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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

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SNEEZE.

Obispo “Bishop” Losa x reader

Anon asked: hey darling i would like to request an imagine with bishop about something like this: you work on the scrapyard helping chucky (or in the bar at mayans parties) and he has a soft spot on you, but you think he is just nice but in fact it’s because he is in love with you but he is scared that you don’t reciprocate the feeling and because you are much younger than him

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💖

Word count: 3.6k

Author Comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @arveeee @witchy-wish ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

After sneezing for sixth time, your nose starts to bleed, covering it with both hands and a “shit” drowned in your throat. Tranq and Bishop look at you with raised eyebrows, seen you using a cloth when the drops stain your shirt.

“You ok, kid?” The president asks visibly worried. You nod throwing your head forward and breathing by your mouth.

“I'll find you a shirt, wait”. The other mexican says, disappearing through the hallway to the dorms.

“Com'ere, sit down”. Bishop offers you a hand, guiding your steps to the closer sofa.

Nailing your elbows on your nap, you continue with your head down as your mother taught you when you were a child.

“Are you cold, or sick, or something like, ah?”

“I think so... Yesterday… the heating in my house just… broke. And when I sneeze too much, this happens”. You sigh pulling away the cloth to see how it's going. Still bleeding.

“Did you call a tec'?” Then, you shake your head because you actually forgot it. “What if I take you home, uh? You should rest”.

The man places his right palm on your forehead, noticing that it's warm than normal. The gesture gives you some chills, coughing because of the blood stuck in your throat. Tranq offers you the the shirt, he was looking for, as the president helps you to getting up.

“Change it, okay? I'll ride you home”.

“I'm ok, prez”. You shake your head taking it. “I just… gonna change it and go back to work. I have to… I have to get everything ready fo' tonight”.

“Querida, you're not gonna work having fever”.

“Yea', nor bleeding like that. Stockton is like an excited bull when they see something red”. Tranq makes you chuckle, nodding just one time before walking towards the bathroom.

“Find Coco, tell him I need his car for a couple hours”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Your house feels like the North Pole, bearing in mind that the sun only gives you a couple of hours a day and that you forgot to close the large window of the living room. At least, you left it after clean the mess in it. Sideways, you find Bishop trying not to look around, so you would not think that he's ‘too curious’. Continuing your steps to the window, you close it and you also run the curtains. Sneezing again covering your nose with both hands, and turning to your boss, you sigh heavily.

“Have a cold shower and get some rest. I'll get you some pills to help you, and find a tec' who fix the heating, ok?”

“Sounds like ain't another option”. You joke a little, trying to breathe by your nose.

Bishop smirks at you, putting his gaze away before leaving your house. He's always attentive, kindly and gentle with you, helping with whatever he can help without even asking him to do it. And it feels nice having someone who takes care of you so disinterestedly, and wanting nothing back. Just doing it because it's what he desiderate. And because of that, you obey every indication the man gives you without complain about it.

After having a shower and putting on some comfy sport clothes, you lie down on the sofa hugging a cushion. You don't feel better, with the stuffy nose and the dry throat. Have fever and a cold on a day like this it's a big shit, because Mayans pays pretty good jack for some hours serving beers and shots. And even if you don't need it, not at all, it's always okay to save some more money. Turning on the tv and looking for whatever to watch, you wait for your boss to come back, falling asleep in the process.

You can't know how much time has passed, when you feel a hand narrowing your shoulder gently with a sweet voice calling you. Opening your eyes so slowly, you find Bishop there. Getting up to sit, you cough covering your mouth with a fist.

“How you feel, ah?”

“I'm okay”. You lie, making him chuckle for a second.

“The sales' told me you should take one of this, every six hours”. He says then, giving you a small box of analgesics by taking it off from a cardboard box. “And I also bought you an orange juice”.

Putting it on the table, he walks to the kitchen, coming back towards you in just a few seconds.

“Didn' know if you have a thermometer, so…” Having a sit by your side, he grabs it from inside the bag to take off the plastic that wraps it. “Okay, open your mouth”.

You can't help but laughing with some difficulties, taking it under your tongue and pressing your lips while he serves you the drink in the crystal glass. After exactly one minute, the thermometer beeps six times. Bishop removes it from your mouth, looking at the number that it's marking. The man clicks his tongue, somewhat disappointed.

“You will not work tonight”.

“But I'm okay!” You complain about his decision, whilst he's raising both eyebrows.

Ignoring you, the man takes one of the pills giving it to you and offering the juice with the other hand. Sighing heavy you obey again, pulling back your hair before it.

“You don' have to do'et”. You exhale resting the back against the sofa and turning your head to him.

“Do what?”

“Stay here. Take care of me like that”.

“Are you gonna do it?”

No. Not at all. If it were up to you, you would continue working on the scrapyard. But you have to recognize that you feel a little bit ashamed of Bishop seeing you looking like shit, and putting all your efforts so that he doesn't notice it.

“You can go, if you need it. I do—”.

“I'm staying till after lunch, you need to eat. So, go to bed and rest”. Palming one of your thighs, kicking off his boots and leaving the kutte on the armrest, he raises both eyebrows with no more gesture on his face.

You do it, again without any compliment knowing that you already lost the battle of working tonight at the Mayan party. Falling down on your bed and hugging your pillow with both arms, after lower the blind, you try to have some rest but because of your stuffy nose you know it's not a possibility. So you just lie there, with the door almost open but seeing Bishop focused in his phone through the opening.

Sometimes you ask yourself why he is so gentle with you, since the first moment you met. With the time, you thought that maybe he had a kid and he was just being protective, or something like. But then you knew that he hadn't more family than Marcus Alvarez, el Padrino. You feel like a stalker watching him enraptured, trying to pretend you're not looking at him when the man gets up after some hours there. Maybe it's time to eat, but you have your phone in the living room. So you just wait again for Bishop.

