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ayech · 2 years

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Home Is Wherever I’m With You

Summary: After their prison escape, the Russia crew spends the night at an inn that Dmitri’s cousin owns. You and Dmitri share a room, and a shower.

Warnings/disclaimers: Language, brief mentions of violence, graphic smut, reader is female

Word count: 4.8k

A/N: I tried to incorporate some Russian in this fic because it’s hot. That being said, if my Russian is off the mark I apologize, I only just started learning it on Duolingo and this owl won’t stop harassing me. Also for the convenience of this fic, we are going to pretend that Dmitri doesn’t have a family LMFAO. Please enjoy my totally self-indulgent shower sex fic.

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The snow falling just beyond the window was gentle but incessant, and you absently wondered to yourself if it ever stopped snowing in Russia. Your forehead settled against the glass as you stared outside, letting out a relieved sigh as the cold press soothed your battered and bruised skin.

It had been a long couple of days to say the least. Everyone knew breaking Hopper out of prison was going to be a tall order, but nothing could have prepared you for hijacking and crashing a plane, numerous violent encounters with Russian soldiers, another demogorgon (how do those things even keep coming back?), multiple nights desperately trying to stay alive in the bleak, unforgiving wilderness–

“You can shower first, if you’d like.”

Oh. And him. You were the least prepared for that.

You winced when you turned your head a little too fast for your aching muscles, smiling appreciatively at the man who was also holding out a change of clothes.

“Ah, what do you Americans call them again? Pizhamas?” Dmitri frowned at the way his accent mangled the word, but you only giggled and reached for the neatly folded garments, not missing the way his fingers grazed yours in the exchange. “My cousin had some extras in storage.”

Dmitri’s cousin ran a small, secluded inn that was nestled deep in the Russian wilderness. At first, having to help another fugitive seemed like it would be the group’s downfall, but if you all hadn’t taken Dmitri in you probably would have never made it out of the cold. Conveniently, the inn was hidden enough to buy some time and hatch up a plan on how to get back to the States. Although, his cousin’s single stipulation was that you all couldn’t stay for more than one night, to avoid any conflict with the soldiers that were no doubt searching for your group. It was a constricted window, but beggars can’t be choosers.

All planning was put aside for tomorrow, however. Hopper’s orders.

—

“Tonight, we rest,” Hopper wrapped an arm around Joyce’s shoulders and pulled her closer to him, waving everyone else off with his free hand. “We aren’t going to come up with any solid plans when we’re this tired. We’ll sort it all out in the morning.”

“Yeah, besides,” Murray also took the opportunity to wrap an arm around Dmitri’s shoulders. “Our comrade here spoke to his cousin and said we could stay as long as we need tomorrow, just as long as we’re out by nightfall.”

You smirked when Dmitri scoffed and shrugged his arm off. “We shouldn’t push our luck though, Americans. I say we leave by the afternoon.”

“Like I said, we’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Hopper sighed. “ And Murray, stop picking on him. Remember you have to share a room tonight, so don’t get on his bad side.”

Murray’s face fell immediately. “Not happening. I sleep alone.”

“Oh, really?” you snorted. “But I thought he was your comrade?”

You couldn’t help feeling slightly smug when everyone laughed at your jab, and you tried not to falter when Dmitri gave you a particularly fond smile. Murray smiled at you as well, though it lacked amusement.

“I don’t sleep with my comrades. But I know someone who wants to,” he sing-songed and narrowed his eyes knowingly at you. Your heart plummeted at the insinuation.

“Yeah, whatever,” you quickly tried to play it off before he took it too far, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “I don’t mind sharing a room.”

Hopper rolled his eyes and shrugged in exasperation, backing away with Joyce to head to their own room.

“Well, Enzo, at least you get some peace and quiet not having to share a room with Murray,” Joyce soothed, patting his shoulder sweetly before leaving with Hopper.

“We’ll see about that,” Murray mumbled right in your earshot, smirking deviously when you turned to glare at him. You noticed Dmitri watching the two of you with a confused look, and waited until he turned around before flipping Murray the bird, silently seething at his giddy laughter as you followed the Russian to your shared room.

—

A surge of annoyance came over you thinking back on what happened earlier, and you scoffed to yourself as you fiddled with the shower faucet. What had really infuriated you about Murray’s taunting was how right he was. He really had a knack for calling out sexual tension when he saw it.

You were pretty much attracted to Dmitri the second you met him. Well, after you had haphazardly swung a crowbar at him in an attempt at self-defense (no one had told you he was one of the good guys yet). Hopper eventually pried the weapon from your hands, and when Dmitri was backed up against a wall, eyes wide and bewildered at your frantic display, you couldn’t help but find him endearing.

What really did a number on you were the days spent navigating the woods. Dmitri, despite Murray’s constant heckling, was incredibly reliable. Calm, collected, and intuitive, you found yourself gravitating towards him constantly. Perhaps part of his allure was that he was born to the land, making him better equipped to navigate it and easier to rely on. But when the sound of Russian officials echoed through the air, and Dmitri held you flush against his body while you two were tucked away behind a tree, you were made painfully aware that you weren’t just drawn to him because he knew how to lead.

“Stay quiet,” he husked into your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin and blowing strands of hair against your cheek. You could feel his heart beating rapidly against your back, and prayed he couldn’t feel your blush under the hand covering your mouth. “I’ve got you, куколка.”

And at dusk, when he was on watch and keen blue eyes peered across the fire to look over you as you slept, you couldn’t deny the stir of something more. Something heady.

Now you were finally alone with him–regrettably, thanks to Murray–and you had absolutely no idea what to do about it. Your body was tired, your muscles sore and eyes aching for sleep, and yet you were still restless.

You desperately needed a hot shower to wash away the grime and messy emotions.

You fiddled with the faucet some more, frowning and looking up at the shower head when the stream still didn’t come out. Of course, that happened to be the exact moment the water finally decided to kick on. You sputtered and wiped your eyes with the back of your arm, reaching towards the counter for a towel and only finding the clothes Dmitri handed you earlier. Shit.

You wiped your face as best you could with just your arm, slowly opening the bathroom door and peering into the room to see Dmitri sitting on the edge of one of the beds, sleeve rolled up as he cleaned a wound on his bicep.

“Hey,” you called softly, his head quickly turning at the sound of your voice.

“Is everything okay?” he questioned, and you were taken aback when he stood to attention and dropped the wet cloth he was cleaning his cut with, his face painted with concern.

His furrowed brow deepened when you started laughing, and you almost felt bad when he frowned in confusion. He was so cute.

“Dmitri, I just need a towel,” you said between laughs, pointing to the small stack on the dresser. He cleared his throat then, lowering his head and muttering a brief ‘da’ before retrieving one and walking it over to you.

You were still smiling in amusement as he approached you. “What exactly did you think happened?”

“I don’t know what happened,” you laughed again at his slightly defensive tone. “That’s why I was worried.”

“Worried?” you teased, opting to poke fun at the confession to distract from how it set your stomach into a flurry of excitement.

There was a moment of quiet between you two. His eyes scanned over your face instead of responding, and the fluttering in your stomach intensified. Then you were engulfed in black, Dmitri throwing the towel over your head and ruffling your hair with it.

“Why are you wet?” he asked as you scrambled to pull the cloth off your head, huffing at him when he smirked at your disheveled state.

“There was a delay in the pipes, and I was under the stream of water when it finally kicked on,” you waved your hand dismissively, suddenly very insecure about the situation under the intensity of Dmitri’s amused gaze.

“Do showers work differently in your country?”

“No. But maybe you should have a talk with your cousin about his plumbing.”

You rolled your eyes. He was fully smiling now, absolutely delighted by your flustered agitation. You almost couldn’t stand how fond he looked, it made you want to crumble to your knees in front of him. Instead, you turned around and started back towards the bathroom.

“Try not to drown in there,” he called out as you went to close the door.

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you come and keep an eye on me?”

You paused then, the door still a quarter of the way open. You didn’t mean it like that. It was just a mindless retort, really, but the tension buzzing in the air from all of the teasing contorted it into something resembling a proposition.

Dmitri didn’t say a word at first, and you felt your palm sweating on the doorknob you were still gripping. Your words lingered with a heavy presence in the small room, your hammering heart the only sound in your ears for what felt like minutes. When Dmitri finally did speak, you noticed that his voice sounded rougher, his accent more defined than usual.

“You want that?”

Oh.

Maybe you did mean it like that. Just the thought of Dmitri actually joining you in the shower made you feel like you would burst into flames, liquid heat coursing through your veins at the prospect.

Rather than answering, you looked back at him through the opening of the door, stuttering on an inhale when your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, his attention entirely fixed on you as he waited for some sort of explanation. You were nervous now, too nervous to know the right thing to say. Instead you let your hand fall from the doorknob and stepped back further into the bathroom, holding his gaze and pointedly leaving the door open. Your cheeks felt hot as you watched his lips part in understanding.

You had to turn away then, before you got too overwhelmed. You focused your attention on undressing and finally getting into the shower, which had begun to run cold since it was on for so long. You reached out a shaky hand to adjust the temperature, internally spiraling over the possibility that you might have just made a complete fool of yourself, and could have to spend the rest of the night with someone who turned you away.

Before you could feel too rejected, you heard the door creak as it was pushed further open. You held your breath when the shadow of Dmitri’s silhouette slowly moved behind the shower curtain, trembling when you heard him quietly call out your name.

“Are you sure about this?” he sounded almost like he was out of breath. “If I come in there, more than just my eyes will be on you.”

Fuck. You felt your heartbeat between your legs, the realization that he was holding back making your body heat up, the steam coming from the water only adding to that effect.

“Yes,” you fought to keep your voice even. “I’m sure, Dmitri.”

There was a rustle of what could only be him stripping off his clothes. You turned your back to the curtain and took a steadying breath, closing your eyes as you faced the stream of water. The splash was almost sweltering, though you appreciated it when you felt the cool air creep in upon Dmitri’s entrance.

You gasped when he immediately pressed himself against you, his chest flush with your back as he mouthed along the line of your shoulder. Being this close to him brought you back to that day in the woods. You could feel his heart beating just as fast now as it was then, and you couldn’t help the surge of pride at having that effect on him.

His hands held your hips firmly, and you tilted your head so that his mouth could wander the expanse of your neck. You hummed when he peppered gentle, open mouthed kisses along a tender wound right under your jaw. One of the prison guards had nicked you with a blade.

“That feels nice. It’s still really sore,” you breathed.

His grip tightened on your waist. “I took care of him.”

You shivered at that. Of course he did.

Your hands desperately reached for him, one grasping at his hair as he began sucking right at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the other circling one of his wrists and pushing down in an attempt to guide his hands lower.

He chuckled and you felt it reverberate in your throat. “So needy.”

You huffed when he easily shook his hand free from your hold, instead grabbing your wrist and moving your hand between your legs.

“Touch yourself for me, куколка,” his lips were by your ear now. “Show me how you like it.”

You couldn’t help the desperate sound that tore past your lips, the frustration almost unbearable when he laughed again, his breath against your cheek more scorching than the water raining down on your bodies.

“You asked me to keep an eye on you, remember?” he teased, though relenting just a little when he brought his hands up to firmly knead your breasts. “I’m with you, now make yourself feel good for me.”

You were helpless like this, with his body looming over yours and his imposing voice in your ear. You finally pressed your fingers against your clit, rubbing with an even, steady rhythm while Dmitri watched. Delicate, breathy sounds spilled out of your mouth into the damp air around you, and at the small of your back you could feel something thick throb in response. You imagined how well Dmitri’s cock would fill you up, and you put more pressure into your strokes as you let your head fall back onto his shoulder.

Dmitri took the opportunity to wrap a hand around your bared throat, thumb stroking against your pulse point.

“So pretty,” he sighed, and you shuddered at the way his accent rolled over the word. “Does it feel good?”

When you didn’t immediately respond, too lost in chasing your own pleasure, you felt his grip tighten on your throat. You moaned properly then, your walls throbbing as if he just grabbed you by your core.

“Stay with me, now,” he growled into your ear. “I said, does it feel good?”

“Yes,” you gasped against his grip. Then, on an afterthought, you whispered: “Da.”

You smirked when he groaned at your use of his mother tongue, giggling when his resolve slipped away and he instinctively rubbed up against you while burying his face in your shoulder.

“You do too much playing,” despite his chastising, you could feel his smile against your skin.

“You’re one to talk,” you said breathlessly.

“You’re right,” he murmured, lifting his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “But we’re having fun, no?”

To emphasize his point, he ground his hips against you once more. You both moaned when the slide of the water made his cock slip and slot between your thighs, so close to where you both wanted it to be.

“Блядь!” he hissed, thrusting forward again when you squeezed him between your thighs. He held your legs in place as he fucked you like that, the water and your arousal allowing his cock to glide easily between the soft plush of your inner thighs.

“So wet,” he growled appreciatively, grinding his hips into yours as he fucked your thighs. “And all for me. So good, малышка.”

“God, Dmitri,” you felt delirious as you looked down and watched the head of his cock peek out between your legs with each thrust, your thighs twitching when it just barely grazed against your clit. “Please.”

He pulled away from you then, and you could have cried from the loss of his warm weight against your frame. His hands on your waist guided you to turn and face him, and through the fog of pleasure, it dawned on you that this was the first time you were actually looking at him since this all began.

His wet hair was unruly, sticking up in multiple directions from you grabbing at it. And his eyes were dark, blue irises almost entirely engulfed by his lust-blown pupils, as they raked over your body to take in your own disheveled state. His strong chest heaved with his labored breathing, and you set your hands over the light dusting of hair there before trailing them up his neck, pulling him in for a hungry kiss.

Dmitri wasted no time in lifting you up and pushing your back against the wall, hissing into your mouth when you dug your nails into his shoulder at the cold press on your skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” you whispered, kissing the crescent welts and soothing the skin with your tongue.

He laughed lightly. “Don’t apologize. I want you to leave marks.”

He shifted then, adjusting his hold on you so that your legs were draped over his elbows, his hands supporting your lower back while he pressed you into the wall. You watched with hooded eyes as he lined himself up with your entrance, slowly easing the head of his cock in before meeting your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” his voice was low, and your lips parted on a silent moan as he slowly thrust in and out, his thick cock stretching you wider and wider as he eased in deeper with each stroke.

He shamelessly moaned when he finally bottomed out, halting his movements when his hips were flush with yours and just pressing his weight into you. The pressure was too much and not enough at the same time. You felt like with one more inch he would split you open, yet you still weren’t as close to him as you wanted to be. You wouldn’t be satisfied until he consumed you completely.

His eyes were closed as he tried to regain his composure, and you couldn’t help but hungrily take in the way his pleasure etched into his features; furrowing his brow, flushing his cheeks, and pulling his lips into a soft ‘o’. He blinked his eyes open slowly, growling when he met your heated gaze.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he warned. “I won’t be able to control myself.”

“Who said I want you to control yourself?” you smirked, unable to resist challenging him even with his cock filling you to the brim.

He smirked too, clicking his tongue as he lowered his face to tenderly rub his nose against yours. “What am I going to do with you?”

Then, as if to answer his own question, he pulled out and slammed back into you with a punishing thrust. You cried out, your head falling back against the tile when the force of his hips pushed you a few inches up the wall. He followed it up with another harsh thrust as he set a brutal rhythm, pressing his mouth to yours as he pounded into you with abandon.

“О Боже мой,” he grunted against your lips. “You feel so good. So perfect.”

