel like you could be honest with him. You let out a breath, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, running a hand through your hair. “It wasn’t just the meeting. I guess it’s just... everything. You know? Trying to keep up, trying not to mess up, trying to prove myself.” You glanced down at your coffee, feeling a little vulnerable. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

Remy nodded, his expression softening as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, I get that.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “You do?”

“Chérie,” he said with a wry smile, “I run this place, remember? I know all about pressure.” He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. Everyone’s tryin’ to prove somethin’. Even the ones who look like they got it all together.”

You blinked, processing his words. It was hard to imagine someone like Remy LeBeau—Remy LeBeau—ever feeling the need to prove anything. But there was something in his tone, something genuine, that made you believe him.

“I guess,” you said slowly, “it just feels like I’m always one step away from screwing everything up.”

Remy chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Chère, if spillin’ coffee on me is the worst thing you do today, you’re doin’ just fine.” His smile was warm, reassuring, and for the first time all day, you felt the weight on your shoulders begin to lift.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the coffee.

“I gotta say though,” he began, his voice smooth as silk, “this mornin’ ain’t even close to the worst Monday I ever had.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What could possibly top getting coffee spilled all over you before a big meeting?”

Remy chuckled, the sound low and rich, as if he were enjoying some private joke. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, let’s just say, a little coffee ain’t nothin’ compared to the time an intern nearly lost the company $31 million in one day.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What? How does that even happen?”

Remy grinned, clearly enjoying the look of shock on your face. “Ah, it was a wild day, chérie. Poor kid was new, only been with us for a couple weeks. He was supposed to be shadowin’ one of our senior traders, right? But somehow, he got access to the trading platform and thought he’d try his hand at makin’ some moves.”

You winced, already picturing the disaster. “Oh no...”

“Oh yes,” Remy said, leaning back again, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He thought he was gonna be the next big thing, you know? A real wunderkind. But instead of makin’ us money, he nearly tanked one of our portfolios.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you felt a pang of sympathy for the poor intern. “How did you not fire him on the spot?”

Remy shrugged, his expression softening a bit. “Well, I figured he’d already learned his lesson. No need to ruin the kid’s career before it even started. We caught the mistake in time, fixed the trades, and no real harm done. Besides...” He gave you a knowing look. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you handle ‘em that matters.”

You smiled, marveling at how easily he could shrug off something that would have given most people a heart attack. “I guess that puts my little coffee incident into perspective.”

Remy’s grin widened, and he winked at you. “Exactly. Ain’t no need to be so hard on yourself.”

You took another sip of your coffee, feeling a little more at ease, though you couldn’t help but shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine being that calm about almost losing that much money.”

Remy laughed again, the sound warm and easy. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, chérie. I wasn’t calm. Not at first, anyway. I had to step outside, take a few deep breaths, maybe yell into the sky a little. But once I was done with that, I went back in, fixed the problem, and we moved on.”

You looked at him, more impressed than ever. “I couldn’t keep my cool like that.”

He shrugged, though there was a glint of pride in his eyes. “Part of the job. Can’t let every little thing knock you off your game. You gotta be able to roll with the punches, you know?”

You nodded, feeling like you were getting a rare glimpse into the real Remy LeBeau, the one who didn’t just glide through life with that effortless charm but actually worked hard to keep everything running smoothly behind the scenes. It was... inspiring, in a way.

“So,” you said, leaning forward a little, “what happened to the intern? Did he survive?”

Remy chuckled again, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Oh yeah, he survived. He’s actually one of our top traders now. Turns out he had a knack for it, once we got him a little more trainin’ and a lot less access to the company’s entire portfolio.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”

“Yep,” he agreed, his grin wide. “But that’s just how it goes sometimes. You make a mistake, you learn from it, and then you come back stronger.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter after hearing that story. It was a reminder that even in a high-pressure environment like this, mistakes happened—and they weren’t always the end of the world.

“You’ve got a good attitude about it,” you said, smiling at him. “I think I’d be a nervous wreck if I were in your shoes.”

Remy’s gaze softened, and he gave you a small, almost serious smile. “You’d be surprised, chérie. You’re doin’ a lot better than ya give yourself credit for.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air between you, and you felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the coffee. There was something in the way he said it—like he genuinely believed it—that made you think maybe he was right.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, feeling a little shy under his steady gaze.

Remy’s smile returned to its usual playful curve, and he gave you a wink. “Anytime, chérie. Now, what do you say we get outta here before I start spillin’ my own coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you stood up. “Deal.”

As you and Remy stepped out of the café, the brisk morning air greeted you, making the warmth of the coffee still lingering in your hands all the more pleasant. The office wasn’t far, but you couldn’t help wishing the walk would stretch out just a little longer. Something about being with him—Remy LeBeau, the CEO—felt surprisingly... normal. Comfortable, even. It felt like you were walking beside an old friend instead of one of the most powerful people in the building.

You glanced sideways at him, watching as he slipped his hands into his pockets and strolled along like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was hard to reconcile this version of him—the laid-back, effortlessly charming man beside you—with the high-powered executive you’d seen commanding boardrooms. The contrast made you smile to yourself, and before you knew it, you were speaking up.

“You know,” you began, your tone light, “I’ve just kinda realised something.”

Remy’s lips quirked into that familiar, lazy grin as he glanced over at you. “Oh yeah? And what might that be, chérie?”

“That you are, without a doubt, the least terrifying person I’ve ever spoken to in this building.”

His grin widened, and a deep, rumbling laugh rolled from his chest. “Well now, that’s a surprise. Most people tend to get a little nervous ‘round me. You know, the whole ‘CEO’ thing.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Trust me, you don’t even come close. There are way scarier people around here. Like Melinda in accounting. She is terrifying.”

Remy threw his head back and laughed, the sound full and genuine. “Ah, Melinda. Yeah, she’s somethin’ else.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “You know, even I feel a little intimidated walkin’ into her office. That woman could make a grown man confess to crimes he didn’t commit if she wanted to.”

You laughed harder than you probably should have, nodding in agreement. “Exactly! Last week, I had to ask her a question about payroll, and I swear she looked at me like I was interrupting a top-secret government operation.”

Remy grinned, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Yeah, Melinda don’t mess around. But that’s why I keep her around. She’s the reason we stay outta trouble with the IRS.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “I guess I’ll take Melinda over an audit any day.”

“Smart girl,” he said with a wink, his voice full of warmth.

You couldn’t help but feel a little flutter in your chest at that. The way he looked at you—like you were someone worth paying attention to—it was surprising. You’d been so caught up in the idea of him being this larger-than-life figure, but here he was, laughing with you about office politics like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you neared the office, the sleek glass building looming ahead, you realized you didn’t want this moment to end. The walk had been easy, comfortable. It was a side of Remy you’d never expected to see, and you weren’t ready to step back into the world of emails, deadlines, and intimidating supervisors just yet.

“So,” Remy said, breaking into your thoughts with that smooth, honeyed drawl, “if I’m not the most intimidatin’ person ‘round here, who holds that title?”

You pretended to think it over, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Hmm... I’d say it’s a tie between Melinda and Bucky, the security guy downstairs.”

Remy smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Bucky? Really?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, nodding seriously. “Every time I walk past him, he looks at me like I’ve personally offended him just by showing up for work. Like, sorry for existing, Bucky.”