And when a delicious smell slices into your room, calling you as the sweetest and charming melody, flooding it completely; you hear two knocks on your door, finding his shadow on the floor.

“Lunch is ready, c'mon, kid”.

“I'm not a kid”. You snort getting out from your door, as he laughs softly.

“You are, compared with me”.

“Yea', I'm sorry, Mr. Mummy”. You joke on him, coughing again as soon as you try to laugh walking towards the table. “Boiled veggies… Seriously, Obispo? 'Amma joke to you?”

“See? You're a kid”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

After being sure that you can take care of yourself for the moment, the president left your house to attend the party. Highlighting thousands times to call him in case you continue worse. You're not going to do it, because he has the right to have some fun and don't wasting his time being a nurse, but you nod the thousand times back. Even if you enjoyed his company, it's not fair.

Desperate and rough knocks hits your door, waking you up violently and jumping off from the sofa very dizzy. Your heart is about to stop because of the hits, walking sleepy towards the main door.

“Why haven't you answered your phone, ah?! You scared the shit outta' me!”

“Shit, lower your voice, prez. My head is gonna explode”. You sob between growls.

Without expecting, he places a hand on your forehead and another on your nape. Clicking his tongue, he walks inside your house right to your room. With the door still open, he comes back holding a hoodie and a pair of sneakers.

“Put them on, we're going to the hospital”.

“Bishop, I'm fi—”.

“No, you're not”. He snorts somewhat upset, stretching both arms.

You know you can't fight against him, being more headstrong than you. So sitting on the closest chair, you put on the shoes before wearing the sweater. Walking by his side to the Coco's car, you have a seat on the copilot one, adjusting the seat belt around your body. You have never seen Bishop driving more than his bike, till today. And you have to recognize he does it pretty well too, thinking about something he's bad into. Nothing, apparently. Sometimes he's a little annoying, like now, knowing that you don't need to visit the urgencies.

In the road, you look for your insurance number in your phone, keeping it opened to fill the former as long as you're there. But he decided to do it for you, forcing you to wait for him at the waiting room. It's cold, at least, it's what you feel trembling slightly and curling your legs against your chest above the chair. Bishop doesn't look happy when he sits next to you, probably because the doctors are going to take a while to see you, with all the people there sitting behind your back. The man looks at you, with your eyes closed and breathing by your mouth, hearing somewhat like a zip being opened. You raise your gaze to him when he helps you to get up a little, so he can wraps you with his jacket.

“I got you, have some rest”. He speaks with a low tone, don't wanting to bother you, nor your headache, placing an arm on your shoulders pushing your body close to him.

Getting a little more comfy over his chest with your cheek resting there, you sigh closing your eyes feeling too tired. For you, it's just another cold. But for him, seems like you're dying. It's funny finding out how careful he can be. And you're starting to be okay with that when he ends up sitting you on his lap, thinking you could be better, curling your legs above the next chair whilst he's holding you tightly. Yes, it's feels so much better. Maybe it's not that bad being sick, even when you look like a helpless child sheathed by a jacket bigger than you and his arms surrounding your body.

Some long minutes after, when you're almost falling asleep and you're feeling warm, your name resonates through the megaphone. Bishops helps you to get up, still holding you and following the hallways to the doctor's office.

“(Y/N)?” The man asks seeing you both come in after calling to the door.

“Yea'”. You mutter going straight to the stretcher and sitting there.

“How you feel, miss?”

“Pretty good, doc—”. You cough again, putting a hand on your chest when it rips you internally.

“She has almost one hundred and four”. Bishop talks then. “I gave her some analgesic, but ain't no working”.

“Okay, let's see”. The doctor nods taking the stethoscope. “Are you her partn—?”

“Her boss”.

“Lucky girl, then. My boss would kick my ass if I felt like you, miss”.

“Yea', I like to… take care of my mechanic. That little trouble knows who to fuck up my bike”. He chuckles, leaving an unexpected kiss on your left temple.

“A wise man. But I need you to leave the consult, so she can take off her shirt”.

“Ye—Yes. Sure”. Bishop agrees clearing his throat. “I'll be right there, okay?”

The study begins once you're alone, hearing your lungs and your heart beat, looking inside your throat and taking your temperature. It doesn't take much longer than three or four minutes, when the doctor asks you to get dressed again, but pull down a little your sweatpants so he can puncture some medicine on your lower back. It hurts like hell, feeling how the cold liquid running under your skin, making you press a little cotton against it after it's done.

“I'll recipe you some analgesic. And water. Drink a lot of water. Sometimes looks like foolishness, but it actually helps”. The man says, sitting at his deck and writing something you can't understand.

Giving you the paper, he lets you go.

“And?” Bishop asks getting up from the wall, as long as he sees you.

“Medicine and water. And a gift prick”. You reply, putting his arm again on your shoulder and taking the recipe with his free hand. “My ass hurts”.

He laughs shaking his head, as you smirk softly surrounding his waist and resting your cheek against his cheek. You feel protected, even if you hate to feel defenseless. But with him, you accept it.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

It's been two days and life has come back to you, under Bishop's care and paranoia of taking your meds at a exactly time of the day. And you need to reward him. Of course, Marcus is who knows him better and you know how much his cousin could appreciate a homemade lunch. Tacos al pastor. A small cliche, but easy to prepare. So you actually surprise him when he comes to your house, with a random text saying him you're feeling worse. Five minutes it's the time it takes him to get there, hitting your door bell insistently.

“Hey! What's up? You okay?” He's about to have a heart attack, with shaky breathe and a worried look on his face.

“Food is gonna get cold”.

“What food? Are you okay or not?” Bishop asks coming in, following the delicious smell of meat mixed with pineapple.

“I'm okay, relax. It was just a joke”. You chuckle closing the door and pushing him by your hands on his back, guiding him to the table already served.