You moaned as the praise showered over you, heating your skin more than the cascading water ever could. The wet sound of his hips slapping into yours reverberated throughout the small shower, filling your ears along with the guttural sounds Dmitri was making as he fucked you into the wall. You gasped when he adjusted your legs again, casting them over his shoulders so you were completely bent in half, all of his weight pushing into you as he got impossibly deeper.

The feverish cries spilling past your lips were uninhibited, growing louder and more desperate with each push of his hips against yours. You nearly sobbed when one of the hands supporting your lower back finally moved to rub against your clit, deft fingers stroking in tandem with every thrust.

“Вот так, малышка,” Dmitri’s voice rumbled against your throat where he had buried his head. “Ты звучишь потрясающе. Такая маленькая шлюшка для меня.”

You whined at his use of Russian, your body thrumming with pleasure as the foreign words ghosted across your damp skin and set every nerve ending into a frenzy.

“Dmitri,” you whimpered into his hair, latching onto the strands and shuddering when he applied more pressure to your clit, driving harder into your wet heat. “I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he rasped into your neck, an almost pained groan spilling from his lips as your walls clung tighter to his cock.

“In me,” you whispered, feeling him falter slightly in his movements before lifting his head to look at you with hesitant eyes.

“Please, Dmitri,” you whined, too blissed out to even feel remotely embarrassed by how desperate you were being. “I want to feel you inside me for days. Please.”

Your request pulled a feral growl from his chest, his hips quickly picking back up their ruthless pace as he chased his release. He moved to press his lips to yours again, though it just resulted in panting in each other’s mouths as your pleasure came closer and closer to its peak.

While his thumb continued its ministrations on your clit, Dmitri snuck two fingers down to squeeze them in alongside with his cock, curling them just so to press up against that sweet spot inside of you. That, coupled with the added stretch, was enough to make you see stars, stray tears falling down your cheeks as you trembled through wave after wave of pleasure.

“Да, да, да,” Dmitri chanted softly into the hair’s breadth of space between your lips, letting out a long moan as he followed you over the precipice. His hips stilled against yours as his cock throbbed inside you, liquid warmth seeping into your center and causing another belated surge of pleasure to shudder through your overstimulated body.

His forehead pressed into your shoulder as he let out a satisfied sigh. A tired laugh bubbled out of your chest as you cradled his head, petting down his hair to try and undo the mess you made of it. He hummed at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, turning his head inward to press a line of kisses up your neck and to your jaw, not stopping until his lips found yours.

Without the cloud of lust muddling your senses, you were actually able to revel in the feeling of kissing Dmitri; how soft his lips felt, and the way the hairs of his mustache tickled the sensitive skin above your lip. You smiled against his mouth at the sensation.

He pulled away slightly, examining your face with adoring eyes. “What is it?”

“Your mustache tickles,” you giggled and bumped your nose with his, feeling giddy when he laughed along with you and pressed another sound kiss to your lips.

When you both decided it was finally time to actually bathe, he attentively helped you back down to your feet, letting you brace yourself against his sturdy frame while you tried to regain the feeling in your legs. His hands were gentle and diligent as they moved over the planes of your body, careful around healing wounds and bruises from the days passed as they lathered your skin with soap. He shot you an apologetic glance at the new bruises blossoming bright red on your lower back, tenderly massaging the skin there as he washed you.

You returned the favor once he was all done, delighting in the firm feel of his body under your hands as they glided over his skin. As you washed him, you felt the trickle of something warm and thick running down your thigh. It caught Dmitri’s attention as well, and his eyes darkened in interest as he brought his fingers to trail up your inner thigh, collecting the cum with the pads of two fingers before swiftly inserting them between your legs.

You gasped at the intrusion, burying your face in his chest when embarrassment burned in your cheeks.

“You did say you wanted to feel it in you for days, да?”

You shuddered at how smug he sounded, your face only feeling hotter when he massaged your tender walls before pulling his fingers back out.

By the time you stepped out of the shower the water was freezing, your teeth chattering away as you rushed to get dressed.

“This is nothing. We were just stranded in the cold for days,” Dmitri laughed at your jittery dance as you waited for him to finish changing.

You gladly let Dmitri bundle you up in a blanket once you were back in the bedroom, watching him with warm eyes as he adjusted the hem of the soft fabric around your neck. Your heart sank when he stepped away from the bed you were sitting on.

“Hey,” you called quietly, your anxiety spiking when he stopped in front of the other bed, looking back towards you curiously. “We… we can sleep together, if you want. It would be warmer that way.”

Dmitri blinked at you, almost confused, and you felt extremely shy all of the sudden. Then you saw him smirk, chuckling under his breath before reaching down and pulling the sheet off the bed.

“I was just grabbing another blanket,” he walked back over to you, pointing at the cloth draped over your still-shivering frame. “I didn’t think you’d share with me.”

“Oh,” you mumbled bashfully, dipping your chin further into the jumbled fabric around your neck.

You completely covered your face when he started laughing, embarrassed by how insecure you probably sounded. The bed dipped as he got on it, then you heard him softly call your name. Reluctantly pulling the blanket down, you found him lying on one side of the bed with his arms open in invitation.

You immediately burrowed into his side, feeling more than hearing the rumble in his chest when he let out another fond chuckle. He turned the lamp off next to the bed, a blanket of darkness falling over the room.

“So needy, куколка,” he whispered, enveloping you in his arms and kissing your hair.

“You just…” you hesitated, your chest constricting with the intensity of your feelings. You worried it might be too much for your current situation. “You make me feel safe.”

You felt him hold you tighter then. “Good. You are safe with me.”

You wanted to say more. You wanted him to know how happy he made you, and how much you cared for his safety too. You wanted to tell him that you would be more than willing to repeat tonight’s events, that you would eagerly accept and reciprocate his touch outside of this room.

But tomorrow was uncertain. There was no telling when, or even if, you’d make it back to the States. And if you did make it back, what did that mean for him?

“Dmitri,” you kept your voice quiet, not wanting to disturb the peace that had fallen over the dark room. “If it turns out that there is a way for us to get back to our country…”

You didn’t know how to finish the question. You didn’t know how to ask without making it sound like a request. You also didn’t know if you could handle an answer that involved you parting ways.

“Then we will go to your country,” he muttered the words sleepily into the top of your head, sending a chill down your scalp.

“You would leave your home?”

“Hm? My home?” his sleepy voice was laced with confusion. “I was living at a prison as a guard for years. Not the coziest home, eh?”

You hummed in understanding, deciding to leave it alone and let him sleep. He seemed to pick up on your unease, though, and you suddenly felt a tickle against your temple as he nuzzled his face into your hair.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he soothed a hand up and down your arm, squeezing your shoulder and pulling you impossibly closer to him. “You are home.”

You felt yourself sink into him, warmth spilling from your chest and all the way out, your toes and fingertips tingling with it.

Everything you wanted to say would be said eventually. If not, you were pretty sure Dmitri already knew.

///

Да/Da → Yes

Куколка → Literally means “little baby doll” or “dolly,” but it’s equivalent to “baby” or “sweetheart” in English

Малышкa → Baby

Блядь → Fuck

О Боже мой → Oh my God

“Вот так, малышка. Ты звучишь потрясающе. Такая маленькая шлюшка для меня.” → “That’s it, baby. You sound amazing. Such a little slut for me.”

#dmitri antonov #dmitri antonov x reader #enzo x reader

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lantur · 4 months

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random notes,

I have been going all in on self-improvement/enrichment lately. It feels so good to have new goals to strive toward now that "write a novel" is complete. I have a 4-week streak on Dreaming Spanish videos and Duolingo, and I'm so happy that my comprehension of beginner-level Spanish videos is getting better. I'm also making good progress on my travel journal/scrapbooking project, and I'm back to reading social work textbooks.

The combination of homemade tea lattes and before-work workouts is still doing wonders for my mood. My running has gotten SO much better (free of pain and soreness!) since I started lower body strengthening in August. I wish I had known sooner that all my aches and pains were caused by weakness.

I had a fun weekend. My friend Steve came over for dinner on Friday, and I haven't seen him in months. Derek and I had a big extended family pre-Christmas party on Saturday, and we got to hang out with our favorite cousins. On Sunday night, a couple of my friends and I got Chinese takeout and spend the rest of the night sitting and chatting around the dinner table, and it was so cozy. :) Other highlights include a Sunday afternoon nap, a Saturday morning swim and sauna session, and plenty of cuddles with Westin.

Food/cooking thoughts: I roasted chicken legs earlier this month. I saved the sauce left over in the pan - a mix of the fat from the chicken drumsticks and the soy sauce + hot honey + garlic and ginger marinade. That combination of the chicken fat and gingery marinade has been AMAZING to flavor up my sautéed kale. I saved the bacon fat from the zuppa toscana I made on Friday night, and I'm excited to use that on my vegetables next.

It's not snowing here and it hasn't been too cold, compared to what it's usually like in winter. So far, I've dodged the seasonal depression bullet, for the first time in several years. :) This is also my first winter on the correct dose of antidepressants, and I know that must be helping a lot.

#lanturing

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kjack89 · 2 years

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Make Yourself Comfortable

For @themiserablesmonth Day 18: Comfy.

Developing E/R, modern AU, all the fluff.

Read on AO3.

“So, uh, this is it,” Enjolras said, hovering somewhat awkwardly as Grantaire set his duffel bag down on the floor.

Grantaire looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I have been to your place before,” he said mildly.

Enjolras scowled. “I know that,” he said. “I just meant, y’know…” He waved a dismissive hand. “Make yourself comfortable. Mi casa es tu casa.”

“Glad to see the Duolingo lessons are paying off,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras’s scowl deepened.

“Seeing as how I’m letting you stay here for the foreseeable future—”

“What, I’m supposed to not make fun of you for the next week or two?” Grantaire asked, sitting down on the couch. “That’s a little unrealistic, don’t you think?”

Enjolras sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But how about you not make me regret letting you stay with me until your landlord finishes fixing the ceiling of your apartment?”

Grantaire pretended to consider it for a moment. “Fine,” he conceded. “But only because you helped me out with that tenant bill of rights stuff.”

“And not because I’m letting you sleep on my couch so that you’re not temporarily homeless?” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire winked. “That remains to be seen.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Well, you know where everything is. I have to go meet Combeferre and Courfeyrac, so try not to break anything while I’m gone.”

“I can make no guarantees,” Grantaire called after him, grinning when Enjolras closed the front door behind himself with more force than was remotely necessary.

Then he stood up, his grin widening.

If only Enjolras had thought to ask him not to snoop while he was gone.

— — — — —

“Grantaire?” Enjolras called, evidently having returned a few hours later and not successfully finding Grantaire on first glance through his apartment.

“Yeah, I’m in here,” Grantaire called.

He was too busy sorting through Enjolras’s towels to hear him approach and so jumped a little when Enjolras asked, sounding torn between amusement and exasperation, “What are you doing in the linen closet?”

“Snooping, mostly,” Grantaire said without turning around, “though honestly your place may be the most boring of all time. No porn, no kinky sex toys, just enough anarchist paraphenalia that the cops would have a field day—”

He finally glanced over his shoulder at Enjolras and immediately lost the ability to speak, staring at him with wide eyes.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

“Uh…” Grantaire swallowed, hard, before managing to squeak in a pitch normally only heard by dogs, “Shirt?”

Enjolras glanced down at his bare chest and flushed, which was not remotely helpful to Grantaire’s current predicament, as he could clearly watch the flush spread down Enjolras’s neck and across his gorgeous, gleaming, carved by the gods chest. “Oh,” Enjolras said, sounding almost surprised, as if he hadn’t noticed that he was walking around like an Adonis among mortals. “Um, sorry about that. I just tend to run hot, so it’s more comfortable for me to just take my shirt off and I didn’t even think about it—”

“No, um, no need to apologize,” Grantaire hurried to tell him, his voice still about an octave higher than usual. “It’s your place after all, I’m just crashing here. You…” He made a slightly helpless gesture, trying very, very hard not to stare at the perfect V of Enjolras’s waist. “You do you.”

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked, his brow furrowing. “Because I can grab a tank top or something…”

Grantaire shook his head so hard he almost gave himself whiplash. “Not necessary,” he said firmly, like he was a normal human not all affected by the sight of his friend without a shirt on. “Not on my behalf.”

Enjolras didn’t look nearly as convinced. “Are you ok?” he asked, with just a hint of amusement. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

In a showing of superhuman strength, Grantaire managed to tear his eyes away long enough to grab the first thing he saw. “Um, yeah, the ghost of beach towels past,” he said, holding up the towel in question. “Is this a Michael Jordan beach towel released to promote Space Jam in the year of our Lord 1996?”

“I know this will shock you,” Enjolras said dryly, “but I have put exactly zero thought into the towels that I hold onto other than making sure they aren’t completely ratty and gross.”

“1996, Enjolras,” Grantaire repeated. “This towel is almost as old as you are.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and wandered back toward his bedroom, calling over his shoulder, “Make sure to clean up after yourself when you’re done snooping.” Grantaire watched him go, breathing a sigh of something like relief when his bedroom door closed.

He’d managed to cover, at least for now.

Though if Enjolras kept walking around without a shirt on, Grantaire wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to make it.

— — — — —

Evidently, Grantaire was made of stronger convictions than he gave himself credit for. Either that, or he’d died and gone to his personal hell which involved having to see Enjolras shirtless every single day.

It wasn’t that he minded the view, not by any stretch of the imagination.

It was more that Grantaire could only come up with so many excuses for why he was staring.

His only saving grace was that Enjolras seemed truly oblivious to what he looked like without a shirt on, though that probably shouldn’t have surprised Grantaire as much as it did, seeing that Enjolras also seemed to have no idea what he looked like when fully clothed.

“Just…ungodly hot,” he told Joly and Bossuet one night at the Musain, after they made the mistake of asking how things were going.

Enjolras, who happened to be passing by because Grantaire’s luck could truly rival Bossuet’s on occasion, paused. “What’s ungodly hot?”

“Your sauna of an apartment,” Grantaire said, a little too quickly.

“See, this is what I’m saying!” Enjolras said, shaking his head as he went to go rejoin Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Grantaire looked back at Joly and Bossuet, who were both trying, and failing, not to laugh. “I am so unbelievably fucked.”

“It’s only for a few more days,” Bossuet said bracingly.

“And besides, the temperature’s supposed to crash tomorrow,” Joly pointed out. “So he’ll probably need to put a shirt on regardless.”

But Enjolras, it seemed, was immune to the rapid fall in temperature from 65 degrees one day to 35 degrees the next. Grantaire, however, was not so lucky. He’d only grabbed basics from his apartment when he packed for Enjolras’s, and as such had not packed anything to wear to bed besides a couple old tshirts and some boxers.

As such, when the wind howled outside the window like it was mid-January instead of mid-October, he curled up under the thing blanket Enjolras had given him and shivered violently, his teeth chattering.

When his attempts to will himself to sleep proved fruitless, he stood, still cocooned in the blanket, and hobbled his way to Enjolras’s bedroom, extricating his arm only far enough to knock on the door. “Come in,” Enjolras called, and Grantaire poked his head into the room.

“Are you decent?” he asked, which at this point, after seeing Enjolras half-undressed for the better part of the week, meant very little.

As it was, Enjolras was sitting in his bed, his laptop in his lap, still without any shirt and seemingly any care that the thermostat put the apartment at a frigid 60 degrees. “Depends on your definition of decent,” he said, his easy smile fading when he saw Grantaire. “I’ll take it you’re cold?”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “Yeah, I wanted to see if you had an extra blanket.”

“How about I do you one better,” Enjolras said, setting his laptop down.