Remy’s laugh was deep and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, Bucky’s got that ‘I’d-rather-be-anywhere-else’ face down to a science. I think it’s his default expression.”

“He could at least mix it up with a smile once in a while,” you joked, shaking your head. “It’s terrifying.”

Remy chuckled again, glancing at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll get him a ‘best customer service’ award or somethin’. See if that lightens him up.”

You laughed, the sound coming out more freely than you expected. There was something about him—about the way he could turn even the most mundane things into something amusing—that made you feel at ease. It was like the usual weight of the office, of trying to keep up and not screw up, just... lifted. And you weren’t sure if it was the coffee or if it was just him, but you found yourself enjoying this moment more than you ever thought you would.

As the office building came into full view, you felt a pang of disappointment. The walk was almost over. The moment was almost over. And you weren’t quite ready for it to be. You glanced at him again, wondering how someone like him—someone with so much power and influence—could make you feel so... steady.

Just as you reached the entrance, Remy slowed his pace, turning slightly toward you. There was a softness in his eyes now, something more serious, and it caught you a little off guard.

“You know,” he began, his voice quieter, “I wasn’t just messin’ with you earlier.”

You blinked, looking up at him. “About what?”

“‘Bout everyone tryin’ to prove somethin’.” He held your gaze, his tone sincere. “Even the folks who look like they got it all together—like Melinda, like Bucky—they all got somethin’ they’re dealin’ with. And you? You’re doin’ better than you think, chérie. Don’t let the pressure get to you.”

His words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting, and for a moment, you just stood there, processing what he’d said. It wasn’t often that anyone—let alone someone like Remy LeBeau—offered you reassurance like that. And it wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said it, with that quiet confidence that made you believe him.

“I... thank you,” you said softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, something akin to relief. “That means a lot.”

His lips curved into a slow, easy smile, the warmth returning to his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he stepped forward and held the door open for you, his hand once again resting lightly on the small of your back as you walked through. The touch, as before, felt intimate without being overbearing, like a quiet promise that he was there, that he had your back.

As you stepped into the lobby, the familiar hum of the office surrounded you, but it felt different now. Lighter. Like the usual weight of the day wasn’t pressing down quite as hard. You glanced back at Remy, who gave you one last grin as the elevator doors slid open.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice playful again, “guess I’ll see you ‘round, chérie. Try not to cause too much trouble, yeah?”

You smirked, stepping into the elevator. “No promises.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling as the doors began to close. “I wouldn’t expect anythin’ less.”

And just like that, the elevator doors shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and with a small, secret smile tugging at your lips.

As the elevator began its ascent, you leaned back against the wall, the warmth of the encounter still lingering in your chest. Maybe this morning hadn’t gone as planned. Maybe you’d made a mess of things with the coffee incident. But somehow, in the span of a short walk and a couple of jokes, Remy LeBeau had managed to turn your day around.

And as the elevator dinged to a stop, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the last time you’d find yourself sharing a moment like this with him. <><><><> The next morning was a blur of routine. You sat at your desk, the hum of the office providing a steady background as you tried to focus on the never-ending stream of emails and reports. But your thoughts kept drifting back to the day before—walking with Remy LeBeau, laughing, teasing, feeling completely at ease with someone who should have been intimidating beyond belief.

Today, however, the magic of that morning seemed distant, and the reality of your workload was crashing back in. You were staring at your screen, half-reading the same email for the third time, when a familiar voice cut through your concentration.

“Ah, pen thief,” Yelena’s voice interrupted, her thick Russian accent layered with playful accusation.

You glanced up to see her leaning against the divider of your cubicle, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she had that mischievous glint in her eye—the one she always wore when she was about to start trouble.

“Pen thief? You’re the one who lost the last one!” you shot back, giving her a pointed glare. “That was my favorite pen, by the way. No other pen here hits that nice paper glide feeling ya know?”

Yelena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Pfft. You act like I lost Hope Diamond. It was just pen.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, just a pen that I’m pretty sure you borrowed and then abandoned somewhere.”

Yelena pushed herself off the divider and slid into the empty chair beside your desk, making herself comfortable. “You know, you always so dramatic about these things. It probably rolled under desk somewhere.”

“Convenient excuse,” you said, crossing your arms. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you lost it. So you should be the one going to the supply closet to get more.”

Yelena sighed theatrically, leaning back in her chair with the air of someone deeply put-upon. “It always me? Always poor Yelena, doing hard work. I should get medal.”

You snorted. “A medal for losing things, maybe.”

Yelena leaned forward with a mock-serious expression. “Excuse me, I not lose things. They... disappear mysteriously.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And I suppose the stapler I lent you last week just vanished into thin air, too?”

Yelena waved a hand dismissively. “Staplers do not count. Everyone knows staplers have legs. They walk away on own.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Sure, Yelena. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “So, are you going to get pens, or do I have to drag you there?”

“No way,” you protested, turning back to your screen. “I went last time. It’s your turn.”

Yelena made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Ugh. Fine. You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, amused. “I’ll make it up to you by not letting you lose my next pen.”

Yelena opened her mouth for what was undoubtedly going to be another snarky retort, but the phone on your desk rang, cutting her off. You glanced at the number on the display and felt your heart stop for a second. It was a direct line—Remy’s office.

Yelena noticed the change in your expression and raised an eyebrow. “Who is that?”

You swallowed, your stomach twisting with sudden nerves. “It’s...Big boss man’s office.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oho, someone in trouble, huh?”

You shot her a look, but your nerves were too jittery to come up with a witty comeback. Instead, you picked up the receiver, hoping your voice didn’t betray your sudden anxiety.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” came the calm, professional voice on the other end. It was Wanda, Remy’s assistant. You had never spoken to her directly, but her reputation preceded her. She was known for running Remy’s schedule like a tight ship, keeping his world perfectly organized. “Mr. LeBeau would like to see you in his office. ASAP.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh—uh, okay. I’ll be right there.”

The line went dead with a soft click, and you slowly lowered the receiver, your stomach doing anxious flips.

Yelena, who had been listening intently, leaned forward in her chair, eyes wide with curiosity. “What was that? Why does he want to see you?”

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, feeling a rush of nerves. “Wanda just said he wants to see me in his office.”

Yelena’s grin spread slowly, like a cat who’d just cornered a mouse. “Oh, this good. What did you do? He probably fire you. Or fuck you.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll tell you later.”

Yelena gave you a skeptical look, clearly not buying it. “Sure. But you better have good story for me when you come back,” she said with a wink.

You stood up, smoothing your blouse and trying to calm your racing heart. “I’ll be back soon.”

Yelena leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms behind her head. “Good luck, pen thief! Try not get fired!”

Before you could ask why, the line clicked off, leaving you staring at the phone in a mix of anxiety and confusion. What could he possibly want? Yesterday’s coffee incident had ended on a light note—you thought everything was fine. But now, the CEO was summoning you to his office, and your mind was racing with possibilities.

You stood up, smoothing your clothes, trying to quell the rising tide of nerves. The walk to his office seemed longer than usual, each step punctuated by the thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You mentally ran over everything you’d done in the past 24 hours, trying to figure out if there was something—anything—you might’ve missed or messed up. Was he upset? Had you made a mistake somewhere? Surely, you couldn't be in trouble over coffee?

