#button zoomed a while earlier

[eirianerisdar]

Button 🌿 and Sebbie 🏎️ are glad to be home from the pet hotel (they promptly pushed everything out of its place to make a racetrack 🏁)

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: smut build up, porn with a plot, making out, cursing, frat party, art being stupid, happy ending dw, two parts because I cannot condense my writing for the life of me

word count: 4.0k

masterlist

“Swimmers…”

You curled your fingers around the rough end of the diving board, unconsciously holding your breath as you readied for the starting noise. The pool glinted below you, reflecting light from the glaring sun above that sparkled like the blue glitter polish on your toenails. But you ignored it, blocking out anything that wasn’t the signal as you lowered your neck.

��Take your marks…”

There it was. You tensed as the official hovered her finger over the mic button. She was about to send you off and there could be no hesitation once she did. Any second now.

“GO!”

You were already under as the crowd started cheering. Two laps,100 meters, that’s all that it took and you had already conquered a quarter of the length by the time you came up for your breakout strokes. You cut through the smooth pool surface leaving white water waves in your wake. You tried not to let your gaze stray anywhere away from the tiled black line at the bottom of the pool as you felt the competition slipping behind you.

As the wall comes into view at the other end of the 50 meter pool, you take your first breath of the race and pause your strokes for only a second to perform a nearly perfect flip turn. You only have one more length back before it’s over and you can claim the medal that is rightfully yours as you come up from your last breakout. Arms pulling and legs kicking almost frantically, you’re almost there, so close you can sense the touch pad waiting for you at the end. You zoom past the flags and…

“I can’t believe I lost by less than two tenths of a second!” you groan, taking a swig from the Heineken one of your teammates had handed you when you arrived earlier. More than 12 hours had passed since your race and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about your unexpected loss. It had plagued you still as you had made your way to the party a random fraternity had thrown, though your team considered it a celebration after the Stanford swim team took home another champion title. It was small in comparison to the larger meets you had won in the past, but it was a reason to stay out past the curfew your coach imposed on you. And any reason to stay out was good enough for you.

“You’re not actually upset about that, are you?” Chloe asked, one of your teammates who competed in the endurance free events. While you would consider yourself close to nearly every girl who swam with you, Chloe was more of an instant best friend.

You shake your head as she sips on her own beer. Unlike you, she had opted for a brand with a higher alcohol percentage as she was unafraid of hangover ridicule that inevitably awaited her at your next morning practice.

“Of course not. You know me, winning is only a plus. I just can’t believe I got so close to the record!”

It was true. You didn’t so much mind losing the first place prize to the opposing team in such an insignificant meet. What really had you grinding your teeth was the fact that you had only been a half of a second away from the official Stanford record. You weren’t sure where you lost that time in your race, whether it was one of your two breaths or if you needed to dive further out, but you were set on remedying every part of your race until the problem was solved. Your next meet was only a week away and unlike this one, it would be a much bigger deal.

“You got that girl,” Chloe assured you, patting your shoulder in a comforting manner. “Half a second ain’t nothing for you.”

“I hope so. I’m not missing any more practices until I get it.”

Your conversation was disrupted as the room suddenly erupted in cheers, people gathering around the entrance as newcomers entered. You turned your head towards the noise, searching for whoever could elicit such a response.

You caught sight of him right away, a man you had never seen before though immediately prayed you’d never lose sight of. He was tall, his head covered in light blonde curls that were well trimmed to not hang over his hooded eyes. He was attractive, no doubt, but there was more to him than looks. There had to be. Anybody had to be more than attractive to get applause in a place like Stanford, especially within the frat parties.

“Who is that?” you nudged Chloe in his direction. She was normally more up to date than you on the campus celebrities as she didn’t get swallowed up by her swimming commitments as often as you. Chloe nearly choked on her drink as she saw him, turning back to you with a befuddled expression.

“You don’t know Art Donaldson? He’s like the most promising tennis student to ever play here.”

You furrowed a brow, staring at Chloe as if she had said something incredibly stupid.

“Do I look like I watch fucking tennis?” you gestures to your hoodie that clearly bore the words ‘Stanford Swimming and Diving’.