“Amma' fuckin' kill you…” He growls turning to you, visibly upset and somewhat angry.

“Sit, grumpy mummy”. Rolling your eyes, you point a sit.

“What is that for?”

“I'm thankful 'you have been so annoying, taking care of me”.

“You did— Is tha— Who told you?”

“I have my own contacts, presidente”. You almost sing raising your chin proud.

And you don't know at what time you find yourself lying on the sofa under his weight. His waist between your legs, whilst his tongue is fighting yours and your lips biting his whenever they can. You have no air in your lungs, but seems like you don't care pushing him closer with both hands on his nape and head. His are running through your body with needy caresses that he was containing for so long. And he's hard, pretty hard, rubbing the lump under his jeans against your wetted crotch. You want more, moaning because of the friction among your thighs, when he wraps your throat with a hand, raising a little your neck so he can kiss and suck the exposed skin.

But something bad seems like clicks his neurons, when he snorts heavily against your skin.

“I'm sorry, I can't”. He just says getting up from the sofa. “I can't do it. I gotta go, sorry”.

You are confused, raising your back by your forearms, with your eyes on him seeing how he takes his jacket thrown above the floor. Bishop leaves your house in silence. Also leaving you there trying to find the point where you have fuck him up. But there's no point. You were good, having a great moment, taking a first step. You really wanted it, even if it wasn't the way you liked to start a relationship with him, so Bishop might think it's the only thing you want from him. Taking care of you those days it just made you fall in love a little bit more, and maybe he's not. And he only wants to protect you of making yourself illusion about something smoky.

You only can wait till night, hoping that maybe he could come back or text you at least. But nothing happened, and you're not going to give up.

It's the first time you reach the clubhouse in less than ten minutes, surprising yourself even, while you park the car next to the motorcycles. Seems like Mayans are having a party inside and, by that, you don't surprise. Coming in without calling, nor asking, being greeted by Gilly and Creeper with shouts and laughs. But you're not in the mood to joying them, finding Bishop dancing with one of Vicki's girl. Obviously. Sometimes it's too foreseeable. Without words, you walk towards him with a serious gesture on your face. He turns at you, as the blonde does.

“Isn't too soon to open the scrapyard?” The president is somewhat drunk, provoking some laughs around your.

It wasn't what you wanted, but plan b.

“I'm coming back to Guadalajara tomorrow, just came to return my uniform”. You reply, shaking your head a little, taking off the green shirt from your bag to leave it above the pool table.

The silence has been installed all around the clubhouse and even if he wants to hide his rage, he can't. Grabbing you by your left wrist, the president drags you inside the Templo letting you there with a soft push, at the same time he closes the glass door.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“With me? You're the one who is playing”.

“I'm not playing anything”.

“Oh, really? Then, you don't give a fuck if I go, or if I stay”.

He snort rubbing his face with both hands, supporting one on the column and other on his waist. He looks ratty, chuckling for no reason as he shakes his head.

“What the hell you want”.

“You”.

“That's not going to happen”.

“Why?”

Bishop clicks his tongue, about to leave you there alone. Supporting the door almost opened, he finally closes it again. Walking next to you cross-armed, looking at you from top to bottom.

“Lemme' tell yo—”.

“No. Now you're gonna hear me, Obispo. What the fuck is wrong with you? A fuckin' boss doesn't take care of a fuckin' mechanic just because ‘that little trouble knows who to fuck up my bike’”. Highlighting those last words he said some nights before, you're pointing his chest with your forefinger. “I don' know what the hell you thought this morning, but I wasn' trying to give you a ride to thank you what you did for me… I called Marcus, 'cause two or three or… I don't give a fuck. Some months ago I heard you telling the guys that… there was nothing better, after a long week, that come back home and have some good food on the table. And Padrino told me how much you like those tacos”.

The president is staring at you apparently impassive and unflappable.

“I like you, Obispo. I actually… love you”.

“Fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is fuckin' wrong with me! Stop fuckin' asking that, Jesus Christ”.

“I could be your damn father”.

“But he's dead, and you're not. You don' even know my mother”.

“I'm not gonna ruin your life”.

“It was ruined before I met you, don't be so egocentric”. Rolling your eyes, you try to uncross his arms while he's pressing them tightly to his chest. “Fuck! Stop behaving like a child!”

“I'm not”.

“Yes, you are! Be a fuckin' man and recognize what you feel!” Reaching that point of the night, you're furious and mad as never, pushing his chest with both hands.

“I'm older than you and my hands aren't clean”. He insists walking back some steps.

“Good, congratulations. Do you want a medal, bad boy?”

“No, I want you to stay safe”.

“I am when we're together. I don' care about your age or mine, those are just numbers. And I don' care about your ‘job’, 'cause I know how to shoot a gun too”.

“It's n—”.

“You know what? You're a fuckin' coward”.

“Am I?” A bittersweet laughs escapes from his lips, putting away his eyes for a while.

“Yea'. You're letting me go 'cause you think you can ruin my life, actually ruining both whilst you're covering it with alcohol and putas, 'cause it's easier. That's not fair, Bishop. I can decided too”.

“You're coming back to Guadalajara”.

“'Course not! I just… Por el amor de Dios... I just wanted to talk with you. Alone”.

Bishop is about to reply with somebullshit. He sneezes. One time. Two times. Three times. You can't help but breaking in loud laughs, as he frowns his eyebrows cleaning his nose with the back of his hand.

“Fuckin' hate you”. He growls, with your hands surrounding his forearms to push him closer.

“Let's go home, prez…” The man wraps your waist, resting his forehead on your chest for a second.

“I'm fuckin' annoyen' when I'm sick”.