“Turning the heat on?” Grantaire asked hopefully.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “In October?” he scoffed. “No.” Instead, he scooted over to one side of the bed, patting the vacated space next to him. “Come sit down next to me for a while. You’ll be toasty in no time, no heat needed.”

Grantaire hesitated. As respectful as he’d tried to be over the past week, he wasn’t sure proximity to Enjolras’s bare chest was going to keep his streak going for very long. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive,” Enjolras said firmly.

Grantaire hesitated only a moment more before all but collapsing onto Enjolras’s bed. His attempt at keeping a slight distance between them failed instantly when Enjolras huffed a sigh and said, “Come closer, I’m not going to bite.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?” Grantaire murmured out of habit alone, shifting closer to Enjolras until their shoulders were just touching. Almost immediately he could feel a difference in temperature, and to his acute mortification, he let out a quiet moan that sounded far too pornographic for the moment. “Oh my God, you’re like a space heater.”

Enjolras just laughed. “So I’ve been told,” he said, picking his laptop up again. “Courfeyrac used to come home from class and stick his toes under my thigh to warm them up. Thank God I don’t have a foot fetish, right?”

Grantaire managed a weak laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Thank God.”

They fell into a comfortable silence and Grantaire burrowed closer to Enjolras, closing his eyes in relief as he felt the warmth emanating from Enjolras slowly sink down to his bones. After a few minutes, he was able to actually push the blanket down, and he glanced over at Enjolras, who was absorbed in something on his computer. “Thanks,” he said, a little awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it,” Enjolras murmured, not looking up, and Grantaire lay back against the pillow.

Not even a minute later, he stifled a yawn, his eyelids beginning to droop dangerously. “I should go back to the couch,” he said, more to himself than Enjolras. “Or else I might very well pass out here.”

“You can, you know,” Enjolras said casually, still glued to his computer screen, and when Grantaire just frowned at him, he finally looked up. “Sleep here, I mean. I don’t mind.”

Grantaire had a million excuses lined up for why that was a terrible idea, but instead, the only word that popped out of his mouth were, “Ok.”

“Ok,” Enjolras echoed, giving him a small smile. “As long as my computer light won’t bother you. I’m going to be up for awhile yet.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Grantaire said through another yawn. “I can sleep through anything, and besides, your bed is really comfy.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, and it was the last sound Grantaire heard before he fell asleep.

— — — — —

“You know,” a slightly familiar voice said, and Grantaire cracked one eye open as he woke up, his surroundings as unfamiliar as the warm, comforting weight pressed against him, “when Enjolras said ‘make yourself comfortable’, I don’t think this is what he meant.”

“Courfeyrac, shut up,” Combeferre sighed, and Grantaire lifted his head to blink blearily at the pair of them, standing in Enjolras’s bedroom doorway wearing identical grins.

Next to him, and, to his horror, half-beneath him, Enjolras groaned, reaching out a hand automatically as if to smack an alarm clock into submission. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, tightening his grip around Grantaire’s waist as he tried to pull him back down.

Courfeyrac let out what might charitably be considered a cackle, and the noise was enough to have Enjolras finally open his eyes. He looked tiredly from Combeferre and Courfeyrac to Grantaire, who was pretty certain he still had a somewhat horrified expression on his face. “Did we say we were meeting here today, or did you two just break into my apartment on a whim?” Enjolras asked, carefully extricating himself from under Grantaire and sitting up, jerking a hand through his blond curls that somehow had not turned into a frizzy mass overnight.

“More the former than the latter,” Combeferre said, his lips twitching. “We’ll, uh, we’ll be in the kitchen.”

He grabbed Courfeyrac’s arm and all but dragged him down the hall. Grantaire drew his knees up to his chest. “So, uh, sorry—” he started, but Enjolras waved a hand while yawning.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“No, I mean, I’m pretty sure I accidentally drooled on your chest, so.”

Grantaire’s attempt at a joke fell painfully flat, but Enjolras still managed a light laugh. “I’m sure I’ll somehow recover,” he said, giving him a somewhat tired version of his usual grin. “Besides, all things considered, it was actually…kind of nice.”

“Nice?” Grantaire repeated blankly. “I assume you’re not referring to my drool.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “No,” he said. “I meant, y’know.” He shrugged. “It was nice. Comfy.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, with a small smile. “It really was.”

For a moment, it looked like Enjolras was going to say something more, but then he shook his head and cleared his throat. “Well, I should, uh, go deal with them,” he said.

Grantaire nodded, his eyes already half-closed again. “Just hurry back before I miss you,” he murmured, and when Enjolras didn’t say anything, snapped both his eyes open to add, “I mean, before I miss your warmth.”

Enjolras laughed. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised.

Grantaire closed his eyes as Enjolras got out of bed, and there really was a noticeable change in the temperature. He reached automatically for the blanket still pooled around his waist, but to his surprise, someone else got there first, and he lay very still as Enjolras pulled the blanket up and gently draped it over his shoulders. “Be right back,” he murmured, so quietly that Grantaire almost didn’t hear him over the hammering of his heart, and then he was gone.

For a very long moment, Grantaire lay perfectly still, almost as if afraid Enjolras might come back and the moment might be ruined.

Then, he allowed himself a small, blissful smile.

The smile was still in place when he finally fell back asleep.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #joly #bossuet #combeferre #courfeyrac #les miserables #fanfiction #modern au #developing relationship #fluff #bed sharing #shirtless Enjolras #y'know...the good stuff

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dahlya-honey · 1 year

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Update

I guess I should have made this post before adding things to my queue, but I have been going through my drafts and impulsively started queueing things.

But anyways, I haven't been active on here for a hot minute. To be honest I haven't been doing pretty much any language learning since Duolingo changed. I've finally decided to delete the app, which changes my goals.

As of right now, I am intending to start Pimsleur's Ukrainian lessons and looking into other resources. I dropped the ball and am going to have to work at it again, I want to be able to actually speak Ukrainian, not just collect vocab.

#langblr #langblog #language learning #personal #update post #ukrainian

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willows-studyblr · 1 year

Note

Hello! What made you interested in Vietnamese? Have you ever been to Vietnam? Would you like to live there for long-term if given the opportunity? ^^

Hey there!

I'm so sorry for the late reply. This ask's been sitting in my inbox forever. However, I was really excited about receiving it, thank you!

Yes, I have been to Vietnam but I got interested in the language for a more personal reason. I don't want to overshare, so long story short: I've lived with an elderly person who could only speak Vietnamese for a few months. Whenever we passed each other, we couldn't do more than smile at each other and use some simple gestures (which worked out well enough, but I was still sad that I couldn't actually talk to him).

After I'd left, I discovered the Vietnamese course on Duolingo and started learning. A year later, I stumbled across a Vietnamese course offered by a school in the city where I live. By then I had realized that I need an actual teacher, if I want to learn the language properly (especially in terms of pronunciation). And here we are now. I hope that when I see him again, I'll be able to make some small talk.

And the last question: Would I want to live in Vietnam long term? As beautiful as Vietnam is, I think my answer is no. As ridiculous as it may sound, the weather is just too hot for me. I prefer the cold. However, I wouldn't rule it out entirely and who knows what the future holds. I'd prefer to be (somewhat) fluent in Vietnamese though, before I'd consider a long term stay.

I hope this answers your questions and thanks again for this ask!

#ask

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oneuldo · 2 years

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Life Lately — Entry # 01

09월 14일 2022년

Another month is about to end. My life hasn’t really been that exciting since I spend most of my days at home doing the same routine. I dread about waking up every day dealing with the same boring stuff but I do try to make the most out of these free time I have.

I finally forced started learning Korean on my own. I downloaded Talk to Me in Korean (Books 1-10) and other reading materials for beginners. I find it hard to focus on most days and I beat myself up to it. I still get confused between 오, 우, 어. I discovered an app that helps with the pronunciation and works as a dictionary and a reviewer for TOPIK too! If you’re self-studying the Korean language, try the Naver Dictionary from Naver Corp. It’s easy to use and the pronunciation were pretty decent unlike Duolingo’s. It has audio clips, Korean lessons with K-drama, word of the day, TOPIK Vocab, a few of its features. You can also save or bookmark words so you can review it again. The app is kinda hard to navigate though, so I hope they do something about the interface.

I finished a lot of K-Dramas and Films. I’m planning to review some and post it here. My watchlist keeps growing and I don’t have the mental capacity to watch everything all at once. So I’m slowly watching the old ones first when I don’t find the new dramas worth watching- yet. Here are the dramas I was able to finish and due for a review:

Taxi Driver - the one with Lee Je-Hoon. I stopped watching this (probably around ep 12 or 13 when it got boring) and decided to pick it up again because it’d be a waste to discontinue a drama of Lee Je-Hoon.

Extraordinary Attorney Woo Young Woo - will definitely post a review about this. I loved this. Made my heart soft.

Cafe Minamdang - I think this is my first Seo In-Guk drama that I finished and actually liked. I tried watching The Master’s Sun but decided to put it off when the story was going nowhere. Also up for a review. I loved this.

Dali & Gamjatang - see my review here.

Legend of the Blue Sea - I enjoyed this one too! Finally crossed it off of my list.

Hometown Cha Cha Cha - I believe this drama was all the rave when it aired. I had to cool down the hype for a bit to truly enjoy this. Which I did! Cried like a baby.

Metamorphosis - see my review here.

What I loved about August was spending most of the days at ease even though I was stuck in a loop of routines. The weather was not too hot and I enjoyed the occasional rain. I also spend more time on Tumblr than most of my social accounts. It’s surprising that a lot of people still use it and I found a few interesting blogs for inspiration too. I also deactivated my personal Instagram (I’ll be back but I don’t know when!). I made two side accounts though and I don’t know for what (I guess one is for following all the Hallyu stars while the other one’s for a possible dump account).

I was able to get out of the house for a day and I spent it accompanying my brother to get his nbi. Unfortunately government offices was closed due to a storm (even though it wasn’t raining that day) so we went to Dear Joe at Crosswinds, Tagaytay for a coffee fix before heading home. I ordered their truffle grilled cheese sandwich and iced hazelnut latte while Jan ordered hot white mocha latte. The sandwich was so good I still think about it from time to time. The coffee tastes okay too but nothing extraordinary about it.

August was a good run. We’re half way through September, too. Next thing we know, it’s Christmas. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since that “unfortunate phase” happened to me. It’s a memory I wish to bury. When I think about it, I kept looking for answers as to why I did those things and why was I so delusional for nothing. It was a really bad phase in my life. Glad I was able to overcome and learn from it.I still pray for better days.

#09142022 #Life Lately

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tokiloki · 3 years

Text

@inky-page Tumblr ate your ask I'm sorry but here you go. ❤️

💮 TR BOYS WITH A GIRLFRIEND WHO SPEAKS 4 LANGUAGES

🌸Characters : Rindou Haitani, Baji and Sanzu Haruchiyo.

🏵️Warnings/note : Fem reader/Second point of view (you, your) /Slight cursing. /Brief mention of drugs in Sanzu's part/ fluff/ slight crack/generally astonished boyfriends./ An au where all the manga pain doesn't exist/Canon divergence.

HARUCHIYO SANZU/ AKASHI::

-Your boyfriend was shocked when he found out. And honestly, he didn't find out in the best of ways.

- He was just lounging on the sofa while you took a shower, lazily flicking from channel to channel while waiting for you to come out.Thats when he heard what was one of the most terrible noises in his life, coming from the shower.

- He ran in panic as he heard you screech an impressive number of curses, some he didn't recognise as his language. He barged into the bathroom calling out your name, only to see you struggling with the shampoo stuck in your eyes. Screaming at everyone and everything.

"Y/N ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

"HARU? DO I LOOK ALRIGHT?"

-He stood there for a hot minute, shocked at the number of different notes that flew from your mouth.

- Ignoring the situation, he simply leaned on the doorframe and asked about how many languages you spoke.

-You were going to kill him, no seriously because the shampoo in your eyes was doing wonders to your raging temper, only adding to the fuel.

"OOOH how interesting! How many languages do you speak Y/N darling? Do you attend classes or something?"

"HARUCHIYO SANZU, DOES THIS LOOK LIKE THE RIGHT TIME? IS IT THE RIGHT TIME HARUCHIYO?"

"You're right, you're right, stop staring at me like that calm down."

-Since that day onward, he asked you the most random questions to date.

"Y/N sweetheart, what do you call cocaine in (language)?"

"Babe I swear I never researched drug or gun names in my language courses, let me sleep it's 2 am."

------

"Y/N did the duolingo owl ever terrorise you into studying? Is that why you studied so many languages?"

"Haru shut the hell up before I go to sleep on the couch"

"You wouldn't"

"Keep talking and we'll see"

RINDOU HAITANI ::

-Honestly, you’re the one who told Rindou about your unique specialty , you admittedly actually hoped for some kind of astonishment, or amazement from your stoic boyfriend.

-Instead all you got from him was a cool shrug and a question of what languages you spoke, after that he just went back to scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

-You knew Rindou wasn’t one for words, but still, it would’ve been nice if he showed a little enthusiasm -its not everyday someone speaking 4 languages appears. The thought crossed your mind before you could stop it.

Did he even care?

-It must’ve shown on your face because Rindou sighed, dropping his phone to the side and pulling you closer to his body, mumbling apologetic words, you squirmed, insisting you knew and that it didn’t hurt.

“Y/N I promise I care, you know how I am”

“Rin! No it’s alright, I know, don’t worry!”

-Your reaction didn’t satisfy him, even though you thought it did. In fact, you almost forgot the entirety of the tense incident, until a number of weeks later when it made it’s way back into your conversations.

-You two had been sitting on the couch, your head rested above his chest with his arm around your waist as you watched a boring movie. You were slowly slipping off into small bouts of sleep, eyes tired and head drowsy when you heard a quiet voice mumble.

“Y/N?

“What’s wrong Rin”

*in foreign language* “I love you Y/N, you know that right?”

“I love you too Rin-”

-Your eyes flew open in shock, tilting your head up to meet his dimmed violet eyes staring at you. He rarely ever commented on his love for you, but that wasn’t what shocked you, this time, he had commented in one of the languages you had thought he wouldn’t even recall.

“Hold on”

-You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, peering up at him again, his face was dusted with a light blush, one you could barely see in the dark room. He averted his gaze away, blush darkening as you stared up at him in shock. Finally you spoke.

“Since when...did you even learn...that?”

“A while ago dumbass”

“A while ago?”

“From when...from when you told me you could speak a bunch of languages, I just thought to take one up.”

-Rindou wouldn’t say anything else regarding it after that, resorting to intense focus on the movie onscreen, he wouldn’t tell you but the look of hurt that had flashed on your face when you told him had him sinking in guilt.

-He recalled the deep anxiety he found himself sinking into, thinking that you thought the worst of him. He wanted to show you that the 'I love you's' he murmured were truly heartfelt.

-Ran said he was being over dramatic, but Rindou had honestly found no other way to prove to himself and you that he cared for everything you did and said. The warmth that bloomed through his chest at your excited smile was worth every minute he had spent trying to learn a language to connect to you.

That night, Rindou was free of his worries, which had all been soothed by your smile.

BAJI KEISUKE ::

-Listen, he is proud of you. He thinks that you're deservedly the smart one in the relationship, maybe the one smart person he will sit and listen to all day.

-When he heard from a friend of yours that you spoke four languages he was genuinely amazed, exclaming to you later on just how amazing and impressive that was.

-You even slowly began to realise that he was picking up on common phrases you used, his eyes would gleam over with pride whenever you said a single word, instantly bookmarking it for another day.

-To someone else it might have seemed like Baji was the multilingual one, but no he was just hyping you up every minute he could.

