#also the fact that its the only white sign on the door... Think about it in the white(innocent) and black (guilty and also the color cheroy

[poisonerthing]

i know most people have talked about fuuta and amane having locks on their doors already but its so interesting to me that rumerie's signature points at the keyhole on fuuta's

it leaves me wondering if we missed anything in backdraft except for the graffiti and the end part or if that was all there was to see

(more on my rb)

[iznyangwoni]

EASY TO LOVE |chapter sixteen !

“You come with me.” Jungwon pulls your shirt lightly to catch your attention. You were about to get in the car with Wonyoung and Moka, so you turn around confused to look at the guy.

His brows are furrowed again, and his jaw is clenched. You decide to not comment on that, and instead you sign at Jay to switch places with you. Jungwon is basically dragging you into his car. “Jungwon.” He doesn’t answer, he opens the door for you and then just gets in the car.

Everyone else has already left, meanwhile Jungwon seems to be distracted, and really, really pissed. It’s annoying you. It really is, but you don’t want to stay in a car with him for two hours in a bad mood, so you put your hand over his before he can start the car. “Is everything okay?” “I don’t know, you tell me.”

He says, before brushing your hand off and starting the car. You look at him as if he’s crazy, because he’s honestly acting like it, you turn around to face the window, your arms crossed. The first thirty minutes of the ride are so silent its killing you, especially since only a few hours ago you both were in your room doing all kinds of things. What the hell could’ve gone wrong in so little time?

“You know, usually normal people have a conversation about what went wrong.” Jungwon lets out a sarcastic laugh, and you know for a fact that its not an amused one. “Well maybe you should figure it out yourself since you like acting like a damn smartass.” If his words weren’t pissing you off so much, you would’ve appreciated his appearance this morning way more.

He’s wearing a white sleeveless top, his arms flexing while he drives are about to drive you crazy. but this is not the right time. Still, you try again to be gentle, thinking that maybe it would help him calm down too. “I told you i dont like fighting with you, Wonie..” “Y/n right now its not the time to talk to me like that.”

You didn’t really notice at first, but he’s going really fucking fast. “Tell me what’s it about then? I cant read your mind.” You’re trying to act calm, but its so hard with him acting like this, speeding through the street and not giving you any reasons for your attitude. “Did you fucking got Minji expelled?” You keep silent.

Oh. So this is what is about. Jungwon takes a look at you when you dont answer, he already knows its the truth. You did it and he couldn’t understand why you did that over just a picture of the two of you kissing. “Y/n!” He almost shouts your name and you close your eyes for a second, he hits the steering wheel while also going faster.

“Slow down!” You shout back, you look at the mirrors, the street is completely empty, but that doesn’t make it any better. You put your hand on the handbrake, not wanting to pull it, but at least he would get the memo that way. “Jungwon slow the fuck down.” He doesnt think twice before taking your hand and putting it on your thigh. “Don’t you dare.”

“Slow down, you’re scaring me.” Jay had told you how fast of a driver Jungwon is, but this still doesnt seem normal. The guy sighs, his hand still on yours as he slows just a bit down, if he kept going that fast you would’ve probably threw up somewhere. “We shouldn’t talk about these things when you’re driving.”

“Oh sure now you’re the one who doesn’t want to talk.” “Jungwon-“ “Did you do it, yes or no?” You keep silent once again. The answer is obvious but you still cant bring yourself to tell him the true reason for that. You don’t want to tell him how scared you are about that video being leaked, you don’t want things to go back how they were last year.

“Jungwon you wouldn’t understand..” You feel your voice breaking, you know he’s never going to talk to you ever again after this. “Yeah i honestly don’t understand ruining someone’s life for so little so maybe you’re right.” “It’s not something so little.” Jungwon parks on your driveway, neither your mother or brother are home at the moment, but you dont want him to get inside the house right now.

“What it is then? Y/n i tried to act like i dont care, i really did, but this is getting bigger than i thought and i need to know now.” You shake your head to say no, your throat is already hurting, you dont want to cry. He’s going to hate you either way, so might as well go all out. “I can’t tell you. Just accept it.”

“Y/n you just ruined Minji’s life, how can i accept it?” You can see the disappointment written on his face, and that honestly breaks your heart even more, so you break eye contact, your eyes on your hands, playing with the keys of your house. “And who the hell are Ricky and Jiyoon?” You panic as you hear those names, where the hell did he get those?

“How much more do you know?” “That is not the point.” “Just tell me!” Jungwon stays silent when you snap at him like that. He can see your hands shaking, but he doesn’t say anything about it, his voice comes out much colder when he speaks next. “Only that you got them expelled too.”

You nod, it’s still much more than what you’d want him to know, but at least he isnt aware of what actually happened. “Y/n just how much more are you hiding? I care about you, and if the fact that something happened to you is true, then i need to know what it is. But by the only pieces of information i have, you look like the villain here.”

You chuckle sarcastically, of course you’re the villain in this story too. So why would you tell him the truth? He’d probably find a way to blame it on you just how many others did. You shake your head again, taking off your seatbelt and opening the door. “Y/n.”

“I told you you were getting too attached, Jungwon. I am not a good person, i do shitty stuff and dont get consequences because of my surname. I’m a spoiled, evil, mean little girl who has never had a bad day. And everything else that people told you about me. I’m sorry you believed that i wasn’t.” and with that you get out of the car, slamming the door loudly before getting in your house.

prev | masterlist | next

TAGLIST @unhakki @firstclassjaylee @en-verse @mxxninthesky @onlyhyunjin @heeseungmyman @jiamini @yoonzns @wonswondrland @50-husbands @leaderwonim @aloloveswonie @f3rraribabez @jwonistic @ribbioniki @kyanmeai @ilovejungwonandhaechan @nat123c @yjwsgf @gyuvision @realrintaro @glxzillx @qettalos @rairaiblog @sakanelli-afc @nodiotter @haohaoshoe @vixensss @terryfiedgyu

[andypantsx3]

SOMETHING IN THE WATER | 5 | SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: As a future marine biologist, you’ve scored big on your final internship: a summer in the tropics, researching the waters off the coast of a lush, sunny island. But what you thought would be all beach days and piña coladas turns out to be the revelation of a lifetime when you haul in a handsome merprince, and discover not everything in these waters is quite as it seems. TAGS/WARNINGS: mermaid au, interspecies relationships, mating rituals/courting behavior, (sort of) case fic, aged up characters, eventual smut, fem pronouns/afab reader LENGTH: 3.5k of est. 21k, 5th of 8 chapters

It was pollution. No doubt about it.

Under the lens of one of Kamui’s microscopes, the evidence was incontrovertible. The piece of white coral Shouto had brought you sported distinct traces of industrial processing chemicals that had almost certainly contributed to its bleaching, the concentration high enough that it had also probably choked the life out of the nearby environment.

It was high enough, in fact, that you were absolutely floored your team hadn’t come across even a hint of anything similar before. Based on the levels, you should have been finding at least smaller traces close to the area it came from, but nothing you’d found so far had even hinted at anything like this.

Which begged the question, just where in the hell had Shouto gotten it from?

When you legged it back down to the beach, however, both the merman and your sandwich were missing. The only evidence of his presence were the slices of mozzarella that had clearly been picked out of the sandwich, laid out cleanly on the wrapper you’d left behind.

You’d sighed and cleaned your trash up, then slogged back to your room for a shower and a few hours of sleep, stowing the coral away safely to show to your team in the morning.

When you awoke, however, you realized you would have no way of explaining to them where you’d obtained it, and no way to point them any closer to the source of the issue. You resolved to find Shouto as soon as possible to figure out what was going on, hopefully before the scheduled tour of Sunfish.

You rocketed through your morning tasks, and hurriedly volunteered to take over trap checking duty, disappearing out the door before Yu could so much as get out a reply.

You boated north to the reef where you’d first met Shouto, and jumped into the water before you’d even gotten your snorkeling gear on properly, certain the merman would somehow find you. You’d nearly finished checking the trap, kicking off the seafloor to rise back to the surface when a hand seized your elbow, guiding you back up.

Shouto’s handsome face was staring back at you when you yanked off your goggles, his distinctive hair slicked back with ocean water, the scar around his eye a deep pink in the sunlight. Sunlight glittered off the droplets on his skin, making him look even more ethereal than he usually did, and your breath momentarily seized in your chest.

“Hi Shouto,” you said, your face going hot when it came out weirdly breathy. Embarrassing.

A tiny little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and his fingers flexed on your elbow. “Hello,” he said in his deep, even tone.

Even that simple greeting somehow made you flush. You quickly marshaled yourself, trying to remember you had come here with an agenda, not to float here stupidly in the water, staring at him.

“Shouto—that coral you gave me yesterday? One of them has the signs of the pollution I was looking for!”

Shouto blinked, a droplet of water sliding down the side of his straight, handsome nose. Your eyes seemed weirdly glued to it as it reached the edge of his mouth.

“Then you liked it? It had…microbes?” he asked.

You nodded distractedly. “Sort of. Signs of microbial unhealth and chemically-induced bleaching. And I did like it. I think you might have actually solved the whole case for me!”

Shouto’s mouth pulled into a fuller, happier smile, just enough to bare the tops of those sharp teeth. You blinked, momentarily stunned, looking back up into his eyes to find him watching you intently.

“You liked it. My gift,” he said, something strangely smug in his tone. A little thrill raced through you, a frission of pleasure, at having put that expression on his face, that tone in his voice. Your ears went hot, and you pointedly did not think about why his pleasure made you so pleased as well.

“Yeah, I loved it,” you nodded, startled when Shouto’s fingers slid from your elbow to your wrist, lifting it up to his face.

But then in the next instant his expression shifted, his brows furrowing and the edges of his smile dipping. Instantly, you mourned the loss of it.

“But…you are not wearing it,” he said. “Either of them.”

Your eyelashes fluttered themselves in another disconcerted blink. Had…that been a requirement? Had he said that to you, yesterday?

You didn’t think you’d had much conversation between him handing over the bits of coral and you rushing off to the lab with them, but maybe that had been his expectation of what you would do with them. Maybe that was a common merperson thing, and you were too ignorant to think of it.

In fact, you hadn’t even taken the time to ask him why he’d given the coral bits to you, too focused on getting them under Kamui’s microscope like a huge disrespectful idiot.

You flushed, suddenly feeling incredibly rude. Was this a merperson custom you had just flagrantly ignored?

“Am I—? Is that something your people, um, do?” you asked. “Wear coral?”

Shouto nodded, those mismatched eyes still glued to your bare wrist. His fingers carefully shifted to encircle it, like he was replacing the expected bits of coral with his own hold on you. Your face burned and you paddled a little bit harder in the water, expelling nervous energy.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t know. Of course I will wear them, I just need to find some kind of string—” A sudden thought seized you. “Except—-well, Shouto, I need that white coral to prove pollution. I need to show it to my team, and be able to explain where I got it from. They might need to send it off as evidence.”

Shouto’s fingers tightened on you, though you noted he was still mindful of his claws. A hissing noise exploded out of him, and that scraping feeling burned at the back of your throat again, the bioelectric signal of his distaste clear enough.

“It is yours, not theirs,” he hissed, his handsome face suddenly all twisted up.

You could quite literally feel how distressed he was, and your heart throbbed with the realization that you were the cause.

You immediately backtracked, horrified. You shifted in the merman’s grip, twisting your hand to grab his wrist too, and put your other hand to his shoulder, holding him firmly.

“I’m sorry—Shouto, yes of course it’s mine. Of course I won’t give it to them,” you said, trying to angle your face to look into his eyes. “I didn’t realize—of course I will keep it with me.”

To your surprise, Shouto calmed immediately. The snarl faded from his mouth, his lips resuming their normal soft, sweet shape, and his other hand came to rest at your waist, pulling you a fraction closer to him.

“You promise,” he asked, though it was phrased more like a statement than a question.

You had to fight back a shocked laugh at how easily he’d been rerouted, and how unbelievably fleeting and childish that little tantrum had been. A prince of his people and here he was, getting fussy with you!

There was nothing for your exasperated snort, your helpless smile. “Yes, yes, I promise. But you have to help me collect another piece of white coral from where you got it originally. I promise it’s important.”

Shouto’s hands tightened on you, and you found yourself being dragged closer, so that he was holding you up in the water, only inches from the hard planes of his chest. His tail brushed against the inside of your thigh, the scales rasping lightly over the skin there. You went still, a little thrill racing up your spine at his sudden, more immediate proximity.

“You want me to take you there,” he said, his voice suddenly a little deeper.

You blinked. “I—yes? Is that…okay?”

Shouto’s eyes narrowed in on you, and you shifted nervously in his hold as his pupils went a little more slitted, a little more inhumanly focused. “It is an area of some significance to my people, though it is now difficult to get to. Your kind has begun to touch it.”

Your interest piqued. Humans had begun to touch it, alright. Judging by the chemical processing agents left behind on the piece of coral Shouto had given you, you could guess exactly which humans had touched it, too.

“Is it Sunfish?” you couldn’t help but ask, perking up in his hold.

Shouto inclined his head, a movement that brought his mouth almost dangerously close to yours. Your breath choked off in your lungs.

“Yes,” Shouto replied. “The…microbes you are interested in, then…? They are to do with Sunfish?”

You nodded excitedly, eagerly sucking in another breath. “Yes, yes! God, I’m so stupid, I should have told you earlier—anything to do with where Sunfish is operating is of interest to me. We’ve been testing the—um, the microbes to put it simply—around the area but if Sunfish has somewhere we haven’t been yet, that’s what I’m looking to know.”

Shouto looked thoughtful, and a claw trailed absently down the skin of your arm. You jumped, startled.

“Then I will take you,” he said, eyes cutting back to yours. “On one condition.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Well that was unexpected of him. Who knew mermen knew how to bargain?

“Name your price,” you told him.

Shouto’s mouth quirked then, a hint of a sharp incisor showing, but the rest of his expression was strangely sincere. “I want dinner and a movie,” he said, a claw trailing sweetly, absently down the skin of your arm again. “Like you said humans do.”

You could feel your eyebrows escaping towards your hairline, your mouth going slack. “You want to watch a movie and have dinner,” you repeated, floored.

Shouto inclined his head, the damp strands of red and white mingling with the movement. “You said I would like a movie.”

Damn. You had said that, hadn’t you? But you couldn’t think how in the hell you were going to get Shouto to a movie. It wasn’t like there was a movie theater on this island, and besides that it wasn’t like you could just piggyback a real life merman into one.

You supposed if pressed, you could preload something on the shitty island wifi and then bring your laptop down to the beach and watch things that way. But what if someone spotted the light and came looking? Shouto could disappear quick enough, you had no doubt, but how to explain the laptop?

And then it occurred to you: the inn had a maintenance shed, just off the main office. A sudden image came to you of wheeling Shouto uphill in a wheelbarrow, getting him into the tub in your room, and setting up a few pillows for yourself, and some kind of dinner spread on the floor.

It was unconventional. But then—so was the idea of dinner and a movie with a merman at all.

You stuck out your hand, making a mental note to swing by the maintenance shed on your way back in tonight. “It’s a deal.”

Shouto stared at your fingers, seeming not to know what to do with the gesture, until you took one of his hands in your own, pumping it up and down. He held on for too long after that, those crimson-tipped fingers closing in over your own, warm and wet and strong.

“Then I will take you now, if you like,” Shouto said. “If you are ready.”

You nodded, paddling your feet a little uselessly in his hold, in eager anticipation. Confirmation of Sunfish’s activity, and the chance to see a place meaningful to Shouto and his people. It was a dream come true for any marine biologist.

Shouto let you go, following you slowly as you paddled back to the boat, swimming leisurely, looping circles around you. He helped boost you back into the boat, and then hauled himself up after you on the strength of his arms alone. The back of your neck went very warm, as you watched his muscle coil and flex as he pulled himself in, then looked at you imploringly.

“I will point the way and you will take us,” he said, slithering across the floor of the boat to slide in next to you behind the wheel. He peered at all the meters and dials interestedly, pressing a crimson claw to one.

You had to laugh at the ridiculousness of a merman sitting behind the wheel of a boat, and another wild idea occurred to you.

“Wanna learn how to drive?” you asked.

Shouto’s eyes slid over to you, turquoise and grey pinning you to your seat. “To operate the boat?”

You nodded. Another hot flush crept across your cheeks as a slow smile spread over Shouto’s mouth, those mismatched eyes glittering.

“Yes,” he said. “I should like that very much.”

You gestured him over to your seat, rising out of it as Shouto slid all that heavy muscle your way, the scales of his tail bright and fiery in the sun. He was warm and smelled like salt up close, and you tried not to take note of the way his bicep flexed as he moved to grip the wheel in taloned fingers.

You gave him a brief run through of all the meters and gauges, the fuel level meter, speedometer, the ammeter and engine hours. He seemed disinterested in all but the speed—a typical man, even if only his upper half looked it.

Then you showed him the throttle and how to turn the key to start and what degrees of movement of the wheel at a higher speed wouldn’t send both of you flying out of the boat. And then you sank down next to him, gripping the seat for safety as he started the boat, looking thrilled.

He guided the boat off the reef more carefully than you would have expected, but he grew bolder as you made it out into deeper waters, applying a ton of throttle instantly and sending you falling backwards in your seat. You zoomed across the gentle waves, horrifyingly fast, but unexpectedly smoothly for someone who had just learned. Shouto seemed intimately familiar with the island’s layout, navigating smoothly through some of the shallow channels that gave you an almost-regular heart attack, gliding easily across the waves and not seeming to catch a single one the wrong way.

A thrilled laugh bit out of you, getting lost in the wind as you sped across the sea. Shouto’s mouth pulled into a wider smile, looking pleased with himself, those sharp teeth white in the sun. You found yourself smiling, at the ludicrousness of being driven around by a merprince, and at how much Shouto looked like he was enjoying himself.

In almost no time Shouto was steering you into a shallow cove on the eastern side of the island a couple hundred meters away from where you’d laid out an observation station. As you slowed to a stop you helped anchor the boat, feeling your brows furrowing back down in confusion, the smile slipping off your face.

If there was any level of pollution in this cove then you would have known about it from the nearby observation station. You weren’t sure if Shouto had the right spot.

But as you turned back to him he pointed a claw towards the jut of the land, aiming with certainty. “There used to be a cave through which we could access the lagoon,” he said. “But it is blocked off to us now.”

You stared at him, befuddled. “Blocked off? By what?”

Shouto’s mouth thinned into an irritated line. “By some human invention—I do not know what it is.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Then—how did you get the coral out of this, uh, lagoon if you can’t access it?”

Shouto’s eyes dipped, following your words as your mouth shaped them, looking strangely intent. Your ears went hot.

“I climbed,” he said simply.

You whipped around to stare back at the strip of land rising into the jungle. You could just make out a clearing in the trees where you thought a lagoon might lay. And it was no small distance. Your jaw dropped, imagining Shouto having to drag himself over meters and meters of land to get there.

Your stomach fluttered, the white coral suddenly taking on a new significance if Shouto had gone to such trouble for it. It had to be more than just an area of interest to his people—-it more likely had to be extremely significant if this was the length merpeople had to go for this coral. No wonder he hadn’t liked the idea of you testing it, of you surrendering it and mailing it out and away, if he’d had to pull himself over land like that to get it.

And with this realization, a new, wildly disconcerting thought crept over you, an insane flight of fancy.

