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diremoone · 5 months

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written in fine print | r. sukuna

moving to japan to get a breath of fresh air was supposed to be one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. it still may be, but now you’ve got a problem and you don’t know what to do about it. the problem? ryomen sukuna, one of the wealthiest men on the planet, being… enamored with you. you’ve come fairly far with him as “friends” while keeping him at bay, but after you both spend christmas together, you know that things have changed. and come the first day of the new year comes a surprise that forces you to face your bottled-up truth.

[ Ryomen Sukuna Masterlist ] | part three

w — slowburn, age gap, modern au, older man/younger woman, fluff, mild? angst, this time we get reader’s pov bc it’s time ;3, insecure! reader, self-indulgence, A KISS (but just one for now sorry y’all), reader and sukuna lay their feelings on the table (I’m sorry I couldn’t help but finally get to this part), sukuna gets kinda prose-y lmao, slightly unsatisfied with this fic but I hope y’all enjoy anyway, sprinkle of bittersweet at the end

God, have mercy upon my soul.

The dozens of text messages from your cousin have you sitting on the edge of your bed in absolute disbelief. You haven’t even had any coffee yet, or any sort of something in your stomach. It’s sheer willpower keeping you from throwing up the stomach acid in your belly.

But you do need something. You make your way into the kitchen and nab the biscuits you made yesterday from the bag they were in. You shouldn’t, but you eat all four of them anyway. Then you drink something.

You were wondering why everything was going too good, why life had been so… easy as of late. Now you understood why. It was the calm before the storm. It was the universe allowing you to have some semblance of peace before it decided to throw you into the pit of mental and emotional turmoil that you’d been so great at avoiding.

Why in the world did the universe decide to put Ryomen Sukuna into your life?

That’s the question you have been asking yourself over and over again ever since you decided to take him up on the offer of a first date six months ago. Even worse, why did you even think it was a remotely good idea to get involved with someone over ten years older than you? Universe aside, you should’ve had the good judgement to keep Sukuna away. Your good intuition was something you’d always prided yourself on, so why did you decide to even let Sukuna keep coming around?

You go back to your room and get the phone, rereading over the messages. One in particular your eyes stay on:

A benefactor has paid for nana’s care and set her up in a really fancy, upscale care and rehabilitation facility here. They came and got her this morning to transfer her. When I asked about it, someone from registration said it was a gift for you. Who the fuck did you meet in Japan? 5:16 am

And you know, deep within your soul and in your gut that Sukuna was behind this. There’s no one you know that has the money to pull off something like taking your grandmother from where she was to a facility where she’s going to get more constant help, cleaned, proper rehabilitation. No one else but him.

The coffee maker suddenly beeps, beginning to brew a fresh pot of coffee. You almost jump out of your skin from it. You wait until it’s done before digging out one of the banana nut muffins Shoko brought over two nights ago to pre-celebrate the new year.

You truly don’t know what to feel. You’re unsure about everything. Coming to Japan to get a breath of fresh air from the strain your old life was supposed to be one of the best choices you’ve ever made. But now, all it’s become is a whirlwind of even more, even deeper emotional confusion.

Meeting Yuuji was great. Meeting his older brother? The entire source of the emotional confusion.

You lean against the counter and gaze outside. The snow has finally ceased and you’re sure dozers are out clearing the roads. You can’t help but fall into your thoughts.

For awhile, you’ve had… feelings. You’re not quite sure what they are, but you know that they revolve around the older, rich man you’ve befriended. You know that whenever he’s around, you feel more… open, lighter even. You know he makes you feel flustered, to which you’ve learned to seal said fluster inside of a bottle and remain indifferent in his presence. Every time he looks at you or speaks to you, it makes you feel… giddy. Happy, dare you say it.

And it’s something you swallow down and hide every time it bubbles to the surface, fearing that it’ll be nothing more than the same story as your mother: a heart broken by the letdown of not ever being enough, not being what the man actually wanted, and not being genuinely cared for.

The mug of coffee in your hands grows hot, almost scalding against the skin of your palms. It brings you out of your own mind, just in time to hear your phone vibrate with more text messages, all still from your cousin.

Because apparently fate dropped a man in your lap that was more than ready to give you anything and everything you’ve ever wanted: unconditional love on a gold platter; fate decided that you finally deserve a break from strife and grief, that you deserved to stop eating humble pie, because lord knows you’ve done choked and damn near suffocated on that shit; that you deserved to be cherished and loved and made to be someone’s number one in their life.

You know. You fucking know what Sukuna does to you, how he makes you feel inside. You also know how he wants to treat you and the things he wants to do to you. And perhaps with you, if your gut instinct is right and he wants more than a body to warm his bed.

Who are you kidding? You know you’re right.

But it’s unfortunate for you that all you’ve learned to do is bottle up your feelings and act like they don’t exist. Because you’ve never been loved, not romantically anyway. Especially not like this, from someone like this.

How were you supposed to love? What did it really mean to be in a relationship? You’ve never been in one. Not one that ever really was going to go as far as this. Was what you were feeling all temporary? And if you did get into a relationship, what if he didn’t like you when you got comfortable? What if he didn’t like it when you laughed too hard, or any of the habits you have? What if he was just wanting to play savior and ended up leaving you a few months from now?

You toss your head back and groan. Why? Why was this happening to you?

You opt to spend the day inside, rather than go out like you had planned. You have to text Shoko and Utahime, letting them know that you’re not going to be able to participate in their plans of going out and visiting shrines for the new year. The latter is reasonably mad, but Shoko calms her down in the group chat. Although she does make an innuendo about spending the day with someone else “cozied up in bed” rather than them. You send her a side eye emoji in return on her personal thread.

You change out of your pajamas and into some casual clothes — a dark red long sleeve and some black sweatpants, switching to house socks to regular socks — despite not intending to go out for the day. You do end up on the couch for most of the day, switching your attention from the TV and the messages on your phone more than you care to admit. You hardly eat, and don’t realize it until you can feel your stomach against your spine each time.

All day is basically wasted in front of the television, trapped in your own mind. Trapped in the whirlwind that Sukuna has made of your heart and emotions.

You graze through your entire stock of sweets in less than a day, uncaring if it was unhealthy. Dusk settles on the horizon before you know it and you’re anything but tired. In fact, you’re wide awake.

“What do I do…?” you ask into the open air. You feel stupid doing it, but apparently fate has a response for you.

It’s 9:18 at night when several strong knocks rap at your door.

It’s 9:20 when you decide to finally answer the door.

It’s 9:24 when you realize you’ve got a guest at the front door, the very same man who’s been making you question yourself and your whole life ever since coming to this country.

It’s 9:30 when you question to yourself why you let him in. You didn’t think it through, that much you’re sure of. How could you be when he’s thrown your heart all topsy-turvy and mushed it into goo?

Just looking at him from his back floods your mind and makes your heart race, something you hope you’re able to hide by what you hope is a face of indifference and calmness. You can see the tattoos peek out from his turtleneck, and you have to gulp down your nervousness.

The large mug of fruity tea you’ve poured has now chilled, the ice just barely clinking in the glass. You quickly open the cookie jar on the counter and shove two snickerdoodles in your mouth to stress-eat being prepared for what was coming next.

“I…” you begin, and embarrassingly realize you have to swallow the cookies to talk. “I wasn’t expecting you to… show up.”

Sukuna’s silent for a moment, then replies stoically, “Neither was I.”

You gaze at him longer than you intend to. Your attention is mostly on his tattoos, the little bits that are peeking out from the deep crimson of his form-fitting turtleneck. You watch him readjust the watch on his wrist, partially revealing the tattoo inked onto his wrist. To your surprise, Sukuna actually doesn’t like showing off his tats. He used to in his younger years; he’s still proud of them, but he isn’t as much into flaunting them to the world nowadays.

Sukuna’s deep voice cuts through the air. “Have you… gotten my gift?”

You bite your lower lip. You nod even though he can’t see you. “Yeah… If you mean the one involving my grandmother, then yes.”

“I do apologize if I crossed any lines doing such a thing,” he says. “But I don’t regret it.”

“I can imagine you don’t,” you reply, knowing full-well that him regretting anything was a very rare occurrence. “But… Why? Why would you do that? Go through such trouble to help me… and my family? Just… Why?”

His ginormous frame turns to face you to look into your eyes and answer with nothing short of honesty, “Because I want you to be cared for. I’ve seen happiness in your eyes and I want to keep you happy. I want to be the one making you happy.”

“Buying my love will only get you so far,” you say.

“I know. I want to do more for you. I want… to be more for you. Not just… this. Whatever we have going on,” Sukuna admits casually, crossing his burly arms over his chest. But he doesn’t make eye contact. In fact, he keeps his eyes to the floor, away from your gaze. “I know what I want, although I’m not quite sure how to describe everything I feel… when I’m with you and when I think about you. It’s… I know what it is, I’m pretty sure, but at the same time… I don’t.”

“It’s new for you,” you mumble. Surprisingly, he actually hears you and nods. He doesn’t lie. Not with you.

“I’ve been with many women over the years, all for the same reason. I’ve never felt like falling in love or that it would ever matter. I know lust, I know what comes with that. With you, it’s anything but. At first, yes. But your immediate rejection, you continuing to keep your distance from me and your distaste known made me stop and think.”

You raise your brows. “All it took was a girl with some strong boundaries to make you realize you can’t live off being just horny for then rest of your life?”

Sukuna laughs. He actually laughs. A bright smile crosses his handsome face as his shoulders shake with laughter. He tries to cover it up with a hand, but all it does it muffle it into loud chuckles. It takes a good couple minutes before his chuckles finally fall into a simple smile of amusement. That’s when you admit your own truths. If you were going to be hurt, you might as well get it over with.

“In a way,” Sukuna admits. And then he admits even more, opening his heart and putting it on his sleeve. “You’ve reminded me that there is more to life, that I can be genuinely happy beyond office walls and red light districts. You have made me remember what feeling excited, what being on my toes feels like. You make the air lighter… happier, every time I see you. You… I care for you.”

Sukuna’s last words of admission are watered-down and you both know it. Then again, he says he is new to these kinds of feelings. And at this point, you believe him. You wonder if he knows that you’re just like him — exactly the same: that you’re new to the feelings of love, what it means to be in love. It’s confusing, really. You’re not sure where to begin when it comes to saying the things that Sukuna has seemingly had no problem admitting to you. You can’t just say, “Ditto” and make out with him.

Well, you could, but that’s beside the point.

You swallow the frog in your throat and look at him. He isn’t looking at you but at the ground, almost like he’s unsure of himself.

“You’ve made yourself a cozy place inside me, too,” you speak softly. Your hands don’t leave the mug as you set it on the counter. “We’ve only known each other for barely half a year, you know? You make me wonder if what I’m feeling is love, most of the time. I enjoy you; I enjoy your company. I enjoy the thrill you bring into my life. I… enjoy how weightless you make the world feel. I… I like the thought of being… prioritized. I’m just… confused on whether or not these feelings are rooted in love or something else entirely.”

“And I apologize for making you feel that way,” he replies. “That isn’t my intention.”

You’re quick to your words before he can continue. “Don’t apologize. Please. It’s not your fault. I… I’ve never been in a relationship. I don’t know what love is or what it’s supposed to feel like. I’ve never been loved, and I’m not quite sure how to reciprocate it. I’m afraid I’ll fuck up. Say the wrong thing, not do something right.”

Sukuna’s brows furrow. “There is no right or wrong way to be in a relationship — just yourself.”

“I’ve heard that, just as much as I’ve heard otherwise.”

Silence fills your apartment. You tap your nails against the glass mug, little tinks! resounding. You can’t look at Sukuna now. Not after just admitting to having never been in a romantic relationship. Now, you must seem more of your age than you ever have in his eyes.

“Any insecurity you have is not invalid. I would never disrespect them,” Sukuna finally says, sheer conviction making you shiver.

The giant man stands to take his place not even a foot from you. Magnetism draws you to his face and you cannot look away. His hand comes up and brushes his large fingers across your cheek.

And like an open book, he reads you from the front cover to the very last word, reading off your exterior cover and the interior pages you’ve hidden away. “You’ve carved yourself from early maturity, into someone that your loved ones have needed you to be. You’ve never been able to truly be yourself, be free. You’ve always had to be the rock that everyone has needed, when no one has been for you. You desire to be loved, but not at the expense of heartbreak nor sacrificing the person you’ve molded yourself into for the people you love. You desire to be free above all else, not wanting to be loved unless there’s someone who can love you and give you your freedom at the same time.”

You gape, eyes almost as wide as saucers with your eyelids lined with burning tears. You dip your head and sniffle.

“I want that. I want that for you. I want to be the one to give that to you,” Sukuna continues. “The time we spent together not even a week ago, I want more of that. I no longer want to live the way I’ve been living. I want to live with you, do those kinds of things with you. That sounds corny as fuck coming from me of all people, but that’s the truth.”

You can’t help but laugh. His tone of exasperation at himself was just too funny not to.

“And what happens when you give me those things? Will you be done with me? Move on to the next person?” you ask. “Once you’ve played the part of the savior, won’t those feelings end?”

“I’ll never be done with you,” he answers instantaneously, like it was nothing short of law. “You’ve captivated me, all of me. I’ve already tried pulling myself away a multitude of times. But then one little word of anything about you and you’re all I think about for the rest of the day.”

You sniffle again and laugh. “Did you practice this? You sound like a poet.”

“I can be one if you’d like.” You giggle at that. It’s silly, but you feel like Sukuna would oblige you if you said yes. “But I mean it, every word.”

You nod and whisper, “I know you do.” Because it’s the truth. He’ll never not mean anything he says. Brutal honesty is apart of Sukuna.

The emptiness of your apartment is deafening, it’s silence almost palpable to the point where you feel like you might being to suffocate. But large, firm hands cup your cheeks and bring oxygen into your lungs again.

His hands are warm, so warm. The feeling of being touched like this, so intimately, makes all the blood flow to your cheeks to the point where you think you’ll overheat.

“May I kiss you?” he asks, tone quiet, voice deep and baritone that makes shivers roll up your spine. “At least once?”

You can’t help but bite into your lower lip. The suffocating feeling has returned, just for a different reason. But your instinct goes first — action taking the initiative over the brain — and you nod once more, mumbling out a small “yes” that you chastise yourself for being so meek.

Sukuna’s free arm wraps around your waist and gently pulls you to your tippy-toes. You’re running on instinct, one hand resting on his chest, the other circling behind his neck, eyelids slowly closing as he dives in for the kiss you’ve allowed. And when his hand cradles the back of your head, his lips meet yours, and you swear to everything from heaven to hell that you’re about to explode and die in this man’s arms.

Everything feels like it’s on fire… until it doesn’t. That fire slowly simmers down to a gentle flame, one that brings a sense of contentment.

Sukuna tilts his head, moving your lips and deepening the kiss. You allow it, and it feels like the kiss has sunk to a new depth of desire. Dare you even think or say it be devotion. His lips are warm and sweet on yours; his kiss isn’t one of urgency, but perhaps the desperation of longing. It’s not slow and controlling, not greedy. Whatever this kiss is and all the emotions contained within, you know it makes you at peace and content.

Everything feels perfect.

You both part for air, lips slow to disconnect. You can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed being so out of breath, but hearing the slight heaviness of breath coming from the large man makes you feel less awkward.

“Thought you said you hadn’t been in a relationship before?”

Your reply is breathless, “Never have.”

“Then you must be a naturally good kisser.”

That makes you laugh. You press your head to his chest and giggle away, to which you hear what you think is a chuckle from his throat.

It’s 11:20 at night by the time you look at the clock again. It’s too late for Sukuna to go home. That’s the excuse you use anyway. He’s seemingly more than happy to use the excuse right along with you to spend a night with you.

Come morning, however, things shift back to the way they were before: confusing and lonely. The couch was just as empty as the apartment. Under you was not Sukuna’s body, but a stack of pillows from your bedroom.

The note on the counter about being called in for an important meeting doesn’t do his absence justice either, instead sending every one of your walls back up, twice as high and just as thick as they were before.

Your phone dings with new messages. Utahime and Shoko, both of which declare they’re coming over to drag your ass out of your apartment to go shopping like you should’ve yesterday.

You text them back, telling them you’ll meet them at the mall, that you’re going to get ready and this time you aren’t going to miss out.

You don’t know what to do or what to think. You don’t know if one night of vulnerability means anything more than just being open with another human being. All you know is that you need a break, from yourself, your confusion, from life, and especially from Sukuna.

You need the clarity of a shopping trip and good friends for company, because your hopes for what’s coming next are getting far too high and you’re beginning to really fall in love with Sukuna Ryomen.

taglist: (no longer adding)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #modern! sukuna #modern! au #jjk sukuna #sukuna fluff

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justalonelyslytherin · 2 years

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Sicknesses - Ransom Drysdale

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x female Reader

Summary: Ransom ends up sick and she has to take care of him. Not used to such affections Ransom isn't an easy patient, nor a willing one.

Warnings: fluff, sick Ransom, Ransom has a cold, somewhat soft!Ransom, brief mention of his shitty family

Wordcount: 2.1k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics

She knew something was up the moment she saw the Beemer parked in front of the house. It had not moved an inch since the previous day. That was the first indication that something was off.

While Ransom sometimes chose to work from home - the huge office on the upper floor of the house was certainly deemed worthy for that - most of the time he did make the trip to his grandfather’s publishing house. Blood like Wine had an exquisite and even more luxurious headquarters in which Ransom had his own office. One made of plush, luxurious furniture, only second to Harlan’s even grander office. Albeit most of the time, he ended up at his grandfather’s mansion. The two of them would lock themselves into Harlan’s study and work on manuscripts or discuss the newest book the head of the Thrombey/Drysdale dynasty was working on.

It had become a routine for them, for her, to come home to the house, the beemer missing from its usual spot and the house empty and quiet. Ransom would come home to her having whipped up a meal for both. She found he was more relaxed when he worked outside. Especially since Walt loved to get on his nerves. His uncle hadn’t accepted that Ransom now had a bigger role in the company and a higher ranking in the office hierarchy than him and that after working there much shorter. Thus the old, bitter man had made it his goal to make Ransom’s work life a living nuisance. The drive home always worked as a time for Ransom to cool down and leave the angers of work behind.

The second indication something was off was the house. It was silent when she entered it. Nothing so unusual, the house was big and one could be encompassed by silence even if the other person was busy or loud in another part of the spacious living quarters. Still there was an air to the place that told her something was off. There was a reason Ransom had had a help and cleaning lady employed before they had moved together. He had the bad habit of letting things just lay around, never putting them away or cleaning after himself. It was too clean and too untouched. As if he hadn’t been here at all the entire day.

Putting her things down she looked around. The throw blanket and pillows were still neatly draped over the couches in the living room, there were no empty pots and no used cup indicating he had been to the kitchen to make himself a coffee either. The machine wasn’t even turned on and all her cookbooks were still in place. Ransom always liked to shove them to the side to make space when he got himself a coffee.

“Ran?” She knew her chances of him hearing her were slim. She tried it anyway. If he were to be in their bedroom he’d have heard her for sure. Climbing up the stairs she was greeted by even more silence. Even in front of his office, she didn’t hear a thing. That was the third indication something was off. Normally she’d hear him on the phone with someone or simply grumbling to himself.

Knocking at the door brought her no response. Furrowing her brows she cracked the door open and poked her head into the room. Ransom wasn’t behind his desk in his usual spot but there were some manuscripts and other papers spread over the oak desk together with his open laptop.

“Ransom?” She asked again, this time stepping into his work-den. Something to her right caught her attention. There he was. Sprawled out on the couch, shoes still on. He was on his side with one arm thrown over his eyes and knees bent to fit onto the two-seater. In front of him on the small coffee table lay another manuscript.

“Ransom?” She asked again but he gave no response. She made her way over to him, kneeling in front of the couch. His chest raised and sank in an even rhythm. He looked almost peaceful if it wasn’t for the way his breath rattled and how heavy it was. It seemed like he had difficulty breathing properly.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, letting her fingers trail over his sweater-clad arm until she reached his wrist. Carefully pulling his arm off his face, she looked at him. His face was scrunched up, a deep frown etched onto his sleeping features. There was a film of perspiration across his forehead and as she combed the unruly strands of his hair back, she felt how dewy with sweat they too were.

“Ransom,” she said again, this time shaking his shoulder. A groan slipped from his lips as he slowly came too. When his eyes opened they were glassy and unfocused.

“Hey baby,” she mumbled quietly, her thumb brushing over his cheek. He simply looked at her, rather blankly and blinked slowly. Once again she furrowed her brows, this time in concern. Ransom wasn’t one for physical attention, at least if it wasn’t coming from him. He had his moments in which he still pushed her away, too overwhelmed with the softness and the loving attitude he received.

“You fell asleep, are you not feeling alright?” She asked him quietly, trying to get him to engage with her. Finally, he brushed her hand off and sat up, looking around the office and frowning.

“I’m fine,” he told her gruffly. She noticed how congested he sounded, his voice a rather irritated rasp. When he tried to get up and wobbled for a moment she knew he was anything but fine.