-It actually ended up being helpful as you helped him with language studies, he thought your methods were better than the teachers anyways.

-Baji was always motivated to do better by you and his desire to keep his mother happy, so motivated he found himself studying voluntarily, shocking the Toman members so badly to the point that you actually received a frantic call from Mikey asking if you had drugged Baji.

-You regularly answered multiple random questions from him, most of them were things like 'alright how do you say you're beautiful?' only to repeat your words with a cheerful grin, making you laugh at his cheesy techniques.

-Baji, despite all his wholesome actions, was also the first person to ask you for every possible curse in every language you spoke, grinning enthusiastically as you nervously recited words you wished you didn't know.

-Actually Baji even learnt curses you didn't know existed, saying that he was "merely deepening his knowledge"

-But all in all, Baji loves you and all your 'random mumbo jumbo' as he calls it. He's never been so proud to love a girl before, and he apologises for all the random questions he cursed you with.

---------------------

A/N : im sorry for how long this turned out. I got to Rindou and kinda got carried away, anyways first fic I hope you liked it! Reblogs and likes much appreciated 💖

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link4eva · 2 years

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Kiro’s Passionate Date Translation [CN]

Hi! Just a couple of things before you begin reading:

This date was translated with the help of Duolingo and Google Translate.

This translations contains spoilers for future content that has not yet been released to the ENG server. If you wish to not be spoiled, please don’t look below the cut.

Enjoy~

*Spoilers for future content below!*

[First Part]

The hot pot gurgled and bubbled and the steam hits the tip of the nose, isolating from the cold outdoor temperature.

In the misty vision, Kiro stared at the hourglass on the table, his tight lips revealed his anxiety.

Kiro: It’s ready soon in 3, 2, 1!

The last grain of sand fell and he lifted the lid of the pot gently, revealing the golden flower maw chicken soup.

MC: Wow, so fresh –

Kiro nodded in agreement and picked up the spoon on the table. The round lenses on the bridge of his nose were immediately covered with a layer of steam, just like the old naughty doctor in a cartoon.

I couldn’t help but crinkle my eyes into a smile, look around and lower my voice.

MC: There aren’t many people around, so you can take off your glasses.

Kiro: Okay, then you can help me.

He said, leaning his face over obediently. After I took his glasses off, he put the bowl of soup in front of me.

Kiro: For delicious things, the first bite should be reserved for your favourite person~

MC: You’re right! So we have to drink together.

As I said this, I took the soup spoon and poured it into a big bowl, and carefully handed it to Kiro.

Kiro: MC, let’s use soup instead of beer, and wish our creative hot pot check-in trip goes smoothly!

MC: Cheers!

The mouth of the bowl collided lightly, like a prelude to a winter day.

The decision to check-in for our creative hot pot began with the sudden cold air this morning.

(Flashback)

Before going out for dinner, Kiro and I opened the balcony door and felt the sudden drop in temperature.

When the cold wind passed by, we said three words in unison.

Kiro: Eat hot pot.

MC: Eat hot pot.

MC: But according to the weather forecast, the temperature in the next few weeks will be very low.

Kiro: Then… let’s eat hot pot every day! We can arrange a creative hot pot check-in and taste all the different flavours of hot pot every day. What do you think?

Kiro’s eyelashes fluttered and the look of anticipation on his face made me stretch out my hand and rub his bulging cheek.

MC: Let’s start today!

[Second Part]

After several days of continuous cooling, the first snow finally ushered in.

I took out the small blackboard and wrote down the hot pot restaurants we have checked in at the past few days, preparing for the scoring rundown.

As soon as I finished writing the last shop, I heard the sound of water in the bathroom stop and the sound of clothes rustling.

I turned my head and saw Kiro wiping his hair, water droplets dripping down his exposed upper body. I was slightly shaking. *The character for “god” (神) was in here but idk how it was used in this part*

Sensing my gaze, he tossed his hair and winked at me triumphantly.

Kiro: Look, Miss Chips, although we’ve eaten a lot of hot pot in the past few days, I am serious about exercising and I still have abs!

He walked up to me, showed me the hand that usually grabs me, and gently placed it on his lower abdomen.

The firm and moist touch instantly spread over my fingertips. The skin under my palm was hot and I quickly retracted my hand while blushing.

MC: You don’t want to catch a cold, put on your clothes quickly. I’m waiting for your rating.

He smiled and rubbed my head, took the T-shirt from the sofa and put it on himself.

Kiro: The judge Kiro is ready and the judge MC can start.

I cleared my throat in cooperation and pointed to a restaurant that we ate at yesterday.

MC: I reckon this to be the number one. After all, we drank the soup until we reached the bottom of the pot.

Kiro stretched out a finger and shook it with a serious face.

Kiro: Do you remember why we ate so neatly?

(Flashback)

Kiro: Octopus game?

Waiter: Yes, this plate of sausages can only be taken away if these octopus legs are accurately placed back to their original positions within a minute.

Kiro: So this is just a game for sausages. We want to order rice cakes, do we have to play other games?

Waiter: Yes, today is our team pot activity day. If you don’t want to play games, you can order beef pot.

Waiter: So do you need to change the soup base?

The waiter’s polite smile made my desire for victory and defeat pique little by little. I just wanted to say no when there was a firm response from around me.

Kiro: Don’t change!

Kiro pushed the black-framed glasses on his nose, his eyes were burning with flames.

Kiro: MC, are you confident?

MC: Yes!!

As a result, we both fought and failed repeatedly. Finally, we had this hard-won “lunch” with our hungry stomachs at night

(Flashback ends)

MC: Haha, I think it’s because I’m too hungry, it has nothing to do with the taste itself…

My eyes traversed the blackboard again and the dazzling array of soup bases made it difficult for me to decide for a while.

Kiro: Or, let’s change our mindset and start from the least favourite store. For example, this shouxi pot… seems ordinary?

I squinted and poked his arm.

MC: Do you remember why the experience was so ordinary?

(Flashback)

A lively Japanese food shop with traditional singing and dancing performances in the hall. Kiro and I are sitting in a remote corner, hoping that the pot will boil soon.

Kiro: Let’s stir up the raw eggs first.

This Japanese food shop is very popular. Kiro specially glued two clusters of fake beards in order to conceal himself. The beard moved when he talked, which looked very interesting.

The singing and dancing sounded from far to near. I don’t know when the performance came over and invited him to perform together in singing and dancing.

The offer was hard to pass up and Kiro was surrounded on stage. Before he left, he pouted and motioned for me to help him mix the raw eggs.

Unexpectedly, someone called out his name in exclamation, and a group of diners swarmed around Kiro to take pictures.

So the end of the meal ended with Kiro running away with me as soon as I stirred the eggs.

(Flashback ends)

MC: Wouldn’t it be wrong if you give this spot last place?

Kiro smiled embarrassedly, who was sitting on the floor, tugged me into his arms and rubbed my neck.

Kiro: Shall we score again tomorrow?

Kiro: Isn’t it the last spicy hot pot restaurant left to check in? After eating, we will score together.

I nodded and opened the guide in the memo on my phone.

MC: It is said that the service is great, not only do you need to make a reservation in advance, but there are only five tables every night.

Kiro: In that case, we must overcome all difficulties tomorrow, and we will head to this store!

[Third Part]

The bumpy gravel road reflected a light halo, and it only stayed for a moment before being trampled by footsteps.

Kiro: Are there really hot pot restaurants around here?

I glanced at the navigation, it was a few hundred metres, but it was a calculated route.

MC: Is this… right? The navigation display is telling us to go this way.

Kiro: Well, Miss Chips will continue to be responsible for following the navigation, and I will follow you.

MC: Then follow me, my Mr. Lost~ Ah, it’s time to turn right! *So “Lost” here is “路痴 (luchi)” which translates to “person with a poor sense of direction” lol*

He smiled and turned around, curly blond hair rippling in the air.

Kiro: Yes!

In the end, we went around 18 turns and went down a flight of stairs. *Changed some wording*

The lights lit up the windows and steaming white mist emerged from it like cooking smoke. I couldn’t wait to open the door, the bright scene came into my vision bit by bit.

The antique decoration is very different from the exterior. The screen divides the store into several areas, which guarantees privacy under elegance.

A handsome man greeted us with a polite smile.

Boss: Dear guests, welcome.

Kiro: Kiro’s homemade secret sauce is here~ *The way he said this was so cute*

Kiro exclaimed and walked towards me steadily holding four bowls of sauce.

After checking in a series of hot pot restaurants, I gave him a high degree of recognition for his seasoning skills, which made him extremely motivated.

So he checked the option “No need to actively serve us” on the menu, and ran to the condiment station happily.

I handed him the coke that I had opened in my hand, took the condiments, and sniffed it a few times in front of the tip of my nose.

MC: Kiro Brand Secret Sauce is simply delicious, and you will never get tired of it!

Kiro: I want to adjust the hot pot ingredients for you for a lifetime, and of course I will never tire of eating!

His warm breath touched the tip of my nose and inadvertently stirred my mind.

The steamy heat hazed his appearance and I can only see him constantly putting in new food, measuring and picking it out to put into my bowl.

I smiled secretly, picked up the croquettes he was thinking of, and put them into his mouth.

MC: Ah– open wide.

He glanced at me quickly, his head and mouth tilted towards me at a slight angle.

Kiro: Ah–

I carefully put the balls into his mouth, his eyes lit up the moment he bit them, and he chewed with satisfaction. The hand that served the food never stopped.

His other hand seemed to be looking for something on the table until he touched the bamboo stick of the croquettes. He immediately picked it up and shook it towards me.

Kiro: MC, ah–

I leaned closer to him cooperatively and opened my mouth wide.

Kiro: Oops, the wrong grid was placed!

Kiro suddenly straightened up as he said this, earnestly looking for the dish under the wrong grid, and instinctively raised his other hand. The other bunch of balls swayed back and forth with his movements.

MC: Hold on…

I swayed with him subconsciously, found the right timing, and opened my mouth immediately after hovering for half a second, biting the balls.

As if feeling a strong force, Kiro looked at me in a daze.

With eyes facing each other, the air became a bit solidified, and the hot steam kept rising towards us.

In his azure blue eyes, I seemed to be able to see my astonished expression.

I ignored my hot cheeks, turned my head, and chewed the balls.

MC: Hurry… hurry, my hairy belly is getting overcooked!

Kiro quickly fished out the hairy belly and put it firmly into my bowl, put down his chopsticks, and held the meatball skewer to my mouth again.

Kiro: Sure enough, it shouldn’t be used in two ways.

Kiro: I must now let you finish eating this meatball wholeheartedly and then continue with the rest of the things in the pot.

MC: Pff–

Seeing his serious face, I couldn’t help but laugh while obeying.

The light reflected in his eyes brightly, I lowered my eyes and saw that the food in my bowl seemed to be a bit too much for me to finish.

I curled the corners of my lips, it seemed that there was also a gurgling sound in my heart.

[Fourth Part]

Soon, the cooking came to an end. Kiro was about to get up and go get more condiments as the boss came in with the ingredients.

He looked at the remaining sauce in our bowl and took a sharp breath.

Boss: Oh, why don’t you try this authentic oil dish. If you don’t know how to adjust, please let me teach you~

He led us to the condiment area, then walked to Kiro’s side, seeming to want to demonstrate hand in hand.

Kiro: Thank you, I’ll do it myself~

The boss didn’t insist anymore and looked at me with a smile.

Boss: Do you need me to prepare an authentic oil dish for you?

MC: Ah… that’s troublesome!

The boss naturally walked between me and Kiro, picked up an empty disc, and introduced it to me with enthusiasm.

Boss: Beauty, please look. Our shop uses mill sesame oil, which is made by stone milling at low temperature and low pressure.

Boss: The first step, let’s take a spoonful of garlic mash…

Out of the corner of my eye, I found that Kiro picked up a disc and was silently adding the same seasoning.

He pressed the corners of his lips lightly, looking serious as if what he was holding was more than just a bowl of seasoning.

When we returned to our seats, Kiro put the plate in his hand in front of me and put the sauce prepared by the boss in front of him.

Kiro: MC, try mine. On the basis of the boss, I added something unique to Kiro, which is definitely different from him. *Someone’s jealous lol*

The halo under then lantern dangled across his face, adding a hint of inexplicable emotion to him.

I thoughtfully took a piece of meat, dipped it in the oil dish he prepared and put it into my mouth.

At the same time, he moved closer to me and his fingertips gripped the edge of the table, seeming to be waiting for my answer.

I seemed to understand something suddenly and I pressed the corners of my lips that I was about to raise. I wanted to tease him.

MC: There is also a little bit of spiciness in the scent, which is very good.

MC: But since there is a fair comparison, I want to try the boss’ one.

I picked up another piece of meat, dipped it, and put it in my mouth.

In my peripheral, I saw Kiro holding his breath as if he was waiting for the final “announcement”.

MC: Ahem, I declare that Kiro’s bowl is slightly better.

His brows frowned immediately.

Kiro: How could it only be one thing better, I am not convinced.

I was snickering in my heart. As I was reaching out my hand to pick up the fish tofu and preparing to put it into my mouth, it was suddenly clamped by another pair of chopsticks.

I raised my head to find that my body was completely surrounded by his arms.

The heat of the food slowly crawled along his fingertips, blurring his expression.

Thinking that he was deliberately teasing me because he was “unconvinced”, I pretended to glare at him.

MC: Kiro! There’s so much other food in the pot!

Kiro’s eyes widened as if he had been wronged and he rubbed his head vigorously.

Kiro: Glutton, this is the fish tofu I just put in, it’s not cooked yet—

I subconsciously clamped the fish tofu in the chopsticks, it seemed to be a bit tough…

After a couple of chuckles, I picked up another shrimp slip again and looked at him tentatively.

MC: What about this one?

Kiro: This is cooked, but it’s not the best one for you. The taste you like should probably be cooked for 10 more seconds.

MC: Your grasp of the ingredients is too accurate…

Kiro: Is it hard?

Kiro tilted his head and pointed thoughtfully at the pot.

Kiro: Potatoes are tasty, so you have to cook them for another minute or two.

Kiro: For pangasius, ah… it just happens to be your favourite taste right now.

He picked up the pangasius naturally and put it into my bowl.

Kiro: Based on all the previous hot pot places we’ve been to, I have done a lot of homework. I remember what flavour and texture you like.

I don’t know when, but the person in front of me has already remembered all of my preferences clearly.

I lowered my eyes and picked up a piece of potato again, letting the red oil on it slip into the bottom of the pot.

Kiro: Wait, I just said that the potatoes you like have to be boiled for a while!

I gently blew on the hot potato chunk and put it towards Kiro’s mouth.

MC: I know, but this is the taste you like.

Kiro’s eyes opened slightly and more fine light poured into them. He opened his mouth slightly and took a slow bite.

Kiro: [cute little chuckle] Really tasty.

When I came back from the bathroom, I found that Kiro wasn’t at the table, but at the condiment area not far away—

His expression was very serious as he quivered them spoon precisely to let the millet pepper fall in just the right amount.

It seems that he promised to make hot pot ingredients for me for a lifetime. It should be no joke at all.

That’s what he thinks, so he has to do his best, even if it’s just a small bit of hot pot seasoning.

Kiro: Miss Chips, I have re-studied the classic oil fish this time and it must be better than the one just now.

The voice of excitement fell in my ears. As I came back, I noticed that he had put the spices in front of me.

I picked up a piece of meat and tasted it. It was delicious. It’s just that my mind surging slightly involuntarily made me shake my head.

Kiro was startled when he saw my actions.