Was it possible that Shouto had given you… not just a friendly gift, but something even more meaningful than you had initially realized? If this was a site of cultural significance, and he’d suffered to get the coral for you—did it mean something a little bit more intimate than an exchange between new friends?

Your gaze darted back over to Shouto, sitting pertly in his seat. He struck such a handsome profile, all sleek muscle and delicately carved features, his face carefully-noted and almost supernaturally angelic. His coloring, too, was magnificent, the rose of his scar, the deep scarlet of his scales and his claws. And he was so sweet, and funny, and so very interesting. He was unlike anything—anyone—you had ever seen, and the thought of him fetching you a gift of special significance made an even more blistering wave of heat flare up in your belly.

You rose from your seat, determined to see this lagoon for yourself.

“Alright, you wait here,” you told Shouto, “I’m going to go check it out.”

He nodded, watching you closely as you went to the bag of supplies, fishing out a camera, the log book, your shoes, and a couple pieces of sampling equipment. You stuffed them all in a dry bag, rolling the top down tight and buckling securely.

“You will be careful,” Shouto intone in his deep voice, more an order than a question.

You smiled up at him, nodding your head. “Yes. I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes.”

He looked satisfied with that, and helped lower you down into the water to swim for land. He slithered off the edge beside you, sinking smoothly into the water like a dropped stone, and swam along underneath you, following you all the way until you clambered onto the sand. You hurriedly dug around in your bag for your shoes, stuffing your feet into them still sandy and damp as Shouto looked on.

Once properly outfitted, you followed the beach as it trailed off into scrub and bushes, and then into towering palms, making your way into the jungle. The sun shone brightly through the leaves, painting everything around you in shades of sunlit green, the air under the canopy thicker than on the beach. Your feet slid over the damp sand in your sneakers, a sensation you did not particularly enjoy, but you walked briskly, your curiosity leading you onwards.

In only a few minutes, the trees once again gave way to a small strip of sand, and you spilled out onto the beach of the lagoon.

It was instantly clear to you exactly what Shouto had meant. A large metallic wall dammed off one side of the lagoon, most probably blocking off the underwater channel Shouto had told you about. It had been bolted into the jutting coral and rock around it, sealing off any water flow. Around it, the ancient coral walls of the lagoon were bone white wherever the water lapped at them, disturbingly bleached of color, and you thought the scrub and the trees that had built up over the surface overtime looked a little bit unhealthy too.

Shouto had most definitely gotten his coral from here.

As you looked around your certainty grew, until you spotted the most damning evidence. Only a scant few meters away from where you had come out of the forest, there was a pipe dug into the earth, sitting about a meter above the water level of the lagoon. It was still shiny, clearly new, and it was also dribbling the occasional bit of liquid into the lagoon, as if someone were piping certain substances out and away from the rest of their facilities.

Your heart rate doubled at the sight, and you knew even as you unloaded your equipment to take samples that you had found exactly what you had been looking for.

There was no doubt in your mind that this pipe led back to Sunfish. And Shouto had indeed just solved this entire case.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 29: time capsule

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You couldn't believe what was on the table in front of you. The silver metal box was filled with dirt, but you could still read a label, which had once been white, with a couple of names written on it and a year beneath them. Fifteen years ago, to be exact.

Although you still received some news about Spencer Reid (from his mother, in particular), the truth was that after he left Las Vegas, your friendship was not the same. Distance was a determining factor, and also, the means of communication were not the most accessible.

Years ago, you had asked for his phone number at the hospital where his mother was staying (something unethical, but it was a favor for a friend), but you had never dared to call him. It would have been strange, for sure, so you simply decided to leave things as they were.

But now the opportunity was right there, and to be honest, you were a little curious about what your friend had hidden in that time capsule. You barely even remembered it, a sign that five more years had passed since the date you were supposed to open it, and you had only found it thanks to the gardening work you had paid for your backyard.

You thought for a long time about what you should do. Should you call him? Just leave it as it was? Open it without him? The point of those kinds of boxes was to see them with the person you had filled them with; it wouldn’t make sense.

In the end, you decided and pressed the call button for that number you had gotten so many years ago, hoping it would still be the same today. If you knew Spencer well enough, you knew he preferred to keep things the same.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi… Am I speaking with Spencer Reid?”

“This is he, who is this?”

You stayed silent for a second, smiling unconsciously at the fact that it was your friend on the other end of the line. You didn’t even know how to start.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! I don’t know if you remember me…” you murmured, giving a hint of your identity. You almost imagined his face lighting up on the other side.

“Of course I remember you! It’s been a long time, sorry I don’t have your number saved.”

“No problem,” you lied. You preferred to let him think you had exchanged numbers. “Are you busy? I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“I can talk. Go ahead.”

You explained the situation you were in, how while digging in your yard, the shovel had hit a metallic object with your names written on it. Spencer expressed the same nostalgia you felt about it, and that’s when you asked about the most appropriate destination for the capsule.

“I know traveling from Washington for something like that is a waste of money and time; I’m not asking you to do that, but…”

“No! I’m going to visit my mother in two weeks, so it’s perfect. If you want, we can meet during those days.”

The date was set, and the box remained on one of the shelves, waiting. You had cleaned it as much as possible to reveal its original shine, with only the slightly brown label as a remnant of having been buried for three decades.

You tried not to think too much about the dates, sure that this way time would pass more easily. So it was, because when you least expected it, the day had arrived. You tried to have everything ready to host your guest and waited for the hour of his arrival, watching television to kill time. It was already close to dusk when someone knocked on your door, making you jump up like a spring due to the anxiety you felt about seeing him.

You were not disappointed in the least when the sight before you was of a boy, a man, dressed in a formal shirt, a tie around his neck, khaki pants, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

“Hi,” you exhaled, more surprised than you would have liked.

He was so different that if you had seen him under other circumstances, you wouldn’t have recognized him.

He greeted you the same way, and you gestured to hug him, waiting for him to reciprocate. Spencer did, and then you let him into your house, which was still the same as he remembered. You were friends in school, which meant that more than once your mother had realized that no one had come to pick him up and had offered to drive him to your house.

First, you asked him about Diana, wanting to know what her current state was, and he offered his condolences for what had happened with your parents. You talked for a while about how their lives had been during the time you were apart, drank, and ate what you had prepared until finally the much-anticipated moment arrived.

“I’m embarrassed I didn’t remember this when I’m supposed to have eidetic memory.”

“Even you can forget something sometimes,” you justified, shrugging and sitting down beside him on the couch.

You thanked the heavens that the box didn’t have a key; otherwise, you would never have discovered its contents, and you let him take the honor of opening it.

With the time capsule completely open, the air seemed to be filled with nostalgia. The first thing that appeared was a bunch of letters, some carefully folded and others hurriedly, as if they had been left at the last minute before burying the box.

You took one of the letters that had his name written in youthful, somewhat shaky handwriting. You laughed as you remembered the time when both of you had decided to write letters to the future, convinced that, in a few years, you would become completely different people.

“‘Dear future me’…” you read aloud, and Spencer covered his face, blushing.

“Please don’t read that,” he said, laughing, trying to reach for it, but you slipped away with the letter in hand.

“It’s adorable. Here you say that by this time you would already be a famous scientist.”

Spencer let out a shy laugh.

“I guess I dreamed big… although, in a way, I’ve fulfilled some of those dreams.”

After setting the letters aside, you found a small notebook full of notes and scribbles. You opened it and, to your surprise, discovered a plethora of small illustrations of everyday things you shared in those days. Drawings of the school cafeteria, the park you went to after classes, and even a cartoonish drawing of Spencer trying to solve a Rubik’s cube.

“Who drew this?” you asked, looking at an animated version of yourself with a concentrated face while studying.

“That… was me,” Spencer admitted, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I remember I was trying to draw you without you noticing in science class. It’s not my best work, clearly.”

You burst out laughing.

“It’s great! I didn’t know you had artistic talent.”

“It was easier to remember things by drawing them. Besides, you always seemed so focused, and that inspired me. Drawing you helped pass the time.”

Just below, you found a folded and somewhat worn photo. The image showed both of you at a birthday party when you were kids. You, with a funny smile and a party hat, and he, with his typical serious expression, as if he was wondering how he had ended up in the middle of a celebration.

“How did you always end up at my parties, even though you said you didn’t like them?”

Spencer shrugged, blushing a bit.

“Your mom insisted on inviting me, and well… I didn’t mind spending time with you.”

You fell silent for a second, surprised by the honesty of his words. Then you decided to leave the topic and continued checking the box.

At the bottom of the capsule, two books remained intact, covered in a fine layer of dust. One of them was Great Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which Spencer had chosen years ago, and the other was And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, your favorite back then. You picked up Spencer's book, flipping through it carefully so as not to damage the pages.

“Why did you choose Sherlock Holmes?” you asked, not taking your eyes off the book.

Spencer smiled, somewhat nostalgically.

“For me, it represented what I wanted to be as an adult. Someone who could solve any mystery. Although I think in the end, real life is much more complicated than I thought back then.”

You nodded, and while stroking the cover of his book, you shared your reason. “I chose Agatha Christie because… I wanted my life to be exciting, like the mysteries in her stories. Something that, over time, I realized was not so realistic.”

You shared a knowing smile, as if those books told not only stories of detectives and murders but also of your own youthful aspirations.

Then you found a small plush figurine, a worn teddy bear that both of you had called Bobby. You used to take turns caring for him when one of you was sick or sad.

“This poor Bobby survived all these years,” you said, holding it between your fingers.

Spencer took the bear gently, remembering a time when he had spent difficult days at home due to his mother's health problems.

“I gave it to you when my mom was in the hospital… I didn’t know how to tell you what was happening, so I left it in your locker so you would know I needed support without saying it out loud.”

You felt a lump in your throat, remembering how you had kept Bobby beside your pillow every night until Spencer told you that his mom was better.

“I never told you, but I always understood what Bobby meant. It was as if we were talking without words.”

You continued exploring, and suddenly, you found a small box with golden edges and a rusty latch. You opened it carefully and discovered a couple of old braided string friendship bracelets, each with a small crystal charm. They were the friendship bracelets you had made together one summer, a symbol of the promise that you would always be friends, no matter the distance. You took one of the bracelets and slipped it onto your wrist.

“I remember spending hours picking the colors. Green was your favorite, right?”

“It was,” he replied, taking the other bracelet. “And you chose blue because, according to you, it matched the sky, and you always dreamed of traveling and seeing the world.”

You looked at the bracelet on your wrist, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and joy.

“It’s funny… I feel like, by putting this on, I’m ten years old again.”

Then, beneath the bracelets, you found a small disposable camera wrapped in a plastic cover. Spencer held it in his hands, reminiscing about the times when you both tried to capture your “adventures” with the few photos you could take. You took the camera and, without thinking, aimed it at him and pressed the button, emitting a soft click, only to have a strip of photo paper eject from the slot a moment later.

“I knew you would do that,” he said, laughing. “Do you remember when we tried to take a picture of the shooting star and ended up capturing a picture of our feet by mistake?”

“That photo was a disaster! But I think I still have it somewhere,” you replied. “We always tried to take photos as if we were explorers on some important expedition.”

As you continued unpacking, you found another small book, somewhat worn with hard covers, titled “Survival Guide for School” written in marker on the cover. When you opened it, you saw a series of notes and tips you both had written, from how to “survive a history presentation” to “how to avoid the math teacher in the hallway.”

Spencer read one of the tips out loud: “Tip number five: if you sit next to the window, you have a better view to imagine you’re anywhere else.” You both looked at each other and laughed, recalling the times you sat together at the back of the classroom.

Finally, you reached the last items in the box: two lists of goals for the future. You took yours, noticing how you had listed objectives like: learning another language, traveling the world, and writing a book someday. Spencer, on his part, had listed goals that included: becoming a genius in at least three fields, finding a real mystery to solve, and marrying the most incredible girl in the world.

You frowned, looking at Spencer with curiosity.

“And who is that incredible girl you mentioned?” you asked with a playful smile.

Spencer blushed slightly, trying to maintain his composure.

“Oh, you know, someone who is a real challenge,” he replied, shrugging as if to downplay it.

“A challenge?” she retorted, leaning towards him. “Sounds exciting. Do you have her number?”

He burst out laughing, enjoying the joke. “No, I don’t have her number. But I’m sure she’s someone who laughs at my bad jokes.”

“Then that means she’s not so hard to find,” you said, smiling back. “Maybe you should talk to her more often.”

“Yeah, maybe I should. Perhaps I’ll even invite her for coffee or something,” he replied, pretending to be thoughtful.

“That sounds like a plan,” you joked. “But how can you dare to do that without knowing if she likes coffee?”

Spencer raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay! Maybe I should just stick to my goals and let the universe handle the surprises.”

“That’s the attitude,” you said, smiling conspiratorially. “But if you need advice on how to win over that incredible girl, just ask me.”

You both laughed, feeling the atmosphere fill with fun and complicity over the secret that, though unspoken, had come to light.

Spencer fell silent as he looked at the notes and memories you had unearthed. For a moment, both of you got lost in time, feeling those fifteen years of distance fade away, leaving you once again as the inseparable friends you had been in the past.

When everything was laid out on the table, you looked at each other with a smile and dared to lean towards him, causing the man to hug you gently. You both knew that, although life had taken different paths for each of you, those small objects connected you to a shared past that would always be present, a reminder of the friendship and dreams you had shared.

With a deep sigh, you began to put each object back into the box, one by one, and closed the lid carefully, as if preserving a priceless treasure. You both knew you had unearthed much more than a simple time capsule; you had unearthed a piece of yourselves, and at that moment, your paths, though temporary, had found each other again.

[carmenberzattosgf]

(hii its carmyboobear!!)

idk if u have already thought abt this but: calming down carmy from a panic attack?? like when he’s freaking out in s2 I just wanna be there for him so bad ;_; ;_; idk I just wanna take care of him sometimes… also hope ur having a great day!!!

Hi friend!!! Omg I have thought about this. For sake of this blurb, reader is working at the bear! (for pining sake I don’t think they are together in this but it’s always up to your interpretation!)

You arrive at work early. Way earlier than normal. You want to work on a new dish before you’re officially on the clock. Usually, the only other person in the restaurant this early is Carmen. In fact, you see his beat up car as you pull in the back lot.

It’s been over 30 minutes at the restaurant, but no sign of Carmy. His knives are out on his station. He has to be here somewhere.

You walk over to the office; maybe he’s working on paperwork. However, you’re met with a closed door. “Carmy? You in there?” you shout through the door. There’s no answer on the other side, so you open the door to check inside.

Carmy’s sitting back to the wall with his knees to his chest inside. His forehead rests on his knees; he doesn’t see you come in. He didn’t even hear you call out through the door the first time. The thoughts are too loud in his head, everything’s too loud.

“Carmy? Carm, are you okay?” He doesn’t react to your voice. You step closer, kneeling down in front of him, gently resting your hand on his leg. Carmy flinches at the contact, and his head snaps up to look at you. It’s only then you put the pieces together. He’s trembling underneath your hand. His eyes are wide like he’s terrified. Carmy’s panting. His chest rising rapidly under his white t-shirt.

Out of instinct your hands cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. His skin burns underneath your palms. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re okay, Carmy.” You speak softly, trying to calm him down. “Did something happen?”

“N-no.” He manages to choke out between pants. He’s hyperventilating. You need to get him to calm down.

“I need you to breathe with me, yeah? Nice and slow.” You take deep slow breathes, and Carmy tries to, but he just can’t slow down his breathing. He’s completely overwhelmed by panic. “Let’s try something else. Can you name five things you can see for me?”

“W-what?”

“What do you see? Can you name five things you can see right now? Just five. I’ll count them for you.”

“U-uhm.” You watch his eyes start to dart around the room. “I—I uh—I see a computer.”

“Good, that’s one. What else?”

“I—I see you.”

You offer him a soft giggle. “That’s two. How about three more things?”

“I see a desk— a chair—“ his breathing is slowing down, but he’s still struggling to catch his breath. “And a pen.”

“Perfect. Now, can you tell me four things you can feel?”

“Uhm.” You can see the thoughts in his brain begin to slow down. “I feel y-your hands on my face. And uh— the ground I’m sitting on.” You rub your thumb gently along his cheek while he speaks, giving him another thing to distract himself from his brain. “I can feel the fabric of my jeans on my palms. And uh— the wall against my back.”

He’s finally starting to calm down, just a little bit. “There we go, Carmy. You’re doing good. What are three things you can hear?”

“The hum of the computer. Uhm. Does the sound of my breathing count?”

“Just anything you can hear. Can you name one more?”

“T-the music you have on in the kitchen.”

“What’s the point of coming in early if I can’t play my tunes?” You joke. A faint smile appears on his lips. His breathing is near normal, but he’s still shaking like a leaf. “Okay, this one might be hard. What’s two things you can smell?” He answers quicker then you expect, barely missing a beat.

“Your perfume. It smells nice.” It’s the first time he’s ever been so close to you for such an extended period of time. You’re still holding his face in your palms. He’s smelling the perfume you dabbed on your wrists before walking out the door this morning. He’s smelled it before, but never so intensely. “And uh— the cup of coffee on the desk.”

“Last thing. One thing you can taste?”

“Cigarette smoke.” You can’t help the belly laugh that leaves your throat. A small laugh leaves his, too. He had already had three cigarettes this morning, and it was barely dawn. The panic attack was going to happen no matter how many he smoked. He was just trying to delay the inevitable.

“I should have expected that one. You feeling better now? At least a little bit?” You finally let go of his face, starting to feel a bit awkward. The trembling in his hands has nearly stopped.

“Much better. Thank you— really thank you. Sorry you had to deal with that. Usually I can stop it— at work at least. Didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“No, don’t apologize. Nothing to be sorry about. Does this happen a lot?”

“Um… you could say that. I’m okay—promise. Just managing it the best I can.”

“If this is managing it, I’m scared to ask what not managing it is like.” There’s a lull between you two. Yeah, his not managing it was much, much worse. “Would you maybe wanna talk about it? Like maybe after work?” You instantly start backtracking, scared of crossing a line. “You don’t have to though! I mean we can just leave it if you want to I—“

“I would love to do that.” He interrupts you before you continue rambling. “Let’s get back to work, yeah? I wanna hear what’s on your playlist.”

[morgansdeb]

Seeing the One Piece fanbase hyping up this 24-year-old white girl to play Robin because they're allergic to older and non-white women is so annoying to me (they're also allergic to fat women)*. The fact that she's super young when Robin is supposed to be visibly older and more mature than the East Blue Five, makes her an immediate NO for me. These weirdos will see a super young girl with black bangs and scream "Robin-chan~~!!!" because they can't consume media without their dicks in their hands. I mean, 19k likes? Seriously?

Iñaki Godoy is 20. Mackenyu is 27. Taz Skylar and Jacob Gibson are 28. Emily Rudd is 31. The ideal thing would be for Robin to be 40 (or AT LEAST 32, and not look like she just graduated high school. She needs to look older than Emily Rudd and the rest of the cast).

I can only imagine the amount of racist vitriol Robin's actress will get if she ends up being a WOC. And let's not even start with the comments about the size of her breasts. Emily Rudd is the most conventionally attractive white girl you could think of, and I still see comments saying she wasn't "right" for Nami because her boobs aren't "big enough."

"But Oda said that if Robin were real, she'd be Russian!!11!" And he also said Luffy would be Brazilian (Iñaki is Mexican), Nami would be Swedish (Emily is American), Sanji would be French (Taz is Spanish/English), and with Usopp... all he did was write Africa, which isn't a country. So let's be serious for a bit. Those answers weren't literal.