“Whoa, take it easy grumpy.” Her hands had shot out towards his waist, softly resting there to help him keep his balance. He shot her a glare but she kept eyeing him and caressing his side with her thumb. “Why were you even on the couch?” Her question made him scoff.

“Walt kept blowing up my phone and he was giving me a headache. I wanted a moment to sort my thoughts before continuing on the manuscript.”

“And you fell asleep?” The question earned her a second glare. His glares had stopped bothering her a long time ago. She could tell by now what were actual signs of irritation and agitation from him and what was simply his stony mask. He wasn’t actually mad at her and behind his glare was no power.

“Let’s call it an early day, hm?” He didn’t look pleased with her suggestion but he also didn’t complain, nor did he stop her from going over to his desk and shutting his laptop off.

“You know you can tell me when you aren’t feeling good,” she told him, eyeing him from behind his desk as she sorted the papers and put them in the desk drawer.

“I’m feeling alright.” Once again he was adamant but the truth was clear to her. When she looked over at him again she noticed him shiver.

“Ransom,” her stern voice made him look up. He seemed surprised. She was always so soft-spoken and calm, never serious or even scolding with him.

“Maybe I still have a headache,” he told her and at that moment he reminded her of a pouting five-year-old that had been caught stealing cookies. Walking back over, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Instantly he relaxed and put his hands on her waist.

“How about you go take a shower. I’ll get you something for your headache and then we’ll lay down together?” It surprised her how easily he agreed. It must have been the mixture of her stern voice from before and him not feeling good.

While he showered she went on to raid their small medicine cabinet. She was glad she had talked him into getting one and stocking it up. Ransom had complained about it the entire way but she had insisted, stating that it was worth it alone for the pain medication she used when it was her time of the month.

Now even more so as she could simply grab the bottle of cold medicine - rather than having to run to a store - and go get him a glass of water. Both items she placed on his nightstand in their bedroom before she went into the adjacent walk-in closet. With a pair of comfy, silky pajama bottoms and another sweater, she made her way into the bathroom. The shower was still going.

“Ran?”, she asked and heard a small hum coming from him. He sounded less congested, she noticed. The warm water must have cleared his sinuses. “I got you some pajamas to change into when you’re done.”

There was no second hum from him. She knew he had heard her, even if he didn’t she had placed the clothes in a way he couldn’t overlook them. Already on her way to turn around and leave him alone, she stopped when the water cut out and the door of the shower opened. He looked at her with half-lidded eyes, nearly stumbling out of the shower.

“Oof, Ransom!” She was quick to move, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his hips while she simultaneously kept him from slipping and falling. Having to call the ambulance because he split his head open wasn’t what they needed.

“You really aren’t feeling good, huh?” She mumbled, earning another small glare from him that she promptly ignored. “Come on, sit down, you stubborn fool.” Getting him to sit down on the ledge of the bathtub took some coaxing but in the end, he sat there, with his back leaned against the wall.

“I’ll be back in a second,” she had barely completed the sentence before she was already out of the room, grabbing both the medicine and the glass of water. Armed with both she marched back.

“Here, take this.” She held out both a pill and the glass of water, waiting for him to take it. Of course, he didn’t.

“I don’t want it,” he complained, his mouth turned down in an unpleasant frown. Once again he reminded her of a little boy.

“Come on.” Stubbornly he shook his head and cursed at how dizzy it made him feel before he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Ran,” she tried to coax, “Come on, you’ll feel better if you take it.” She knew he was stubborn, he always had been, but a sick Ransom was an entirely new measurement on the stubbornness-skala.

“Take it or I’ll shove it down your throat.” Ransom let out a surprised laugh, that quickly transitioned into a cough that made her wince. He cocked a brow, looking her up and down once his fit had subsided.

“You’d never be able to.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve got my ways, Ran. You are weak enough right now and if not I’ll have to go to other lengths.” There was a small grin forming on his face together with a challenging look. One she took as a direct invite. Stepping closer to him she looked down at him from over the bridge of her nose, her eyes wandering down towards the towel hiding his lap away. Coming close enough to step in between his legs, she nudged one of her knees forward. That was all it took for him to realize what the other lengths were she was prepared to use.

“You are evil, woman,” he groaned, finally giving up. Even if the thought of intimacy was inviting, he had no energy for it.

“Fine?” She asked him once more and this time he nodded, still scowling. With a triumphant smile, she pushed the pill against his lips, watching him take it into his mouth before she handed him the glass and here too watched him drink it up. Putting the glass aside she put her arms around his neck, softly pushing the wet strands of hair from his forehead.

“Good boy.” The praise was quiet, just whispered against his lips before she gave him a peck. She knew he liked to get praised by her, “Let’s get you dressed, and then we can go lay down.”

With her help, Ransom slipped the pajamas on and trotted behind her into the bedroom. They both got under the covers, her opening her arms up for him. Ransom came without complaints, sinking into the embrace and resting his head on her chest. He was still slightly feverish, the medicine would make him even more sleepy and tired in a short while. She simply wrapped her arms around his shoulders, one hand stroking through his hair.

#sly's 200 #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom x reader #ransom thrombey x you #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombrey

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newtonsheffield · 1 year

Note

If you can excuse my vitriol, I would like to humble myself before you and request a Lavender Haze Spicy Sunday 🌶

Sooooooo when is spicy sunday happening mollyyyyyyyyy!! I need some viscount daddy in my life

Ahh alright, let's give him a chance.

If Kate thought about it, she could only remember waking before Anthony once in their entire relationship. It was the first morning she'd woken in his bed and panic had flickered in her chest as she'd looked at his watch on his wrist.

"Oh fuck!" She'd crawled out from under his sleeping form, covering her like a blanket, casting around for her clothes before she snatched up Anthony's shirt off the ground instead.

"Is everything okay?"

Kate nodded, leaning down to kiss him quickly, "I just- I have a client in an hour and I have to go home and let Newton out and I can't really go to work in that dress, so-" She cut herself off. "I had a really nice time but I'll see you at your next appointment."

Anthony's hand caught her wrist as she turned to leave, "I don't want to wait for that."

She'd chuckled, tapping him on the end of the nose, "Okay, well, you can call me like a respectable gentleman."

Anthony left out a playful growl, grinning up at her. "Come back here when you finish work."

Kate felt her eyebrows shoot up, "I have Newton."

"And I have plenty of space for a dog. Come back here, I'll make you dinner, I'll make you breakfast. Stay with me."

His eyes were so wide, so earnest, so different from how they'd been last night when his hands had roamed over her and his teeth left bruises on her neck. And she wanted what he was offering her.

"Yeah, okay." Her teeth bit into her lips as he grinned, holding her hand in his for a moment longer before he let it go, sliding his watch off his wrist and fastening it around her own.

"Now you have to come back."

"You're stupid." She'd chuckled before she bent again, ruffling his hair.

"You seduced this stupid man."

"You're damn right I did."

She'd gone to work with Anthony's shirt on, and jeans she'd tugged from the back of her wardrobe. She'd ignored Sophie little sigh Oh, hello pot, it's kettle calling. She'd gone about her day, ignoring the fact that her client said, You've got lipstick on your collar, remembering how warm and peaceful it had felt with Anthony's arms around her, and her muscles aching a little deliciously even as she left, and then she'd had to stop dead at the door of her flat, Newton straining on his leash and harness, desperate to get wherever he was going.

"Hey, are you close?"

Kate blinked at the sound of Anthony's voice, "I'd like to be. Only I've just realised I have no fucking idea where you live."

His laughter had burst through the phone and somehow that had felt just as warm.

They lived together, in that house now. Hell, she'd practically moved in with him that first weekend until he burst through the door of her shop and slapped a key down on the desk. Move in with me! And Anthony always woke first. Whether it was to make breakfast, or because his workday started hours before hers did. She always felt him stirring behind her and sometimes, when she did wake early, she pretended to be asleep.

Anthony's arms were always warm around her as he stirred, and his lips brushed her cheek before he tucked her hair neatly back behind her ear. His footsteps were light when he made his way downstairs and she heard him in the kitchen, and still she didn't stir when he dropped a mug of coffee on the nightstand followed by a plate of breakfast. And his voice was warm and rough when he kissed her on the forehead Love you, Katie.

It had nearly brought tears to her eyes the first time it had happened, it still did as he slipped into the shower now and steam filled the air around them.

He slipped out of the bathroom with a towel tied low around his hips, water still dripping down her chest and she sighed at the way her stomach still dropped at the sight of him. He had more ink now, curling around his chest, laid in by her own hand, including the one just over his heart, a black diamond ring with the words Lady Kate written underneath and the sight of it on his pale skin made something smug and satisfied flicker in her chest.

Anthony picked his way into the wardrobe, carefully assessing his suits, smoothing back his hair, his chest rippling.

"Grey suit today."

Kate's voice was rough from sleep and Anthony didn't startle but she saw his lips curve in a smirk as he took out a dark grey suit, holding it up against himself. "Is this to your satisfaction?"

"With the navy shirt." Kate sighed, "Navy tie as well."

Anthony raised his eyebrow, holding it up against himself, "Yes?"

Kate narrowed her eyes, pretending to think, "I might have made a mistake."

"Did you?"

"Yeah I think you'll look better with nothing on at all."

She saw Anthony's eyes darken, and the muscle at the corner of his jaw clench and his voice was rough again when he spoke, "That was smooth."

Kate tossed her hair, pulling back the covers delighting a little in the way he bit back a groan at the sight of her, and his eyes darkened again. "Are you going to do something about it?"

Anthony walked forward until he was right in front of her, his broad chest looming over her. "Spread your legs, Sweetheart."

Kate didn't even bother to bite back the whine that escaped her and she felt her legs fall open for him, aching already and he hadn't even touched her yet. Anthony's smile was a dangerous thing as placed his knee on the mattress right at the apex of her thighs. He let out a gruff noise at the feel of her against his skin and tilted her chin until her eyes were staring directly into his. He took her hand slowly, the one with his ring on it and curved her fingers around the towel.

She tugged and the soft fabric came free under her hands while his hands tilted her hips up until they were grinding against his knee.

He was so warm, Anthony was always so warm. From the way he treated people right down to the fact his body always seemed like a furnace and she felt his heat now, flickering to life in her. A moan fell from her lips already as she slid against his skin, still damp from the shower.

Anthony leaned over her until their chest were flush together and she felt the friction of their bodies every time she moved. His voice was rough and his tongue marked her skin when he spoke, "Be a good girl for me. Come for me just like this."

Kate could feel her fingernails biting into his shoulders, tugging him closer as the heat built and built and she could feel release just on the other side, desperate to increase the pace and she let out a frustrated whine as he shook his head and his hands kept the pace steady.

"Anthony, please."

He shook his head again before he ducked it moving his knee to rest more firmly against her. "I said no Kate. Like this."

His lips started trailing slowly down her neck, down her collarbone, down her chest, his teeth nipped her skin softly and his tongue laved over her and she was almost-

"Come, Kate."

His firm voice pushed her over the edge with a sharp cry as the air left her lungs and she gripped him tighter but Anthony didn't let her fall all the way back down.

He spread her legs wider with a devilish smile, sent straight from hell to ruin her, and his knee disappeared and her hands pulled his hips closer, hers rocking against them. She saw his throat bob and a muffled curse left his lips at the feel of her.

Oh Fuck, Kate.

At the first thrust of his hips Kate was lost to it. Anthony;s eyes rolled back in his head and his hair fell over his forehead and the headboard hit lightly against the wall and she couldn't take her eyes off him. There wasn't anything in the entire world but him, but them and the rhythm their bodies made. Anthony's muscles strained as he kept himself suspended above her and one hand fell to her chest as though he was desperate to feel more of her.

I love you, fuck I love you, Kate

There was no way she could doubt it, not with the way he focused on her, not with the way he made her feel and the way his lips brushed hers and his hips sent her soaring forward. Kate could feel her shoulders heaving as she fought for breath and the sheets burned against her skin with the friction of their bodies and his name fell from her lips again and again and again until she couldn't breathe at all. Until there was nothing but their gasps and moans bouncing off the walls and the rhythmic snap of the headboard, fast fast slow slow.

And suddenly there was nothing she could do to stop herself from falling again. She let out a sharp cry and Anthony's hips snapped out of rhythm with a sharp shout of her name and he shuddered against her.

"You have to go to work." Kate groaned after several minutes, her hands running through his hair gently as he lay against her chest.

Anthony groaned, unable to lift his head. "I can't."

"You were literally just about to."

"I don't have anything important on today." He scoffed, "I think I should just go to work with you and we count how many times we can sneak away without Sophie noticing."

"Fine," Kate laughed, "But if she gives you another you and your sex addiction pamphlet I'm on her side."

#lavender haze au #spicy sunday🌶#anthony x kate #kathony #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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lou-struck · 2 years

Text

Tough as Nails

Eijirou Kirishima x reader

~The sturdy hero red riot can handle almost anything.

Genre- Fluff

(I haven’t gotten a pedicure in a while, so I forget about the order pls don’t hate me)

WC:1.3k

You hate making plans with a certain friend of yours because they always flake or double book at the last minute.

Last week they skipped out on a much-anticipated lunch date in which they apologized for profusely, knowing that they have a highly stressful job you forgave them for it. But, to make up for the missed lunch, you suggested you could get pedicures at this cool salon someone told you about on social media.

It’s a smaller salon that asks for a deposit when booking appointments for more than one person. Trusting that your friend would show up to the appointment you paid for both knowing that they would reimburse you later.

You’re waiting outside the salon for your friend only to receive a text from them telling you that they are not going to be able to get off of work. You reread the message with a groan and flop down on a bench in the shade. Your appointment in in 15 minutes and you wont be able to get your deposit back since your friend is a no show.

That’s like paying for two sets instead of just your own. Just as you are about the check your phone to see if any of your other friends would want to meet you last minute a large shadow moves to stand over you. Looking up you see the huge frame of Eijirou Kirishima standing over you are smiling ear to ear and holding a drink carrier with two drinks.

“Eiji? What are you doing here?” You ask thinking he was still on patrol for a few more hours.

“I just got off patrol and wanted to surprise you with a coffee. I brought one for your friend too, where are they?”

Your face falls “They couldn’t make it today.” Your sad eyes stare down at the cold drink in your hand. The condensation drips down the outside of the cup as you take a sip. The sweetness doing little to drown your sorrows,

“Again?” he asks sliding next to you on the bench and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Isn’t this to make up for last week?”

Despite the circumstance you smile at the fact your boyfriend pays attention to what’s going on in your life. “Yeah, it’s not entirely their fault though. I made the appointment and paid both of our deposits, now that they didn’t show I still have to pay for her appointment.”

“That sucks.” He sighs. “You don’t deserve to be cancelled on last minute, is there anything I can do?”

A little light bulb goes off in your brain and you turn to look at him with the most innocent expression on your face. “Actually Eiji, there is something you can do.”

“I know that look” he laughs taking a sip of the drink meant for your friend.

“Have you ever gotten a Pedicure?” you coo taking his hand.

“Never” he replies, “You may have to show me the ropes.”

“I promise,” you say leading him into the glass doors of the salon and going inside.

The inside of the salon smells like lavender mist and is much cooler than the blazing heat outside. You make you way to the counter hearing nothing but the silent sound of the trickling water fountain.

“This place is nice,” Kiri says in a hushed tone gently feeling the leaves of on of the large potted plants on the floor. “This is a real plant. It looks so good it thought it was fake.”

With a playful little sigh, you meet the man at the front desk. “Hi, I have a double booked at three.” You say as he scans his tablet.

“Y/n?” he asks, and you nod. “Come this way please.” The pair of you follow him to the back of the salon where the nail techs are. You sit in your massage chair and remove your sandals as Kirishima does the same.

When the swatch book comes around, he is a bit put off by the colored samples on the demo acrylics. “What’s this for?” he asks gently playing with the booklet

“You can choose the color you want you nails to be, but if you don’t want a color, you can get clear.

“Nah, I want red,” he beams selecting a fire engine red color. “My toes are going to look so manly.” Both you and nail tech filling the basin with hot water giggles at his enthusiasm. Then they signal to the two of you to place your feet in the steaming mixture of rose petals and tonics and your boyfriend lets out a little hiss while you remain unphased.

“It’s hot,” he says

“is it too hot?” you ask as he exhales sharply and plunges his feet back into the water.

“Nope, I can take it.” He smiles still sitting tensely in his seat as he waits for his body to adjust to the heat. You are so thankful that he is wanting to try something new with you your heart feels like its about to flutter out of your chest,

“What are those?” he asks pointing to the shiny black rocks on the technician’s cart.

“Those are for the stone massage, they’ll go on your feet

When the hot stones run up his legs he flinches at the contact. Before taking a deep breath “This feels really good.” You never knew that Eijirou had such sensitive feel, you can’t wait to see how he reacts at the next step, the sugar scrub.

The textured lotion scrapes along his skin as he lets out a series of giggles squirming in his seat like he has ants in his pants. “It tickles y/n, I can’t help it.” He grips the arms of the chair and tries to settle his breathing. “Okay, okay, I think I’m good.

The tech resumes and Kirishima is biting his lip so hard that you’re scared he is going to hurt himself.

Thankfully he is able to contain his laughter and twitching enough of the poor technician to finish their task and avoiding an injury from the pro hero’s muscular limbs

“Are you doing better?” you ask as your nails are being delicately painted

“Yes, I’m good.” He giggles “As tough as nails.”

“You really are,” you laugh before looking at his red toenails. “They look good,”

They do, don’t they?” he says admiring the job. With a flex on his ankle.

“I think in almost done, ill meet you at the front.” You say as he is led away from your chair in some bright green disposable flip flops. You hear them squeaking all the way down the hall as he compliments his technician on a job well done.

Now that you are alone in your chair you miss his chatter and enthusiasm. You are also aware how just how much you’ll have to tip that poor tech who was nearly decapitated by one of Eijirou kick

Once you are done and dry enough to move you make your way to the counter to pay only to see that your boyfriend covered the both of you. Including a more than generous tip. With a few waves and the promise to come back to the salon the two of you exit the airconditioned air and step into the blistering heat of the outside world.

“Thank you for coming with me to the appoint Eiji,” you say giving him a hug

“That was so cool baby, I have to bring Bakugou with us next time.” He smiles walking you to your car

“That would be something” you laugh “Ill see you at home.” With a quick kiss you get into your car and start the drive home.

You and Eijirou may not have any secrets, but little does he know you and Bakugou got pedicures together last month.

He was the one who sent you the link in the first place.

#bnha eijiro kirishima #kirishima x reader #bnha fluff #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #kirishima fluff #kirishima x y/n #kirishima #mha kirishima #kirishima imagine #eijirou kirishima fluff #eijirou x reader #mha eijirou

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actual-changeling · 1 year

Text

listen, @sentientmasstransit i saw your tags on the beautiful drawing of ellie with shimmer and then this just. came over me. and wouldn't budge the whole day. so here it is, hopefully i didn't commit any horse crimes.

living with ellie means joel has come to expect a lot of things when he gets his morning cup of coffee ranging from his girl asleep at the table to the time she had decided that six am was the perfect time to learn how to change a light bulb on her own, but being face to face with a horse is not one of them.

the coffee machine is happily gurgling away in the background, which means ellie must have already passed through and felt generous enough to turn it on for him, though she is nowhere to be seen now. joel recognizes it, which is something, and shimmer lets out a relaxed huff when he steps around her to grab a mug. he was not going to do this without caffeine.

during the five minutes it takes him to wait for the coffee to stop spluttering into the glass pot and burn his throat with half a cup that he hastily drinks down, the house continues to stay quiet, shimmer apparently happy to just doze next to the counters.

eventually, he calls out for her.

"ellie, why is shimmer in my kitchen?"

no response.

despite remnants sleep still clinging to him, joel feels the familiar anxiety squeeze his chest and speed up his heart, and he is about to go looking for her when she comes blustering down the stairs, backpack in hand.

"oh. hi, didn't hear you get up."

she glides around shimmer and puts her between them, going to grab two apples from the fruit bowl next to the fridge, and while he knows she has school, he is not about to let this one slide.

"ellie, there's a horse in my kitchen."

"yeah, i know. i put it there."

there is not enough coffee in the entire state of wyoming to get him through her teenage years intact. joel pinches the bridge of his nose and forces himself to take probably his deepest breath in the last month before looking back up at ellie, who is joyfully rocking back and forth on her feet without an ounce of guilt.

"i know i never said so, but i thought it was obvious that we do not bring our horses inside the house."

how she managed to fucking do that in the first place without waking him is a miracle he can figure out later, for now he just wants answers and to get shimmer back outside before she eats his granola. ellie shrugs her shoulders, one hand buried in her fur and gently carding through it.

"she was lonely, i haven't had much time lately with all the stupid homework they give us, and she missed me. so i brought her here last night and we slept in the living room. there's no rule against that."

joel desperately fights the smile hat is determined to settle on his face and fails, the corners of his lips ticking up just enough for ellie to notice, and he gracefully accepts the resignation settling into his bones when her face lights up with triumph. he knows how much ellie loves that horse, hell, he has had to peel her off the bottom of her box more times than he can count when she fell asleep reading, leaning against her legs, and the bond they have formed impresses even most of the regular stable workers. still. he could do without shimmer blocking half the kitchen and scratching their floors.