“Let me put it this way,” Chloe started, unoffended as always. “He’s already won the Junior US Open in the doubles category. He got second in the singles and at the rate he almost qualified for the real thing.”

“What’s stopping him?” You asked, looking back in the direction of the man who had now settled on the dance floor with a drink. You sensed a catch in Chloe’s explanation.

“That.”

Chloe pointed to the only television in the house that was conveniently showing a rerun of one of the man’s, Art’s, matches which from the date you could tell happened the same time as your meet. He was amazing, more skilled than any of the few players you had ever watched before, but even you, someone who knew nothing about tennis, could tell that he was playing like something was holding him back. Every ball out of his reach skirted to the fence behind him until he eventually lost. You couldn’t understand how a Junior US Open champion could miss shots that were arguably hard, but reasonable for a professional. There had to be more to it than what lay on the surface and as a swimmer you couldn’t stop the urge to dive in deeper.

“Oh no,” Chloe smirked. She knew you too well to miss when you were after something you wanted. And you weren’t sure by which mystical force you were being pulled, but you started to gravitate away from her. “You’re going to go after him, aren’t you?”

“I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna do a walk around.” you promised, standing from your couch seat beside her, though you were both certain she wouldn’t see you again until practice the next day.

“Good luck.”

You were careful not to approach him directly, instead jumping into a conversation with a couple of your teammates who happened to be chatting in his vicinity. After several minutes of receiving congratulations for your attempt at the record, the group surrounding Art had finally dispersed leaving him alone with his drink on the floor. Lucky for you, by the time he was without a crowd to bypass, your group had moved on to much more nonsensical topics. It was then, by chance or fate as you believed, that he just so happened to bump into you, forcing your drink out of your hand and his attention onto you.

The glass of your Heiniken sank to the group, shattering into a million dazzling pieces of green glass, but you were able to block it out with the focus of a swimmer as you felt his stare on you.

Through the flashing lights you were able to make out the shape of his face better, mapping out sharp jawlines and chiseled cheekbones. You decided then you preferred this Art, the one who smiled at you anxiously over his moving body on the tennis channel and by the slight intrigue on his face, you could tell he felt similarly.

“I’m so sorry,” he professed, looking down at the mess of glass behind you before his blue eyes again met yours “You okay?” He had to shout over the loud music, guilt evidently rushing through him as if he had shoved you to the ground rather than accidentally causing you to drop your nearly empty bottle.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Art, right?”

Art nodded, leaning in closer to you so that he could hear you over the blaring club music.

“Do I know you?” he asked, in awe that you knew his name as if it wasn’t being broadcasted all over the Stanford sport program.

“Not yet,” you laughed, pointing to the screen where you had just seen him, watching as a wave of embarrassment washed over him as they replayed the portion of the match where he lost it all, unbeknownst to you. “I was watching your game. You’re really good.”

“You play?”

“Not tennis.” you gestured to the logo on your hoodie, hoping the disco lighting wasn’t enough to distort the clear waves of the swimming logo. 

“Oh wow,” he marveled. “I didn’t even know we had a swim team.”

“What can I say? My sport’s not quite as popular as yours.” you shrugged, shooting him a smile.

“We’ve really gotta get you another drink.” Art pointed out as he took a swig of his own beer.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I just have to take care of this first.”

You turned around to the glass mess that waited for you only to find that your teammates had already handled it in the time you had spent getting introduced to Art, leaving the two of you plenty of time to get acquainted, mess free. You caught sight of them across the room sitting next to Chloe, smirking at you as you looked their way. You rolled your eyes at the sight.

Art had his arm offered out to you when you turned back to him, a guarantee that the two of you wouldn’t get separated on the floor as you headed into the kitchen. It’s there that the seconds fade into elongated hours as you get to know more about each other. You told Art all about your life on the team and why swimming was your calling out of all sports while he spilled to you every tennis affiliated memory from his childhood where you learned he attended a special boarding school for the sport. You made note of his humility as he never once mentioned his success on the Junior US Open and the high level he can play.