“Good that I don' care”.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa #bishop losa x reader

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neelamwishes-blog · 5 years

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lonelypond · 6 years

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Santa Cutie And The Christmas Cookie Queen

Love Live, nicomaki, 3.2K, 2/3

Nico vs. Pizza

Chief of Elfish Resources Nozomi Tojo stepped through the door and saw three papers scattered across the pristine white surface of Eli’s desk, she knew some disaster had occurred. Eli was sitting behind the desk, hands wide for balance, blue eyes with a dizzy look at the back of them, like someone had slipped and caused her to fall into a wall.

“How could she?” Eli asked, anger starting to clarify in her voice, “How could she?”

Nozomi was one fact away from knowing how to reply, although she had a guess as to the party involved.

“How could…” Nozomi stepped into the room, her question leaving a blank for Eli to fill.

“Maki.” Eli shoved her chair back, standing. Another page drifted off the pile as the desk reacted to the after tremors. “Maki. Doesn’t she realize…”

Eli turned away, overwhelmed by too many emotions. Nozomi scooted closer to the desk, reading upside down. Insurance information for someone named Honoka Kosaka. Accident?

“Is Maki all right? Does her father know?” Nozomi’s concern was more than professional. Everyone at North Pole Nishikino had come to love the often grumpy but always kindly sole heir to the Santa suit and sleigh.

“Maki is fine. And not taking this seriously. How do I tell her father?” Eli glanced at Nozomi.

“Do you want me to?” Nozomi sat on the corner of Eli’s desk, primly arranging the skirt of her purple dress over her knees, .

“It’s not your job.” Eli groaned. “It’s not really my job either.”

Nozomi neatened the papers, “My job is to take care of the employees. You are an employee. If it would be taking care of you, in the only way you’ll let me…”

Eli pretended to ignore what Nozomi was leaving very openly unsaid, “I’ll do it myself.” Eli’s smile barely qualified but Nozomi, as usual, took what she could get, “Thanks, Nozomi.”

Nozomi bounced up, “Just take care of yourself, Eli-chi. Medical forms cause too much paperwork.”

“Hey,” Eli sounded indignant and Nozomi was glad Eli couldn’t see the giggle she was holding back, “Last year was a fluke.”

“Just make sure you get some rest,” Nozomi twirled in the doorway, “And put up some mistletoe. I made sure it was regulation.”

Eli shook her head at the flirtatious dark haired woman and sat down, staring out the window at the sunlit afternoon, wondering what other kinds of trouble Maki was getting herself into. ANd wondering if the young heir had read the detailed email Eli had spent last week on, about polishing her ability to serve as the public face of the company.

Maki woke to her phone going off. She hated setting the alarm so on weekends she never bothered. But Rin’s chirpy text tone was enough to drag her out of a dream that involved Nico in candy cane stripes from head to toe and a Christmas tree and...Maki grabbed her phone.

R: Eli’s so MAD at you, Maki (╯=▃=)╯︵┻━┻

Groggy, Maki stared at Rin’s message. She hadn’t done anything. Surely Eli couldn’t expect a response to that ridiculously long email about public presentation and the North Pole Nishikino industrial image. Maki usually had a week before Eli started to get twitchy about that sort of thing, especially when Maki was working off site.

M: What happened?

R: Motorcycle crash? Remember? Or did you forget your helmet again?

M: It wasn’t an accident. Someone ran over my bike. I wasn’t even on it ┐(´ー｀)┌

R: Eli’s still REALLY mad. Nozomi looked worried.

M: It’ll be fine. I’ll send her an email. Papa wasn’t upset.

R: Eli (╯=▃=)╯︵┻━┻

Maki decided it was time to take a walk.

Nico enjoyed market day, when she actually had the time to spend the morning downtown. So many people bustling happily, especially this time of year, that it was always easy to spread or catch a smile or a laugh. She was especially looking forward to stopping at her favorite bakery and seeing what treats they were making for the holidays. Take some food porn worthy pictures and she’d have a handy blog post, especially if she deconstructed the recipes and made her own versions.

Nico loved dressing for the season. Today, she had snowflake covered light blue leggings and a comfy red oversized sweater with a cartoony Christmas tree, white faux furry boots and a white puffy jacket. She’d only had a little fun with the lipstick, base red with some smudged white snowflakes. No snow yet, that’d be a story for tomorrow, according to the latest forecast, so today Nico was just going to enjoy the sun, the holiday bustle and the...Nico paused as she entered Central Market, the live music, holiday songs? Occasionally, someone would be playing the piano, but this was a much higher level of effort than Nico had ever heard her before, with the jazzy Vince Guaraldi Charlie Brown Christmas songs making for an auditory treat.

Nico headed for the piano, recognizing as she got closer the red hair bouncing as Maki’s long, slender fingers danced over the keys. There was only a second pause between songs, not much of a crowd had gathered. Nico frowned, they really should be more appreciative of this caliber a performer. Maki closed her eyes and then seemed to dive into the music. Nico knew this one. And she knew how to draw a crowd.

Market day. One of the pleasanter things about Tudor for Maki was their downtown market, open 3 days a week, with farmers and small business owners focusing mostly on local foods and crafts. There was also, right in the heart of the market, a piano, surrounded by some tables. Free for anyone to use. Maki had taken to spending an hour or so every weekend making sure her fingers stayed nimble. And since Thanksgiving, she didn’t have to fight the urge to play Christmas carols anymore. People welcomed them. Today, she hadn’t gathered a crowd, everyone was hurrying from stand to stand buying presents or supplies. A few people caught her eye and smiled, one little girl had watched for almost half an hour as Maki delivered her Santa related repertoire. Now, she was playing her way through the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack, when she heard a voice break in and felt hands settle on her shoulders:

Snowflakes in the air Carols everywhere Olden times and ancient rhymes Of love and dreams to share Sleigh bells in the air Beauty everywhere Yuletide by the fireside And joyful memories there Christmas time is here families drawing near Oh, that we could always see Such spirit through the year

Then the pianist jerked a little as news personality Nico Yazawa whispered into her ear, beaming, “Good choice, Maki, with so many kids around. My siblings love Charlie Brown, we watch it every year.”

