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asteroshearts · 5 months

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My Type

Oh no! Nanami's wife is just Itadori's type!

Or the story of how, upon meeting Nanami's wife, Itadori just can't take his eyes off her.

Nanami x Reader

Tags: this story was referenced here, but can be read completely alone, she/her pronouns, discussions of body types, Itadori's a bit of a pervert here (but he doesn't actually see anything!! Nanami, however, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)), typical anime flashing

Hey Ken: How are you feeling?

You: Like shit My fever got worse after you left

Hey Ken: I'll be home soon. Please take ibuprofen, drink lots of water, and rest as much as you can. I'm finishing up now.

You: I just checked our cabinet We ran out of Bufferin UGHHHH I feel terrible I fucking told Daiki from accounting that he should go home if he was coughing but he said it was fine AND COUGHED IN MY FACE And now look at me

Hey Ken: We're out? I'll pick some up on my way home while I grab our other groceries. Please wait for me until then. Take a nap if you can. You're just going to get more exhausted thinking of the idiots in your office.

You: I looked online, delivery is going to take over an hour I'm getting dizzier I don't want to wait I'm going to go to the Matsukiyo near us to get it myself

Hey Ken: What?

Hey Ken: Don't go. I'll pick it up.

Hey Ken: Darling. Read my messages.

Hey Ken: Pick up the phone.

(10) Missed Calls

Several moments ago…

Itadori already thought that today got off to a weird start.

To begin with, it wasn't Ijichi in the driver's seat to pick him up today, but Nanamin. It also wasn't the Jujutsu Tech standard vehicle, but a nice, sleek, and expensive Porsche.

"W-Woah! Nanamin!" Itadori called then. Eyes wide and bright at the polished paint that glistened in the heavy sunlight. "Nice ride!" he said giddily, running his fingers across the aerodynamic doors. Popping his head up toward Nanami's window, he said, "This must've cost you a fortune!" And he thought that Gojo-sensei spent crazily.

"It was a gift," Nanami flatly said. The boy gaped at him like a fish. But who would just give away a car like this? They had to be really close — or maybe he had saved some rich guy and he thanked Nanamin by giving him a brand new car! The boy's eyes shone. Maybe one day he could get a nice gift like — "Get in." The doors unlocked.

"Hiya, Ijichi-san! Must be nice not driving for once, huh?" While marveling at the car's clean interior, he hopped into the back seat, feeling the leather under his hands and the cool blast of the AC hit his sweaty hair after being in the summer sun.

"Good morning, Itadori-kun," the dark-haired man said with a nervous smile. The car rumbled beneath them as Nanami turned the engine back on. "Nanami-san is surely giving me a nice change of pace — "

"Our duties will not change," Nanami stated, turning the wheel. "Ijichi-san is still required to do his job, as well as you, Itadori-kun. Don't get distracted." The pink-haired boy pouted in the backseat. "It just so happens that I have urgent errands to run after this, so time is of the essence."

Turning into an alleyway, Nanami smoothly hit the brakes and put the car into park. "Let's go."

Luckily for him, the curse was a low-level one mostly used for teaching Itadori the ropes, and the two of them managed to exorcise it in record time. For someone who was just thrust into the world of curses several weeks ago, he was doing well. As well as anyone could in his situation.

The boy was still a bumbling newbie, but he had a good head on his shoulders and was a strong opponent for most curses that they dealt with on a daily basis. Lips twitching into a frown, the blond thought that if Gojo didn't poison the youth's mind, surely Yuji would continue having a nice and mature head on his shoulders.

Nanami had to drop Ijichi off at his next assignment, but other than that, all he needed was to drop Itadori off at the college and then he could return to his sick wife. Paperwork still needed to be done, but luckily he could finish that at a later time. Unfortunately, last night you had a major headache and showed signs of an upcoming sickness this morning.

He had just barely convinced you to not do remote work and just take the day off to rest instead. However, as he checked on his messages with you, he found out that you were insisting on double — no, triple mask to go to the pharmacy yourself. All while you had a 37.5-degree fever.

He tried to call you once, thrice, and all of them were left for voicemail.

Cursing inwardly, Nanami leaned his head back on the headrest. Normally, the blond man was the arbiter of restraint and level-headed thinking, but all of that went out the door at the mere thought of his sickly wife dragging herself out in the street to get some medication. Why did you have to be so stubborn?

"My apologies, Itadori-kun." Nanami pushed up his glasses. "I need to take a detour before I drop you off at your dorm. I apologize for the inconvenience."

The boy blinked owlishly. "Oh that's alri — GH!"

Without another word, Nanami quickly turned left, jolting the teen to the side from the momentum, increasing the speed of his vehicle, and raced down the streets.

Within five minutes, Itadori felt like a dog left in the car as his "owner" raced into the nearest grocery store to grab medication, vegetables, and grains for the upcoming, proverbial storm. Even as the cashier tried their hardest to ignore the intense stare of the tall blond man before them, every second that ticked by as they scanned his purchase felt like hours.

As soon as he nearly threw his money on the tray and took all of the grocery bags under his toned arms, Nanami was off again, shifting into drive and ignoring the speed limit all the way back home.

Nanami could've nearly run into his apartment's chain-link garage doors if it had lifted any slower, allowing him access to his own underground parking before he landed in his designated parking spot within three seconds.

Racing out the car, he took all of the grocery bags over one muscular arm and was prepared to run off until he remembered he had a teen in the backseat.

"Itadori-kun," he said hurriedly. "Can you — " The man stopped himself short.

He originally planned to tell the boy to wait for him in the car, but caught sight of the boy's skin gleaming with sweat, reflecting one of the garage's low lights. Summer was brutal right now, with insane humidity that made Itadori's hair damp as if he had just taken a dunk in water. Even though the parking garage was cooler than it was outside, it was still unbearably hot, not to mention cruel, if he had forced the teen to just sit here and deal with it. Itadori had already waited in the hot car when he went out to grab groceries, and although he rolled the windows down, suddenly Nanami remembered all of the articles of puppies and toddlers dying in the back of cars during the summer.

Sighing, the man pushed his glasses up. "Behave yourself. Come with me."

"Ken?" Eyes wide, you held the door open. Keys were lifted up in the air in the man's hands, but you had beat him to the chase and opened the door before he managed to get the key in the keyhole. "Oh! I didn't know that you were bringing a guest." Stepping back quickly, you realized another person was standing behind your husband. "If I had known, I would've worn a surgeon mask!" Alert, you said. "Hold on, I'll go grab one right now — !"

"No need. We'll make this fast." He was about to take a step forward, but then realized that the student hadn't moved an inch ever since you opened the door. "Itadori-kun?"

As still as a statue, pink slowly rose from the boy's neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. He couldn't rip his gaze from you for even a second. Although your hair wasn't done and your face was covered, he could tell just how beautiful you were.

Furthermore, you looked just like the pin-up models he had in his room — you were just his type! Your little chemise barely ended at the middle of your thigh, and although everything important was covered up, it left little to the imagination with how the fabric hugged your waist and hips. As you held the door open for them and leaned forward, the loose triangle top of your nightgown was teasing him with the exposed curves and valleys of your chest.

You were too hot!

"Itadori-kun," Nanami repeated, irritated.

Way too hot for Nanamin!

"Nanamin! You didn't tell me that you were married!" Eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets, Itadori almost thought they had gotten the wrong apartment when you had just opened the door. While his mentor was an attractive man, it was like a mountain and a molehill to the teenager. Not to mention that this strict and serious ex-salaryman was hitched! To a babe no less!

Certainly, you didn't marry for personality!

He couldn't imagine what your daily life was like while Nanamin talked about doing the bare minimum and never smiled.

Raising an eyebrow, Nanami followed Itadori's stare to your state of dress. You weren't even wearing your indoor slippers, and you were absolutely breathtaking even if you had a dark clay mask over your face. He wasn't an idiot, and he could feel his blood vessels pumping harshly. Trying to remind himself with mantras of how Itadori was just a stupid, hormonal teenager, and you could dress how you wanted, and that he especially couldn't beat up Itadori. Pinching his nose bridge, the man couldn't even look at the boy. "My personal life and my work life are completely separate. I wouldn't anno — !"

"But you don't even wear a wedding ring!" Itadori insisted.

"Why would I wear my rings when my daily job involves fighting and getting messy?" Nanami rhetorically asked, stepping through your door with all the groceries in one go. "Wedding and engagement rings are investments, and I'd be damned if I lose my rings and be forced to inflate the wedding ring industry any more than I already have."