"just. get her out of here, please. and next time just put her in the backyard, new rule. no horses inside the house."

ellie's eyes gleam with something dangerous, and he quickly continues.

"no animals whatsoever."

her smile falls, but the sigh she lets out is humorous, and he helps her onto shimmer's bare back when it becomes obvious that she won't just act normal for once in her life and lead the horse outside. of course she has to ride it out through the front door. ellie bends down and joel presses a kiss to her cheek to send her off, and, really, how she manages to get through the door frame without getting stuck is beyond him.

joel settles back into his horse-free kitchen and refills his cup to the brim. he is going to have to talk to maria about some horse-related ground rules or next time shimmer might great him face to face first thing in the morning. knowing ellie, if there is anyone who could get a horse up the stairs, it's her.

#alex writes tlou #the last of us #tlou #joel and ellie #ellie williams #joel miller #shimmer tlou #ellie is a horse girl #ellie and shimmer #is that a tag if not i am making it one #tommy goes over to tommy and maria and interrupts their breakfast #tommy almost chokes on his coffee and cannot stop laughing #and maria is a goddamn traitor because apparently ellie asked HER before she took shimmer but not him #and just shrugs and is a lot better at not smiling than joel is #so he has to admit defeat and pray that ellie will at least stick to the no horses inside rule #(she doesn't)

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msmercury84 · 1 year

Text

Bill and Babe Reunite in South Philadelphia After the War

*For hbowardaily BobWeek2023, Day 6, Post war

*Author's Note: Babe's story about finding Bill playing craps with some guys on the street is taken from the book he wrote with Babe.

Johnny Martin getting sick and losing his bridge work came from the same book. I added my own embellishments of Bill's narration to the bridge work story. The entire scene of Leigh being awakened and the aftermath came from my imagination. This story doesn't involve a woman bashing a cake with a large stick or a baseball bat. The GIF that's posted was the best image I could find of someone swinging a bat like Leigh.

The story about Bill lying down and putting his artificial leg on the railroad track was true and it also came from the book he wrote with Babe.*

***********************************************************************

Babe Heffron had been in South Philadelphia for a year after the war ended and he wondered if Bill had survived the injury he received in Bastogne. Heffron had no way of knowing that Guarnere had married Leigh. Early one evening, he decided to walk a few blocks to a neighborhood Bill had mentioned.

After Guarnere finished helping Leigh with the supper dishes, he told her that he was going to play craps with some guys he knew. The men always played outdoors.

Heffron took a walk to 17th and McKean to see if Bill was there. Babe saw Guarnere in the street shooting dice with some men. He was so happy to see Bill that he jumped on his back, saying,

"You son of a bitch!" Guarnere told him,

"Goddamn, I thought you were a cop." The friends had a beer and Bill brought Babe home. Leigh was glad to see Heffron and she offered to warm up some pot roast and vegetables they had for supper. She had also made an apple pie.

At first, Babe tried to be polite and decline eating, but after Bill told him that she was an excellent cook, he decided to take Leigh up on her offer. She made a fresh pot of coffee for Babe.

They sat around the kitchen table talking while Heffron ate, getting caught up on everything that had happened since the war ended. After Heffron finished eating, he and Guarnere decided to smoke a cigarette. Leigh told Babe that if she and Bill had known his address, they would have insisted on him being in their wedding.

Guarnere told Heffron about driving to Columbus to stay with Pat and Johnny Martin. He then told Babe about Grayson and how Leigh nearly lost her life when she pushed Bill out of the way before Gray had a chance to shoot him. Heffron was stunned by the story. Bill told him,

"It was a livin' nightmare. Thank God my baby survived. Speakin' o' my talented wife, Leigh has her own show on the radio. She sings at the CBS affiliate here in town, an' she does two shows five days a week."

Heffron said that he was working on the dock, unloading ships. Guarnere told Babe that he was a clerk at the Veterans' Administration Bureau. Babe told Bill,

"I ain't seen very many of the guys we fought with."

"Next time somebody that we fought wit' calls me, I'll invite ya along." Bill chuckled, adding, "Leigh probably thinks she married a drunk, 'cause every time somebody looks me up, I go have a drink wit' 'em to celebrate. Any time she wants to go along is fine wit' me. I'm tellin' ya, Babe, I married an angel." Leigh grinned,

"Honey, tell him about the night your angel almost whacked you with a baseball bat." Babe was intrigued by the story and Bill told him,

"Pat an' Johnny Martin came about a month after we saw 'em in Columbus. They stayed for the weekend. Johnny an' I went out for a few drinks to celebrate another buddy of ours gettin' home.

Well, Pat an' Leigh decided to stay here. They sat up an' talked for awhile an' then they decided to turn in for the night. Johnny an' I were on our way back here, an' he was drunk as twelve skunks.

All at once, he kinda stumbles into an alley an' he gets real sick. I waited for him an' made sure he was OK. We get about a block from here an' he says,

'My bridge work is gone!' Johnny wears a partial plate thing wit' five fake teeth. So we walked back to the alley. I held my lighter wit' the flame goin' so he could see.

There he is, diggin' through where he got sick, an' he yells, 'I got it!' Then, the crazy bastard started to put the plate back in his mouth." Leigh was laughing and Babe was shaking his head in disbelief and laughing.

"I told him, Jesus Christ! Put the goddamn thing in your pocket! You don't want that (he pronounced the word as 'dat') dirty thing in your mouth. Besides, it'll taste like puke an' Pat will make ya sleep on the couch.

So, he puts it in his pocket. We walked back here. I unlocked the door an' turned on the light. Johnny comes stumblin' in, loud enough to wake the dead. I'm tellin' him to keep the noise down.

He decides to go into the guest bedroom an' he turns on the light to see, so he won't fall over somethin'. Pat wasn't real happy wit' him 'cause he woke her up. Then, she sees that he ain't wearin' his plate. Johnny takes it outta his pocket. She told him to clean it an' himself up if he intended to get in bed wit' her.

Johnny gets cleaned up an' he goes to bed. I'm tryin' to be quiet an' brush my teeth before goin' to bed. What I didn't know at the time was that Johnny woke Leigh, too.

She heard the noise an' she called out to me, but I was downstairs wit' Johnny an' I didn't hear her. I keep a Louisville Slugger by the bed for Leigh to use as a weapon." Leigh told Babe,

"I'm afraid of guns, especially after being shot, and Bill wanted me to have something to use in case someone broke in when he wasn't here. He used to be concerned that I couldn't swing the bat hard enough to defend myself."

"After that night, I knew my baby could do just fine wit' the bat. She's there in the dark, hearin' footsteps gettin' closer to the door to our bedroom. I think she's asleep, so I opened the door an' went in. Honey, tell Babe what you were doin'"

"I was sitting up in bed, holding that bat, scared out of my wits. I was so scared that I couldn't make a sound. Usually Bill says something or I will hear him whistling.

It was obvious that someone was in the room with me. As soon as I heard the footsteps stop by the bed, I got ready to swing the bat. All at once, a hand touched my arm, so I screamed like a banshee and I swung that bat as hard as I could." Babe laughed as he listened to her. Bill added,

"Leigh scared the hell outta me wit' that blood curdlin' scream. I kinda felt the air movin' an' I thought if Leigh's scared, she's probably swingin' that baseball bat. I stepped back, otherwise she would've hit me. I said, 'Holy God, Baby, don't kill me!'" Leigh took over the story telling,

"I turned on the lamp that's on the bedside table. Bill was standing back, a little bit past the end of the bed. I was shocked that I'd almost hit him. My God, I could've seriously hurt him or worse!

His eyes were wide with surprise. I dropped the bat on the bed. I started to apologize, saying that I didn't get an answer when I called out to him earlier.

By that time, both Pat and Johnny were outside our room. They probably thought that I had killed him. Bill turned on the light and opened the door, letting them know that everything was OK."

"Then, Leigh an' I looked at each other an' we started laughin' our asses off. Christ, Babe, if you'd seen the look on her face when she turned on that lamp..." Bill, Babe and Leigh had a good laugh over the story.

"Luckily, my husband still loves me." Guarnere kissed her cheek and replied,

"I learned that I need to let her know when I get home that it's me an' not a burglar. Just to be safe, maybe I should ask some o' the guys we fought wit' an' find out if they have a helmet I could borrow." The trio laughed again and they continued to talk.

This was the first of many visits Babe made to the Guarneres' home. He and Bill either called or saw each other every day for 65 years. Leigh sang at his wedding and Bill was his Best Man. Heffron also made Guarnere the godfather and Leigh the godmother of his daughter Tricia.

Twenty five years later, when Bill had retired from doing construction work, he and Babe worked at Publickers Industries. Guarnere worked in the area where whiskey was fermented and he bottled the finished product. Heffron worked in another area of the distillery, but they attended union meetings together.

Workers had to belong to a union to be employed at Publickers. Strikes were a common occurrence. One day, Babe came home with Bill. He told Leigh what had taken place at work that day. Heffron said,

"We formed a picket line along the railroad and they were going to drive a train into our building. There were about forty or fifty of us. The engineer was married to my sister-in-law, and he got off of the train. He wouldn't cross the line.

One of the bigwigs, a guy in a three piece suit, gets on the train, and we knew he'd run us all over. Your goofy husband got the idea to lay down on his back and put his leg across the tracks." Leigh looked at Bill. Guarnere grinned and winked at her as Heffron continued his story.

"The bigwig didn't know it was an artificial leg. So he started the train up and was moving down the tracks toward Bill. That guy was gonna defy Bill, and Bill was gonna defy him." Leigh smiled as she pictured the scene. Heffron continued,

"We're all rooting for Bill. Well, the guy stopped a couple feet from him,but they called the cops. They came in with dogs and threw us in the paddy wagon." Leigh raised her eyebrows at the mention of police action, but she said nothing. Babe told her,

"We went to the police station. They sat us down on the benches and waited for a lawyer to get us out." Leigh told both men,

"There's never a dull moment with you two." Babe wound up losing his job at Publickers since he was one of the forerunners of the strike. A group of workers backed up Heffron, saying that they were all involved in the strike.

Firing Babe was against Union rules.He wound up doing inventory for the distillery. Bill kept his job. Babe told Leigh,

"I can say one thing about your husband, he has a way of getting things done."

@hbowardaily This is for the Day #6 challenge, Post war

#bobweek2023 #day6 #postwarQ

#bill guarnere #william guarnere #wild bill guarnere #bill guarnere imagine #babe heffron

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oliverreedmasterass · 1 year

Note

GVF doing the Architectural Digest Home Tour as a crackfic

Welcome to My Crib

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: language, mention of blood

Notes: Sorry @starcatcherkiszka, I kinda took the "crackfic" part of this idea and ran with it...

_______________________________

“Hey there!” Sam greeted the camera with a warm smile as he stood in the doorway of a large, modern-looking white house. “My name is Sam Kiszka, and welcome to my crib.” The camera panned down for a brief second to take in Sam’s short shorts, black mesh top, oversized sunglasses, and birks. Behind him, Jake, Josh, and Danny were just in frame, the twins jumping to try and see over Sam’s head. Sam looked back to acknowledge his band and then turned to the camera with a chuckle.

“They don’t live with me, but they spend enough time here that they might as well. They’re gonna join me for the tour since we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

“I call dibs on the backyard!” Josh leaned forward to call into the camera. Sam pushed him back and then made a grand gesture to welcome the camera into the house.

“Let’s get this shit going!” he called out, hardly able to contain his excitement.

The camera moved in behind him and made a slow circle, taking in the open and bright entryway decorated with potted plants and a marble statue of cupid resting on a fancy pillar. As the camera passed by Jake, he awkwardly held up a hand and mumbled, “Hi, Architectural Digest.”

Sam jumped back in front of the camera and motioned towards the cupid statue, accidentally knocking into it so Danny had to jerk forward to catch it before it crashed to the tiled floor.

“I call him Benedict Humphries” Sam shared, hardly batting an eye at the chaos he nearly caused. “He’s a man of culture, much like myself.”

From behind him, Danny rolled his eyes.

“As you’ll see, this entry way is nice and open to maximize the air flow in the house. I actually designed this house myself, so every single detail was my idea. I’m a very meticulous person, you’ll come to find.”

“Sam chose white paint for the entryway since it represents his purity,” Jake tried to call out, though Josh slapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue.

“Let’s go to the living room,” Sam pointed forwards, down the hallway lined with mirrors straight out of a Crate & Barrel catalog and various pictures of people who looked unfamiliar. “I spent the most time working on this room,” Sam continued, talking over his shoulder to the camera. The camera stopped to look over the clean, open room, and Sam stood in front of it with his hands on his hips, taking it all in. “Ah, yeah,” Sam sighed out. “This is the good stuff. Where do I begin?”

“How about that TV? Jesus Christ,” Danny could be heard commenting offscreen. Sam took his cue and moved to the television that was easily over 80 inches wide and took up nearly an entire wall of the room. An L-shaped, baby blue suede couch sat across from the television, paired with a glass table and even more house plants. Sam got slightly distracted by a copy of Vogue that was left on the coffee table but then snapped his head back up and waved his hand at the flatscreen.

“I brought the movie theater straight to my living room; it was really the best financial decision of my life,” Sam shared. “I love watching old Animal Planet reruns on this thing, it's like I'm actually out in the African Savanna.”

“I watch C-SPAN,” Jake chirped, strolling back into frame.

Sam ignored Jake and made a sweeping gesture at the rest of the living room, which the camera followed.

“This room is the pinnacle of feng shui excellence,” Sam declared. “The energy is just, you know, immaculate.”

“For crying out loud,” Josh mumbled to Danny. “You can hardly call this feng shui, I'm practically suffocating in here.”

“Each piece in this room was designed by myself and, I know it might be hard to believe, but I made it myself too, with my own bare hands,” Sam kept blabbing.

“You should see what the man can do with a saw,” Danny added.

Sam noticed a pretty hefty stain on the carpet that looked like it could be either wine or blood, and made a concerted effort to plop down and sit on it with a grunt, hiding it before it could be spotted by the cameraman.

“My pal is going to take over the next portion of the tour,” he announced from the floor. “Take it away, Daniel!”

Danny moved in front of the camera and gave a small wave.

“I’ll show you the kitchen and dining room, otherwise known as the two rooms Sam hardly ever uses because he can’t cook for shit.”

“I make a mean margarita!” Sam protested.

“Agree to disagree,” Danny corrected him, then returned to the camera. “Let’s go,” he said, and made his way through the living room to the kitchen, which had nice marble countertops, a large island equipped with bar stools, and an overall off-white theme. Danny scanned around the room in awe as if it was his first time seeing it, and then grunted at the memory that there was a camera crew there.

“This is Sam’s kitchen, uh, with a nice electric stove it looks like, a gigantic fridge, dear lord you could fit a body in there, and plenty of counter space.” Danny took a brief pause to clear his throat, and then pointed back at the counters. “The marble was taken from Sylacauga, Alabama and, actually this is really cool, if you put your ear up to it, you can hear the opening riff to ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’”

“He’s telling the truth,” Josh jumped back in front of the camera to confirm.

Danny spun around in a circle, trying to gather inspiration on what he could showcase next. He quickly hurried over to a toaster and slapped his hand down on it so it made a few crackling metallic sounds.

“This is still hot,” Danny announced. “And now my hand hurts.”

While Danny rushed to the sink to drench his burned hand in cold water, Josh started to sort through the liquor cabinet in the background.

“Mead?" he called out in shock. "Who the hell owns mead? I mean, Sam, what the hell?"

Sam shook his head at Josh.

"Beats me."

“Uh,” Danny backed away from the sink and was searching around again. “The fridge is, well, it’s great to store…” Danny trailed off as he opened the double doors of the fridge and poked his head in. “It’s great to store mustard?” he asked aloud, sounding confused. Jake, Josh, and Sam hurried to his side to peer at the lines of mustard that were tucked in the side door.

“This bottle expired in 2011,” Jake realized as he grabbed one closest to him and read the label.

“Do you want to explain, Sam?” Danny turned to his friend.

“Well,” Sam thought hard, “I firmly believe that these old bottles will be worth a lot someday. I like to invest in unconventional things.”

“I found a bottle that expired in 2006!” Josh called out.

“That’s gonna be worth thousands,” Sam winked back at the camera.

“I say we check out the next room, what do you say?” Danny looked around at his bandmates. They all proceeded to salute him, so Danny moved onwards to the dining room and skidded to a halt, gaping at it in shock. When Jake saw the room, he had to duck back into the kitchen, where he could just barely be heard choking out between cackles,

“What the fuck?”

The table was long and decorated with vases of sunflowers, which was a nice sight, but the oversized portrait of a very nude Burt Reynolds stood out as an oddity. Danny uncomfortably shuffled next to it, trying to cover the more crude parts of the image with his head, and nodded back at it.

“Sam is a huge fan of exhibitionism. It’s something he can feast his eyes on while he’s enjoying a meal. There’s just something so profound about the peaks and valleys of Burt Reynolds’ body. It’s like, every time you look at the picture, you notice something new.”

“Hairy men are so underappreciated in the art community,” Josh agreed. “Sam is really forward-thinking with his statement pieces in this house.”

Jake wandered back into the room wiping some stray tears from his eyes and Danny gave him a pat on the back.

“I can’t do this anymore, it’s your turn,” Danny could just barely be heard telling him. Jake sucked in a deep breath to compose himself and then flashed a toothy grin at the camera.

“I get the pleasure of showing you the bedrooms, where the magic happens.”

“That’s a weird thing to say about your brother’s house,” the cameraman couldn’t help but interject. Jake turned on his heel to face the cameraman and shrugged.

“It’s my line, and I’m sticking with it whether you like it or not, Jerry.”

"My name's not Jerry," the cameraman muttered.

Jake started to lead them back towards the front door, but then quickly whirled around when he noted he was lost, and moved towards the staircase leading upstairs.

“Sam paid some beavers to harvest the wood for these stairs from the Franklin State Forest," Jake shared over his shoulder as he pointed to the wooden steps. "Their rates are really fair for the quality of their work."

Jake approached the first door in the hallway and slammed his hand down on the doorknob.

“This is where the magic happens!” he announced, thrusting the door open. The camera went in first, taking in a nice and large room basking in natural light from the French doors that led out to a roomy balcony. A massive king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room with simple white sheets and a collection of earthy-toned throw pillows. Jake approached a salt lamp that was sitting on the bedside table and gave it a testing sniff. "Sam licks this when he gets bored," he shared. "If you look closely, you'll find some bite marks on it."

With a grunt, Jake threw himself back onto the bed, bouncing up and down a few times, and lifted a thumbs up to the ceiling.

"This is an optimal bed for back support," he proclaimed. "God, I feel like I could fall asleep right now."

While the cameraman focused on getting additional b-roll footage of the room, a strange sound started to pick up in his headphones. He turned around and, lo and behold, within a matter of seconds, Jake had knocked out cold in the bed, rattling the room with his deep snores. Josh grabbed a Sharpie out of his back pocket and leaned over Jake, drawing a fake goatee and glasses on his face while Sam snickered. Danny shook Jake back awake and he jolted up, looking around at everyone in shock.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asked around.

"Yeah," the room echoed back to him.

"That's a damn good bed then," Jake decided as he got back to his feet and rubbed at his eyes, smudging some of Josh's work. "Let's head to the next room."

Jake led the way and everyone else followed out to the door on the opposite side of the hallway. With a sly grin, Jake put his hand on the doorknob.

“That magic I was talking about earlier? Well, it also happens here,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he pushed the door open.

This time, the door revealed a room that was entirely empty with the exception of a single folding chair. Jake's hand fell limp back to his side and he studied the chair, trying to make sense of it.

"This is where Sam...ponders? I actually don't know. Sam, you're gonna have to help me out here," Jake looked to his younger brother. Sam tried not to laugh at Jake, since his face looked absolutely ridiculous, and took in the single chair.

"That's my guest room," he replied, like it was a totally normal answer.

"Feels like home," Jake commented. Growing quickly bored of the odd room, he led them down to the next door.

“Welcome,” he said with a dramatic pause, “to where the magic happens.”

This time, Jake started to walk into the room before the camera could take it in, but he abruptly stopped and then shut the door, pressing his back against it with his eyes wide.

“What?” Josh asked, shocked by how distressed his twin looked.

“There’s some stuff in there that I don’t think Architectural Digest can feature on their YouTube channel,” Jake squeaked out.

Danny gently nudged Jake out of the way and poked his head into the room. He let out a short gasp and then, like Jake, quickly closed the door.

“Considering the stuff in there, I think that is where the magic happens,” Danny blew out a long breath of air. “There was so much leather.”

“That’s my secret room,” Sam softly explained, his face red “Hey, why don’t we go down to the backyard, Josh?”

Sam sounded eager to get them as far away from that room as possible. Josh was more than ready to cut in, as he snatched the camera from the cameraman’s hands and whipped it around so he could address the lens at an unflattering angle.

“Come with me on a journey to the outside domain, where Sam’s vision for merging man and the natural world comes together in a stunning harmony.”

Before the cameraman could grab the camera back from Josh, Josh started to run down the stairs, the camera still pointed at his face. He tripped a little on the last step, which nearly resulted in him falling flat on top of the 4K camera, but caught himself and continued to book it to the back door. Just barely visible in the corner of the frame, it looked like there was a broken window next to the sliding door.