Today, Nico had opted once again for a seasonal theme in clothing as well as lipstick...Maki leaned back a little, pressing briefly into her surprise accompanist, as her fingers forgot how to play anything but random notes. Turning her head, she caught Nico’s smile at point blank range and her heart jumped. Nico seemed to have scattered snowflakes over her base red lips today. How did she manage that?

Nico glanced down, “No sheet music. Nico is impressed. Do you know “Frosty the Snowman”? The crowd will love it.”

Maki gulped, nervous, as Nico held her glance, red eyes encouraging. Maki nodded and played the first few notes. Nico started to sing along and let go of Maki’s shoulders, walking up to random people and getting them to join in. Soon there was a crowd and as Nico sang the last line, applause.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Nico is just here to bring a little holiday cheer!” Nico curtsied and winked at Maki, whose mouth gaped open as Nico worked the crowd, yet somehow never lost eye contact with her. “What’ll we have next? Did you see Nico sing “Jingle Bells” on the noon show, yesterday, no, well it went like this.”

Nico slid into the bench, forcing Maki to move down. “Start us off, Maki.” Nico smiled “‘Jingle Bells’.” And Maki started to play.

More applause, Nico kneeling down to sign an autograph for a child, this was Maki’s chance to flee. She sprang up, ducked into the crowd and was heading for the door when she heard Nico say, “Let’s thank my accompanist, Maki Nish...hey, Maki, where you going?”

Some laughter, people must have thought it was a joke. Maki picked up her pace. She made it to the street before Nico caught up.

Nico maneuvered through people too easily, maybe her size gave her an advantage when dodging between them. “Hey, Red and Rushing…”

“It’s MAKI.” Maki whirled at Nico’s touch, “And I didn’t ask you to sing.”

Nico brushed off the correction, digging white gloves out of her parka, “But Nico thought you should have more of an audience. Sing alongs always make people smile. And we looked cute together.”

Nico looked cute. Maki was wearing her bomber, a t-shirt, grey sweats and steel toed work boots. Maki looked like laundry day. She shook her head, shoved her hands in her pockets, “Look, you’re a performer, I get that...”

“Nico is a journalist. So you don’t.” Nico corrected, confused, once again at Maki’s attitude. She’s been playing a piano beautifully in a public location and Nico had gotten people to notice.

Maki knew breaking off to head back to the Yorktowne would seem rude, but standing here on a street corner with those red eyes watching her and trying to figure out where the glitch was was not something Maki could tolerate for much longer.

“Fine. Sorry. You like having an audience,” Nico nodded, as if Maki had finally gotten something right, “But I don’t.”

Nico blinked, “You were playing a piano in public.”

Maki kicked the heel on one boot against the other’s instep, reluctantly admitting the problem. “It’s the only piano I could find.”

Nico looked sad for a flash of a second, then bounced back, “You are taking Nico to lunch to explain.”

“What?” Maki was 100% sure there was only one answer allowed. And Maki hadn’t said it.

Nico cancelled Maki’s escape attempt by latching on to her arm, “Where’s your favorite weekend lunch spot? Nico is curious about what Maki does in Tudor.”

“The pizza margherita at Vincenzo’s is amazing,” Maki finally managed to offer as she continued to fight the panicked urge to pull away from Nico’s clinginess.

“Oh good, it’s right down the block.” Nico started down the street, pulling Maki along.

The waitress had recognized Maki and asked if she wanted the usual. Maki said "Yes".

Nico delayered and settled into the booth across from Maki, “There’s enough to share, right?”

Maki nodded. Guess she wouldn’t be taking home half a pizza for breakfast then. But company was good. Nico kept watching her, as if some gesture, some motion would defuzz the focus for her.

“So is where you live a lot different from here?" Nico wondered, after giving Maki too much time to start the conversation.

Maki glanced around the restaurant, inhaling the warmth and oregano and fennelly sauce smells, “There’s only one diner, plus whatever the chefs at the company cafeteria put together. But they do a pretty robust international menu. And any time you want, you can get comfort food.” Maki almost licked her lips as she remembered the Spaghetti Bolognese they’d just put in rotation as the Tuesday dish. “We grow a lot of our own herbs and vegetables. Mama decided it would be healthier and implemented it when she married Papa. ” Nico laughed. Maki’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

“That’s cozy. Comfort food plus industrial innovation as a groom gift. You sound like you enjoy variety? Do you cook?” Nico fidgeted with the wine list on the table.

“Nope.” Maki didn’t mean to state it quite so proudly.

“Planning to marry a chef?” Nico teased, entertained by the light blush on Maki’s cheeks.

“A baker, maybe…” Maki got distracted by the sight of the pizza coming their way and actually answered the question.

Nico leaned into her hands, watching Maki pay no attention to her and “just met my hot date” levels of attention to the newly arrived pizza. It was unexpected. Nico was impossible to ignore. Piano playing must burn off calories. So Nico refrained from grandstanding, enjoying the opportunity to really look at the woman across from her, an intriguing mix of girly curves and sportif style. Nico had to admit she liked the way the two styles clashed, especially with such honest eyes. Nico could read so much in them, it was refreshing in a business where most flattery was a formality. But 10 seconds of Maki swooning over choosing slices was really enough. “That one looks good; Nico will take it.”

Maki glanced up, fingers on a crust, eyes wide and Nico knew the hungry redhead had forgotten Nico was there. Flattering. Nico sighed. But then there was that shy, sweet smile Nico liked better than sweets, “I’m so sorry, Nico…” and her name sliding so melodiously out of those lips as the initial slice was apologetically handed over. Nico might have been swooning herself by now, but Maki was on a date with someone named Margherita and not Nico. Given a little warning, of course, Nico could have made Maki forget anything else but this was an information gathering interview triggered by a random encounter, not a Date™. So Nico chewed quietly and thought seriously about what question to start with.

