#that's cool. and probably doesn't really count as tea.

[liebelesbe]

Hello! Please enjoy a lovely cup of tea

🍵

I appreciate the sentiment! Unfortunately I'm gonna have to add milk and sugar to it until you can't taste that it's tea anymore. Due to the I don't like tea.

[gremlingottoosilly]

König who immediately sets his sights on his younger brother’s crush/girlfriend. He’s offering “advice” but really just wants to snatch you from right underneath his nose.

Honestly, it's on his dumb little brother. Only an idiot like him would think that asking Konig, the socially inept war criminal with a body count going in hundreds of dead people, would have good advice about relationships. His last girlfriend left the country, and probably the continent deleted all of her social media and decided to live among giant spiders. Konig didn't have a serious relationship in years, mostly just yearning for some social media models and pin-up girls. Then he sees his brother's cute little friend, and all hell breaks loose. The advice in terms of bringing the girl to their apartment - acting like she will be impressed with his brother's matress on the floor and action figure collection. Konig made sure to buy a bedframe a week earlier, as if it's not his gun collection littering the walls. Asks his bro to act like an alpha, like he is already sure the girl is in love with him and needs a big, strong guy to take care of her. You're disgusted, of course, and you sit on their grimy - Konig did clean up and even called a maid, but still - kitchen, drinking their tea while his brother was pouting in his room, not sure what he did wrong. You're timid, sheepish, quiet in front of him. Konig is too much of one man, and he puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. Patting your head and gently pressing his fingers on your exposed skin. You're so sad over your friend being a dick, you don't even mind his brother. Konig is...nice, in comparison. Kind of cool-looking, with all the scars and muscles. Doesn't flaunt his income, but asks if you want him to call an uber, and you see his fingers trailing over to Business class. He gives you a candy bar - your favorite, you notice - and asks if, maybe, you want him to drive you home instead of a taxi. Konig was never this smooth his entire life - and maybe you're just distressed enough to ignore his staring and a slight tremble in his fingers - god, how much he wants to squeeze you until you sing for him. Perhaps, you just want a good guy, a normal guy, to hug you and don't try to squeeze your ass in the process. Konig wouldn't promise not putting a hand on the low of your back when he walks you to your door, but he is just awkward enough to make him seem cute. Harmless. He asked if you wanted to come next time, just to see him. You say yes. Konig thinks it's time to shop for rings.

[shanastoryteller]

Merry bday! A continuation of Enola Holmes marrying the viscount of Basilweather would be really cool 😀

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

She wrinkles her nose when Tewksbury passes over her cup of tea with two sugars, unstirred, and she knows.

She puts down the cup too quickly, blood pounding in her ears, and Tewksbury frowns, reaching for her hand. "Enola?"

"Got to go," she says, pushing herself to standing, almost just leaves him sitting there, hand outstretched, but he's her husband and she loves him, so she darts over to smack a kiss on his lips before she's running for the door.

"Enola!" he calls out again, but now he sounds less worried and more exasperated, which is better, which is good. There's nothing for him to worry about.

She wants her mother, who's banned from London and is causing political unrest in Southern France currently, or Edith, who's doing something clever and illegal in Scotland. She'd take Victoria, but Mycroft will be there, and he's the last person she wants to see right now. Sherlock, while beloved, is useless, but his boy is a doctor.

She drops in at 221B Baker Street, picking the lock like always, and is relieved that Sherlock is still asleep and decides not to have any opinions on the various bones scattered about the kitchen table. She assumes there's a reasonable explanation for them.

"Oh, Enola!" John grins and shoves some femurs to the side to make space at the table. "Here, join me, would you like some oatmeal? Are you looking for your brother? I can wake him-"

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out, then bites her bottom lip.

John blinks once, then twice, then says with a gentleness that had made her like him in the first place - because Sherlock wanted to be gentle, but was quite bad at it, so someone had to teach him - "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Wanted seems like not the correct word, although of course it is, because she and Tewksbury had been, not trying, but not-not trying, which probably amounted to the same thing, considering how often they - well.

"I can fix it," he says, voice low and serious, "if it's something that needs to be fixed."

Enola lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "No. No, it doesn't need to be fixed."

She loves that he offered. She loves John, more her brother than Mycroft will ever be, sometimes even more her brother than Sherlock is. If nothing else, her brothers had picked their partners well. Victoria and John are a delight.

John is the functional one between them, explosions and skeletons notwithstanding. John is the one that coaxed her brother into a proper relationship and John is the one that knew they were like parents to all the Irregulars and John isn't normal but he grew up normal.

"Are you worried something's wrong?" he asks. "I can look you over."

"No," she says, although, "I mean, yes, that'd be nice because Tewksbury will go spare, but no, I'm not worried anything's wrong."

He leans back in his chair, looking her over, and after almost ten years of dealing with her and Sherlock and even occasionally Mycroft he can read them almost as well as they can read everyone else.

"It's alright to be scared," he says finally. "Lots of women are when they find out, even when it's wanted, even when the baby's healthy."

"I'm not scared," she says, but for the first time her words feel like a lie. "I shouldn't be scared. What do I have to be scared of?"

She wishes her mother was here.

Will her children miss her like this too?

Sometimes she misses her mother even when she's right in front of her, and if nothing else, she's her mother's daughter.

John gets to his feet, stand in front of her, and opens his arms. She looks away even as she steps forward, like if she doesn't look at him when she does it then it doesn't count as weakness.

His arms close around her. He smells like chai and antiseptic and it's only years of association that make the combination comforting. "I can't wait to be an uncle."

He'll be an uncle. Sherlock will be an uncle. Even Mycroft, and Victoria will be delighted to be an aunt, and to raise her children with Enola's. Of course there's her mother-in-law, and Tewksbury's uncle, who have been angling for her to have a child from the day they married.

There's Tewksbury, who loves her, who isn't going to die on her or leave her if either of them have anything to say about it, who isn't going to leave her to raise their children the way her mother raised her.

Alone.

She's been saying she wasn't going to do this alone from the beginning, but standing here in Sherlock's kitchen, with John holding her steady, she really believes it.

[cllightning81]

Quiet Dates - Part Five [OB38]

Series : Younger Sister

Summary: Ollie takes you on that first date because he won the bet. Takes you to a small cafe so your anxiety doesn't get the best of you and you can enjoy it

Pairing/s: Oliver Bearman x Norris!Reader, Lando Norris x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist Oliver Bearman Masterlist Lando Norris Masterlist Younger Sister Masterlist Tag List

Previous

Standing in the hotel room, Lando was out visiting Carlos and making sure that he was okay. Normal boyfriend duties as you liked to annoy him about. Hungary was fairly warm, so you had decided on a nice outfit that would keep you cool but still allow you to be comfortable in what you were wearing at the same time. 

There was a knock on the door, so you got up from the bed and wandered over to it. Opening the door to see Ollie with a smile on his face wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. 

“Hey” You smiled, opening the door further to let him into the hotel room. Ollie was silent as he followed you back into the hotel room. You turned to look at him as you grabbed your handbag and phone 

“Hey you okay?” You asked him with a frown as you walked over to him. 

“Huh? Yeah, sorry. You just look really good” He smiled, and you blushed, glancing down to the ground before looking up at him 

“You also look very good” You smiled, taking his hand in your own. Ollie blushed as he looked down at you. 

“Thanks. I found a nice little cafe it was really empty when I went past it, and I figured that you’d quite like it” He smiled, and you nodded 

“Sounds perfect” You smiled, walking out of the hotel room with him. 

Walking to the cafe was nice and calm. Ollie made sure that he was holding your hand the whole way there to help ease your nerves as you walked, which you were so thankful for. You hadn’t known each other in person for a long time, but you had been talking over text for ages, which meant you both knew more about each other than you thought. 

You looked up at the little cafe Ollie had found. It looked like a small family fun business that had pictures of the family history dotted around the cafe. Taking you inside, Ollie found a table for you both sitting opposite each other with a smile. 

“So how's the race treating you?” Ollie asked as you looked about the cafe taking in the decor. 

“They’re good. I’m quite enjoying them. Still not so comfortable about trending on social media every time I breathe. but it’s okay. I’m getting used to it. Comes with the job. Although teenage boys and girls who find out you’re hanging out with Formula One drivers aren’t the best. They’ve been blowing my phone up” You chuckled, and he nodded

“Oh I get that. The number of people I’ve had in my text messages from before I left school this weekend is crazy” He laughed, and you nodded, looking at the menu 

“So I believe it’s my turn to pay” You hummed, and he shook his head 

“Got to beat me to it” He hummed, and you rolled your eyes 

“You know I will. You might have the reaction speed, but I’ve got older siblings” You hummed, giving your order to the waitress. Ollie did the same, ordering some tea and a slice of cake 

“Don’t tell my trainer” He joked, and you nodded 

“I don’t even know who your trainer is” You shrugged, and he laughed, holding your hand across the table 

“So I know you probably don’t want anyone to ask you this, but how are you feeling about tomorrow?” You asked, tilting your head slightly to look at him

“I’m scared. More than scared, actually. Formula One is so much different to Formula Two. It’s faster, the cars are different, a lot more g-force, more g-force in crashes. There’s so much that could go wrong” He ran a hand down his face as you gently squeezed his hand. 

“Ollie you’re going to do great. Look at how amazing you did today! I know it was probably a stupid question, and I’ve just made you even more anxious than before, but honestly, I know you’re going to do great. I know you are, and remember we’ve got a deal you need to keep” You hummed, and he smiled at you taking a drink of his tea

“Have you met Charles’ puppy yet?” Ollie asked, changing the subject 

“He’s got a puppy?” You asked now, very excited. Ollie nodded 

“Here let me show you” Ollie showed you a little picture of the puppy

“He’s a little dachshund” You smiled, looking at the picture 

“I can see. He’s very cute. Is he here?” You asked, and Ollie nodded

“Yeah. I’ll let you meet him tomorrow. He wasn’t at quali” You smiled eating a bit of your cake. 

“Want to go for a walk?” Ollie asked once you had both finished your drinks and food.

“Oh that sounds like a good idea” You smiled, getting up and walking to pay. Ollie tried to push you out the way so he could get there first and pay 

“Oh come on, Ollie. You paid for the ice creams” You whined as he paid for the drinks and food. Oliver took your hand as you walked around the park that was next to the cafe. Your energy picked up as you spotted a play park.

 Dropping Ollie’s hand, you skipped over, getting on the swings and starting to swing. Ollie laughed, following behind you in just a walk as you waved him over to come on the swings with you. 

“You have so much energy” He chuckled while getting on the swing next to you. 

“It’s a Norris thing. Actually no it’s not. It’s a Lando and Y/N thing. None of our other siblings have this much energy” You shrugged, enjoying yourself. 

“That’s probably true” He laughed as you tried to get higher than him on the swing, except he was able to get higher faster 

“Oh come on. I just want to go higher” You huffed, and he chuckled, getting off the swing and giving you a push. Your giggles make him smile even more than he already was. 

Getting off the swing, your arms instantly wrapped around him as you regained your balance. Ollie pressed a kiss to your temple before you looked up at him with a smile 

“I want to change our deal” You hummed, and he frowned, looking down at you 

“What why?” He asked, confused, trying to read your face 

“If you finish the race tomorrow, then I’ll go on another date with you. However, I don’t want our relationship to spawn out of a bet for your first ever formula one race. I want that to happen whenever we want that to happen” You explained gently, resting your chin on his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist

“What if I want that to happen tonight?” He asked 

“I think I’d like that” You smiled up at him as he leaned down a little. Your faces hovering above each other 

“Can I kiss you?” Oliver asked, and you nodded 

“I think I’d like that too” You whispered as he leaned down. 

Your lips pressed together gently as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled you closer by your waist. You smiled into the kiss, relaxing in his arms as you kissed him. Pulling back after a little while. You rested your head against his chest as you looked up at him 

“Was that okay?” He asked, causing you to nod 

“It definitely was. Although you’ve stolen all my energy now” You joked, and he laughed 

“Good. It means you’ll stop texting me at two in the morning” you smiled up at him as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his body as he started walking with you again. Looking at your phone, Lando had texted to say that he was back in the hotel room now and not to wake him. 

“We both know that I’ll be tired until I get into bed and then I’ll be jumping on Lando again” Ollie laughed as you pulled a hair tie off your wrist and pulled your hair out of your face. 

“I know my dads here, and he’ll be in the garage tomorrow, but I’d really appreciate it if you would be in the Ferrari garage tomorrow. You’ve got this great way of calming me down” You smiled, looking up at him 

“You know I’ll be there if you want me there. Lando really won’t care” You hummed, and he nodded, stopping as you passed a fountain. You looked at him with a frown as he looked down at you with a smile on his face 

“Make a wish” He hummed, and you turned to the fountain and made a wish before starting to walk back to the hotel. Walking you up to the hotel room stopping outside of your room with Ollie, who smiled at you 

“Thank you for coming out with me” He smiled 

“Of course. I really enjoyed it, Ollie. Thank you” You smiled, opening the hotel door up after giving Ollie another hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Walking into the hotel room silently, assuming that Lando would be asleep by now. you let out a scream when you saw Lando sat staring at you 

“Jesus fuck Lando” You swore hand going to your chest as Lando laughed at you. There was a knock at the door 

“Y/N?” Ollie called, and you opened up the door to see a worried looking Oliver Bearman. 