Y'all love to talk about how the creepy things that he says on the SBS are "jokes" (remember when he sexually harassed a fan who asked him if she could be a Jump Editor, or when he said he fantasized about Rebecca's top falling during battle? Because I do), so why are these answers the one thing you choose to take seriously?

But this fandom being filled with racist, misogynistic, fatphobic incels isn't surprising considering how terrible Oda is. All these issues are connected and lead back to the source material. It's nearly impossible to have productive conversations about One Piece when everyone wants to blame all the bad on OPLA or Toei, as if the creator himself wasn't the one who opened the door for every single problem.

Some of you act as if someone kicked your dog whenever someone dares to suggest that Oda isn't the Super Progressive Writer™ the fandom has deluded themselves into thinking he is. I don't even understand where the denial comes from, considering his misogyny is so blatant and his association with sex offenders is public information. I understand loving One Piece, but you don't need to kiss Oda's ass, you know? He's not a good person.

Being critical of the media you consume and its creator isn't being a "hater". I can consume One Piece while disliking its many, many issues. I didn't sign a contract that says I have to like every single thing about it.

I'll be upset if Robin ends up being played by some 20-something white actress, but I'm already upset by the fandom's attitude. *Don't think I haven't noticed the obsession some folks have with monitoring Ilia Isorelýs Paulino's social media activity to check if she's losing weight to be "manga/anime accurate Alvida", as if Alvida magically becoming thin is this super important plot point that needs to be adapted. The source material and the fandom's treatment of fat women is another topic I could rant about for days.

[toodleoorblx]

**SPOILERS AHEAD BEWARE**

Agatha All Along just came out, heres what I think about it.

So, starting off with the cinematic factors of it, I loved it. it was exactly what I was expecting, nothing less. I was very surprised with the plot though. It was so so funny, I had watched it with one of my friends and she loved it as well. Props to all who were apart of Agatha all along. The references of witchy movies, like the trap door and Snow White? I loved that Easter egg, I probably sound crazy but I swear it’s there.

I loved how dramatic Agatha was, her sarcasm, her impaticnce, her wickedness, spot on, even her haterd for Wanda. Agatha has lots of emotions, as much as I can tell. She just conceals them so much. She looks conflicted and angry when she sees Rio, she seems playful and antagonizing with Jen, laid back with Lilia, dismissive with Alice, impatient with Ms. Davis, and genuinely irritated and annoyed with Teen. She seems much more open on the show, less… distant and cruel? Maybe it’s the many many fics I’ve read that’s clouding my judgement but I was surprised to say the least. But it wasn’t a bad one. I love Agatha in this, there’s so much to tell about her her life, and I’m hyped to find out what’s up.

(Side note, one of my predictions was right! Rio's magic is in fact not something that can be taken. That was one of the few predictions I had made, and I'm so glad that that little detail was right.)

And Rio?! Oh my goodness, she's just as cryptc and lore filled as I imagined her. Her harshness with an underlined gentleness is killing me! And her licking Agatha’s hand better? Oh my that had me in a chokehold, so many golden ideas portrayed beautifully. And I have reason to believe that Agatha sacrificed Nicholas. The first sign is the childhood bedroom from episode one, Agnes being upset about it, two, the jab that Jen made, and three, when Rio mentioned the Darkhold, and its darkness, theres definitely some lore there, and I think it’s something that Agatha caused. Also does anyone have any clues as to what Rio says when she makes her dramatic exits? I only know some Spanish, but I’m not fluent 😭

Anywho, let’s talk about Teen. So when I first saw him I was fairly surprised. I didn’t expect him to try and steal something, nor did I know that it was an illusion of some sort? Maybe? Whatever it was, I know that Teen is not to be underestimated. He has some powerful qualities, even if it’s not as flashy as Agatha or Wanda’s. I love his perkiness and how he’s just happy to be there, even if it is as Agatha’s ‘pet’.

My next victim is Lilia. I had originally thought that she couldn’t use her magic or, predictions freely, only when vision came. But I was happily wrong. I don’t think she can use it whenever though. I love her style as well, such a level of grace and colorfulness really brings her character together. Patti did a fantastic job of portraying someone as kooky as Lilia.

Now we have Jen. I knew that they had some history because if something Kathryn had said on an interview, but I don’t think it was a lot. But clearly something went down to make Jen have a level of hatred towards her. But besides that, I get aesthetic, the pinks, the candles, the jewelry? It’s all so beautiful, I especially loved the septum piercing. It was a cute touch. Anyways, moving on from that, Agatha had mentioned that Jennifer is magic bound because of some curse? I wonder what that’s about. Over all, I adore Jen’s personality, I love how she knows what she’s worth and that she seems to always know what to say. She’s very confident of herself which is something I live to see. And I can see how Jen’s sarcasm and Agatha’s sarcasm may clash from time to time.

Moving on, we have Alice to discuss. Now I have written a little about how I portrayed her in my fic Natural Order, and I think I got her pretty well. I surprised myself I’m gonna be honest. I was half expecting her to be the exact opposite, but that’s a happy accident I guess. Anywho, I love her style as well, I wish we got to see more if the ship she had formally worked at, it was such a cozy and spooky place, I wouldn’t mind working there myself. The designers outdid themselves truly. Alice is very dismissive, and is always one step ahead, I love that about her (so far). She seems to be pretty laid back, while also being very vigilant as well.

Lastly, but certainly not least, Ms. Davis. I find her absolutely darling, she was so sweet and I had a good laugh when she came on screen. I love her obliviousness and utter happiness to be included, similar to Teen in that way. I hope she sticks around, u trying so, there’s not a bone in my body that doesn’t like her, she’s such a good ‘temporary’ addition to the coven.

The Salem seven seem to be like… the witch police? Maybe? I’m excited to see more of them.

Honorable mention: Senor Scratchy serving as always.🫡

A little treat I took:

(Also, height difference??!!! Loved that shot.)

[banigarubug]

warning ;; david’s attempt

consider:

sarah, a college student home for the summer, is hospitalized after falling ill

& ellie who was seriously injured while running away from a foster placement and is placed in the bed next door

they click instantly. sarah is a sweetheart who gets along with anyone and ellie is eager to please a cool college student like any 14 year old would want to

joel and ellie … not so much

ellie gets a kick out of pissing joel off almost as much as sarah gets a kick out of witnessing it .. so ellie amps it up a notch over the course of a few days to really drive joel crazy and make sarah’s time in the hospital better

one of the nurses tells ellie laughter is the best medicine and that’s what sarah deserves. sarah is probably the first person to be nice to ellie like this. to just… accept her with a fond smile. (except maybe riley. but she’s gone now. sometimes ellie thinks sarah looks like her, just a little bit.)

but then ellie is discharged and has to go right back to the place she ran from. her social worker says no one else will take her. of course they wouldn’t.

ellie doesn’t have a phone, but sarah gives her her and joel’s numbers anyways. makes her promise to call if she wants to run again. that way sarah can keep her safe

ellie uses the elusive payphones and stranger’s cells to call sarah sporadically so she knows ellie’s alive, but other than that, it’s inconsistent contact at best. but her birthday is coming up and sarah doesn’t want a gift this year. instead she asks joel to get ellie a phone.. and he says yes. next time ellie calls sarah, it’s 3 days before her birthday, and sarah gets ellie’s address. gets joel to sign her out of the hospital to drive her there and deliver the gift in person. its the most expensive thing ellie’s ever seen and she cries and hugs sarah and then hugs joel

and joel realizes, really, that ellie’s just a kid

she’s a spitfire with a sharp tongue and a huge ego to make up for how small she really is but she’s also just some kid who has never been shown love before

so joel decides to take ellie in, a little bit

not as a foster parent - he and sarah have their hands full, she’s dropping out and the hospital bills are piling up, and ellie’s foster parents are fine anyways, just old and weird - but takes her to visit sarah once a week for a meal together - sarah calls it family dinner, behind ellie’s back but straight to joel’s face - and whenever else sarah wants the company

and maybe he brings sarah to ellie’s school once or twice to pick her up and take her to lunch … or cuz ellie was in an art gallery and the featured piece of the whole exhibit was something she made … or sometimes without sarah when she cuts class and wont tell him why so he just gets her a milkshake and listens to facts about dinosaurs until she agrees to catch the last periodd

christmas is coming up soon and ellie’s excited because she’s gotten them both gifts . for sarah its a couple things - handmade friendship bracelets and a pair of earrings she skipped a week and a half of school lunches for and she painted sarah’s pennyboard with butterflies and crashing waves and a little white moth beside a purple emperor

for joel a huge framed painting of sarah and joel with sarahs grandmother/joels mom who died when sarah was little. joel cooks all her recipes and talks about how much he misses her and says stuff like “she woulda loved you, ellie” so she’s confident he’ll love it and she knows sarah will too

but ellie gets into a fight at school. it’s not really a bad one by any means but it’s the worst her newest placement has seen and they decide she’s too complicated for them. she cant leave the state but she can leave the city, and she’s out of boston with little to no warning, moved all the way out to a “home for troubled kids” in a shitty town called silver lake all the way in berkshire county and only has enough time to frantically tell joel where to find the gifts — in a garbage bag that her art teacher agreed to hold onto

this new placement is way worse than the old people. at most they’d been neglectful. this home is … freaky . a weird religious cult, some branch of christianity that ellie’s never heard of, and all the kids living there treat the director guy, david, like he’s — well. like hes god.

ellie wants to run away again, but this time, she can call sarah! right? except she’s not supposed to have the phone and david finds that thing immediately, sniffs it out like a bloodhound and takes it from her. he makes a deal with her. if she’s good, she use it once a day to call sarah. if she’s really good she can get it back - but she cant tell any of the other girls. david says ellie is special.

ellie’s… never been special before. its gross, a little, the way david says it, but she cant complain much. he feeds her and none of her foster siblings are violent even though shes the smallest by far. she figures david will want her to do chores or handy work, some free labor and she’ll get to call sarah & joel every day. it’s no big deal

within just 5 days of living there, ellie realizes that is not what david meant when he said to be good.

at first its just the lingering touches. a hand a little too high or too low . staring in that weird too-long way .. he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and she feels the dirt on his fingers for hours.

and then. it’s christmas eve and she’s planning her escape (she knows where the phone is, and she’ll make a break for it. her bag is packed and she’s quick) when david brings her into his prayer-room for something.

u can infer what happens, right?

and when she’s on the ground and his hands are on her jeans she sees some metal shining as she thrashes around and something shining catches her eye and she reaches out and grabs it and its some bowl with a heavy weight at the bottom so ellie bashes it into davids skull

over

and over

and over again

until he falls on the ground and she hits him a few more times for good measure

it’s the middle of the night and snowing like a bitch but ellie wanders outside anyway and just sits on the front porch step under the falling snow

she doesnt know how much time has passed before the time the sun starts rising. but when it does she sees a very familiar big grey truck barreling towards her and ellie thinks she must be dead or dying

but sarah is out of the car before it’s even stopped and joel’s yelling at her for it and ellie’s covered in blood thats not her own so she just stands and walks to the car in a trance and figures its either the gates of heaven or actually fucking joel and sarah

(“you didnt call me all day,” sarah says later, when ellie asks about it, “i knew something was wrong.” and her phone had gps and joel had a gut feeling and her social worker had a few too many missed calls so they took it into their own damn hands and showed up for her)

ellie trips and falls and lands in joel’s open arms and sarah hugs her from the side, crowding her until the phantom touches david left behind on her skin are completely invisible

joel applies for guardianship and it is shockingly easy

sarah’s been getting better, too. transfers to the community college so she can stay in the house and ellie’s being homeschooled for a while so they spend even more time together

running out of steam i might come back to this but i was only thinking abt it all bc sarah and ellie being siblings is SOOO important to me … big sister sarah ykwim ….

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

and john’s back at it again ALSO one of his lines is FORESHADOWING babdmdkdkfjsn

part thirty-seven

❝ PLAN B ❞

THURSDAY — SEPTEMBER 3 — 12:00 PM

BENTLEY WAS PRETTY SURE HE’D NEVER MET ANYONE, NOT EVEN THE PUPPET MASTER, WHO COULD PULL STRINGS LIKE A WAYNE. Because, less than four hours later (with Bruce’s blessing), Bentley Whittaker and Jason Todd were waiting to get called into the visitation room at Blackgate Penitentiary to see his father.

Bentley hadn’t expected to be so nervous. Maybe he should’ve, since he was going to talk to the man who’d abused him for ten years, kidnapped him, poisoned him, and was now turning people into terrifying monsters whose only soul purpose was to murder his family. Not to mention that he’d just been patted and scanned and checked all over by people who, he was pretty darn positive, were carrying guns. And he was in a prison. Full of, like, murderers and stuff.

Before they’d left the house, he’d been a normal amount of nervous, but now, sitting in the empty prison hallway, he was downright horrified. He and Jason were sitting in uncomfortable metal chairs, staring down at old tile. Bentley’s knee was bouncing at a pace that might rival Nico’s superpowers. Honestly, as dreary as it was, he’d rather be back at the Manor sitting on the same loveseat watching Asten puke his guts out every ten minutes. (Because, yes, that was happening again.)

Bentley heard Jason breathe in and out. “You know, it’s not too late to back out.”

Bentley glanced over at him. They were both a little more presentable now, mirroring one another in varying colored jeans and hoodies. Jason had fixed his hair in its typical upward fashion, putting the white streak on full display. He was looking back at Bentley, a serious look on his face, his greenish-blue eyes gleaming oddly under the fluorescent lights. 

Bentley looked down at his ratty red tennis shoes, at his vigorously bouncing knee. “No.”

He felt Jason’s eyes on him, and could practically feel the smirk on his face when he replied: “You sure? Because you look like you’re trying to pedal a broken bicycle.”

Bentley forced his knee to stop moving. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jason said, patting Bentley’s knee once, quickly. “Just… really think about it. I can’t come in with you, so it’ll just be you, him, and a cop. If you really don’t want to do it, that’s okay.”

Bentley let out a puff of air. “I’m going to do it.”

“Okay,” He saw Jason nod in his peripheral, and after a moment of silence, he leaned in close and continued: “But if anything happens, I’ll blow that door off its hinges before the cops even know what’s happening.”

Bentley cracked a smile at that, and Jason sat back with a triumphant smirk.

Waiting felt like both an eternity and a split second. One minute, he and Jason were sitting alone in the hall, the next, he was being ushered through a big, thick door by a female officer who was relaying ground rules and reinforcing the fact that Bentley only had twenty minutes to talk to his dad.

“You don’t have to stay for all twenty,” Jason interrupted as Bentley was whisked down the hall, which the officer didn’t really appreciate. The woman kept talking but Bentley couldn’t really focus; he was too busy trying to peer into the visitation area. 

The long, barren hallway turned into a long, barren room, lined with plexiglass booths. There were no other people in there. Each booth had a phone and desk on either side, separated in the middle by a wall of glass. There was a sign above every window that said: please don’t scratch the glass!

Bentley steeled when he spotted a mop of red hair that matched his to the tee, sitting behind one of the windows. He breathed in and out. His father couldn’t get to him behind the glass, right? Bentley didn’t see any holes or doors or ways for him to get into the room. The police officer, whose hair Bentley could now see was black, closed the door to the room and went to stand along the wall.

With a final quick glance up to her, Bentley made his way to the rickety spinning stool across from his father. Third booth from the right.

He looked… different. Not so clean cut. His hair was longer — he’d always been so anal about trimming his hair that Bentley was thoroughly shocked at the sight of the shaggy red mop that looked a lot like his own now. He had a little facial hair, too, patchy and strange looking. He was wearing a matching set of gray clothes, not a pressed suit, and when Bentley sat down, his shiny brown eyes bored into the child’s head like an electric drill.

Bentley, when he sat down, moved his feet up to the highest rung on the stool in an attempt to make himself smaller. Cut the head off the snake, right? That’s what he was here to do; stop the operation in its tracks. So… how was he supposed to manipulate the manipulator? (In hindsight, maybe he should’ve thought a little bit more before he decided to go to the prison.)

His father picked up the black wall-phone on his side of the glass and brought it up to his ear. Talking openly about, like, crime and stuff was pretty stupid, though, wasn’t it?

Bentley lifted his hands, finger-spelling: sign.

His father put the phone back.

A moment of silence passed where Bentley’s father just sort of watched him closely; contemplating. His eyes scoured what had to be every inch of his son’s appearance before he lifted his hands and signed: ‘You’ve grown.’

Bentley thought long and hard about how he should respond. He considered saying: Yeah, food helps with that, but decided against it. Instead, he just bobbed his fist yes. This was already way harder than he’d thought. How was he supposed to talk to him? After he’d… you know. After all, his father never really gave up, even in jail.

Bentley kept his gaze trained on his father’s hands like he used to, avoiding eye contact like the plague. He didn’t want to see his face. 

The hands moved. ‘How is school?’

Bentley breathed in and out, fingerspelling: ‘Fine.’ Well, besides having a murdering mad scientist (who moves at his father’s command.) for a teacher, and a bully who thought it would be funny to lock Bentley in the janitor's closet. That and the fact that he was now in the public eye for living with Bruce. He didn’t even want to know what the news reports looked like lately. Bruce Wayne’s newest child, gone without a trace?

John nodded. Another brief moment of staring ensued, before he brought his hands up again. ‘Made any friends?’

Not besides the ones you tried to kill. Bentley blinked a few times, moving his fingers calculatively. ‘Yes. But you already knew that.’

His father’s expression grew curious, in an arrogant sort of way, like he was raising his brows to say oh, really? Bentley only looked at him for a second before his eyes drifted back to the table his father’s elbows were resting on. 

‘I know you’re still talking to Dr. Keene,’ Bentley signed subtly, glancing at the officer behind them, who looked anything but engaged. ‘And I’m sure you know by now that he had us at the facility. Then he didn’t.’

His father said nothing. Typical, and a great way to piss off an already sort of simmering-in-his-own-silent-rage kind of child. 

Bentley kept his hands moving, lest they stop. ‘You’re hurting innocent people just to get back at me? I never did anything to you.’

John lifted his hands, his fingers twitching oddly for a moment before he signed: ‘It wasn’t about you. It was about Bruce.’

Bentley fought the urge to roll his eyes. ‘But-’

‘Bruce is the reason your mother and sister are dead. And then he came along and took you away from me, too,’ His father’s hands were sort of trembling, now, his expression intense and hard. Bentley could feel his eyes but still wouldn’t look right at them.

‘You didn’t even want me. What sense is there in attacking someone who got the kid you never wanted? Now you don’t have to deal with me,’ Bentley signed, looking at his father’s hands, shaking his head subtly. ‘You hate me, and now I’m somebody else’s problem. You should be happy.’

‘I don’t hate you,’ Was his father’s reply. Bentley saw his expression change. ‘I love you.’

The child breathed in through his nose. Not this, not again. Get the conversation back on track — control it. ‘No, you don’t.’

‘You can’t tell me what I do and don’t love; you don’t know,’ His father signed. ‘I love you.’

‘No, you don’t, and I don’t care. That’s not what I’m here to talk about,’ Bentley tried, but his signs went unnoticed. 

‘I do, Bentley. I love you,’

Bentley inhaled sharply, looking down at the table with a few blinks. The last time his father had said that, it was a big fat lie. What had Bentley ever done to deserve all of that? All of this? What did he do not to deserve his father’s love?