“So do you prefer jazz?” Nico asked when Maki reached for her second slice.

Maki paused, her lavender eyes thoughtful, then she shrugged, “Classical or jazz, both are challenging to play. And listen to.”

“Hmmm…” Of course, pizza girl would skip over the part where she asked Nico questions. So Nico provided the answer, “Nico likes K and J-pop.”

Maki almost put down her pizza, not bothering to hide her distaste at the Nico’s revelation of Nico’s taste in music. “Aren’t those the silly songs where the band members wear as little clothing as possible?”

“Hey,” Nico almost flung her crust as she pointed it at Maki, “Those are very danceable, if you dance anything newer than the grandparent wallflower waltz. They make people smile, give them energy.” Nico dropped the crust and brushed crumbs off her hands, “And what’s wrong with sexy costumes, some of the groups have the best fashion insight. Nico picks up tips. Just now, menswear is hot, the latest Mamamoo video, Moonbyul rocking suits onstage, sexy, but,” Nico let herself get a little snarky as she quoted Maki, “not as ‘little clothing as possible.’ Sexy with style. Nico likes that. Nico looks good in that.” Nico refrained from saying she looks good in anything. Here was Maki and the night they’d met, Nico had been rocking ‘knocked sideways into weather’ chic.” So Maki already knew that.

Maki shook her head, continuing to chew, “You are going to take fashion tips from girls in suits...you seem too…”

Nico grabbed another piece, resisting the urge to flex her frequently worked out, can lift twice what people would expect bicep,“Nico is adaptable. I’m thinking tux for New Year’s Eve.”

“Tuxedo?” Maki tilted her head, one eye squinting, obviously trying to picture Nico in the outfit.

“Tuxedo jacket.” Nico specified, stretching her leg out, “And fishnets.” She winked when Maki’s eyes finished the tour of her leggings. Maki grunted and glanced away, fumbling to pick up her napkin. Nico was starting to have fun.

“So why play at market if you don’t want an audience?” Leave Maki with the New Year’s Eve outfit visuals to imagine and move on. Nico congratulated herself on a solid strategy.

“You can’t just pack your piano when you travel.” Maki crumpled her napkin, tossing it on her plate. “I found that one the first month, mostly people don’t notice.”

Nico tapped Maki’s hand, “Nico doesn’t believe that. These have talent. Obvious talent.”

Maki started, quickly pulling her hands all the way back to her lap, then tried to figure out how to take a sip of her slightly too distant iced tea without exposing them. Nico almost giggled as Maki decided to lean slowly toward the straw, stretching her neck out.

“This is really good pizza.” Nico smiled.

Maki glanced up from her straw maneuvering, “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Maybe next time, I’ll take you to one of my favorite lunch places.” Nico edged the iced tea closer to Maki, who latched onto the straw with her mouth, taking a long sip. Then she sat back, twisting glistening lips together as she thought for a minute, eyes brightening at her decision, “Maybe.”

Nico bounced up, “Nico will take that as a date. How much do I owe you for the pizza?”

“You’re leaving?” Maki and Nico seemed equally surprised by the redhead’s disappointment.

Nico twirled, graceful even in the small space, “Nico’s the weekend anchor. So I have a show to get ready for.”

“Oh.” The gleam in Maki’s eyes dimmed, “don’t worry about the pizza. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Maki.” Nico swept in so fast Maki couldn’t dodge and kissed her cheek, “Play the piano again for me sometime, okay?”

Maki nodded, hand ghosting over her cheek. Nico thought the pianist wasn’t even aware the gesture had happened. Nico could definitely work with this.

Maki had been shopping for snacks to restock her mini fridge, then run out of errands to run. So she’d gone to see the latest blockbuster. Boring. Neither of these activities were nearly lively enough to follow up her accidental lunch ‘date’ with Nico Yazawa, so, once again, Maki found herself back in her hotel room, sprawled out on her couch, alternating between staring at stripey walls and the not so stripey ceiling. She hadn’t posted anything on TWIG today so she took a ceiling shot with the caption “needs more cookies.”

Immediate response.

StormCookie: Isn’t that your ceiling? Cookies will fall. Gravity ヽ(´Д`;)ﾉ

SantaChan: ｰ( ￣▽)_皿~~ On me ヽ(o♡o)/

StormCookie: SantaSpoiled, cookies don’t grow on ceilings. Or trees. You have to (σ`・∀・)σ BAKE them.

SantaChan: No (-_☆)V

StormCookie: You’re in a good mood. Need the second step yet?

SantaChan: Sure.

StormCookie: Are you sitting down? (-｡-;

SantaChan: Sort of…

StormCookie: Well, SantaSortof, the second step is...LOOK UP FROM YOUR PHONE

Maki was shocked that StormCookie would suggest that in the middle of their conversation. Was StormCookie bored? Or busy? Or…

SantaChan: But you’re here （´υ｀）

StormCookie: ⊂(ﾟДﾟ;⊂⌒`つ Actually, I have to run soon. So, step 2 is look up from your phone. Bonus: step 3 for advanced students, talk to the cute girl. I did it, so can you ಠ‿↼

“Talk to the cute girl.” That sounded like Rin. Maki chuckled before she heard the next part play in her head “I did it?” Was StormCookie dating someone? Or trying to? And what would that mean for...suddenly, Maki felt sick to her stomach again, cold sweat on her forehead.

StormCookie had sent another DM.

StormCookie: I have faith in you, apprentice (￣ー￣)ｂ Step away from the phone and the cute girls will flock.

And then Maki will forget to offer them slices of pizza and insult their music choices. Maki sighed, hugged her phone to her chest, reaching again for the blanket while calculating the hours she had to wait until the Channel 10 Weekend News.

A/N:

A little shorter than I'd planned (so you might get 4 chapters), but I wanted to post today.