Grinning, you beamed at Itadori. Only you really know how seriously Nanami took the "three month's salary on rings" tradition, especially on his sorcerer's salary. "Now you know, Itadori-kun! If you catch him committing adultery while he's out without his ring, you'll shank him for me, right?" Placing both of your hands on your husband's waist, you laughed when you playfully tried to shake him. Of course, that didn't do much. Your man continued to stand there like a stone statue, as if you tried to rock a brick wall while he remained wholly unamused.

From your weak roughhousing, all that managed to do was drop your spaghetti strap from your shoulder. With your dress threatening to slip, Nanami sighed and quickly stood in front of you, blocking your body from Itadori's gaze. He carefully and slowly pulled your shoulder strap back up your body before you managed to flash the poor teen. When you looked up, his brown eyes met with yours.

Gently rubbing your bare shoulder with his large hand, he asked, "I thought you said you were going to Matsukiyo?"

"I was," you rasped out, voice raw from all the coughing you did. "But then I took one step outside and it was too damn hot." Laughing weakly, you said, "I slunk back like a vampire the second the humidity hit me."

The man sighed deeply, and his shoulders dropped in relief and exhaustion. While he ran around like a chicken with its head cut off from worry, he was glad that you ended up not going out after all.

"Why didn't you pick up my calls?" he said deeply, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear.

"I was making okayu with kombu," you explained. "Sorry," you said genuinely, "that's all I managed to make for our dinner today."

"I'm upset that you cooked in the first place," Nanami scolded. "You should be resting. I said I'd take care of it. Why were you in the kitchen when the hot fumes could make your fever even worse?" Turning away from his nagging, you pouted.

"I'm hungry though…" you mumbled, far too much like a spoiled child, and Nanami was sure, in some way, that you were spoiled, of his making too. He always prioritized you and let you have your way. "And I already ate the miyeok guk you made."

"You could've ordered delivery," the man countered.

"Nothing interested me there."

Inhaling deeply once more, Nanami tried to calm the upcoming headache he felt. There was no point in arguing with you, not when you were coughing and sick like this. "Stay here. I'm going to whip up a bowl of okayu to have with your medicine," the man ordered before he picked up a blanket you had draped over one of your couches and wrapped you in it like a burrito. When you opened your mouth, your husband only sternly repeated, "Stay."

Playfully rolling your eyes when he left to go to the kitchen, you puffed out your cheeks in mock irritation. Closing the door to your apartment so the AC couldn't escape anymore, you turned to the teen who was standing awkwardly in your home.

"Aw I'm sorry," you said, voice sounding like sandpaper again. "You know, Kento's kinda strict, but I assure you he's a good man," you said gently. "Thank you so much for taking care of him."

"M-Me?" Itadori sputtered. "I'm not the one taking care of him! He takes care of me! Um…" The boy grew demure when he realized he had no way to address you.

"Oh," you realized you didn't introduce yourself. "I apologize! I totally forgot! I know you since Ken talks about you and Ino all the time, but I didn't realize you didn't know me!"

Itadori gasped. "He talks about me?!"

"Of course! All good things!" you assured. "Even though Kento seems like a meanie, he's a genuine person and wouldn't exaggerate, so he wouldn't praise you unless he absolutely meant it." You knew that this was the teen that hosted Sukuna, the King of Curses. It was a heavy burden for someone who wasn't even an adult yet, and your heart grew heavy at the thought of this boy's fate.

"Before I forget…" Quickly, you ran to your bathroom and cleaned off your clay face mask before you returned with your bare face wet and a cloth Pompompurin headband keeping your hair out of the way. "I need to introduce myself."

Now Itadori was sure that you two were married with the way you introduced yourself nearly identically to your husband. With your back straight and shoulders squared, hands flat, and arms straight at your side, you closed your eyes and bowed.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Itadori-kun." You acquired your business card out of thin air and held it out for the boy. "My name is Nanami [Name], and I'm a senior project manager at Yurukawa Corp. If you or your friends ever get tired of exorcising curses and want to look into engineering, you can ask me!"

Huh?

It was too silent.

When you rose and looked up, you realized that your husband had suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Standing in between you and Itadori, your husband's stern expression could freeze hell over as he stared down at Itadori with a frown, arm outstretched and his hand held up — right where Itadori's eyes would've seen your cleavage when you bent over to bow.

"Itadori-kun."

"Y-Yes!"

"We are going. Now."

The car was completely silent the entire way to the dorm rooms. Quickly shifting the car into park, Itadori jumped at the sudden stop.

No one said a word. The entire ride felt like the air was heavy enough to drown in.

"Itadori-kun." Nanami's eyes were hidden by the reflection in his glasses.

"…Yes?" the boy squeaked out, pressing his index fingers together.

"Never ogle my wife again."

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami

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mysteryshoptls · 21 days

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SR Jamil Viper - Luxe Couture Vignette

"If I let this opportunity pass me by"

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Jamil: So, this is the "world's most beautiful plaza", the luxury shopping arcade Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: It's no wonder that the passage is lined with high-brand shops.

Ace: Woah! I totally dig those clothes in that shop's window! I'ma check 'em out.

Jamil: Hey, Ace! Ah man, I'll go and bring him back.

[Grim, Vil, and Azul look exasperated]

Shop Staff A: Welcome～!

Ace: Woooah! There's a ton of cool-lookin' clothes and accessories! This's so awesome!

Jamil: Hey… Don't just run off on your own. Come on, we're heading back to Vil-senpai.

Ace: It's just a little peek～ I saw somethin' I liked. Like see, like this T-shirt…

Ace: …Urk, it costs 100,000 Madol [1,000 Thaumarks]! That's waaay too expensive for me!

Jamil: That price is fairly standard for a high-brand shop… Hm?

Jamil: This stitching… It's pretty shoddy. Looks like they're using pretty low-quality cotton, too.

Jamil: Strangely, this doesn't look like the sort of thing that would be sold at this price.

Ace: Huh? Aren't T-shirts all made of the same stuff?

Jamil: Sure. But high-brand T-shirts are generally made with high-quality cotton.

Jamil: Better quality cotton is soft and have a nice feel to it.

Jamil: Not only does it not wrinkle easily, but when the cotton is made into T-shirts, it keeps its shape for longer and makes for a nice silhouette.

Jamil: The design of these other shirts isn’t too terrible… But the fabric quality is just too low.

Jamil: There's no way a shop selling at this level can have a store in the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Which means… They must have lowered the quality of their material after opening. Did they run into some kind of business issues?

Ace: Hey! That jacket's so rough-lookin' and cool! Excuse me, I'd like to try this on!

Shop Staff B: Ohh my, I'm sorry. I'm afraid that jacket cannot be tried on here.

Jamil: …

Ace: Huh? Really?

Shop Staff B: That's right. That is a really pricey jacket. If it is somehow dirtied or damaged, it would be on the customer to compensate the loss, wouldn't you say?

Jamil: …So essentially, he has to decide to buy it or not without trying it on?

Shop Staff B: Well, I guess that's right.

Jamil: …Would I be allowed to try these slacks on?

Shop Staff A: Unfortunately, that won't be possible either. Sorry.

Jamil: Ah, right. Thought as much.

Ace: C'mon. Isn't that a stupid rule?

Middle-aged Man: Oh nice, this is a pretty nice shop. The prices seem pretty reasonable, too.

Shop Staff B: Oh, what an important looking customer! Welcome～! Is there something in particular you're looking for?

Middle-aged Man: I'm wanting a jacket, see… Think you have something that'll suit me?

Shop Staff A: Well, if that's the case, how about this one? It's one of our most popular designs.

Shop Staff B: I'm sure it will be perfect for you. Please, try it on!

Ace: Wha―!? But when I asked earlier, they said it wasn't allowed to be tried on!!

Shop Staff A: Students like you can't possibly buy something like that, so there's no reason for you to try it on, is there?

Shop Staff B: Please go home before you start to disturb our other customers. We don't have the free time to be dealing with you two.

Ace: Huh...!?

Jamil: …Not only are their products low-quality, but so are the staff's customer service.

Jamil: There's no reason to stick around in a shop like this. Let's go meet up with Vil-senpai and the others.

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Ace: Wha was that all about, treatin' us like dirt just 'cause we're students!? That was terrible service. That pissed me off so much!

Ace: First they shoo us out, then they play all buddy-buddy up to the rich-lookin' guy.

Jamil: I bet that since they've been rubbing elbows with the rich and famous while working at that high-brand store…

Jamil: They've completely started to think that they've improved their own social standing.

Jamil: Thinking about those sorts of folks and getting upset about it is a waste of time. Just shake it off.