“I heard you scream. Are you okay?” He asked, looking to check you for any injuries 

“Yeah. Just got a heart attack from my lovely brother. He told me he’d be sleeping, but he was sat staring at me” You explained as Lando was still laughing in the background 

“Oh good. I’m gonna go back to my room then” he smiled 

“Night Ollie” Shutting the door again, you turned back to Lando, rolling your eyes as you sat on your bed, taking your shoes off 

“How was your date?” Lando asked, raising his eyebrows as he turned in his seat 

“It was good. We went to a little cafe then walked around the park. I got a little too excited when I saw some swings” Lando laughed 

“So you admit it was a date?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes again 

“Yeah. I admit it” You grabbed your clothes walking into the bathroom as Lando cheered obviously very happy with the outcome.

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[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 3}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: With the overnight patrol behind you, it's now time for your annual leave from the roster altogether. But Joel doesn't know that and you're hesitant to tell him, feeling like it would be the best for you two to get some distance. But as with all things involving the man, it was hard to keep the distance.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, slight angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, two (2} instances of joel miller gently touching reader, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, talk of pregnancy, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, sexual content, masturbation (f and m), yearning, protective joel, tommy is a scheming lil brother and we love him for it, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: i'm not really back in wake of some bad comments and confrontational haters, but love y'all ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

A knock on your door the next morning caught you bundled up and out in the backyard, the sound echoing throughout your empty house. It was small: a simple one with a larger than average kitchen, a living room, one bathroom across the hall from the bedroom, and a laundry / mudroom with a deep utility sink and a few cabinets of storage. It’s where you kept the tools for the garden, where you washed and prepped everything you managed to grow before moving it into the kitchen space. But you were on the modest back porch, a cup of steaming coffee cooling in the early morning air as you looked out at the trees that took up a good chunk of the large area.

Dragging your eyes from the one that looked like it was about at the end of its life, a large crack running down through the trunk, you heeded the knock at the early hour. Knowing it could only be one of four people.

“Was worried I woke you for a moment, you sleep okay?” Maria greeted you as she waddled past you and moved into the kitchen. She spied the other cups worth of contents in the coffee maker and sighed in longing. The scent of it heavy in the air, mixed with cinnamon you were apt to put in with the grounds before brewing. But her sigh turned into a delighted hum as she shifted her attention to the cooling pan atop the stove and moved closer to inspect the baked goods settled on it.

“Probably not much better than you, momma. How you feelin’?” You slid a plate to her as she began to pick pieces off from one of the flaky breakfast hand pies you had made. She placed the one she had begun eating along with another before following you to the large table that ran through the middle of the room. Setting it down and pulling out the chair for her, you helped her to lower into it. With a caressing touch to her swollen belly, permission given from her months ago, you began to set up a kettle for some tea.

“Big.” She stuffed a large bite into her mouth, eyes fluttering at the taste of the filling. Crumbs of the flaky crust sticking to the front of her shirt, jacket having been shrugged off. “Olive, these are fantastic. Is there anything in here I shouldn’t be eating?”

“I wouldn’t have let ya get your hands on it if that were the case. Just bacon and onion jam, eggs, a little bit of milk, and a whole bunch of thyme. Nothing too bad.”

“Nothing too bad, my ass. You should totally make these for the mess hall on your next shift.”

Another knock on the front door stole the words from your mouth and you looked to the woman who all of a sudden had great interest in picking the crumbs from where they had fallen.

“Maria, what is this?”

“Can’t I call on a fellow morning bird without ulterior motives?”

“You could, but you didn’t this time around. I don’t get many visitors so I wonder who you- Oh! Good mor-morning, Joel.” Surprise overtook you as you were suddenly face to face with the man over the threshold of your front door. He was bundled up as well, though his hair was wet, slicked back and shining in the early morning sun peeking over the mountains.

“I just figured we could all chat about the Teton route.” Maria’s voice carried from the kitchen. But it didn’t break the stare you could feel as Joel’s eyes took in the apron you had thrown on earlier.

“Mornin’.” He rumbled, a hand reaching out from within his jacket pocket to swipe at your cheek. His touch burned, but you were frozen in place at such a forward action so early in the day. Lips parting as you tried to pull in a breath but you were sure all you managed to do was huff out what air was already in your lungs. “You got a lil flour or somethin’.”

“O-oh, um, thank you.” His hand lingered, the back of his knuckle dragged down your cheek and then the finger curled around the neckline, tugging slightly. Nerves sparkling as you felt the warmth from his hand so close to your neck, you could only swallow as his eyes finally met yours with a playful grin displaying that damned, endearing dimple normally hidden in his scruff.

“Never seen you so homey before, it’s a good look on you.” His voice was tipped low, just for you and you felt your stomach lurch.  When you didn’t say anything, just continued to stand there caught like a fly in his trap, he chuckled and asked if you were going to let him inside. It was then you realized he had inched closer, crowding you in the doorway, with his hand still around the strap of fabric over your neck.

“Oh! Of cour-course, I’m so sorry. It must be the early hour taking my manners.” But you knew he wouldn’t believe that for a second, he knew you were a morning person. Something you had revealed to him on patrol. Just like he had revealed to you that he took any opportunity to sleep in, apt to hit snooze an embarrassing about of times if the sound even reached him. You had both laughed at the polarizing tendencies, ribbing each other about it throughout the day. It had been a good one, free of the underlying…tension of whatever had shifted when you had pressed your lips to his injuries. Something you would take back if it meant cutting the undercurrent of whatever had befallen your interactions.

“There’s, um, breakfast hand pies and one last serving of coffee,” You spoke as you turned your back on him and went to retrieve your own mug from the porch.

After the shuffle of greetings, of ushering Joel to take a seat at the table. You plated up two of the hand pies and poured the last of the coffee for him, setting it down in front of him with a small smile before fetching the whistling kettle and preparing a cup of tea for Maria who was already a bite into her second pastry.

“Now, the horse you two lost.”

Joel made a surprised sound, mouth biting into one of the pastries on his plate.

“It was my fault.” You rushed out before Joel could even respond around his mouthful. His eyes flicked to you across the table where you had finally taken a seat, watching as you willingly took the blame for the unfortunate event. “I wasn’t quick enough taking down the Infected that were coming at us. Two of them had set their sights on her, with all the noise she was making while another went after Joel on the ground.”

“And there was no use of anything other than the shotgun?”

“That’s correct.”

“Joel, do you agree with her synopsis?”

“Yes. She acted fast, but there was no way Kiana was gonna make it back, she had been freaking out the second they came outta the tree line, most likely would’ve run off.”

“She always was easy to spook, that’s why she was designated as your horse, calmed her down and got her to focus.” It made sense, Joel was a very level headed person, capable of gently focusing someone should their minds or attention wander.

“I wish every incident discussion was this lovely. No arguing, good food, people who don’t want to go around in circles. You two are truly one of the best pairs we have on the roster.” Maria stirred in a bit more honey into her tea, taking a sip as she looked you both over.

A nervous laugh bubbled up from you as you dug into your own pastry, unaware of them sharing a look.

“This is amazing,” Joel offered, reaching for the kitchen towel folded atop the table to clean his hands off. “You should make these your next shift at the mess hall.”

“I just told her that, imagine the buzz they would cause.”

“They’re not all that special.” You muttered, shoulders rising as you felt rather put on the spot.

“This filling, these onions? It had to have taken a lot of concentration to reduce them down so soft but not mushy. Take the credit where it’s due.” Joel hummed his agreement as he reached for his mug.

“You’re off patrol this week and next, to do your annual thing.” Tommy announced as he sat beside you, his tray thudding against the top of the table, laden down with food from this mornings offerings.

“I can still patrol and get what I have to done.” You didn’t look up from the notebook you were writing in, trying to map out the way you were going to turn the harvest of the olive trees in your backyard into. If you were being honest, patrol twice a week wasn’t so bad with the added allure of Joel Miller. But it would be hard to juggle it paired with the time of year. Every autumn you took out your dirtiest, most ratty pair of overalls and got to work picking the fruit from the trees. Taking your time to sort them, wash them, turn them into oil and pickle some of the others. It was just you, hands aching at the end of the day from spending it all at your kitchen table with various tools. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The kitchen was your happy place. Even after the end of the world. Or maybe in spite of it.

But this year, you didn’t want to miss out on patrol, normally taking the two weeks off to sort everything out and give all your attention to the gift of fruiting trees. Even if…you felt like it would be good for you to get some space from the man you felt in every other thought. The past two weeks had yielded quiet patrols, just the passing of a thermos between hands. You were sure you had overstepped a line by pressing your lips to his face, lost in the moment of adrenaline and want after those Infected had tried to turn you both.

His eyes were heavy on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but searching for what you didn’t have the faintest clue. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to bring it up and let you down gently. Tell you that he hadn’t appreciated your affections that way. Whatever went on behind that handsome, rugged face you hadn’t a clue.

“We both know that’s a mighty lie,” He stuffed an overfull spoon of grits into his mouth, humming around it as he pointed the utensil at you. “Didn’t you say this would be the last year for one of them?”

Sighing, you set the pencil you had been writing with down. Trading it for the cup of coffee in front of you.

“Unfortunately, the trunk spilt when we had those winds come through in February. I’m surprised it bloomed any fruit to be honest.”

“It’s a fighter, like it’s caretaker.”

“Oh hush, tryna flatter me.”

“Don’t you know it.” He winked, cheeky smile growing wider underneath his mustache as his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder. You were about to turn to see what had him so delighted when a pair of hands placed a tray right next to you. The burly form of Joel huffed as he settled into the seat beside you.

“Mornin’.” He greeted, placing plate of toast in front of you, his hand momentarily brushing against yours before he dug into his own food. You felt heat bloom up your neck and across your cheeks as Tommy feigned a cough to cover up a snicker. Joel leveled an unimpressed stare at the man, an eyebrow cocked and a warning in his eyes. You pretended not to see it, busy slathering a piece of the gifted toast with some butter left out on the tables for the breakfast service.

“Good mornin’, brother.” Tommy lilted, face lit up with something you were hesitant of. Scheming, the man was scheming, up to absolutely no good. And you had a hunch it involved not only you but the man beside you. Taking a bite of the toast, you noticed the way his face twitched before he started whatever he was up to. “How are you today?”

“Fuck off, Tommy.” The older man didn’t even look up from his plate, knowing from years of experience that his brother was aiming a mischievous look his way. “I gotta list a mile long of stuff to do this week and next, don’t have time for whatever else you’ve taken on.”

“That’s a shame,” He took another heaping bite, chewing it thoughtfully as he looked between you both, taking in the way neither of you were willing to look at the other. “Sorry, Olive. Looks like you’ve gotta fell that tree on your own.”

“That’s okay. I’m a big girl, did it the year before last and I’ll do it again this time around.” You downed the last two gulps of your coffee. Gathering up your notebook, you shoved out of your chair and stood, preparing to walk away. But he scrambled, quick on his feet and determined. Joel glanced at you, a parting nod the only indication from him.

“Well, seeing as you’ll be off patrol the next two weeks, that should give you enough time to take care of it.”

“Tommy!” You whirled around on your heel, eyes wide. You hadn’t wanted Joel find out this way, from his trouble making little brother with you right beside him.

“What’s he talkin’ about?” Joel turned with a loaded fork halfway to his mouth. Forgotten in wake of the sudden news. He looked taken off guard, shock coloring his features as he looked to you for answers.

“Didn’t she tell you, brother?” Tommy set his own fork down, tray nearly empty now. “Olive always takes this time of year off to tend to the trees. Harvest and make that lovely oil you see everywhere around town.”

“That’s yours?” His eyes danced around the mess hall, taking in the incriminating glass jars atop every other table. The light green contents revealing the literal fruits of your labor. The hours you would spend hunched over your own kitchen table working away on ensuring everything was perfect. He looked down to the warm plate of food in front of him, the roasted potato hash and scrambled eggs. “You’re the reason the town has cooking oil?”

“Yes, it is.” Feeling pleasure flutter at his impressed tone, you knew your voice had taken on a breathy quality. If Tommy’s growing grin was any indication, his teeth sparkling as he watched the two of you across from him. Joel had turned completely in his chair to face you, while you had pivoted your body in his direction. Both of you undoubtedly drawn to each other even in the most casual of ways.

“What are you gonna do with the wood? Didn’t you burn it and mix the ashes into the soil last time?”

“Yes, I did.” You gripped the notebook tight, fingers aching from the pressure. “It helped to reduce the acidity of the soil and ward off slugs from targeting the blooms once spring came around.”