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays or...Thanks for reading. It means a lot.

Take care!

#nicomaki #Christmas #fanfic #Santa Cutie And The Christmas Cookie Queen #Holiday #pizza #nishikino maki #yazawa nico #love live

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tejoxys · 7 years

Text

Hypothermia

A long, long time ago, someone on @rotgficprompts asked for a fic where Jack Frost gets too cold. The original prompt:

There are tons of fics where Jack gets a “fever” (i.e., his temperature goes up too high for a winter spirit). But what if Jack gets too cold? Jack’s powers do something that causes his temperature to drop to a dangerously low level and he begins to freeze from the inside out, so someone has to figure out how to reverse the effect before it’s too late. Submitters note: pairings are totally optional. Though I, for one, prefer to see the Guardians as a family.

So I decided to start posting my equally-ancient response. Part 1/?, gen for now, highly suspect thermodynamics, body horror probably.

What the fuck did I do?

It was a good thought. If Jack could still have that thought, it meant nothing inside his head was broken, right? The constant whipping wind had dulled his sense of reality; that sickening crunch a moment ago may not even have been a real sound. Whatever it was, the way its echo sizzled through him meant his nerves were still working, probably. That was good. He was fine, he just needed to land. Not think about how very high up he was, ignore the crystalline fog inside his eyes, and trust gravity.

Stop feeding the connection his brain had already made between breaking into a new layer of the atmosphere, and crashing through the ice.

Fine. Just fine.

For an emergency landing, it was unusually graceful. But he couldn’t feel the ground, or see the sky.

Bunny’s message was garbled, flowering plants erupting and withering around North’s office too quickly for him to find them in the reference book. Somewhere between rhododendrons for danger and snowdrops for Jack, he gave up deciphering the specifics, threw a full arsenal of ready-to-use charms into a sack, and bolted for the Warren.

He was glad he hadn’t waited. Jack’s staff lay abandoned. Bunnymund sat forlornly in the grass, nose gone dry, gazing at a new-formed door in the wall that was rapidly developing hairline cracks. His fur stood out strangely on one arm and along his side where the skin had been seared by something cold. North read the situation quickly and went to work, shoring up the magic that kept the door standing.

Bunny didn’t blink until North finished up and knelt beside him.

“There. Is all reinforced,” North said kindly. “You had no time to plan, I see in your work. I forgive you for using flower codes after I told you I can’t remember them all.”

Bunny let out a shaky breath, a flicker of temper coming back into his eyes. “You might bother to learn. What am I supposed to use, carrier pigeons? You weren’t there, you didn’t see it. Sweet hell, the field I found him in—you know what it’s going to take to repair the topsoil over there?”

North moved to inspect Bunny’s arm. “Ah, ah—I won’t touch. Be still.” Bunny quieted. “To do such injury to you… Bunny, why is Jack locked in a pit?”

“You called the others, right?” Bunny sniffed. “Tooth may’ve gotten my message, if she was at home. What about Sandy?”

“Guys!”

Toothiana had found them. She was all sharp movements, clutching a tooth box, her feathers all puffed up. Several shell-shocked fairies flanked her. Sandy drifted along behind them. “I was going to alert Sandy anyway, and then we saw the aurora. Aster, what were those hydrangeas about? Where’s Jack? Oh, you’re hurt!”

Sandy looked equally worried, the flurry of sand above his head a mess of snowflakes, stars, and flowers.

“Listen, I’ll patch myself up later,” said Bunny. “This is an emergency. Jack’s in there, I had to drop him in and seal it up ‘cos I couldn’t touch him anymore. I would’ve thought we could let it run its course, but he’s only getting colder. Dirt can’t hold him. Stone’s not really cutting it, either.”

Toothiana put a hand to her mouth. “Hydrangeas,” she breathed. “He’s not aware of any of this, is he?”

“No. No, probably not. North, can you help me get us in there? Safely? You’ve got to see this for yourselves.”

Careful choreography allowed them to open the door and squeeze through without letting too much bitter air seep into the Warren. North covered Toothiana and Bunny with the mantle of warmth he used to protect himself at the Pole. Sandy didn’t need it, burning right through spells and the cold the way he did everything.

The room glittered like a massive geode. Moisture that had been leached from the earth stood out in delicate spicules of ice, all pointing toward the center. Not even Sandy’s gentle light could make the room seem warmer. The visitors’ breath barely had time to fog; they could feel the air clawing at their lungs, desperate for water. The walls creaked under the same assault.

Jack sat hunched in the center of the floor, sagging as though he’d been propped up and left to fall, like a doll whose limbs wouldn’t hold a pose. His eyes stared, moon-white; he gave no flicker of awareness that the others were there. Now and then, a pained breath heaved out from somewhere deep. Tooth cried out. North swore, instinctively gathering power to extend the warming spell over Jack-

Bunny nearly body-checked North in his rush to stop him. “Nonono! Don’t use warmth, it makes him go colder, that’s how I—unh.” He broke away, favoring his side. “’S how I got hurt.”

North’s voice was short. “Then what do we use? Did you give him water?”

“So he can make more ice? Look, whatever’s gotten into him, it’s set to devour anything we throw at him.”

“He’s protecting himself,” Tooth cut in. Her eyes were on the tooth box she’d brought along. She traced the patterns tenderly, but they remained dark. Her eyelashes were frosted. “Or his power is. I thought maybe I could get through, with these. But I think-” her voice broke. “Do you see that breathing pattern? His brain’s shutting down. What he thinks is his brain, anyway; you know what I mean. He’s beyond memories.”

That stopped the speculation for all of five seconds.

“Then we just-” North started.

“We don’t ‘just’ anything,” Bunny snapped. “D’you see him on the floor? D’you see those runes keeping him down? I had to do that. He was bashing himself against the walls, otherwise.”