By the time you reached the executive floor, your pulse was thrumming in your neck. Wanda waved you through without much fanfare, her usual calm demeanor doing nothing to settle your nerves.

You knocked lightly on Remy’s office door, and his voice called out from the other side. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, and there he was—Remy LeBeau, seated behind a massive mahogany desk, looking as composed and confident as ever. His suit today was charcoal gray, sharp and perfectly tailored, and his dark eyes gleamed with their usual amusement when he saw you.

“Morning, chérie,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his voice warm and relaxed. “You look a bit more put together today. No coffee spills, I see.”

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the anxiety that had followed you all the way up here. “Yeah, no disasters this morning. I’m trying to keep things under control.”

He chuckled softly, gesturing for you to take a seat in one of the plush chairs across from his desk. As you sat down, you noticed the way his eyes flicked over you, not in a judgmental way, but as if he was assessing something deeper. It made your stomach twist again, and your knee started to bounce under the desk before you could stop it.

“How’s Yelena?” he asked casually, his voice light. “She still givin’ you a hard time about yesterday?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift to small talk. “Oh, Yelena?” You smiled, relaxing just a little. “She’s... well, she’s Yelena. She hasn’t let me live it down yet, but that’s just how she is.”

Remy nodded, his smile deepening. “Figured as much. She’s got a sharp tongue, that one.”

You nodded, but despite the easy conversation, the tension in your chest didn’t ease. Your knee was still bouncing nervously, and Remy’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as he let out a slow breath.

“Relax, chérie,” he said, his tone gentle but commanding. “Ain’t no need to be nervous. I called you in here for somethin’, but it’s nothin’ bad. In fact, I’d say it’s quite the opposite.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your nerves, but the way he was watching you only made your heart race faster. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with that same quiet intensity you’d seen yesterday.

“I’ve been lookin’ at your employee file,” he said, his voice smooth and even. “All your work, your performance reviews, your history with the company.”

Your stomach dropped, anxiety flaring up again. “Oh?”

Remy smiled, but it wasn’t the playful grin you were used to. It was something deeper, more serious. “You’re good, chérie. Real good. But there’s more to it than just your work.”

Your eyes widened, confusion swirling in your mind. “More to it?”

He tapped his finger on the arm of his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yesterday… I enjoyed our conversation over coffee. A lot more than I expected. You’re easy to talk to. Comfortable.”

You blinked, trying to process where this was going. “I, uh… I enjoyed talking to you, too.”

Remy’s smile widened ever so slightly, but his expression remained thoughtful, his fingers still tapping as if he were weighing his next words carefully. “That’s why I called you in here. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “A… proposition?”

He nodded, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, low tone that always seemed to make your pulse quicken. “I’m lookin’ for someone like you, someone I can trust, to accompany me on business trips. Personal trips. Events. Whatever comes up. Someone who’s easy to talk to, someone I can rely on to keep things… comfortable.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning. “You want me to… travel with you?”

He nodded again, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “In exchange, you’ll get full access to my black card. Anything you need, any expenses you have. Whatever you want.”

The words hung in the air between you, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what he was offering.

“Wait,” you said slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Like… a sugar baby?”

Remy shrugged one shoulder, his smirk returning, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “That ain’t the word I’d use, chérie,” he said smoothly. “But yes, somethin’ like that.”

You blinked, your mind struggling to catch up with the situation. This wasn’t what you had expected—at all. Was this some kind of joke? Some kind of test? But the way Remy was looking at you, calm and confident, told you that he was completely serious.

“You want me to… accompany you. To events. And in return, I get access to… everything?” you repeated, still trying to wrap your head around the offer.

Remy nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “That’s right. No strings attached, just you and me. I’ll take care of you, chérie. Anything you need, you just ask.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind spinning with a thousand questions. What did this mean? What would people think? How could you possibly say yes to something like this?

And yet… the way he was looking at you, the way his voice wrapped around you like silk, made it hard to think clearly. There was something intoxicating about the offer—something that pulled at you, even though you knew it was dangerous.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “And if I say no?”

Remy’s grin softened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Then nothin’ changes. You go back to your desk, back to your work, and we forget this conversation ever happened.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers still tapping lightly on the armrest. “But if you say yes… well, I think you’ll find it’s a pretty sweet deal.”

You sat there, staring at him, your heart racing as you tried to figure out what to do. This wasn’t just about the black card, or the trips, or the perks. This was about stepping into a world you had never imagined for yourself—a world where you were at the center of Remy LeBeau’s attention.

And that, more than anything, was what made your pulse quicken.

“What do you say, chérie?” Remy asked softly, his voice pulling you back to the present. “You in?” You sat there, staring at Remy, your mind spinning as you tried to process everything he’d just said. The offer hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. The room felt too quiet, too still, as if the world had paused, waiting for your response.

Your thoughts began to race, weighing the pros and cons as quickly as you could. On the one hand, this was Remy LeBeau, the CEO of the entire company, offering you a chance to step into his inner circle. It was exclusive and alluring, a position of privilege that few people ever even dreamed of. The access to his black card alone was mind-blowing—anything you need, any expenses, anything you want. Those words echoed in your head, almost dizzying in their possibilities.

No more worrying about rent or bills. No more stressing about whether you could afford that new outfit for a work event or that last-minute flight to visit family. You could have comfort, luxury, and security, and Remy was offering it all to you on a silver platter.

And the trips—business, personal, events. You would be riding in first-class, staying in five-star hotels, attending high-profile events with him. You’d be side by side with one of the most powerful, influential men in the business world. The opportunities for networking alone were staggering. Not to mention the experience, the places you’d see, the people you’d meet.

But then… there were the cons.

Was this really what you wanted? What would people think? You were no stranger to office gossip, and the moment anyone saw you traveling with him, attending events with him, the rumors would start. They’d whisper about you behind closed doors, about what you must have done to earn that position. About what kind of relationship you had with the CEO.

And then there was the question of you—what would this mean for you as a person? Could you handle being seen this way? Could you live with yourself if you accepted? There was something about the offer that felt exhilarating, yes, but also dangerous, like stepping onto a ledge without knowing how far the fall would be.

You glanced up at Remy, who was watching you closely, his expression calm but attentive. He wasn’t pressuring you, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. He was waiting, and while he was patient, you could sense he preferred not to be kept waiting for too long.

After a long moment of silence, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. “I don’t need an answer right now, chérie,” he said, his voice smooth, understanding. “Take your time. Think it over. But…” His eyes darkened slightly, that playful glint returning as he gave you a small, knowing smile. “I’d much rather have an answer sooner than later.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension ease ever so slightly at his words. He wasn’t pushing you, but there was an edge of urgency, a quiet expectation beneath the surface. He wasn’t a man used to waiting—he was used to getting what he wanted.

“I—” you started, then paused, trying to gather your thoughts. “I’ll need to think about it.”

Remy nodded, his eyes softening. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with that same quiet intensity. “But just so we’re clear, chérie, this is a good offer. A damn good offer. And I don’t make it lightly.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at his words. Of course, it was a good offer. It was the offer. One that could change everything for you.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “I’ll think about it, and I’ll… let you know soon.”