You finish the soda Art had gotten for you as the music in the main room increases in volume, forcing you to crane your neck in order to talk in his ear, leaning in so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s not much taller than you, but it’s enough to make a difference.

“I can’t hear anything with this music,” you admitted, speaking at a timbre that’s loud enough to be audible to Art without bursting his eardrums. “Do you wanna move somewhere else?”

You knew Art was joining you when he looked at you with consideration. But it was impossible for you to know exactly what he was thinking, staying ignorant to the fact that he supposed after losing his match and an evening with Tashi due to another scheduled Patrick reappearance, what did he have left to lose? He wouldn’t normally do this, but you look like the perfect contender for a brand new game.

“Let’s go upstairs.” he nodded towards the stairs to your left, accepting your invitation. “It won’t be as loud up there.”

And so you both made your way up the frat house staircase, passing by closed door after closed door until you finally found a vacant bedroom. While you don’t know who lives there, it was tidy enough for you to neglect caring as you followed Art inside and shut the door behind you. 

“I don't think I ever caught your name, by the way.” Art stated as he took a seat on the bed in the center of the room, leaving a space for you beside him..

“Oh, I didn’t say.” you chuckled in realization as you sat beside him, your name falling from your lips as you met the lumpy mattress.

“And this is your reward party?” he wondered, a thought you can’t help smiling at as you shake your head.

“Definitely not,” you took another swig from your bottle. “I don’t think there’s any real reason behind this besides to fuel college memories. If anything, they’d be celebrating you. You’re like famous right?”

Art’s gaze moves to the shag carpet below as he shakes his head of blonde curls, disappointment shrouding his face.

“Not quite,” he disagreed, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I don’t know if you saw the whole thing, but my match today wasn’t anything to celebrate.”

“Why not?”

“Because I lost.”

He stated it like it was obvious which only confuses you as a swimmer. All the work and dedication he must put into his sport all to think there was no yield. You couldn’t imagine basing your pride off of winning and winning alone when there were so many other components to competing.

“So?”

He’s startled by your nonchalance towards losing, something so foreign to him it isn’t even a refreshing take.

“So?” he repeated. “So I failed today. I let my team down. I let Tashi down.”

Tashi. You’ve definitely heard that name before. Though you don’t know much about the inner workers of tennis, everyone and their mother in the state of California knows who Tashi Duncan is. She’s the most famous person on campus, in and out of the tennis world. You didn’t know her personally, only ever seeing her when walking between classes. You also knew she had a boyfriend who didn’t attend Stanford from seeing them eating together. There had always been something off about her and now, with Art beside you in full self-deprecation mode, you figured you were about to find out exactly what it was.

“Is that who you were looking at?” you asked, piecing together that she must’ve been in attendance at his match. He immediately tensed at the mention, surprised you caught the simple detail. “I saw during your match. You looked like you were distracted.”

“It wasn’t just her,” he shook his head. “One of my oldest friends just flew for the weekend. He was there with her.” he paused. “They both saw me fail.”

“I’m sure they were both proud of you.” you assured, but Art was quick to set you straight as his friends didn’t operate the same way yours did.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m nothing if I don’t win.”

“Well it’s okay, you can just try again next time.”

“It doesn’t work like that. That’s not what tennis is about.”

You sensed a planted ideology in his evaluation, causing you to probe further.

“Really? So tennis isn’t just hitting balls with rackets over and over?”

“It’s more than that,” he informed you, taking no offense from your lack of knowledge. “It’s a relationship. It’s about the fight between two people. The back and forth until someone comes out on top. And even then the winning, it’s not nearly as important as the match. I didn’t just lose today, I let the crowd down. And my opponent won without the intensity of a good match. All because of me.”

You quieted as he explained, placing a careful hand on his shoulder as he finished. You felt for him, absorbing his sorrows like a therapeutic sponge, but it didn’t take a tennis expert to understand that bullshit behind his dogma. It sounded more like a manipulation technique than anything, all stemming from the same source.

“Did Tashi tell you that?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if your statement was any more outrageous than the lies he had been fed.

“It’s the truth.” he answered.