“Well, we can’t stay in here much longer,” Tooth said, her face tight. “I mean… he’s one of us now, right? Maybe we do have to let it run its course. He can’t die this way. It’ll keep going until it can’t get any worse, and then he’ll heal.”

Bunny flexed his injured paw. “And if he comes back different? Tooth, he tried to kill me. He can’t keep on like this; he’ll be a menace.”

He jumped when Sandy patted his arm. Sandy flashed a medic symbol and a string of z’s and question marks.

The others watched him approach Jack. Dreamsand swirled, prodding gently. Sandy relayed what he found: Eyes – blind. Hearing – dead. Touch – dead. He tried sending Jack to sleep.

Jack’s body wrenched away from the touch of dreamsand, and kicked Sandy square in the chest. The room’s temperature dropped sharply. A dull thud of changing air pressure crackled in their ears and brought down a rain of debris. Someone screamed.

“Tooth’s right, we can’t stay in here,” Bunny gasped as they picked themselves up.

Sandy, still clutching his chest, gave him a look of pure disbelief and shook his head. Bunny flung up his paws. “Well, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do! Ow.”

Sandy’s urgent dance of symbols moved too fast for even Tooth, but everyone caught Pitch’s image among them.

Everyone burst out talking at the same time.

“We should have known! Nothing this awful could’ve-”

“-drag him down here and make him undo whatever he-”

“-comfort Jack? But how, if we can’t talk to him or touch him?”

Sandy ignored them and drifted closer to where Jack huddled, motionless once more. He sent tendrils of dreamsand into the walls, into the shadows of dying tree roots and cracking stones. -Come out, Pitch. I’ll keep them off you.-

A bitter voice answered him, rolling along the ceiling. “You mean you don’t agree that this was somehow my fault?”

Pitch stepped out from Jack’s shadow. He bared his teeth at the shouts of surprise and anger, and rounded on Sandy alone. “Well, you’re right; this serves none of my interests. He’s becoming like you—all power and no space for fear. I should destroy him right now.”

Sandy held up a hand to the others and showed them every possible symbol for NO. They obeyed, barely, fading into squabbling background noise. The two oldest immortals had no focus for anything but each other. -Too bad you can’t,- Sandy replied steadily. He looked Pitch up and down, taking in his deliberately calm breathing and disheveled hair. -As if you wanted to. As if the only reason you’ve been hiding in the walls is to see them all afraid. Do you know what happened to Jack?-

Pitch’s eyes flickered. “I saw the whole thing, not that it matters. Did you call me out for interrogation? It won’t help.”

-No, not at all. Jack will do the talking after you retrieve him for us.-

Pitch took a step back, poised to flee. Sandy softened his tone. -Listen. He’ll call down the void of space if nothing’s done. The person we knew will be gone, and unless we cast him out—way out—the world will end in winter. He’ll fade out with the rest of us, and then… Just you and winter on a barren rock, forever, Pitch. How does that sound?-

“You know I once wanted exactly that?”

Sandy shook his head. -Not exactly that. I know you two play together. You need people, much as you hate that you do. I can’t make you care and I can’t make you help, but if you want to keep your world as halfway-decent as it is, you’ll act.-

Pitch’s lip was curling by the second word, but Sandy had hit the key points: What is Jack to me? Why should I help any of you? What’s in it for me?

“Why don’t you fix him yourself?” he asked, just to make Sandy say it.

-I can’t.-

“Hmm. And what am I supposed to do?”

-He still has fear. Make him feel it, make him fight back—he must come back to himself.- Sandy frowned. -Most importantly… you have to enjoy doing this. If you can’t, it’s no good.-

Pitch had already begun stalking the perimeter of the room, eyes fixed on Jack. “I don’t suppose you’ll lend me a little sand to even the playing field? This is a lot to ask, weak as I am.”

That was the closest he’d get to a yes. Sandy spared a nervous glance at the others as Pitch kicked away Bunnymund’s runes. -Don’t make me laugh. You’ll feed handsomely, if he doesn’t maim you first.-

Pitch wasn’t even listening. Sandy urged the others toward the exit. They were still talking over each other—“There’s no way we can trust-” “-has to be some kind of spell, or-?”

-Seal it,- Sandy repeated several times. -Seal them in.-

They piled out onto the grass. Another thud of negative air pressure nearly caught Toothiana’s trailing feathers in the door. Bunnymund closed up the protesting earth, leaving the frozen room behind them with no exit and no light.

“This is making me very uncomfortable,” Bunnymund announced for probably the fifth time.

Sandy’s explanations were well over with; Bunny’s injuries were salved and bandaged; tea had been laid out on blankets in the grass where the four of them sat waiting, wrapped in more blankets. Toothiana was nursing a miserable cough; a trio of fairies attended Jackson Overland’s tooth box while she tried to relax and drink as much as possible. Bunny’s attention kept wandering as he communicated with the Warren, monitoring the fight taking place in the unseen room.

North sighed wearily. “Just… keep watching. Pitch can do nothing we would not permit, given the circumstances. He fears our punishment; were we to step in, he knows this is no time to show weakness in front of Jack.”

Bunny shivered involuntarily. “You’re sure Pitch knows we’re watching his every move?” he asked again. Toothiana wriggled up against his side to stop him picking at his bandages.

North nodded. “He certainly knows. I feel him questioning this good deed, such as it is.”

Silence fell. Everyone looked to Sandy, but he had nothing to add. He had dozed off, fine tendrils of sand drifting between him and the dividing wall, a sad frown of concentration on his face.

“Is he watching or-?”

“Shhh.”

#rise of the guardians #Jack Frost #Bunnymund #Toothiana #Nick st North #sanderson mansnoozie #Pitch Black #I have written Jack-gets-too-warm fic myself bc it's fun to play with even though it doesn't match my headcanons #this prompt was too interesting a perspective switch to pass up #tumblr u had better preserve my formatting I swear to god #tejoxys fic

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