Kiro: Isn’t it tasty? This is the most authentic oil dish…

MC: Maybe the bottom of the pot is better with a saucer, but I still prefer Kiro’s homemade secret sauce.

I paused and threw out the words in my heart.

MC: Who says we may follow the best match, I think we have to choose the way we like best.

MC: If you have to ask me why I like it… I like it because I like it, it doesn’t make sense.

With that said, I took Kiro and walked towards the condiment area, picked up two empty plates and solemnly placed them in his hands.

MC: I want to eat Kiro brand homemade secret sauce!

The refreshing wind came in through the window lattice and gently raised his blond hair. It was as if dancing in response to his inner joy.

He smiled and fixed up his signature sauce. At this time, the boss passed by again and couldn’t help showing a surprised look.

Boss: Handsome fellow and beauty, I told you just now, oil dishes are more delicious!

Kiro and I looked at each other and smiled.

MC: Thank you for your special recommendation, but we still prefer the homemade one~

Kiro put the sauce prepared in his hand under my nose, a bit of pride hidden in his bright smile.

Kiro: Because I like it, I don’t have to be reasonable.

He listened to what I just said, the dense bubble in my heart burst. *Changed some wording*

The word “like” is perhaps the most unexplainable mood in the world.

End

#mlqc #mlqc spoilers #mr love kiro #mlqc kiro #mr love queen's choice #mldd #mldd kiro #mr love dream date #周棋洛 #date translation #mr love #mr love game

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bunnyywritings · 4 years

Note

Hii! May I ask hcs with shinsou todoroki bakugou and kaminari with a korean s/o and she is able to speak lots of languages, please? I know korean, english, japanese and portuguese, for example! Thank you so much

reaction to fem!s/o who is multilingual

[a/n: I-oh my goodness that’s so impressive!! Thank you for the request anon! sorry for the wait 😣here you go! -yours truly, bunnyy ps. bro the only other language I speak is spanish...being multilingual seems awesome}

hitoshi shinso

☆ He would definitely ask you to “teach” him a few phrases but has absolutely no intention of actually learning

☆ like he just wants to hear you speak as much of any language you can

☆ because of his quirk, I think he has like a thing for someone with a nice voice so he just loves to hear you talk

☆ he’d bother you to help him with his english homework A LOT, especially if you’re fluent because you have such a high grade in that class

☆ I think I take that first statement back, he’d definitely want to learn any phrases you want to teach him to help strengthen his quirk

☆ he’d learn a few cheesy phrases just to surprise you with them and catch you off guard

☆ he’d be a sucker for your native tongue though

☆ he loves hearing you talk to a relative on the phone because he gets to hear how your voice naturally gets a little deeper, the way the syllables drip off of your tongue like honey and the little sound effects that come with it

☆ there was a time when the two of you were on a date and a foreigner came up to you with hopeful eyes and asked if you had spoken any english, his eyes filled with pride as he watched you effortlessly give them directions or help them translate something

☆ as you waved at them and wished them luck, you felt his gaze on you

“Toshi? What is it? Do I have something on my face?” you had slipped back into japanese so easily. You were confused when a small smile grew on his lips.

☆ “Nah, I just have the most talented girlfriend. That’s all.” His words made you blush profusely. “I really am proud of you, you know that?”

☆ “Of course I know Toshi.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, his instinctively wrapping around your waist and pulled you closer. “What’s gotten into you?”

☆ “Nothing, but I think there may be a problem.” You frowned at his words. “You’ve put me under your spell. I’m so in love with you.” Your eyes widened as he confessed his love in your native tongue. Dialect and pronunciation were perfect.

☆ “Well, you’re not the only one because I love you too.”

☆ the two of you shared a kiss then and there, even if he wasn’t a big fan of PDA

☆ he just had to kiss you or he might die

shoto todoroki

❆ transferring to UA and being a foreigner was weird

❆ everyone was drowning you in questions, asking about your quirk, why you moved, where you came from, it was just too much but you instantly noticed Todoroki

❆ not because he was quiet but while everyone (minus bakugou) was bombarding you with questions, he was unapologetically staring at you, his sharp bi-colored eyes sent shivers down your spine

❆ but instead of looking away, you stared back with the same intensity because he was strikingly handsome

❆ he thought the same about you, from the moment you walked into class and introduced yourself, he was entranced by your beauty

❆ he could tell that japanese was most definitely not your native language, he was impressed with how well you passed as a japanese native

❆ as time went on, he came to appreciate you as a person

❆ the way you held yourself to a certain standard without coming off as stuck up or your selfless nature when it came to your fellow classmates

❆ he remembers one time that he woke up at 2am to go get a glass of water when he saw you by the couch and he noticed the two slumped figures on both couches. Mina on one and Denki on the other

❆ you hadn’t noticed hid so he watched as you carefully lifted Mina’s head and slipped a pillow under it before making sure she was covered properly with a blanket, doing the same with Kaminari before muttering something to yourself in another language and going back to your room

❆ he frowned, what did you say and what language was it in? shrugging, he got his water and went back to sleep

❆ surprise surprise, it was you that confessed to him halfway through the year

❆ he was surprised but confessed his feelings as well before insisting on taking you on a proper date with full intention to max out his dad’s credit card

❆ one saturday, the two of you were in your room studying when you got a phone call. You apologized before going to answer and his eyes widened when he heard you speak, it wasn’t japanese

❆ he was enthralled by how it sounded spilling from your lips, the words were foreign to him but he couldn’t help but listen in

❆ “What was that?” he asked once you hung up, you explained that it was your mom and that was your native tongue, you then explained to him the different languages you could speak in

❆ I think he’d only ask you to help him learn english and maybe your native tongue

❆ “Why would you wanna learn that, Sho?” You asked as you were sat in his lap and brushed his bangs from his forehead

❆ “Well when I meet your parents, I would want to make a good first impression.”

❆ his words shocked you, he wasn’t really one to joke about things like that

❆ “You want to learn for when you meet my parents?”

❆ “Well of course I do but if you don’t want me to meet them, then that’s alright.”

❆ “You’re so sweet Sho, of course I’ll teach you.” You peppered his face with kisses, enjoying the way his cheeks slowly turned pink

❆ “I think you missed a spot, princess?”

❆ “Oh really, where?” He took you by surprise when he grabbed you chin softly between his fingers and tilted your head down.

❆ “Right here.” he planted a sweet kiss on your lips, smiling into the kiss as he felt the warmth of your hands on his cheeks

❆ your parents meet him and they love him

katsuki bakugou

☀ baby would be very confused when he hears you speak something other than japanese

☀ he heard you speak to All Might once in fluent english and he just stood there, eyes moving quickly between the two of you as he tried to keep up with what was going on

☀ he’d 100% get competitive and try to learn another language to 1-up you but it doesn’t work and he’d get all pouty

☀ “Why didn’t you ask me to teach you something? You know I wouldn’t mind.”

☀ he came up to you once and insulted you in portuguese, it was an accident though...he definitely learned that duolingo and google translate were definitely NOT good tools to learning a new language

☀ “Suki, why would you say that to me?” he frowned at the tears in your eyes

☀ ”Wait...what did I say?”

☀ “You basically told me that my face was uglier than a rats ass.” he panicked even more when the tears rolled down your cheeks. He cupped your face and kissed the tears away

☀ “I’m sorry, I was trying to say that you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve met.” You’re not really sure how he got that phrase but the guilt in his voice definitely told you that it wasn’t on purpose so you forgave him...on a condition

☀ “I’ll forgive you if you cuddle me for the rest of the day.” you had never seen this boy move so fast. He tackled you to the bed and wrapped you up on his arms

☀ during this cuddle time, he’d press kisses on whatever skin he could reach, murmuring an apology each time

☀ while you were in his arms, you taught him a phrase that he could easily say

☀ “You got it? Or do you need me to say it again?” You asked as you looked up at him, he had a scowl of concentration creasing his forehead

☀ “I think I’ve got it...” He muttered. There was a small silence before he took a deep breath

☀ “Y-You are sw-sweeter than h-honey...”

☀ “There you go!” You smiled proudly, it was such a corny phrase and not one he’d ever say in japanese too

☀ “So what did I just say?”

☀ “You said I was sweeter than honey? Is that true Suki? Am I sweeter than honey?”

☀ “Well babe, why don’t we find out?” He slyly brought you down for a kiss, lips dancing slowly and sensually against each other’s

☀ “Mmm you are sweeter than honey, so sweet it’s intoxicating.” His voice rumbled deeply against you as he brought you in for ‘another taste.’

☀ definitely would ask you to teach him all the curse words so he could curse people out without them being able to understand

☀ 1000/10 a good idea because hearing him curse in something other than japanese was hot

denki kaminari

ϟ you would definitely end up doing his english homework for his sometimes

ϟ when he heard you and Momo speak in korean denki.exe stopped working

ϟ he was completely obsessed with hearing you speak a foreign language

ϟ he’s a very proud boyfriend, he would brag about you to ANYONE who would listen and even if they didn’t want to...they did

ϟ he loves it when you call him pet names in your native language

ϟ he’d learn how to say silly things or lame jokes in your language when you’re having a bad day, the pronunciation was terrible but you still understood what he was trying to say and it would never fail to make you laugh

ϟ he admired you so much, the way you selflessly went out of your way to help someone or to translate something for a classmate during english class, it made his heart thump in his chest

ϟ he’d secretly enlist Momo to help him learn your native language

ϟ bless that girl for having the patience because it took MONTHS for him to be semi fluent

ϟ you noticed whrn you were talking to a family memeber on the phone, you had let him stay in the room because you thought he couldn’t understand you but when you said something about how you wish you could punch Mineta in the throat he couldn’t help but stifle a laugh

ϟ you heard him but because he was looking at his phone, you thought he was just laughing at something on there

ϟ you finally figured it out when he sent you a meme that was in your native language

ϟ when you saw it, you snorted but the amusement quickly turned into confusion when you saw the profile name

ϟ you made your way to Denki’s room and you could hear him chuckling away on the other side of the door, you knocked before he said to come in and you frowned in confusion

ϟ “Did you really just send that to me?”

ϟ “Yeah...why?” His smile dropped. “Was it not funny?”

ϟ “It was but how did you know it was?”

ϟ “Because I watched it? Geez baby, what kind of question is that?” he shrugged nonchalantly but that definitely made you more suspicious.

ϟ “You know, don’t you?” You narrowed you eyes as you asked him in your mother tongue

ϟ “I don’t know, maybe I do...or maybe I don’t?” He responded almost perfectly.

ϟ you were completely shocked

ϟ “What? Wh-when did you even-?” You couldn’t even form a sentence. “Why?”

ϟ “I wanted to impress you, sunshine.” He responded flawlessly once again.

ϟ “You’re the best, Kami. You know that?”

ϟ “Yeah, I know but it definitely doesn’t hurt to be reminded.” his goofy grin made your heart do somersaults

ϟ “I love you Kami, you’re so silly.” You nuzzled your nose against his in an eskimo kiss

ϟ “I love you too pretty girl, you’re just amazing.”

ϟ i have a soft spot for this idiot :(

#hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #anon ask #anon request #anon #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons

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nickydestati · 3 years

Text

duolingo tog prompts #10

prompt: on which balcony are you? (su quale balcone sei tu?)

***

usually, joe was more of an improviser, a let’s-see-what-the-moment-brings kind of man. he just followed his heart wherever it wanted to go and dove into things head first. nicky was the planner, the one overthinking everything to the point joe had to gently coax him out of his own head.

this time, though, joe had planned everything meticulously. feverishly almost. so much so that nile asked him if he was alright and andy assured him everything would be fine and he shouldn’t worry so much about it. just be yourself joe, booker had said, that will be more than enough for him.

still, that wouldn’t be enough for joe this time. it didn’t have to be ‘more than enough’, it had to be perfect.

so nothing was left to chance. literally everything that happened, was carefully planned in advance. he had planned to convince nicky to return to malta for their yearly vacation, right to the place they had been on their first vacation together and that held more happy memories than joe could count. he had planned to book a small holiday house with a balcony. he had planned to cook nicky’s favorite dinner there, singing and dancing together to a mixtape joe had made for him when they were still two pining teenagers. he had planned for nicky to grow a little drowsy in his arms while watching a documentary on history they both loved. he had planned to slip away under the guise of a late night walk and nicky offering to come with him out of politeness even though he was way too cozy on the couch and him reassuring nicky it was fine and he would be back soon. he had planned for the guitar to be hidden in an alcove by the door to the backyard.

he had not planned for it to be raining, but that couldn’t be helped, alas.

he tuned his guitar very quietly. his fingers were trembling, and he shook his hand to try and shake it away. he picked up the piece of paper with the scribbled lyrics and chords and went over it one more time.

his heart was beating like a chased rabbit and tight knot of nerves and exhilaration curled and twisted in his stomach. he took a deep breath, stepped out of the shelter of the balcony into the rain and fished his phone from his pocket.

come to the balcony, love. <3

he pressed send and put his phone away quickly so he could stand at the ready. his heart was completely losing any semblance of a rhythm as he waited for a silhouette to appear at the window. his fingers stung from where he pressed the strings too hard in his anticipation, but he barely noticed it.

he waited. and waited. and waited some more, getting soaked to the bone in the process.

eventually, he fished out his phone again. no answer.

he dialed nicky’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. it rang three times before a very groggy nicky sounded on the other end. “joe? are you alright? is somethi-?”

“everything’s fine, my heart. did you get my text?”

“text? no, i’m sorry,” nicky says with a sleepy sigh in his voice. “i fell asleep, i didn’t see it.”

“that’s fine, that’s fine. can you come to the balcony, honey?”

“to the balcony? yes of course, amore mio, but i’m getting a little worried here.”

the small, still slightly sleepy chuckle in nicky’s voice sent a jolt right through joe’s chest. he could hear him walk around on the other end, shoving something. he strained his neck to see if his head was already peeking over the balcony, but there was no sign of him yet.

“i’m on the balcony, are you there? or what am i looking for?” nicky asked.

“no you’re not,” joe said, stepping back a little to get a better view. “i’m standing below it and i can’t see you.”

“well, i can’t see you either.”

“wait, on which balcony are you?”

“the one at the front."

“at the front? that small thing? it hardly fits the definition of a balcony, babe! no, i meant the one overlooking the garden.”

“oh but i thought you said you were going for a walk?”

joe rubbed his face, mentally scolding himself for not anticipating on the fact the house had two balconies. “yeah, i know. will you just come please, babe?”

nicky answered, but joe noticed the light flicking on inside, so he quickly threw his phone away and put his fingers in the right position again. the rain had made the wood of his guitar slippery, but he would manage. from now on, everything would go according to plan again. it had to.

he started playing as nicky stepped onto the balcony. his heart jumped in his chest as nicky’s confusion melted into that wonderful, brilliant smile he reserved only for joe.

yes, joe thought smugly, right back on track.

he was just about to start singing when a terrible sting shot right through his hand.

“ouch!” he yelled as he instinctively pulled his hand back from the snapped string. because that was what had happened: the fucking string of his fucking guitar had fucking snapped in the middle of the most important moment in his life.

“joe! are you alright?” nicky asked, his perfect smile replaced by a look of alarm. “hold on, i'm coming down.”

“no no, stay there!” joe said hastily. he tried to play again, but it sounded absolutely awful with only five strings at his disposal. with a sigh he gave up and looked up at nicky, who was observing him with an amused smile on his face. a smile that was also so full of love and adoration that it made joe’s frustrations all melt away.