Jamil: Only the best brands, in both name and reputation, will flourish here at the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: I can't tell if they had a change in management since opening, or if they've suffered business losses…

Jamil: But from what I saw, I can't imagine that place continuing to be suitable for this passage.

Jamil: Even if we do nothing, I'm sure they'll have no choice but to close down eventually.

Ace: It could ruin a brand's rep if they got kicked out of the Crystal Galleria. That'd feel sooo good to see, though!

―The next day

Jamil: I really can't relax at all while at Vil-senpai's side. I'll have to relax as much as I can during my personal free time here.

Jamil: Maybe I'll check out the café at the far end of the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Hm? This shop looks… I guess I can check it out.

Clerk: Welcome! Please feel free to look around.

Jamil: …This place is completely different than the one yesterday. Now, where's that outfit I saw in the window…?

Jamil: Ah, here it is. I thought it looked like a pretty nice jacket from outside, but the pockets and lining give off a more casual feel.

Jamil: This isn't something I see often. The material is good and the sewing and embroidery is delicately done…

Clerk: Would you like to try it on? Come this way.

Jamil: Thank you.

Jamil: Yeah, the size is good and it fits well. I think this color also actually goes well with the clothes I brought with me, too…

Jamil: …How much is this jacket?

Clerk: That would be 50,000 Madol [500 Thaumarks].

Jamil: I see. Would you allow me to think on it?

Clerk: Of course! And please take your time to look at our other items.

Jamil: A 50,000 Madol jacket… That's a bit of a steep price for me… Hmm…

Jamil: The fabric's quality, the design, and the superb stitching make this very high quality…

Jamil: If I think of those factors, even 50,000 Madol is fairly cheap. Also…

Jamil: I've found this in the Crystal Galleria, of all places. If I let this opportunity pass me by, there won't be another chance to buy something like this.

Jamil: …Excuse me. Could I purchase the jacket I tried on earlier?

Clerk: Absolutely. I'll go fetch a new one for you. Please wait a moment.

Jamil: Sure.

Jamil: …I was able to buy a sensible jacket from a reasonable shop here in the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Yeah. I'm definitely satisfied with this. And I'm sure this'll be a great memory.

[Fairest City – Queen's Palace]

Shop Staff A: KYAAA! VIL-SAMAAA! YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL!!

Shop Staff B: SO BEAUTIFUL! I JUST HAVE TO GET A PICTURE OF THAT STUNNING FACE!

Jamil: Hm? I think I saw those two screaming fans over there yesterday...

Shop Staff A: Oh, look! Do you think those guys walking alongside Vil-sama are models too? Should we ask for an autograph?

Shop Staff B: EXCUSE ME!! PLEASE GIVE US YOUR AUTOGRAPH!!

Jamil: …Hahah! You sure you want my autograph?

Shop Staff B: Absolutely! …Wait, huh? I feel like I've seen him before…

Shop Staff A: Wait! Isn't he that customer that we turned away yesterday…!?

Jamil: I'm honored that a mere student like myself would stir your recollections.

Shop Staff A: Wh-Who would have thought he'd be so famous to walk the tapis rouge…? And he looks so good in that outfit!

Shop Staff B: If we had sold clothing to those boys yesterday, it might've been such good publicity!!

Shop Staff A: H-Hey! Once you're finished here, would you care to come visit our shop once more?

Shop Staff B: We have a collection of garments that would look fabulous on you! Please allow us to design your new look!

Jamil: I have to decline. Your shop does not have any article of clothing that would suit me.

Jamil: After all, just as you said yesterday, there is no need to try anything on.

Shop Staff A/B: U-Uhhh… So when we said that yesterday, uh…

Jamil: If that is all, perhaps you should head home now? Not only are you bothering others around you…

Jamil: But I also do not have the free time to be dealing with you, either.

Requested by @ordinaryanon.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #ace trappola #twst jamil #twst ace #twst translation #twst tapis rouge #mention: vil

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ms-demeanor · 1 year

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Oh hey since you just reblogged a post about this, can I get some tech advice? I have two old Dell laptops that are running slow bc (I suspect) dell has some chip installed that can tell if the charger is Dell brand and throttles the cpu if not. And they have since stopped recognizing their chargers. If I install linux, will that fix the issue? Or is it a hardware problem?

So there's not really a way that Dell can do that but realistically the computers are probably just running slow because they're old (5 years is the usable time we estimate for business laptops; after that they may continue *working* but they'll likely be too slow for our customers to consider them good work computers without some significant upgrades). But if they aren't recognizing the chargers there are 3 possibilities I can think of off the top of my head:

1 - It's a battery issue, not a charger issue. Over time batteries fail and will stop holding a charge no matter how long they're plugged in. The solution to this is to replace the battery, which you can usually do for between 20-45USD on amazon

2 - It's a charger issue. Your AC adapters may have both independently failed, it's possible! Low-cost non-OEM chargers often don't have particularly long lifespans, and replacing them may be the way to fix this.

Second possible charger issue is that it may be the wrong power level for the batteries. Sometimes you might look up something like "Lenovo e15 charger" and you'll see one that looks right but it turns out you've ordered a 45w instead of a 90w, and that is a pretty big problem. You need to make sure you're getting something with the exact specs for your specific computer. Here's an article about it.

3 - It's a charging port issue. This is one of the more common problems we see on older computers; basically over time with enough plugging and unplugging the port that connects your charger to the motherboard comes loose. This is something that can be a relatively cheap and easy fix in some cases, or a really difficult fix if the thing is soldered directly to the board. Here's a video of someone replacing the charging port on a Dell Laptop for a general idea of what kind of work might be involved in fixing this.

Okay! Now for some basic troubleshooting! Please test for the following:

If the computers don't power on at all while the AC adapter is plugged in then the issue is either the AC adapter or the power port.

If the computers power on while plugged in but they don't hold a charge, the issue is the battery.

If the battery holds a charge for some amount of time (over an hour) but takes forever to charge, then the problem is that you aren't using the correct AC adapter.

If the battery doesn't charge, the computer doesn't come on, and it's the correct AC adapter you can possibly test the adapter with a voltmeter, test the adapter on another computer with the same power requirements, or disassemble the computer and check the power port connection to the motherboard.

But yeah if the computers are powering on at all, right off the top of my head I'd guess either it's a battery issue or a voltage issue with the adapter.

Linux would not help at all with those issues (though hopefully you've got someplace to start looking to resolve those problems now), but if your computer is running slow because it has older hardware that was designed for a different era of computer use (which can be as recent as 5 or so years ago depending on the specs) then a Linux install will likely help. Though keep in mind that if you do an OS swap you will not be able to run any of the programs you currently have for those laptops on those laptops. I think that Linux is good and want more people to use it generally, but I recommend Linux to new Linux users primarily when the computer they're thinking of installing it on is used mostly as a web browsing machine. An old computer with Linux Lite will generally run faster than an old computer with Windows, but if you're trying to get the old computer to play modern games it isn't going to be fast with either OS.

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breelandwalker · 11 months

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Our AC still isn't fixed and it's going to be in the 90s for the next week. 😭

There's nothing for it, unfortunately. The service contractor our home warranty company assigned us to was TERRIBLE and I had to chase them down for two full months to get appointments and updates, and six weeks after we finally got a tech out, they STILL hadn't sent the report to the warranty company so they could order parts. No wonder all their Google reviews are 1 star. (Like seriously, what part of "Our HVAC system doesn't work at all and the temperatures upstairs are rising to a dangerous level on hot days" says meh, this can wait? Fuck you, Reliance.)

Thankfully, I was able to get us assigned to a different company and they were at the house the very next day and had the report in and parts ordered by the end of the week. So we're waiting on delivery and a repair date. But because of that two-month delay, we're kind of screwed here. Seriously, we put the request in in MID-APRIL hoping this could be resolved before the summer heat waves hit.

On top of that, our HOA doesn't allow window AC units because Gentrified Aesthetic Bullshit. So I called and explained (read: gave somebody a barely-polite earful) about our situation and our request was still denied, but we have until mid-July to remove the unit we put in our bedroom so that the upstairs doesn't get hot enough to be a health hazard for us and the cats.

(The HOA does allow indoor units with a low-profile window exhaust panel, but they cost twice as much as a window unit and we could only afford the cheaper model at the time that the temps were really starting to rise and we had pest control coming so the cats HAD to be upstairs overnight. I'm holding aside a little money just in case we need to get one.)

We'll manage though. We have proper curtains now and plenty of fans, and if worst comes to worst, I'll just spend the weekend in the bedroom with the cats and the AC. It's currently a toss-up as to whether we'll have thunderstorms or just swampy humidity.