Remy’s smile widened, a hint of satisfaction flickering in his dark eyes. “That’s all I ask.” He stood up from his chair, signaling that the conversation was drawing to a close. “Take your time, chérie, but like I said… I’d rather know sooner than later.”

You rose from your chair as well, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood. “I will,” you promised, your voice a little firmer now. “Thank you.”

Remy gave you a slow nod, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re welcome. And just remember—whatever you decide, we’ll keep this between us. No one else needs to know.”

You felt a small wave of relief wash over you at that. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding out before you’d even made a decision.

With a final nod, you turned and made your way toward the door, your heart still pounding in your chest. As you reached for the handle, you heard Remy’s voice behind you, low and smooth.

“Take care, chérie.”

You glanced back at him, his dark eyes still watching you with that same unreadable intensity. “You too,” you managed, before stepping out of the office and closing the door behind you.

As you walked back to your desk, your mind was spinning with everything that had just happened. The offer. The implications. The opportunity. You couldn’t stop thinking about it—how it could change everything for you, how it could open doors you’d never even dreamed of.

But at the same time, that little voice in the back of your head kept whispering, reminding you of the risks. Of what people would say. Of how this might change how you saw yourself.

You sat down at your desk, staring blankly at your computer screen, your hands shaking slightly as you tried to process it all. You had a decision to make—a big one. And no matter which way you looked at it, nothing would be the same after this.

Was this really what you wanted?

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You didn’t have to decide right now. But soon.

And you knew that whatever choice you made, it would change everything.

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auspicioustidings · 1 year ago

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Firewatch Part 8

Summary: An unspoken ceasefire takes place and you struggle with sleeping arrangements.

Words: 2k

CW: as always, this fic is reader falling for captors, but nothing specific in this chapter

You just existed around each other the rest of the day more or less quietly. They treated you like a housemate for the most part and you finally felt like you were settling down. It had been the worst 48 hours of your life and there were only so many high emotional outbursts you could go through without needing some quiet from your thoughts.

When you got out of your frigid shower Kyle said Price had went to pick you up some things. Neither him nor the asshole with the mohawk sitting sipping away at his coffee mentioned the sudden cut off of hot water or how you had screeched about it. Price came back with bags full of clothes and toiletries for you. They were your size and you decided you were not going to get into the fight that you wanted to over the fact that the shampoo, conditioner and soap in the bag was what you had used at home. Maybe it was just a coincidence that he had went to the expensive store in the town where everything was handmade by what you were fairly certain was some sort of witch and somehow managed to pick out the specific products you liked.

It felt nice to be in soft new clothes that fit even if there was a small pang of something at stripping out of Price’s clothes. When you saw the wet spots you bristled and scrubbed at them, wringing out the offending item as best you could before folding it and leaving the bundle of his clothes on the bathroom counter.

You called Dosia a traitor at least 4 times before dinner for how she slunk over to get scratches off of Price. You cooed at her just as many for when Soap tried to pet her and she treated him with complete disdain.

“Ye should have got a dug” he grumbled after another failed attempt to endear himself to your cat.

“What? So you could have a litter mate?” you shot back before going back to coo at your cat.

“Woof!”

Kyle made dinner and you asked if he always cooked (“only when we want something edible” “oi! I’m a braw cook I’ll have ye know!”) before scolding yourself for the umpteenth time for being so casual and curious with them, but once again you just let it go. You could start thinking about how to get out of this situation again tomorrow, you really could not put any more brain power into being angry and pushing them today. It seemed to be an unspoken understanding that they felt a little the same way with nobody really pushing at you or getting into your space.

You weren’t about to look a surprise ceasefire horse in the mouth so you ate dinner, even gave Kyle a quiet thank you for cooking and Price an even quieter one for clearing away the table. There was one glaring issue that you were avoiding thinking about, the small matter of where you were going to sleep. Would they let you take the sofa or where you doomed to wind up in someone’s bed? You didn’t know how you’d fare with the threat to this shaky peace if one of these men nestled under blankets with you and held you the way Johnny had been when you had woken up.

You worried that as tired as your brain was from fighting and plotting and a thousand emotions happening at once today that you wouldn’t even stop them. That you’d take the comfort. And it would just make things so much worse when tomorrow came and you had rested and were ready to push at them again.

It had not occurred to you that there was actually a much worse option until Price told you that you could take Simon’s bed and left you in his room. It was simple but it had touches of the enigmatic man. A cute little crocheted skull on the dresser (had he been gifted it? Bought it himself? Made it?), a thriller book on the bedside table well worn (he must be the type of person to break books spines and dog ear them), a few sets of dumbbells in the corner that were disrespectfully heavy and a photo in a simple frame of him with the two Johns, Kyle and a man you didn’t recognise. If another handsome man walked into this cabin you would lose it, so he damn well better have just been a visitor.

The thing that really sent your heartbeat into overdrive though was right there lovingly pinned to a corkboard on the wall. Drawings. They were clearly from children and they showed their crude versions of him in his gear holding hands with them. These were what was taking pride of place in this simple room, these were what mattered to him.

You gently traced your fingers over one, trying to reconcile the drawing with the man in the closet who had left the mark still throbbing dully on your neck. You paused over a detail you had missed. The little skull sticker on the helmet. It made sense then the little crochet skull, but it also gave you such a vivid flashback that you heard a strangled sort of sound leave your mouth.

You had seen that little skull sticker before, on the man who had saved you. You thought it had been Kyle, but it was Simon. Simon was the one who carried you through the fire and laid you gently on the ground outside, whose eyes you had stared into and thought ‘oh, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen’ when you realised he was there and real and you were alive. It came flooding back with such force that you had to stumble away from the pictures and sit down.

It was only after a breath that you realised you were sitting on his bed and you flexed your fingers a few times, feeling the softness of the duvet. You wondered what blanket he would be using in the tower. It was boiling during the day but freezing at night, would he be cold? Certainly the sofa wasn't going to provide the same support as this mattress. It probably wouldn't even fit all of him, he'd have to curl in.

You couldn't. You could not sleep in this bed while he was in the cold, uncomfortable and barely getting any sleep at all, tossing and turning before getting up and looking out for any sign of trouble before repeating it again. No amount of telling yourself he was a bad person was going to let you do that with those kids drawings staring down at you.

So you stood, straightened out the duvet, wrapped yourself in the throw that had been draped over the dresser and curled up on the floor.

---

Price was on wake up duty. They had discussed sending Gaz since you seemed to trust him the most, but he had argued that in order to get you on side it was him you needed to trust the most. He reluctantly agreed when he thought about it, he was this teams Captain at the end of the day. And you were part of that now, his team.

He also did feel annoyed with himself at how he had dealt with you yesterday. He should have known better than to think it would all be easy and you'd be predictable. At least after a good night's rest he had settled a bit. It was strange how his feelings toward you had changed. They were more intense somehow, maybe a little rougher around the edges and complicated. But he was a problem solver and the way to solve this one was by trying to get on your good side, figuring out who you were when you weren't spitting mad at him.