“Well, uh, I can come by and lend a hand. If you needed it, but I don’t want to intrude if you’ve got it all under control.” Joel ran a wide palm over the back of his head, fingers brushing through the curls as he offered his help in a round about way. Something you suspected Tommy had anticipated. It took you a second to process his words, remembering the feel of his hair tangled around your own fingers. It had been soft despite a days’ worth of travel and an overnight stint atop a dusty mattress. You wondered how he cared for it, what it looked like slicked back fresh from the shower, water dripping from the ends of it and-

“Oh, that’s okay!” You shuffled on your feet, shaking the rather intrusive thoughts and not wanting to burden the man with another task. “You just said you’ve got a lot to do, don’t want to add to it.”

“I could shuffle a few things around, clear up an afternoon to come help ya out.” He insisted, something smoldering in his dark eyes. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he regarded you carefully, as if he had noticed the lingering gaze on his movement. He shifted to pull that damned little note pad of his own from his back pocket and flipped it open. Looking over the long list penciled on the page.

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You don’t have to do that, Joel.” You waved your own notebook at him, hoping he realized you kind of wanted the space from him. Kind of needed it, actually. To get the image of his softened face out of your head and the ability to look at him without feeling a jolt of desire strike through your body. Space would probably be good, would allow you to reign everything in and be better equipped to ride alongside him once again. The lines had begun to blur and they needed to be defined.

“It’s no problem, I can-“

“It’s really okay, I can handle it. But uh- th-thanks for the offer.” You scurried away before he could add your name to the list among his other tasks. “More important stuff to tend to than a me-measly tree.”

“I really don’t’-“

“I’ve got it.” You called over your shoulder, leaving the two men to their breakfast.

The second you were walking through the door, Joel rounded on the younger man. The shit-eating smirk was securely in place among his brother’s features across the table. Irking Joel further.

“Shut up.”

“Oh brother, you got it bad.”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“C’mon, she could really use the help. It’s just her.”

“No one offers to pitch in? The other women with personal gardens all help each other out.”

“It’s the age gap. Olive’s about a decade or so younger than them.”

Joel contemplated his brother’s words, thinking back on the thinly veiled disdain Marsha had voiced to him the last time he had been tending to the woman’s home. He knew you were younger, but he hadn’t anticipated it causing any problems with the rest of the settlements occupants just how it wasn’t the cause of any between you and him. At least, not any real problems. Age was just a number nowadays, if you were alive, you were alive. If you weren’t well, you weren’t. Friendships and connections blooming between people regardless of age and backgrounds in abundance as people clung to what they could in order to survive.

“Does anybody ever…talk about her to you?”

Shifting from annoying little brother to something more serious, Tommy looked over his brother as he chewed the bite he had just taken.

“What do you mean?”

“Marsha seemed to insinuate that Olive is common topic of discussion.”

“Marsha doesn’t like Olive. Never has.” Tommy scowled, stabbing at a chunk of potato rather harshly.

“Does it have to do with the patrol you won’t tell me about?”

“…yeah.” Tommy was suddenly very interested in the rest of his food, ignoring the look he could feel Joel pinning him with from across the table.

“Tommy.”

“Her old patrol partner was someone she showed up with, when we first brought her here. He and Marsha’s daughter got on quickly, were engaged within a year and planning on havin’ a kid or two.”

Joel was silent as he picked at his food. Marsha’s daughter, Millie, didn’t have any kids or a husband that he knew of. The two women sharing a home close to his.

“They blame her for what happened.”

“What did happen?”

“Joel, you’ve gotta ask your girl that. It’s not my place to give details.”

“She’s not my girl.”

“But you want her to be, c’mon, I can see it plain as day.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“I think she likes you back. But it’s hard to tell since she doesn’t get a lot of interaction around town aside from when she’s trading or cookin’.”

“She don’t like me like that. We’re just…friendly.”

It wasn’t friendly the way Joel took advantage of any reason to touch you. From soothing minor injuries, to brushing his fingers over yours as he passed you something, to brushing things you tended to smear along your cheek. Just to hear the hitch of your breath and to witness the way your eyes widened. It wasn’t friendly the way you were the last thing he thought of at night and the first thing he thought of when he woke up. It wasn’t friendly the way his gaze lingered on you while out on patrol or when he caught sight of you around town.

It wasn’t friendly the way he spent hours in his workspace sketching out designs and carving into wood in the hopes that you would enjoy what he was creating.

It wasn’t friendly the way he didn’t engage with you for worry of making you nervous, like he noticed he had begun to do. Stuttering every other word around him and others in a habit he couldn’t figure out was his fault or something you were just prone to do. It wasn’t friendly how he wanted to see if it was just him that caused it, wanted to see how quickly words would fail you completely if he were to focus his attention on you in a more than friendly way…

But his brother didn’t know anything about that.

Never one to miss out on the chance for a slow morning, you allowed yourself to wake up naturally.

The sun was just beginning its descent from the highest point in the sky, peeking in through the drawn blinds of your bedroom.

Your body was warm underneath the covers, sleep making your mind take the sensation and let it influence your dreams.

A large body hovered over you, looming like the mountains around the settlement. Protective, a sight to behold at any time of day, as steady as the day turns to night. But the body was so much closer, pressing your back down into the mattress, making your head spin with the heady feel of it.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heart beating hard as pleasure coursed through your veins, brought to life by the feeling of fingers smoothing over your skin. Trailing down over your belly button and through course hair to find your slick folds. Delving between them, parting them, caressing over your fluttering core and then in, producing an obscene sound as they filled you up. Another set of fingers gentle nudging that little bundle of nerves to light your body up even further, heat encompassing you, suffocating you as they quickened their pace.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was harsh in your ears, roaring loud and with a jolt, you realized it wasn’t your heart. It was the sound of someone knocking on your front door.

Eyes flying open, the phantom sensations of being pinned down, of thick fingers caressing the most intimate parts of your body, of the rasped-out nickname in a voice that wasn’t real were ripped from you. You were alone in your bed, your hands the only ones bringing you pleasure.

“Olive?” The faint call of that deep voice your mind had tried to convince you was whispering sweet nothings in your ear was down the hall and on the other side of your front door.

What was Joel Miller doing calling on you in the middle of the day, effectively splashing a bucket of cold water over you as you realized you had been fantasizing about him as you touched yourself.

Embarrassment and guilt squashed the pleasure that had been consuming you, lingering tingles making it hard to clear the fog of your sleep hazed mind. Throwing on the robe hanging on the back of your bedroom door, you took a deep breath to steady yourself before approaching the door he knocked on again.

He must’ve been preparing to walk off when you swung your door open, his back to you and a hand on rubbing on the back of his neck. He turned back at the sound, eyes taking in the disheveled form you were sure you made in your doorway. It was the afternoon, and here you were in a robe and hardly anything else, being pulled from your bed.

“Oh, hey- you were sleeping.” His eyes quickly averted, a hand waving at you as a blush crept up along the apples of his cheeks. You wondered what had him so flustered, his hands clenching and unclenching just below the sleeves of his jacket.

“I should’ve been up already, it’s okay.” You said quietly, taking in the bulk of him on your small stoop. It was a little disorienting, mind imagining him and now being faced with him so close. “D-did you need-“

“Was coming by to see if you needed any help with taking down that tree Tommy mentioned.”

You fell silent at the way he cut you off, his words low like your own, as if he was frustrated.

“Cause if you did all you had to do was ask.”

“I-I didn’t want to add to your list, that little notepad is always so full of-“

“I offered too and you said no. But you’re not even doing what you took the time off for.”

“Excuse me?” You leaned back from him, worry and your own annoyance flaring. Just because you took one morning to yourself didn’t mean you were shirking your responsibilities. His words hitting too close to the wound that everyone else’s had dug close to your heart.

“You take the time off every year, which you didn’t tell me about. Tommy blurted it out to get some sort of satisfaction out of your miscommunication and you’re not even taking care of the trees.”

“Joel-“

“You know what, just, never mind. I’m heading around back to take care of it for you. Go back to bed.”

And then he was stomping down the steps and rounding the side of your house. The gate creaking open to signal his entrance to your backyard.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me, Mr. Miller.” You mumbled as you shut the front door and moved back to the bedroom. Dressing in a ratty pair of jeans and a long-stained t-shirt in a rush. Putting up your hair as you walked into the back room to retrieve the axe he would need for the work he took it upon himself to do.

It was hard not to stare, your eyes glued to the man as he expertly wielded the axe and chopped down the damaged olive tree. He had shrugged off his flannel after trimming it of the few branches that stretched from the trunk, leaving him in just the t-shirt he donned underneath. A crisp white that displayed the sweat on the small of his back and between his broad shoulders. A crisp white that displayed the bulge of his biceps as he worked. A crisp white that fell just over his waist and billowed up to catch on the spiral top of his notepad peeking out from his back pocket. A crip white that now displayed his rather toned backside to you free from obstruction…

Shaking your head, you continued to pick the fruit from the others. There were three rows of about ten trees, the one you were worried about in the middle of it all. Your movements made you feel like you were slowly circling around him, honing in on the man taking out whatever frustrations he had on the plant. Until everything was gathered, and you retired back inside as the sun beat down what little warmth it still had this late in the season.

The fruit was already washed in the utility sink, resting in strainers set over ratty towels to dry atop the long table in the middle of the room. A record played in the living room, soft guitar and brass filling the space.

Sighing, you poured yourself a few fingers of whisky and then a few into a second glass as you heard the thud of the axe being set against the wall in the back room and steps heading your way.

“Joel, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.” You offered one of the glasses to him, taking in the way he swiped at his sweating forehead with the back of his arm.

“I know…I’m-I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I’m sorry too.” His fingers brushed yours as he took the peace offering. But he didn’t drink until you lifted your own glass and clinked it to his. “Just…wanted there to be a reason why you weren’t by my side for a little bit.”

Stepping forward to run a hand down from his shoulder to elbow in a comforting move, you motioned him to follow you.

Through the hours of the afternoon and into the evening, you explained the difference between the colors of the fruit. The flavor profiles of each, of how you always sorted even portions of the harvest out for oil, for pickling, for the raw fruit to be shared with the town. You walked him through the process of turning a small batch into a paste, straining it over and over again to produce the oil. Two pairs of hands slick with it as he helped you after he had asked how you managed to do it.

He had asked of your knowledge, prompting you to admit that it was all learned since arriving here and being assigned to the house with the trees in the backyard. That it hadn’t been something you carried with you beforehand. You asked after his woodworking, how it had turned into crafting small figurines.

And he answered much the same as you. Learned skills to help deal with and adapt to the slower way of life Jackson allowed you both to lead.

“You left one on the table.” His voice was right behind you, having followed you into the backroom. You turned to look at him over your shoulder before going back to placing the jars in your hand into a battered plastic crate. One was for the pickled and general olives, while another was for the oil you would make once the distraction of Joel Miller was gone from your kitchen. The only evidence of such from today’s activities in his hand.

“Oh, that one’s for you.”

“I couldn’t, you need it for trade. Everythin’ helps.”

“I insist, it’ll be good to have in your kitchen.”

“It’s just gonna sit there on the counter beside the stove.”

“Well, take it. Just in case.” You whispered. Noticing how close he had gotten in an attempt to hand the jar to you. He was close enough to smell the way the olive leaves had permeated his clothing. The perfume of the freshly chopped wood stained his skin in a heady way. You felt the counter dig into your hips, having unconsciously backed into it beside the deep sink.

“In case of what, sweetheart?” He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper, tongue peeking between his lips as he took in the way you had a smudge of dirt under your eye in the warm light of your kitchen bleeding into the backroom. His gaze snapped to his hand as you bravely tangled your fingers with his own. Feeling your lips curl into a playful smile, you leaned up and whispered into his ear. 

“The food critic decides to play personal chef.”

Oh, he liked that. If the widening of his pupils was any indication, the way his breath caught in his throat and he swallowed as he pulled back a little to look over your face.

He leaned in to press a cautious kiss to your cheek, knowing there was no bruise or cut to disguise his move as anything other than the blatant want for it. The soft scratch of his mustache lighting you up.

Your breath fanned out across his face, skin prickling along his body at the warmth of it bouncing back to you. A small huff the only noise coming from you. His eyes flicked up to capture yours, and you felt your heart lurch. He was so handsome, his lips looked so plush and pink this close. There was no way he could’ve missed the way you had glanced down at them, how you were thinking of feeling them pressed to your skin in other places, of the way you pulled your own bottom one between your teeth at the thought.

He leaned in, sharing breath with you, his nose brushing against yours before-

The needle of the record player scratching across vinyl startled you both, jolting in response to the harsh noise breaking the bubble of tension surrounding you both. Your hands had flown up to grip his shoulders tight while his arms had wrapped around your back and pulled you to him. Heart thundering for a completely different reason now, you cast your eyes over his shoulder toward to the record player.

With nervous laughter you stepped away from the man and set about lifting it from the still spinning record. His eyes are on you as you replace the record with another, setting it up to play and then turning back around to him. Your heart still thumping in your chest as you watch him hold tight to the jar in his hand and dip his head to you in a departing bow.

He made sure it was well into the evening before enlisting Tommy’s help. The forlorn way you had looked at the pieces of the tree once it was no longer standing proud among the others had stirred an idea in his mind. He was going to take the thickest part of the trunk, because he wasn’t stealing it away. No. He was going to return it to you once he had cut it into slabs and let it dry. He was going to return it to you in the form of a cutting board, crafted from the beloved trees in your care and in honor of the namesake you’d adapted.