You weren’t sure how to get across to him, if it was even possible to crash through the wall of his beliefs in the first place, but you knew you had to try. It wasn’t right for him to harbor such disappointment over a match that did nothing to disprove his skill at his sport.

“Okay,” your voice softened as you thought of a way to challenge his theories. “Let’s change the subject. How about I tell you how swimming works?”

“Isn’t it more of the same?” he sighed, still overcomplicating his loss.

“Actually it’s very different.” you corrected.

“What do you mean?” Art asked, looking at you with the utmost intrigue.

“What if I told you that even the losers in swimming end up winning?”

Incredulous of the possibility, Art waited for further explanation.

“See like tennis, we have the players and of course only one person in each race can come out on top, but it’s not about beating the other players. Once you’re out there, it’s just you and the water. That’s the only relationship. It doesn’t matter where anyone else is, beside you, behind you, that’s not what’s not important. All that matters is how well you swim and if you lost a few seconds on the time board. Everything else is lost to the waves. And if your time is the fastest well, that’s just one big fucking bonus.”

Art sat with your words, unable to reply as he processes the possibility of winning as a loser. It’s almost too hard to imagine. You leaned closer to him, breath catching as his eyes moved down to your lips and one of his hands gently gripped your thigh.

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded, your faces so close now that your nose nudged his own.

“I didn’t win today either,” you whisper to him. “But my team screamed when I touched that wall. And do you know why?”

He waited for you to explain, eyes fluttering close for only a second as you laid a palm on his shirt, feeling the hard muscle that lay beneath. Your hands trailed to his sleeves, settling his bare skin a blaze as you take in his equally sturdy biceps.

“I almost beat a school record today. First time in 30 years if I had done it.”

“There’s no records like that in tennis.” he countered, but there was uncertainty in his tone. As if he was waiting for you to further back this new perspective. As if he was really starting to believe it.

“Then maybe you should take a page out of my book. Leave tennis in the past for now and focus on what’s here, in the present…” your lips brush over his before you mutter, “... focus on me.”

You're not entirely sure who initiated it, but before either of you could get out another word, his lips were on yours. You dove head first into the kiss, his lips melting against yours as you swipe your tongue out to catch the lingering taste of cheap beer at the edge of his parted mouth. It’s all so soft, like two cracked dolls who want nothing more than to break for the other until the intensity reaches its peak and you could feel microscopic beads of sweat forming at your brow.

Art pulled you in closer, gentle hands moving to your waist as the faint vocals of California Gurls played distantly in the background. His fingers curled into your sides, worming their way under the hem of your hoodie as they gave way to underlying desire, sparking every inch of your skin that they came into contact with.

You sighed as his teeth sank into your bottom lip. Pausing the kiss, he tipped his head back to jerk ever so lightly on your lip before allowing it to snap back into place and at once you crashed back into mouth, kissing him with a fervor you don’t remember ever feeling this intensely. Every movement, every change in the pace all worsened the heat igniting within you.

You tugged on the blonde roots of his curls that rest closest to his neck and soon enough you felt Art’s needy fingers claw at the waist back of your black athletic shorts. Though you're in desperate need of relief from the growing pool of desire at your core, you knew it was time to pull back. Art didn’t let you go so easy, his lips chasing after yours once you’ve broken the kiss, but it’s no use. You knew you couldn’t do this, at least not tonight.

“What’s wrong?” Art whispered against your lips, automatically assuming that it was his own fault rather than an independent decision of your own. It was certainly too intimate for a man you’d only just met, but you have to cup his cheek to keep from breaking as his own hands part from your skin.

You told him some form of the truth, that you didn’t think the timing was right. It’s not that you didn’t want to, you were dying to sneak another taste of his lips in and give him everything he’s ever wanted right there and then. But you couldn’t. Not when you know that it’s just another match. A distraction from Tashi. Especially not when you know that it didn’t have to be.

“We can’t do this here.”

Art face fell at your words, but he’s never been one to give up so easily.

“Then let’s go back to my place.” he offered, hoping it was just the atmosphere of the party that alarmed you. He wasn’t ready for you to leave.