“Here we are,” Josh announced as he flipped the camera around to pan across the backyard, which was complete with a swimming pool, grilling area, and outdoor dining set. He slipped off his tennis shoes and made a show of zooming in close on his feet while he stomped around the well-maintained grass. “This is the perfect space to unblock your chakras. I like to sink to the bottom of the pool just to feel weightless. You know, especially with the pool being eight feet deep, it lets me drop and drop and feel the heaviness of my soul, but when I push back up to the top, it’s like all the negative energy is flowing out of me.”

The cameraman, Jake, Danny, and Sam all watched as Josh aimlessly wandered around the backyard, filming shots of bees, flowers, and the sky while talking to himself.

“Do you think you could get the camera back for me?” the cameraman asked, sounding exasperated. Architectural Digest didn’t pay him near enough to deal with these hooligans. It was nerve-wracking to watch the short ball of energy manhandling his camera around the backyard, zooming in and out on a single blade of grass while humming some kind of incantation.

“He’s in his element, just let him get it out of his system,” Jake told the cameraman, putting a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t feel bad for the guy at all, especially after he didn’t find his “this is where the magic happens” joke to be fucking hilarious.

“Maybe we should get the camera back before Josh breaks it,” Danny sounded worried.

“HEY!” a voice shouted behind them. They all twisted around to see a middle-aged man, his face red with rage, standing at the back door.

“Oh fuck!” Josh called out. He rushed the camera to the cameraman and tucked it in his hands. “We gotta go!”

“Why? What’s happening?” the cameraman asked, his head spinning.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING ON MY PROPERTY?” the man shouted louder.

“This isn’t our fucking house, dude,” Sam told the cameraman. “We broke in.”

“Catch you later!” Jake said before booking it for the side fence, flipping himself over the top of it, and rushing down the street. Josh quickly followed suit behind him.

Danny gave the cameraman an apologetic smile.

“Thanks for the opportunity, I hope the video turns out well.”

The cameraman stood paralyzed, gaping in awe at Danny and Sam, who also disappeared over the fence and out of sight.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, buddy,” the property owner growled as he approached the cameraman.

“I wish I could,” was all he managed to say.

#greta van fleet #gvf #gvf ask #sam kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #architectural digest #jake kiszka #gvf fanfic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet fanfiction

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 2 years

Text

Sonny Carisi: The Three Second Rule

Word Count: 1751

TW: Fluff.

It was an undisputed fact that Sonny Carisi loved food – loved eating it, loving creating it. He had grown up in a home where love was expressed through food; whether it was to celebrate a happy occasion or commiserate with something sad, food was always involved.

By his own admission, Sonny Carisi was the king of the kitchen…but there was currently a war being waged.

Sonny had met you through work: you managed an independent testing lab that NYPD used to verify results sometimes, and Barba had brought you in to testify as an expert witness during a case. Sonny had fallen for you quickly during those few days. Maybe it was the way your eyes lit up when you explained the science behind DNA testing, how you became animated on the stand because you loved your job and loved science even more. Maybe it was the way you parried back all of Calhoun’s attempts to discredit you. Maybe it was the way your hand felt in his when you parted at the courthouse, how you smiled at him and wished him luck on his case.

“You know where to find me if you ever need anything,” you had told him that day on the courthouse steps. When he visited your lab only a week later under the flimsiest of pretenses, that was that.

Sonny had never met anyone like you. You had set hours – a stark contrast to his own chaotic schedule – but you never gave him a hard time about all the rescheduled dates and cancelled meetups. You slipped into his life, filled in the empty spaces until it felt like you’d always been there. Sonny was smitten, but there was one area where you clashed.

You loved to cook too. When he asked you to move in with him, you did – but you also rearranged his entire kitchen with the same sterility and precision that you ran your lab. You boxed up his cookware and brought in your own, and when he complained (half-joking, half-not), you walked him through each of your pieces and why it was superior to his (the stainless steel versus the seasoned cast iron, the enameled pot, the knives that could parse a hair).

You got that same animated expression as you’d had in court, so Sonny couldn’t really be angry. Besides, you were an amazing cook. It was hard to complain when he went to work in the morning with a belly full of perfectly poached eggs, homemade hollandaise, and the flakiest biscuits he’d ever eaten.

Now, though, it was the holidays. Sonny loved to bake cookies for his friends and family, but in the final weekend before Christmas, you had laid siege to his kitchen. You, it turned out, loved making candy for your friends and family. There were trays of fudge firming up on the table. The coffee table in the living room was covered in boxes of homemade peppermint marshmallows (“they melt perfectly in hot chocolate,” you had informed him). And you stood at the kitchen counter, cutting what seemed to be the hundredth batch of caramels.

And you didn’t seem to be close to wrapping up anytime soon.

Sonny looked at his watch pointedly and sighed. “I am running out of time here,” he said, petulant.

You looked up at him with surprise. “Time for what?”

“Time to get my baking done,” he huffed. “You’ve monopolized the kitchen all weekend!”

You turned back to your candy, cutting a perfect line down the middle of the pan. “You’ll have plenty of time this evening…” you started, but he cut you off.

“This evening?!?” Another huff, and Sonny felt his irritation start to rise. “I have triple batches of four different recipes! I’ll never get done! We’re going to my parents’ house tomorrow afternoon!” He stopped then; his voice was getting progressively higher the more panicked he got, and aside from bickering over little things, you’d never had a real fight. Sonny didn’t want your first fight to be on Christmas Eve Eve, but he was at that point.

He should have told you that food was love in the Carisi household. He should have told you that he had to show up with cookies. He always gave a gift and food-gift. What would his nieces think if he only handed them their gifts without the accompanying lemon drop cookies? What would his mother think if she didn’t get her annual container of almond biscotti?

“There’s plenty of time,” you assured him in your cool, calm voice that Sonny secretly thought of as your ‘scientist voice.’ It didn’t soothe him like it usually did. It only made him madder.

“There’s no time left,” he snapped. “I’ll never get everything done in time. You spent all weekend in here, making stuff for your friends and family, and now I won’t have time to make stuff for my family.”

At this, you sat down your knife and turned to him with a weird look on your face, but you didn’t say anything.

“What?” he asked, annoyed. He was already doing the math in his head – figuring the prep and baking time, planning to let one recipe cool while the other baked, then icing – he might be able to make it work, if he stayed up late and woke up early….

“I thought we were giving your family candy this year,” you said. “We talked about it.”

He thought about it and couldn’t remember any conversation like that. “When?”

“I dunno – a few weeks ago? We were talking in bed about plans for the holidays…” You trailed off, and Sonny watched as a faint panic shimmered across your face.

“I kinda remember,” he said. He remembered talking about the logistics – Christmas Eve at his parents’ place, Christmas evening at your parents’ place – but that was it. He remembered being tired, and he distinctly remembered the feel of your fingernails as you had run your hand through his hair and soothed him to sleep. “I think I might have fallen asleep.”

You gave him a small smile. “You know that you keep talking when you’re falling asleep, right?”

“I do.”

A nod. “I suggested the marshmallows for your nieces, remember? We bought that fancy hot chocolate for them to go with it?”

He did remember that. Sonny felt his earlier irritation fade, and it was replaced by a feeling adjacent to shame. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry.”

Another smile, wider this time. “Did you think I was making all this candy and wasn’t going to share with you or your family? Most of this stuff is for your family. And your friends.” You gestured to the tray of caramels you’d been cutting. “These are specifically for your sisters. It’s infused with espresso. You said they love coffee.”

“Seriously?”

You nodded, and you turned to pry a piece out of the tray. “Here, try it,” you said, and you tossed it to him. But he felt terrible about getting mad at you, and he fumbled it. The candy hit the floor, and Sonny bent over to scoop it up.

You pried a second piece of candy for him, but when you turned to hand it to him, Sonny was already halfway through chewing the first. It was delicious – buttery and sweet, with a hint of coffee. But you looked at him aghast.

“Don’t eat food off the floor!”

“Three second rule,” he mumbled as he chewed.

“The three seconds rule doesn’t apply to sticky food,” you said, still scandalized. “How can you be a germophobe and eat food off the floor?”

“Kitchen floor germs are different than precinct germs.” He pointed at the floor. “These are localized Carisi germs. It’s a, uh, closed system. Completely benign.”

You grinned at him despite your apparent disgust. “Are you trying to use science-speak on me, detective?” It was one of Sonny’s favorite things, using scientific terminology with you. It always made you smile, and it usually made you laugh.

He nodded his head, but then he frowned. “I’m sorry I got testy,” he said. “I didn’t remember talking about holiday food gifts.”

“Apology accepted.” You leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed your arms. “But you should take better care to not talk when you’re sleepy, Sonny. You never know what I might get you to agree to.”

Sonny stepped over to stand in front of you, and he put his hands on your waist. “I’d agree to pretty much anything you suggest,” he joked. “Like, I’d agree to kiss you right now if you said so.”

You snorted and shook your head. “Absolutely not,” you said. “You are full of Carisi germs, kitchen floor germs - ” Your words were cut off by your own sudden laughter, as Sonny tried to kiss you and as you turned your head to dodge him. Finally, though, you consented to kiss him, and Sonny could taste the remnants of caramel in your mouth. You’d obviously been taste-testing.

You broke the kiss before it could get too heated. “You know, if we work together, we can probably make your cookies too,” you offered. You laid your hands on his chest and gazed up at him, and Sonny felt the same flush of love that he always felt when you looked up at him like that. “What do you say, detective? Stuff your nieces full of sugar and then send them home to wait for Santa?”

He pretended to think about it. “I can think of something else we can work at together,” he whispered, his voice low. “If you’re willing to risk more Carisi germs.”

You snorted again, but you raised yourself on your toes to kiss him, lingering and full of longing. “I’ve been acclimated to the local microbes by now,” you murmured against his mouth. “And I can spare five minutes.” Sonny could hear the smile in your voice, and he relished the little squeal of surprise you gave when he scooped you into his arms and carried you into his bedroom. Well, it was your bedroom too, now.

“It’s Christmas, doll,” he growled as he tossed you onto the bed. “You’re gonna get five minutes of foreplay alone.” He relished your laughter at that, and the way you sat up in the bed to tug him down on top of you, and by the time it was all over, many minutes had passed and Sonny thought that he might just be okay with letting you rule his kitchen after all.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x you #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

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midwestmade29 · 7 months

Text

Now loading…CHAPTER 3!!! 👀

This one is a bit lengthy, but I feel like it’s worth taking the time to read! The story continues on through the main (female) character’s POV and eventually switches over to Christian’s. Chapter 3 will take you through the morning after Christian’s drunken night and dives into the difficult conversation him and his “beautiful girl” had to have. Cross your fingers that they can work through it all and kiss and make up 😉

If you are not 18+ years old, please KEEP SCROLLING. Do not interact with any parts/chapters of this story.

Due to the explicit nature, this story is NSFW or minors.

It is written from the POV of the main character (female) and eventually changes over to Christian Cage’s POV.

Some topics/actions/theme(s) of this story may not be suitable and/or triggering for some readers. Foul language, alcohol consumption/use, drunkenness, self sabotage, and sexual “dirty talk” are a few examples.

Word count for Chapter 3: 1,899

This chapter is a doozy…😵‍💫

MAIN CHARACTER (FEMALE) POV

Steam flowed in thick pillows through the air, filling the entire bathroom as I stood under the hot water. The slight sting on my skin from the water temperature was a welcomed sensation since I had gotten chilled to the bone from walking in the rain. I wasn’t sure how long I had been standing here like this, but thankfully my tears had stopped intertwining themselves with the water droplets sliding down my cheeks, so that was a plus. I still needed to wash my hair and the rest of me before I could get out, so I made quick work of my usual routine. Once I shut the water off, I slid the glass door open and reached for my towel, but accidentally grabbed Christian’s instead. I brought it to my face to dry it off and his scent filled my nose, comforting me and causing me to forget for a split second about everything that happened tonight. I decided not to switch the towels and wrapped it around my body, still breathing him in.

While I was brushing my hair, I heard my phone ding on the counter. I held my breath for a moment as I unlocked it and saw who had sent the text. I was a little disappointed that it wasn’t Christian, but that was probably for the best right now. I read over the first message and sent my reply:

Adam Copeland: He’s here at the house, safe and sound.

Me: How is he doing?

Adam Copeland: Alright, for now. Still not 100% sober but getting there. Hopefully he’ll be able to get some rest and I’ll bring him home in the morning.

Me: Thanks, Adam. I really appreciate you picking him up and looking after him.

Adam Copeland: No problem. He’s lucky to have you in his life…just don’t give up on him yet. He needs you.

Me: I know. I need him too.

➡️ THE NEXT MORNING ⬅️

I tossed and turned all night, hardly getting any sleep. I hated not sleeping next to Christian for the 13th night in a row. I lost count of how many times I had replayed last night in my mind, overthinking everything as I went over it step by step. I know I could’ve handled certain parts of it differently, and I was kicking myself for it, but I couldn’t change it now. One thing that Christian had said last night really stuck with me. “You can’t fix someone who is unfixable.” It still made my heart ache knowing that’s how he thought of himself, as some broken and damaged goods. He was so much more than that.

Like every morning, right on cue, our cats jumped on to the bed alerting me that they were ready for breakfast. I tried to convince them to give me more time in bed by scratching all their favorite spots and telling them how cute they were, but no such luck. “You’re lucky I love you…” I sighed as I planted my feet on the floor. I slid my robe over my arms and made my way to the kitchen to get the furbabies their food and to start a pot of coffee for me. Goosebumps covered my arms and legs from the chill of the morning since I only had my robe and one of Christian’s shirts on, making the hot coffee sound even more appealing. “Here you go babies!” I called out as I sat the food bowls down, and I couldn’t help but laugh as the cats sauntered over meowing in appreciation.

The refrigerator beeped at me the longer I stood in front of it, urging me to close the doors while I tried to figure out what to eat. Even though I skipped dinner last night, I still didn’t have much of an appetite, but I knew I needed to have something. I grabbed the butter and strawberry jam and put 2 slices of bread in the toaster before filling my coffee cup while I waited. The quiet of the morning was interrupted when I heard keys turn in the lock of the front door, causing my stomach to do a flip when it opened. When I turned around, Christian stood on the other side of the kitchen, looking both disheveled and handsome at the same time. “Hey, baby…” he said cautiously. “Morning.” Was the only greeting I offered him. He rubbed the back of his neck while trying to make small talk. “The coffee smells good. Did you just wake up?” I didn’t respond, just walked over to the cabinet, and pulled out another coffee cup and motioned for Christian to sit down at the kitchen island. He watched my every move as I filled his cup and took the creamer out of the fridge. I tried my best not to make eye contact with him as I sat his cup down in front of him because I knew once I did, I would get lost in them and lose my nerve.

CHRISTIAN’S POV

My beautiful girl tried to keep herself busy by fixing her toast and fidgeting with the strings on her robe. I could tell that she didn’t get much sleep last night from her puffy eyes and the redness that trimmed them. I didn’t sleep well for obvious reasons, and right now it feels like I have an anvil sitting on my head, but I was feeling better than I deserved to. I almost hoped that I would wake up feeling miserable, like I was being punished in a way for last night, but seeing my girl like this and knowing it was my fault was worse than any hangover symptoms. I knew I had some explaining to do, but even with the seriousness of last night still hanging in the air, I couldn’t help but notice how sexy my girl looked in my shirt. Her hair was up in some kind of clip with loose wavy pieces of hair falling around her face, no makeup on and barefoot. Absolutely stunning. Each time she got near me or passed by her sweet scent consumed me and made me want to take her in my arms and kiss her hard. My thoughts were interrupted when she sat a plate of toast in front of me.

“I wasn’t sure if you were hungry or even up to eating. I figure after last night, getting some food in your stomach might be a good idea.” She said softly. “Thanks baby. I appreciate it. I know I owe you an explanation about last night and I…” was all I could get out before she held up her hands and cut me off. “I’ve had my time to think things over and to figure out what I wanted to say, so I’m just going to throw it all out there first.” This time she spoke firmly and she straightened up her shoulders. Shit, she really meant business and that made me nervous. ”We’ve been through this several times before Christian. We’ve had to have these difficult conversations time and time again, and it doesn’t get easier each time they happen. What hurts the most is when you keep things from me and won’t come to me when something is wrong or bothering you. I know you weren't able to call me from the plane, but we could've talked about everything at dinner. You also accused me last night of “trying to fix you” and that’s not what I’m trying to do. I just want to help you carry the heavy load you always put on your shoulders. When you hurt, I hurt Christian. We’re supposed to be in this together. Instead of opening yourself up to me, you chose alcohol and closed off your heart.”

She turned her head after her last few words were almost a whisper to try and hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes. Fuck this killed me seeing her like this! I walked over to her, placed my hands on her cheeks, and wiped away a stray tear with my thumb. I wrapped her in my arms and about broke down in tears myself. “I’m so sorry, baby. I know I fucked up and I hate the way I acted. You are 100% right about us being in this together, and I didn’t show that last night. I know I’ve made a lot of poor choices, and you don’t deserve to be treated the way I treated you. Yesterday morning I was ecstatic knowing that I was going to be on my way home to you, but once the plane took off, that’s when I started drinking.” “Being away from you for any amount of time is torture. I didn’t think these 12 days were ever going to end and I couldn’t wait to see you last night. I even bought a new dress for our date, plus a little something extra underneath to surprise you. Unfortunately, that surprise is laying on the bathroom floor, soaked from the rain.” She admitted. My cock twitched when I started imagining what her “surprise” looked like. I think she knew where my mind was in that moment when I saw her cheeks flush.

To snap myself back into our conversation, I shook my head and continued to explain myself. “Some of the guys on the plane were busting my balls and bringing up a lot of the criticism and hate that I’ve been hearing and seeing lately. I let it get to me and to drown it all out, I started drinking. Some journalist wrote an article about me a couple days ago that claimed I’m “washed up” and “a burden to AEW.” There’s been other shit plastered all over social media lately too. It’s hard to ignore when I’m constantly reminded that I’m still considered second best after all these years and that they don’t see the hard work I’ve put in. It follows me around like the plague. If I was stronger, then I wouldn’t be broken and full of cracks letting all this seep into me.” “I hate that you see yourself that way! I can assure you that you are not any of those things the journalists, “fans” or anyone else said. You’re brilliant Christian! You shine brighter than anyone else out there and it’s a shame that others try to dull that shine. You put in the time and hard work into your career, continuously elevating yourself while lifting others up with you. You’re the best person I know! Please don’t let the stupidity of others cause you to build a wall around your heart. Let my words and love for you break down what’s already there.”

Her words rocked me to my core. It hurt like hell always hearing and seeing the negative things that are written, posted and spoke about me, but accepting a compliment and praise was almost harder to hear because I'm just not used to it. When I don't see the good in myself, I can't understand why anyone else would. But, if she sees good in me, then it must really be inside of me somewhere. This beautiful girl standing before me is a living breathing angel, I’m sure of it. I have no idea what I did to deserve her, but I’m so damn glad she’s mine.

…Well, did you make it through the entire thing? 🫣 You’re a rockstar if you did! I appreciate you so very much! 🖤

Chapter 4 will be posted ASAP!

#christian cage #jay reso #aew #all elite wrestling #fanfic #fanfiction #captain charisma #instant classic #christian4peeps #christian cage smut #smut #christian cage fanfic #christian cage headcanon #head canon

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softquietsteadylove · 1 year

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Hey :)

If ur still accepting requests, could you something where Thena is on her period and is in a lot of pain (Cramps suck Fr) and Gil comforts her??? You can choose the AU <3

Btw ur entire account literally gives me life lmao 🫶🏼

Thena woke slowly, having drifted off on the couch after using the last of her pain meds. She had sent a message to Kingo to bring her more, though.

There were sounds coming from the kitchen. Panic flooded through her as she looked up and over the back of the couch.

"It's okay," he smiled at her, having sensed her alarm, "it's just me."

Gilgamesh.

Thena relaxed her knee-jerk reaction to reach for a knife. Although she was on high alert in other ways, seeing him at her stove. "What are you doing here?"

Gil turned down the burner on whatever he was cooking and came over to the couch, leaning on the back of it. "How're you feeling?"

"Answer me," she grumbled at him, curling around herself and drawing up the blanket she had thrown over her legs.

"I ran into Kingo while he was out getting some things," Gil answered gently, brushing some hair away from her cheek for her (why she let him was beyond her). "I offered to come and check on you."

Thena made a mental note to fire Kingo before she killed him.

"I've got some cheesy tteokbokki on for you," he smiled at her, leaving the back of the couch only to retrieve a tray from the kitchen and bring it over for her. "Start with this."

Thena frowned as he set the tray on her coffee table, on top of the laptop she had abandoned since cramps had robbed her of the ability to work from home.

He had arranged a glass of gingerale, a fresh dose of midol, a few crackers and cheese and even a few pieces of white chocolate (her favourite). There was even a tiny little vase with a budding lily in it.

Thena looked from the tray to the eager and hopeful face of the Tyrant King. She was still curled up around herself, and not just because of the cramps in her abdomen. "Why?"