But it had to be perfect. He would practice on other planks and cuts of wood until he was able to craft one that would be good enough for you. Setting his mind and heart on the endeavor.

Once he was back home with the trunk set in room set up as his workspace, stepping out of the shower and collapsing into the bed, he let a lazy smile overtake him.

He may be tired, exhausted beyond his limits. But he wouldn’t have traded his afternoon with you for all the restful sleep in the world.

He couldn’t get the feeling of your lips against his skin out of his mind. The gentle pressure of them grazing over his injuries, the gentle pressure against the patch in his beard he had never been fond of until that moment.

“Fuck,” He groaned out, palm tight around his aching cock. He had woken up thinking of your lips on more of his body, trailing over his skin in sucking kisses, tongue laving at every inch. He had been leaking and hard, his hand around himself before he had even come to complete consciousness.

The very real image of you stood in your doorway clad in nothing but your robe, the way the swell of your breasts was visible with the way you must’ve thrown it on to answer his knocking. The way your eyes were cloudy, slowly clearing and your face slightly flushed, as if you had just been- he groaned deep from within his chest. It had looked like you had just been deep in the throes of pleasure, body overwhelmed with it and torn away by his calling on you. Hair mused and breath a little too quick, he wondered what you sounded like. Would you whimper softly or moan out loudly, would you be shy and cover your face with your arms or would you scramble for any purchase as it raced through your body, swelling up to consume you.

He pumped his hand slowly now, reveling in the feeling stirring low in his gut. The strikes of pleasure moving through him as he recalled the way you had felt against him as you both rode back on your horse.

The way your hip had felt in his hands as he had tried to steady himself. His mind taking the thought and running with it, the imagining the way he would grip you from behind. You down on your hands and knees, legs parted to make room for him to fit between them, thrust against you as deep as he could, your keening-

He choked on his own breath as the sheer force of his release hit him, sudden and overwhelming. Spurts of pearlescent cum coating his hand and dripping over his knuckles.

Euphoria filling him up with satisfaction, his body humming with it until the guilt slammed into him.

He just fucked his fist to the thought of you. His patrol partner. His…friend. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind even if his life depended on it.

Catching his breath, he looked out the window across from his bed. Stars glittering at him through the curtains as if they know all the dirty things that had just run through his mind, sharing in his secrets.

The only small blessing of his complete lack of self-control and oversight is that he doesn’t have to ride alongside you today on patrol.

“I’ve got the first batch of the season,” You announced as you walked through the doors of the small makeshift market. It was right along the main street, a few fronts down from the mess hall and the Tipsy Bison.

“Oh, lovely!” The man at the back counter praised, clearing a space atop it for you to put down the delivery.

“Marsha.” You nodded toward her in greeting, uncomfortable with the way her eyes had followed you through the few aisles after letting the man go over the contents of the crate. Another nod to her daughter, standing right beside her with a small wicker basket full of root vegetables. “I’ve got a jar in there for you, with the garlic you managed to salvage from the garden.”

She didn’t say anything, looking for all the world like her voice had been stolen from her. A small nudge from her daughter jostled her and she seemed to find it.

“Thank you, Olive. That was…very sweet of you to think of me.”

“Of course, anything to be of help.”

“Yes, of course.” She repeated your words, trailing off as she noticed a figure across the street. Her eyes tracked their movement but when you turned to see what had caught her attention there was no one there. Suddenly she was speaking your actual name and it roused your nerves to life. “You…do so much for the town, I just wanted you to know that we all appreciate the time you take each year to handle the harvest.”

“O-oh, well, um, thank you, Marsha. That’s very k-kind of you to say.”

“Momma,” Millie whispered, taking ahold of the older woman’s arm. Something in her voice you couldn’t quite get a read on. Taking that as your queue to cut off the rather awkward interaction, you waved at them and began to head back up to the counter to collect the items you had requested in exchange for the crate of jars. Your ears were strained, trying to catch the hushed words the women shared behind your back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I realized how…unfairly we speak about her. Someone convinced me to apologize to her.”

“She doesn’t deserve apologies, she’s the reason-“

“Millie, we need to work on moving past that. It’s been five years now. We can all live alongside each other with the understanding of what happened.”

“No, momma, you may be ready to forgive her but I’m not. She got my Aiden and I’m not going to let her drag down Joel too.”

“He was the one who told me to be nicer to her, just trying to appease the lovely man.”

Any good feelings of a successful harvest and two weeks of working countless hours to jar, pickle, and transform the fruit from your trees vanished. The awkward yet positive sentiment from one of your more…complicated social connections going down with it at Millie’s angered words. You tried to muster up a smile for the man at the counter, taking the crate back from him with the trade items but you weren’t sure if you were able to. Not turning to look at the women, you exited the shop and made your way straight back home despite the list of errands in your pocket.

Of course Joel had caught wind of the way people spoke of you.

Heard it from Marsha herself, the source of all your troubles despite having done everything in your power to counteract the bad you had brought down on the town with your incompetence. He had put his own reputation at stake by sticking up for you and you only hoped it didn’t affect the way he was received. He was so important to the town, achieving far more than you in what he provided and brought in his skill set.

You didn’t want him to feel even a fraction of what you did as you navigated life here in the settlement. The pitying looks cast your way, the whispered words of what people felt entitled enough to voice, the way you seemed to only be good for one thing and it was the crop in the backyard of the house you had been assigned by pure circumstance.

The crate thudded atop the table where you thrust it harshly, frustration controlling your movements as you moved through the small house back to your room. Shucking off and resisting the urge to hurl your boots toward the closet you sighed as you felt tears prickle your eyes. They rolled hot down your cheeks as you curled up in the covers and gave up on what was supposed to be a good day.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

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[koolades-world]

currently sick rn haha. my sinuses are clogged, got this headache and an awful sore throat, but thankfully i have some medicine to help curb that and i get the excuse to relax at home :) been drinking lots of water, hot tea and gatorade! staying hydrated is cool kids haha

doing my personal favs because being sick gives me sick privileges haha

anyways enjoy <3

Sick Day

Mammon

he's literally attached at the hip with you, or as close as he can be, which is next to your bed in a chair

he's acting like you're dying even if it's just a common cold that you'll shake off in a day or two

mans will literally run to get you anything you need and be back so fast you weren't even sure how he moved that fast

even if there's the risk he might be able to catch it himself, he doesn't care, that just means he gets to spend more time with you!

Satan

probably the most rational and will take every measure to make sure he's caring for you right

he reads extensive literature and gets a doctor to come in and diagnose you even if it's just a cold so he can care for you best

you're on a speedy track to recovery in his hands

if demons can get it, he'll still spend time with you, just expect him to take extensive measures to avoid getting sick haha

Diavolo

he can't be by your side all the time likes he wants to be because duty calls unfortunately

but, he will slip away at anytime he can to see you and bring you anything he thinks you might like

this includes games you can play alone and together, snacks, some light reading, and anything you might need to fend of the symptoms of the sickness of course

just know, he's got you on his mind while he's doing that paperwork, counting down the minutes until his next break where he can come visit you

Mephisto

initially a little freaked out, like wdym you're sick? he's very rich boy core so of course he's not experienced in caring for the sick

but, you can help him help you, as much as you can of course

in a way, he's kind of boyfailure but that's ok because he is trying his best for you and wants to see you better

he'll even spoon feed you soup, what a cutie <3

Thirteen

the best caretaker for when you're sick hands down

she'd keep you company, she'd cook you tasty food, she'd ensure your drinks are always cold, and of course help you get better

and she enjoys it too! she really cares about you and wants nothing more than to see you better again so you can continue your shenanigans

when she's around, you're never sick for more than a few days at a time. she's a miracle worker!!

[quiet-saint]

"𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳"

Pairing: Vergil Sparda/reader, Vergil Sparda/you

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: light/nsfw mention near the end. mdni!

Summary: You had a close relationship with V before he reconnected with Vergil. Not quite a lover, but you were close with V, and you miss him. Vergil misses you too. However, you two rarely speak to each other. That changes when you fall sick and Vergil decides to help.

A/n: First time posting anything I've written, please be kind! Hope this isn't too ooc as I'm still getting the hang of him. Also I wrote this while super sleep deprived lmao but if I don't post it now I never will. Not really proofread.

ִ ࣪𖤐

This is not the first time he has entered your room as you sleep. Despite his quiet and even cold demeanor toward you during the day, he cannot help but take this brief night time visit. He doesn't do this often. Only when he fails to ignore the persistent, foolish worry that you're gone in someway or another. He does it to reassure himself that you are here. Real. Breathing. Safe.

His pale blue gaze trails over your sleeping form. He takes in the sight of you, the hair that covers part of your face as you rest, your lips parted. He watches as your chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths. His fingers itch to brush the hair from your face but he resists.

In the two months since his return to the human world you have been a beacon of familiarity and even comfort, although you two hardly speak. You two barely acknowledge each other on most days and when you do, he feels a twinge in his chest.

When he was split, you and V grew to be rather close. He often replays those memories, the way you pressed yourself flush to V's back, molding your smaller frame against his. He can feel it too, distantly within his mind. Recalls the way you pulled him back against you as you leaned against the armrest of the couch, resting your chin on his shoulder, hands pressed flat over his stomach.

Cute, how you seemed to try and surround him, envelope him with your body, your hands pressed to his stomach, knees bent on either side of him.

He recalls the way your breath fanned over his ear as you rested your chin on his shoulder, listening intently as he read to you. So small and delicate. Fragile. Yet you somehow, oddly enough, managed to make him feel secure. Safe. Wanted.

V is him and he is V. Although he knows you are aware of this, Vergil cannot help but wonder if you care. If you miss him. Vergil takes one last glance at your sleeping form before silently exiting your room.

ִ ࣪𖤐

You wake to a scratchy throat and a faint ache within your skull. The infancy of sickness. Dread, annoyance, bitter realization as you climb out of bed, bare feet on the cold floorboards.

You take a shower and get dressed before heading downstairs, mentally trying to prepare yourself for a long, boring day at the desk answering calls in Dante's absence. Most of which will probably be intended for another business. You'd made a bet with Dante and lost. A rarity. This is the price you pay.

You don't bother getting anything to eat as every swallow is irritating, opting instead for tea that ends up going cool and you don't finish it. It sits on the desk near the phone, half-full. The calls are few and far between as you sit, chin in hand, head aching. You have half a mind to crawl back into bed.

You fall asleep, cheek resting against the back of your hand on the desk as if you were in school again. You wake to the sound of the front door opening, sitting up groggily, stretching your arms above your head.

Your head turns, expecting the joking, laid-back twin but your greeting dies in your throat as your gaze lands on Vergil. Posture perfect, straight. Unlike V's. His eyes, pale blue and calculating, land on you for a moment. The eye contact is brief, his expression indifferent as he enters the office area. You tear your gaze away, resting your elbow on the surface of the desk, slouching as you place your chin in your palm.

"Where is Dante?" Vergil asks, voice low and even. You stiffen a fraction having not expected the question. You glance at him and lean back in the desk chair, shrugging with a sigh.

"Don't know really. Out." You answer, the ache and scratch in your throat comes through, your voice husky. You swallow and irritation follows the movements of your throat.

"Why?" You ask, a slight tilt to your head as you drum your fingers along the cool wooden surface of the desk, pinky finger dragging over a chip in the surface as you avoid his stare.

"I called twice." Your face grows warm.

"Shit." You say, shoulders slumping slightly. "Sorry I—"

"Fell asleep?" Vergil interrupts, a faint lilt in his tone. You question if you heard it correctly. "It's no matter. I took care of it." He finishes as your eyes flicker to him sheepishly, pad of your pinky finger rubbing over that chip repeatedly as Vergil crosses the floor and ascends the stairs, looking regal as ever. Not a wrinkle in his attire nor a hair out of place after his job.

Your ears strain to pick up on the soft click of his bedroom door. When you hear it you sag in the chair with a sigh. How did you not hear the call? That shrill tone? You run a hand over your face, silently hoping you didn't miss any other calls. Your eyes go to the clock. Close enough.

You stand from the chair, stretching, groaning at the ache in your back and head. You make your way upstairs, doing your best to avoid the known creaky spots. Your room is located on the right and down the hall from Vergil's. You shut the door behind you with the heel of your shoe. A shiver runs up your spine, goosebumps blooming along your arms as you change into sleepwear, leaving your previous outfit to pool on the floor by your dresser. The sheets are cool as you climb into bed and curl up on your side, head feeling heavy as it hits the pillow. Sleep falls over you almost immediately.

A welcome relief.

ִ ࣪𖤐

Vergil remembers, yes. He can recall the way your body felt pressed at his back yet the feel isn't exact, always a little distant. Foggy. The sensation more like an echo. Vergil won't say it out loud but he misses it. The way you would slot your fingers together and press a kiss to his knuckles. Sweet, gentle, lavishing him with pure unabashed affection. Warm and intoxicating.