There was a moment when he opened the door that he felt his heart stop. The bed was empty. And then he heard a soft sigh of discomfort and followed it to see you shivering away on the hard floor. It was then that John Price knew he cared about you. Not the you he had made up in his head, the you that had annoyed the life out of him yesterday and kept fighting him on every little thing. He hated seeing you almost whimper in your sleep from how cold and uncomfortable you were.

Why the hell hadn't you just slept in the bed? Were you trying to rebel by making him feel awful? Or could you just not stand the thought of sleeping in Simon's… oh. It was Simon's bed, you hadn't wanted to take Simon's bed. You felt guilty. Even through all that rage and exhaustion you felt guilty. Ah fuck, had to go and be a good person despite everything didn't you? You'd win the bet if he was a better man.

Soap and Gaz didn't question him when he emerged with you bundled in his arms still sleeping. It wasn't difficult to tell you hadn't slept well and while they did want to get you into a routine they had all the time in the world, one morning letting you sleep in wouldn't ruin everything.

He had considered just putting you into Simon's bed, but somehow that felt cruel. Instead he carried you to his room. Warmer than Simon's, more cluttered with years of knick knacks. It had a set of wingbacks with a table between that held a bottle of whiskey and some cigars. Price's room was where his boys could come for refuge if they needed someone to just listen.

You roused a little when he gently manoeuvred you under the blankets, instantly letting out a little sound of panic and trying to get up.

“Steady on little bird, it's my bed. Not making you sleep in Simon's. That a girl, go back to sleep” he said, as gentle as he could manage.

“I don't…” you murmured, not sure what you wanted to say.

You needed to talk to someone, you needed to get it off your chest, but there was nobody here but your captors. Nobody in this room with you but their Captain whose soft coaxing had made you relax despite yourself. It was pathetic and you knew that, but somewhere in the exhaustion it almost felt like this was a dream. Like what you said here didn't count in the real world.

“He's a good man isn't he? I could tell, from his room.”

Price hated how torn up you sounded, as if the idea of any of them being good men was breaking your heart. And while he wouldn't go as far as to call himself one, he knew with a fierce certainty that his team were the best of men. Would it hurt you to keep discovering that? Would it help you want to stay?

“Simon Riley is a good man” he confirmed, sitting himself on the edge of the bed and sighing as he ran a hand over your hair, soothing. “But he was rough with you for no good reason little bird, even the actions of good men have consequences. It isn't your fault he isn't here.”

Christ he should be trying to guilt you instead of this. He should be manipulating you into begging him to let Simon off of 24 hour watch. Twisting things until you loved them. He thought when they first decided to keep you that it would come easy. He never knew you'd be so hard to hurt.

You only made a soft noise in acknowledgement. You felt bone tired, completely wrung dry. You just couldn't find that fire within you right now that you had planned on stoking when you woke up. It wasn't fair for them to be good, for them to show you kindness. For them to be human.

You thought maybe a bit more sleep would help as you drifted off with John's hand petting your hair. That was what you needed, some proper sleep in a proper bed and then you could find that fight again. You hoped.

#mhairiwrites #cod #cod au #fanfic #tf 141 x reader #Noel is the big brain who suggested fire fighter Simon would have kids drawings in his room btw #I am nowhere near creative enough to have come up with an idea that cute #john price x reader

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blamemma · 1 year ago

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omg emma… your tags on alexis’s post are so genius… dirtbag daniel not ready to date a guy doesn’t notice his entire existence is dedicated to making max happy… max accidentally calling daniel “daniel” on the radio when he’s at mercedes… daniel making bitchy comments to the press?!

i think i genuinely might be dying over thinking about the contrast between daniel irl leaving for renault vs. engineer max leaving daniel for mercedes. (also for me, for this to work, u gotta role-reverse the ages as well and make max older daniel younger)

max finding himself stuck...at red bull. a deep intrinsic feeling inside him that he's got nowhere to go, rised as high as he thinks he can within the team, has attached himself to someone (daniel) who doesn't need him as much as max needs him (entirely false, daniel is half the driver he is because of max) and so takes a secret meeting with toto who has been trying to poach max ever since he first started climbing the ranks at red bull and making a name for himself. toto promising him everything in the world. and more. promises him he can be lewis' engineer and head of race engineering. promises him bonuses he's never heard of. promises that max can also help out with mercedes sim racing team in his spare time at the factory. and max thinks and thinks and thinks about it and if there's one thing max is, it's honest. so he tells christian. tells him bluntly and succinctly and christian throws so much at him but realistically max's mind is made up before he even sits down with toto.

and daniel overhearing a conversation he shouldn't and barging into max's private office furious with him, why are you leaving to work for the enemy kinda shit, are you trying to stab me in the back, what have i done to deserve this betrayal etc etc. daniel punches max's office wall and max knows then and there he's made the right decision. asks daniel to leave immediately. the second half of the season goes dreadful for them, max short with daniel on the radio, doesn't play up to his antics anymore, daniel being summoned to see the stewards every race for doing dumb shit he knows he shouldn't do. sky sports always cutting to shots of max rolling his eyes. but daniel still manages to scrape the championship and the red bull mechanics hold max and daniel aloft on their shoulders and spray them with champagne and max and daniel have their arms around each others shoulders and there is a fleeting moment where max looks at daniel, the brightness and happiness on his face and he realises this is why he does his job, this is why he should stay, but he pushes it down and down and down and down. daniel goes to perth. max goes to some tropical island somewhere.

(whilst in perth, daniel prints off the photo of him and max on rbr mechanic's shoulders and frames it. he puts it in his home office at first. but he doesn't spend enough time in there. he takes it out the frame and puts it on the fridge with a dutch flag magnet he has that max had gifted him after his first zandvoort win. but everytime someone came round they would look at it and ask why max would quit. he puts it back in the frame and puts it on his bedside table. it stays there)

and then they both turn up to testing. daniel in navy like always, max in a tight fitted white tommy hilfiger shirt (wHICH PERFECTLY ACCENTUATES HIS PUFFY PERKY FAT NIPPLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and daniel hates it hates it hates it hates it hates it. they ask each other how the winter break was and what they got up to but the conversation is stilted and wrong and they both leave it feeling devoid and empty. testing is testing and bahrain is bahrain. daniel and his new engineer miss a couple of points of key information and communication and its a bit of a shambles of a race but daniel still gets p2. stands below lewis on the podium. max to his immediate right-hand side. he stands tall and straight. head forward. listens to every single word of god save the king. doesn't shift slightly. listens and listens and listens. and then the trophys are handed out. he looks at it once. places it on the ground. looks at his shoes. remembers. remembers max. malaysia. bright red flushed eager and keen. stole daniel's shoe right out his hand. guzzled it down, no egging-on needed from daniel at all. the way they locked eyes afterwards. the blowjob in the club bathroom. the filthy sex they had later that evening. he looks up. oscar receives his trophy. the personnel shift and move and then he's gripping the neck of the champagne bottle hard, slamming it down on the podium, turning his back to lewis and oscar and spraying it all at max. max does the same, drenching daniel. he can see max's bright smile through the spray and daniel laughs, proper, shakes it and sprays him some more and when it's all gone, they stand, looking at each other, drenched, soaking, panting, breathless (MAXS WHITE TOMMY HILFIGER SHIRT DRIPPING WET SEE THROUGH PERKY PERKY PERKY HARD NIPPLES!!!!!!!!!) and christian horner is stood in the crowd head in hands knowing he's about to be faced with a dilemma.

and then YES "daniel 0.9 behind" and crofty picks up on it and makes some snarky comment about how red bull let max go so that he could infiltrate mercedes from the inside. daniel being sarcastic in the media when they ask him about max still calling him daniel and being like "well i obviously made an impression on him" or "its hard to forget me when i'm that good" and max hates the taunting but also loves it. gives him some sense that daniel still thinks about him also !!!