I do not enjoy summer. 😑

#Bree in real life

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eserveofficial · 9 months

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 months

Text

Kiss from a rose

Flower shop owner Cass x Baker Marinette for my wife @boldlyanxious. happy early birthday congrats on Age

Marinette stood under the awning of her shop, frowning at the thick droplets of rain threatening to soak her in seconds if she dared to step out from under it. The forecast that morning had suggested a zero percent chance of rain. They had insisted that the clouds overhead were simply the classic Gotham pollution that they all knew and hated. But no. It was pouring. She hoped that the news anchor would get targeted by the mob again. They deserved it.

Okay, perhaps she was being dramatic. She was annoyed, though. She hated rainy days. They made her tired and irritable. Always had, always will.

If she had her way, she would close up shop the moment the asphalt darkened.

Unfortunately, rainy days were great for business, people would be more than happy to ward off the chill with a warm pastry, to enjoy the natural heat that radiated from the ovens no matter how much AC they blasted.

They were also basically every day in Gotham.

At this rate, she would retire early. Which would be great. Maybe she could retire somewhere where it didn’t rain as much.

In order to do that, though, she should probably get back to work soon. Adrien, while good at the customer service part of things, wasn’t all that great at the actual baking part of working at a bakery, and they had been getting dangerously low on low-price items. She glanced back through the window, at people casually chatting and eating, then at Adrien, manning the register.

He caught her gaze and sent her a mildly exasperated look. She checked the time. They would be closing up soon, and they had… well, it would be tight, but it definitely wasn’t worth making another batch this late in the day.

Which meant that her job for the day was pretty much done.

She could see the exact second he realized this, too. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

But this was quickly wiped away in favor of his best smile because a customer had finished their brownie and was in dire need of another.

She snickered to herself, mentally promising to make a quick batch of passionfruit macarons as an apology as she went back to glaring at her mortal enemy: the weather.

But then unexpected movement out of the corner of her eyes drew her attention.

It was the flower shop a few places down. The woman that ran it was quietly gathering the displays she had left out, looking just as annoyed by the rain as Marinette. But probably for a better reason, seeing as the water could easily mess up her displays and deter people from buying from her.

Still, Marinette felt a kinship with the woman.

Maybe that was why she offered to help her take the boxes of flowers in.

The woman – ‘Cass’, according to the sign above the door declaring this her flower shop – looked mildly confused for a moment. She looked at the box of flowers in her hands, briefly, as if processing the idea, and then eyed Marinette up and down. She hesitated, before sending a tiny, grateful smile and nodding.

Marinette helped gather boxes and take them inside. It was slow moving, since Marinette didn’t want to risk accidentally ruining any of the flowers (she wasn’t sure whether they would ‘expire’ at the end of the day like the goods her bakery sold, but she wasn’t going to risk it in case they wouldn’t), and the woman didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. The store was cold, especially in comparison to Marinette’s bakery, but that probably wasn’t helped by the fact that neither of them were particularly dry. It was silent, save for the rain outside, and though she remembered being told once that Cass was mute and that that was the reason for the woman’s quietness, she couldn’t help but feel that it was a little awkward to work in silence like that.

So, she filled the silence. Talking about how this one movie from the other day had been painfully boring and that she needed to avoid it at all costs, if only for the sake of her own sanity. Rambling on and on about all of the different times that Adrien (her roommate, who she could not stress enough was her roommate, and by the way he was just a roommate) had nearly killed both of them trying to cook, whether that be by exploding a microwave or by poisoning them. Running down her to dos for the next few days and mentioning that she needed to buy more flour for the shop. And then, when Cass had sent her a mildly amused look, said flour not flower. Then she decided that, actually, maybe her shop could do with a couple of flowers, a pop of color could do them nicely, but they would have to be scentless, or the entire eating experience would be ruined. Cass had looked confused, so she had had to quickly explain that taste is actually largely based on smell, and sometimes smell can rub off on foods, so people who serve food are actually required to ensure that they never smelled too much – whether good or bad.

She was… definitely talking the woman’s ear off, but she didn’t seem to actually mind all that much, smiling faintly.

At least until Marinette was done helping her.

But, when Marinette made a move to leave, she held up her hands, briefly holding up a finger in the near-universal ‘one second’ gesture.

Marinette watched as the woman flitted about her shop, her lips pursed in thought, a tiny wrinkle between her brows, her cheeks puffed out the slightest bit. She was… extremely expressive. Marinette figured that was probably because she almost definitely used sign language, which Marinette admittedly didn’t know too much about, but she knew that a lot of meaning in sign language was conveyed not actually through the signs themselves, but instead facial expressions. Or, at least, that was what she had guessed by the few interactions with deaf customers she’d had – Adrien was the polyglot, not her.

Either way, the expression was kind of cute.

It was, perhaps, because of that particular line of thought that it took her longer than it should have to realize what was going on. It wasn’t until she saw the woman start arranging the flowers into a careful bouquet that she realized what, exactly, was going on. Marinette’s eyes widened. She did not know that much about plants, save for the edible ones, but she knew enough to know that bouquets were probably expensive.

“I don’t – here, let me run back to my shop and get some money.”

She shook her head and paused briefly, if only to pull a pad of paper out from behind the desk and start writing.

They are to thank you. If you pay for it, I’ll have to thank you again.

Marinette smiled bemusedly. “What a tragedy that would be, getting a bunch of flowers from a pretty lady.”

Cass sent her a look that was surely meant to be stern, but there was amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes.

The paper crinkled in that same gentle way as she tied off the ribbon and offered it to her.

She hesitated, before carefully taking it into her hands. The bouquet certainly smelled floral, but not to the point where it was overwhelming, though that was hardly what most people focus on. Still, it was nice that Cass had taken that into consideration.

As for the flowers themselves… the bouquet was made up of vibrant yellows and soft whites. Marinette tried to pick out what any of them might be. She thought that a couple of them could have been daisies, but don’t quote her on that.

“I’m guessing that all of these have hyper specific meanings?”

Cass nodded, giving her a briefly amused look before starting to write them out. Then, she scribbled over the words and wrote something else. Unfortunately for her, Marinette was nosy, and therefore she squinted long and hard at the section that had been crossed out to try and decipher what she’d originally been trying to say:

Agrimony means gratefulness. White carnations and yellow daisies are about how you’re really sweet and I want you to be happy. Mayflower and Queen Anne’s Lace together usually convey a sense of ‘welcome to my place’.

Basically, I’m really thankful.

Marinette’s eyes widened. She looked down at all of the different flowers. She had been mostly joking about the flowers all having some sort of secret code – she’d heard of flower language, of course, vaguely, in passing – but that was… a lot. It was interesting, knowing how much thought could go into all of the different parts of a bouquet, how it all came together to convey a specific feeling. She wondered if adding or taking away a single flower could change the meaning entirely.

She sent Cass a hesitant smile. “Don’t know how you can keep up with all of that.”

Cass rolled her eyes, waving her compliment off easily.

I don’t know how you can make all of those sweets in time for the breakfast rush.

Marinette felt a faint blush creep across her cheeks. “Well, first, you have to wake up super early.”

Cass looked as if she would rather die. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh at the way her entire face scrunched up in disgust at the mere idea of waking up early.

She could only shrug. “The struggles of a small business owner.”

Tell me about it, Cass wrote, before leaning back against the desk heavily, as if even the memory of work was enough to make her feel faint.

Marinette giggled. “I’d love to, but we should probably get back to our jobs as small business owners and all.”

Cass gave a clearly overexaggerated pout (Marinette wasn’t sure quite how to explain how she knew that this particular overexaggerated expression was more for the sake of a joke than the overexaggerated expressions the woman always did, but there was a definite difference), and Marinette could only laugh and lift her hand in a lazy kind of wave as she headed to the door.

A hand caught her sleeve before she could reach the door, and Marinette wouldn’t even pretend in the privacy of her own head that the reason she was hesitating was just because she didn’t yet want to brave the rain.

The woman hesitated, before offering her another flower. It did not quite go with the bouquet – where the bouquet was white and yellow, this flower was white and pink. Still, it was pretty. And, for the first time, as she gently took it into her free hand and started looking it over, she was pretty sure she recognized them.

“Almonds?” she said.

Cass’s eyes gleamed. She nodded eagerly.

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at the woman’s excitement. “What do they mean?”

She had her trusty notepad on her. But she hesitated this time, her pen hovering over the page.

“Oh, don’t tell me you forgot,” Marinette teased.

Cass’s lips twitched upwards in amusement.

Finally, she started writing.

Help me pack up the next time it rains, and I will tell you. Promise.