"Here." He says, voice low in the quiet of your room as he hands you pills and a water bottle. This is him returning a bit of care, regardless of how mechanical or awkward it may seem.

You cannot find it in yourself to ask any questions. You pop them into your mouth, swallowing them down, wincing at the lingering taste of the pills. The water bottle is in your other hand as you sit in bed, blanket pooled around your waist. Residue is in your throat burning faintly as the pills nearly got stuck as you swallowed them dry. He pushes the bottom of the plastic bottle to your lips, a silent command that you obey before falling back onto the pillow, head throbbing. A small sound of discomfort emits from your throat as you close your eyes. Again, you can't find it within you to care.

Pitiful, he thinks, though there is the ghost of a smile on his lips.

There are no footsteps to signal his departure. Just the sound of the door opening and closing behind him. A pang of hurt in your heart follows his absence which you attempt to tamp down. Sleep pulls you under shortly after.

Vergil returns sometime later in the night, the door clicking closed behind him. You stir at the soft click and the feel of another presence in your room although you are much too tired and sick to open your eyes. Vergil walks over, brushes strands of hair from your damp forehead before placing his hand flat against it, palm warm as he holds it there for a few seconds. He traces a finger down your temple, curving around your jaw. You lean into his touch just a fraction and he nearly pulls away. Nearly. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing along the area just below your eye.

"Go back to sleep." He murmurs.

You do.

ִ ࣪𖤐

The next day passes in a fog. Your day is spent sleeping or watching the sun set and color your room before it grows dark. Your head is still heavy, though it aches less. Your body is weak, feeling all too light and weighed down simultaneously as you push the blanket off and get out of bed.

A small wave of dizziness washes over you but passes quickly. Tired, so tired despite all your rest. Your feet move on their own, head almost empty as you cross the bedroom floor. Goosebumps bloom along your skin as your fingers wrap around the door handle and pull it open, wincing a little at the slight creak it gives. You step out and don't even bother closing your door.

Your bare feet patter quietly across old floorboards, a slight throbbing behind your eyes. You nearly stagger over the narrow carpet that runs down the middle of the hall, the corner of it folded. You groan softly before continuing toward the end of the hall, finding yourself standing outside Vergil's room. You don't quite know why...

A moment of hesitation on your part. Your hand is raised just a couple inches from the thick wood, ready to knock. You swallow and give a soft, borderline tap. Hardly audible and yet...

"Come in."

Relief floods you as you aren't turned away. You open the door and step into Vergil's room. It's your first time being in his space. His bed is neatly made. There's a small bookshelf near his desk. The light from his bedside table is soft and golden. You close the door behind you.

Vergil is seated in an armchair near the bedroom window, his ankle resting over his knee as he reads. The curtains are drawn almost all the way, leaving just a slight gap. Rain trails and splatters on the glass. You approach him, limbs feeling heavy, your head light and your heart aching. He glances up from the top of his book, pale blue eyes meeting yours.

"May I?" You ask quietly, voice husky and throat sore.

Vergil eyes you for a moment. He sets his foot down, making his lap available. His arms on the armrests, book in one of his hands. “You may.”

You step forward and climb into his lap somewhat clumsily. Your knees on the cushion on either side of his thighs. Immediately you lean your cheek on his shoulder, your arms snaking around his middle. Vergil tenses briefly before relaxing. Hesitantly, he brings a hand to your back, rubbing slowly and soothingly up and down your spine. You practically melt at the feel, eyes closing. Vergil is warm, a different feel than V, wider and sturdier, but they smell the same.

Safe and comforting.

This close, Vergil can smell the heat of your fading fever, the way it seems to amplify your normal scent, sweet and heady. His hand instinctively presses firmly against your back, as if trying to bring you impossibly closer and he fights the urge to shift, to bury his nose in your hair.

You are a warm, addictive, comforting weight and Vergil is all too touch-starved. Heat pools in his lower stomach and he clenches his jaw, brings himself under control with a few measured breaths. Vergil counts the times his hand drags up and down your back until the arousal fades.

Your limbs have gone limp, your breathing is deeper and the corners of Vergil's mouth pull into a small smile. Proud and content, he drinks in this soft moment of vulnerability.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Broken Chords: Slow dancing in a burning room

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: I don't even know what to say, I couldn't not write it.

Summary: the morning after their night together, Andrew and Y/n struggle to deal with the aftermath of their tattered relationship.

Warnings: Angst.

Read part one here.

She's up before he is. Y/n actually thinks she can remember every time he’s woken up before her; usually on her birthday or sometimes on their anniversary – when he remembers it – to make her breakfast and tea. Outside of those days though, she can count on Andrew waking up at around nine or ten in the morning – unless he’s going for a swim with his buddies.

And even then, when he gets back at seven, just because he knows it’ll annoy her, he’d strip down to his boxers and get back into bed next to her, smelling of the sea and pressing his salty body as close to hers as possible. He’ll stay there until he convinces her to get into the shower with him, which never really took that much effort at all.

Bringing herself back into the moment, Y/n carefully extracts herself from Andrew’s embrace and sits up against the headboard. Gathering the sheets over her chest, she watches him sleep; the even breaths keeping his lips parted ever so slightly, the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders and the hair strewn over his face. Because Andrew’s always been a fairly strong sleeper, she doesn’t think much of it when she reaches over to move a few messy strands away from his cheek, letting the back of her fingers linger near his jaw.

She misses that; being the only person he’d let get that close. Touch his face, hold his hand, taste the whiskey right off his lips.

Y/n used to think she'd do it forever. Or at least, for the rest of their lives. But she knows Andrew well enough to know that it probably isn’t in the cards for them. Every time they’re together, it takes everything in her being to remember that the pair of them aren’t exactly compatible – sometimes love isn’t enough.

Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how much you feel, or how deeply you feel it, it just isn’t enough. The compromises start feeling like a chore and the sacrifices become another way to punish yourself.

After ghosting her thumb along the top of his cheek, Y/n finally pulls her hand away. A quick glance at the clock mounted to the wall proves that she’s long missed her flight, but of course, she doesn't mind if it means soaking up a couple more hours with him – and delaying the inevitable.

The hurt in his eyes. The promises that it won’t happen again. The way he doesn’t let her hand go, even as she’s walking away, so the very tips of their fingers are touching until they're literally out of each other’s reach.

That last kiss until the next one, the one that neither of them wants to break because in that moment, the just the thought of not doing it again is far too much.

The inevitable; getting on that plane and going home. Crying in the shower and then stripping the sheets off her bed because they make her think of him.

But in the essence of delaying the inevitable, she doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Shoving the blanket away, Y/n slips out of bed and snatches Andrew’s shirt from the night before off the floor. The fabric is silky and cool as it settles on her shoulders, and the hem falls past the middle of her thighs. She closes up a few buttons and then rolls up the sleeves so they aren’t swallowing her hands up before stealing away to the bathroom to quickly freshen up.

By the time she emerges from the small, adjoining bathroom, Andrew has turned onto his stomach and stretched an arm out to the vacant spot on the bed. The sheets are even more of a mess then before and she’s barely resisting the urge to get back in next to him; tuck herself under the weight of his arm and feel warmth rise up in her chest when he pulls her against his own.

Though, when another cautious step forward consequents her accidentally kicking his pants from the night before, Y/n stops to look at them on the floor. There’s something sticking out of the pocket, she can see enough of it to peak her interest but not enough to know what it is. So she picks it up.

A picture.

She sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing the image, immediately recalling exactly when it was taken. London; October 5th, 2019. Though, considering what they’d gotten up to that night, it could have very well been the earliest hours of October sixth.

Sinking to the floor, she presses her back to the side of the ottoman near the foot of the bed. Everything about that night is so clear to her; the energy radiating off him right before the show, the roughness of his denim jacket when he’d draped it over her shoulders as they walked back to the car that would take them to the hotel. The taste of his mouth; whiskey, and something sweet.

The sound of his voice every time he said, “tonight’s gonna be special.”

In retrospect, October fifth – or sixth – was really the night that changed everything. The beginning of the end.

“Morning.” Y/n jumps a little when Andrew’s voice startles her out of her little trip down memory late. She must’ve been lost in thought for a while, because when she glances up at him, the mess of his hair has been remedied by long, tired fingers and he’s pulled on his boxers.

“Morning,” she mumbles, looking down at the picture again, “I didn’t realize you still had this."

Andrew shrugs, sinking down onto the floor in front of her, “its been right where you left it.” I’ve been right where you left me, he wants to add, but holds his tongue. He watches intently as she traces the pad of her thumb over the image of them on a hotel room sofa, with plastic cups filled with booze in their hands and her half-sat on his lap. God, the weight of her in his arms; he’ll do anything to make that a staple of his life again.

“I thought you were gonna propose that night,” she elicits softly, head still bent.

“What?” He rasps, furrowing his brows.

Y/n shakes her head, feeling silly about it all these years later. “You kept saying that it was a special night.”

“I meant-”

“I know what you meant now,” she swallows harshly, “and I know you –I knew you. So I should've known better. But I was so��..caught up in wanting that with you, I guess I’d hoped you changed your mind.” He’d always been so clear that marriage, and maybe even kids, wasn’t something he was very interested in, and for years Y/n had convinced herself that she loved him more than she wanted either of those things.

But then her friends started getting married and having babies, and suddenly, and ache in her yawned open. Was she really going to miss out on half her life for a man who shied away from talking about her after they’d been together for almost three years.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Andrew slumps his shoulders, “we could’ve gotten through it, you didn’t have to leave–”

“Well I definitely couldn’t stay,” Y/n cuts him off, tone harsher than she intends, “it was never gonna work out, Andy. We were never getting past that.”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” he re-emphasizes.

“It was more than that,” when she looks up at him again, her eyes are shining and her lips are shaking ever so slightly, “I want something from you that I am never going to get.”

“Why isn't it enough to just be with me?” He asks, long fingers ghosting the side of her face in a touch so heavy it almost isn’t there.

A soft, almost silent scoff breaks her lips and Andrew notes the shine of fresh tears in her eyes. “Would it really be that bad?” Her gaze shifts as she searches his eyes, “Being married to me,” Y/n clarifies in a wounded, hushed tone, “Would it really be that bad?”

Pulling his hand away, Andrew scrubs it over his face, “its not like that,” he promises, “I just don’t get why its important to you.”

Okay, so maybe not anything.

“Why isn’t it important to you?” And just like that, they’re having the same fight they had two years ago, when she said she he couldn’t wait and he’d told her that it didn’t matter if she did. He’s never understood her obsession with marriage, the way Andew sees it, he’s committed to her in every way that matters, getting married will only make things difficult.

Scrubbing his hand over his mouth, Andrew leans back into his chair, “Because I know that I wanna be with you right now, and that’s enough for me. Look,” he suspires heavily, “marriage is tough. Besides people get married all the time and then just get divorced two years later-”

“And some people stay married for fifty years,” Y/n counters defiantly, “so what the fuck is your point?”

“I’m just saying; that might not be us,” he stands and takes a couple steps back to lean against the small round table near the window. When Y/n’s response isn't anything more than an irritated scoff and a glance towards her right, Andrew relents, “maybe I should go.”

“Yeah, you should,” she agrees with haste. She doesn’t look at him as he snatches his pants off the floor before disappearing into the bathroom. The minute shuts the door, though, a hitched sob leaks off her lips and Y/n has to press her hand to her mouth to quiet them. Trying –and failing– to contain her tears, she looks at the picture again and its hard to wrap her head around the fact that the man holding her there, whose arms she’d felt safest in, is the same one seemingly determined to break her heart.

God, she misses him.

Oddly enough, the only comfort she wants at the moment is his. It must be the most visions cycle to be caught in; have him inflict the pain and then seek him out to dress the wounds.

Y/n doesn't know how long she stays there, or how long Andrew lingers in the bathroom, but its long enough for her tears to slow and her legs to start feeling tingly.

At least he's here right now, something in the back of her mind urges. And she doesn't want to leave things the way they are.

Pushing off the floor, Y/n discards the picture on the unmade bed and pads over the bathroom door. “Andy?” Her knuckles hit the cool wood without much force, and after three brief taps, she pressed her cheek to it. “Can I come in?”

She hears the tap turn on and then off again, followed by a brief rustling and then; “yeah.”

He's at the sink, and despite the white hand towel strewn on the counter, his face is still damp and his eyes are red rimmed. His slacks are on the counter too, and it takes a minute before he looks away from his reflection in the wide mirror to regard her. “I thought you might want your shirt back,” she shrugs, fingers fiddling with the top button.

“Yeah, you can just….” He trails off when she starts undoing the buttons, and upon realizing that she isn't wearing anything underneath, he sucks in a sharp breath.

“I'm gonna take a shower,” she hums, as his shirt slides off her shoulders and billows to the tiled floor. Briefly tipping her chin to meet his gaze, Y/n moves past him, her shoulder brushing his arm.

She slides the door closed, but it doesn't make much of a difference considering it's made of totally transparent glass.

“Fuck,” Andrew drags his lower lip through his teeth. Part of him wants to pick up his clothes and leave; if going back to her after the reception was bad, then this is just down right toxic. But she’s upset, and so is he, and she’s usually the only person he wants to be around when he feels like that.