His smile fell, and she hated to admit that it made her feel so bad she was willing to do anything to undo it. He corrected his expression, though, letting his smile become smaller but softer. "I'm your boyfriend, Ice. So I'm here to do boyfriend things, like comfort you when you're having a rough period."

She was a grown woman. She had no reason to be embarrassed about a perfectly natural function of her body. But she had never intended on letting him witness it firsthand.

She hadn't showered yet, she was sure she was pale as a ghost with messy hair and cold sweat on her skin. And that was to say nothing of the fact that instead of her usual silk nightdress she was in fuzzy sweatpants and an old hoodie.

Thena picked her head up off the throw pillow and gave him a withering glare, "my boyfriend, are you?"

"Well, let's go with that for now," he chuckled, putting his hand on her shoulder to steady him as he leaned over to kiss her cheek before returning to the kitchen.

She eyed the fresh ink of his ring tattoo as he moved.

"Your cup is still in its pot here, too--I just moved it."

Right, she had been boiling her menstrual cup while she had texted Kingo for supplies. This was exactly what she meant about Gil not having to be here doing all this for her. They were...something--she had thought to maybe call them an ongoing affair. But apparently he was her boyfriend.

That didn't mean she wanted him handling the pot that had a silicone cup she put in her-

Thena groaned, leaning her head back against her throw pillow again.

"Take your drugs, Princess. I'll bring lunch over in a sec."

She pursed her lips as she eyed the lovingly arranged platter he had brought her. She could hear him humming to himself in the kitchen behind her. It was so...domestic. She turned herself as best she could, keeping her blanket over her lap as she leaned just enough to reach the midol and the gingerale (and a piece of chocolate).

"Here we go," Gil narrated as he came over with a sizzling claypot in its holder. He walked over briskly with it, setting it down next to the other platter and sitting beside her. He turned to her with a grin, "want me to feed it to you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, Sweetness," he laughed as he stirred around the steaming hot rice cakes in their red sauce. "It'll be like the old days in the poison ward."

Was that what constituted 'the good old days' for them?

"I can feed myself," she huffed, although when he leaned out of her way, she realised just how far away the nice hot bowl really was.

"Here," he smiled, picking up the utensils and using the chopsticks to pile a few into a larger spoon as kind of an in-between serving vessel. He handed both over to her, "take your time."

Thena sighed, taking a few and blowing on them before eating them. She knew very well he made the best tteokbokki. He was quite a sufficient home cook, but something about how he made the sauce for the rice cakes--how he got them to the absolute perfect consistency for her every time. It never failed.

Gil rubbed her back as she slurped back a few more. "You could have told me, y'know."

Thena sighed between bites. She didn't have to answer him. If she didn't, he probably wouldn't pester her with it, given her current mood. She handed the spoon back so he could pick up a few more for her. "It's...personal."

He gave her a look. "Baby, I gave you a sponge bath while you were in the hospital. You think I can't handle your period?"

She glared at him; he didn't have to bring that up. "Not the point."

He let it go, handing back another few tteokbokki with stretchy, oozy cheese on them.

"Just," she said just before taking a bite, using the time chewing to collect her thoughts. She sighed through her nose, her shoulders sinking. She gulped. "Just...let me be a mess on my own."

"A mess?" he asked in a tone that was so disbelieving it was a little snarky. But surely he knew better than to be snarky with her when she was in a foul mood; she glared at him again. But he laughed, "you think you can hide how beautiful you are?"

Thena stared down at the tteokbokki she was holding. She was piled under comfy clothes and blankets and a fuzzy warmer stuffed inside the pocket of her hoodie. Her back hurt, she hadn't even washed her face that morning, let alone brushed her hair or checked what she smelled like.

Gil blinked as she handed back the utensils without having finished her last bite. "Sweetness?"

"Stop it," she grumbled, pressing her face into her hands, including the tears that were threatening more and more seriously to spill over. "Stop...being sweet."

Gil smiled as the problem was stated. He set the food aside, moving closer so he could pulled her into his lap. She growled at him a little but he nestled her head under his chin, "I don't think that's something a good boyfriend does."

Thena pressed her face into his shirt. He smelled like his office, even in his casual clothes. He smelled like gojuchang and gojugaru and aromatics.

Gil let her bury her face in his chest, her hand sliding up to join it, sitting over his heart, like it always did. "I'm right here, Thena. I'm not going anywhere."

She inhaled the mix of scents on him, letting it relax her like lavender in a bath. "Lunch."

"I'll save it for you, heat it up later," he promised, whispering as he ran his fingers through her hair. "I'll run you a hot bath, we can have a nice relaxing dinner. What do you think, Ice?"

"Hm," she mumbled, already on the verge of falling asleep again. The night had been fitful at best, and something about how warm he was always made her want to nod off. "Tell Kingo he's fired."

Gil laughed, although it wasn't the belly deep laugh he sometimes had. He was careful not to jostle her in his arms. "I think you should tell him that yourself."

She whined faintly, burying her face in his chest completely again, "later."

"Later," Gil agreed, kissing the top of her head as he supported her back with his arm and rubbed her shoulder. "Take your time."

#Ice Queen/Tyrant King AU #so I googled it...and you can have a period after you get your tubes tied #which I don't know why it surprised me #but anyway #cramps DO suck fr #and I am always taking requests my love so don't be shy!!!#you're so sweet #and yeah Thena is the flawless and untouchable Ice Queen #but let's face it we can't be polished all the time #she just didn't want him to know that #and she's self-conscious about it #but Gil takes one look at her #dry hair and pale and grumpy and thinks #she has never been more beautiful #he thinks she's so cute all bundled up and growly #he lets her nap #runs her a bath and everything #he offers to carry her and lower her into it but she's like no absolutely not nope #but he does ask if she wants him to set out fresh jammies for her #and she very quietly opens the door just a bit and holds out her hand #“shirt”#Gil tears it off his back and hands it over #god he loves this woman

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hollandorks · 1 year

Text

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matt murdock x original female character

chapter seven

Summary: Fleeing from an abusive relationship, Grace St. James goes to the only place she still has a friend: Hell’s Kitchen. She’s forced to live in her car and beg for a job from the law firm Nelson, Murdock, and Page all the while making sure her past doesn’t catch up to her. Enter Matt Murdock: cocky, handsome, and willing to let her live with him for free until she can afford to get a place of her own. Grace is drawn to Matt in a way she’s never been drawn to anyone, causing sparks to fly as they inevitably grow closer and closer.

a/n: I know I’ve already said it but this fic is so self-indulgent that it’s hard to even formulate an actual plot. Oh well! I’m having fun and that’s all that matters! Also I definitely think Matt Murdock is extra sleepy grouchy in the mornings due to his late nights devilling.

(side note: I just passed 80k words on this fic...I have no idea where all of those words came from)

Series Masterlist

word count: 4608

He knew he was lying to himself, but he pretended he wasn’t.

He was in a lot of trouble, having her there, but there was nothing to do about it now.

Grace woke up slowly. She knew immediately that she had slept long and deep, muscles stiff in an almost luxurious way like she had been in bed for too long.

Awareness seeped in as she dragged her heavy eyelids open. Warm sunlight poured through the windows across from the bed. She inhaled and stretched languorously, the silk sheets sliding across her skin like the touch of a lover.

Grace jolted when she realized just how rested she was. That could only mean one thing–she was late for work.

She scrambled for her phone, only to find that it was ten minutes before her alarm was set to go off. She frowned at the time. Apparently sleeping in a real bed had done her body wonders.

She quickly got ready for the day, made the bed, and then tiptoed into the living room. Matt was already up, however, and setting a pot of coffee to brew. His hair was mussed, his t-shirt wrinkled, and he seemed to be operating with his eyes closed.

Grace paused in the doorway, taken aback by how….cute Matt Murdock was first thing in the morning.

“Good morning,” she said, grateful that he wasn’t aware that she had stared at him for a full minute. The coffee maker percolated cheerfully on the counter and the smell wrapped around them.

Matt grunted and then yawned. “How’d you sleep?” he finally asked in a voice that was rough with exhaustion.

“That was the best night of sleep I’ve ever gotten in my entire life,” she said truthfully as she made her way into the kitchen. Matt half-smiled, eyes still partially closed. “Any chance you made enough coffee for two?”

“Of course,” he said, then reached to open a cabinet. There were four plain white coffee cups and one in the back in the shape of the Death Star.

“Star Wars fan?” she asked as she grabbed one of the plain mugs.

Matt’s brows drew together for a moment. “Oh. No, that was–Foggy said he wanted something fun for when he was over here, so he brought one of his own.”

Grace laughed softly as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She and Matt moved at the same moment and bumped into each other. “Sorry,” she murmured with heat in her cheeks. One of his hands gently brushed her arm as if to steady himself, or maybe her. “I’ll–I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s alright,” he said. His brown eyes were unerringly close to meeting hers. “I’d offer to walk you to the office, but Foggy and I are meeting with a potential client this morning first thing.”

Grace ignored the pang of disappointment. “I’ll probably go ahead and get going then so I can get breakfast. Good luck.”

She quickly gathered her things for the day while she finished her coffee. Matt seemed to be in no hurry, simply leaning back against the kitchen counter while he sipped from his mug. She quickly washed the cup and put it back in the cabinet. Matt was lost in his own world, hardly moving as she maneuvered around him.

“See you later,” she said, the words feeling strange on her tongue, as she got ready to leave. She hefted her bag over one shoulder and let her gaze trail along Matt’s frame where he leaned. He was still in that tight shirt and the sweatpants. She could see how muscular he was, how fit. The tight shirt left little to the imagination. She forced her eyes away as he said a soft goodbye.

He was still leaning against the counter as she left, his head tipped towards her as if he were listening to her go.

Grace locked the door behind herself, keys jangling as she pocketed them.

As she walked, she couldn’t help but replay the morning over again. It was strange to live with an attractive man and not be dating him, she mused as she went to her new favorite breakfast place. She wondered if it was weird for Matt, too, though she didn’t think he found her attractive.

Karen was already at the office when Grace arrived a little while later.

“So,” Karen said as she hung up her jacket. “How was your first night at Chateau Murdock?”

Grace laughed a little. “It was fine,” she said with a shrug. There was a big box waiting on her desk–her new computer. “Matt’s definitely not a morning person though. I caught him walking around with his eyes closed this morning. How was your night?”

Karen gave a surprised laugh. “Yeah, I’ve always gotten the impression that mornings make him grumpy. And it was…weird.”

As they got to work setting up the new computer, Karen launched into a hilarious story about Ellison roaming around in his robe late at night, muttering to himself as he looked at paper layouts and articles on a tablet. She had apparently startled him so bad he’d screamed like a girl and thrown said tablet into the air.

Grace enjoyed Karen’s company, probably even more so without the other two there. She was quiet but not reserved, her mind sharp and her humor even sharper.

They were still laughing and talking as Matt and Foggy returned from their client meeting, Karen’s office door open so they could talk freely from their own desks.

“Great news, team!” Foggy announced loudly as he came inside. “My bride to be has sent an actual paying client our way and we have ourselves a nice, big case. And a nice, big paycheck, might I add.”

“They saw our new website,” Matt said as he stopped before Grace’s desk. He lightly tapped her desk twice. “They said it looks great.” He gave her a slightly crooked grin.

Grace flushed with pleasure. “Really?” she asked, hardly daring to believe it. She’d put a lot of work into the website and was still tinkering with it, but so far she was happy with how it was turning out. “It isn’t finished, but–”

“Grace, if I wasn’t already engaged, I’d kiss you,” Foggy said with his own grin. They all laughed. “I’ll admit, I didn’t look at the website until they mentioned it. But it looks great.”

“Oh, God, Foggy’s in a kissing mood,” Karen said. She rolled her eyes and met Grace’s gaze. “Quick, we’ll barricade ourselves in my off–” She cut off with a shout as Foggy strode over to her and planted a wet kiss on her cheek.

“He just kissed her, didn’t he?” Matt said with a laugh. Grace was trying not to laugh but it was hard. Matt leaned against her desk and shook his head. “I’d tell you the website looks great, Grace, but I’ll have to take my colleague’s word for it.”

“Actually–” Grace said as she straightened. “I’ve been looking into making it accessible for the blind and visually impaired. I could use a guinea pig at some point, if you don’t mind.”

Matt dipped his chin and opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Really?” Foggy said, no longer trying to kiss Karen’s face. “That’s awesome!”

“Great idea,” Karen added with a nod.

“I don’t mind helping,” Matt finally said, voice soft. There was a note of emotion underneath the words.

Grace felt that little sting of pride again. “Great. I still have a ways to go, but I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

The rest of the day was a blur as Grace split her time between figuring out her new desktop computer, working more on the website, and beginning to help prepare for the big case Matt and Foggy had secured.

While she worked, she contemplated just how much of a difference a good night of sleep made. Even before sleeping in her car, she spent many nights awake and in fear. Since she was a deep sleeper, she’d never known if Dean would react badly to her sleeping later than him or falling asleep before him and not waking when he came to bed. His expectations had always changed rapidly along with his moods. And oftentimes, when he was angry about something, the mood lasted for hours, lingering beneath the surface of soft words and gentle apologies. Then he’d snap again over some small thing. So she would lie awake, wondering if he was going to hit her again, dreading it, anticipating it.

But now that she was away from that she was so much more…settled. She’d slept deeply, all night long, for the first time in a while. And even when she switched to sleeping on Matt’s couch, she knew she’d still sleep deeply, comfortably.

The four of them ended up eating dinner together at a small restaurant around the corner. Grace had been surprised to be invited, but pleased. She really did like hanging out with them, all of them, and liked how well they all got along. Even though the three of them had been friends for years, Grace never felt out of place. They always made sure to include her, to tell her the stories they were referencing, to make her feel like she belonged.

She and Matt walked back to his apartment in companionable silence after dinner. She’d offered him her arm when they left, still uncertain about the etiquette for being around someone blind.

His grip was strong and warm at her elbow.

“You know,” Matt said as the building came into view. “You don’t have to feel obligated to hang out with us.”

Grace’s heart stuttered. She glanced at him in surprise. “What?” she asked, because she wasn’t really sure she’d heard him right. Did they not want her to hang out with them? Was she only being invited as a courtesy, because they felt bad for her?

“Me, Foggy, and Karen. You don’t–I feel like we’ve kind of been dragging you into things.” He looked a bit sheepish.

“I…no, not at all. I like hanging out with you guys.” Her stomach sank. An odd, prickling sensation crawled across her skin. “Unless you don’t want me intruding. I know you’ve known each other for–”

“No, no,” Matt said hurriedly. “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t–I didn’t want you to feel like you had to.”

Grace’s face was hot. “Oh. Well, I like hanging out with you guys. You’re fun.”

Matt flashed her a smile as they entered the apartment. “Good. I know Foggy has a…strong personality sometimes and can be a bit of a bulldozer when it comes to things.”

Grace laughed. “That’s one way to put it. Trust me, though. I like you, all three of you. It’s been a while since I’ve been around people who were so…easy.”

“Easy?” Matt repeated skeptically, brows raised behind his tinted glasses.

“Yeah, easy. You guys are easy to get along with.” She shrugged, hoping he’d feel it since his hand was still on her elbow. “I feel like there aren’t any expectations when I’m around you.”

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

They parted ways in the living room. Matt went and changed while Grace made a shopping list on her phone of things she’d need to purchase, namely food.

“All yours,” Matt said a few minutes later as he came out of the bathroom. He was in sweatpants and a tank top.

Grace’s eyes widened when she took in his very muscular arms. Matt rubbed a hand absently over the back of his head.

“Right,” she said, because she’d been staring. She cleared her throat. “I’ll shower.”

She gathered her pajamas and bolted for the bathroom, embarrassed that she kept reacting to Matt like that. He’s attractive, she told herself firmly as she waited for the shower to heat up. So what? You live with him. Chill out.

She showered quickly. She wanted to do more research on accessibility for the website before bed.

Matt was on his way out with a duffel bag when she emerged from the steam of the bathroom. He paused when he heard the door open.

“I was going to go to the gym,” he said, hefting the duffel bag that was in one hand.

Grace perked up. “Maybe–Maybe I could come sometime?” she asked, thinking of those self defense classes. “I take self defense classes on the weekends, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere else to go during the week.”

Matt winced slightly. “I…Don’t usually like people to be there. It’s–I have an arrangement with the owner to go after hours…” He trailed off. Even from across the room, she could see his blush, mirroring her own.

Mentally, she kicked herself. She didn’t particularly like people watching her either, and she wasn’t blind. “Oh, that’s fine.” She almost winced at the palpable awkwardness in the air. “Have fun?” It came out like a question.

Matt gave her a fake looking smile. “I’ll be back late.”

“Night, then.”

“Goodnight.”

When he was gone, Grace groaned and put her head in her hands. Two awkward conversations in one night. She wanted to scream or hide or both. It really was like college all over again, two people who knew nothing about each other forced to live together. She hated the awkwardness. It was almost as if hanging out with Dean and Dean’s friends for so long had caused her to forget how to act around, well, anyone else.

Grace pulled out her laptop and settled on the couch in order to get her mind off of the lingering embarrassment. She set to work researching accessibility options, trying out various ones on the Nelson, Murdock, and Page website until she found a few that would work well.

A couple of hours passed, and her research turned into a search into Matt Murdock.. She read about his accident as a child, blinded saving an old man in a traffic accident, only to lose his father not too long after.

The most prevalent articles were about Wilson Fisk and Frank Castle. She went down a bit of a rabbit hole looking through those and reading about the firm’s involvement with them. The articles about Frank Castle debated the pros and cons of vigilantes, when led to her clicking through to articles regarding Daredevil specifically.

Then, somehow, she was watching old cell phone videos and grainy security footage of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He used to not have the armor or the horns, back when he was simply known as the “man in black” or the “man in the mask.” The devil moniker and the suit had come later.

Grace had watched a lot of the same videos of Daredevil after he’d saved her. She had read a lot of the same articles and information and forums, too. But she found herself going over it again, the curiosity still burning bright within her.

She kept reading as she got ready for bed and then shifted from her laptop to her phone so she could lay down on the couch as she grew more and more tired.

She slipped into sleep with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on her mind and dreamed of smoke and shadows with horns.

–

Grace woke the next morning in Matt’s bed.

She startled awake, sitting up in one fluid movement. Hadn’t she been on the couch? She blinked blearily at the room around her before realizing that her alarm had woken her. She smacked her phone to turn it off and rubbed at her face to try and dispel some of the cobwebs in her brain.

She vaguely remembered Matt shaking her awake and then…nothing.

Grace swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment trying to remember if she’d walked to the bed or if Matt had carried her. But why would he have carried her?

She yawned hugely and decided that any more thinking could wait until she’d been caffeinated. She brushed her teeth and pulled her hair back and dressed for the day before going out into the living room. There was no evidence the couch had been slept on at all. Her laptop was still on the coffee table where she’d left it.

Matt was in the kitchen, already in his suit, tying his tie.

“How and why did I end up in the bed again last night?” Grace asked as she greedily made a grab for the coffee pot.

Matt tilted his head towards her. “You don’t remember me waking you up?”

Grace frowned. The vague memory resurfaced. Matt’s hair had been damp with sweat, or maybe from a shower. “I…no, not really.”

“You weren’t kidding about being a deep sleeper,” he said with that disarming smile of his.

Grace glared at him over the mug as she sipped the too-hot coffee. She didn’t even care that it burned a bit. “Again, how and why?”

Matt shrugged and slipped his suit jacket on. “I told you I was taking the couch. I got you awake enough to help you to the bed.”

“Matt, I told you I’d sleep on the couch. I was already asleep on the couch, why didn’t you just take the bed?” She crossed her legs and widened her stance.

Matt set his jaw. “You’re my guest,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch from here on out. Besides, I got in late–I wouldn’t have woken you up if you’d been in the bedroom.”

Grace threw up her hands. “There’s no point in arguing with a lawyer, is there?”

A crack in the stubbornness as he smiled. “Nope.”

She pointed a stern finger at him even though he couldn’t see it. “Watch it, Murdock. Pink shirts.”

Matt laughed, and the tension around them eased. The argument was far from over–Grace would make sure Matt let her sleep on the couch if it was the last thing she did. But it was time to go to work.

As they walked to the office, Grace thought about various arguments that would change his mind. Or maybe she could simply figure out how to lock him in the bedroom until he went to sleep while she took the couch.

Grace’s phone went off with the chime she’d set for Google alerts right as they got to the firm.

She glanced at the headline and jerked to a halt.

Harold Spencer found dead in Hudson River near Hell’s Kitchen.

Grace’s hands shook as the scent of blood filled her nose, the sounds of creaking metal doors and the rattling of chains echoing in her ears.

“Grace?” Matt asked as if from very far away. “Are you alright?”

She blinked and mentally shook herself. “Yeah I just–someone I used to know was found dead, is all.”

Not technically a lie. Harry Spencer had gone to college with her and Dean and their circle of friends.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said softly. “Do you need to…go?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, it’s–I haven’t seen him in a long time.” Another half-truth.