(late at night, daniel finds youtube videos of lewis' play by play race. he tells himself its to do with tactics and finding out lewis' racing lines etc. really he's listening to the radio. hearing the way max and lewis talk. trying to work out if they have the same relationship max and him have. if max uses the same intonation. the same phrases. if max flirts with lewis the way he did with daniel)

#dr #mv #maxiel #blame alexis for this because i am spiralling so hard about this right now i need to go howl at the moon !!!!!!!!!!!!

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lixzey · 1 year ago

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Letters

Info: age gap, reader has nightmares

The Second Letter.

Timothée woke up with a terrible hangover. The party was great, and he had an amazing time with his friends. He sat up and walked to the bathroom of his hotel room. He stared at himself in the mirror; he was still in the clothes he had on last night. Timothée hopped into the shower, feeling the cold water against his skin, sobering him up.

After a relaxing shower, he remembered the letters. The basket he shoved under the bed, he knelt down, grabbing the basket from under the bed. He untied the stack—eighteen letters—all eighteen letters still there.

He sat on the bed and opened the second letter, dated June 18, 2023.

Dear Timothée,

Every night before I go to sleep, I whisper good night to you. I have a framed photo of you on my bedside table. I know, it's weird and creepy. I don't know why, but I've done it for so long that I can't even remember when I started it.

Is it weird for a grown woman to have a stuffed animal to be able to sleep at night? Yeah, it's weird. My stuffed bunny keeps my nightmares at bay every night. Julie told me that one day, all of my fears would go away and my nightmares would end. And I'd be able to look back at my past without getting hurt. But everything's getting worse. Every fucking night.

Maybe you're wondering, "Why in the world is this girl telling me this?" Well, I don't know, really. Maybe it's because you'd listen? Who am I kidding? I don't even know if you'd even get my letters. I've locked up those memories for so long, and it hurts to think about them, let alone talk about them. I'm not going to tell you everything, but a little something about me can't hurt, right? It's better to write it all down rather than talk about it.

I remember when I was a little girl, my parents would take me down to the park near where we lived. My dad would push me on the swings, while my mom would set up a little picnic for us. Life was happy. Until that fateful day when I was ten. Let's just say that my life wasn't the same as it once was. I thought my life was perfect, but boy, was I wrong.

I've tried everything to get the nightmares to stop, yet nothing ever works. Not once in the past eleven years have I had a good night's sleep. Honestly? I'm terrified of falling asleep; the nightmares keep getting more vivid. My room mate, Ava, gave me a crystal bracelet—to protect me and keep the bad auras away. She's the only one other than Julie, my therapist, who knows that I get nightmares. Since Ava's room is right next to mine, she hears me scream every fucking night.

Oh god, that sounded morbid. I should stop. Well, it's not like you'd ever get any of my letters. So I'll carry on writing, pouring out everything in these letters.

I'm going to try to get some sleep; it's literally half past three. I have exams in the morning. I'll probably fail again anyway, since I'm not exactly the smartest. Wish me luck?

All my love,

Y/n.

Timothée was slowly understanding Y/N. She's seven years younger than him. He checked the envelopes, searching for an address so he could reply to her after he'd finished all of her letters. But he couldn't find anything—not even in the basket.

“How on earth did these letters get here? I'm in a fucking hotel that only my family knew." Timothée muttered. Questions filled his mind. He put the letter back in the envelope. He picked up the next letter, hoping for answers.

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zushikiss · 2 years ago

Text

Happy birthday, dearest.

summary ; it's your birthday! and your boyfriend shows his efforts for you so much.

warnings ; fluff, scara and reader lives beside each other, use of the petnames love [ scara ] , hon [ xiao ]

pairings ; scaramouche, xiao, diluc x gn!reader

notes ; it's my birthday today so i thought this would be fitting to post !

─ SCARAMOUCHE

you're on your phone simply trying to pass time as you await for the time to finally hit the 12 am mark, it's a few minutes before your birthday and you simply haven't felt the need to sleep yet so you don't but when the clock finally strucks 12 am, signifying the start of the next day you hear small footsteps on your balcony.

you take your eyes off of your device as a familliar silhouette emerges from the darkness of your balcony, it's your boyfriend!

"Happy birthday, love."

he hands you a small gift, the wrapping paper in your favorite color along with a ribbon in his, you smile as he lays down on the bed beside you, pressing a kiss to your temples as you tore the gift open.

the gift is a picture frame, the frame itself decorated with your favorite flowers but made in clay, an envelope also falls, it was tucked behind the frame, however the thing that brings tears in your eyes is the photo itself.

it's a picture of 13 yr old you and scara during valentines, his friends and yours pushed the both of you to the marriage booth, leading you and scara to be "married" that day.

though the both of you were denying the fact that you both had very obvious crushes on each other, you still obliged by the rules of the class president, which was all "married" pairs had to stay by each other's side for the day, the both of you even went on a sweet and awkward date in your small school cafeteria.

it was a picture of you two sitting on one of the lunch tables, the table filled with snacks the both of you enjoyed, you were smiling in the photo, feeding scara fries while he slowly accepted it, with a blush on his face and while averting his eyes.

"I hope you like it, it was really hard to sculpt those flowers."

"Of course! Thank you scara, i love it.."

you hug him tightly as he presses a kiss to your forehead, you put the frame on your bedside table, as you lay back in bed to cuddle your ever so sweet boyfriend, little did you know the mess that was scattered on your boyfriend's desk, multi colored clay littering the desktop, different tools all semi organized in a cup he had solely for the purpose of holding his cute bright pink sculpting tools.

─ XIAO

when you awoke from your deep sleep, the smell of your favorite food quickly made its way to your room, and before you could even check the time on your phone your boyfriend slowly enters the room, carefully holding a tray with water, your favorite drink, your favorite snacks and as well as your favorite breakfast food.

"I'm not the best at cooking but i really wanted to show you that i tried, but pleaae don't expect a lot.. you know cooking isn't my forte."

the entire day xiao tended to your every need, even surprising you with a bouquet and a plushy you've really wanted, he couldn't help but also purchase a few in game things for you, knowing how much you love the game.

he tried playing for you, even going as far as making an account but video games wasn't really something he enjoyed, however you knew how much effort he put in so you appreciated it either way.

now with your favorite plushy in one arm and your loving boyfriend in the other, you were ready to fall asleep seeing as the day ended, but you could feel a pair of lips on your collarbone as you hear a soft "happy birthday, hon." you couldn't help but smile as he rests his head in the crook of your neck once again.

─ DILUC

as if being droven around all day, going on one too many dates for one day, and receiving plenty hugs and kisses behind closed doors wasn't the best gift then you could say it was this.

you were sitting on the couch, braiding your boyfriend's hair as you tell him a story about your workplace, he hums softly as he asks question, though his eyes were glued to the television, you knew that his attention was all on you.

as you finished braiding his hair you excitedly handed him a mirror as you whispered a quick all done, from the mirror's reflection you could see a small smile forming on his face before he stands up to plant a kiss on the bridge of your nose.