He thinks there’s a physical pull as he approaches the glass door. Ridding himself of his boxers, he steps into the shower and outstretches his arm to invite her against his chest, and Y/n steps into his embrace. Her arms go around his middle and she presses her cheek to the center of his chest and Andrew smoothens his hand over her wet hair. “I was supposed to be made for you,” Y/n professes softly, “I could’ve sworn it.” Andrew can feel the difference between her tears and the water raining down on them. They’re warmer, they feel like acid on his skin.

Besides, it doesn’t seem right to leave things on a sour note.

What if it really is the last time? It probably won't be, but he doesn't want to leave it to chance.

He doesn't want to leave at all.

He doesn’t know what to say to her; sometimes it feels like she is made for him. The shape of her body is practically molded to fit his, but it's so much more than that. Its the way she laughs at his worst jokes, the way it feels when she runs her fingers through his hair. He’s written songs for her – no other woman has ever been as much of a muse as Y/n has. Its in the small things; like how her laugh is one of his favorite sounds and they like the same kind of wine.

Its in the biggest things; like how he can only stand to have her around when it feels like everything is falling apart around him – or coming together.

Bending his head, Andrew kisses her hair. “I’m sorry,” he utters, realizing, for the first time, that she’s just as caught up in that tangled mess as he is;

they’ll always go back to each other, because there’s nowhere else to go.

[icycoldninja]

hello~(^^) how are you doing?

I wanted to ask for dmc boys with a gn!reader who can't tolerate heat. (^-^ )✨

Oh yes, I felt this one in my soul. (It's like 70-something degrees out right now, not counting the sun, and I'm DYING) Please enjoy.

Sparda boys + V x Heat intolerant!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante is the king of summer and heat, which makes sense because his DT is literally on fire.

-He is perfectly at home in the blazing heat, and won't hesitate to make fun of you because of your "weakness".

-Calls you a popsicle because you're sweet, but melt in the sun.

-He honestly doesn't know how to help you, aside from setting up a fan and getting you a cool drink.

-Will tolerate your whining, but might fall asleep listening to you because falling asleep outside when it's blazing hot is just so easy.

-Takes you to the beach or community pool to swim, thinking that will help you. It does, but sadly, only for as long as you're in the water.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil doesn't like the heat either, though this could be attributed to the fact that he walks around in a thick coat 24/7.

-He doesn't complain as much as you, that's for sure, and will roll his eyes whenever you start whining.

-See, unlike you, instead of griping about the heat, Vergil finds ways to overcome it, be it by stripping himself down to just his boxers, or by filling the room with large fans, he will beat summer, nothing can stop him.

-Has a lifetime's supply of ice cream ready for consumption because even he, the King of Motivation, needs a sweet treat sometimes.

-Will go with you to the beach or pool as splashing around in the water is the best way to cool down.

-Ends up with some serious sunburn the next morning. Poor guy.

□ Nero □

-Nero doesn't like the heat, but he doesn't hate it either. It really depends on how intense it is.

-If it's just a mild summer afternoon, he'll probably be fine, but if it's the middle of a Texas heatwave, then he'll die.

-Knows what to do to deal with the heat, though. He must get it from his dad.

-He puts up with pretty much everything you do, so whine, moan, and flop around like a fish out of water all you want.

-Will fill the fridge up with lemonade and iced tea, and the freezer with popsicles and ice cream.

-Doesn't like to swim, but won't mind accompanying you to the beach so you can cool off in the water while he chills in the shade.

● V ●

-Since V doesn't wear a shirt, shoes, or even underwear, he doesn't feel the effects of extreme heat.

-Well, at least, not until the morning after spending an entire day hanging out outside, which is when he realized his pretty pale skin has been horribly burnt by the wicked sun.

-He doesn't understand why you're so bothered so badly by the summer heat, as it's not really that bad (in his opinion) but won't question you. To each their own.

-Comes up with a rather unique way of cooling you down, which involves placing ice packs on your forehead, stomach, and legs.

-His sick mind thinks it's cute when you're passes out on the couch thanks to heat exhaustion.

-Doesn't like going to the beach because it's noisy and he can't swim, but likes chilling by the pool while you swim to your heart's content.

[zmediaoutlet]

"So how was it?" Dean says.

Sam squints at him. Crazy-bright day, light reflecting off every car, bouncing back from the license plate frame on the Buick in front of them. "How was what?"

He gets a significant look but then there's a honk and Dean waves irritably at the guy behind them, moves forward a half car-length like that means something. Sam said they should've just taken 87 instead of the state highway, but apparently that wouldn't have been as good a drive, so here they are, bumper to bumper. Some accident they can't see up ahead.

"Dean," Sam says, when they're essentially parked again. "How was what?"

Dean stretches back, knees spread wide around the steering wheel. "Uh, let's see," he says, and sucks his lower lip like he's really thinking. "The tonsil hockey? The tongue tango? The vertical v-grab—"

"You're the worst," Sam says, loudly, and Dean grins whitely out at the traffic. Relaxed. Probably more relaxed now that Sam feels blood rising in his cheeks, like he really did something. The dick. They roll forward another few feet and Sam braces his elbow on the open window, looking out at the growing green, the budding trees. Springtime in upstate New York, not the worst it could be.

"Sarah seemed like she'd be good at it," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, smacks vaguely to his left, catches leather jacket. Dean swats his hand away. "Hey, that ain't a dig. I admire a chick who'll really go for it. And, buddy, the way she was looking at you."

Sometimes it's like he thinks Sam's blind. Like, the only reason is that he doesn't notice. He sucks the inside of his cheek, squints out at the random field out past the highway. Cows, in the distance. "She was good at it," he says, finally. Soft where it counted, confident in the way that a lot of gorgeous girls are. Curving into his body but not limp or just opening her mouth for it and waiting for him to be done. Her tongue tasted like earl grey tea. He can taste it now, and rubs his fingers over his mouth.

Dean's been quiet, letting off the brake and rolling forward a carlength at a time. "You want to…" he starts, but what goes there? They weren't going to stay. They never were. Even an extra day didn't make sense, because what was going to happen—Sam taking the open invite, letting himself try, knowing that in the motel across town Dean was cooling his heels with motel porn and a takeout pizza, waiting for Sam to shoot his load so they'd be ready to pack up and leave the state? No, that wasn't going to happen. Not fair to Sarah, no matter if Sam explained the score, and it wasn't fair to Sam, and it wasn't fair, either, to…

More honking, somewhere behind them. They check the rearview at the same time, annoyed, and Dean mutters, "Like that helps?"

Sam turns on his side of the bench, putting his back to the window. Dean glances at him and then looks back out at the cars, frowning. "What do you think I'm missing?" Sam says. "With this stuff. Perfume? Long hair?"

"Perfume I can do, but I draw the line at wearing a wig for you," Dean says. Sam huffs and Dean glances over at him again, smiling. Kind of smiling anyway. "Not trying to—to be weird about it, or pick a fight or anything, Sammy. I just know you wanted…" He shakes his head, slouches back on the bench with two fingers hooked low on the steering wheel. "I don't want you to be—missing anything. I know, we got a job, and it's important. I'm not, like, trying to get you to move into a two-bedroom in New Paltz. I just don't want you to hate this any more than you do already."

Traffic judders to a halt again. Sam nods, looks out at the blinding chrome. His eyes smart. He sniffs, and drags his hand over his face, and then leans over the bench seat and gets his hand on Dean's jaw and turns his face and kisses him. Dean's lips startle open and Sam closes his eyes and licks in, pressing deep, Dean's hand gripping his jacket and Dean's breath filling his mouth. Coffee, salt. Sam tips so his forehead's against Dean's, their noses brushing. "Don't worry about what I'm missing," Sam says.

Dean's knuckles against his chest. He breathes in, shaky.

Honking. Dean takes a quick deep breath and pulls back, doesn't look at Sam. Traffic opening maybe, a little, ahead. They slide forward a car-length and then another. "Might make it to Allentown before dark after all," he says. His ear's pink. Sam sits back into the corner of the bench and smiles at the side of his head. "Shut up," Dean says, and Sam smiles out the window instead, the grown-grass verge starting to blur as they pick up speed. He wasn't going to say a thing.

[kiwi-luminaryofthestars]

04/29/2025 Progress Update:

TLDR: More than 4K edited today, past the first section and maybe a little less than halfway through the second. Word count is staying steady 38Kish

Very sick today but did still pump out as many edits as I could. I'm trying really hard not to get too caught up on wordage this time. While I really like making more flowery language, I think this chapter doesn't necessarily demand it as much as the last did. We're introspective, certainly, but this is mostly dialogue exchanges and action, so tryna adapt the prose a bit.

I know no one from the group chat I'm in probably reads these but if you do, the line you liked from last month survived editing lmaoo so hopefully that'll be a little treat. For everyone else, I will mention this line in the fun facts/behind the scenes post after the chapter is out lol 'cause it's fun.

Otherwise, we haven't been super adding or deleting anything so far. I changed around some poker things just to make it easier to follow but haven't felt the need to add/delete crazy yet. So that's cool! We'll see if that trend continues. Hopeful it does!

Also I'm enjoying describing smoke. That's been fun and I like it. Would do it again (and I will 'cause there'll be another "smoking" scene in ch 12. So by then I'll have forgotten about describing smoke and it'll be a whole other fun experience! Looking forward to it lmao)

Anyway. Sleepy tea is hitting me. I would like to not be sick anymore, por favor. Whomever is holding my health hostage, please release it and I will give you riches in the form of fanfiction. Deal?

[helloescapist]

Comforting You Headcanons | Giyuu Tomioka

Word Count: 1166

Setting: Giyuu Tomioka x gn!reader [established relationship], SFW, general comfort headcannons

Content Warnings: none 🌊

This is subject to updates as the mood hits me.

[image is not my own, it's from the anime Fruits Baskets/Furuba!]

Giyuu wants to comfort his partner. He would want to sooth any aches, and heart aches you may have. Whether it’s difficulties at work, physical pain, emotional, or mental, he really does care about you. Being comforted by Giyuu will be a struggle—he WANTS to take care of you.

He does, but in truth, it may take some time for him to realize that something is wrong. If you were to come in like a storm, it would probably panic him, and he’d likely think it was him who had upset you. In which case, he’ll spend hours trying to figure out what it was, and how he can mend it. Did he forget something important? Did you ask him to take care of something and it slipped his mind? The trash? Did he say something thoughtlessly? He will spiral into an anxiety driven state, and do whatever he crosses his mind. Included a sincere apology, head bowed and all.

If you’re the type to silently hurt, well, it will take him time to figure out that’s something wrong. It will be the small things that add up. Skipping breakfast, avoiding eye contact, going to bed early, the tone of your voice, easily distracted, etc, it will be a BUNCH of small things piling up before it clicks in his head that something is bothering you. If it were only one or two discrepancies in your normal day, he’s just going to assume that you’re busy, or tired. However, if he begins to notice multiple differences, he’s going to begin to fret. Does he say something? Rub your back?

Giyuu’s comfort would be soft, and indirect. Like the sunshine on a spring morning, and as gentle as the April weather. Desperate to break the chill of winter, but unsure how to do so. Like the beginning of spring, the small compilation of acts that verify its arrival. That’s how the Water Hashira would express his love, and how he would comfort you as well.

The first round of attempts will be a lot like the beginning stages of his love (maybe even the later aspects as well, he’s reliable). Small acts of affection. Nothing lavish (he’s not Tengen!). In fact, it’s probably things that you’re at risk of overlooking, especially if you’re upset, but still, he’ll do them without a complaint.

It would be making you tea/coffee first thing in the morning when sleep has escaped you, and you fretted over things that he’s not sure if he should ask about, or if you’re not ready to discuss. The tossing and turning of your sleep is sure to have him rise a little bit earlier to ensure that a cup will be waiting for you.

It would be saving the last piece of castella cake, just for you on a bad day. Whether it’s from a coworker, a bad memory, or just an off day. The cake will be there waiting for you. An added strawberry, or fruit you like if they’re in season.

Comfort = care in Tomioka’s world.

Unspoken, indirect, but always present. Pleasant and cool to the touch like the cool side of a pillow the middle of a summer night. Subtle, but always elicits the exhale of relief and comfort.

Giyuu’s comfort would be hesitation brought on by devotion. Far too bashful to initiate physical contact. He really, REALLY doesn't want to mess this up. Sympathetic glances, unsure of how to make the first move. Such as a hug—he’s going to do it. J-just give him a moment. Like this? He may need reassurance that it’s what you’re needing, and as he settles into being more familiar and comfortable with your needs, he will happily and dutifully rise to meet them. Without a second thought, it would eventually become second nature to him. Until then, physical contact would be an awkwardly placed head pat, but he tried. In fact, a big portion of his comforting you, will be trial and error. He means well.