Marinette could look it up, of course. It was the modern age. Phones exist and, if she really wanted, it wouldn’t be that difficult to check the moment she left. And she was pretty sure the woman knew that, too, since Marinette had already told her that she was well aware of what flower this was. It wouldn’t be hard to look it up.

The choice was hers.

She smiled faintly, soft petals coming to rest against her lips when she pretended to tap her chin thoughtfully. As if she would ever actually need time to consider her options.

“Promise,” she agreed, quietly wondering if she might have to reassess her hatred of rainy days.

#mgi civil war #cass quality #maribat #cassinette #cassette #lol #cassandra cain #marinette dupain cheng #im a person of color again #<-this joke does not make sense to many people but it was funny i prommy

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jeannereames · 4 months

Text

The Importance of Space

Sometimes where we work matters. At least it does for me.

When my sabbatical was approved for spring of 2024, I assumed I’d do it where I’d spent most of the pandemic: my couch with a rolling laptop desk, and my kitchen table. I have an office at the uni, yes, but have never worked well there. As a grad student, I got used to research in my home space, and I never successfully transitioned to an office somewhere else. I have colleagues who can't work at home, for whatever reason, but I work best at home (even when my son was young).

For some time, I've planned to renovate my upstairs into an office after my son graduated and moved out, for “when I retire.” In fact, I bought this old (1936) house because it had a lovely open floor plan in the finished attic that just SCREAMS library/office. But it needed a split-AC to better control the temps, and serious updating. I’d even had thoughts of adding a little half-bath. I started saving up for all this as soon as I moved in, but it would cost a lot, so it became what felt like a “unicorn” long-term goal. My work for the ATG Netflix docudrama was to get additional funds towards that renovation sooner than “some day.”

This past summer, I finally had the split-AC done. Nothing else could move forward until that, replacing windows, and the potential half-bath. Yet estimates for the last were out of this world, post-Covid, so I decided to jettison the idea.

THAT meant—around August/September—I realized I might be able to get all the updates done in time for sabbatical.

You have no idea how much this recognition thrilled me. To have My Own Home Office (again), and make it just the way I wanted it (albeit without a half-bath). So, bids commenced. I had a GOAL, and a timeline. My sabbatical would begin January 2nd, 2024. And by golly, I was going to have my office (mostly) ready. That a retrograde Mercury would turn direct the evening of January 1st (my time zone), made me all the more convinced that it was the right date to begin.

Ergo, on top of the crazy teaching load, and editing for the Macedonian collection, I scheduled renovations. I just had to survive through December! It was sometimes anxiety-inducing, and half my library (non-academic) was up there. I had to pack all the books (c.1000+), move them downstairs, then move them BACK. Upside? I’ve been recording them with Library Thing as I unpack and reshelve, so I’ll finally have an accurate list of everything I own, at least at home. I’m also slowly using those same (emptied) boxes to bring home books and files from my uni office, for research. And for Christmas, my dear son made me a pair of custom sized-for-the-wall-space bookshelves, 5 feet by 5 feet. I’m tickled pink.

I even managed to find, after much searching, a desk and office chair that are low enough for a short person (The Struggle Is Real). They arrived just in time to be assembled before Jan. 2nd. It really did feel like FATE.

Oh, yes…best part. My office is inspired by Chefchaouen, Morocco’s famous Blue City, with bi-colored blue walls, white ceiling and accents, and a terra-cotta toned carpet. The various installers thought I was nuts until they actually saw it complete: ‘Oh, yeah, this really works.’ Um, yes. Yes, it does. Sun-yellow cushion and blue-yellow-white sheer scarf curtains complete it. Plus a beautiful blue-and-white bowl a student brought back from Morroco for me—the first décor I set out along with my reproduction of the gold sarcophagus from Royal Tomb II at Vergina that Beth Carney bequeathed me.

Eventually, once all the bookshelves are in place, I’ll decorate with photos from Macedonia. My dining room features photographs I took in Rome + a little Greece, the living room is mostly Greece…but my office? That’ll be Macedonia. Virtually all the pictures in the house (with a couple exceptions) I took myself.

There's still a lot more to do; less than half the books are unpacked. My white board isn't up yet, some furniture is still downstairs, BUT.

Today, I unpacked the Loebs I’d brought home, onto my new desk, and started organizing my research. 😊

#Jeanne Reames #home office space #sabbatical #Hephaistion-Krateros monograph

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eserveuniverse · 1 year

Text

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middleearthpixie · 2 years

Text

Good Trouble ~ Chapter One

A/N: Connected to the Durin's Garage Series started by the amazing @laurfilijames. I'm revising and re-posting this fic, since I plan on (hopefully) getting back into it in full swing.

Also, I've changed my tag list a bit - if you'd like to be added (for this fic or for all of them) or removed, please let me know! 💜

Summary: When your car breaks down, there is only one garage in town - Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs. And sometimes, they do more than just tune your engine, check your oil, and top off your fluids…

Everyone in town knows Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs is THE place to go when your car needs work, and everyone knows that Dwalin Fundinson is to be avoided outside of the garage. He’s an ace mechanic, but trouble otherwise.

But then again, there is such a thing as good trouble, as you are about to discover…

Pairing: Modern!Dwalin x reader

Warning: Rated E, NSFW 18+ ~ Minor violence, oral sex (F receiving,) unprotected intercourse (m/f)

Word Count: 6,399

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

Snow swirled past the front windows. The first snow of the year. Well, it was December. The year was coming to a close and you were no closer to your goal of doing something with your life beyond pulling beers and fending off overeager frat boys from the nearby university.

Not that there was anything wrong with bartending. There wasn’t. You loved your job and where you spent most of your waking hours. For the most part, the Dunraven Pub was one of the best jobs you’d ever had. Money was decent. Tips were good. Drunks and those overeager frat boys really were the only downside.

Still… sometimes you wondered if there wasn’t more to be found, somewhere outside the town where you were born and raised. Something was missing from your life. Trouble was, you couldn’t figure out what that something might be. All you knew was things were’t right, and to make matters worse. your father had been growing more and more insistent that you come home. And home was to be avoided at all costs.

The door opened, the gust of frigid wind carrying snow into the pub, and you looked up to see Dwalin Fundinson brushing more snow off the top of his bald head. Actually, would bald even be the right term? Because while the top of his head had no hair (his long, dark hair began somewhere around the middle of his head) it instead was quite intricately tattooed instead, as were the backs of his hands, his forearms, and probably at least up to his shoulders. If the rumor mill was to be believed, even his junk was inked, but you could neither confirm nor deny that little tidbit. You knew better than to get to close to Mr. Fundinson. Everyone knew he was trouble. Always ready for a fight. Not one to mince words. Niceties weren’t necessary his strong suit. He scared the shit out of old ladies, probably.

He was, however, a damn fine mechanic, as seemed to be the case with everyone over at Durin’s Garage and Engine Repairs. They’d been in business since at least the last century and while other garages opened up here and there, none managed to remain in business. Durin drove them all out over time.

He looked to be in a particularly dark mood as he sank onto a barstool at the end of the bar. You walked over, menu in hand, and smiled. “Evening, Mr. Dwalin, what can I get for you?”

He looked up and in the low light, it was difficult to tell that his eyes were blue, but you knew they were. A pale blue, almost gray, really. Pale and cold. You had the feeling he’d seen some things that haunted him. Perhaps that was why he always seemed to be spoiling for a fight. But, you didn’t know him well enough to pry.

“What’s on tap tonight? Anything new?”

You shook your head. “Bobby knows the regulars aren’t interested in any fads, so same thing every week. So, what’re you in the mood for?”

“Ye have Yuengling Dark Brewed?”

“You know we do.” You took a pint glass from the rack, and moved to the tap to fill it, then set a napkin before him, and the glass atop it. “Am I starting a tab or is this your only one?”

“Tab.”

You knew he’d say that, although his tabs never ran more than three drinks of any sort. He wasn’t a big drinker and you’d actually seen him nurse a pint more often than not, especially if he came in with the men he worked with. While they could be loud and raucous, the Durin men—Thorin, and his nephews, Fili and Kili—were not rowdy. They weren’t obnoxious. They just kept to themselves, and when they showed up, every woman in the Dunraven lusted after them, no matter how old or young said woman might be. The entire lot of them were too handsome for their own good. And even Dwalin wasn’t the exception to that rule. Plenty of women eyed him up like a side of beef as well, but he rarely returned the sentiment. You’d never seen him leave the pub with any woman, and you knew plenty of them tried to coax him out.

And that left you curious.