"thank you, name. i think it looks pretty."

"not just your hair, luc. you too, you're very pretty as is!"

"mhm, not prettier than you though."

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lumosinlove · 1 year ago

Text

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

Five: Finn

Church Ruin

Athens, Greece

Finn couldn’t look away. He had bundled Logan in both of their coats, one unzipped and pulled up higher to cushion his head against the rough stone of the wall. He’d used one of Leo’s alcohol packets to clean his face. Everything was the same. The brush of his long eyelashes against his cheek, the tilt of his head against the wall and the soft curl of his fingers into his palm. The warm olive of his skin. The sound of his breathing in his sleep—or whatever this was. If Finn blinked, Logan was going to disappear again.

He kept choking up. Kept crying, silent, and then wiping at his cheeks when the wind chilled his tears. He kept touching Logan, careful to let him rest but needed to feel his warm skin. He wanted to crawl inside those doubled coats, press his cheek against his chest, listen to his heartbeat.

“Anything new?”

Finn sniffed from the cold as Leo crouched down beside him. He shook his head. “No. Just this.”

Leo made a sympathetic sound. “It’s good that you’re staying close to him. But I wanted to tell you, the boys think we should head to one of the islands. Hide out until we can figure out how to reach Remus. We can’t lie low here very well, not in a city.”

“But how…” The fear seized him again, his throat constricting. “Leo, what if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will,” Leo said.

“What if he doesn’t know me when he does?”

“I hope he will.”

“What if he needs a doctor? What if he dies?”

“No,” Leo said. “I won’t let him.”

“You’re not a doctor. You’re a lot of things but you’re not that.”

“Don’t I know it, but they’ll be watching the hospitals, Finn. We can’t.”

Finn looked over at him. Leo’s face was taut, blue eyes taking Logan in. His eyes, his mouth, his hair, his hands. Finn liked that. He liked watching Leo look at Logan like that. Like he understood how precious Logan was. Logan could come across as a little rude, a little quiet, a little harsh. Sometimes Finn felt alone at the occasional faculty party Logan made it to. Like no one would ever understand how wonderful Logan was. His colleagues would clear their throat a little, taken aback after the initial attractive charm of how handsome Logan was. But Leo looked like he knew. Leo did know.

“I never thought I’d see him again,” Leo said in a small voice.

Finn nodded. He couldn’t speak, but he reached out and put his hand over Leo’s. Leo looked down at it. Slowly, he turned his hand around so that their palms fit together and their fingers laced. Finn squeezed hard, knowing they were both only trying to make sense of it all. It felt good to have something to hold onto.

“You know those notes,” Leo said, still looking down. “Your notes, in the hall at home? I mean, at your flat?”

Finn nodded again. He’d hardly been able to look at them but he hadn’t been able to take them down, either. Logan had framed them as a present after their wedding. Their little love confessions. Finn joked that they had said it more officially than that. Whispered into each other’s mouths after two years of knowing each other, wanting each other, kissing and kissing and kissing for the first time in the dark third floor of a Harvard library. He’d woken up the next morning, peaked just one eye open, to find Logan balancing a note on his bedside table against his water glass before sneaking out for his eight AM. He’d closed his eye in time to feel Logan, thinking he was still asleep, press the most tender kiss to his forehead.

“I don’t like that he doesn’t know they’re there,” Leo said.

Finn realized his eyes had closed, the ghost of the kiss laying over him like snow.

Framed love. In the lonely apartment. He had a photo of Logan somewhere, grinning crookedly as he put the nails in the walls, fresh off their honeymoon, tanned from the beach, hair honey highlighted by the sun. Sentimental. So sentimental.

Leo’s silhouette standing in the hallway, usually taking his coat off or putting it back on, was just as clear an image. Logan’s voice from the kitchen. Leo—Lay-oh, the way he said it. Finn loved every fucking sound out of his mouth—Leo, I’m burning your instructions, this water won’t boil. Leo, in no hurry, re-reading every word. Sometimes Finn wondered if he could tell what sentence, which frame, he was reading from just by the tilt of his head. Logan’s I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m yours now, or his own, I’ve loved you for so long, baby. So long.

“I know,” Finn whispered. He squeezed Leo’s hand again. He thought of Leo pressed all along his back after realizing that Logan was alive and had no idea who he was. “Hopefully…Hopefully we’ll all get to go home soon and all of this will just be a memory.” He sighed, watching Logan breathe. “One that we all remember and can all let fade.”

Leo’s thumb brushed over Finn’s knuckles. “Finn?”

“Hm?” Finn reached out again, pushing the top of the coat zipper away from Logan’s cheek. The metal would be cold. Logan was perfectly still. Finn looked up, though, when Leo stayed quiet. He had watched the gesture. “Yeah?”

Leo blinked. Shook his head. “Never mind. Um.” He pulled his hand away from Finn’s. “Fuck, okay, look.” Leo reached into his jacket and took out a gun. It was small, smaller than the ones Finn watched Leo and the others strap to their hips and backs.

“Whoa,” Finn said.

“I want you to take this,” Leo said.

Finn stared at the pistol. “Leo, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to shoot that.”

Leo frowned. His eyes darted to Logan. “I always thought Logan might teach you.”

Finn shook his head. “No. I mean, we tossed the idea around, but we never…You know.” Finn shrugged one shoulder. “I was his break from it all.”

“Well, not anymore. Not after Jack. Take it now.” Leo put the gun into Finn’s hand. “Look. This is the safety. Keep that on at all times. And this—”

In the next moment, there was a tight pressure around his neck and Finn found the air knocked from his lungs as he was yanked backwards. For the second time that day, the mouth of the gun was pressed against him. His temple this time.

“Move and I kill him,” Logan’s voice said from behind him, right next to his ear.

“Lo,” Finn gasped out, clutching at Logan’s arm. Blood rushed in his ears at the pressure against his throat. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know you. “Lo, please—”

“You,” Logan said, and Leo’s blue eyes widened, his hands raised away from his weapons. “What do you want from me?”

“We don’t want to hurt you, Logan,” Leo said and Finn was surprised by how even his voice came out. “Please don’t hurt him. Please, you don’t want to hurt him.” Leo’s eyes flicked nervously to Finn’s, and Finn clutched harder at Logan’s arm, coughing.

Holding onto Logan’s arm so tight, the music beginning. Trying not to watch his mom dabbing at her eyes. Logan’s soft smile when they faced each other at the top of the aisle. “You don’t have to hold on so tight, Rouge. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

“Tell me who you are,” Logan said. The cold metal dug into Finn’s cheek. “Tell me. Why are they after me?”

“We’re your friends, Logan. Your teammates. We’re trying to figure that out, too,” Leo said. “You’re not alone. They’re after Remus, too. Do you know Remus?”

“Non,” Logan said.

Leo tried again, hesitantly. “Pascal?”

Finn badly wished he could see Logan’s face. All he could stare at was Leo’s blue eyes. Leo shook his head softly. “No? That’s alright.”