Matt reached out and his fingers brushed her forearm. He patted her. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Grace forced herself to focus on work and work only for the rest of the day. She emailed Foggy, Matt, and Karen about lists of accessibility things they could add to the website, scheduled a couple of appointments, and started working through some paperwork for their newest case.

Her concentration was so single minded that she didn’t notice it was time to leave.

“I’ll catch up,” she said to Matt, who was hovering near her desk. “I need to finish a couple of things.”

The other three bid her goodnight.

The moment the door closed behind them, Grace pulled up the news on her computer.

She clicked the breaking news article.

Harold Spencer, 27, was found dead early this morning in the Hudson River near Hell’s Kitchen. Details are limited at this time. No statement has been released by the police or the family of the deceased. Spencer supposedly went missing after failing to return from a business trip six months ago.

Grace’s breath caught again. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool wood of her desk.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

She looked up every article related to Harry Spencer that she could get her hands on. None of them had any other details. His body had been found–that was the extent of the information. Some websites even claimed that he hadn’t been missing, since his family had never formally filed.

She clicked out of the windows and gathered her things. It was later than she thought.

She knew that she should tell someone what she knew, or at least what she had pieced together. But that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? Dean Bennett was too powerful. No one would believe her. Not a single person.

Maybe Matt, Foggy, and Karen would, a small, hopeful voice whispered in her mind. She shook the thoughts away. She was already relying too much on their charitable hearts, especially Matt. She couldn’t ask them to believe the impossible of her, the unprovable, something that would bring at the very least bad press to their firm but most likely ruin.

Grace bit her lip as she stalked to Matt’s apartment.

She’d left Dean for a reason. She wasn’t going to look back, not anymore. She was working a job she liked with people she thought could become good friends, and she didn’t care about Dean Bennett and the things he may or may not have done anymore.

To further occupy herself, she stopped at a grocery store to stock up on food. Even if she had to live off of cereal and instant ramen, she would save money for a place of her own.

Maybe she could sell her car, she thought as she lugged the heavy bags back to the apartment. Having a car in New York was more trouble than it was worth. She’d barely used it in the past week other than as a bed.

Matt was nowhere to be found when she let herself into the apartment. It was just as well, because she was spiraling so much that she knew she’d probably get on his nerves. She put all of her groceries away, showered, then spent another hour eating cereal and reading more news articles and scouring social media for more information.

She started pacing as she read some posts on her phone, her laptop battery dead from her obsession first with Daredevil and then with Harry Spencer.

A picture she recognized was being circulated around social media. Young, handsome Harry in his Cornell sweatshirt, the picture splashed everywhere. But on a certain social media site, the full picture was posted, revealing a second figure.

Grace dropped her phone as if it had burned her.

No wonder the photo was familiar.

She had taken it.

She sank onto the couch and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

From the floor, Dean and Harry smiled up at her, arms around each other in matching Cornell sweatshirts.

Grace fumbled for her phone and closed the app.

She started pacing again. The room was suddenly too hot, too small, too much.

She grabbed her keys and went up the stairs to the roof.

Cold air hit her in the face. She shivered as the sweat on her body cooled. It wasn’t too cold yet, summer giving one last dying gasp before the autumn frost came.

Grace inhaled greedy gulps of air to calm herself.

She needed to forget Dean. To forget Harry. To forget her entire life up until the past week. None of it mattered anymore. She was starting over and there was absolutely nothing she could do to change anything except her own circumstances. The only thing she could change was herself and her own situation, so she needed to focus on that. Nothing else.

“Goddammit,” she muttered as she started pacing around the small rooftop area.

There was a soft scrape somewhere behind her. Like a shoe against the asphalt.

Grace whirled.

There was a shadow standing there, watching her.

She opened her mouth to scream but the shadow stepped into the light.

Daredevil.

She immediately relaxed. “Oh,” she said a bit breathlessly. Her heart started pounding for an entirely different reason. She pressed her palm against her chest to calm the racing of her heart. “It’s you. You probably don’t remember me–”

“Of course I remember you,” he said in a low voice. She had to strain to hear him over the noise of the traffic and other city noises below them.

Grace stared at him a moment, stunned that he had remembered her. “What are you…doing here?” she asked when she recovered. She crossed her arms, aware of her flimsy pajamas and lack of a bra.

He spread his hands. “The rooftops are kind of my thing.” A hint of a smile. He kept his voice low, almost too quiet. “Besides, I could ask you the same question.”

“Right, yeah. The whole vigilante thing.” She shifted and glanced away. “I was just…clearing my head.”

“You should be careful,” he said. The low timbre of his voice made her shiver. It made her think of the shadows wrapping around him, ready to swallow him up at a moment’s notice. It made her think of bruised knuckles and blood.

“My friend is downstairs,” she lied. “I’m just staying here for a few nights.” She didn’t know why she lied to him. It came naturally, not to give too much of herself away to a stranger.

Daredevil hummed. He still hadn’t moved. His hands hung loosely at his sides.

She took the moment to study him in the low light. Now that she wasn’t afraid for her life or suffering a head wound like she had been the last time they’d met, she could take him in. The tight suit revealed a muscular frame, built solidly even though he wasn’t incredibly tall. The line of his jaw was sharp. She couldn’t tell if it was another shadow or a shadow of stubble that shaded it. She stared into the glass eyes of his mask. He tilted his head slightly and the eyes glinted red, making her shiver all over again.

“You should go inside, it’s cold,” he said after a moment. She wondered if he had been studying her like she’d been studying him.

“Do you–want a drink or something? A snack?” she blurted. She didn’t want to leave, not when he was so close. She might have developed a slight obsession with him after he’d saved her but–who wouldn’t? Half of Hell’s Kitchen was obsessed with him, based on what she could tell from her internet sleuthing.

That head tilt again. “No thank you.” Again she could barely hear him over the noise of the city around them. He seemed puzzled by her offer.

“I just–I figure being a vigilante is hard and you might need some water or a granola bar or something.”

A sudden grin, the flash of teeth in the low light almost predatory. “I’m alright, I promise.”

She shrugged and bit back a nervous laugh. “I just want to thank you somehow,” she finally said. Her voice quieted even as her face heated. “If you hadn’t been there–”

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice growing even deeper. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides again. “Goodnight, Grace.”

“Goodnight,” she said with a small smile and wave before she ducked back inside.

She pressed her back against the door after locking it and bit back another smile.

But she didn’t question how the devil of Hell’s Kitchen had come to know her name.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@zaminoo @yanna-banana @bellal1 @thetrinitytest @harry-bowie-mercury

#matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock x original female character #matt murdock #matt murdock x original character #daredevil x oc #daredevil x ofc #daredevil x original female character #daredevil x original character #daredevil #netflix daredevil #saved #saved fic #saved daredevil

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igotlostinthesewers · 1 year

Text

Some Type Of Drug

Chapter 1: Ninja what, now?

Pairng: Leonardo x Reader

Reader Type: Gender neutral

Song: Free fall- Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Word Count:3046

Warnings: Swearings. Fighting. Blood mentions.

An: First fic for the fandom lol. It's been a while. So here's me dipping my toe in the water to see what's up. Any feedback is appreciated! Also I went through like. Three different one shot ideas until I landed on this one lol.

"If someone is cruel to you because of your soft disposition and generosity, respond to their poison with equal parts sweet honey, equal parts dangerous ferocity."

-Nikita Gill.

To have thought you would trade towering trees for sky scrapers and thick forests for crowds of people. New York was beyond new, beyond strange, for someone who has spent an entire life in quiet mountains and within a small town.

All the same you are here now. The last of your furniture moved into an apartment that seems so small compared to your old home.

You had moved almost a month ago. The small town that had once brought you comfort was now suffocating. People who you have known since childhood smothering you in well wishes and worries.

Don't get it wrong. You were forever grateful to them and all your friends. But enough had been enough. You had to shed the old. To shake of the heavy coat of lingering sadness.

For what you did not know. But the not knowing was a greater feeling that the smothering sickness that had been depression. It was still there. Longering. But no longer was it the only thing you felt.

The torrential downpour happening outside is some soft of familiarity though. As is the incense slowly wafting around the room. The scent of dragons blood and vanilla heavy in your lungs.

The oil in your skillet spits and spatters around the chicken you are frying. Foam bubbles over the potatoes boiling in their pot. Behind you you can hear the timer on your rice cooker beep.The steaming broccoli is done.

Not for the first time you find yourself sitting on your bed with your knees drawn to your chest. Night time is the worst. Were there is nothing to distract you from your thoughts.

You look out your window and to the city alight. The blurred lights from other apartments and cars flying through the streets are little distraction. As pretty as they are. The sky is dark and heavy. Full to bursting with blackness from the rain clouds.

The last of your incense darkens, ashens, then falls to the tray below.

You to fall. Head cradled with pillows. Your heart heavy and throat tight.

You are woken to your alarm blaring and your cat angrily meowing. He was hungry and you were still tired.

Knowing that if you laid beneath the covers, warmed by your body, any longer you would once again succumb to the pull of sleep. Instead you threw the covers off with one arm. Chilled air forced a shiver from your body.

You sit up. Stretch. Then go to fill up your cats dish.

It was five in the morning when you glanced at the clock. You had work at seven.

You sat near a cracked open window. A hot cup of coffee in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. A bad habit you had yet to break. Worsened by the growing stress in your life. You had almost quite once. A few years ago. Only smoking once in a blue moon. But when they.

When you had gotten the news..

Cold air cut through the growing warmth in your home. The only light to be had is the overhead oven light and the soft reddish glow from the rising sun. Just creasting over tall gray buildings.

You contemplate making a quick breakfast as you watch your cat, Zeki, eat his own. In the end you don't. Only drinking another cup of coffee before taking a quick shower.

You are pulling on your shoes when you phone bings.

New message from :All Star:

:U Up?:

It was lucas. Your oldest friends since your diaper days and the only one who had supported your decision to move to New York.

You are quick to type back. :Ya. Whats up?" You set the phone down to finish tying your shoe. Gently moving Zeki when he decides to use your laces as a toy. It is only after you toss his favorite toy mouse towards the couch does he leave you be.

Your phone dings again.

:Not much. Just checking in. I know how you can be.: Then another. :Coffee isnt breakfast either. Eat something.: At this you laugh. Mostly just a rush of air and a shake of your head. But a laugh all the same.

You are quick to type back. :You my mom or something? Lol. But ya. Ill grab some at work.: You hit send. Then type another. :I'll even send a pic as proof: You pause a moment. Type another message. :Thanks. Ya know. You've.: You delete it then. :Good luck with the football game. Ya?:

He sent back a thumbs up emoji. Someone, most likely his girlfriend, had stolen his attention.

You pocket your phone. Along with the rest of your cigarettes, earbuds, wallet, and house keys. You then pull at your basket of clean clothes to find a jacket to wear.

Public transport is the bane of your existence, you decide. You probably had a bruise on your ribs now. That kid kicked you pretty damn hard. It was an accident. One that you could excuse, being a victim of restless leg syndrome yourself. The kid had been asleep when it happened. Their head laying on their fathers lap and sprawled across the middle seat. The dad had apologized profusely as another kid, slightly older and most likely an older sibling, giggled like a maniac.

You had shrugged it off and told him not to worry. At this he had relaxed. Apparently it had not been the first time it had happened and if you had to wager a guess, most were not as accepting about it as you were.

You worked in a caffe as a barista. The place was ran by the same people who had opened it in the fifties. The two of them had been the only out of a handful of places that you had applied to that had been willing to hire you.

You were close to getting a job as a car mechanic. But in the end flesh and blood won out over your own extensive background in that field.

So, here you were, calloused hands making simple black coffee to some of the most labour intensive frapps you didn't know even existed.

"Y/N!" A young voice called out. Helen, one of the store owners granddaughters, came running from behind the table in the back room as you entered.

You are hit with the dark scent of coffee only leveled out by light pastries and sweetened strawberries.

Small arms wrap around your leg and you chuckle. Patting the top of her purple dyed head as you said hello. Only to laugh harder when she pulls you towards the table she had been sitting at.

Mrs. Helen, the elderly woman the young girl was named for, was quick to point you to a seat. She pushed a plate of fried eggs and toast towards you along with a cup of rich coffee.

They, being Mrs.Helen and Mr.Paris, lived just upstairs. You accept the plate from her with a smile. And true to your word you snap a pic off to Lucas.

"That friend of yours is a good one." Mrs. Helen tells you with a wave of her spatula. You say nothing but nod. If anything he was to good for you. You felt as if he had done far more for you than you ever could for him.

"I get to help today!" Helen spoke up beside you with a mouthful of jam covered toast. She had broken you from the start of a bad train of thought.

"That so?" You ask her. Your rings clink against the dark ceramic cup as you lift it to your lips. "With what?" You follow up. Catching droplets of coffee off your lips with your tongue.

"With cleanup!" The young girl practically vibrates off her worn chair. Her pink tutu flouncing up and down with every jump she makes. "Papa said for every table I do I get five dollars!" She holds out her hand with a toothy grin. Only to look down as jam falls and lands on her metallica shirt.

"Aww man." Both you and her grandmother laugh.

"C'mon baby. Let's go get you cleaned up." With that you are left alone to finish your food and coffee. You are quick to clean your cup and plate when you hear Mr.Paris unlock the front door.

Shedding your jacket you pull on your powdered blue apron embroidered with white roses. Mrs. Helen had made it specifically for your. Favorite color and all.

You finish tying it and made your way to the register in time for you to see Bill, a regular, come in.

"Heya Bill. What can I get ya today?" The man smiles.

"The usual chai tea, although the husband wants to try those creampuff's you've been making." With that your day had begun.

Your day ended at five. It would have ended an hour or two earlier if you hadn't insisted on helping with all the dishes and helping Mr.Paris fix a few odds and ends.

All ready the sky was darkenning. The horizon pulling away the sun and spitting back the moon. You on the other hand were ready to truly curse out your luck for today. You do utter a curse when you step into yet another puddle. The water soaking your already wet jeans. All because you were pretty sure you had pisssed off some deity that day, you had missed your bus.

So here you were. Taking some back alley shortcut in the dying light just to get home. All of it against your better judgment. And truly you shouldn't have. Mad deity and all.

You had stopped to light a cigarette. Covered from the rain from a building overhang when you first heard it. The soft push and pull of something or someone breathing. You follow through with lighting your cigarette before pulling your earbud out. If it was someone you didn't want to let on that you had heard them.

You pull in a lungful of smoke. Blowing it out as you stepped away from your little alcove.

Whoever it was din not wait long and you are quick to throw your elbow back. Twisting and turning as your assailant continued to attack you.

Now don't get it wrong. You can throw a mean punch. Having taken boxing classes throughout your life and well. Mostly schoolyard brawls. But this person was bigger and clearly more skilled than you were. It was shown for every duck and weave for every hard hit you threw.

Their palm makes contact with your nose when you make the briefest pull down with your hands. You are sent stumbling back. One hand held to your now bleeding, and hopefully not broken, nose.

"The fuck you want!" YOu snarl out. Tasting and feeling your own blood on your lips. You couldn't see. There was no light save for a flickering streetlight at the far end of the alley. Your groan as the rain begins anew. A heavy down pour seeming to almost slam against your heavily breathing body.

The person, now two, points at you. Speaking in a language you don't understand. You bare your teeth at them. Only to bend down, eyes still one them, to pick up a piece of busted pipe.

You point the sharp end at them. Taking in their strange and dark gear. It blends to well into the night. "English asshole." They look to each other. Then to you.

"You will tell us where the ninja turtles are." You take a step back for their step forward.

"The ninja-" You shake your head. "You tweaking asshole?" The smaller one broke off in a rapid fire speech then.

Smacks the taller one upside the head. "You have the wrong one idiot!"

"How was I to know!"

"Maybe by actually making sure it was O'niel or Jones!" The smaller one pointed at you. "And now we have to neutralize them." Oh screw that and everything else about these two.

You are quick to run. Knowing when and where to pick a fight. And this was not one you could when. Maybe through sheer brute force. But they have skill and you are running out of stamina. Despite your head start the two are quicker than you, The bigger of the two bodily grabbing you from behind.

The pipe falls from your hand and you throw your head back while stomping your heal down. You hiss in pain as the back of your head makes contact with hard metal.

Mostly out of instinct you lift your legs up and kick at the smaller person. Using them to springboard backwards and heaving a breath when both you and your captor fall.

You are quick to your feet. Faster than them both. You walk backwards. Fists held close to your face. Elbows tucked to guard your body. You swallow thickly when you realize that you are going to have to hold your ground. You taste blood in the back of your throat.

This was the worse case of wrong place wrong time you have every been in.

Your two assailants are rising to their feet and began running towards you. You spit and steel yourself. Feet shifting on the rain soaked concrete as you widen your stance and tuck your chin.

Only to watch the two skid to a stop. Something. Someone was behind you. Some a lot taller than you. Once again you throw your arm back. Terrified that more had come. Only to have a large hand, far to big for a normal person, catch your arm. Holding it in place with ease. Despite the light touch your could tell. You just knew, that there was far more strength behind that grip than they let on. Your heart touched your feet.

"Enough." They. Him. He speaks. Curt and to the point. Cutting through the cold air. "Leave them alone. They have no part in this." You could feel warmth radiate off of him in waves. Could feel his chest bump against your back. Or was it his waist? His knees bumped against the back of your thighs leaving you to wonder just how tall he was.

The two look to you. To a point well above your head. Then turn an run. Leaving you alone to deal with whoever this was.

"I'm going to let you go now. Don't freak out." True to his word he lets you go. You take a step forward and turn.

You do nothing. Say nothing as you take in the person in front of you. The rain beating down on you both as you just. Stare.

Their body is large and imposing, Scars litter the exsposed.Skin? Of his arms. Thick legs, far larger than both your own, are covered in dark jeans and bits of padded armour. His three fingered hands are wrapped. Just like how you do just before you begin boxing. In one hand is a katana. The iconic sword recognizable damn near anywhere.

He shifts and you lift your gaze to his face. A blue bandana hangs over even bluer eyes. They take you in. Scan you over. His tongue darts over his lips. Capturing the rain water trailing down his face. In a fluid movement he sheaths his sword.

He steps forwards. You step back.

"Afraid?" He asks and you snort. Immediately you regretted that. Pain flares from the center of your face. A new trail of blood followed the bath of the old.

"Nervous? Ya. Afraid? Hardly." You tell him. Using your fingers to smear away the blood. He hands you a pale blue rag. When you don't make an immediate move to take it he places it in your hand then brings it up to your still bleeding nose.

Why was he helping you? What did he want?

"Most are." He tells you. "Why not you?" You shrug. Body shaking as the adrenaline slowly leaves you.

"You haven't hurt me." You look to the ground. To him. Capturing his gaze with your own. "Don't think you're going to either." You pull the bloodied rag away. "Are you. Mr. Ninja Turtle."

Turtle indeed. If the green skin and large turtle shell is anything to go by.

"Thank you." You tell him. And you meant it. He looks almost surprised. It flickers for the briefest moments before he schools his features. He nods. Looks away. Hands clenching at his sides.

"You live nearby? I'll make sure nothing else happens until you get home." At this you chuckle. One brow arched as you nodded you head.

"You trying to get at something Bruce Lee?" You laugh at the look on his face until he to, laughs. It is soft and light. It brings a flicker of warmth you have yet to feel in a long time. Just as quickly it is gone. Cold has gone your heart. And heavy is your chest.

"No. But there may be more Foot Soldier. Clearly you can hold your own. But." His brow drops. Or what you assume to be a brow behind that blue mask. "Try not to take back alleys anymore." Two thick fingers point at you. "If they ask. I do not exist. You know nothing of me or this night."

You clench your jaw. Heart hammering in your chest as the air grows heavy. "That a threat blue?" You pocket the rag.

"A promise." He tells you. You nod your head.

You don't see him as you continue your way home. You are away he is there. Somewhere at the building tops.

You see him outside your window when you come home. He is on the building opposite of yours. His body lights up, once, twice. By the lightning. By the third strike he is gone.

Sighing. You close the curtain and shed your soaked clothes. Zeki is elling for food again. Clearly starved because you took to long to come home.

It is only after your shower and when you begin your laundry do you notice that you have lost your phone.

"For fucks sake."

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #leonardo tmnt #tmnt leonardo x reader #leonardo x reader

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silcorynard · 5 months

Text

1BLE

The Collective has been growing. Not everyone is a part of it, because the Company was a chimera that not even one man’s word could control, and there had been threat of retribution by some of the investors and shareholders. Some of the miners were scared enough to stay with the status quo, to ask not to be part of what Silco was doing. But the breaks and adjustments to shifts were introduced for everyone, not just for those who were part of the Collective. That, Silco assured them, was the whole point of the Collective: better circumstances for all, and to prove that they would be stronger together, that life would be better arm-in-arm.

It also hadn’t been Silco’s idea to start pooling funds for new projects, but he encouraged the idea once he heard it at the meeting. There was so much that needed to be done in the mines, yes, but the Collective was made up of people. People had needs.