“No, not tonight.” you frowned apologetically. “Not while you’re playing tennis.”

He stared at you in utter confusion as you stood up from your place beside him, dusting off your clothes as if you hadn’t been enjoying him all along. He didn’t understand the reasons behind your sudden switch, but he’s willing to risk it all in the heat of the moment.

“You want me to quit.” he suggested as if it’s a solution both of you are comfortable with. You turned back to him disturbed, shaking your head wildly at the proposal.

“Of course not, Art, you know that’s not what I mean,” you began, gathering an explanation that you hope will convey your reasons without making him feel like a complete piece of shit. “I don’t know what Tashi told you, but to me it sounds like she expects a winner. She’s programmed you into believing the player doesn’t matter without a title.”

You stepped an inch in his direction, close enough that you can see even the smallest details of his face, but not enough for him to touch you again.

“…but she’s forgetting that without the player, winner or loser, there is no title. Without a foundation, there is no relationship between you and the other player. And nobody can succeed if they’re scared of failure.” you explained further. You knew your words resonated with Art as his gaze turned to the stained carpet of the bedroom, but he had to pass the ball back.

“Well, you said it yourself, you don’t know Tashi.” he fired back, and you knew it’s only the tennis talking.

“You know I’m right.”

Art was silent, only proving your point. You knew you had to leave, but you had to promise him a second meeting, for him and for yourself. You wouldn’t be blocked from a happy ending by wrong timing.

“Come to my meet next weekend,” you invited him. “It’s the biggest one of the year. You should see how other sports operate.”

“I can’t see you before then?”

You almost smiled at the confirmation that his frustration wasn’t directed towards you.

“I have practice,” you shrugged. “- and so do you. You can see me again at my meet and in the meantime, just think about what I said. And know that you’re more than a loser, Art.”

You left without another word, shutting the door while silently cursing yourself for not taking the opportunity while you had it. It was very possible that you would never see the tennis star again, that every spark you felt with him in your first hour of knowing him was entirely one sided. You prayed it wasn’t true, that he had shown some feelings in return, but only time would tell. In exactly one week, you would be certain.

part two out now!!!

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - intoxicated → she/her pronouns!

modern ceo au! what happens when miguel is drunk

It's extremely rare when Miguel goes out to drink with coworkers, it's rare enough when Miguel gets out to go anywhere in general. He's either cooped up in his office, glued to his work, or glued to you at home.

You suggested to Miguel earlier this week about getting out to a bar, along with a few of the other higher-ups of the company. It's healthy to get out, you said, even if all he's going to be doing is drinking alcohol and eating meat.

Miguel's only good with people in a more professional sense; he's not the best at being all buddy-buddy with people he usually works with. He's quiet the entire time he's at the bar, occasionally taking a bored nibble at a bowl of loaded fries.

He kind of regrets this; surrounded by loud music, loud people, TV's with sports games playing in the background. He just misses you, he wants to come home and make food with you.

One of his coworkers, nudged him in the side a bit, obviously gesturing towards the wide array of various drinks and juices.

"Might as well have a drink while you're at it." He says, and Miguel is just stone-faced the entire time. The man walks away towards the remaining group of coworkers, possibly to either go dance, or to stare at girls from afar.

Considerably, it's been a while since he's had a drink. One or two wouldn't hurt, especially as a last minute scrounge for enjoyment in this god-awful bar.

Slowly, Miguel nurses on a drink provided by a suspiciously sleek bartender, leaning his cheek into his palm whilst taking a couple sips. He can feel the wolfish eyes of various women & men staring at him, feeling somehow exposed in his tight white button-up and simple pants. If only you were here, to sit in his lap and run your little hands against his chest.

The thought makes his head spin, a violent hot warmth running up his cheeks, his mind being blurred like a smudge on someone's reading glasses. The room's almost tilting sideways, the thoughts in his head dissolving away. (miguelito is a lightweight because i say so)

Miguel's drunk, for the first time in literal years.

He doesn't like it; he feels out of control of his body, unable to think or function correctly. He feels like a different person entirely, his eyes replaced with jelly and the tips of his ears turning scarlet.