If the situation was work related, Giyu would likely be at a loss. He still wants to help, he does. In a modern setting, he would respect the more traditional aspect of business (he knows that he cannot show up to your place of work and throw a tantrum), and in the Demon Slayer Corps, he knows that everyone falls into a hierarchy, but rest assured he is watching. Whether it’s meeting you at the end of a work day to walk you home, or in such cases where a coworker is pushing boundaries (*ahem* Masao), Giyuu will ensure to safeguard your boundaries.

Don’t get me wrong, I think Giyuu would be a wonderful source of emotional support. As the years go by, the relationship grows, and maturity hits him, I believe that Giyuu would listen to you whether you needed to yell, vent, confess, or even sob into his kimono, but it will take time. He has the makings now, he does, but at the same time, Giyuu lives in his head, and it may be difficult for him to gather the courage to initiate this. If you take the first step, he will comply without a second thought. Collapse into his chest, sobbing, and he will be startled and a little stiff, but sure enough, he will hold you in his arms. Collapse you into an embrace, rub your back (all while wondering if he’s doing this right).

Until then. Be patient.

He’s worried that he’ll do something wrong, and become burdensome. So, he’ll just settle for taking something off of your plate to ensure that you have just one less thing to worry about.

If the Water Hashira was under the impression that the housework had been the source of your frustration (that one task you just hate like the dishes, or perhaps it’s just too much, you’re overwhelmed), he would take it over without a second thought. Without saying anything.

Understand, Giyuu wants to help, he really does. To him, you are everything, and he wants to do right by you. Really, the best course of action (for your relationship in general) would to be honest and TELL him what you want/need. It’s not a burden really, don’t worry it’s not demanding. No, in fact, he would feel so relieved.  He wants to do right by you. But, if you have not quite met that stage of your relationship where you have laid everything out in black and white (make a note to do so soon), and know that while he may not have the best of how to do so, he’s doing his best.

So, don’t worry. Your plants have been watered, and your pets have been cared for (he has the scratches/nibbles to show for it). He’ll pick up groceries, fill the fridge. Ensure that snacks are ready for when you’ve managed an appetite. Bills will be paid, and the house will be maintained.

Don’t worry.

Take your time.

He’s here for you.

[otterlyfoolish]

No Smoking Indoors

(Shiba Togo x GN!Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of war, Possibly OOC, not edited

Tags: Small Age Gap, unrequited crush, its like really subtle though

Word Count: 3k

Summary:

Cafe Haru Haru has all sorts of people. Typically, you'd usually find people that's skilled in combat visiting the most for work. So it really shouldn't surprise Shiba to see a fellow war veteran there.

If you like Ao3 for reading fics more, here!

-----

Café Haru Haru is a café. Obvious, right?

You can buy coffee, you can get tea, you can get some sweet treats if the owner remembered to restock it for that day, otherwise you can settle for some sort of fruit juice she has in a little fridge under the counter. (Which is most of the time, since she tends to snack on her own products.)

From the decoration, you might think that its kind of like a bar, but there's no alcohol being served there - the wine glasses on the shelves are mostly for decoration. You can tell by the dust on the shelves - it might have been used to serve drinks once, but now it sits there solely to reflect the warm lighting and any sunlight it catches. It's probably for the best considering the main purpose of the business though.

It's not just a café, because if it was, it would be out of business extraordinarily fast. The main function is that it connects sorcerers to paying clients, and collects a fee. Typically it's yakuza looking for a little more firepower (sometimes literally,) or some blood thirsty fool that doesn't know any other way of life.

With a ring of the bell from the front of the store, it lets the owner know that someone's come in, whether it's a client looking for some protection, or a violent guard dog, she welcomes them in with a idle smile, hoping that its something more exciting this time.

"Excuse us!" The man yells out, already treating the place like a second home as he saunters in, the younger man next to him following closely as he gives him a blank stare.

"Ah, Shiba." She dejects with something of a scowl, leaning on the counter with a slump in her shoulders. "I'm busy right now, sit down and I'll get to you." She waves at him dismissively then shoots Chihiro a warmer greeting: "Hey, you look cool today as well, Chihiro!" To which she get a slow nod of confusion in response. Shiba glances between the two of them, the preferential treatment clear as day.

The two of them sit down at the stools, staying quiet as they glance over to Hinao explaining the details of a job to another customer - this was uncommon, they've never really been around seeing her handle her customers.

The customer has been served a cup of coffee (something Shiba and Chihiro had to always make themselves), and sat silently at the counter, reading over information Hinao had handed them. With a small thank you from them, Hinao nodded and then walked away, greeting Shiba now.

"So! What do you need?" She asks, leaving her customer to their own devices as she slides over to her regulars, hands flat on the table. "Need another job, Shiba? I got a couple, you might like." She says, "or just checking up on intel?"

"Just dropping by Tokyo." He answers simply, "but while I'm here, thought I'd also just ask you, how's it going on that front?"

"Bad." She sighs, looking out the window with a shoulders slumped. "I got nothing. Nada."

"Ah." He mouths back, while Chihiro lowers his gaze towards the counter, his face remaining as stoic as ever. Shiba had a feeling that the teen was pretty disappointed at the news though. "Well, let me see the job listings then. I'll check it out if it sounds promising."

"Sure, just wait 'till they're done." Hinao nods back at him, putting her hands into her coat pocket, using her head to motion towards the only other person in the room. "They've got the nice juicy ones right now. 'course, I've other ones if you're looking for something easier for a old man like you."

Shiba ignores that last jab. "Huh, really?" He utters back in response with a eyebrow raised - usually Hinao tried to pair up the difficulty to the person so her customers wouldn't be disappointed. If they've got the 'juicy' ones, that meant that they've got the high-risk, high-reward offers.

She nods back at Shiba, about to say something more before her other customer placed the papers down on the counter, waiting patiently for Hinao to speak to them again with their hands folded on the counter. Shiba glanced over again towards them as Hinao walked back over, discussing the details with the sorcerer.

"I'd like to take this one, please." They say holding one in particular. Their voice made Shiba's ears perk up.

"Okay, I'll give them a call, and we can arrange a meeting sometime." Hinao says, marking it down in a little notepad under the counter before grabbing the pile of job offers, sliding it over to Shiba. He didn't catch it, seemingly frozen as he looked across the room, leaving Chihiro to stop the pile of paper before it hit the floor.

"Thank you." They nodded back in response to Hinao who walked over to the rotary phone, humming absentmindedly as she rung the customer, one hand in her coat pocket.

"Mr Shiba," Chihiro starts out, trying to get his attention as Shiba still seemed to be frozen in his seat.

"Huh? Yeah, what's up, Chihiro?" He snapped out of it, glancing back at him as Chihiro fixed the pile of paper.

"The job listings you asked for." Chihiro answered simply, putting them in front of Shiba in a neat pile.

"Ah, thanks." He nodded, then turned his face back to the other side, looking at the only other customer again. Chihiro joined in, blinking at the two of them with a blank expression, but it was obvious he was wondering why Shiba seemed so interested in this other person. Slowly, he moved his hand to rest on the hilt of Enten, his eyes narrowing in anticipation, glancing over to Hinao, and made some mental calculations in his mind.

There didn't seem to be anything unusual about them - they seemed to be a pretty normal person overall, so Chihiro isn't sure what Shiba is picking up on. He's just trying to follow Shiba's lead. Then, there was finally movement.

The person from across the room pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out as they waited for Hinao to finish the deal for them. At the sight of them taking out the little box, she narrowed her them and shooed them out of her store, motioning towards the 'NO SMOKING' sign.

They nodded, then slowly made their way out. They seemed to have expected to be ushered out of the room. Choosing to wait outside as Hinao stayed on the phone, still discussing the details with her client.

Shiba's eyes followed them as they walked past him and Chihiro, still not even bothering to give either of them a single glance as they pulled the door open and walked out, standing outside for their smoke.

Chihiro blinked in confusion, then moved his hands back to his sides.

Shiba was quick to move after this. "Chihiro, you stay here and look through the pile, I'm going to have a smoke." He says, getting up from the stool, readjusting his shirt to look messier as he walked out.

"Mr Shiba, you ran out of cigarettes." Chihiro answers back, watching him walk out the door without another word from him. Chihiro blinked at the sight of him walking up to the stranger before turning to the pile of paper on the counter and reading through it carefully like he was told to.

-----

"There's a first for everything, huh?" A masculine voice calls out to you as you light your cigarette. You already knew who it was, so you didn't bother looking up as you took a deep breath as you let him continue speaking. "Never seen you in trouble before."

He looked at you as you slid the lighter back into your pockets, your eyes lazily turning to him as you began smoking, leaning against the cold walls of Cafe Haru Haru. You've aged, he could tell, but at the same time you looked younger - it's probably because of the fact the dark eye bags he's used to seeing on your skin wasn't so prominent anymore, unlike the past. You don't look so tired - maybe you've finally been getting some peace at night.

"Mr Shiba," you rolled his name off your tongue as you finally lifted your head up, blowing out a cloud of smoke as you spoke. You don't sound too different. "You still follow strangers into dark alleyways. Break that nasty habit, why don't you?"

He scoffed slightly at your answer, "we're not strangers, don't address me so formally."

"Apologies," you nodded back at him as you stood a little to the side, letting him stand next to you in the narrow space. He took you up on your unspoken offer, standing opposite you, back against the other wall of another building. "Oi. You brat," you verbally slap him as you let him settle near you.

"You're not old enough to start calling me a brat either!" He retorted back, but you could tell that he doesn't really care about the way you address him. He's playing around. "We're not in war times anymore either, so you're not my superior."

Shiba doesn't get angry easily, the both of you know that there's worse things to get riled up over compared to this. You somewhat miss the days where he would show you something that's a little more of a normal reaction.

"I wasn't done speaking," you say, pulling the cigarette out your mouth to speak again. He stayed quiet after that, listening to you. "You were worrying the young man by staring at me like that," you murmured out, gazing up at him with furrowed eyebrows. Your eyes seemed to catch something, as you briefly looked down. "Oh for goodness...! Fix your clothes." You grumbled, putting your cigarette back into your mouth to free up your hands. They smoothed out his collared shirt, and you pulled his suspenders back into place. "Why don't you notice these things, Shiba?"

Damn you and the eyes on the back of your head. But your observant nature was also what he was betting on. "Sorry."

He had noticed, but he knew that nothing would happen, so he didn't bother giving Chihiro any form of commutation regarding you. Though, he should have really at least gave him a wave or something. "I was just making sure that it really was you."

"Hm." You flicked your eyes up at him, not really buying his answer but chose not to linger long on it. "He looks like a young Rokuhira. But with less peach fuzz."

"...Yeah." Shiba nodded at your words, his shoulders slumping slightly at your words. His tone changed as he spoke, you noticed but couldn't place what he was feeling in response to your statement. "He's grown up a lot."

Your eyes flick over to the street and then back over to him. "Nice swords he's got." You state, taking another deep breath of your cigarette. Nonchalantly as ever, Shiba thinks, as you don't bother seeing if you're crossing boundaries you shouldn't be. "I take it that one of them is..." You say, not finishing on purpose, and Shiba is forced to mentally retrack his last statement.

"Yep." He nodded firmly at your unfinished question. If this was anyone else, he might have to reconsider sharing this bit of information, but he knew that you wouldn't do anything with it - it would just betray everything he knew about you.

You blinked at him slowly, already understanding any implications about that statement. "...I see."

A small moment of silence fell between the two of you - he rested his back against the cold walls of the building behind him as he gave you more space to stand with him. You stared at him, watching him watch you, the two of you aware of how close you were but didn't want to move further apart either.

"I saw the little poster about the Hishaku Ms Hinao put up." You stated, looking at him in the eyes, already knowing that he was the one that requested for the information. You've never asked Hinao about who put it up, but judging by what you know right now and the time frame that poster went up on the corkboard, you took a small leap of faith. He stared back into yours, occasionally glancing down to the cigarette in between your lips. "I'll let you know if I hear anything about them."

"...Thanks. That would help." He says, now looking off to the side before slowly guiding his eyes back to you, tracing your features as he tries to read your expression. He wouldn't be surprised if you were disappointed in him - he had a feeling that Kunishige would be.

You stare back at him, not caring about the way his eyes never really left your face. "Be careful," You say to him, locking back onto his pupils as you breath out another small puff of smoke. He stays silent, no random interjections. "I know you probably don't want to, but guiding or helping teenagers to commit violence doesn't settle nicely on your soul." As you spoke, your voice grew quieter. "Don't put more on your conscience if you can help it. The both of you."

...Huh. Shiba thought for sure you'd scold him for letting Chihiro do this. There was a part of him that followed you out of Cafe Haru Haru because he needed to consult to someone with a stronger moral compass. Kunishige wasn't there anymore, Azami could only assist him so much as part of the Kamunabi, you were the only one left.

"...Speaking from experience?" He asks you, though he really doesn't need to. He was there, from the start to the very end.

"I mean, that's all I have." You say back with a light voice that's meant to clear the tension, but he doesn't latch onto it. You take another inhale, shifting your eyes away, unable to bring yourself to look at what expression he had. "Sorry. I shouldn't lecture you."

"It's fine." Shiba says, but doesn't touch on it again as he shifts to another topic as you seem like you want to leave the conversation already. "How you've been doing recently?" He asks and the simple question already makes you want to let out a small groan.