He nursed his beer and you moved further down the bar as two college boys stepped up. One smiled, showing off way too many teeth that were too white and too lupine. “Hey, honey,” he said, “can I get two shots of Jägermeister?”

You ignored the honey, and looked up at him. “Do you have any ID?”

“Sure.” He tugged his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and then flipped it open. “See?”

“Take it out please.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to.”

He sighed, but worked his license free and slapped it on the bar. Out of state. You picked it up and as sweetly as you could manage, asked, “Do you have a second form of ID to go with this?”

“A second form of—are you fucking kidding me?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m twenty-one. It says it right there.”

“State law requires a second form of ID with an out of state license.” You handed it back to him. “So, if you have any other ID, hand it over. If not, have a nice evening.”

“You stupid—are you kidding me?“

You folded your arms, staring at him as if he was a toddler you’d caught being fresh. He thought he was a tough-guy, but you dealt with guys like him almost every night of the week and if he thought he’d win the battle, he was sorely mistaken. “What was that?”

“You want more ID?” He rifled through his wallet, yanking out credit cards and store rewards cards to scatter across the bar. “There, more ID. Now can I get my goddamn shot of Jäger?”

“No. We’re done and you need to go.” You gestured toward the door with one hand, and swept the pile of plastic cards at him with the other.

He scowled. “You’re refusing to serve me?”

“Are ye deaf?” Dwalin broke in, glaring at him. “Ye don’t have the ID, ye don’t get the shots. It’s no’ a difficult concept.”

“Did anyone ask you?”

You sighed. “Tony?”

Tony was the bouncer and he was there in a moment, grabbing the kid by the arm. “Time for you to go, tiger.”

“Tiger? What the fuck? What am I? Twelve? Get your goddamned hands off me!”

You looked over at Dwalin as Tony tossed the frat boy out of the bar. “Thank you. Next one’s on me.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t mention it. Can’t stand snot-nosed kids who think they know everything. He’s been legal all of five minutes, little shit.”

You couldn’t hold back your smile. “Well, thank you, just the same. Are you hungry? The kitchen’s still open.”

“No, thanks. It’s just been a long day.”

You leaned your elbow against the bar. “Want to talk about it?”

He lifted the bottle of porter to his lips and shook his head, rumbling, “Not particularly,” before he took a pull.

“If you change your mind,” you winked, “I’ll be right over there.”

That got you something of a smile and a wry, “I’ll try to remember that.”

You moved down to the far end to wait on a couple of soccer moms and by the time you were finished with them, Dwalin was gone, a twenty tucked under the bottle. The tip was more than the total of the bill. You smiled as you cleared away the bottle and tucked the tip into your jar.

By the time your shift was over, it was nearly two AM and you were dead tired. But, you were also off tomorrow, so at least you had that going for you. You bid Tony and Bobby goodnight, and made your way out into the cold and the snow. Your car was parked in the far corner of the lot, under the only streetlight. You figured you broke even on danger scale that way—well lit, but far away.

It was still snowing, and the breeze had picked up to sift the powder this way and that. It also muffled footsteps, which was why you never heard the college boy come up behind you until his hands planted firmly against your shoulder blades and he shoved.

You reeled forward, stumbled over your own boots, and went down hard against the pavement. He grabbed a handful of your hair to twist. “Not so high and mighty now, are you, bitch?”

You didn’t hear the second set of footfalls, but then frat boy yelped and let go of you and you flipped onto your back in time to see Dwalin throw a punch that dropped the kid like a sack of sand. No whimper. No yelp. Just a fist meeting his face, followed by a dull thud.

“Dwalin?” You stared up at him, oblivious to the snow soaking into your jeans, and only just noticed the cold that bit into you. “What are you doing here this late? You left hours ago.”

He reached down to catch you by the wrist and tugged you to your feet. “I had a bad feeling about this snot-nosed punk.” He nudged the frat boy with a booted foot, then turned back to you. “Are ye okay?”

“I’m a little shaken up, but okay otherwise.” You looked up at him as you brushed the snow off your ass, from the backs of your legs. Frat boy must’ve gotten a lick in, for a bruise was forming under his right eye, and below that, a small cut. “Did he hit you?”

“Aye, if ye can call it a hit. I’ve been hit harder by my own kin.” He jerked back. “Ah, don’t touch it!”

“Oh, don’t be a baby. Come on, you’ve got a cut under your eye. There’s a first aid kit under the bar, let’s just—”

You started back toward the bar, only to have him refuse to move and stopped you short as he growled, “It’s fine and I don’t need first aid.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He probed at the small cut beneath his eye with a fingertip. “It’s fine. Barely a cut and more like a scratch.”

“Oh my god, you are a stubborn mule.” You crouched to scoop up your purse and the book you read when the bar was slow. As you stood, you faced him again. “Thank you. I don’t know why you were loitering around here so late, even if you did have a bad feeling, but I’m glad you were.”

“Well, as long as yer all right. Ye should go before he wakes up.”

“What if he presses charges?”

“I’ll remind him that he assaulted ye first.”

You looked down at the slide mark in the snow, made by you when you fell, and a shiver ran along your spine. If Dwalin hadn’t been there… it could have been so much worse. It probably would have been so much worse.

You shivered again, which did not go unnoticed.

He shrugged out of his leather jacket and moved to drop it around your shoulders. “Ye aren’t wearing a coat, lass. Are ye mad? It’s nearly freezing out here.”

“I don’t like driving in a jacket and I didn’t think I’d need it to go from the car to the bar and vice versa.” Your stomach tossed suddenly and without thinking, you leaned into him. He was warm. He smelled nice—like the snow itself, crisp and clean. And when he drew an arm around you, you felt safe.

He draped the jacket over his arm. “Let me see ye to yer car.”

“It’s the Jeep in the corner.”

“Ye shouldn’t be parking out here. Yer too far from, the building.”

“Employees aren’t allow to park closer. Those spaces are for customers.”

“Bobby is a jackass.”

You managed a small laugh. “I won’t argue that.”

At your red Jeep Wrangler, you said, “Where is your car?”

“I don’t take my car out on nights like this. And it’s no weather for a bike, so I’m on foot.”

“A bike? As in a motorcycle?”

He nodded. “Yes, as in a motorcycle.”

That didn’t surprise you as all. He definitely looked like the motorcycle sort, and you could easily see him astride one. “Isn’t a little cold out for being on a bike?”

He shrugged. “I don’t feel the cold so much, so no. I guess not. But,” he looked up, holding out a hand palm up to catch the silent flakes drifting around them, “like I said, too dangerous to be on my bike on a night like tonight, so I’m on foot instead.”

“On foot? How far do you live from here?”

“Not far. A mile or so that way,” he pointed toward the center of town.

“You walked here?”

“I took an Uber.”

You bit back a smile, picturing the look on his driver’s face when said driver got a good look at him. “You must have made him wet his pants.”

To her surprise, he grinned. “He did look a wee bit nervous, now that ye mention it.”

“Get in.” You beeped off the alarm. “The least I can do is give you a ride home. Although,” you looked over at frat boy, “think we should at least nudge him?”

“Fuck him.” Dwalin tugged open the passenger door and climbed in. “It’d serve him right to freeze his nuts off out here.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you didn’t. You climbed into the driver’s seat, kicked over the ignition, and backed out of the space.

Dwalin directed you through town to a small apartment complex not far from Durin’s Garage. You pulled into a guest space and put the engine in neutral, tugging the emergency brake up to engage it. Two slots over, a tarp draped what you assumed was probably his motorcycle and you wondered what kind of bike he owned. A Harley, no doubt. Something jet black and shiny, with a throaty-sounding engine.

“Are ye sure yer okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you again, though. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

“Yer welcome.” He looked over at you, and when he smiled, it was like being hit with something heavy—like a cast-iron frying pan—only there was no pain following the blow. “Like I said, I had a feeling he was trouble.”

“Well, people say that about you, too, you know.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“So, why did you really come back?”

“I told ye—”

“You left two hours ago. Where were you?”

“I came home and the more I thought about it, the more I worried. The more I worried, the less I could sleep. So, I caught an Uber and came back.”

“You were worried about me?”

“Yeah. I like ye.”

“You like me.”

He nodded. “I like ye. Ye don’t really think it takes me two hours to finish one silly porter, do ye?”

“I thought you were a lightweight.” You couldn’t resist teasing him. It was a gamble, and you held your breath for a moment.

But then, he chuckled. “I can drink any one of those boys under the table, ye know.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I can. I just choose not to because someone’s got to look out for them.” He looked up and met your gaze again and you felt the air crackle around you. Without thinking, you leaned across, over the console, and kissed him.