“this is why i don’t plan things, my heart,” he said and nicky laughed with that adorable snort of his. “believe it or not, but i had everything, and i mean everything, planned out. to the smallest detail. but i guess this is the universe telling me to never plan anything ever again.”

he paused for a moment, looking at his wrecked guitar and his soaked clothes.

“i had a whole speech prepared,” he continued in italian, his eyes finding nicky again. his beacon in the storm. “but i think i’ll take the universe’s hint and do this my way. nicky, my light, my all, you know how much you mean to me. you know i love you more than i ever thought was possible. i love you more than there are grains of dirt in all the world. i love you more than there are stars in the sky. i love you more than guitars with strings that don’t snap.”

nicky laughed again and it was all the music this moment needed.

“i love you more than brevity, more than uncertainty. so, nicky, my heart, will you marry me?”

instead of answering, nicky crawled over the balustrade.

“nicky! what are you doing? that’s dangerous!” joe hastily put his guitar on the ground and ran to nicky to catch him if he should fall. by some miracle, though, nicky managed to reach the ground fairly elegantly and fairly unscathed.

“i’m supposed to be the impulsive one,” joe said as he took nicky in his arms and pressed a kiss to nicky’s temple.

nicky smiled and cupped joe’s face in his hands with a gentleness that made joe’s knees weak. “i have to see your eyes when i give you my answer,” nicky says softly in arabic, his eyes shimmering and his smile lighting up the whole rainy night, “so i can treasure it and replay it in my heart whenever i need it. yusuf al-kaysani, joe, my life, yes. yes, of course i will marry you.”

joe made a strangled sound and couldn’t do anything but kiss this man, the love of his life, while tears of joy escaped him and a dazzling wave of relief and utter happiness rocked through his entire body.

“don’t you have a ring for me, amore mio?” nicky asked when they were both back inside, helping each other out of their soaked clothes to jump in a nice hot shower.

joe stood there paralysed for a full minute. a ring. a ring.

“you forgot about a ring, didn’t you?” nicky asked, his eyes alight with amusement. he chuckled and kissed joe’s horrified lips. “maybe i’ll do the planning for the wedding, don’t you think?”

joe laughed despite himself, hiding his face behind his hand in embarrassment. “yes, i think that’s an excellent idea, my love.”

#duolingo prompts #the old guard #the old guard fanfic #immortal husbands #joe x nicky #kaysanova #joenicky #modern au #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #userbooker #usernicolo

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bhvgat · 3 years

Text

hi angels !! i’m cami and i realized that the name elliot is usually spelled with two ls after i wrote his bio and applied so we’re just never gonna talk abt that <3 but i’m very excited to be here & plot with u all, info abt eli under the cut !!

dev patel, cis man, he/him — whenever i see elliot bhagat meandering down agnes street the adults are talking by the strokes starts to play inside my head. maybe it is the vibe they give off. a cup of hot coffee with just a touch of oat milk, a soft smile in the early morning light, a brief case filed with meticulous notes and a perfectly fitted suit ; you know ? the roundabout is what keeps them interested in agnes. i heard they are a thirty two year old environmental lawyer. they look like the kind of person who always tips well.

BIOGRAPHY.

eliot grew up curious about the world around him. his parents immigrated to boston four years before he was born, and by the time he came along they were the proud owners of a successful restaurant. he spent his childhood questioning any customers he could about their lives, the regulars all knew him well. he wanted to know about people, what made them tick. each person’s story gave him a new idea for what he wanted to do with his life. while his parents expected a lot of him, the burden was lessened by being the youngest of three. he could have any dream he wanted so long as it was practical and lucrative.

by the time he reached middle school the many dreams had solidified under one central tenet, he wanted to make the world a better place. he was the kind of kid who watched the discovery channel and then came to school the next day ready to tell everyone about the latest environmental issue. his passions were wide and strong.

by the time he reached high school it was clear that he was more than a little bit of a hopeless romantic. with each relationship he found himself in he swore he had found his soulmate, burning mix cds and pouring his heart out in journal entries. while he was falling in and out of love over and over again he settled on what he wanted to do with his life, becoming a senator was his goal. a real way to bring change to the world.

his dream led him to university and then to law school. he was always an excellent student, quick witted and well read. school had felt like a sort of dream to eliot, the ivy and stone beautiful enough for his romantic tendencies to thrive and the relief of being surrounded by like minded people was equally engaging.

he graduated top of his class and was quickly receiving offers from multiple prestigious law firms. he still knew what he wanted to do with his life, but a few years of work first seemed like an ok place to start. as time passed however, he found it particularly draining. he had always wanted to make the world a better place, but what he was doing was far from that.

then he fell in love. not that he hadn’t before, but this one gave him a certainty that it was going to last forever. so a year in he was picking out a ring ( an antique emerald surrounded by ethically mined diamonds ), and a year after that and a month before his wedding when he returned home from work to find a note on the table. she wasn’t ready, she couldn’t do it, their love simply wasn't strong enough.

that’s when he heard about an opening at a smaller environmental law firm in ilsesbury. sure, it wasn’t quite as high paying as his old job and he still wasn’t anywhere near running for office, but at least he’d be saving the planet. plus the thought of ever having to run into his ex made getting out of town an appealing option. so almost three months ago he packed up his things and moved to the city and taking the job and a small apartment with a view of the water, with a heart that’s just a little less open to love.

HEADCANONS.

eliot loves cooking and food. he doesn’t always have time to cook for himself as he’s very career oriented, however when he does he savours it. it reminds him of his childhood, growing up in the restaurant. also he was raised vegetarian and became vegan in university.

he’s an avid journaler and has been for most of his life. he has a pile of old journals on his book shelf.

has always wanted to be a dad, he’s always wanted to get married and settle down and have kids, but each year he gets older that dream feels further away.

tends to live below his actual means, is very frugal. his parents instilled that in him and his siblings growing up, and it’s a trait he very much still possess. he’ll splurge on things like clothes enough to make sure he’s well dressed ( especially for work ) and going out for dinner or coffee. he’s a big tipper, having been a waiter himself through all of high school and his first few university summers in his parents restaurant. but his apartment is tiny, and apart from plants the furnishing is pretty basic.

as sweet as he can be he can also be very very stubborn. once he makes up his mind about something it’s rare that he’ll change it.

volunteers a lot, is constantly looking for ways to help out around the community.

he has a mostly positive relationship with his parents and his siblings. while they did have high expectations for their children,they primarily just wanted them to be happy and were very loving, especially with eliot being the youngest.

he was terrified to come out to his parents as bisexual, which he did his senior year of high school. while they were a little bit confused at first they were on the whole loving and supportive of him.

he is left leaning politically with a strong emphasis on social and enviromental issues. while his own dream is on hold for the time being, he does make an effort to get involved, doing things such as canvassing for candidates he supports.

he’s a hopeless romantic and has always been the type to write love letters and buy flowers for no particular reason. this also has caused him to have his heart broken one too many times.

he speaks english and some gujarati, he also took latin in his undergrad but doesn’t remember much of it apart from legal terms and is taking spanish on duolingo

can very much be a workaholic, can be seen in a cafe on weekends working on a case and drinking a coffee

loves to read and has a book shelf over flowing with just about every genre, particularly inclined to romantic era authors and poets

he was raised hindu but isn’t practicing

( alcohol/drugs tw ) he doesn’t really tend to be a drinker or do drugs, he will enjoy a glass of wine with dinner or the occasional cocktail when he goes out for dinner but it’s rare that he’ll get drunk. the only drug he’ll ever really go for is weed, which he’ll smoke occasionally. probably did shrooms like once or twice when he was younger. honestly probably too concerned with the ethics of the drug industry to do much else.

enjoys hiking and being in nature quite a bit.

pretty good at chess actually,, not like really good but like isn’t awful in a casual match, same with scrabble.

#agnesfm.intro

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apparitionism · 4 years

Text

Run

This is a pointless AU, a little idea from elsewhere that’s in the process of turning into a story-esque thing, not a comedy or a drama as such, just a “here’s another way two people might find their way to each other” tale. Also I’ve never deployed a Giselle character, really, and I figured I might as well try. She’s not a bad guy, mind you, nor even an obstacle; the only obstacles, at base, are misunderstandings and circumstances. Conventional ones. They might accurately be called clichéd. Anyway, this is some kind of starting line. Bang. (That’s meant to be a starter’s pistol, by the way; don’t be getting any ideas.)

Run

At four in the morning, Myka Bering sat three steps from the bottom of the dark staircase in her apartment’s foyer and pushed her feet into new running shoes. They looked like nothing special: a standard navy blue faux leather, with their manufacturer’s stylized “Z” logo embossed in silver on the sides. The pristine white of both the slim soles and the no-tie laces pleased her, despite the fact that their just-out-of-the-box luster would of course start graying at the first exposure to the city.

Myka stood up in the shoes and bounced on her toes, her ritual commencement of every day’s run.

The instant her heels left the ground, she understood just how difficult her life was about to become.

For this decidedly unspecial-seeming shoe—the Deceit—represented the latest attempt by the Zelus athletic corporation to gain an insurmountable advantage in the sport of running.

Myka’s job was to stop them.

At her desk at work later that morning, Myka revised, for accuracy, her overly dramatic thought of the morning: a small part of her job was to help stop them. Her actual job was to co-direct certification and compliance for Athletics Authority International, the globe-spanning organization that governed running, jumping, and throwing events. The organization regularly dealt with issues of equipment inappropriately boosting performance; thus Deceits, understood one way—nondramatically—were just the latest technological challenge to the idea of a level playing field.

But based on her morning’s run, Myka did not think Deceits could be understood nondramatically.

“Did you try the Deceits yet?” she asked Pete Lattimer, her co-directing partner. They had taken to joking that in their area, he was the “athletics”—an Olympic-team-alternate decathlete—while she was the “international,” for she’d got her job based largely on her wide-ranging language fluency. Myka suspected that today, athletics aside, his answer would be “no”; they’d received the shipment of test shoes only a few days ago, and Pete was focusing more on language than sports lately anyway, Duolingo-ing his heart out in Spanish so as to one day be able to impress Kelly Hernandez, head of Latin American outreach, such that she would first agree to go to lunch with him and then, swayed partially by his language skills but mostly by his charm, acknowledge that they were destined to spend their lives together. Myka wasn’t at all sure Kelly was going to persuaded by Pete’s bilingual (or “bilingual”) flirting... though he was also concentrating heavily on vocabulary related to sandwiches, so he’d probably end up with at least a food-related happy ending.

“Nah,” he said, confirming her prediction about the shoes. “I’m guessing you must’ve, though. They as crazy as those trials records make ’em seem?”

“Crazier,” Myka said. “To me. But I want to know how they really feel. To a real athlete.”

“Somebody needs a real athlete? I see why Lattimer’s not up to it,” remarked a tall woman as she approached Myka’s desk. Myka looked up and smiled.

“Same goes for you, Giselle,” Pete said, but with cheer. “How’s communications?”

“Turn those children over my knee if I could,” Giselle replied, equally cheerful. “That’s where you can help: how’s your javelin these days?”

“Why don’t you just run away? I thought you were supposed to be fast or something.”

Giselle Wade was fast—Myka knew it, and she knew Pete knew it too. Giselle was a legend in East Texas, where she had shattered high school track records, particularly at the longer distances. She’d done the same to NCAA times, placing some out of reach for what would probably be generations. U.S. bests had fallen to her too, though worlds had been elusive... but she had some impressive Olympic hardware all the same.

“Outran you,” Giselle said, which was true; her 1500-meter times were faster than Pete’s had ever been.

They would have gone on for a while before they wound down, but their jabs gave Myka the opening she needed. “Speaking of running,” she said to Giselle, “did you try the Deceits?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And exactly what you think,” Giselle said. Before Myka could get her to clarify, she went on, “And this very morning I heard Zelus wants to push a version with spikes for sprinters.”

Myka objected, “But the thin soles!” Sole height was a major issue. The Deceit’s predecessor shoe, the Zelus Induct—which had also given runners a clear advantage—had been recognizable due to its oversized sole, packed with lightweight foam, that effectively lengthened a runner’s legs. The sole contained within the foam a carbon plate that acted as a spring, enabling a stride that used less leg energy and thus translated into distance runners having more kick over an entire race. AAI had rapidly banned that shoe, but the Deceit upped the ante because it somehow managed to do all the Induct’s dirty work, and apparently even more, in a standard-sized sole. Sprinters’ soles were basically flat, though, so how could the foam and plates fit? Not to mention: “Why would Zelus want to start a fight on another front?”

“Some other company rolls out skinny little cheat spikes first if Zelus doesn’t get on it? Old story about the toothpaste and the tube? You know.” Giselle shrugged. “All we can do is try to slow it down.”

“Ha!” Pete barked. “I see what you did there! Slow it down! Fast shoes!”

Giselle shook her head and murmured “that man” mostly to herself, but a little bit to Myka, who nodded in sympathy a commensurate little bit. Then Giselle said, “Thank sweet Jesus I don’t have to run in Deceits or against them. Glad I’m out of that part of it now.”

“I’m glad I was never in it,” Myka said.

“You know you got the discipline,” Giselle said. She’d told Myka this before.

It was a real compliment, but: “I don’t have the gift,” Myka responded, as she had in the past.

“Discipline counts. Makes up for a lot.”

“Those Deceits do too,” Myka said. “I barely even broke a sweat this morning.”

“That’s a shame.”

Myka offered a “huh?” expression, though she was pretty sure she knew what was coming.

“You, all hot and sweaty?” And Giselle sighed, a parody of infatuation. “Yes indeed...”

Myka rolled her eyes, and then they both laughed. It was a ritual: Giselle “flirted,” Myka “suffered,” they laughed.

Some months ago, not long after Giselle had been brought on board by AAI, she’d asked Myka out.

“I have a boyfriend,” Myka had said, because that was what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that.

“Well,” Giselle said. “Look at me, getting the wrong impression. Sorry, Myka. Guess we’ll keep it professional.”

Giselle tended to put a drag on the last word of every sentence, a vocal habit that kept a listener hanging: would she say more? It might or might not have been intentional, but it was effective, particularly when combined with her linger of a Texas drawl. Thus her “professional” came out “pro... fess... io... nal.” Myka half-expected her to follow up with “or not.”

“Well,” Myka said back, when it became apparent that no more was in fact forthcoming, “not totally professional. We can still get coffee, right?” Because she did like Giselle.

Ah, there it was: Giselle gave her a still-flirty head toss and said, “Not to make the same mistake twice, but I did ‘get coffee’ with a lady one time and it turned into three days in Monaco. So we’ll see...”

Myka rolled her eyes, but then she laughed, and Giselle did too: the start of the ritual.

That should have been that.

But an international athletic governing body was apparently like every other semi-hermetically sealed social environment: a school, a team, a lab. Things got around. Mere hours after that conversation—which, granted, had taken place in the 40th-floor elevator lobby, the transit funnel for every employee of AAI, which occupied the entirety of that skyscraper level—Pete had marched back into their area from lunch and confronted Myka with, “I heard Giselle asked you out.”

Myka had tried not to respond, because really, what was there to say?

He went on, “And I heard you told her you have a boyfriend, which is what you said way back in history when I asked you out.”

“History? That was less than two years ago.”

“Anyway, I heard she believed you. Just like I did.”

“That was the idea. With her and with you.”

“I still don’t see why you didn’t just say ‘Pete, I don’t want to go out with you.’ It would’ve been fine.”

“I’d barely met you. I had no idea if you’d be a decent guy about it.”

“But I am a decent guy. About everything! So it would’ve been fine.”