"Eh." You start off, trying to think of a way to summarise your current everyday life in a way that won't concern him, but is enough to be honest at the same time. "Good enough. I'm currently teaching sorcery though."

"Huh?" He lets his mouth hang open at your words, blinking at you repeatedly. "Like, to a class? Or are you back in the Kamunabi?"

"Don't be ridiculous." You scoffed out at his guessing. "Just this kid that ran away from home." With a chuckle, you go on. "He's got potential, but he has a tendency to stick his nose into things he shouldn't be. He's like you when you were younger."

"I didn't cause that much trouble." He says, straight up denying your words.

"Only because you got away with it." You say, "The three of you would scuttle away to pull some shit off, and I would be forced to clean up any mess you made because I was in charge of your damn group." You let out a verbal exhale, thinking back on it. "If it wasn't for the fact it was war times, I wouldn't even be put in charge of you guys, y'know...? I'm not that much older than you."

He opens his mouth to say something in response to you, but when he receives a sharp glare in response, he closes it again, noticing something in the background. You turned around, looking at whatever he was looking at.

At the sound of a bell ringing behind you, you faced Hinao who had just exited from her store, holding a little bit of paper. The two of you instantly stop talking in anticipation of her speaking to either of you.

"Yo, you still- ah, there you are!" She said, walking up to you and extending the object in her hand to you, not caring that the two of you were just standing in the alleyway. "Here, they wanna meet up with you before working, but it seems like they're willing to hire you."

"Thank you, Ms Hinao." You said, taking it from her - you could tell from the lines that it was just torn out of her notepad. As you folded it neatly, you continued speaking, "I'll give you a cut of the pay if I get it, is that okay?"

"Eh?" She glanced over to Shiba who had forced a completely blank look on his face, not daring to show anything on his face to Hinao. He tried to look serious, but she thought that he just looked like a frog. "...Yeah, I mean, you always remember to pay up so I'm not too bothered." She agreed rather easily, before walking back into the café, realising that Shiba was talking to you, and there was just some sort of weird vibe coming from him. "See you."

The two of you watch Hinao go back into the café, a pensive thought on your face while Shiba continued to try to stay stoic. It doesn't really suit him, in your opinion.

"...Hm." You mumbled, sensing that she didn't want to hang around outside for too long for whatever reason, but once again, you don't care enough and just slip the paper into your pocket. "Well, I guess I should be going now."

His eyes darted over to you, "already?"

"Yeah?" You said, raising an eyebrow back at him. "I mean, I don't have a reason to stick around."

"You could talk to me." He said, "let's smoke together a little longer."

"Quit slacking," you shot down with a light laugh, rolling your eyes at him. "You haven't even been smoking while talking to me anyways."

He let out a small huff of annoyance, but you knew that he wasn't actually offended. "...Here, let's stay in contact." He says, pulling out his flip phone and handing it over to you.

"...Yeah, sure." You agree, putting your cigarette back in your mouth as you typed with both hands. When you handed his phone back over to you, he stuck his hand out, looking at you expectantly. You stared down at his palm, trying to think of what on Earth he wanted before taking the cigarette out of your mouth and putting it in between his fingers without another word.

He gave you a incredulous look, his pupils going back and forth from the object in his hands to your dumbfounded expression. "What?"

"...Huh?" You uttered back at him.

"I'm asking for your phone," he states, giving each word time to sink in, "so I can, you know, put my number in your contacts."

"...But I'm not going to contact you." You state, crossing your arms. He narrows his eyes at you, about to say more, but you chuckle at the expression on his face. "Goodbye, Shiba. Please give the young Rokuhira my sincerest condolences." you say back to him as you begin to walk away, joining the crowd. He watched your figure slowly disappear into the flock of people.

Shiba looked down at the object in his hands, it was still burning at the cherry. His eye flicked upwards again.

He pressed the cigarette to his lips, taking one last inhale of it as he looked at the crowd of people, trying to find you once more, before snuffing it out, walking back into Cafe Haru Haru.

[lemoncrushh]

Cubicle // 4) Anticipation

STORY PAGE

Word Count: 925

Friday // Roni

It's Friday morning and I'm feeling refreshed because for once I slept like a baby. This time I was smart. As soon as I crawled under the covers last night I masturbated thinking about Harry. Then I fell right to sleep.

Harry and I had a nice lunch yesterday. It was lovely weather so we walked to the end of the block to Cafe Meringue and sat outside. He made jokes as we people watched, and once he made me laugh so hard I had to excuse myself to the ladies' room. I really enjoyed his company, and I was thrilled that this was just a prelude to tonight's date.

The idea that there was a possibility of Harry kissing me goodnight was titillating and overwhelming. When we got back to the office and separated to our respective cubicles, I let my mind wander to the thought until I was jerked back into reality by Gerard who asked me to type something for him.

The rest of the day's tasks kept me busy and before I knew it, it was time to leave. I didn't see Harry again, but when I was sitting on the couch eating leftovers and watching Friends reruns, I got a text from him.

Lunch again tomorrow?

My inner teenager squealed as I replied.

Mr. Styles, you're going to get sick of me before we even have our first date.

His next text had me biting my lip.

I doubt that.

I pondered what to say when he texted again.

If if makes you feel better, we can consider today our first date. So by the time we go out tomorrow night, it will already be our third.

I giggled as I wrapped a strand of hair around my finger.

I'd like that.

So yes to lunch?

Yes.

Harry

Yes. I must have stared at the word for an hour. Three little letters, but they aroused me so much. I wanted to kick myself for not calling her instead. I might have been lucky enough to hear her say it over the phone in her sexy voice. Yes.

I played it cool yesterday at lunch. I was a gentleman, but didn't overdo it. I offered to buy her meal, but she insisted she pay for her own. I cracked some jokes which she laughed at. Like a genuine laugh, not the fake laugh that some girls do because they think the chap will like them better. On the walk back to the office, I kept my hands in my pockets merely to keep myself from touching her. I wanted to wrap my arm around her waist or even hold her hand as juvenile as that sounds. But I knew neither would be appropriate. Damn, this woman is actually making me hold off on the things I really want to do. Hopefully, all that will change tonight.

Okay, I'm not a total wanker. I think I know how to treat a lady. I'm not going to make her do anything she doesn't want to do. But let me say this. Anything she is willing to do, I'm all for it. I know I haven't even known her a week yet, but I've spent almost every waking moment fantasizing about her in some sort of sexual position. I can't get her out of my mind.

Like right now, I'm supposed to be working on a report for a client, but instead I'm anticipating lunch with Roni. There's not really that many places to eat within walking distance, so I'll probably have to take her somewhere in my car. The thought of her sat next to me, her long legs and tight skirt against the leather seat is enough to give me a boner.

I haven't seen her yet this morning. I must have missed her in the parking lot because I spotted her car when I pulled in. I hoped maybe I'd catch her in the break room, but the only people I saw when I walked in were Gerard and his salesman buddy whose name escapes me, so I quickly got my tea and returned to my desk.

Roni

Shit. Shit, shit shit! I can't fucking believe this.

When Greta returned to her office and I finally had a moment alone in my cubicle, I texted Harry. I could already feel his disappointment before I even sent it.

Harry, I'm so very sorry. I have to cancel lunch today. There's a sales luncheon that I had to organize, but I had no idea I have to be present.

I gnawed at my fingernails as I waited for his text. Instead, my phone rang.

"Harry, I'm —" I began when I answered it.

"It's okay," Harry interrupted. "Can't say I'm not disappointed. I was looking forward to it. At least we still have tonight."

"Yes, definitely," I assured him.

"Hopefully you won't cancel on me."

Ugh, my heart ached. "No, never, I promise!"

"Alright then," Harry voiced in his low sexy tone. "I'll give you a call later to get your address."

"Sounds lovely," I replied.

"Have fun at your luncheon," he teased.

"Fuck, Harry," I groaned under my breath. "This is going to be torture. I might as well bring a pillow and take a nap."

Harry chuckled as we said our goodbyes. Then I looked at the time on my phone. 11:52AM. Eight hours until our date. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the conference room, hoping the rest of the day would fly by.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[bonni]

12 & 18? :3

12. Talk about a new friend you made this year.

Okay yaaaay so there's this girl in my ASL class who is SO cute and I've been talking about her a lot on here because I'm lowkey in love with her but she's also just a really cool person and I'm so glad I met her... we've only hung out outside of school once (which makes my crush even more pathetic) but once the semester ends in a week I think we're going to try to go to an art museum together :3 she's like a cute femme with freckles who draws and likes the same manga as I do and just has a really refreshing outlook on life... after living with my emotional black hole of an ex for several years it is so nice to fall for someone who enjoys the general spirit of life even if things are hard sometimes

18. A memorable meal this year?

I'm trying to think about my favorite meal from when I went to japan... it's hard because I don't take pictures of my food so I'm working on memory alone haha. I had some really awesome kitsune udon in this little hole-in-the-wall near senso-ji, that's probably the meal I remember most fondly. also this doesn't really count as a meal but the food I miss the most from my trip are the drinks and scones I got many mornings at this little cafe near where I was staying. it's called mocca coffee, it's in asakusa, they had the most delicious scones, iced tea, matcha, and I'm not even a coffee person but I tried their milk coffee and it was amazing. I miss that place every day...

[smallnico]

Okay I know these are basic but I actually think I haven't asked them yet. A rundown of Esper's favorites: favorite flower? Food? Drink? Animal? Color? Season?

a lot of these i hadn't thought about either, so thanks for the opportunity!!

flower: i don't know if this counts, since it's not really known for its flowers, but i would probably say rosemary.

i've written a little story where esper gets a gift of a sachet of rosemary from astarion, in part to help with the whole 'lingering smell of death' situation, so it has a lot of sentimental significance to them. that said, it's also pretty appropriate -- in addition to smelling nice and tasting nice, it's also said to purify and protect against negative and corruptive spiritual energy. some meanings i've found in terms of flower language are memory, love, lust, mourning, and fidelity, all of which are also appropriate lmao. it also looks like esper, a little -- so pointy and kind of evocative of spikier pine needles, so you don't want to get too close, but when you do the needles are actually pretty tender, and the flowers are a well-kept secret -- maybe you didn't realize that rosemary Had flowers, that it was just a leafy herb for seasoning, but it has a lot of beauty to it even beyond how useful and versatile it is.

food: roasted dwarf, obviously -- just kidding, though. esper's favourite food is probably sauteed mushrooms.

(and not just because the durge c*nnibalism stuff squicks me out a little, so i choose not to incorporate it more than i have to into esper's story.) esper actually doesn't like eating meat if they can help it. it feeds That Durge In Them, but that's why they don't like it. mushrooms, on the other hand, remind them in some small way of better times. they did grow up in the underdark, so they ate a lot of mushrooms as a kid!

drink: esper will drink anything that's given to them, but they're especially fond of mint tea.

esper used to be an absinthe and dark liquor enjoyer back in the bhaalist days, but ever since their lobotomy and necromancer vivisection experience, their old drow poison/alcohol tolerance is pretty much nonexistant, so they don't drink much alcohol. tea on the other hand is good for stress management, and mint tea in particular helps to bring up your energy level without caffeine, so it doesn't make it harder to sleep -- something esper, chronic bhaalspawn nightmare haver, struggles with enough as it is.

animal: no question here. cats!

it's partially a joke, but i associate esper pretty strongly with cats -- and in-game (though this is mostly my fault) i use speak with animals to prevent ever harming them (yes, i know about steelclaw and grub. not on my watch, larian), as well as other animals. esper has a soft spot for creatures, but they do have a particular affinity for cats and their ways of life. esper too pinwheels between being god's favourite little acrobatic obligate predator and being so cuddly and sweet. also, between being cool and aloof and careful, and being an absolute fucking bastard menace with a taste for mischief. if you've ever been stared at relentlessly by a cat, you understand how it feels to be stared at by esper.

colour: you wouldn't be able to tell by looking at them, but it's somewhere between teal and purple.

these are the colours i use to depict their magic, not coincidentally! even though the main non-black colour accent i use with esper in art is this purplish red, that's the colour i use when i want to depict The Urge, or bhaal. this is why their text bubbles in my comics are pink -- it's halfway between bhaal and esper. :>

season: now this is one i'm not sure about. they'd need to have a few more years accumulated of Experiencing Seasons before they'd be able to make up their mind, but i know in my heart it's probably autumn.

i have an easier time saying for certain what seasons esper hates, lmao. they hate summer. too much sun, too hot, too much Weather, too humid. again, they grew up in the underdark and spent a lot of their forgotten adult life either underground or prowling at night. they are more than happy with shorter days and cooler weather -- the only reason winter isn't their favourite season is because snow is a pain in the ass, and because esper runs hot (body temp wise) but not hot enough to dress how they usually like to when it's Actually Cold. and spring just means summer is coming, so to esper that makes it the sunday night of seasons. autumn is nice and cool, kind of spooky, dark, and full of the smell of things rotting (but in like a good way).

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THANKS FOR ASKINGGG you're a real one molly <333