He looked so fierce and frightening, with his long, dark hair and heavy dark beard and mustache, and all of his ink, but the second your lips met, his hands came up to cradle your face. His thumbs moved along your cheeks in soft, sweeping motions. His lips were just as soft, almost surprisingly so, and they moved against your with a gentleness you never would have taken him to possess. His lips parted, his tongue brushed along the edges of your lips, then slid between them to caress yours. He released your face, his arms snaking about your waist and, with almost no effort, he pulled you astride him.

Your knees sank into the perforated leather seat on either side of his hips, and you wrapped your arms about his neck, pressing yourself flush against him. His body was firm and hard, muscles lay thick across his shoulders, down his upper back.

Little by little, the Jeep’s windows fogged up and the heat seemed to work too well. It made your clothes heavy and uncomfortable. His fingers curled into the bottom of your navy blue Dunraven Pub tee shirt, tugged it from the waist of your jeans, and when his hands lay flat against your bare skin, you actually shivered. His fingertips were warm and rough, dragging up along the valley of your spine. They snagged in your bra strap. A flick of one wrist, and the band opened and you sucked in a deep breath as—

“Ohhh…” The sigh leaked from you as those rough fingertips swept along the outer curve of your breasts. His thumbs dragged teasingly about your nipples, sending ripples of icy pleasure spiking through you with each achingly slow turn. Your nipples puckered into taut beads beneath his touch and as they did, a silky heat began to pool between your legs. You rocked slightly forward, and when you met the very firm bulge of his cock straining against his jeans, you smiled and shivered at the same time. It had been a while since you’d fooled around with anyone, never mind that you were fooling around with Dwalin, who reeked of danger and sex and everything your mother always warned you away from, all the while fearing it was exactly what would attract you.

And attract you it did. You’d spent so many nights wondering about him, watching him interact with his friends, how he seemed especially protective toward Thorin Durin. Perhaps the rumors were lies and he wasn’t nearly as frightening as those rumors wanted you to believe.

And then there was the rumor about his ink…

You shivered. This was like being a teenager all over again, hoping like hell you didn’t get caught by the cops because a nosy neighbor saw or heard you. The Jeep’s interior grew warmer by the minute and the only light came from a streetlight on the opposite side of the parking lot. More shadow than light filled the Jeep’s interior, but you didn’t need light to see. You knew what he looked like—trouble. Good trouble.

He pushed your tee shirt higher, his beard tickled your skin as he shifted just enough and his lips replaced his thumb, his tongue slowly swirling about one aching nipple now. Your back arched of its own, your eyes closing as his hands skimmed up your back, then down, his thumbs hooking in the waist of your jeans.The air grew heavy with arousal, with your sighs as he coaxed even more heat from you. Knots seemed to form just below your belly, dropping into your core to spread that fire. You bit down hard on your bottom lip as he caught your nipple in gentle, teasing teeth and flicked just the tip of his tongue over it.

Your fingers wound in the dark hair falling below his shoulders, which was far softer than you’d thought it would be. Your hips rolled toward him, the skim of your thong against your increasingly achy folds offered only slight relief.

He tried to whisk your tee shirt over your head and when you shifted to let him—

Thunk.

Your head met the roof. “Ow.”

“Sorry, love,” he whispered, letting your tee shirt flutter back down. “Are ye okay?”

You rubbed the small bump on your head. Just touching it sent pain zinging along your scalp, but you didn’t really care all that much as you smiled down at him. “I’m fine.”

His hands came to rest on your hips as another car swung into the lot and for a moment, you felt like a spotlight shone on you. Dwalin cleared his throat. “I should probably let ye go.”

“No,” you said without thinking, “you shouldn’t.”

Those fingers on your hips tightened and the slight smile playing at his lips made your belly flutter with butterflies. “Are ye sure?”

His voice was barely a whisper, a hint of disbelief woven into those three words. He seemed so surprised that you might actually want to be with him, and it made you think back to the rumors that floated around regarding this man, both flattering and unflattering, made you think about how you always thought him cute, but were afraid the unflattering things were truth and so never made mention of your crush.

Maybe they weren’t true at all.

And, to be totally honest, you really were curious about that tattoo…

Catching his face between your palms, you smiled and nodded. “I’m positive.”

He smiled and tugged you back to him for a gentle kiss. Then, you vaulted back into the driver’s seat, killed the engine, and pushed open the door. The frigid air bit into you and you were thankful that his building was apparently the one closest to the lot. He thrust open the main door. “I’m up the stairs, first door on the left.”

Your heart beat faster now. This wasn’t something you made a habit of, but sometimes exceptions had to be made. This was one of those times.

He came up behind you, his heavy leather boots thudding dully on the stair treads. Under the bright hallway lights it was easy to see why people were actually afraid of him. He did look like a cross between a Hell’s Angel and a… Hell’s Angel. You would not have been at all surprised to find out he did time for killing someone. He looked that fierce. But you also saw hints of that ferocity tempered by the gentle side you had the feeling he didn’t show to many people.

He held a key-laden carabiner in one hand and as he flipped through his keys, you studied those massive hands, trying to figure out what exactly he’d had inked into his skin. But, try as you might, the pictures made no sense to you.

The keys rattled softly as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, then gestured for you to go ahead of him. You stepped into the warm front hallway, and squinted as he threw the switch and the overhead light blazed brightly. A hint of cinnamon and nutmeg hung in the air, along with a whisper of fried onions, which made you smile because you just couldn’t imagine him cooking. Stupid, really. He certainly had to eat, didn’t he?

Besides, the tiny kitchen was just to your right and you saw for yourself the dishes in the drying rack. Dwalin Fundinson was a regular guy after all.

The door closed softly behind them, the lock tumblers falling into place as he re-locked the door. “So, this is my place. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

You smiled at him over one shoulder then turned back toward the small, square living room. It was spotless, the walls dark gray, the trim bright white. The coffee and end tables were chrome and glass. The furniture had clean lines and fit in with the color scheme. The sofa was dark brown, the armchair cobalt blue. The carpeting was dark blue and looked as if it’d been recently vacuumed. It wasn’t at all how you’d picture his apartment to be at all. This was far homier, even if the chrome didn’t do it for you.

“Not much? It’s fine.”

“Not what ye pictured, is it?” A grin teased at his lips. “Ye can admit it.”

“It’s not, no. And that’s really shitty of me to say, because it’s so terribly judgmental.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know what people think when they see me. I count on it.”

“Well, it’s wrong, whether you expect it or not.” You turned toward him. “And I apologize for it.”

He closed the gap between you, looming over you, all broad shoulders and wide chest. Then, he caught your face in his hands, tilted it to his. “Ye don’t have anything to apologize for, love,” he whispered, then bent to just very lightly brush his lips against yours.

That light, teasing kiss sent chills through you. Your eyes closed. You gave into the urge to lean into him. And when you did, the hand on your left cheek slid down, along your arm, his thumb brushing the outer curve of your breast. His fingers grazed your waist, then he slid that hand back up up to cup your left breast. Your back arched of its own, pressing that breast deeper into his hand. He offered up a gentle squeeze, even gentler kneading.

He teased you a few minutes, then pulled back and with a heavy-lidded, seductive smile, whisked your tee shirt over your head.

“Pretty,” he rumbled, tracing a forefinger along the satiny strap of your shimmering blue lace bra. His eyes visibly darkened as his gaze lowered to the nearly-sheer bra. The lace only just barely hid your breasts, but offered up enough of a view to be enticing. You had chosen wisely when you tugged it from the lingerie drawer this morning.

Wisely, indeed.

The cups were unlined, just naked, stiff lace that aided in his caress when his thumb brushed over your nipple. It was rough against you, pebbling your nipple with only one pass. You bit down on your bottom lip, fire swirling through you, heat pooling between your legs once more. His free hand slid down along your belly. He popped the snap on your jeans.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip as he tugged open the fly and his fingers eased beneath the lacy thong that matched your bra, into your curls.

Into that heat.

He glided easily through your wet folds, his thumb just barely skimming over your clit, his fingers teasing every bit of slick flesh as he moved closer to your entrance. A thick finger slid inside you, thrusting to reach the small swelling that, when he found it, had you moaning softly into the fragrant air as you clenched about that finger moving so slowly inside you.

Your eyes closed at the sensations running riot through you from a single finger teasing you, bringing you to the brink of insanity. His voice was a gravelly purr, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you for so long…”

“Why…” Damn it! Your thoughts were like fat, lazy slugs, refusing to form into any sort of coherent pattern. “Why didn’t you say—say anything?”