There were plenty of miners who couldn’t work: the injured, the sick, those with inherited conditions, and so on. Sometimes these people were compensated by the Company, but more often they were not. These people still needed to eat; the Collective began to see to it that no-one would be without a meal, or without work. And soon more ideas were offered at the meetings: these folk who could not work in the mines would not be out of work entirely. They could teach mathematics and language to the children who weren’t needed in the mines. Others could clean and maintain the masks and mining equipment, and share the techniques needed for such care and maintenance. There could be classes for literacy and mathematics, there could be classes for cooking and clothing repair and other basic needs, there could be classes for music and storytelling. And, one of the most eagerly-embraced ideas of all, there could be changes made at the mines to make the newly-implemented breaks a little more comfortable.

The Collective Canteen had been built with scrap and rubble, broken carts and rusted beams, squared-off blocks of discarded mine stone, and draped sheets held in place with rail spikes. It squatted near the mine entrance, puffing smoke from jerry-rigged chimneys. It was so beautiful in its ramshackle ugliness, because it had been made by a community with love.

Three months after its opening, Silco lifts the canvas doorway and looks inside with a small proud smile. The ovens, the benches, the shelf of battered pots and pans and implements, the jars of donated grains and spices… it wasn’t much, but all of it was the Collective’s. This hadn’t been his idea: look what the people had come up with on their own, as they pushed for things to be better, as the spark was shared between them. Those who couldn’t work in the mines took shifts here, making meals that children would deliver below to the crews. People could have proper hot meal to fill the belly, not just a smuggled crust of bread in a coat pocket to be eaten while the foreman wasn’t watching, like they used to. The Collective was growing. People were taking care of each other. Things were getting better.

“There’s coffee on the stove.” A voice interrupts Silco’s thoughts. The Canteen saw workers coming and going all the time, each taking their turn with service, but Maryam had been here the longest. An arm injury had brought her here, but a pregnancy had been a good-enough reason for her to ask if she could stay. She was too far along to swing a pickaxe, but she was organised, and trusted, and happy to help.

“I can smell it,” Silco says, letting the canvas fall closed behind him. “I’ve been thinking about a cup since my shift ended.”

Maryam waves her pen vaguely at the stewpot behind her, a huge battered thing, set on top of a broken and overturned minecart. “Then help yourself.” She is busy with tallying the day’s takings, flicking beads on an abacus and counting the thin tin and copper coins in front of her. Not everyone could pay, but those who did made it easier to fill the larder for the rest. And when everyone was fed, everyone benefited.

Silco grabs a scuffed enamel cup from the rack and slips behind the counter. The fire that had been burning under the minecart is down to its last coals, and the dark liquid in the stewpot isn’t steaming. Still, coffee is coffee. He dips his mug to fill it, and takes a quick thirsty gulp of the bitter brew.

“You know Kassandra?” Maryam asks. She glances up at Silco joins her at the counter. “In Work Crew Jussi?”

Silco thinks for a second, then nods. “Yes. Married Tyr last season?”

“That’s her.” She nods, sweeping a small stack of coins to one side. “She has a cousin in Production, in Bergen proper, and might be able to get something to add to the stews. She says the cousin can get her a few sacks of leftovers. Might even be able to make it regular if we’re good to them.”

Silco nods thoughtfully as he sips the coffee. “It won’t be cheap,” he notes, “Even with a family discount.”

Maryam shrugs, her mouth pulling in a wry smile. “Maybe we should invite Production into the Collective.”

He laughs, dryly, incredulous. Why would Production need a Collective? The workers in the city no doubt have protections and wages far better than those who perform hard labour on the outskirts. “We’re doing very well as it is. Better than expected and in such a short period of time.”

“Mmm,” she hums, tapping her pen on the counter. “But we can do better than leftovers and grocery donations from home kitchens.”

“We can?” Silco asks, mildly. When the woman just grins, he laughs and nods to her in salute. “You have an idea. You’re ambitious.” He’s pleased. He so loves seeing the way ideas and hope bloom these days.

“I’ve been here long enough that this place is my baby.” Maryam looks around, proudly, then sets her hand on her belly. “I’m going to have this child here, I’ve decided. Spill blood and bring life out on this hard-packed earth.”

Silco raises his mug in a silent toast. He recognises the words having some kind of rite quality to them. He had never learned his parents’ religion, and had no community outside of the mines. But there are those who toast, and so it follows that this seems like a statement worth toasting; there is power to it, and more the power to her for it. More power to all of them.

“I do have an idea,” Maryam continues, as she finishes her count and swipes the coins into an old lunchbox. “It’s not one that’s gonna take off anytime soon. But there’s plenty of tunnels where the ore’s run dry and the coal’s chipped out. Ones near the vents, so air’s not sour. What if we made use of some of that dead space?”

Silco frowns in thought, nodding as he considers how much of mines gets abandoned or buried whenever it no longer produces. “In what way?”

“Well.” Maryam folds her hands over her belly, smiling, “What if we made a garden? A few boxes of shit and soil, and we could start growing mushrooms.”

Mushrooms. Silco’s mouth involuntarily waters; he looks at the woman in wide-eyed admiration.

“Collective-grown crops for the Collective canteen,” the woman smiles serenely. “And who knows? Maybe we could even start ranching rats.”

“My gods. We’ll eat like kings.”

Maryam laughs. “I s’pose I’m cleared to bring it up at the next meeting?”

“You don’t need my permission t—” He freezes, hearing something outside.

“Well, I thought I’d—”

Glass shatters. Fire blooms against the wall of the canteen. Maryam screams. Silco dives for her, shielding her as best he can with his scrawny frame, hauling her to her feet and moving at staggered, stumbling swiftness as they make for the canvas wall, for outside.

He hears it louder now, the sound of footsteps and angry voices and then, as he and Maryam push out of the flames and smoke, he sees them. Strangers, illuminated by torches and glow-tubes and moonshine-bottle grenades.

Another one of those grenades hits the side of the canteen, and the strangers howl and cheer. Maryam screams again, this time in outrage and fury. Miners still around after their shift are running to sound the alarm, to gather pails of dirt for to smother the fire, and to come to the aid of Maryam.

Silco stares at the fires. His eyes are wide, and all he can see is the canteen up in flames. Everything burns, and he feels cold.

Maryam is still screaming, pulling herself out of the teenager’s arms to address the strangers with curse and fury, but she doesn’t get far. She staggers, and falls, clutching her belly. One of the strangers moves to stand over her, arm raised as though to strike her.

Silco moves, then, whip-fast, charging forward. He doesn’t have the strength to tackle the man to the ground, but he has a pretty knife he carries with him always. A few rapid jabs are enough to drive the man back, but now— Silco grits his teeth and braces himself, standing between the pregnant woman and the angry mob. His hand grips the knife in a tight fist, trying to keep from shaking.

He can see them now, this mob. Rough and filthy and furious, armed with pick and shovel, men and women with bared teeth and fury in their faces. He realises with an odd jolt that he is staring down a group of miners. Strangers, yes, but miners.

“What in the good hells are you doing?” He doesn’t have a voice that carries, not with his lungs burned out, but they’re not watching the canteen burn anymore. They’re watching him, and they hate him, so they hear him. “Why are you doing this?!”

They didn’t come here to talk. They came with fire and weapons and hate. They cuss him out, and call him bastard, and say he and all his kind deserve this. Silco scans their faces, and sees the anger he’s familiar with, the kind of anger that once had him pinned against a tunnel wall with a pick at his throat. They have the same fury he did: he’d thrown dynamite into a tenement with that anger, and in the same way they’ve made their grenades to burn down this canteen.

They’re strangers to him, but they’re miners. They must come from another Company, another part of the mountain. But why are they attacking the Collective? Why are they calling him a bastard?

There’s no time for rhetoric. There’s no air left to speak, because it’s all being used in the fire burning down the canteen. All he can do is hold his ground and protect Maryam, as ash falls down over him and the canteen collapses into charred wood and smoking metal.

Yakob, Maryam’s husband, slam-tackles one of the strangers to the ground, and starts laying in with his fists. He’s not alone; other members of the Collective charge down the hill and throw themselves into the melee. Silco glances to Maryam – seeing her well, but there’s despair in her face as she watches the Canteen burn – before he snarls and charges forward to join the fight, to protect what’s theirs.

It’s a brawl of blood and fists and ash and the gleam of Silco’s knife, under a grey fresh-smoke sky.

---

“Right, that’s the bandages done. Let’s see that eye of yours again,” Vander says, peering in.

Silco obediently lifts the bag of ice chips off his face, squinting with the good side of his face.

The messy-haired youth gives a low impressed whistle. “Swelling’s down, but you’re gonna have a hell of a shiner, Sil.”

“I didn’t even know my face could bruise,” Silco admits, putting the sodden icebag back against the right side of his face. “I thought the gas-paralysis prevented that.”

Vander shakes his head, then resumes his close scrutiny of Silco’s battered hand. For a man with large hands, he is being very careful, very gentle, and very thorough. When he presses against Silco’s knuckles, Silco winces at the pain, and Vander eases his touch immediately. “Describe the pain there, Sil.”

“Uh. Ouch?”

“Sharp, stabbing, lingering?”

“Sharp, I guess? Fades to an ache?”

Vander massages around the ache, then gives a small grunt of relief. “Nothing broken, then. Good t’know.”

Silco blinks with his good eye, his lips pursing in the best smile his face would allow. “And you know this how, exactly?”

Vander opens his mouth to answer. But his father answers first, busy as he is in the kitchen.

“He were apprenticed as a doctor’s boy,” Carlisle Vander grizzles, slamming a cleaver into root vegetables with more aggression than they deserved. “Five years of trainin’ an’ workin’. Waste of a good education, ‘coz he turned tail an’ ran soon as the work got too tough.”

Vander’s face creases in exasperation. “Dad.” It was a warning, a plea, an attempt to interrupt what was clearly an argument hashed and rehashed on-and-off for years.

“It was your ticket to a better life,” the older man throws a scowl over his shoulder. “Did we scrimp an’ save for months to get you the joinin’ fee? That we did!”

“Dad.” Vander gives Silco a look of mild apology. He hasn’t let go of Silco’s hand, and still circles his thumbs around the shape of Silco’s knuckles.

Silco, though, lowers the bag of ice and stares at the messy-haired youth. “You were a doctor?”

“Just an apprentice,” Vander mutters.

“Couldn’t handle it,” his father offers, scathingly.

“Dad, enough. I already tol’ you what it was like.” His accent always became more pronounced when he was at home. “It weren’t a life fer me.”

“Imagine what you coulda been,” Carlisle tossed the rough-chopped vegetables into the pot, where they hissed in the oil in protest. “Coulda had a proper future.”

“Weren’t the future I wanted, Dad, so drop it.” He pauses, and looks at Silco’s hand, and face, and the bandages he’s just finished binding, and a flush of colour rises in his cheeks. “I know enough, learned enough. Didn’t need more. We’ve been over this.”

“You weren’t born a doctor?” Silco feels like he’s missing a significant piece of context. “And you just… you left? You can do that?”

“Well, yeah.” Vander says, managing a lop-sided smile.

“Not everyone’s born into a profession like you, lad,” Carlisle offers, shrugging. “Not everyone in Zaun’s born t’a Company. Some gotta buy their way into somethin’ new, or they pick up what they can, where they can. S’why we’re runnin’ a pawn shop.”

Silco feels the ice in his hand and the ache in his hands and face, and is suddenly conscious of how big the world is when you’re not pinched between stone and darkness. “People can choose where they work.” It’s a revelation. It makes him feel small, and ill, and in the same way he felt when he stood on the edge of the Ironspikes and looked south to see the world unfurled vast before him. A world within view but just out of reach.

“Aye,” Carlisle mutters, giving his son one more dark look, though now at least it is tempered with a grudging acceptance. “They can.”

Vander pulls a face at his father, then gently lets go of Silco’s hand. “You’re stayin’ the night again, Sil?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Silco still has too much adrenaline in his system, after the fight, after dousing the fire, after getting clocked in the face, after having his hand and face touched with such care by Vander. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

Carlisle grunts. “If your Company wanted t’fuck us over, lad, they’d’ve done so already. Not like you two’ve been subtle about your sneaking off.”

“Dad!” Vander buries his face in his hands.

“Dinner’s in the pot an’ cookin’ up.” Carlisle ignores his son and gestures the ladle in a vaguely-threatening way in Silco’s direction. “You’re stayin’ t’eat, but after that I don’t give a rat’s arse what you do with your time or where you lay your head. Get me?”

“Thankyou, Mister Vander,” Silco says, politely, lips quirking as he fights not to smile. He’s familiar with the old man’s surly affection now, and hears the invitation to stay the night for what it is. “I appreciate it.”

The old man grunts, then gets back to work.

“‘Mister Vander’,” the younger mocks, under his breath.

Silco smirks a little. “You’re the one who doesn’t like being called by your first name,” he points out, in the same whispered tone. “Warwick.” Pronounced ‘worrick’; Carlisle, too, was not pronounced how it was spelled, being ‘car-lyl’. It was a habit of Middletongue to pick up and discard rules of language as it saw fit, especially when it came to names.

Vander the Younger flushes a slight pink. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Vander looks like he plans on making Silco shut up, with his eyes dropping to Silco’s lips and a grin starting to form. But then Carlisle calls for his son to set the table, so the young former-and-not-currently-a-doctor Vander sighs and gets to his feet and wanders across the room to help.

Silco puts the ice back against his face. He thinks about being born a miner. He thinks about the miner who gave him this black eye. He thinks about the fire that burned down the Canteen, and the view beyond the borders, and his jaw sets with renewed determination.

---

His cigarette is burned almost all the way through, but he’s barely noticed. He and a few others from the Collective have been watching this other mining site for the better part of two hours now, noting the differences between the Company that runs this place and the one that owns where the Collective toils. The conditions are as different as night and day. Silco nurses his anger.

The whistle has blown to signal the end of shift, but the emergence of miners from below takes agonising hours. Company agents and security check each miner for ore or shale they might be trying to smuggle out. Equipment is collected and scrutinised. Each shuffling, miserable miner is given their scrip and made to depart the property. It’s pitch black, but for the floodlights trained in the ragged folk shuffling out from under the earth.

“Looks like a prison camp,” Gesso hisses softly. Silco agrees, but says nothing. He just finishes his cigarette.

Most miners shuffle off towards the Company-owned tenements. But there’s many more who make their way to the mazelike slump of tents and shacks that pock the mountainside, homes built between the air-pumps and shale-vents. There’s a larger building, sitting humped like a tumour at the start of the path, where signs proclaim in symbol and rough-painted sign of food and drink available. It seems busy. Crowded. Yet it lacks the usual jollity of a tavern. It is the first target for so many, including the crowd the Collective have been observing.

Silco drops his cigarette and grinds it out under his shoe. “Let’s go.”

As expected, he finds many familiar faces. But before they can give him another black eye, he starts to ask them questions and drawing comparisons between this mine and the one they attacked last night. Those who aren’t so deep in their cups can give what answers they can. The hostility remains between these miners and the handful of Collective folk. But Silco knows how to talk. He pulls at their pain, and shows them a spark. Money is a good way to get people to pay attention. But power? Power is a good way to get people to listen.

“Your Company bleeds you, your Company denies you your pay and your freedom, and your Company tells you we are to blame… and you believed that?” He meets the gaze of the man who slugged him across the face, and spreads both palms out, a query to make every one of them think, before he addresses the tavern interior. “The Company needs you. But they need you to be their wretched servants. They can’t ever let you think or fight for yourselves. They’ll tell you it’s for the sake of the business, or necessary for the bottom line. But really, you know what they want. They want you to be numb and obedient and to say ‘thank you’ for every crumb.” He cocks his head, and seeks out the gazes of those who seem the most infuriated. “Don’t you think you deserve better? We did. That’s why we formed the Collective.”

It’s morning by the time Silco and the others return, after hours of sharing their stories and explaining just what kind of steps they took. It’s dangerous, of course it is, to take the steps that the Collective has, to take that risk and challenge the hand that squeezes your throat. But it’s something to think about. So they give these miners time to think.

Over the next few weeks, there are strangers that join the meetings at the Collective, listening, questioning, cultivating their own sparks. And by the time the Collective Canteen has been rebuilt, the next Company over is starting to feel the tables turn, and understands that their plan – to get the miners to squabble between themselves – has backfired in the worst possible way. For the Company, at least.

---

The map is several conflicts out of date, but the shapes of most borders and landmarks is at least recognisable enough for his needs. Silco traces his fingers around the Ironspikes Mountains, the northeast-to-southwest border that encircles Zaun, then further still in an unbroken curve up to the northwest where Piltover claims. Past these mountains stretch vast plains: the indistinct blur of the Freljord’s snowfields and coasts, the river-crossed forests before the rigid borders of sunny Demacia in the west, the rocky gravel-strewn lands of Noxus to the east, and The Great Barrier, the barbarian-settled mountain range that separated the civilised states from the wildernesses of the Shurima Desert, the Voodoo Lands, Urtistan, Kumungu, the Plague Jungles and the ruins of Icathia. Then far far south, Bandle City, safe from wilderness and conquest by these natural and dangerous barriers, but still able to reach the rest of the world due to their flying machines and their access to the coast. The world committed to paper, and yet not all of it. There was so much more in the details lost to paper, and even more across the sea.

Silco traces his fingers over the map again, this time over the rough sketched lines of the trade routes that connect Zaun to Noxus. A war machine is always hungry for ore and stone. The fruits of Mother Zaun keep the tyrant Darkwill’s hunger keen.

“Zaunite iron,” he murmurs to himself, “Beaten into armour and swords, taken all over the world.” Wherever Darkwill’s desire for conquest took him. South past the mountains, east across the sea, even west and north to Demacia and the Freljord, and further still. The rocks that passed Silco’s hands from the grinder and into the shipping bins could end up rusting and abandoned on some foreign shore. It was fascinating to think about.

He turned back a few pages, leaving the world behind, and looking instead at Zaun. The inaccuracies of the map were now even more obvious, with Zaun being divided simply into six districts. Even the river was the wrong shape: it would be a decade or more before towers and factories and Company rivalries started changing the shape of the city and securing the shape of the land into something more defined, more easy to claim and control. But even now, against the back of the Ironspikes, the district that the Collective first bloomed in was known – then and now – as Bergsen. It had been a big district. Now it was one of the many fragments of the Economic Exclusion Zone. A modern map would no doubt show how many shards the EEZ was in, how many Executives had their hands on territory and were refusing to share.

Silco had grown up thinking the Company was everything. To know that they were merely a fragment of the companies that were owned and fed profit back to the head of the district was … something. To know he was a tiny piece of a tiny business of a tiny corner of one of Zaun’s smaller border towns… it could make a man feel almost insignificant.

Instead, Silco took a pull at his cigarette, and swept his fingertip over the southern curve of the Ironspikes Mountain on the old map, letting his vision blur. There were a lot of mines through these mountains. There were a lot of other businesses, too. And the river started here in these mountains as well, fed by underground springs and snow-melt. The underground tunnels - watched and guarded by the private armies of each district’s Executives - might be the way that trade goods from Zaun got through to Noxus, but all of Zaun’s businesses used the river to bring those goods to the border.

Silco swung the heavy atlas closed and tapped his cigarette into the ashtray. “Vander.”

“Yeah, Sil?”

“Your father used to work Freight, right?”

“Yeah?” The young man’s lips twist in sudden wryness. “What’re you schemin’ this time, Sil?”

Silco hummed thoughtfully. “I’m just thinking about making some new friends.”

“An’ you want some introductions?” Vander sighed, chuckled, shook his head. But bright mischief lit up his face. “Well, I might still know some folks. When do you wanna make the trip?”

Silco stands, flicking the last of the ash off his cigarette and grabbing his coat. “Now. Now seems like a good time.”

#the miners' son #fox and hound #some time back #towers and mines #neatly printed on letterhead #cigar smoke

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elbertoko · 11 months

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#IFTTT #the sleepy head

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k-evans-reads · 2 years

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On Deck

Chapter 1

Summary: Although they grew up in the same small town, Chris and Sam had both gone their separate ways a long time ago. Chris moved up to become a MLB star, one of the best in the business, while Sam stayed stuck in the same small town. But when multiple injuries ended the Red Sox prodigy’s career, he winds up back in the same small town he swore he’d never be back to. The past may not stay in the past any longer, as old wounds begin to creep back up.

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans X OFC Samantha "Sam" Merrick

Word Count: 5,059

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None

Main Masterlist | On Deck Masterlist

The little bell that hung above the door rang out through the bustling diner, getting lost in the sea of voices on the crowded Saturday morning. Despite not being known for their food, they were known for being one of the only half-decent places in town to meet up with friends over coffee and burnt eggs. While crossing the black and white vinyl checkerboard floor, Sam’s black sneakers sticking to the years of spilled drinks that left a sticky residue, she didn’t hear the bell ring but smiled widely when she saw one of her favorite regulars and brought them over to a clear booth, quickly wiping it off with one hand while juggling the stack of plates in the other.

“Hey Sam, I could use a top off on my coffee,” Harvey, the town’s favorite mailman called out, holding up his chipped cream colored cup in one hand while he kept reading the newspaper in his other.

“Be right there,” Sam smiled at him while hurrying to the kitchen, putting the dishes in the sink to be dealt with later and hurried back out to grab the coffee pot and pour Harvey another cup.

It was the first time she had a chance to stop for a moment that entire morning, using the chance to brush her unruly hair out of her face as Harvey noted, “It’s pretty busy in here today.”