Still, he caved for the patented back-and-forth arguing game. ‘You don’t.’

‘You just don’t want to accept the fact that maybe you’re wrong.’ His father signed, lowering his head so it was more in Bentley’s view. ‘You don’t want to accept the fact that I can change. That I can be more than the monster under your bed.’

What if his father could change? Not that Bentley thought he was. He was still a crazy psycho killer. But what if, one day, he wasn’t? What if, one day, he really was more than the monster from Bentley’s past? What if one day he really wanted to love him? 

What if he wanted him back one day?

Bentley tried to push the thoughts out of his mind — he was on a mission. He was the Puppeteer. Right? His father couldn’t really love him. Right?

‘You asked me in the warehouse why I didn’t love you, and I’m telling you now, that I do,’ His father continued to sign, and Bentley’s eyes began to burn. He tried to push it away with everything in him, but something didn’t want to let go of the hope. The hope that maybe his real dad could love him again. ‘I did some awful things to you out of my own pain. Terrible things I would never wish upon any child in this world. I don’t know if I’ll ever do enough good to make up for it, but the one thing I can make damn well sure I do is let you know that I do love you.’

Bentley looked down at the table. It had been almost a year. Could someone change so fast? A year was long enough, wasn’t it?

‘You’re not lying this time?’ He signed in return.

‘No, Bentley. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now — getting you taken away, coming here, spending my time thinking, reflecting… It helped me realize that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. The only thing I really wanted. Needed.’

Bentley shook his head, blinking away the beginnings of tears. Rational thought and logic said he was lying. Hope said something else. ‘I don’t believe you.’

To the child’s surprise, his father smiled. Actually, literally smiled. With teeth and all. Teeth. Bentley’s father never smiled, let alone at him. ‘That’s okay. I’ll just keep saying it. I love you.’

Bentley shook his head, breathing in, swallowing thickly. ‘Stop.’

‘I love you, Bentley. I love you so much,’

‘Stop lying,’ He tried again.

‘I love you,’

‘Stop it,’

‘Look up at me. Please?’

That strange little sliver of hope had Bentley lifting his head on command, his brown eyes meeting the identical ones of his father. His father had tears — actual, honest tears — beginning to glimmer at the bottom of his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

‘People can change, Bentley. You’re surrounded by them. Damian Wayne went from being a murderer to a superhero. Jason Todd went from rage-killing to a full-time older brother,’ He explained with his hands, smile staying all the while. ‘I can change, Bentley. I want to change. I just need you to have faith in me.’

Bentley stared, dumbfounded, vision slightly obscured by the liquid in his eyes.

‘I,’ His father separated the signs for emphasis with a smile, and an honest to goodness tear went down the man’s face. ‘Love. You.’ 

All that reliable rational thought and logic went out the window, and Bentley brought a hand to his mouth. Of all the things he expected to do while talking to his father, crying was not one of them. But here he was. Crying. (He probably should’ve expected to cry anyways. He was basically a professional at it.)

For a moment, he just rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. So many red flags were waving in his mind, alarm bells sounding, lights flashing, telling him his father was lying, deceiving him, but he couldn’t really bring himself to accept it. He couldn’t. Not when his father had just told him he’d loved him ten times in one conversation. Not when Bentley was so close to feeling what he’d always wanted to feel. His father loving him was different from Dick or Bruce, it was… more. It didn’t feel the same. Different, long overdue, and… really, really, really, really good.

So, there he sat for a solid five minutes at least, his palms buried in his eye sockets in an attempt to keep the tears in. (It didn’t work. When did it ever?) He was biting his tongue to keep silent in fear Jason really would hear him crying through the wall and come break it down. 

Logic told him to stop. To pay attention. To use his Puppeteer mind to see through everything his father was saying. That if he really had changed, if he really loved him, he wouldn’t be doing all of this.

The part of him that wanted so badly to be loved didn’t let him. 

Because what if his dad really did love him?

There was a subtle peck on the glass, and Bentley looked up again, finally letting his (watery, and red.) brown eyes meet his father’s and stay there. He was still smiling, kind of like Bruce always did. 

‘It’s been a year, and you still crumble under the weight of three small words. I thought I taught you better than that.’

Bentley sat up, wiping at his eyes, and glanced around the room warily. His father’s smile fell into nothing — something cold, like Bentley was used to. This wasn’t… he hadn’t… again?

‘You were lying?’

‘I thought you lived with detectives, Bentley,’ He signed, one eyebrow raised in a triumphant manner. He leaned in close to the glass, and Bentley instinctively moved away. ‘Listen, and listen closely, because this is the last thing I’m saying to you.’

Bentley looked down at his shaky hands. That strange feeling came again, the same one he felt at the Manor. He heard water moving through the pipes in the ceiling. He felt his blood pumping.

‘Even if you get Dr. Keene arrested, even if you kill Charlie and release the other children and destroy this entire operation from the ground up, you’re going to lose. If I can’t destroy the Wayne’s alone, I’ll just watch all of Gotham burn instead,’ He signed, a strangely competent look coming across his face like he was having a normal business transaction. ‘We have a plan B that you won’t touch, that you won’t even know about until it’s too late. Think of it as a boss fight in a video game. It’s coming. And you can’t stop it.’

Bentley exhaled a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes.

‘If you find a way to stop this — if you make us change to plan B, all the thousands of lives lost here in Gotham are on your head,’ His father smiled a crooked smile, different from the last. ‘There’s no way for you to win, Bentley. This is the end. It's your choice how many people come out of it.’

Bentley’s hands were shaking when he signed: ‘You’re not going to win.’

His father laughed. Literally laughed, out loud. ‘If you really think so, then keep your eye on the news channels. If you keep your ears open you might hear the warning call before the end comes.’

Bentley looked down at his own lap. 

‘And Bentley…’ His father signed, and the child looked up one last time. ‘Just to clear things up… not a single atom of my very being has ever loved you… and not a single atom ever will.’

That was the moment a part of Bentley… died. Something inside of him shifted. The little boy that wanted his dad to love him so badly faded away to nothing, and left something oddly empty and wrong in its wake. Something like rage, but muffled by something else he couldn’t place right then.

Bentley stood up from the stool, letting out a breath of air. ‘That’s okay. Bruce loves me better than you ever could. Don’t you ever get tired of being second best?’

He didn’t wait for his father’s reply, but turned to leave the room.

“Oh, and Bentley…”

He turned back to his father one last time, who was standing now, with a smile. “When the elements are pitted against one another, fire always wins.”

Bentley said nothing. The officer led him out of the room.

When Bentley made it back into the hallway and Jason noticed his red rimmed eyes, he looked like he was going to kill someone.

“Bentley?” He questioned, standing up when they got close. “What happened?”

“I think they had a heartfelt conversation. I couldn’t really hear it, of course — I didn’t know the boy didn’t talk,” Said the officer, patting Bentley’s shoulder. “He’s all yours. Make sure you check up with security on your way out.”

Jason took Bentley’s shoulder and replied with a: “Yeah…”

The walk out of the prison felt like an eternity. Somehow, Bentley was feeling everything and nothing at all. It felt like everything negative inside of him — rage, sadness, despair, desperation, terror, loneliness, disappointment, frustration, a whole entire life’s worth of guilt — it was like it was all broiling and fighting to get out, but the lid of the pot was closed too tight. Like it was seeping out of crevices and waiting for the day Bentley Whittaker breaks.

“What did he say to you?” Jason practically demanded, his hand staying firmly on Bentley’s left shoulder as they walked through the not-very-crowded parking lot. He had a very deadpan, sort of pissed off look on his face. 

Bentley looked everywhere but at Jason, dutifully shutting down the urges to cry or throw a tantrum or punch something or burn down a house. “I just… can we just go home? Please? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Did he threaten you?” Jason continued, squeezing Bentley’s shoulder as they split to go on either side of the car. Jason climbed in the driver’s seat, and Bentley hopped into the passenger’s side.

“No,” Bentley replied once they were both in Jason’s car, buckling his seatbelt. Not directly, anyway…

“Why have you been crying?”

Bentley looked down at his lap as the car started up. “Can we just go home?”

Jason didn’t argue.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere

[v5b5]

I had a request of Carlitos after AO, just felling exhausted and confessing his fellings because he just wants you to be with him. BUT I ELIMINATED ACCIDENTALLY, IM REALLY SORRY. 😭😭

Btw, I'm still taking requests, so you're free and welcome to ask whatever you want.

Warnings: bad mental health/extremely exhausted Carlos.

~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•°•~•°•~~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•°•~•°•~

You had known Carlos since you both were 18, and always had an especial connection, but you never saw it like anything romantic. For the last 2 years of friendship, you tried to accompany him to some tournaments, so you were now in Melbourne, Australia. Watching his matches and eating sushi the night before. Even though you have been friends for years, a few months ago, you started to realize that this was probably love, because no one travels around the whole world just to support a friend every time they ask for, no?.

But you ignored the fact that his eyes were always on you, and every little thing you do. But now you guys were so distracted to think about stupid theories like those. The night before his match with Zverev, he invited you to eat sushi as usual, but when you arrived at his hotel room you noticed, it was just him.

"It's just you and me?". You ask certainly confused. You entered his room and sat at the edge of his bed. He wasn't a very messy person, but he had a bit of clothes around the room, his suitcase on the floor full of things and the door of the bathroom open, from where you could feel the humidity of a recently used shower, and you could also tell from his semi-wet hair.

"Yes, you wanted to invite someone else?". He asks a bit concerned, you know him very well, he's much of a people pleaser, so you have to reassure him. "No... It's good to be just us". You say with a sweet smile and looking around. "The sushi is almost here". He says looking down at you. "It's ok, I'm not that hungry". You answer sweetly not to worry him. "What about we watch a movie while eating?". You propose with a smile. "Sounds good". He answered with his big representative smile.

Then you took the TV remote and started sapping, and you decided to watch a rom-com. During the dinner, you started to feel very cold, cause Carlos loved to have the A.C at its lowest temperature, and you loved it too, but the humidity from the bathroom didn't help with the cold. Carlos noticed that and hugged you from your shoulders. "Are you cold?". He asked in a whisper near your lobe, you could feel his warmth, it made you feel safe and cozy. "Yes, a little." You answer blushing a little. Then Carlos got up from bed and opened his suitcase and took out one of his Nike favorite hoodies, a very classic but pretty white hoodie with a little logo of a colorful tennis court. "Here, have it". He Said sweetly and extended it to you. You took it and put it on, it was cozy, you could smell his scent. "thanks", you limit yourself to say. The night was amazing, so wonderful that Carlos stayed awake thinking about the situation he was in with his relationship with you, a difficult one... A platonic romantic friendship.

The next day, he was extremely tired, he even fell asleep while eating breakfast. So by the time of the match, he was exhausted physically. He lost the match, for way too much difference. He felt stupid, not enough. He had already tried to improve those aspects of self-sabotage with his psychologist, but today was not his day to think about that. He was destroyed, he felt like nothing.

So when he got to his room, he limited himself to throw his bags to the floor and do the same with his "useless" body. But suddenly he heard a knock, a special one, one that only y/n used with her loved ones. It was something little but he was a person of details, and he liked to remember that kind of things. He wasn't good with birthdays, words or dancing, nor even signing, but learning little details of his loved ones was definitely his thing, it was his way to show love and this was her little detail to remember. He got up from the cold floor and walked a few steps towards the door, his eyes were red from some sobbing on the way to his room, but he felt strong enough to face y/n. He opened the door and just threw himself into her arms, and started sobbing. "I'm sorry". She said sweetly while caressing his nape. "you made everything you could". "No, I didn't made enough". He said to her and also for himself to hear. "of course you did, sometimes it is good to know our limits, maybe your body was just... Exhausted". She says trying her best to comfort him. He picked her up, and carried her to his bed. He jumped to bed with her in his arms. He just wanted to cuddle. "I think I need you... I can't hide it anymore". He says in a sweet voice. "I know you feel it too, I can see it in your eyes". He says looking Deeply into her eyes. "I know you think we guys never notice, but I do". He says before caressing her hand. "Be my girlf..." He couldn't even finish the sentence because you were already kissing him in a sweet subtly way.

~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•~°•°•~•°•~

I'm finally done, I was so tired with uni that I didn't have time to write. But I'm here... Hope you like it. I made a big effort to write this and not to fall asleep while doing it. IM SO TIRED.

BTW

PLEASE LEAVE MORE REQUESTS

[that-howlingdrakesng]

A White Lie and A Stuffed Rabbit (Pit Bonnie x Reader) - Chapter 2

A/N: Alright. This is the chapter that I dreaded posting on Tumblr. Please have mercy on me, Jeff fans 😭🙏

You accidentally stumbled across a time-traveling ball pit that led you to the past inside Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria. The creature followed you into the past and now you are stuck with a possessed animatronic.

⚠️The following chapter is not suitable for readers under 13 and contains vore, minor character death, and depictions of panic attacks. Please proceed with caution or skip through the section entirely.⚠️

Chapter 2: The Yellow Rabbit

You had really thought you managed to escape this mechanical beast. You thought that you were safe from them. But unfortunately, despite your best efforts, it wasn't enough. Worse yet, you've played right into their hands.

You took a small step back, preparing yourself to run as you kept your eyes trained on the large yellow creature in front of you. Carefully, you slipped the phone back into your pocket to free up your hands in case it decides to grab you again. The yellow rabbit continues to approach you, emitting more glitchy, garbled noises. As the distance between the two of you grew smaller, you began to slowly back away from them, your eyes never leaving theirs. You couldn't ignore how terrified you felt in the presence of this non-human entity, but you had to stay calm long enough to think of a plan. You needed to focus on getting out of here alive.

The creature stops for a moment to stare at you, twitching its ears as if it was thinking about something. It then turned its head towards the door with the sign above it that reads, “EMPLOYEES ONLY”. The rabbit made a quick glance at you before heading over to the other room. You simply stood there dumbfounded. What the hell just happened, you thought. Why did it randomly leave like that?

A few moments later, the yellow rabbit came back out of the room it was in, carrying a pizza pan with two slices in its hands. The rabbit sets it down on the table before redirecting its gaze towards you. At first, you weren't sure what it could be asking from you. Then, as you glanced at the tall animatronic rabbit and then at the pizza pan on the table, you figured that it was waiting for you to eat.

“Wait, are you being serious right now?” you asked, completely baffled by its request. “You…want me to eat that?”

The yellow rabbit nodded in response.

You were a bit taken back by the fact that it understood you. Kinda creepy, but at least you know now that it was sentient.

You anxiously inched your way towards the table, eyes fixated on the rabbit that stood beside it. You didn't exactly trust that the pizza wasn't tampered with. For all you know, it could have drugged or poisoned the pizza while it was in the other room. As you sat down in the chair, you looked at the slices of pizza on the table and then back at the yellow rabbit looming over you.

“Um… Is this pizza safe to eat? Why are you giving me this?” you questioned out of reluctance.

This question clearly offended the lagomorphic creature, exposing its sharp teeth out of annoyance as it quickly leaned over to your face with its glowing, blue eyes glaring down at you.

“Eat,” the rabbit growled.

You reeled back with your arms up, shielding your face in a panic. “Okay, okay!! I'll eat it!” you shouted.

Satisfied with your response, the yellow rabbit backed away from you, seemingly grinning to itself. You let out a sigh before turning your attention to the pizza in front of you. You really don't want to eat it, but you also don't want to upset the bunny even further. You grabbed one of the slices by the crust, surprised at how warm it was. You hesitated a bit before taking a small bite of the pizza. Nothing was off as far as the taste and texture, but holy crap. This pizza was AMAZING. Way better than the ones Jeff would make. Everything about it was mouth-watering–the toppings, the sauce, the cheese, and even the crust.

All doubt and hesitation was casted aside as you took another bite, savoring the flavors in your mouth. “This is so good,” you said blissfully.

You could have swore you heard a mechanical purr from the yellow rabbit. You figured that it appreciated the positive remark on the pizza that it gave you.

As you were finishing up your first slice, the rabbit-like creature walked off into the employee room, leaving you alone in the dining area to eat in peace. It would have been the perfect time to sneak away from the creature. However, recalling that you haven't eaten anything in the past several hours, you really could use a food break. Strangely enough, you were kind of thankful to the yellow rabbit for offering you something to eat after chasing you around the pizzeria.

Halfway through your second slice, you happened to hear a series of subtle, yet unusual sounds coming from the employee room. They were hard to pick out from the other side of the door despite the dead silence in the dining area. You did your best to quietly ignore it while you finished your slice of pizza. Part of you wanted to sneak out of the room and leave the pizzeria while the creature was preoccupied with whatever it's doing. Although, you also wanted to take a small peek inside the employee room despite your chances of getting caught and provoking the animatronic.

You've only finished your slice up to the crust, setting it on the pizza pan before you sat up slowly from your seat so as to not create any loud noises that could draw its attention. As you inched closer and closer to the door, the noises grew louder and more noticeable. Distorted, mechanical groans and whirrs was all you could hear up to that point, already reaching for the doorknob. Anxiety and panic started to creep into your body. You were nervous and scared of whatever you're about to witness behind that door. You thought about backing out and just making a break for the exit. To put as much distance from this cryptid robot as possible. However, your persistent curiosity outweighed the fear in your mind, fingers already clasped around the doorknob. You took a small and shallow breath to prepare yourself for what you might see.

While being mindful about the noises, you opened the door just wide enough to peer inside. It didn't take long for you to find the yellow rabbit within the room. Unfortunately, you wished that you hadn't. You were absolutely horrified by what you saw. The yellow rabbit had the body of a person inside of its mouth and was eating it. The person made no movements whatsoever, no attempts to struggle, as if they were completely limp. Only the lower body was visible from the angle you were viewing it from. The creature tilted its head back slightly, one hand supporting its meal in its mouth while the other rested on its belly. Seconds later, you heard a startling loud and wet gulp, pulling the unresponsive body deeper down its eager and hungry gullet. It then dawned on you, realizing the muffled sounds you heard that were behind the door.

…Holy shit.

You felt absolutely sick to your stomach. And worst of all, you couldn't get yourself to tear your eyes away from it.

You watched idly through the crack of the door, almost in a trance-like state while the creature continued to eagerly swallow down its limp prey. The body was now two-thirds of the way inside the giant rabbit's stomach and you happened to notice the clothes the person was wearing. It was hard to tell from the lighting as well as the position the lagomorph animatronic had it in. As soon as it flung its head back for another powerful swallow, you instantly recognized the muted orange pants and black shoes. Upon this dawning realization, your heart sank.

“Oh God no,” you whispered, covering your mouth as you watched in disbelief.

You didn't want to believe it. You wished that none of what you witnessed was real.

The person that the creature was devouring was none other than Jeff.

You were frozen in place out of terror, on the verge of tears. There was nothing you could do to save Jeff and there's no way to tell if he's even alive at this point. Not without alerting the lagomorphic creature. The worst that could happen is if it decides to devour you too once it's done scarfing down Jeff.

Fuck. Why is all of this happening to you?

Within seconds, the creature managed to slurp and gulp down the rest of Jeff's body, letting out a satisfied growl as its meal traveled down its throat and into its now plumpish belly. You watched it rub its prey-filled stomach in utter horror. This isn't real, you thought. This shouldn't be real. You couldn't accept the fact that Jeff, the pizzeria owner that you knew as a lethargic loser, was eaten by a walking animatronic rabbit. You weren't even sure if that thing is even an animatronic to begin with.