He slid his finger from you, slid it through your slickness, over your clit once more, and then moved to plunge it back inside you. “A girl like you would never want a guy like me, that’s why.”

“You—you’re wrong. Because I absolutely do want you…” Your head spun so badly, you almost felt faint. He found that swelling again, stroked it to send fire radiating through you. Your orgasm came swift and hot and hard and you gushed over him, your voice a hoarse whisper as you throbbed and clenched about that finger, as you arched and writhed against him. “Oh… holy… oh, yes…”

He teased you mercilessly, finger working inside you, thumb working your clit as you exploded around him. He held you tight, even as your knees buckled from the force of your climax. And when you went limp in his arms, he slid free and bent to slash his mouth over yours.

You wrapped yourself around him, tugging at his dark gray henley to drag it up toward his shoulders. He pulled free just long enough to sweep it over his head, and then he was back, his lips seizing yours.

The rest of your clothing got in the way, tugged off and tossed aside as quickly as possible and when no more remained, you let your hands wander over his solid body, from the bulging muscle of his upper arms and shoulders, down to the thick slabs of muscle along his thighs and calves, you explored him with your hands, your lips, your tongue until he trembled against you.

But, as you moved to kneel before him, he caught you. “No, love,” he growled, “I’m no’ finished with ye.”

He maneuvered you around him, backed you toward the sofa. You sank into the soft cushions, cradled by them as he sank to his knees before you and bent to press a hot kiss into your belly. The cushion shifted beneath you as you gripped a corner when he moved lower. Your eyelids were so fucking heavy, but you would not let them close. Oh, no. You wanted to watch him, wanted to see what he did to you, wanted to see him being so gentle, so loving, with you.

His first stroke came lightly, the tip of his tongue darting against you, but then..

Oh, but then… He shifted and went from short, teasing flicks to long, silky strokes, his heat melding with yours. He swirled his tongue about your clit, down along it, teased you slowly up to the very tip of the aching bead, then down along the opposite side. And with each leisurely pass, your body trembled a bit more. A second orgasm took root, softer at first, but as he applied more pressure, that softness grew into tingly hot fire. He didn’t let up, even as you writhed beneath him. You couldn’t help it. It just felt so fucking good… Everything inside you pulsed in time to his strokes, to his swirls, your hips rocked to meet each velvety caress. You couldn’t hold back your moan as the wave rushed toward you, rising and cresting until—

“Dwalin!” You came in a fiery flash, gushing over his tongue as he continued his sensual torture of your aching flesh. And when he finally eased up, you could barely breathe, convinced you were about to melt into a small puddle on his amazingly comfortable sofa, and you were perfectly fine with that.

He pressed a gentle kiss into the curve of your inner thigh, his beard soft as a whisper against your overly sensitive skin. Another kiss over your hip. Your belly. Up between your breasts, and when his mouth found yours, you felt it through to the center of your being.

You had never realized just how hot he was until now. The ferocity factor always seemed to temper everything else. But the reality was, he was so very handsome, in a rough and tumble sort of way. His upper body lay heavy with muscle that came from hard work and not from a gym, and his left arm was sleeved in black and gray ink that stretched over across his chest as well. Some of the ink was hidden behind a spread of dark hair interspersed with silver, but you could still see it, even if it was a little difficult.

And that ink also stretched down into his flat belly, more visible because the silver-tipped dark hair thinned into a trail running down the middle of his stomach to his navel, then resumed below, where it joined a thicker, coarser spread of dark hair. You reached out to trace one of the thick black ink lines down along his ribs, down to his hip, where it angled toward that thatch.

He caught your hand in his, snaked his free arm about your waist, and gently drew you up from the sofa. He bent to you, his mouth finding yours and as he deepened his kiss, he swung you up into his arms.

His bedroom was the end of the narrow hallway, across from the bath. Your belly whooshed as he set you on his very comfortable bed without breaking that same kiss. When he did draw back and his gaze fell completely on you as you lay naked before him, those pale eyes darkened and he growled, “Damn, yer fucking beautiful.”

He bent over you, hands on either side of your shoulders, looming over you to block out all that was around you as he came gently against you. The crisp hair on his chest teased your nipples back into stiff peaks, the thigh he eased between yours pressed just right into your folds to get your arousal flowing once more. You ached to explore his body, to let your hands run over his skin, over the rounded curve of his ass, along the length of his muscled thighs.

You reached for him, curled your fingers about his hard, hot, utterly impressive cock, then smiled when he exhaled with a low, “Ohhh…”

He arched into your touch, into your grasp, and more than anything, you wanted to look to see if the tattoo rumor was true, but it was too dark even if you could get yourself into the right position. The hallway light offered up just enough to make out his silhouette, to see how his eyes glittered as his gaze locked with yours, but that was about it. The question would remain unanswered for now.

A car alarm sounded in the distance. A door slammed somewhere below you. He shifted just a fraction of an inch to settle between your legs, which parted of their own to accommodate his hips.

He slid through your folds, your slickness making him simply glide through them. A low growl rumbled from him. He arched away from you, reached a hand between you, and then you felt him press against you.

He breached you, his thick cock stretching you as he fit it inside you, and you shivered at the sensations he sent scorching through you. He teased you, filled you inch by slow, delicious inch, until you were ready to simply melt around him without his offering up even a single thrust yet.

“Oh, love…” His burr thickened as he whispered your name and moved slowly inside you. “Ah, ye feel so very good…”

You wrapped yourself around him, meeting each thrust with a tilt of your hips. He kissed you, slowly. Deeply. His tongue moved in sync with his hips, teased you, drew yours back into the welcoming heat of his mouth. With each thrust, pleasure spiked thorough you, stronger and sweeter, your climax already building.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours.

“What?”

He nodded, offering up another lazy, deep thrust. “I have, love. Ye have no idea what I’d be thinking, watching ye, night after night…”

The thought of him sitting on his barstool, watching you sent a delicious shiver through you. You bent your legs, pressed your knees into his sides and smiled as he let out plaintive moan. “So tell me now,” you whispered, as he thrust harder now.

Another deep, hard thrust had you trembling around him. Dear god, his control amazed you. Those thrusts were so powerful, and yet, he managed to maintain his steady pace when the fire within you built so quickly, you were ready for him to just jackhammer both of you into oblivion.

He sped up, arching hard against you as he growled, “This, love. This is what I’d be thinking.”

As he spoke, his thrusts came swifter, more powerful, and that was the end of any conversation as you felt the first tingles of another orgasm. You clenched around him, squeezed him as he neared the end. His breath came in harsh gasps, his fingers curled into the dark blue comforter beneath you as he fought for leverage.

You rocked your hips, meeting each thrust as he surged deep. He sucked in a rough breath, his eyes closed. You melted around him, and as you shattered, he came at the same time. He arched hard, his body jerking with each pulse, and when he finished, he sank against you, his head on your breast. He trembled in your arms, his lips gazing the curve of your right breast as he whispered, “I’ve wanted to do this since the day I met ye, love…”

You smiled into the darkness, letting your fingers smooth over his dark hair, which was cool and silky to the touch. “You should’ve spoken up sooner.”

“I didn’t think I stood a chance with ye.”

“Why?”

He lifted his head to regard you with sleepy eyes. “Look at ye and look at me. Why would I think otherwise?”

With a low groan, he pulled free of you and rose to pad into the adjoining bathroom, where he emerged with a hand towel. “Girls like ye don’t look at guys like me.”

“Nonsense.” You took the towel to clean yourself up. “Of course we do, but we’re also afraid of you to a certain extent.”

“Afraid of me?” He flopped onto his back alongside you.

“Dwalin, you are terrifying and you know it. You have to know that.”

He looked over at you and grinned. “I count on that, actually.”

With a sigh, you finished cleaning up and then rose to take the towel back into the bathroom. When you came back out, you stretched out alongside him. “So, then why would I think you’ve been lusting after me, especially if you don’t say anything?”

He looked over at you, his eyes soft, his expression somewhat guarded. “So, if I asked ye out?”

“I would probably say yes.”

“Want to go out sometime? Dinner, maybe? A movie?”

“I’d love to, Dwalin. As long as you promise we can do this again.”

He chuckled, reaching for you. “Do I look fool enough to turn ye away?”

You didn’t resist as he drew you atop him. He felt very nice so tightly pressed against you. Thank God you had tomorrow off because he started kissing your neck so very nicely and it didn’t take long before you wanted only to claw open his back while he fucked you but good again.

#The Hobbit #Dwalin #Dwalin Fundinson #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #AU #Dwalin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Dwalin x reader #Dwalin short fic #modern au #garage au #stay tuned #more to come

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