“Non. I…I don’t know—I don’t know anything,” Logan said, and Finn’s chest ached.

“We’ll help you,” Finn managed to say, and it was so stupid to feel relieved to be settled against Logan’s chest even with a gun to his head, but he was. “Logan, we’ll help you—”

But then he was being shoved forward, momentarily on his side before Logan had thrown a leg over his hips, pinning him to the ground with the gun right over his heart.

“You’re the one trying to get close,” Logan said. God, how many times had Logan looked down at him just like this, how many times had he been a weight over Finn, just like this…but not like this at all. “My husband. I don’t even know I was—”

Gay, was perhaps what he was about to say. Or, in younger Logan fashion, like that. Finn felt like he’d been slammed back nine years. Back to the very beginning. A reluctant Logan. A confused Logan. A young Logan, scared to admit to all the different ways he wanted Finn. Logan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, keeping the word in just like he used to. Finn had spent a good two years watching as Logan began to smile while using it—or at least, something like that word.

All I know is that I want a Finn O’Hara, Logan had laughed into his mouth that perfect summer. New York City. Burning sunset and dinner on a boat, humidity curling Logan’s hair and after dinner drinks on a rooftop. Before the agency had spotted Logan. Before any of it. And a Finn O’Hara wants me.

He still wants you, Finn wished he could say. I still want you. Do you still want me?

“My phone,” Finn whispered. “My phone, in my pocket.” He moved his eyes down to his left. “Right there.”

Logan looked, and Finn took the instant to look back at Leo, upside-down, and give his head a small shake. He won’t hurt me. Finn knew it in his bones. He can’t hurt me.

“You can’t trick me with—”

“You don’t have to open it,” Leo said. “Just look at the screensaver.”

That was better, Finn thought. He was going to have Logan look at pictures of their wedding, but this was better. It felt raw. Finn loved that photo. He hoped Logan could somehow feel that. Or even remember it. What had he done before? How had he broken through and why had it caused so much pain?

Logan, without moving the gun, dug into Finn’s pocket for the phone. Finn felt his hands search for weapons, too, briefly. Logan’s eyes caught on his when he found him completely unarmed. Finn couldn’t see the screen, but he could see Logan’s face as he took it in: Himself, soft as sunset. His brows drew together and he stared, and stared. When the screen went black, he tapped it to see the photo again.

“That’s you,” Finn said. “It’s you.”

Tentatively, Finn tried to sit up. It was a mistake. Logan flinched hard, renewing the angle of the gun, which had drifted some in distraction. He dropped the phone and pinned Finn’s hands above his head. He looked more panicked than before.

“Why don’t I know you? I should know you if that’s real—”

“It is,” Finn pleaded. He tried to free his hands. If he could just touch him. “Please, Lo, it’s me. It’s Finn.”

Logan was fighting him, gun digging in, hand back around Finn’s throat, but Finn didn’t care. He didn’t care.

“Finn.” Leo’s voice sounded far away. Panicked, but far away. “Stop. Stop it.”

“Harvard,” Finn choked out. He kept his eyes locked on Logan’s green ones. “Harvard, the third floor of the library.”

“What?” Logan said. “Who are you—” But he’d winced. Finn saw it, he winced.

Finn let out a low noise and renewed his efforts, settling all the strength he could find into keeping himself from shaking. The fact that it was a gun was beginning to settle in. Mostly though, he was afraid for Logan. Afraid he would do something that, if he ever came back to himself, he would regret.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Leo pleaded. “And you’re not our captive. Just let him talk to you, Logan—”

But Finn knew better than that. Logan was stubborn. When he had something set in his mind, it took months to undo it—sometimes years. Not minutes, especially not on such uneven ground as this. Finn would have to try and trip his wires again, jump him right back into himself, even if only for a few more seconds.

“The hot chocolate machine,” Finn said. “Third floor. Harvard. Library. You love it, I think it’s disgusting but you loved it and I brought you some while I was helping you study. The English was hard for you back then.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them wide again, like he had double vision.

“You know,” Finn said. You know. It’s in there. “Before you could speak ten languages.”

“Finn,” Leo said. “This isn’t the way. It’s hurting him.”

“I don’t speak ten languages,” Logan bit out.

Leo said something fast in a language Finn couldn’t even begin to identify. Russian? Logan’s eyes snapped up. He’d understood.

“I know it’s confusing,” Leo began to say, but then Logan was looking at Finn again.

“The library,” Logan repeated.

“Yes.” Finn wrapped his fingers around Logan’s wrist, the hand on his neck. He realized he was nodding, almost frantically. He could see them in that memory. Standing close together in the tiny, freezing corner with the vending machine. The flimsy paper cup filled with steaming, powdery hot chocolate. “I said, that’s too fucking sweet. I said that I didn’t know how you could stand it…And you said—”

“I’m—” Logan began, and then cut off. His eyes were wide, searching Finn’s face. It wasn’t the recognition that he’d seen before, not the real knowing, but it was something. It was finishing Finn’s sentence.

I’m sweet. I’m sweet.

And then Finn had kissed him for the first time. Terrified. Not sure Logan even wanted him to. But they had spent what felt like an eternity kissing in that freezing corner, alone on the library’s third floor. So long that all of the censored lights shut off and thrown them into blissful darkness—was that the same darkness at the edges of his vision now? Finn tried to blink the spots away. Air. He needed air.

Logan’s eyes fell shut, lips pulling back to reveal teeth grit in pain. He dropped his forehead to Finn’s chest. Finn realized he was sweating, they both were, despite the chill in the air.

And then Logan was gone. His weight, the warmth, the gun, the hand around his throat.

Finn coughed hard. Bitter bile in his throat, something rushing in his ears. His pulse maybe. His blood. Leo knelt beside him, tumbling against his side.

“Finn—” Leo began to say, but Finn was already pushing himself up, terrified, terrified that Logan would already be running. His back hurt. His head throbbed where it had hit against the stone, and Logan, Logan, Logan, gone again gone—

But he wasn’t. Logan had pressed himself back into the stone corner where he had been sleeping. He looked feverish, but he was looking at Finn so carefully that Finn didn’t dare move.

“Logan?” Finn whispered.

“What’s happening to me?” Logan looked down at the gun, like he had forgotten he was holding it.

“You’re memory, it’s been—wiped? Or something,” Leo said gently. “It’s not your fault. Logan, it isn’t your fault. You and Remus, we thought you both were dead. We only just found you.” Leo let out a shaky sigh. “We’re trying to figure out what happened, too.”

Logan just stared at Leo. “I can see the library. But I don’t remember…I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” said a voice from behind them, and both Leo and Finn whipped around. It was like seeing ghosts. With the stone and the sea and the crumbling church, it was right out of a novel.

Remus was standing there, leaning against a far wall on the sea-side of the church. The wind coming off the water beat at his tawny hair and the brown, old looking jacket he wore.

“Remus,” Leo breathed.

“How do you know my name,” Remus said. He held no weapon that Finn could see, but the very sight of him held both Leo and Finn in place well enough, “but I don’t know yours?”

#winterfic 2023 lumosinlove #Christmas Eve will find me lumosinlove #finnlo #sunfish #lionfish #lelo #remus lupin #wolfstar #sirius black #James potter #Jily #spy au #amnesia au #ficmas

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