Your hands flew up to your mouth as you started to hyperventilate, trembling so much to the point where your legs gave out from under you. To your misfortune, it drew the creature's attention, turning its head towards you through the opening of the door. Its glowing cyan eyes gazed upon your fearful form.

“Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit…!” You never felt so helpless and scared in your life.

The yellow rabbit began to walk towards the door, which made you panic even more than you were now. You could do nothing but inch your body away from the door, arms and legs trembling dangerously from being struck with terror. Your heart began to race and you had this spinning sensation in your head. More than ever, you were extremely desperate to run away from this thing. You kept forcing your body to move, attempting to fight off the fear-stricken nerves pulsating through your veins.

Move.

Keep moving, dammit…!!

You had to keep telling yourself that in order to stay alive. However, once the door swung wide open, any sort of fight you had left quickly dissipated. The yellow rabbit gradually moved closer in short but heavy steps, blue eyes locked with your own. This was it, you thought. This is how you were going to die.

In the matter of seconds, your body became too overwhelmed to the point where you were beginning to black out. Heart pounding out of your chest, head spinning, body visibly trembling. You took one last glance at the yellow creature looming over you before you lost all consciousness. The last thing you heard was a dark, distorted laughter.

The rabbit has now claimed its prize. You were caught.

----

You didn't feel anything. You couldn't feel anything. You were drifting in and out of consciousness, not knowing whether or not you were still alive or not. All you saw was nothing but the darkness surrounding you. Although, the image of that monstrous animatronic rabbit was still fresh in your mind. The scene of that creature swallowing Jeff's unconscious body whole; it played over and over again like an everlasting nightmare. You desperately wanted to forget that memory.

A harsh scraping sound abruptly jolted you out of your dream-like state. Your eyes shot open, darting around the unfamiliar room you were in. You attempted to move from your spot, but you quickly noticed your hands and legs being tied to a chair. Seems like the rabbit has brought you here to prevent you from running off. Being tied to this metal chair was just a precaution. Great. Just great.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew louder the closer it was to the door. There was a brief pause before the door creaked open. There stood your captor with its blue soulless eyes and permanent grin. Almost instantly, you went into a panic upon first glance, wriggling and writhing in your bonds that kept you in place. When the yellow rabbit began to approach you, you struggled harder in hopes of loosening the ropes around your wrists. To no such luck, the bonds around your wrists were knotted tightly and barely loosened an inch. All your attempts ceased once the animatronic creature was directly in front of you with a scowl. You shut your eyes and turned your head away from the monster looming over you.

“Please don't eat me,” you pleaded fearfully. “I… I won't taste very good.”

The creature clearly didn't buy into your bluff, leaning over to the crook of your shoulder and licking a slow, wet stripe up your neck. You let out a small, shaky gasp and shuddered from the sudden damp feeling on your skin. The rabbit merely chuckled at your reaction.

“You lie,” the creature said, eyeing your trembling figure.

You tensed up at its response. Shit. You were as good as dead begin tied up and locked in a room. And seeing that the creature is already full from its meal, it's safe to assume that it plans to save you for later. Which, of course, will give you plenty of time to come up with a way to escape.

The yellow rabbit brought its large hand under your chin and turned your head to face him. You were still tense in their presence, eyes shut tightly to avoid looking at the towering animatronic in front of you.

“Look at me,” the creature demanded in a low growl.

You hesitated for a moment, mostly out of anxiety and fear. You couldn't bear to look at it after what it did to Jeff. It honestly scares you, but you had to comply with its demands if you wanted to stay alive. You steeled your nerves and opened your eyes gradually, gazing up at the yellow creature in front of you. It lets out a pleased hum, admiring the way you were looking up at them. Almost in a submissive manner.

“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” you questioned.

The yellow rabbit's glowing blue eyes ran down your body, taking in your small yet curvy figure. You had on a high-impact sports bra underneath your mesh top, which gave your chest an appealing view. Below the waist, you wore a pair of decorative leather riding pants made for night riding. The way it was eyeing you up like a treat on display; it nearly gave you the impression that it had an idea of what it wants to do with you. You're hoping it doesn't involve you ending up dead.

Carefully, the creature lowered itself to your level, inching closer to your face before pressing its soft muzzle against your cheeks. It lets out a small mechanical purr as you felt its hands wander down to your waist and rested there. The rabbit then trailed its muzzle down to the crook of your neck and began to lick and nibble on your neck. You absent-mindedly let out a small whimper as you felt its sharp teeth grazing and pinching at your skin.

“You like this, don't you, you naughty girl?” it asked teasingly against your ear.

In a matter of seconds, you froze up with the feeling of anxiety and shame washing over your body. No. There's no way. You knew in your mind that you should be afraid of what this monster could do to you. However, your body was feeling a certain type of pleasure from this and you cursed yourself for it. This wasn't right, you thought. This thing ate Jeff and you are getting aroused. How fucked up could you possibly get?

One of the creature's hands slid up to the collar of your mesh shirt, quickly tearing it from your body, causing you to yelp in surprise. Thankfully, your bra was spared from being ripped.

The rabbit stopped for a moment to pull away from your neck, gazing into your eyes with intent. Even with its lack of facial expressions, you had an idea of what it wanted but you were afraid to go through with it.

“I won't hurt you,” the yellow rabbit said, cupping your face gingerly with its soft, large hand. For some godforsaken reason, you leaned into its touch and you craved more. “...not unless you give me a reason to.”

You felt yourself shudder. Both in fear and, strangely enough, anticipation.

“I will undo your bonds, but…” The rabbit's hand trailed to your tied wrists, lightly picking at the rope with its claws. “...I will do so under one. Specific. Condition.”

“And what condition is that?” you asked, nearly dreading the answer.

The rabbit merely chuckled, bringing the hand that was resting on your waist to your abdomen. You really didn't like where they were going with its demands.

“...bear my children.”

[heavenhealy]

genre: smut, a bit of angst, porn with a bit of plot, professor!matty x grad student!reader, dom!matty x sub!reader, fem!reader

word count: 5.8k

summary: As a final year graduate student, its not always easy to come across people outside of your department who care about your research. When the handsome new philosophy professor takes interest, it seems too good to be true. And when he expresses his interest in you, you can't comprehend how lucky you are.

warnings: this is mature content so please do not go below the cut if you're uncomfy or under the age of 18! specific warnings include: swearing, discussion of an age gap but not a huge one, public sex (in an office w a locked door but still), unprotected sex (literally just don't be like them), spanking, hair pulling, praise, degradation, dirty talk, stereotypical professor things, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), handjob (m receiving)

an: I had a dream about professor!Matty once so here we are. also as always be aware that this was not proof read so there will likely be typos at some points lol also I know the ending is lame but I'm sleepy and couldn't think of anything better

You click through the slides of your presentation: all 45 of them in the same dull academic black and white format. The graphs and charts you've spent hours creating and perfecting are the only splashes of color. It's another day in another empty classroom with no windows, the slate grey tables and ergonomic chairs devoid of any sign of life as you clear your throat up at the wooden podium.

For as many times as you'd rehearsed this presentation you still get nervous, stuttering over your introduction slide as you start the timer to track how long it takes.

Your voice sounds monotone even to your own ears as you zone out, eyes unfocused as you gesture at the table of data derived from your near year of research. You're so dissociated that you think maybe you're seeing things when you catch a glimpse of dark hair edging into the door frame. You frown but keep talking, explaining your research methods the way you advisor has suggested makes the most sense even though everyone who will be listening is within your department anyway.

When your eyes skirt back to the doorway, you know you aren't sleep deprived enough to be hallucinating an entire man, leaning against the frame of the door, eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he scans your slide. You stutter over your words, stunned to see anyone there, let alone someone who seems so interested in your research.

"Uh, um, can I help you?" The mans eyes widen, snapping to your face, scanning you up and down quickly. You shamelessly do the same: skirting your eyes down the chunky knit sweater and loose fit trousers as you try to decipher the lines of the body they're hiding.

"Yeah, sorry, I just happened to be walking by-" the timber of his voice makes you shiver and you feel your heart flutter, spit becoming embarrassingly thick in your mouth.

"Anyway, this is really interesting, Miss..." he quirks an eyebrow as he waits for your name: and that's when it hits you. He must be a professor from another department, and a fairly new one at that.

"Y/N. Just Y/N. I'm not old enough to be a 'miss' yet." You feel your face heating as you speak and the mystery man inches further into the room so he's only a mere few feet away from you. It's still a respectable distance, but now you can see the streaks of gray running through the edges of his curls and you feel like your feet have been swept out from under you.

"Okay then, Y/N." He runs his tongue over the top row of his teeth and hums thoughtfully. "I'm Professor Matty Healy, I just started over in philosophy." He jabs his thumb over his shoulder and you nod, vaguely aware of where the building is. "And this is clearly out of my depth-" he gestures at the big screen, "I nearly failed my basic science courses. But this is really something."

You flush, not only at his attention but at the fact that he's complementing your research- that someone in a completely different department finds your work fascinating.

"O-oh, thanks, a lot of it is only good because of Professor Cannari, my advisor."

"I'll be sure to pass along my admiration to him, then." He stalls, hands rubbing down the fabric of his pants. "Well, I've got to go. Good luck practicing, Y/N." He salutes you as if he were in the army as he leaves and you can barely suppress the giggle until he leaves the room. Your heart swells, presentation suddenly forgotten as you scramble for your phone, scrambling to text your roommates about the sexy new philosophy professor.

----

The high from meeting Professor Healy had worn off by the next time you were set to meet with Professor Cannari. You had debated even canceling this meeting since you were up to your eyeballs in other course work and job applications; but the idea of the sweet elderly man and his bowl of candy waiting for you to show up made you cave. You trudge up to his office, the musty scent that permeates the building making your nostrils flare. Cannari is waiting, as he always is, behind his large desk. His old laptop whirs loudly but his boisterous voice booms over it as he welcomes you in.

"Ah, Y/N! I'm happy to see you!" You sit without being prompted. "Do you have anything specific you want to go over? Any issues with your presentation?" You shake your head, suddenly exhausted at the talk of your research again.

"Not really. I haven't changed anything since the last meeting, I've just been practicing the presentation." Professor Cannari nods, seemingly pleased by your work.

"Good. I do have something that I think will interest you," you cock an eyebrow, curious and a bit scared of what the old man could have cooked up. He clicks a few times on his laptop before squinting and leaning into the screen as if to assure he was looking at the correct thing.

"I've got an email from a Professor...Healy?" Your stomach bottoms out at the sound of his name. "Anywho, he tells me he saw you practicing your presentation and was very impressed," your advisor smiles to himself, "and he says that he'd like to offer you some philosophical theories that may help your presentation do better. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

You swallow hard, mind spinning as you try to decipher what was happening right now.

"Yeah, sure, but I don't know where his office is or-" Professor Cannari is already writing something down on a post it note in his scratchy hand writing. He hands you the neon green paper with Professor Healy's office number on it. Your advisor provides you a warm smile and waves you out of his office.

You hover in the hallway of the office, paper trembling in your hand. Do you go now? Do you go in a few days? Do you go at all? There's nothing inherently bad about going; in fact it will likely be super beneficial to your presentation as a whole. And is that not the whole point of going to grad school? Being able to gather information outside of your discipline to make your research stand out?

Dumbly, you look down at your outfit- a pair of well worn jeans, a simple black cropped tank top overlayed by a gray zip up hoodie. Fuck it. There's no point into deluding yourself into thinking this would be anything more than an office hours meeting. Your feet move before you can second guess yourself.

Before you know it you're crossing the threshold into the philosophy building, wandering dumbly until you find a stairwell to lead you up to the correct floor. You check the number obsessively once you're in the long, eerily empty hallway, and at the very end, wedged into an oddly shaped corner of the building is his office. You can tell he's new just from the lack of decorations on the door and bulletin board just outside of it. Simply just a name tag is displayed underneath the room number. You feel stupid for how fast your heart races as you knock.

It only now occurred to you that you didn't know his office hours, and it was possible he was teaching or not even on campus at all. You almost turn your back to leave as the realization hits you, but the door gently swings open. Professor Healy peeps through the crack in the door, seemingly afraid of what he would see on the other side. When he sees it's you his face softens and the door swings open wider.

"Y/N," he breathes your name and you shiver, eyes falling down to his chest, where the top two buttons of his silky button down shirt are undone. You swallow harshly and force what you hope is a comfortable smile.

"If you aren't busy...I heard you wanted to meet with me?" You try your best to curb the smile creeping onto your face as he gestures you in, hair falling around his face like a halo. His office is everything that you'd expected-even though he was newer to the job, his oak bookshelves are teeming with philosophy texts and a few plants half-dead in their pots. His desk takes center stage as it's surprisingly grand and tidy, the shiny wooden top reflecting the light from overhead in oblong circles. Only one notebook and one stack of what looks like exams exist neatly next to his desktop computer.

"Ah," he clears his throat when he sees you staring, "feel free to sit, I'm afraid it's not the most comfortable chair but the one I want is on backorder." You sit anyway, charmed just by the easy drawl of his voice. He takes his place directly across from you in a cushy, high-backed chair that genuinely looks fit for royalty. Your stomach stirs with arousal when he shakes his curls from his eyes and leans forward, elbows on the desk.

"Can I ask you something?" You shiver, involuntarily shaken by his question. He doesn't wait for you to respond before continuing: "Why do you seem so disinterested in your research?"

You're stunned at how forward he is but a piece of you loosens, suddenly relaxed when you realize the academic front you put up in front of everyone else can be dissolved here.

"I'm just tired of it," you slouch into your chair, matching his soulful gaze. "I've spent the last 5 years of my life researching and refining this presentation and all I ever do is present to people within my field who already know all of this shit, or even are cited in my paper anyway, and it's just so exhausting to say and think all the same things over and over. And what do I get out of this other than a job?" You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly self conscious at how forthcoming and unprofessional you're being with a professor.

"Sorry, that was a lot. And you clearly liked my stuff enough to contact Cannari and ask to meet with me, so, sorry Professor Healy." You shrug and offer him what you hope will be a soothing smile. He doesn't retreat from his spot but actually leans further toward you and only then do you realize that you had leaned closer to him as well. "You can just call me Matty, please." He offers a sweet smile that makes you agree, and the amount of familiarity just being told to use his first name gives you makes you giddy.

"What..." he swallows, "What do you want? From your life?" You catch a whiff of his cologne with him this close and you can do nothing but scan his face stupidly: eyes flitting between his plush lips and his eyes. Arousal stirs in your stomach the more you stare at him, and you force yourself to look away before you melt into the chair. You start to piece something together in your mind when Professor Healy shakes his head, inhaling sharply.

"It's okay if you don't know, Y/N. I don't know what I want from my life either, even though I have the big fancy job.” He stops, fingers drumming against the top of his desk, just inches away from your body. "But I know what I want right now."

Your stomach lurches with sudden nerves and you’re sure that your face is flushed red as you watch the mesmerizing way his tongue darts across his lower lip, wetting the pink flesh. Surely letting your mind run away to all the nasty places it wants to is going to do nothing to soothe the heat but you can’t find it in you to stop.

“Y/N?” Matty’s voice cuts through the fog in your brain like a knife. Sheepishly you glance back at him and just seems so large that your reply dies in your throat, mouth hung open.

“I asked you a question. Cat got your tongue?” He smiles slyly as he glances down to your mouth and you feel an unbidden rush of arousal in your stomach.

“S-sorry Professor Healy, I- just. Um." His steely gaze cuts you as you slowly realize your mistake. "Matty. What do you want right now? I’m not sure how much help I can actually be, but I can-“

“What I want right now-“ he speaks over you and you still, fingernails digging into the leather arms of your chair. “Is for you to look at me.” He pauses and you realize he means for you to obey him now, so you do. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own, his intense gaze flicking between your pupils and your lips. Satisfied, he speaks again. “Good. And now I need you to be fully, completely honest with me. I’ll know if you aren’t.” You nod automatically, all thoughts except how purely sexy he looks right now abandoning your brain. A smile splits his face and a surge of joy at making him happy runs through you.

“Are you aware how badly I want you?” His voice thickens and you shiver, the confusion and elation rushing in. There was no way this was real, there had to be someone testing you or playing a trick to expose your most depraved desire.

“You do?” You hate how surprised you sound but who could blame you: the new professor with his bouncy curls and tattooed chest interested in both your research and also apparently you?

Suddenly he’s moving, standing from his grand chair to lean against the desk on your side, just inches from you. He cocks his head and that deadly stare penetrates you as he shamelessly looks you up and down, eyes focused just a second too long on the place where your breasts swell out of your tank top.

“I do.” He nods as if he’d just agreed with your assessment of a news topic, but the way his hands flex on the top of his thighs draws your eyes right to his crotch: the telling bulge of the beginning of a hard on just there. All inhibitions rush out of you at the sight, you calm the shake in your hands and grasp at his own, resting just inches away from his cock.

“Is the door locked?” Your voice is husky but he seems to appreciate it as a breathy exhale passes his lips while he nods. The noise sparks arousal between your thighs, the seam of your jeans teasing your clit just enough to make your head spin a bit when your thighs press together. You stay locked into your chair, sincerely afraid that if you stood your knees would give out, but you trail your fingers up to the waistband of his trousers.

“Is this okay?” His pretty curls crowd around his face as he peers down at you and nods, moving his own hands out of the way to allow you all the room you want. You ignore the way your fingers tremble with the button and unhook it, the sound of the zipper startling in the otherwise silent room.

His cock is straining against his boxers and you can't help the pride that washes over your body.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous." His voice grits out as you trace your fingers over the outline of his cock, enamored by the heat radiating from his body. His hips jump, pressing further into your touch with impatience.

"Fucking take 'em off." Your eyes flit up to his face, scrunched with concentration as he undoes the buttons on his shirt until it's completely open, torso bared to your hungry eyes. All of his hidden tattoos come to light and you feel yourself salivate. He gives you a pointed look and you spring into action, pulling his boxers down to his thighs. Your breath leaves you as his cock is bared to you, hardening by the second as you take in the sight of him.

"You're fucking huge," the words fall out of your mouth before you can even think about filtering them, but all he does is laugh, smoothing a hand over the crown of your head.

"And you're fucking sinful." The praise goes straight to your head as you cup his cock, immediately tracing the vein along the bottom with your fingertip. The urge to have him in your mouth is insane but you stick with what you've started: the feather light touches across the smoothed, warm skin in addicting patterns until Matty snaps, grasping your wrist.

"I'm glad you're having fun, love, but if you don't start getting to work I'm gonna have to do it myself. And I don't think either of us want that, do we?" Your face blanches at the idea of him leaving, and you shake your head, redoubling your efforts by adding your second hand into the mix. Stroking his cock quickly becomes addicting, as all of his pretty moans and whines bounce off of the walls in his office and you can gaze up at him despite the hand in your hair to see the way his neck flexes as you pleasure him. His cock twitches and swells in your hand and a fresh wave of arousal sticks to your underwear, making you drive a hand between your legs in a desperate attempt for some relief. Matty's hand in your hair tightens as he sees you make this move and he tuts.