“But I didn’t know you were a decent guy.” She had barely started at AAI; all she’d known about Pete Lattimer was that he’d been a decent decathlete. And that was no help at all, for every new coworker she met was a former Olympian or member of some national team or at least a famous ex-coach. It all made her feel as if she had no business working for the organization in the first place. They should have said that “athletic” was a requirement... each successive introduction seemed to drum with more force into her that a law degree and several languages were nothing against a sub-four mile.

Given that insecurity, she hadn’t needed any additional inputs or variables, so when Pete had said, “We should get dinner after work sometime,” she’d said what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that. It had become a reflex because regardless of any other complicating circumstances—such as a new job where her body itself didn’t belong—it was easier. It was almost always easier than whatever might follow her saying anything else.

Pete said, “You didn’t know I was a decent guy, so you lied about having a boyfriend. And now you’ve lied about it again.”

She’d winced at the word “lied.” It was accurate, but she didn’t like it. Then you probably shouldn’t do it, her conscience told her. She told it to shut up. Then she told Pete, “I know that and you know that. Giselle doesn’t need to know that.”

“But you already like her better than you would’ve ever liked me.” At that, Myka started to protest, but he waved her off. “You know I mean because she’s a lady. Why didn’t you say you have a girlfriend?”

Speaking of what was easier: “boyfriend” was easier than “girlfriend.” It raised fewer questions, and it raised fewer... thoughts. And that was easier too.

It was supposed to raise fewer thoughts, anyway.

Fortunately, Pete hadn’t waited for an answer, or for Myka to start thinking any thoughts, instead moving on to what he clearly found most important: “And lady-wise, don’t you think she’s hot? I think she’s hot.”

Myka sighed. “Yes, I think she’s hot. In fact I know she’s hot. I have eyes.”

“So go out with her. She’s hot, you’re hot. Sizzle!”

“I just don’t want to.”

“Then why didn’t you go ahead and tell her that? Do you think she isn’t a decent guy?”

“Pretty sure she’s not a guy at all,” Myka had said, trying to joke him into just... stopping.

She didn’t want to get into the complicated conversation that would have ensued if she’d admitted to having genuinely, if fleetingly, regretted her reflex—because he certainly wasn’t wrong about Giselle being a woman, and he double-certainly wasn’t wrong about her looks. She was stunning; she’d had that wildly successful athletic career, then transitioned with seemingly no friction at all into modeling, at which she was even more wildly successful. Her legs were as long as the miles she used to run, and Myka was certainly, in that sense, human.

But Giselle had already developed a reputation at AAI, despite her brief tenure, for what could charitably be called a... short attention span. Maybe it was the inevitable result of her having been able to have just about anything—and anyone—she wanted, in not one but two elevated realms, or maybe it had always been Giselle’s personality as a romantic socializer, but while Myka had no trouble observing it from the outside, as a characteristic of her friend Giselle, she didn’t particularly want to be subjected to it. What if she slipped and overinvested? Exactly the kind of difficulty she didn’t need, regardless of any other complicating circumstances. Exactly the kind of difficulty she had never needed, and if she had slipped and fallen into it in the past? Well, that was the past, and she certainly didn’t need to revisit any part of that, much less repeat it.

These months later, however, some days Myka had a vague sense that a day should come when she should talk herself into telling Giselle she didn’t have a (nonexistent) boyfriend anymore. A day, that was to say, when she should ask for Giselle’s attention, if only for a short span. It seemed normal, human, to think that a short span of time, even if it led to a complicating slip and overinvestment, might—should?—be better than nothing, and so some days, Myka tried to want to talk herself into that.

But on different days, she’d think, definitively, I don’t want to. Because talking herself into it felt dishonest. Even if Giselle subscribed solely to Pete’s “she’s hot, you’re hot; sizzle” theory of the case, even if both of them might have enjoyed much of that short span of time: dishonest. Inauthentic. Deceitful.

“You’re not very good at having fun, are you?” Pete had asked her once, when she’d told him, in response to his sincere inquiry, that she had never actually dreamed of having Disneyland all to herself for a day. She’d agreed that no, she really wasn’t very good at having fun, and he’d said, “You need to get out more. Maybe not to Disney, but you need to get out more.”

You need to get out more. She’d laughed at him, because the most out she ever got, away from work, was for her 4am run. That, she could talk herself into without feeling dishonest at all. Far from it: she reveled in the discipline required for that strict self-persuasion every day, which was probably why she’d found that she could, ultimately, work well—reasonably well—with athletes. Athletics at its highest level was discipline, and Giselle and Pete and most of the others could see that Myka got that, even had that, as Giselle kept telling her.

But as Myka always told Giselle in return (not that Giselle needed telling), for real athletes, that discipline had to be kissed by the divine, and Myka had no access to such physical divinity. None at all. She was an exercise runner, lowest of the low in terms of athletic esteem. She knew because that was how the athletes said it, with a twist of pity: exercise runner. That was what she was, and she knew it.

Until she ran in the Deceits.

They were named, of course, for their unassuming look and for the illicit advantage they gave the world-class athletes. But for Myka-the-unesteemed, they were differently deceptive: they made her feel like A Runner. Giselle and her peers had been born with the kind of legs these shoes changed Myka’s into, springing from the ground with power, creating a feeling of “this is my body; this is what it can do, and if I push, still more,” and miraculously—deceptively—there was still more it could be pushed to do. Myka felt like her body before the Deceits had been Clark Kent, like it had been waiting for the chance to reveal that it wore the suit and had superpowers, like this had always been how she could run.

It wasn’t real. But it felt real.

So she understood why Deceits were breaking records—speed records now, but eventually, they would break sales records, too.

She also understood, very clearly, that they should be banned.

Even for exercise runners like her: deceiving oneself, Myka felt, was worse than deceiving others, regardless of whether they were fellow competitors or the outside world in general. Just as she didn’t want to talk herself into Giselle, she didn’t want to run every morning in those shoes. If she did, that self-deception would become a habit of mind, and Myka deep-knew that being clear-eyed about oneself was essential. A moral duty, her inner rector told her, and even though she would probably have been happier to not live her life quite that ramrod-straight (to, for example, be better at having fun), it had been her thought as she’d begun that first run in the Deceits. She’d kept on thinking it, throughout her entire route, as she devoured the miles with her newly athletic strides. Clear-eyed, mor-al, du-ty. Right-left, right-left, right-left.

Administratively, the world of athletics moved at a speed inverse to that of the track. The relatively “rapid” ban of the Deceit’s predecessor had taken six months to work out and implement, so it was no surprise that several weeks elapsed before AAI even scheduled negotiations with Zelus reps over the new shoes. They would be delicate, the negotiations, for Zelus money was essential to the sport. It was imperative not to make any penalties too prohibitive or too “insulting” to the company or its affiliates. Could already-ratified world records set in Deceits be voided? Would that lead to Zelus-sponsored athletes boycotting competitions? Could Deceits be banned? Would that be at all enforceable?

Myka knew that Dan Badger, the president and CEO of AAI, would be scrutinizing everything she and Pete and their team proposed. Newly appointed to show that AAI was turning a regulatory corner, he had made clear that his watchword was “integrity,” and that applied not only to the sport as a whole, but to every athlete who participated in it, every piece of equipment they touched, every employee under his purview, every official action they took. Unofficial actions, too: there was, as far as Myka could tell, no ethical give in Badger’s worldview. Where prior heads might have made a handshake deal of some sort with Zelus’s own CEO with regard to the Deceits—and Myka suspected something along those lines had occurred for the Inducts, most likely involving a wink-nod to the already-in-the-pipelines Deceits—Badger would have considered the mere suggestion of such a thing a personal affront.

“Why doesn’t Badge like you more?” Pete once asked Myka. “You’re exactly like him.” Myka wasn’t, in fact, exactly like him, for Badger was an athlete’s athlete, a hurdling champion from a decades-ago golden age of British track and field. That gilded aura was a carapace around him, deflecting whatever might have been directed his way from beings he considered lesser, including nonathletes like Myka. It wasn’t actively insulting or cruel, just... clear. The athletes called him “Badge,” among themselves and to his face, while Myka had the sense that if she uttered that collegial syllable, no one, and certainly not the man himself, would even perceive that any sound had escaped her lips.

Pete wasn’t entirely wrong, though; Myka had enough consonance with Badger that she couldn’t quite bring herself to resent him. His absolutely unimpeachable reputation was supplemented by the fact that he looked exactly as an athletic lion of his age and era should: face appropriately tanned for health and creased for character, hair silver and full, height calibrated as if to the millimeter to be imposing but not incongruous. He was the ideal figurehead for an organization that wanted to burnish its standing as a virtuous guardian of all that was competitively good in athletics.

In the end, Myka’s own inclinations aligned with her need to fulfill Badger’s expectations, yet neither she nor he could change the underlying economics of the sport. She might have been moved, under other circumstances, to restore her single-run-sullied Deceits to their silver Zelus box and push that box to the back of her closet, but instead she spent an inordinate amount of time looking at them. Was there any way at all to tell, just by looking, that they could do what they did?

Enforcement was a matter of measurement and testing, but these shoes were a drug for which no test existed. AAI had hired a group of materials engineers to take them apart, so Myka now knew how they did what they did: even newer foam, plus two carbon plates, set at angles to each other. They really might as well have been springs—invisible to the outside-shoe naked eye, but springs all the same.

AAI could nominally ban double-plate soles, but it couldn’t possibly dismantle every Zelus runner’s footwear at every event to ensure that the ban was being respected. Myka saw no way out other than to ban Zelus shoes across the board (for she’d been thinking, too, of what Giselle had said about spikes), but that brought her back to financial impossibility. And around she went again. And again. And again.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the rest of athletics administration proceeded without heed for Deceits, no matter how long Myka stared at them, no matter how many negotiating scenarios she tried, unfruitfully, to game out. Meets and championships and trials all continued, requiring level upon level of authorization and accompanying paperwork...

One morning, Myka was concentrating, squint-eyed, on a spreadsheet when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Pete,” she began, still squinting at her screen, “I told you if I don’t approve the new certification tables for posting this morning—”

“I’m so sorry,” said an English-accented female voice, “but I’m not Pete. And I seem to be lost.”

Myka looked up. No, you’re not, was her first thought, which resolved into: You’re not Pete, and you’re not lost. You belong right here.

TBC

A few notes, just because:

I made up the governing body; it’s intended to be vaguely like the real organization World Athletics (formerly IAAF), which determines what’s allowable in track and field competition, but I’m not trying to replicate its structure at all. Further, the actual organization maintains that it doesn’t consult with shoe companies before making regulatory decisions... whether you believe that claim is of course entirely up to you.

Two passages from Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents are in some sense guiding my thinking here (because I’m like that). The first is this: “Man has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God. When he puts on all his auxiliary organs he is truly magnificent; but these organs have not grown on to him and they still give him much trouble at times.” He’s talking about cars and eyeglasses and such things, but obviously the idea is applicable to athletic tech. An idea from a little earlier in the book seems relevant as well: “What we call happiness in the strictest sense comes from the (preferably sudden) satisfaction of needs which have been dammed up to a high degree, and it is from its nature only possible as an episodic phenomenon.” Right? We’ll see about that latter part though, Dr. Freud.

Finally, as that rude anon suggested some months ago, I’m obviously speaking to a community that’s mostly inactive now. But I’m a keeper of faith: one of the things I do best is wait. So one point of this story is that it exists. I’m waiting. C’mon and wait with me, if you like.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Run #AU week

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all-hail-the-witcher · 4 years

Text

loving too hard

so at the last minute i put this in the spies verse although it can 110% be read as a standalone. im not sure when it takes place so dont ask.

by popular demand here's the playlist of songs i was inspired by:

la devotee thin white lies lose you too dying in la 8 letters the reason who knew this is gospel

______

genre: sad

ship: platonic ralbert

words: some

editing: nah

warnings: its sad, one brief mention of a shootout and weapons, use of the word love, feelings of regret, emotions, albert is stuck in his head and he made a bad decision, race just wants his hot pockets, he was at walgreens

_____

What the hell are you doing here?

Albert stared down at his hands, the light from the setting sun bathing them in gold, accentuating the purplish bruises scattered across his knuckles. Half moons of dried red framed his nails and dirt streaked his forearms. The gentle breeze stung his cuts. But no part of him was compelled to clean off the remnants of the work day. He’d fought willingly, hell it was his job after all, but suddenly it seemed so strange and weird and...wrong. Normally the last day of a case was thrilling and crisp with satisfaction, but all he could bring himself to feel was hollow regret.

It couldn’t be his job. Albert had known exactly what he was signing up for: long nights of research, stakeouts, codenames, fake identities, tailing criminals, not being seen, broken bones, scars, fights, shootouts, outrunning the inescapability of death time after time again...the endless prospects gave him goosebumps. He was a danger seeker. If he were told to take down a criminal with his eyes closed and hands tied behind his back he’d say well bring it the fuck on already!

And yet here he was, contemplating going back inside and opening his laptop to type a very half assed resignation letter. Why?

The view from the cheap hotel room was nothing special (the parking lot of a run-down strip mall mostly populated by a flock of crows) but he found himself leaning forward against the rickety hotel balcony railing to get a better look. Part of him knew that there was a very real chance it could snap and he would plummet 3 stories, but he found himself not caring. He’d fallen from higher places before. If anything, Race would yell at him for being stupid and reckless.

Race. Where was that bastard anyway? He’d left 45 minutes ago to go get first aid supplies or something, Albert hadn’t really been listening. Still, he was pretty sure that it didn’t take 45 minutes to run into Walgreens and grab some rubbing alcohol and gauze. He should have been back by now and Albert couldn’t bring himself to care.

Race was the whole reason he had this job. Why he had left home. Why he had seen so much of the world. Why he knew how to carry on half decent small talk in Russain (thanks Duolingo). Why he was one of the best field agents in the country. Why he could order meat-lovers pizza in 15 languages and counting. Why he had become such a better person than he had been in high school. But then again, Race was also the reason he had nightmares. Why he had nearly died countless times. Why he felt as though he was stuck in a life he wasn’t sure he would pick for himself if he had had the option.

Everything he had done had been for Race. Every bullet he’d taken, every scar he’d gotten, every panic attack he’d had, every time he’d hid his doubts and his fears about the mission...that had all been for Race. To protect him, to make sure he was happy.

Not like that plan had worked anyway. He knew that every time he so much as scraped himself Race panicked. And then they would ignore it until it became too much and Race would end up revealing just how much it hurt him that Albert was doing stupid shit behind his back and why can’t you just think about how this will affect me for once!?

But Race always came back, always tried to mend the rift. He made sure Albert was comfortable and he wasn’t pushing any boundaries. And what did Albert do in return? Kept fuckin hurting him. Race didn’t deserve that. Hell, no one did, but certainly not Race.

Race was too good for him. He had always been too good for him. Albert didn’t deserve a friend as good as Race, he never had and he never would.

The light’s clicked on in the parking lot below. It was no surprise that the lights, much like the strip mall, were shitty and flickering. Still, he was able to make out one lone figure holding two Walgreen’s bags. Only Race would be able to justify spending an hour in a Walgreens. Even from the balcony Albert could tell that Race’s hair was still coated in a thick layer of dirt and that he hadn’t bothered to change out of his mission clothes yet. Seeing him walking calmly back lifted a weight in his chest.

Are you sure you wanna leave this?

Albert turned swiftly, wrestling with the near-broken door for a moment before bursting back into the hotel room. Blindly he grabbed his backpack and threw random clothes and weapons in. Race was safe. He didn’t need to be here anymore now that he knew that Race was safe. Race was smart, he’d be fine, he didn’t need Albert.