“I know, we don’t normally get busy until a little bit later,” Sam noted the time on the clock, her body already exhausted and she wasn’t even halfway through her shift yet. “I guess it is a Saturday though. Speaking of, where’s Larry? You two always have breakfast together on the weekends.”

“His wife is probably nagging him to finally fix the dishwasher,” he noted with a good natured chuckle, nodding at her in thanks as she finished pouring his coffee.

“Well maybe once he’s done with theirs, he can come fix ours,” Sam joked, turning around to put the coffee pot back before wiping her hands on the nearby rag.

She turned around just in time to see Harvey tilt his head, wondering out loud, “That old thing still isn’t fixed?”

“Oh you know Ken,” Sam referenced the owner of the diner with a roll of her eyes, “That would entail him spending money.”

The two shared a short laugh before Sam heard her name being called and she hurried off to the table, making her rounds, scurrying across the floor that she swore she had worn treads in after working here for the past ten years. Part of her couldn’t believe she had been here this long, or maybe it was more like she didn’t want to believe it. At twenty-seven years old when most people were having the time of her life, she was stuck here in this same run down diner day in and day out, each one just like the one before. Although she hated being here, it was a necessary evil in her life and something she couldn’t escape and didn’t really envision herself ever being able to get away from, having put her life on hold, resulting in her being chained to this diner. But the residents of the small town were happy she was still there, the friendly jovial waitress that they all loved and had watched grow up being the biggest draw of going to the diner right in the middle of Main Street.

“Hey Larry, we were wondering when you were going to show up,” Sam called out as she whizzed by with two hot plates of breakfast to drop off at a table.

“I’m sure Harvey here was talking some shit in the meantime!” The gray haired man laughed while patting his friend on the back as he took a seat in the chair across from him.

“Oh not really,” Sam shrugged while leaning her hip against the table, “He just promised that you’d come fix the dishwasher for me.”

Larry rolled his eyes while Harvey just laughed before sipping his coffee, but told her, “Well you know I’d do anything for you Sam.”

“Oh stop, you’re just trying to get out of giving me a tip,” she teased him with a twinkle in her brown eyes.

“That could be,” he quipped right back, “I actually was late because I was over at the hardware store and heard the news.”

Sam couldn’t help but overhear the conversation as she walked the short distance to the window from the kitchen, grabbing the plates as she heard Harvey ask what news, but when she heard the answer, Sam immediately rolled her eyes.

“Chris Evans is coming back to town,” Larry stated, “Now that he’s officially retired from the Red Sox, he’s coming back, or at least that’s what I heard.”

“I remember when he was just a little guy playing out in the yard with their dog, I still can’t believe that he turned out to be such a big baseball star,” Harvey shook his head with disbelief.

But Sam could believe it.

She remembered when he was a kid too. The two of them had gone to the same school growing up which wasn’t surprising considering there only was one in the small town. Although he was a grade ahead, Sam could remember when he was a sweet kid, having been one of the most popular kids in school with his gregarious personality. She recalled going over to their house multiple times to play with his sister who was closer in age to her and how Chris had always made her laugh, but by the time they were in high school, it all had changed.

Chris had started getting good at baseball… really good. And everyone took notice. He was the biggest deal in town and he knew it, every bit going to his head and suddenly the nice kid she used to play with now pretended she didn’t exist when they had classes together. The second he graduated, he had a baseball scholarship for college and Sam thought that would be the last she would have to deal with egotistical Evans, but she had no such luck.

Chris quickly moved into the major league the following year, soon becoming the second baseman for the Red Sox and thus the biggest news the tiny Connecticut town ever had. She had to hear about him constantly and although she knew he was talented, she couldn’t help but think about that stuck up teenager and wondering just how conceited he was these days. But the constant stream of news about him didn’t end, Chris becoming one of the best players in the league and making him the star of the town that he didn’t even care about, the one that Sam couldn’t seem to ever escape. Maybe that was part of it, maybe she was resentful that he got out and made something of himself and she couldn’t, but then again she didn’t have even one ounce of the advantages he had which left Sam waiting tables and Chris one of the biggest stars in the MLB, winning a few World Series titles during his career.

As much as she tried to avoid hearing about him, the untimely career-ending injury he sustained at the end of the last season was all anyone could talk about. It seemed like every single customer who walked through the door asked Sam if she’d heard while she poured their coffee. It was enough to drive her mad. The only silver lining is with Chris being forced to retire, she thought that maybe it would mean she wouldn’t have to hear the name Chris Evans anymore. But apparently he was coming back to town.

Now that was just her luck.

And it didn’t help that his mother was walking through the door at that very moment, smiling as she sat down at the counter. But Sam did wonder how in the world such a stuck up and egotistical man could come from such a lovely woman. He must have gotten it from his dad, because Sam sure as hell knew he didn’t get it from Lisa. She was always a bright spot in Sam’s week, coming into the diner fairly often with that kind smile of hers. Lisa wasn’t just a kind customer though, she also was Sam’s little brother’s student advisor at the high school, helping guide him in a good path for his life, which Sam couldn’t have been more thankful for. Her little brother Riley was the only reason she still was here, bringing plate after plate of food out to the table each day so that she could help Riley have a better life than she had. Sam may have given up all of her dreams, but she wasn’t going to let Riley and she was determined to do everything she could to help him especially since their mother spent all her nights working at the local grocery store and the rest of her time either sleeping or drinking.

“Hi Sam,” Lisa greeted her while Sam hurried to clean up a spill.

“Hey Lisa, you can sit at the counter, I’ll clear a spot in just a second,” Sam called out over her shoulder while getting down on her knees to scrub up the spill with a towel before hurrying back to the counter where Lisa had already neatly stacked the dirty plates for her.

“Have I ever told you that I adore you?” Sam told her with a straight face when she saw all the plates stacked up, making one less job for her to do on the busy morning.

Lisa just laughed while tucking some of her blonde hair behind her ear, “If your level of adoration is someone stacking plates, I think your bar is a little too low.”

“Trust me, with how today has been, this is basically a miracle for me,” Sam was honest, wrangling her dark curly hair back up into a bun since it had started to work it’s way out.

“Samantha Merrick, you work too hard,” Lisa scolded her in a loving motherly tone before the curly haired woman hoisted the heavy stack of plates off to the kitchen before coming right back to lean against the counter, looking at Lisa from across it.

“Do you want your usual?” She wondered if she should put in the order for an omelet.

“No, I just want some coffee and a blueberry muffin,” Lisa surprised her, but then offered an answer to her change in plans, “Today Chris is coming home and I’m going to make a really big lunch so I just want something to hold me over until then.”

Sam nodded, turning around to grab a muffin out of the case while saying over her shoulder, “I kind of heard he was coming back to town. I didn’t think it was true though.”

Although Sam couldn’t stand the man, the way that Lisa’s eyes lit up when she talked about him was something she found beautiful, and almost a little jealous of. She hated that Chris, someone who had become an asshole to her and some of their friends, was deserving of this love from a parent and not Riley. The pure love in her eyes was present as she explained, “I couldn’t be happier that he’s coming back! I hate that he isn’t able to play anymore but I’m glad I’ll get to spend time with him.”

“So is he moving back here for good?” Sam was stunned that he wouldn’t view the tiny town he came from as beneath him, but knew there had to be more to the story and sure enough, there was.

Lisa shook her head while grabbing a napkin from the nearby dispenser, explaining, “He has a job as an broadcaster already but it doesn’t start until next season so I talked him into doing his physical therapy and recovery here so that I could see him. He tried to convince me to just come out to Boston to stay with him for a while there but I told him that I didn’t want to leave my job.”

It took everything inside her not to roll her eyes. Of course the asshole wanted Lisa to just drop what she was doing to go to Boston. Although Sam hadn’t seen him for almost ten years, that one little statement put the nail in the coffin to her that Chris was still as self centered as ever. Sam decided to keep her mouth shut as she heard the bell ding from the kitchen, alerting her to a new order being ready.

Sam promised Lisa that she’d be right back to get her coffee, quickly getting the hot food to take it to the waiting table but by the time she returned and slid an empty mug in front of Lisa, she was just slipping her phone into her pocket and digging out some cash, telling Sam, “I’ll take a raincheck on that coffee. Chris just called and he’s on his way, so I want to go get everything ready.”

He clenched his jaw as he passed through an intersection, muscles tensing as a flare of pain shot through his legs. It was something he’d never get used to and never thought he’d still be dealing with, the constant pain and now five surgeries to try to correct the issues. Chris had torn his achilles during a base run nearly two years ago, which was such a fluke injury for him. But the fix, which should have been a simple procedure, wasn’t enough. He had two more surgeries after that, both of which didn’t do much besides cause more pain and frustration, before he tried to return to play the previous summer. All was well for a few weeks until early fall, when he tore his ACL by favoring his opposite leg to take some pressure off of his ankle. By then, Chris was done. He'd had to get two surgeries on it, feeling like his luck had finally run out. He was unable to walk without significant pain in both legs, had regressed in his skill set, and didn’t see a future beyond crutches for himself, and definitely couldn’t return to play in any fashion with how his body was responding.

So, at the young age of twenty-nine, he quietly announced his retirement through his agent before deleting his social media accounts and, begrudgingly, moving back home to get away from the pressures, eyes, and the floundering feeling he’d begun to have in Boston. But the only problem was that the small hometown of his didn’t even have a physical therapy center, nevertheless one that was up to the caliber he was used to thanks to his years in the major leagues. So, three times a week, he would be driving forty-five minutes each way to a rehabilitation hospital in the next town over to relearn basic tasks and physical tests with what was left of his Achilles tendon and ACL.

He paused at the stop sign, watching as a beat-up truck went through the intersection before Chris turned his Audi onto his mother’s street, pulling into the small driveway and shutting off the car with a sigh, staring down at the various scars covering his kneecap with disgust, each one of them holding a different disappointment for him. Part of him still couldn’t believe that he was back here. He hadn’t ever thought he’d be back in the tiny town that he came from but now that there wasn’t a need for him to be in Boston, his extremely persuasive mother had somehow convinced him to do all his rehab back here.

Chris sighed as he climbed out of the car, hobbling up to the door as he walked inside, calling out, “Hey Ma, it’s me.”

“Honey! I’m so glad you’re home!”

But this hadn’t been Chris’ home, not for over ten years and although he adored his mother and was glad to be with her, he didn’t consider this ever being home for him again. It was just the place he grew up.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen, watching as his mother’s smiling face quickly fell to match his own frown. “You don’t look very happy to be here.”

“It’s just my leg, physical therapy was murder,” Chris shook his head, pulling one of the chairs out from the table, sitting down ungracefully. “I swear this fuckin’ knee is never going to stop hurting.”

“Is it still not feeling any better?”

“No, it still hurts like a bitch.”

Lisa tutted, heading over to the french door refrigerator and pulling out the freezer drawer, reaching for a large ice pack. She grabbed a kitchen towel on her way to Chris, shaking her head a little as she tried to reassure him. “Well you’re still in the early stages of recovery and just got your brace off, so I’m sure it’ll get better.”

“I’m not counting on it,” he replied quickly, brows rising a little as he reached for the towel-wrapped ice pack in her hand, placing it quickly on his knee, which was resting on a chair next to him, and sat back in the seat, taking a deep breath.

Lisa’s brows raised in response, giving him a long, quiet look, before she murmured, “Wow, someone sure is in a lovely mood on their first day here.”

“I’m sorry Ma, I’m just… frustrated,” he ran a hand through the damp hair on top of his head and sighed. His body ached almost down to the bone, he had his career yanked out from under him because his body couldn’t fucking work right, and now he was back where he started, with nothing to fill his time or stop the constant negativity in his brain until the following year.

His mother sat down gently in the chair across from him, reaching a hand out to touch his own lightly as she met his eyes, a resolute look in her own. “I know it’s hard, honey. But maybe you’ll be able to recover and go back to playing one day.”

He felt a sad grin make its way onto his face, knowing that was beyond the realm of possibilities for him. With every step, every motion, he was at risk of re-rupturing achilles or re-tearing his ACL, and it didn’t make sense to put himself in the accelerated risk position by coming out of retirement at any point. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up but that’s not going to happen. Not with how fucked up everything is now.”

“Well you never know,” she sighed, pushing herself back up as the oven beeped. “But for the time being, I’m sure glad you’re here.”

A small grin crossed his face, the first genuine one he’d worn all day. “You know I’m always happy to see you too, Ma.”

Lisa came over to press a kiss to his cheek before she dished up the grandiose lunch she made in honor of her eldest son’s arrival. As much as Chris wished he wasn’t in this situation, he always liked having his mother around and there was something about being with her in his childhood home that did feel a little comforting. With the way Chris’ schedule had been for nearly a decade, he rarely ever came home. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here. Although it was only a couple hours away from Boston, it seemed so much easier to have her come up and visit him or fly her out to his games rather than coming back to the tiny town full of a whole lot of nothing. His parents had gotten divorced when he left for college, his dad moving to rural Massachusetts, but siblings then all followed suit in moving away, one in New York, another out in California and his youngest sibling married and living in Maine, so his mother was the only tie he still had here.

He liked being able to just sit with her and have a nice home cooked lunch, forgetting about all his problems and the cloud of depression that hung over him until his mother brought up a question that had been haunting him for a while now and asked, “So what do you think you’re going to do while you’re recovering? You have a while between now and when you start broadcasting next season.”

“I really don’t know,” he confessed, scared to admit how terrifying he found that concept, of being truly lost for the first time in his life.

She hesitated, taking a suspiciously-long sip of water before she placed her glass back on the table, quietly saying with a shrug, “Well, you know that the school still needs a baseball coach.”

He sighed and refrained from rolling his eyes, frustrated as the topic was once again brought up. “Ma, we’ve been over this a thousand times! If I said no the ten other times you asked, what makes you think I’ll say yes this time?”

“C’mon honey, we’re really in a bind. The teacher who always used to coach is retired now-”

He nodded, finally rolling his eyes. “I know and no other teacher knows how to play, no parent can do it and wouldn’t the kids all love to have a professional baseball player as their coach. Remember Ma, you’ve made this pitch before.”

“It’s not like you’ll have anything else to do. I think it’d be good for you too so that you could fill your time instead of moping around that fancy apartment you’re moving into,” she retorted, raising an eyebrow at her second-eldest.

“It’s not fancy,” he muttered. “But no Ma, I don’t want to coach a bunch of teenagers.”

Her face fell, shaking her head as she practically begged him, “Please Chris, do it for me. I have so many boys who really need that athletic outlet.”

Chris watched her carefully, feeling himself give in, if only to hear her stop asking him daily. Sighing, he nodded and quietly said, “Okay fine, but I’m only doing it for you.”

As they ate the rest of their lunch, he almost told her multiple times how he was feeling, how much he was struggling with this new reality. He went from winning three World Series championships and living out his dream to fighting his body to perform basic necessary tasks and being jobless, back in his shitty hometown, scared of his own thoughts. It felt like his whole world, his whole identity, was stripped away from him and there wasn’t one thing he could do about it. But laying out all his feelings felt a little too daunting, at least right now. He couldn’t even seem to process his own feelings, let alone verbalize them to someone else. So he kept quiet and for just a split second, he thought that maybe his mom was right. Maybe coaching would help take his mind off of everything for a while… or maybe it would just rub salt into the wound that he’d never get to live his dream again. He figured he’d find out.

4 days later

The bell above the door to the diner rang loudly as a teenager flew through it, backpack in hand as he rushed inside, head spinning on an axis. “Sam! Saaaaaaaammmmmm!” He called loudly, the few customers inside chuckling quietly at him. “Sam! Where are you?”

Sam came around the corner from the kitchen, shaking her head as she looked at her brother. “Shh Riley, calm down. Ken is here,” she whispered, nodding her head towards the closed door of Ken’s office.

Riley met her at the counter while she cleaned something off, waving his hand as he listened to her. “Oh sorry, but I need to talk to you.”

“Hey, where were you? You’re almost an hour late and I’ve been so worried about you!”

He nodded, widening his eyes excitedly. “That’s what I need to tell you!”

Sam rolled her eyes, more than used to this type of behavior from her baby brother. “Okay, I need to go clean off a few tables and cash out that last table first. Go sit in the corner booth and I’ll be over soon,” she said, jerking her chin towards the empty booth and watching as Riley’s shoulders fell.

“Ugh fine,” he groaned, picking his backpack up from where he’d dropped it on a barstool.

Sam saw her little brother go over and plop into the booth, tossing his backpack next to him while she met the couple at the counter to cash them out before hurrying around to clean up the last few tables. She thought that Riley better have a good excuse for why he was so late without telling her, but she found out that he did once she finally finished all her work and had a lull in the late afternoon crowd, allowing her to sit across Riley in the booth.

She plopped on the worn-leather bench, looking at him scrutinizingly. “Alright, so what made you so late that I was worried sick over you?”

“I was at a meeting after school about a baseball team!” He began to tell her excitedly, dipping some leftover fries that the cook had given him in ketchup, eyes shining as he looked at her.

Sam’s brows furrowed as she looked at him, remembering that Riley had come home disappointed a few weeks ago since the school had yet to find a coach, meaning they wouldn’t have a team this year. Baseball was one of the only hobbies they could afford, and that was just barely. He couldn’t play on travel or Little League teams, the fees too much for what little Sam and her mom made. “Are they actually going to have a team?”

“Yeah they found a coach and guess who it is?” He asked, not even giving her a chance to answer before his smile grew impossibly wider, “It’s Chris Evans!”

She felt her heart drop, knowing that her instant reaction of wishing there was no coach rather than Chris was such a horrible thing to think, especially because it affected Riley, but she felt like this because it affected Riley. Chris had become such an asshole to their once-shared friend group that she couldn’t imagine him being around kids in a positive way, especially if the rumors were true and he was still bitter about the way his retirement went down. But before she could think too long, she noticed Riley’s innocent, excited eyes on her, waiting for her reaction. “Chris Evans? That guy is seriously going to be your coach?” She asked, schooling her expression.

“Isn’t it cool? A real life Red Sox second baseman!” He smiled, before he scowled, looking at her with so much teenaged-annoyance that she almost laughed out loud. “But I also found out that you held out on me.”

Sam’s brows pinched, looking at him confusedly as she took a sip from her water bottle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well Coach Chris had us all write our names and stuff on a sign up sheet and he saw me write my name and asked if I was related to you,” he said while chewing on a fry, Sam biting back a comment about his manners. “I can’t believe you never told me that you know Chris freaking Evans!”

“Knowing him might be a bit of a stretch. I only knew him when we were kids, but by the time high school rolled around he was a big shot and pretended that I didn’t exist because he was too cool for everyone else,” she replied with an eyeroll, glancing towards the door to make sure no customers were coming inside.

“But you still knew him and you never told me!”

“Well I can’t say that I’m his biggest fan…”

Riley frowned, looking at her. “He seemed so cool though,” he replied, before excitement filled him again. “Sam, he’s a real life pro baseball player and he’s going to be our coach!”

“I’m excited for you, Riley,” Sam smiled softly, “But don’t let that bigshot push you guys around.”

“Wait, does that mean I can play? I mean… is it going to be too expensive?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll make it work.”

He smiled before he pushed himself up, grabbing his backpack as he looked at her with another smile. “Thanks Sam! I’m so excited! The guys are all hanging out at the skatepark, I’m going to go over and tell them I’m going to get to be on the team!” He said loudly, putting his plate in the dish bin on the counter before he turned to run out.

“Hey come back by seven so we can go home!” Sam called back, shaking her head fondly as she watched him.

“Okay, love you Sam!”

Sam sat herself up with a sigh, cleaning up the corner booth before Ken could notice Riley and Sam had been sitting there while she was technically working. The rest of the early evening passed quickly until Riley came back, red in the face from running around the skatepark with his friends and rushing back, and they headed home. Sam fell into bed a few hours later, listening to a muffled argument from the people above them while the smell of weed wafted through the drafty old door from the people across the hall. She pulled the blankets tighter against her to fight the cold that seemed to seep in every crack of the tired old apartment as she laid in bed. Sam couldn’t help but feel completely defeated, hating that every single day ended the same, her body completely exhausted, feet aching and shoulders flushed with pain as she fell into her rickety bed just so she could wake up and do the same thing tomorrow.

Across town, Chris took a deep breath as he laid down, slowly moving his still-aching legs into a comfortable position as he glanced around the empty, dark, expensive apartment. It was still his first week here but he’d never hated any place more, but knew he wouldn’t be happy anywhere at this point and he didn’t envision that changing anytime soon.

A/N: SHE'S HERE! Sam's story was first started almost a year and a half ago by @k-evans-writes and it's been so much fun to get to write it finally! We can't wait to share more of her with you on Sundays! As always- send anything you want us to hear to @k-evans-writes or @k-evans-reads. And those headers were made by @k-evans-writes, isn't she talented?! -🌯

Also you guys, something different about this story is that we aren’t writing ahead! Normally we have at least a few chapters written ahead of what we post but this time we wanted to write in real time so that things you guys want to read or suggest we can add in! - ✨

#chris evans writing #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x oc #chris evans story #chris evans x original female character #chris evans au #cevans #mlb!au #on deck

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