"Off of it, now, pretty girl." Matty's voice shakes as he extracts himself from your touch. You whine at the loss of his cock but soon your line of sight is full of his handsome face. Matty has crouched right in front of you, lips bitten raw from his efforts of trying not to cum. You feel your eyes soften at how pretty he looks with rosy cheeks and you lean forward on pure instinct, seeking the press of his lips on your own. Matty catches on easily and matches your eagerness by capturing your lips ferociously; tasting faintly like minty gum and coffee and you moan at this fantasy come to life. You cling to his bare shoulders like your life depends on it, fingernails digging into the planes of his back as he licks between your lips, tongue dancing around your mouth as he steals your breath.

Matty nips at your bottom lip, and then one of his hands is diving between your thighs to press up against the heat at the seam of your jeans. You gasp out a moan at the feeling of finally being touched even if through the thick barrier of denim.

"Fucking soaking your jeans, love," Matty growls against your lips, his dextrous thumb pressed directly over your clit. You squirm in the chair, chest heaving as your nerve endings light up, feeling so hot that you could crawl out of your skin.

"F-fuck, Matty." You take matters into your own hands and strip yourself of your sweatshirt. He chuckles darkly, eyes darting up from between your legs as he licks his lips sinfully.

"Feeling a little hot there? Should I take these jeans off of you and help you cool down?" His fingers are already at the button but you keen and agree with a vicious nod. The brief touch of his fingers against your stomach makes you whimper, impatient beyond belief for him to rid you of the restrictive denim.

"I've got you, don't worry, 'm right here." Matty soothes you as he shimmies your jeans off. He places a gentle kiss against the inside of one knee, then the other, and you feel anticipation bubble in your stomach as he digs his thumbs into the flesh of your thighs, dragging them apart. His eyes widen at the visible confirmation of your wetness slicking your underwear in a dark stain.

"Please," you find yourself begging already even though Matty shows no sign of slowing down as he rids you of your underwear as well. Already kneeling, Matty simply leans forward until he's mere inches away from your pussy. The ends of his strands of hair tickle the tops of your thighs and goosebumps erupt. Matty parts your thighs until your knees are hooked over the arms of the chair and you remain fully exposed to him.

"Look at that..." his fingers trail your inner thighs and your body twitches. "Prettiest pussy on the prettiest little slut I've ever seen." He eyes you carefully to catch your reaction to the nickname and you feel your whole body glow at the filthy words. Matty grins before swiftly returning his thumb to your clit, this time bare. The shock of his sudden touch sends you spiraling toward pleasure, mind blanking of all coherent thought as he draws tight circles around the bud. You grasp onto his hair for an anchor as he doubles down, pushing his face between your thighs. His nose bumps against your clit and his tongue parts your lips, lapping up the wetness with a pattern you can't figure out how to track. His stubble scratches the inside of your thighs as he laps at you, flitting his tongue between your folds. Your hips buck forward and your legs clamp around his head, desperate to be sure that he wouldn't go anywhere. Matty chuckles against your pussy and you can feel it radiating through you. You shiver, stomach contracting as you pull his hair so hard you feel like you might take some of it out.

An oncoming train of pleasure barrels towards you as Matty returns his lips to your clit, sucking ferverntly until you cry, warning him that you're coming. Your mind soars as you come, surely soaking his face as he makes no attempt to slow down or pull back as your hips stutter against his face.

Tears collect at your chin as your body settles, overwhelmed and satisfied. Matty resurfaces, chin and lips soaked with the sheen of your release. He licks his lips as he sees you refocus onto the real world. Matty helps to ease your legs down from the arms of the chair and the simple intimacy makes you dizzy with glee.

"You taste so good, by the way," Matty drones as his eyes sparkle with mischief. He stands, cock bobbing along with his movements and your pussy throbs in spite of the fact that you literally just came moments before. You can't tear your eyes away from it, the reddened head leaking translucent rivulets of precum. Images of his cock pulsing while he ate you out invade your mind and you whine, launching yourself off of the chair with the need to be closer to him.

Matty chuckles as you latch yourself around him, pressing your body into the heat of him, feeling the press of his cock against your stomach. Your forehead sticks to his chest with the perspiration and you're slightly surprised that Matty places a kiss to the top of your head, crossing his arms around you and massaging your lower back in big soothing circles.

"Are you done for the day? All worn out?" His voice is soft and gentle despite the way his cock stirs as his hands drift to your ass, gently massaging the flesh there.

"You're too sweet," you lift your head until your chin is resting on his chest, looking up at his flushed face. The softness of his eyes makes your insides liquify. "Thought you'd be some big, scary, dominant professor..." you distract him with your words as you slip a hand between the two of you to brush the head of his cock. Matty groans, squeezing your ass harder at the confirmation that you certainly were not done for the day.

"Well I am quite big, as you said before, and as far as scary and dominant..." a sly grin splits his face and before you can deliver a new quip he's maneuvering you until you're bent over the glossy top of his massive desk. It's cold even through the fabric of your cropped tank top that you still had on, and your nipples pebble immediately. You can't see Matty so you still and try to focus your ears to hear any signs of what he was up to.

Matty's fingers ghost over your ass again, tracing over the curve that connects it to your thighs. Shivers wrack down your spine as you anticipate his next touch.

"You'd like me to be more dominant? Harder on you?" Matty's voice ghosts over the shell of your ear and you whine, hips squirming as you feel him pressed up against your back. "Need to be put in your place by a fucking professor at your school?" You nod vigorously, arousal making you pliant to his whispers.

His body heat leaves you and you whine, begging for him not to go.

"Fuck, needy little slut, huh? I'm not going anywhere, don't worry. Can't quit this pussy and I haven't even been in it." His voice has thickened even more than you thought possible and its enough to make you spread your legs, exposing your pussy to the cold air and his hungry eyes.

You're going crazy not being able to see him, so you lift your head and turn toward him. His face tightens when he sees you, and with no reluctance he rears back his hand and smacks one of your ass cheeks. The shock makes you still and silent, followed quickly by a body wide tingle of arousal that has a long loud moan falling from your lips.

"I didn't fucking ask you to move, did I? All you've got to do is lay there and take it and you can't even do that." He tuts but at the same time soothes the pads of his calloused fingers over the handprint he left behind.

"S-sorry, I just wanted to see you." The words come out choppy and stunted as you feel his hand leave you, anticipating another slap.

"Take this like a good girl and then you can see me all you want, okay?" Just moments after your agreement slips into the air Matty is landing twin spanks on each cheek, harder than the first. Your body reacts astronomically, your body heat soaring as you wiggle against the desk, surely leaking onto the pristine wood.

Matty praises you even as you wiggle, admiring the movement of your ass while you try to chase the friction you're looking for. Your legs spread wider as you hear him mutter curses under his breath.

"Please, Matty, please-Ineedyouttodomore, please," you feel like your brain is running away from you, maybe it was back in the entrance to the philosophy building, waiting for you to pick it back up when you're done. Emboldened by your begging, Matty spanks each of your cheeks again in a new spot, sure to cover your whole ass in his hand prints.

Matty shushes you, petting over the surely reddened marks on your ass-your newest and most prized possessions. "You've done so lovely for me, enjoying letting me spank your cute little ass." Matty sounds slightly farther away but you pay it no mind as your body goes onto pleasure autopilot. Your clit throbs, eyes glassy and unfocused as you listen to the whispered affirmations falling from Matty's lips.

"Hey, pretty girl." His voice is suddenly very close, and you finally realize that he's rounded the desk to be next to your head. He's crouched down to your level again, one hand pushing sweaty strands of hair away from your temple. You feel lucky just to be seeing his face this close.

"There you are." He smiles and the skin around his eyes crinkles charmingly. His demeanor shifts back rapidly when he sees your clarity come back. "Need you to listen to me now, love. I'm going to sit down and take a break, and you're going to come get yourself off on my cock." Your heart thrums at the idea of finally having him inside of you, and the excitement has you launching off of the desk as soon as Matty has planted himself into the grand chair. His entire body is flushed with exertion and covered in a sheen of sweat that you wanted to lick off. Matty spreads his legs in invitation, arms placed on the arm rests as if he was just lounging. His cock is incredibly hard and red, and you can only imagine how wound up he is from not having come a single time since you began.

You finally right yourself and get off of the desk, immediately taking your place in Matty's lap. Your pussy immediately makes contact with his cock and you both moan at the simple touch. The wetness between your legs soaks him completely as you take an experimental rock over him. Matty's hands clasp onto your tank top and in a moment the top is finally gone, tits spilling out of your bra as you rock against him, breathless and keening.

Matty pulls down the cups of the bra to expose your tits and he groans at the sight, hungrily grabbing the newly revealed flesh. His eyes roll back into his head and he growls at the onslaught of sensations.

"Fuck, put me cock in you or you're going back onto the desk." His voice is strained and you have to hold back a laugh at his desperation but you obey, grabbing his cock to line yourself up. The intrusion is slow despite how wet you are as his cock stretches you to be completely full. Matty devours your tits as you sink onto him, licking and biting the sensitive flesh and muffling his moans into your skin until you're fully seated on him. You feel dizzy and lightheaded at finally being full, the pressure inside of you phenomenally perfect.

Your head lulls into Matty's shoulder and you squeeze your eyes shut as you begin small movements against him, grinding your hips the smallest amount as your body adjusts. You bite into Matty's shoulder to ground yourself and he moans, head falling back against the chair and his hair tickling your cheek. He presses a kiss to your temple as you lick the bite you left on him.

Matty's hands leave your tits to clasp at your hips, guiding you along in the rhythm he desires. Your thighs burn but the pleasure outweighs the discomfort as Matty builds a faster tempo, bouncing you on his cock.

"You've got a perfect pussy, love, holding onto me so tight, yeah?" Your walls flutter at his words and he moans throatily, bucking his hips into you in deeper strokes. Eyes shuttering closed, you relish in the pleasure you had stumbled into as Matty smacks your ass again, spurring your hips back into action as you move against him with renewed energy as pleasure sparks through your limbs.

"Open your eyes, love, you wanted to see me so bad and you got your eyes closed anyway." You struggle to get them opened again while your veins flood with pleasure but you manage it, zeroing in on the satisfied look on Matty's face. He moans as you bite your lip and bear down on him harder, feeling the twitch of his cock inside of you that spurs you on further.

"You're gonna make me fucking cum, shit, you feel so god damn good." Matty groans and strums his thumb over your sensitive clit. "I'm about to fucking fill you,such a good girl coming with me, yeah? Need you to come with me, love." Your eyes roll at his words and you feel your high just seconds away, squealing as pleasure makes your toes curl and you finally come, exploding on his cock, walls pulsing. Matty is close behind, curses and moans of your name spilling rapidly as he comes, filling you until cum is leaking back out around him. Your stomach clenches in an effort to keep it all in as your body sags into his, exhausted and sweaty.

"That was fucking perfect, good girl. You did so fucking well riding my cock." Matty kisses over every inch of your face he can reach with you attached to his neck. A weak thank you leaves you as your mind catches up slowly. Your sweat dries and you shiver, pressing further into his body heat and whining when his cock dislodges and more cum rushes out of you.

You groan at the mess in his lap, suddenly embarrassed in the aftermath. Detaching from him, your head starts to pound when you realize where you are, who you are, who he is...

"Stop that," his hands are on your cheeks, thumbs running over the apples in a steady stroke. "You're okay. I'm not going anywhere just yet." The earnest tone of his voice soothes some of the panic, but you're still teetering on uncertain territory.

"I just, I need to process this, I think. Like who we are, and what just happened and-" more cum leaks from you and you grimace. "And...that." You feel small and defeated, emotions running all over the place. Surprisingly astute to your feelings, Matty begins a low, melodic hum that settles your heart rate. Its a song you don't know but it calms you enough that your mind slows as Matty carefully extradites you from his lap and digs out a bottle of ibuprofen and water to take it with. When your head stops pounding he smiles at you, annoying charming, and you suddenly remember how you even ended up here.

Matty had replaced his boxers and brings you your scattered clothes before he sits himself on the floor in front of you. You avoid his gaze, still feeling slightly awkward and unreal as his choclately eyes examine you while you redress.

"Look at me, please." The edge in his voice is commanding and your stomach stirs with arousal again but you tamp it down. "This doesn't have to be anything else than this. I admit that some of this wasn't our best judgment...but I do genuinely really like you. And I do want to help you with your research. And like, take you on a normal date or something." His cheeks flush and its aggressively endearing to see him get flustered. You can't help the giggle that escapes you.

"Actually help me with my research? Because that's what this was supposed to be too." Your giggles break the tension and Matty rolls his eyes and crowds back onto the chair, pulling you into his lap as he bats at you playfully.

"Fine, maybe next time I'll refrain from fucking you in my office." You pout playfully in spite of yourself, enjoying the good natured sparkle in his eyes. "I said maybe, woman. You'll have me as much as you want me."

[desiresiwant]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦-𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝

𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.1k~

warnings: eventual violence, vivid nightmare

a/n: this is the 5th chapter of my au longfic based off the The Originals (what if the child was a teenager/YA throughout the show duration and not at season 5?). It’s also the last chapter preview posted. If these previews interested you enough to read more into the series, check out the masterlist to bring you where you need to go!!! If there’s a warning I skipped let me know.

<- PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST ->

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗶𝘃𝗲 | 𝗔 𝗗𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝗔 𝗡𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗕𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀

        “𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌!” Rebekah held open the door to the same room Deena woke up in earlier today. Since it was just her and Rebekah since Elijah had matters to take care of, she decided to give her niece a tour of the large compound that was to be her home. "Was once Kol's, but he no longer needs it. I figure you will put it to good use."

        The brother who died. One of them at least.

        Deena learned her family was a lot bigger than expected. Her father was the middle child out of his six siblings, most who have died of natural causes or complications at a young age, as Rebekah—the youngest—explained. She didn't talk much about their parents, her grandparents, and kept details about the dead short and simple. She did mention her grandparents were from Norway, but born in some town called Mystic Falls before they found comfort here in New Orleans. But as Deena continued to spend her time here, though it hadn't been long, New Orleans was beginning to feel like home too.

        "Wow, this is a lot of white."

        Now that she wasn't panicking over an unexplainable memory and it was confirmed her heart was in fact still beating, Deena could finally appreciate the room. A king-sized bed divided the room equally. Dressed in cream-white sheets and brown-mixed pillows, no evidence of blood which was there earlier. The floors are wooden, a perk for spills and paint. Near the bed stood a sizeable curtain-less window with a built-in couch. There were also two doors located in her room beside the main door; one led to a full-sized bathroom with two sinks and a connected bath and showerhead, and the other led to a walk-in closet.

       This room had no personality.

       And after living the majority of her life with her colorful mom, she wasn't used to classic, bland interior and it was a major turn-off.

       Rebekah glanced out the window with curiosity. "Trust me, I know. My brother hired some uptown designer from Manhattan to refurnish the house after it was occupied by a handsome fella we don't speak of." She continued. "I don't think your father cares much for the interior as long as the house is still standing and there's no signs of the previous owner."

        Nodding, Deena entered the closet, astonished at its size. She never had this much space back home, but she wasn't cramped either. "I didn't bring a lot of clothes to fill this closet. I brought what I could carry and left everything back home, which isn't going to last me but a week or two."

        "Not a problem. Say the word and we'll go on a girls-only shopping spree!"

        Deena would never fight against someone willing to pay for her, but this was different. Her old friends back home who had big families told her once that first impressions were everything. Once you start asking for money and depending on everyone's help and getting too comfortable while doing so, then you gain the title of a "Beggar". And Deena didn't want that kind of label stuck to her name forever.

        "I don't know..." Exiting the closet to Rebekah struggling to pinpoint the drain in her tone, Deena continued. "You guys already done so much for me; you fed me, welcomed me willfully into your home, gave me a roof under your house, and now you're offering to pay for this and that. I don't want you thinking I can't do for myself even when you aren't around. I don't wanna waste your hard-earned money on useless needs."

        Though this room could use a makeover and a few outfits won't hurt.

        With a sigh, Rebekah plopped down on the couch at the window. "Love, you're a child." And so was she. There were the same age, but she seemed to possess an old soul. "These are basic needs you shouldn't have to think too hard about. If I had your mindset each time a man has offered to spoil me, I would have been called an ungrateful bitch. Which I have for other reasons," She was stirring away from her point, losing Deena in the mix but got back to what she was saying. "But to the point, you can be independent and willing to accept help at the same time. You are my niece and will be the only—let me provide for you. Money is not a problem and it will never be. How about we go pick up some things and refurnish this room into your likings? I know you hate it as much as I do. It's giving me a bloody headache."

        Rebekah jumped to her feet excited to venture out in the city and spend a load of money without looking at the price tags. It was also an excuse to hang out with Deena more though she has all eternity to do so. Having a mortal, growing niece meant so much to her and she wanted to be there every step of the way.

        Deena rubbed her neck, filling her lungs with a tiresome yawn. "Can we do it another time? I'm a little tired. Jet-lagged." Deena felt the opposite of tired; she felt energized to the point she could jump off a tall building and somehow survive. She had two days to get over her jet-lag but after eating at Mama's Joint, she needed to sleep it off.

        "Of course, we can. Whenever you want. I will be right outside if you need me."

        Deena headed across the room where her open luggage lies next to the bed. She had already taken off her shoes before entering and bent to her knees to search for something comfortable to wear. Sleeping in jeans made her uncomfortable, so she found a pair of boy boxers and stood to undress—until Rebekah's figure was standing at the door Deena watched her disappear from. She clenched her chest with a gasp. She was silent on her feet like Elijah.

        "Sorry for scaring you," She sent her an apologetic smile. "Just wanted to tell you that if you happen to wake up and find the courtyard scattered with random people, don't be alarmed. They work for your father. Tonight's a...a meeting is being held. They could be here all night possibly, but I rather you stay here until morning. You're a pretty girl and who knows what their intentions are."

         A business meeting all night? Deena decided to not question it and gave a nod. "I might sleep all night through day anyways." She reassured. "I ate too much."

         Rebekah sent one last smile before closing the door behind her. Leaving for real this time.

━━━━━━ ━━━━━━

        𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘, Deena is running in the woods.

        Her chest heaved, her throat cold and dry from the amount of air rushing in her lungs, sweat painting her skin like a beautiful piece made of oil painting, she kept running even when she was close to giving out. It was so dark with little to no light guiding her besides the full moon shining down against her shoulders. She couldn't see anything and had to trust her instincts to guide her out the woods that went on forever like an endless maze.

        She glanced over her shoulder—nothing but darkness.

        She kept running.

        She didn't know who or what she was running from or why she felt nothing but fear, but she kept running and never looked back.

        Deena ran past the tall trees encaving her surroundings and entered the entrance of a large green field of nothing. She took a moment to catch her breath, hovered over her quivering squatted knees as she sucked in a large proportion of air that was failing to calm her hammered chest. Then suddenly, a shadow appeared before her. A familiar face. One that pained her to see.

        Deena stepped forward, cautiously with furrowed brows. "Maman?" It was her. Her mother. Tall, thick tight curls filling her head, wearing the last thing Deena saw her in; a fitted tank top under black overalls with paint dried along the thigh area and splattered dots at her waist. Overwhelmed by suppressing emotions, tears filled her brown eyes. "You're supposed to be dead. How are you here? Why are you here?"

        She went to hug her mother, only to fall through her like a ghost. She plunged hard to the ground with no will to get up.

        Deena stared up at her mother who stared down at her with disappointment. "Why are you here? I told you not to come here yet you came anyway? You never listen to me, Deena. Why don't you ever listen?"

        Deena stared at her hands. "Why can't I touch you?" She questioned, ignoring her mother's clear disappointment. "C'est un rêve (Is this a dream)? Am I dreaming?" 