He was in the middle of scribbling Race a half assed note when the door opened, bringing Race in with it. Shit.

“Hey Albie, sorry it took so long, I decided to get us food also but then couldn’t decide what to get and also Walgreens doesn’t have the best food options so I got hot pockets and chips and salsa, which, now that I’m saying that I realize that those are essentially the same thing, I hope that’s okay…” He finally looked up, noticing Albert. “Are you going somewhere? Is everything okay?”

“I’m so sorry Antonio.” Albert kept his voice low, knowing it would break if he spoke too loudly. “I can’t do this.”

Race dropped his bags on the bed and stepped closer to Albert, reaching out to grab his arm. “Do what?”

Albert flinched, stomach tightening as he stepped back to avoid Race’s touch. He felt guilty, but he couldn't do this, he couldn’t do this, fuck why couldn't he- “This,” he waved his hands as if in explanation.

“What Albie?” Race asked gently. “Stay in the hotel? The mission-”

“Us!” Albert blurted out. “I can’t do us.”

“What?” Race’s voice was small and broken as he stepped back, eyes suddenly glassy. Instant regret swelled up in Albert’s throat, but he forced it down. He couldn’t keep doing this anymore. It wasn’t right of him.

“I’m sorry. You’re too good for me Tonio. You’re too good for me and all I do is hurt you. I can’t be friends with you knowing that. I loved you too hard. I need time.” He picked up his backpack, unable to look Race in the eyes. Once his back was turned he tried to wipe at his own tears subtly, but winced when he remembered that he had too black eyes.

“Will you be back?” “I don’t know.” Albert picked up the note he had been writing and held it out to Race.

Race took the letter gently, looking at Albert thoughtfully. “I love you Albert,” he whispered finally. “You can always come back.”

Albert reached for the doorknob. “I-” his tongue stuck in his throat like sandpaper. He couldn’t say it. “Thanks,” he mumbled instead before stepping out into the hallway.

What did you just do?

_____

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist

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@panpervinca

#saphie scribbles #albert dasilva #newsies #newsies fic #spy boys #sorry for the sad boi fic #yoink

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lassluna · 4 years

Text

Its a brand new day, (it's never too late to start) 1/2

All Killian Jones wants is to survive this February as painlessly as possible. Hopefully without telling his best friend he loves her. That would be a disaster.

It’s made all the more difficult when he gains the attention of a secret admirer.

AN: Thank you so much @csrolereversal for hosting this wonderful event yet again! I am so happy to be a part of it. Thank you @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for making such a beautiful pic set as well as being a beta reader to this story. It was so fun working with you.

FFn Ao3

“0815?”

The door doesn’t open. Killian curses under his breath, scrolling through his text messages. The landlord had sent him the new code, but he was sparse on details on how to get it to actually work.

“#0815?”

Nope.

Killina sighs loudly, glancing at his watch, knowing that he was going to be late if he doesn’t open this bloody door. He takes a drink of coffee to settle his nerves.

Empty. Bloody perfect.

“#815.” He’s about to start pounding his head on the door. His brother always said he was hard headed, perhaps he can just break the door down.

Why the hell would anyone prefer this bloody contraption rather than a key like a normal bloody person?

He wonders how much he’ll get fined for breaking down his own door to his own shop. It’s far too early for these shenanigans and he is already out of coffee.

“Wow, when Belle told me you hated the new key system she wasn’t kidding,” says a voice behind him. He sighs loudly, face pressed to the door.

He typically loves to see her face in the mornings, but today was already putting him in a foul mood. He didn’t want to say something he’d regret to her of all people.

“Good morning Swan,” he says rather annoyed, because the only thing worse than being locked out of his own bloody coffee shop, was if someone was watching him struggle to open the damn thing. “Not to say I don’t love to see your face so early in the morning, but why are you here?” He says, catching a glimpse at the blonde leaning against her car.

“I was in the neighborhood,” she responds. There was something in her voice that warned him she was up to no good. Most likely plotting to get a free cup of coffee. She always gets free cups of coffee.

“You’re always in the neighborhood when I’m on staff Swan.” She shrugs, approaching him with an unusual spring in her step and a smile. “Aren’t you awfully cheerful,” he notes. Typically Emma Swan doesn’t function at 6 a.m without at least 3 cups of his mocha latte with cinnamon, free coffee or no.

He should know, after being best friends with someone for 3 years, he’s pretty much an expert in Emma Swan.

They’d met on one of her cases, him at a bar next to a man who was hitting on anything in a skirt. She’d sat beside the man in a very pretty skirt. He’d said something offensive to her and had his hand up her dress.

Killian had tried to defend her when Emma Swan made it clear that she didn’t need anyone defending her. She’d hauled the man off to jail at that very spot.

She’d thanked him right after, for coming to her aid even if she didn’t need it. For a moment it seemed like maybe, something could happen.

But it didn’t. She showed up at his coffee shop Bean Around the World the next morning and he offered her a free cup, they’d been friends ever since.

Just friends and nothing more.

Except for the fact that he was in love with her, of course.

“Couldn’t miss seeing you grumpy, Mr. Early Bird,” she teases. “Besides it’s the first day of the New Year!” She steps in front of him and eyes the electronic lock.

“It’s the 6th.”

“New Year doesn’t start until Monday, Killian,” she says, and within a moment she has the damn door open and is just smiling like she’s so damn proud of herself for breaking into his shop. “Come on, I need my hot chocolate like now.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “Is this a robbery?”

“Absolutely; Give me your coffee or I’ll lock the door again.” He’s helpless but to cater to her demands. So, he starts up the little cafe while Emma rummages through the lending library Belle, his manager set up in the back of the shop.

Before long, the machines are warming up, and he has a tall travel mug of Emma’s special mocha latte ready. Judging by her running boots, he has a feeling she’s going to need to be on the move. He decides to throw in a bear claw for good measure.

“For my favorite former thief,” he says, bringing it to her table. Killian glances at his watch, they had a few minutes before he had to officially open.

“I’m the only former thief you know,” Emma points out. She takes a sip of the drink and a big bite out of the pastry. “Have you done anything for your New Year’s Resolution?” She asks.

It catches Killian by surprise, this is the first year Emma had so much as mentioned New Year’s Resolutions, she’d mentioned wanting to make one when they watched the ball drop together at her apartment drinking too much champaign and eating all of the Christmas cookies Liam had sent them.

She’d thought it was just her drunken sugar rush talking, but here she was mentioning it again. He shakes his head.

“What was yours again?” She asks.

Telling the woman I love that I do in fact love her.

“Learn a new language,” he replies. “But after what Henry told me about the Duolingo bird, I don’t exactly trust it,” he admits.

“Henry has an active imagination,” Emma agrees.

She too is fond of the boy that comes into the coffee shop after school. His mom is a lawyer in the plaza and so he often spends a bit of time here reading and doing his homework.

“What was yours?” Killian asks. She looks at him, meets his eyes in a very intentional gesture. It feels oddly intimate.

“Trying something new,” she admits with a soft smile, one that brings a sense of warmth to his bones. It makes Killian desperately want to kiss her.

But he doesn’t, because that would ruin everything.

“So something besides your mocha hot chocolate?” He assumes quickly, looking away before he does something he regrets.

“Uh...yeah” she says just as quickly. “New coffee orders sounds just up my alley,” she says, shoving what’s left of her pastry into her mouth and downing the rest of her coffee.

“Great, I’ll have something new and interesting waiting for you next time you show up!” He announces happily. He’d hounded Emma in the past about expanding her horizons, but she was a stubborn one.

“Sounds like a plan,” Emma agrees before quickly exiting the shop.

It leaves Killian with an odd feeling like he missed something.

Belle shows up to the shop a quarter before 3, smiling brightly as she clocks in.

“Good Morning, boss,” she says, putting her apron on. The apron was unnecessary since managers weren’t usually the one behind the coffee machines, that she left with some of the younger baristas working.

“Belle, you don’t have to call me boss.” Not that his words matter since she always ignores it anyway.

“So I didn’t see the door broken so I assume you got in ok, Boss?” He nods.

“Of course I did. I told you it would be fine, didn't I?” He insists.

“Emma opened the door didn’t she?”

“Why did the new landlord replace the bloody lock anyway?” He says in annoyance. “The old one was working fine!”

Except for the way the key kept getting stuck, and the door would sometimes lock when it wasn’t supposed to. They’ve had some awkward moments getting locked out in the middle of a delivery. So it needed an upgrade, it didn’t mean they had to make it robotic.

“It might be because he kinda hates you,” Belle retorts. “And he knows you don’t do well with computer systems.”

Killian grumbles in agreement under his breath. The bloody monkey who’d bought the strip mall last year always did have a thing against him. He was always coming up with some new idea to make everything more difficult. Only reason they hadn’t been evicted was because the leasing contract had been airtight thanks to Regina Mills. The best contract lawyer in town, considering she had the very same contract he knew it was good.

Besides, she definitely wanted to keep her favorite coffee place and after school stomping ground of her only child.

“I’ll call him and see if we can’t get a better system in place,” Belle assures him. “Maybe he’ll think I’ll agree to a date if he stops being so annoying.”

“Ruby would have a bone to pick with him if you did,” he supplies with a smirk. “What would I do without you?” She shrugs happily.

“You can return the favor by coming to my Valentines Day party,” she tells him with a pointed glance. It doesn’t surprise him, Belle has been talking about throwing this party for months. He just had no desire to attend, Belle was his friend, and had it been for any other holiday he’d definitely be in attendance.

Valentine's Day, however, he had no desire to be surrounded with happy couples basking in their joy. Perhaps he was a scrooge, but it would just be too much for him.

It would tempt him too much into saying something he’d regret to Emma.

“Come on Killian!” Belle insists. “You don’t have to bring a date, you can just be there, get drunk, and eat lots of candy.”

“As tempting as that offer sounds, I’ll pass. Good luck with your party, and your shift. I’ll be back tomorrow,” he tells her.

He can hear Belle call out a response, but it’s lost in the sound of people in the small cafe.

Killian is exhausted when he gets home. He desperately wants a shower. He smells like a dark roast espresso. He’s so tired that he nearly misses it, but the bright color catches his eye.

It's a bright red shimmer bag with golden hearts all over. Inside was a large white mug. It had “Be Happy” written in black and gold font. He picks it up gently, both confused by its presence and knowing that it’s for him. Why else would it be outside his door? He looks around quizzically, as if something else in the empty hallway could give away the purpose for this gift.

There was nothing.

He scratches behind his ear nervously before returning inside with his mug. Honestly he’s not too sure what to do with it. He considers putting it in his cupboard with the rest of his coffee mugs, but that feels odd considering he didn’t even know if he should keep it.

Emma always mentioned how vacant his mug cupboard was considering his occupation. He always seemed to leave his at work and they wind up mixed in with the rest of the ones at work. The first time it happened, Henry had tweeted about it. Now it’s become a game his regulars play: collect all the pictures of Jone’s coffee mugs.

It definitely drummed up business, but at the cost of having but three mugs of his own. (All of which were Emma’s)

It made Killian think that maybe....

But he quickly swept the thought away.

Emma certainly didn’t leave this here for him, she’d have just brought over another mug if she thought he was lacking. Something like this...it reeked of someone with romantic intentions, how else explain the golden heart wrappings?

And Emma certainly didn’t have romantic interests in them, it was simply impossible.

Emma Swan was a woman who took what she wanted, so if she fancied him, he is sure he would know by now.

Then again, he thinks, Emma Swan being the tough bad ass Bail bonds person she was never liked discussing feelings or emotions. She told him bits and pieces about her past, but her feelings and emotions behind it remained closely guarded.

She was a woman who kept her emotional cards close to her chest. She’d spent a very long time getting over her issues over being abandoned as an infant, even longer getting over her ex abandoning her and framing her for a crime she didn’t commit.

She was brave and strong, but was also terrified of being abandoned.

If it’s not Emma, Killian wonders who could have possibly left this mysterious present behind.

Belle maybe? Only her apartment was the opposite direction of his, and it seemed out of character for her to leave it rather than give it to him directly. Especially since she secretly had a girlfriend.

There were a couple neighbors who always smiled when he looked their way, but one was married and the other was carrying her fiance’s child. They both seemed unlikely but not impossible.

There was always Granny, owner of the diner across from his cafe with her obvious flirting, he didn’t often visit the diner, but he always enjoyed the occasional waffle when he was a bit hungover. Every time he visited she would shamelessly flirt with him, but she was very direct. Also, he had a hunch it was just to make her granddaughter, Ruby, uncomfortable.

(Vengeance for Ruby’s refusal to introduce her grandmother to her secret girlfriend he supposed)

He considered asking Emma her opinion, she was an avid investigator after all, but something occurs to him.

He doesn’t want to give Emma the wrong impression. The last time he’d shown interest in someone else, Emma had started to pull away. He hadn’t understood it at first, but Emma was trying to give him space to date, to be happy without getting in the way, which was absolutely absurd. She was his best friend and would continue to be for as long as she’d have him. No relationship would change that.

The last thing Killian wants is to make that happen again. So a decision is made, he isn’t going to tell Emma, he’s just going to hope that someone made a mistake, or that it was a one time thing.

Perhaps the mysterious gift giver was just someone in the apartment complex that had left it at someone’s door at random.

It was not random. A few days later he finds a teddy bear with a rose in the same spot outside his door.

“Good Morning, Swan,” Killian greets sarcastically leaning against the bloody immovable door.

The new code he’d tried to set up still wasn’t working, he’d finally run out of mugs (except for the mystery one of course), and there was another gift left this morning.

He could hear her car pull into one of the staff parking spots. The unreasonable caffeine deprived part of his mind told him she was here to laugh at his inability to open doors, remember his coffee mugs, or find secret admirers.

Not that Emma was aware of that last bit.

“Just wanted to make sure you got in ok, and maybe catch up.” she assures him. “No coffee?” She asks. He shakes his head.

“Didn’t have a clean mug,” he admits. “I left mine here yesterday.”

Well he did have a clean mug, but Emma would notice a new mug.

“Oh,” she replies a bit disappointed. “Well...you really need new mugs,” she says, moving towards the door. “And to stop leaving yours at work. I think the collection has reached 15 at this point.” She reminds him.

He knows she’s right. He also can’t help but be annoyed with how easily Emma opens the door. “How the hell do you do that?” Killian asks. He’s convinced the landlord programmed it so that he couldn’t open it but anyone else could with ease just to make him insane.

“Magic.” She says with a grin. He disappears into the darkness of the cafe as he does his usual opening procedures, but he doesn't forget to make Emma her beverage. Her new beverage. He needed to pick something Emma would like, but still push her outside her comfort zone.

He decides to start her off with something in her ball park.

“White mocha latte,” Killian announces. She’s on her phone and looks stunned by the drink put in front of her. “You wanted to try something new, right?” Suddenly he feels very nervous and regrets just not bringing her her favorite beverage.

“Yup,” Emma says sternly. “Of course.” She takes a big sip. “It’s great, super sweet,” she confirms.

“It’s popular with the caffeine lovers but coffee haters,” he confirms.

“Right ok,” she says, sipping on it some more. “Are you on for Netflix tonight?” she asks.

Killian nods.

He’d almost forgotten about it. Netflix with Emma was the highlight of his week, they usually got pizza or chinese and picked something at random and just watched it all night long.

Belle used to ask him if anything happened between them on these late night platonic dates, but it never did. Nothing worth mentioning after all.

Which was fine. It was great even. They were best friends.

Last week they’d had to skip it when Emma got called away on an assignment, but this time would be fine.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

#csff #csrr #captain swan au #best friends to lovers #coffee shop au

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