        "You need to leave this city. It's too dangerous with you being here."

        "But I just got here. I'm not leaving."

        "I'm protecting you, Deena!" She shouted with panic then lifted her gaze to nothing but darkness above. "You don't know what you're doing. What you are. What I've done to ensure your safety. It's only a matter of time before she finds you."

        "Who?" Deena struggled to her feet. "Who's coming for me?"

        Instead of answering Deena's concerns amongst many things, she watched her mother peer around the field as if she was looking for someone or sensed someone was near and reached for Deena's wrist, successfully touching her. Deena's eyes grew wide with shock. She felt warm. Real. She could even feel the tiniest hairs brushing along her arm.

        "How is this possible? You feel so real."

        She continued to drag Deena across the field. "She knows you're here. She has sensed you. Come home now—home where I can protect you. Where you should be."

        Deena was stuck on the fact she could touch her mother that she didn't realize how tight her grip was digging into her skin. "Maman, you're hurting me—Ouch!" She attempted to pull free but her mother didn't bother. Deena tripped over herself, and instead of them stopping or her making sure she was okay, she was being dragged along the grassy field. Her mother has never been this powerful. And the woman she knew would never hurt her. "You're hurting me, get off! I said GET OFF!" A magical force came from her hand, releasing her grip from her mother's.

        The force was too strong and sudden it swept her mother off her feet and Deena just a few feet away. She didn't realize what she did until it happened. Her hand clamped over her mouth. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to. Maman, I—"

        However, her mother wasn't phased by her magical powers. She was looking past Deena with a fearful look on her brown face before she stumbled back.

        Deena was unable to see what her mother saw before a cold hand gripped her neck, suffocating her of oxygen she was already lacking. It was a person in a black cloak. All she saw was blackness when looking for a face. When the figure motioned their hand through the air, blood leaked from a scratch burning across her cheek and Deena gritted her teeth to conceal its pain.

        She couldn't fight them. They were a lot stronger than her. Even her mother failed to fight them off and disappeared after chanting words said by the hooded individual. They then lashed out their tongue, licking Deena's sweat-stained skin, tasting her blood. And the magic that lurks within.

        They hummed, satisfied by what they discovered. "There is power in your blood, child. Such power I seek." A woman's voice spoke through darkness. A thick Nordic accent coated her tongue. Deena squirmed under her hold, unable to escape from, but her breathing grew heavy and pain signals tracked all over her body. The dark head lifted their gaze to the full moon rising at its peak, and though her expression was blacked-out, Deena felt her frown. "But it seems another force of nature calls onto you. We shall meet again. Even if I must stop nature at its course, we will."

        Deena was released.

        She woke up with a terrifying scream scratching up her throat in a puddle of sweat. Red eyes that were once dark brown ceased beneath the shadows, and her ears were filled with the loud cracking of her bones invading her peaceful nature.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read HERE

[storiesiwrite]

Set-up ☾ Chwe Hansol

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining

Word count: 3864

Summary: In which Hansol gets set up by his friends (Jeonghan, mainly) on a movie-night date with you.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Hansol sets foot in your apartment, two pints of Ben and Jerry’s in his hands, with the genuine expectation that today is going to be a group hangout. 

After all, the plan has been to have a movie night at your place along with Wonwoo, Joshua, Jeonghan, and Minghao. But when an hour has passed and there are no signs of the others—only text messages from them, saying that they all suddenly have other pressing matters to attend to—Hansol begins feeling anxious. 

And when Hansol feels anxious, he can’t stay still.

You’re in the kitchen, fetching plates and putting them on the counter alongside the takeout you ordered earlier, oblivious to the way he’s walking back and forth in the living room. Realization dawns on him, slow and dreadful.

Have the others... have they set him up on a date with you?

Panic seizes him. He tries to remain calm, tries to convince himself that his thoughts can’t be any more wrong. But still, he remains unswayed. And so he proceeds to the restroom, locks the door, and dials the person he suspects orchestrated the whole thing.

It takes only one ring for Jeonghan to pick up the phone, as if he’s been waiting for the call.

“Hello?”

“What’s this?” Hansol hisses. “Has this been the plan all along?”

A chuckle from the other end. “Hello to you, too. Are you in the bathroom right now? You sound so... echoey.”

“What exactly did you mean you can’t come?” He asks, pacing back and forth yet again. “I was at your place literally this morning. You told me to go to her place first and that you’d catch up.”

“I just remembered I have to pick up some letters and deliveries I got over the weekend.”

Hansol stops moving. “It’s Sunday. Post offices are closed.”

A long silence. “Anyway... how is she?”

“Dude, don’t switch the subject.” Closing his eyes, Hansol rubs the bridge of his nose. He somehow has the feeling that Jeonghan’s also dissuaded everyone else from coming, because what are the odds that four people bail on a hangout that has been long planned? 

“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan concedes. “I simply told the others of my plan and they all agreed to it immediately. But shouldn’t you be thanking me, instead? Isn’t this the scenario that you’ve always imagined and wanted realized?” 

Yes, Hansol has to admit. This is the scenario, in which he gets to spend time with you after having maintained a crush on you so great that he feels embarrassed simply thinking about it. He can hear the smugness in his friend’s voice, can visualize the smirk that settles upon his features. 

At times like this, he feels like hurling a pillow at Jeonghan’s face.

He remains silent instead, leaning his head on the wall as Jeonghan continues, nonchalant. “You’ve once hinted that you want to ask her out, but you never know how. So consider this skipping a step.” 

Damn. He hates the way Jeonghan reads him and his feelings like an open book—feelings he tries so hard to hide behind that veneer of calm he always wears. But more than that, he hates the fact that Jeonghan is right.

Hansol isn’t one to be overly expressive of how he feels, but there’s no denying that he really, really likes you. 

He supposes he should feel grateful for ‘skipping a step,’ as Jeonghan put it. Skipping the mustering-the-courage-to-ask-you-out part and plunging straight into the going-on-a-date part. Though perhaps, a little warning would be nice.

Because if this were an actual date—that is to say, one you’d both actually planned beforehand—he would’ve brought along flowers. He remembers accompanying you as you swung by the local florist weeks ago and pointed out facts about the plants that were on display all over the small shop. Jasmine, he remembers, is your favorite kind, for its sweet scent and its white petals that are soft to the touch.

And if this were an actual date, he would’ve dressed up more appropriately. Before going to your place, he spent a long time deciding on what to wear, trying on one sweater just to change to another with a different color; the mess that is his apparels currently still lying strewn across his apartment floor is proof enough. He spent a long time staring at his own reflection in the mirror, worrying about the little flecks on his face that he doesn’t like. 

He wonders now what you think of them. He wonders what you think of him. 

“Is she aware of this?” is all Hansol can say.

“Nope,” Jeonghan replies. And, as if he can sense Hansol’s doubts, he adds, “don’t worry, Sol. You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. Say hi to her for me, would you?” Another voice he recognizes—Minghao’s. Hansol curses. I knew it. 

Jeonghan lets out a laugh. “Now, get out there before she thinks you’re bailing on her, too.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

“Hey,” you call out when Hansol saunters into the living room, your eyes glued to the tv, remote in one hand as you sift through some movies. “The food is ready. I’m thinking that maybe we can eat while watching.”

He doesn’t answer. When you turn back to look at him, your smile falls. “Is everything... is everything okay? You look slightly pale.”

An expression flickers across his face, so briefly you can’t gauge it. Then he gestures to his phone. “It’s just something from work that I need to get done. Nothing to worry about, really.” 

You can’t help the worry that makes its way to your voice. “You sure about that? I’d totally understand. I mean, I know this isn’t exactly what we planned in the group chat, what with the others not showing up.” A nervous laugh as you stand up from the couch where you’ve been sitting. “It’s completely okay if you wanna take a rain check.”

He shakes his head as he moves closer to you, sliding his phone in his back pocket. “No, no. No worries. I actually don’t mind. Do you?”

“Not at all,” you reply, though you can’t seem to drown out your nerves. The fact that you’re alone with Hansol...

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t put too much thought into it. But this is Hansol, and it feels too much like a date. 

It’s stupid, really, the fact that you’ve been into him since the day you met him for the first time. He’s a neighbor who lives only a few streets away from you, but you hadn’t been properly introduced to each other all those months ago; you never had the chance.

That is, until the day you saw him in a supermarket just around your block and mustered the courage to strike up a conversation with him. He immediately recognized you, said you were the girl who always had her purple headphones on, and you’d laughed. 

You’d never been one to fall for someone so quickly, but you felt your heart flutter the way it never had before. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to care about the things you said, how he respectful he was. Or the way he seemed to notice and remember such a trivial thing about you even without knowing who you were.

That marked the beginning of everything. Through him, you met Jeonghan and Joshua, and you introduced him to your closest friends, Wonwoo and Minghao, too. An odd bunch, all of you, but everyone got along really well, and it wasn’t long before you all began keeping your Saturdays free for group get-togethers.

It certainly wasn’t long before this silly, little crush of yours developed into something more. 

You decided Hansol never had to find out. And he never would, if the others always tag along during the meet-ups. But then this happens, and you have the sinking feeling that Jeonghan is behind it. (After all, he was the person who figured out how you feel and asked you outright just to confirm his suspicions. He’s the kind of person who revels in the fact that he’s right, and as much as you hate to admit it, he always is.)

“Cool,” Hansol now says with a shrug, oblivious to what is running through your mind. A smile settles on his face, one so small and private that you can’t help the warmth that spreads across your cheeks as you look away.

Damn.

When you say nothing in return—because how can you, especially when he’s looking at you like that?—he takes it as a sign to continue. “I don’t know what to watch, though. I feel like I’ve seen too many things already. You have any ideas?”

“Um... what about Ghibli films?” You suggest, fiddling with the remote in your hands. “They’re your favorites, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I was thinking of watching your favorites instead. Or something you’ve always wanted to watch but never got around to.”

You turn to him to answer, only to find that he’s standing mere paces away from you. Your breath catches a little, and as your eyes meet his, you hope Hansol doesn’t see through you. 

He’s so close. So close that for the briefest moment, you let yourself wonder how it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through his dark brown hair. You wonder what his hands would feel like tied to your own, or against your cheeks—

Nope. It’s precisely thoughts like these that drive a friendship to ruin.

“So what do you have in mind?” Hansol prompts again in a quieter voice, that beautiful, timid smile of his never leaving his features.

“I’m... Well, I like rom-coms, which I know aren’t exactly your thing—”

“Hey, I do watch and enjoy rom-coms from time to time,” Hansol says, feigning offense, and you laugh. 

“Wait, wait. I change my mind. I’ve been wanting to watch this new Rian Johnson movie.” You plop down on the couch and, using the remote, click on the search button. “The sequel to ‘Knives Out’. I forgot what it’s called though...”

“Isn’t it called ‘Glass Onion’?” Hansol asks as he sits down right next to you. You try not to think about how close his body is to yours; even just the slightest shift and you’d graze him. You focus on the gleam in his eyes instead, the excitement that takes over him when he talks about movies.

“Yeah! Exactly.” 

“I watched the trailer yesterday,” he says. “It looked good. Let’s go with that one, then.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

It’s only been five minutes into the movie, and Hansol has finished devouring his Chinese takeout already.

“Whoa, slow down there,” you say, smiling. “Someone’s hungry.”

Hansol nods, setting down his takeout box on the table in front of him. “So hungry.”

“Did you not eat lunch?”

“Well... actually, I did.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Swung by McDonalds to grab two double-cheeseburgers and fries. Was that all? Oh yeah, and a vanilla milkshake, too. But my point still stands.”

And there it is, that infectious, broad grin he loves to see. “Hansol!”

“What? I can’t help it.” He leans back against the sofa and adds, in a murmur, “I eat quite a lot.”

“I know. That’s why I ordered extras for you.”

At that, Hansol smiles to himself. It does something to him, the fact that you care and pick up on trivial details like that. Such a small thing, really, but it makes him happy. You make him happy. 

The rest of the movie feels like a blur. At some point, Hansol loses track of its plot and no longer bothers trying to keep up. It’s hard, he realizes, to keep his eyes on the screen when you’re right there, beside him, so much more interesting than any film—or anything in general—can ever be. 

He watches as you make fun of the ridiculous accent that detective, Benoit Blanc, has, smiling as you try (and fail) to imitate it in between fits of laughter. How someone can be so lovely is beyond him.

It’s always been crystal clear to him, the fact that he’s fallen for you, but this—always finding new things about someone that make him fall for them over and over—is new. Foreign. 

And he’s in deep. 

So buried in his thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize you’ve turned to your side, looking at him like you just said something and you’re expecting him to reply. 

“Hm?” He asks.

“Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

He’s quiet, trying to form a response. “I’ve been enjoying the movie.”

“But you always make some sort of commentary whenever you watch movies. I can tell something’s on your mind.” 

True, he wishes he could say. You’re constantly running through my mind, do you know that? 

Before he has the chance to deny it, you continue. “We can watch something else, or even stop watching altogether, if that’s what you prefer. I really don’t mind, Sol.” 

Putting the takeout box on the table, you grab the remote to change the channel. And Hansol, acting on impulse, quickly leans forward and lightly grabs your hand to stop you.

You turn your head, your gaze meeting his. Something inscrutable flickers across your face. He’s never seen it up close; he’s never been this close to you, in fact, and it takes everything in him to remain steady despite his heart beating like a frenzy. You’re so close he can see the beautiful, dark specks in your eyes, so, so close he can easily lean in to kiss you—

Chwe Hansol, you’re an idiot, he thinks, stopping himself in his track of mind. He can feel warmth creeping up his neck, unwelcome. This is highly inappropriate and too intimate for someone who only sees you as a friend. You’ve gone and made her uncomfortable, and now she’s going to think you’re being too forward. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And yet, you stay put, not letting go. He’d like to think that’s an invitation to stay where he is, but he knows better. So he retracts his hand from yours and retreats. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking,” he apologizes profusely, panic throwing his thoughts into disarray. “I probably wasn’t even thinking, and I just grabbed your hand like that and I’m just so sorry—”

But then you reach out and grab his hand, in a move that silences and unravels him bit by bit. “It’s really okay.” 

“It is?”

Your smile is timid. You intertwine your fingers with his, slowly and hesitantly, like you’re not sure if this is what you should be doing. Adorable, how shy you’re being right now; he’s never imagined he would have that sort of effect on you. 

“Is this okay?” It’s your turn to ask. 

The grin on his face is the widest he’s ever had. “It’s more than okay.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

If you’re being honest, none of this turns out the way you expected it would. 

Earlier this evening, when you got texts from everyone else saying they were bailing, you thought the night would fizzle out quickly. You imagined Hansol would grow bored without the other boys and scour for a reason to immediately head home. 

And yet, here you are, watching a movie beside him while holding his hand. Holding his hand. 

It feels surreal, the sensation of his skin against yours. A part of you wishes to believe that this is real, that perhaps your feelings for him aren’t as unrequited as they seem. But another, greater part of you fears that this is just a friendly gesture. Friends hold hands, don’t they?

But not Hansol. You know for a fact that he never gets touchy when he’s with his female friends. He keeps his distance out of respect, allowing only the occasional hug and not much more. 

Perhaps this is a sign that he likes you, too. Or perhaps, this is just his way of saying that he sees you as a friend around whom he can be comfortable. Unfortunately for you, the latter seems more plausible.

Before you let yourself fall into an overanalyzing spiral, you stand up, rather abruptly, from the couch and turn to face him. You miss his touch the moment you let go. “I think it’s time we eat the ice cream. Don’t you?”

He blinks. His eyes flicker to the spot on his hand where yours was. “Uh, um. Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, I’ll be back real quick.” You dart away without waiting for his response.

The kitchen provides some sort of refuge, albeit temporary. Refuge against... whatever it was that led you both to holding hands. The situation feels like traversing across an unfamiliar territory, the lines between the old and the new blurring, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

Do you like the feeling of his touch on your hand? Of course. Does said feeling render you so nervous you feel like combusting at any moment? Absolutely.

Hence, the kitchen. Away from Hansol.

Your hands have gone all clammy. You wipe them on the rough surface of your jeans, trying to focus. What are you supposed to be doing in the kitchen, again? Ah, right. To take the Ben and Jerry’s out of the fridge. Right.

“I’ll grab the spoons.” Hansol’s voice. Soft, and yet you almost jump at the sound of it, the tension increasing tenfold at his presence. 

Perhaps he realizes what’s going on, because he’s looking at you and asks, “Did I startle you?”

He did startle you. Though not as much as this very moment, when he walks towards you and lightly grabs your hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he continues with an apologetic look. Your mind seems to register nothing else but his touch. His thumb, now tracing patterns across the back of your hand. “You alright?” 

All you can do is nod. Hansol stays silent, patiently waiting. He doesn’t seem all that convinced.

“I’m nervous, actually. I’ve never had a boy hold my hand before,” you finally confess with embarrassment.

He looks surprised. “Never?”

“Never. I’ve had crushes before, yes, but I’ve never acted upon them. I just… admire them from afar and wait until the feelings fade.”

“Really? I find that rather hard to believe, coming from someone as amazing as you.”

God. He really has no right saying things like that and expecting you not to blush. “What about you?”

“I think the first and only time I held someone’s hand was when I was in second grade,” Hansol says. “There was this girl who asked me to be her boyfriend. I didn’t know what it all meant, how a relationship worked. I was so clueless I just went with it when she grabbed my hand.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, imagining Hansol at the age of seven. You briefly wonder how he was back then, if much has changed. “Is that really the only time?”

“Yeah, it is.” He shakes his head and smiles at the memory. This is the first time he opens up about his dating life; you’ve only gleaned very few things from the others, but never directly from him. “I never dated anyone. It’s always been clear to me that I wanted time to myself before I start dating someone.”

A pause. “And now?”

He contemplates for a moment before saying, “That’s no longer what I want.”

“No?” 

"No,” he replies, not meeting your eyes. Both of you stay that way, wrapped in comfortable silence that stretches for a moment or two before it breaks.

“Thank you,” Hansol begins, moving closer. He never once lets go of your hand.

Your brow furrows in confusion. “For what?”

“For, um, for tonight.” He sounds so terribly shy, unlike his usual carefree self. “And for letting me hold your hand.”

Your heart warms at that. “Why wouldn’t I let you?”

He offers you a sheepish smile. “I guess… I guess I never thought you liked me like that.” “Like what?” You ask, though you damn well know the answer. And he damn well knows he doesn’t have to explain to you what he means. 

It’s written plainly all over you, in the way your gaze keeps searching for him in a room. In the way you become a nervous mess whenever he’s near, as much as you try to hide it under the semblance of calm and all those foolish, lighthearted jokes. In the way your heart is currently beating so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. 

And when he leans forward, his face a mere breath away from yours, your heart threatens to stop altogether.

“Like this,” Hansol murmurs, tipping your chin up with his fingers. And slowly, his lips meet yours in a kiss.

You’d be outright lying if you said you hadn’t envisioned this scenario many times before; this moment feels like visiting a recurring dream. But you never imagined he would kiss this way, tenderly and softly, his soft yet strong hand caressing your jaw. You’ve barely processed what’s happening when he draws away from you.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” he admits in a low voice, looking at your lips like he longs for them. 

You don’t know how or why; perhaps it’s his confession that drives you onward, gives you the courage to take a plunge and utter these next words. “What took you so long?”

He takes that as a sign to pull you in and kiss you once more, deeper this time. Closing your eyes, you kiss him back, cautiously at first, and then with an eagerness and yearning—the kind that leaves you and your emotions naked, exposed. It’s frightening, really, willingly giving your whole heart to someone who’s stolen fragments of it since the moment you met them.

Yet you’ll learn to realize, in the months to come, that it is in the best way possible, because it’s under Hansol’s touch that you feel safe and grounded. He has a way of making you laugh with his awkwardness and wits, lifting you up during the stormiest of days and the darkest of nights. And, above all else, he appreciates you, makes you feel heard and seen for who you truly are. Loved for who you truly are.

But for now, you try to bask in the feeling of his lips on yours. 

Your back hits the kitchen counter as you gently tug Hansol closer to you, and he snakes his hands behind you to rest them on the tabletop, framing you. Unlike the first time, he now kisses you like he can’t get enough of you, and you kiss him over and over until you’re both breathless.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. And then softly laughs. 

“What?” You ask him.

His voice is hoarse as he says, “I guess we have to thank Jeonghan for this.”

You can’t help grinning at that, your eyes closed. “I guess we do.”

[schoemu]

simple comme bonjour kimiko miyashiro x frenchie, part two of three

synopsis: and finally, nothing is a secret anymore; not the feelings, not the life, not the key to happiness.

wordcount: 2,743

genre: fluff

includes: cuddling, conversing, making peace.

To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring; it was peace.

Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Frenchie and Kimiko lay arm in arm, the female’s face cuddled up into his armpit. It's become a ›thing‹ between them a long while ago, most importantly in the hospital, where Kimiko dealt with the fear of breaking her bones for the first and last time, but the warm embrace is not only a sign of protection, it now also is a sign of love.

There are four, tight walls around the two which today they call home, with some cheap, but still as equally homely lamps they bought from the thrift store casting a comfortable orange hue on them, the blanket they stole from their former HQ keeping their intertwined bodies warm, and a cheap TV murmuring smart words to a scenery of green (since Frenchie still doesn’t do well with utmost silence—ironically enough). It is not much money that they paid to live in these conditions, but the crushing affection Frenchie feels for the woman breathing into his chest, it is priceless. 

The point of time for their small domesticity could frankly not be worse, they both know that, but when Kimiko starts to sign do you think Butcher, and Frenchie shuts her down by kissing her scalp with soundly pecks, he finally understands.

He tells Kimiko, with a kiss to the center of her forehead, don’t think about him. Don’t think about anything right now, mon cœur, and repeats the last two words, mon cœur; mon cœur; mon cœur continuously down her neck, until he hears her small sigh of defeat, the thud of her hands dropping down to the blanket. His arms tighten around her back, his forearms press into her flesh, and her fingers begin to caress his waist in idled patterns. No clear direction, no signs to be read, only the warmth of trust to be felt in the heart.

It is so little, Frenchie concludes, as he buries his nose behind her ear and closes his eyes, that is recipe for peace. 

In another circumstance, Frenchie might’ve called it ›putain de bêtise‹ (roughly translatable into motherfucking stupidity) but at this moment, he can’t think of anything other than the sweet, addicting notion of bliss. Happiness in its purest, most innocent, selfishly stupid form; the very contradiction of how the greatest thinkers of old, ancient times, or war-scarred writers would’ve defined it, but Frenchie can’t find himself caring. 

He could be ashamed of himself either way, for it is such a… boring scene he provides. It is not an ice-cold, herby glass of Pastis by the blue shore of Marseille’s most beautiful sites, with hot summer rays glowing down on their sun-screened skin, nor is it the highest skyline NYC can offer his moon-struck lover to gaze upon, while he tells her you are my little star with only his hands and his crescent smile.

No. Instead, it is a nameless place of two momentarily nameless people holding each other like they have so many nights before in a dingy apartment that only provides them the roof above their head and a crack of sky hiding between other buildings, only to fall asleep with a male voice narrating la nature in the background, and wake up in the morning with some white women sharing some tricks and other bits under forced laughter.

It is a pleasure so fragile. So incredibly fragile in fact, Frenchie’s heart could sink deep into his chest any second, if he lost a single thought about the days and deeds that inevitably follow the string of their future actions. Even now, sugar-rushed on Kimiko’s heavenly warmth, he can’t deny how his eyes lurk to their metal door every time he’s reminded, looking out for any potential danger. That is just their life, and it likely will be the end of it. A part of their daily that he has accepted, and Kimiko has accepted too. The fight is never won, and Frenchie can’t grow another limb. He can’t grow another pair of lungs, even if his last breath depended on it. Their time is limited, that is the truth of life.

And yet, they afford to bore each other. Above the passionate debates about men unable to change their minds, the endless musings of escaping from it all, of living a life that doesn’t take another’s, Frenchie and Kimiko treat themselves eternal, by simply taking a rest. Rest that goes beyond ›not giving a fuck‹ about supernatural disasters in form of blonde man-babies, killed presidents and betrayed friendships. It is rest in the form of dirty dishes in the sink, unwritten poems of hungry hearts, rest in the form of a hug that whispers, your existence in my arms is enough.

»C’est le paradis,« Frenchie murmurs into Kimiko’s ear, breaking the silence that both of them stopped counting the minutes for. It could’ve been hours of holding each other, a lifetime, and tomorrow, they’d do it again.

Pa-ra-di, Kimiko’s fingers echo, syllable for syllable from what she understood, and asks, what is that?

»Ah,« he chuckles, and it’s when he realizes the two of them have to freshen up their signed vocabulary. It’s been a while—they’ve gotten too used to SMS these days.

»Paradise,« he repeats, in English, and shuffles a little bit on the bed, to free his arms for movement. »You’ve heard of it, no, mon cœur?«

Kimiko nods—she has. Probably from Annie, on her boozed up, Christian ramblings, or… America. 

»What does it mean to you; paradise?«, he asks, slipping a bit higher on the pillows, resting his shoulder there, and Kimiko takes the cue to turn around, her back pressed to his chest, her curves against his curves like the petals of a blooming flower. Now, they can talk better. 

Nothing much. Sometimes it’s mentioned in music. Gun and rose, Frenchie reads, but quickly realizes, ah, no, Kimiko means to say, Guns N’ Roses. 

»Oui, I think I know. ›Paradise City‹, huh?«

Yes. But I don’t like the idea of green grass. I wouldn’t be able to relax. Too quiet. Suspicious. Kenji and I fantasized a lot about going to Hanayashiki.

»Ha-na-ya-shi-ki?«, Frenchie repeats, reading her fingers closely. »Qu'est-ce que c'est?«

An amusement park. Like VoughtLand. But better. It’s over 100 years old. 

»Ah, is that so? I didn’t even know they made parks that old,« Frenchie snickers. »What an exciting place to relax at… I figure the waiting queues at VoughtLand do take a lifetime, so might as well chill out, huh?«

It was shit.

»Indeed, it was. I will never get over the atrocities we have witnessed there; the donut-burgers? Mon Dieu, someone has to shut down that place, before it reaches Europe...«

Kimiko chuckles, and suddenly seeing a puppet Homelander blow up in blood is forgotten in a breeze.

»Eh bien,« Frenchie hushes quickly, before she can recall anything, »Paradis.« The male isn’t able to let go of the want to create the new word. It is not a requirement, not a need, but he wants the language he uses with Kimiko to include the truths of their relationship, even if most of them remain unspoken. 

»Let us say…« 

He grabs and guides her hands to knead them together, each finger intertwined with the other.

»This…«

Frenchie does it as well, arms caging her in circularly, and he feels like he’s praying now, but since he knows that Kimiko is not religious and also has bad experiences with churches, he figures that this sign is still free to use.

»This, we will call… paradise, oui?«

Kimiko continues keeping her hands folded, and Frenchie taps her left hand, as he unfolds his own.

»This,« he whispers, lips planted against her temple, his stubble slightly scratching her skin (but she never complains), »c’est moi…«

His lover smiles, nods, Frenchie isn’t sure whether she understands yet, but he continues nonetheless.

»And this, mon cœur,« he taps the right hand, »c’est toi. This is you, Kimiko.«

He lifts his right hand, and Kimiko immediately threads them together. One and one... making one.

Frenchie hums in satisfaction, peppering some more kisses to her cheek—never getting or giving enough—squeezing her hand.

»And together, we are paradise, you know? Forget about Adam and Eve, huh…?«, he grins, and the woman in his arms disagrees, cringes—makes a face, which Frenchie cups with his right, free hand. »You… are so adorable, Kimiko,« he sighs, the words finally slipping out naturally.

We are sinners, just like Adam and Eve, Kimiko signs in return, and even though there is nothing that should crush Frenchie more than the weight of the forever damned life he’s led in the years he’s lived, his conscience is floating on the promise of true love. She knows, and she still loves him. This knowledge, that kind of ignorance, it is dangerous, he knows that, but it’s not like he is refusing to know anymore by snorting cocaine or ketamine. He will forever carry the name of the drunken man who kills, Serge, Sergei, Frenchie, but in Kimiko’s arms, he becomes a lover. Pure, clear, sober.

»Mmm… a sinner, huh. You may be right, mon cœur,« he answers calmly, holding Kimiko’s chin with the palm of his hand, stroking her skin with his thumb, his arm resting across her chest. Her heart thumps against his elbow, and his eyes close to focus on the feeling.

»And we may never forgive ourselves for the things we have done,« he whispers, continuing on with his caress in a slow, comforting rhythm, »but I want to believe… that if there is a God who forgives… who shows mercy on those tortured by remorse...«

Kimiko shifts uncomfortably, wanting to argue back, but Frenchie holds her still, the other arm snaking around her waist from below, pulling her ever-so-possibly close.

»If such a God does exist, and if He is good, then Kimiko, He has given me… you. And to hell with me if I didn’t take this chance.«

It is not that easy, but, she signs, when he opens his eyes again—Frenchie is talking to someone who’s once been unwillingly injected with drugs, after all—yet adds to her own doubtful thoughts the hopeful wish that, I want you to be right too, you know?

He smiles and nods. »It’s just… a faithful fool’s rambling, mon cœur. I agree with you, of course. With Adam and Eve, the first sin, comes the burden of our choices… And with the ones we’ve made, ah… our lives were never meant to be easy.«

I mean, Kimiko gestures, this is easy, though. Being with you.

»Oui? Is that how you feel, Kimiko?«, he breathes out, and meets her gaze, as she turns her head over her shoulder. She nods.

»I find it easy too,« Frenchie admits, »I feel that we don’t… well, we, bien sûr, finish each other’s sentences, as the Americans say, but… that is not what I cherish the most about us. It is that we don’t need many sentences to begin with…«

He trails off, losing himself in Kimiko’s smile of affection, her eyebrows raised to her forehead, the white of her eyes vulnerable to the dry air of their apartment. It should be embarrassing, wearing his throbbing heart on his sleeve like this, but if it’s Kimiko seeing him with those gentle eyes, it feels nothing but good.

Did you drink?

»Moi? I didn’t, not to my knowledge, pourquoi?«

Just asking.

Frenchie chuckles and squints, before he whispers, »you are a good person, mon cœur,« and, before she can even inhale for an outraged gasp, adds, »someone like monsieur charcuterier… you don’t tell him about Marseille, swimming at the beach. I am not saying he can’t do good things, but, ah…« 

He chuckles, when Kimiko already agrees wholeheartedly. Don’t defend him. Butcher can go fuck himself. That asshole. Their shared rebellious distaste for the Briton has become quite comical over time, but Frenchie strokes over her wrists in a successful attempt to calm her down. She does.

»What I mean to say is, good people, they dream,« he says, »and for me, that is le paradis. To dream of tomorrow and still be content with today; what is that, if not heaven?«

Have you considered writing?

»Writing? Moi?«, the male smirks sheepishly but he knows better than to feed into that thought. He already falls into too many French stereotypes, but there’s also a bitter aftertaste, a voice taunting him for his wordy, gutful composings (don’t make me kill; it is like acid to my heart) wired in his brain like a thorn. However, it is Kimiko. And for once, Frenchie might actually consider it, when they do finally leave this place. The world looks like it is in dire need of a good dream right now, he thinks, but jokes, »we will become even broker than we already are,« instead.

I don’t care! You know what I’ve always wanted to learn?

»No, tell me, mon cœur.«

The piano.

The piano?, Frenchie repeats, his fingers dangling in the air, his smile widening in excitement, as he cuddles her closer. That idea alone, his Kimiko, making sound through the ebony and ivory tiles, is music to his ears.

»Mon cœur… that would be magnifique!«

I could play so many songs.

»Even Guns ‘N Roses, huh?«

Imagine all the movie soundtracks!

She’s so thrilled, and it moves Frenchie to absolute joy. Every time her eyes widen, her hands shake in small, giddy movements, it’s like she’s adding five exclamation marks to an SMS, or writing in all caps; Frenchie wants to capture these small expressions of excitement for eternity, but for now, he promises himself to make this simple sequence a good memory.

»You could play all your favorite musical numbers... The Sound of Music, Singing in the Rain…«

Yes! And you sing along!

»Me? Sing? Oh, mon cœur, you expect so much of me…«

You sing!

»Ah… you know what? For you… I am willing to try.«

It will sound so bad! 

Frenchie gasps, »Mon cœur!«, and grabs his cœur in question by her shoulders, looking into her eyes in feigned hurt, and Kimiko just laughs soundlessly, shrugging by saying, because of your smoking!

»Oui… but I quit it with the hard drugs, non? The therapy groups have helped— it’s what you said, too,« he retorts, pouting at her, but secretly just enjoying her having fun at teasing him.

Sure, because snorting cocaine was the problem. 

»What do you know about snorting coke, huh?«, Frenchie grins, and flips the female once, twice, so he’s now on his back, a flailing, giggly Kimiko clenched tightly in his arms. 

Do you not remember how I had to clean after your blood last—

»Non, non! Lies! I remember no such things!«

Frenchie cuddles her until he’s snuggled the breath out of his lungs, and grunts, when she shifts on top of him, stomach to stomach, Kimiko’s ear listening in on the heart that beats for her.

»You will learn to play the piano,« he muses under his breath (the likelihood of you going through with things is higher, when whispered to yourself, he learned somewhere), brushing through her locks, »et moi, I will sing for you, as best as I can. Like a duet… Judy Garland, Gene Kelly? With a very bad Gene Kelly, huh?«

I was joking about you not being able to sing.

»Ah, mon cœur, I was joking, too. Last time I checked, Louis Armstrong was a pothead, and the great Nat King Cole, he—«

Lung cancer?

»Ah, you already know, huh? Oui… smoked three packs every day, c’est incroyable,« Frenchie chuckles, kissing the top of Kimiko’s head, wrapping himself around her and her arms like a gift. It is the equivalent of silencing her, in a way, but it’s not like she wouldn't be strong enough to pull herself away. (She doesn’t, and that’s all Frenchie needs to know.)

»I will try,« Frenchie grumbles, »I will try to sing and I will try to live long.«

Kimiko kisses his neck. You better, she seems to say, and it tickles a chuckle out of him.

»Look, mon cœur. The penguins are cuddling in the cold.«

She raises her head, looks to the TV for a second, eyes heavy by the soporific that is Frenchie’s body and his voice. She smiles, nods, and leans back down, missing the words ›the ice is melting in Antartica‹ on the screen. Frenchie inhales deeply through the nose and sighs. Quelle chance.

With Frenchie kissing Kimiko’s forehead, interlacing his fingers into hers, they spell it again, paradise, and for a moment, the French man doesn’t feel lost in all what has become of him. He feels whole, content, and wishes for an eternity that shows nothing but the same scene.

What a blind, selfish, yet lucky journey it is, the road back to Garden Eden.

His stubble scratches the skin of her curled hand, and his lips wrap around each of her knuckles, when Frenchie begins to count the days in Kimiko’s eyes; not those that’s passed, but those to come. 

»Tu es mon paradis, Kimiko,« he whispers, and Kimiko kisses him silent.

hello there! :-) this had a lot of prose in it that i dedicate fully to the feelings and thoughts about my own love life and reading of the book the unbearable lightness of being. it is both a love letter to the humanity of this pair and lovers painted by milan kundera, and i feel full having written it.

(full, if it wasn't for the fact i could not find any better cuddly scenes of kimiko and frenchie.........v_v)

hope you could enjoy it! ♡

[butchsophiewalten]

notable things from the update so far:

- the camera screen above shows the same area as "birthday" picture from charles's page

- the one below shows the lobby in front of the much-hyped poker maze (i think?)

- white box thing (?) in the right bottom corner

- name tag/plate behind the drink cup with "Bunny" and the letters C and H (i assume), which could hint at both CHris and CHarles. i want to lean towards charles since he is rumored to play a big role in twf4 but chris is always hiding around the corner here so anything is possible.

- the fact that we now have a security guard character, with the setup very much reminiscent of the classic FNAF security office (the plushie, the posters, the drink) which is clearly the afformentioned "CH-" character

- lots of questions about the yellow poster with the uhhh drumstick things on the far right of the screen.

Lol, a lot of this is basically what I was going to say in a post this morning!

For anyone who didn't see last night: the main page of Findjackwalten updated!

On it we see this:

With the top left screen playing a filtered version of the minisode from last month.

You're right that the top right screen is showing the same room as on the /0714-74 page!

We're also seen this room one other time, in Martin's twitter banner from June of last year:

Looking at the map of Bon's Burgers we get from the Bon's Burgers Commercial, I think its safe to say the hallway in these images is "Corridor A"

The location visible on the bottom screen we're also seen before, in a teaser provided by Martin to Instagram user Waltenews:

As well as in Martin's current Twitter banner:

But a problem I'm running into here is that I have no idea where this room is. Identifying features I'm looking for on the Bon's Burgers map is a med-large square or rectangular room with a door to the right side of the wall, and a table opposite the door (not completely necessary to be there -- the table may just not be marked on the map). The only room I think even resembles this in layout is the Employee area leading into the Backstage, which makes no sense because this room is obviously public-facing.

The only real clue I can gather is that this room appears to have a door in it with a sign hung on it, one that I would have to assume reads something like "Employees Only", considering it appears to be a metal door with handle instead of an open curtain like we've seen for public areas?

If that is an employee door, this could possibly be Corridor B?? even though I doubt it. The only thing that leads me to say that is the door layout being roughly correct, if we assume the curtained door leads to the censored area on the Bon's Burgers map? It being the location of the poker maze doesn't make no sense, but the room's layout isn't exactly consistent with anything we can see on the Bon's Burgers map, so it confuses me. Maybe there's something obvious I'm missing here.

About our mystery "CH" security guard character here, if we're meant to interpret the presence of the minisode on the screen as indication that the Local 57 spotlight on the mystery of Bon's Burgers already exists and has aired/is airing, then Charles would be long dead already. Which I think gives us a good idea of who this CH actually is...

Which begs the question as to why there's security cameras monitoring the inside of Bon's Burgers even after the restaurant's closure, if that really is what we're meant to glean from this. It also makes me wonder where this office building is, if the Bon's Burgers building is shut down and unused, and we've never seen or heard of this room in K-9 before. Maybe it's in the warehouse we've heard of? Or even some unknown 4th location?

This weird white box in the corner is interesting to me, too. Whatever it is, it's being obscured here on purpose. This corner of the image is the only one to have this weird shadowy vignette.

This yellow poster on the side is really killing me, too. Especially in how the "drumsticks" so obviously have Something written on them that is just illegible.

Lots and lots of interesting stuff happening in this FJW update...