The drink tasted good and all, but Miguel's thoughts on you feel magnified, every feature, every action you do running through his head like a cassette tape. He misses you more, and he really wants to see you.

Cleverly, he pulls out his phone, sighing to himself on the counter. It takes him a moment to put in his phone password correctly, fingers drunkenly tapping on the screen until he can find your contact.

. . .

You receive a text notification at about 9:43. Expectedly, you knew Miguel probably wouldn't make it through the whole night, but you're proud of him for trying. You open up your phone, amidst watching a show in bed.

miguelito💞💓: My love, I am intoxicated.

The text makes you giggle a little, imagining him all red-faced and tripping over himself with his coworkers.

Conveniently, you receive another text, one from the person you asked to keep an eye on Miguel.

It's a picture of Miguel with his head leaned against the counter, lovingly zooming in on a picture of your face with his phone. His ears are red, and there's a half-drunken drink beside him.

james q: he says he misses you. want me to take him home? you: it's okay, thanks tho. i'll be there in 10 to get him. james q: 👍

Assuming Miguel's still on his phone, you shoot him a text.

you: i see u looking at me

You giggle to yourself, and Miguel is visibly both shocked and excited, peering left to right as if you were magically in the bar.

miguelito💞💓: Please pick me up. I hate it here. you: ok sweetie, be there in 10

. . .

Despite the hour, the bar is bustling as ever, populated with underage girls wearing slip dresses and drunk frat boys. You worm through the building, searching left and right for your husband through the cacophonous bar.

Finally, you spot him where the counter is, big head tucked into crossed arms.

Gently, you slip your hand onto his shoulder, warmly rubbing him awake. At first he flinches, staring at you as if you were a stranger. He relaxes a few seconds later, lovingly and drunkenly fixating on you.

"Hey hun, I'm here to take you home." You say, and Miguel feels so warm, so comforted in contrast to the rash environment of the pub. He wants to kiss you, but he's too drunk to focus.

Without a word, Miguel rises from his bar stool, arms and hands immediately inching around your shoulders. He doesn't realize it, but he's pressing more of his body weight onto you, leaning on top of you like a slug.

Seeing you roll away the finest, sexiest piece of man as if it were nothing makes the party around you fume, their thoughts of asking for a number shattered within a minute or two.

Miguel trails after you, gluing himself to your back as you maneuver yourself out of the stuffy bar. Finally, you're out in the cool air of the dark, muffled edm music booming from the block's other counterparts.

The sidewalk is somewhat barren, scattered with a few people smoking or walking.

"I missed you, s'much." Miguel slurs, seeing the outline of your car in the dark parking lot.

"I know you did, baby. Now you get to come home with me and we can do whatever you want, like we promised." You say, unlocking your car with the press of your key.

He smiles just a teensy bit, his heart warming at the thought of snuggling up to you in bed, or cooking a late-night meal of sorts with you while a show plays in the background.

Miguel's the passenger princess tonight, adjusting the seat backwards so he can actually sit. He stares at you the entire time through bleary eyes, watching you start the car as if it were the most artistic and most beautiful thing ever.

"I love you." Miguel says, and you can feel the gratuity in his voice.

"I love you too."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[covenofagatha]

The psychology of love (Part 4)

A rainy day leads to an unexpected encounter

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: masturbation

You think your heart might have stopped beating. 

Agatha put her phone number in her email signature. Something small that might be unnoticeable to anyone else and could’ve been there all along—plausible deniability at its finest—but you see it. You know she just added it. 

Is it for you? Does she want you to text her? Is this her way of putting the metaphorical ball in your court? 

A million thoughts go through your head, ranging from text her right now, you idiot, what are you waiting for? to what if the university just made a new policy about putting all the ways to contact a professor in the sign off? It might not even be her personal number, it could be her office number. Maybe she put the number there for someone else. 

What should you do? Can you get in trouble for texting a teacher? What if it’s about the course material? 

You rack your brain for anything you could ask about, but there’s not a good enough question that would warrant this. 

Fuck. 

You could text her about the presentation, tell her again how excited you are for it. Seems too desperate, though, too transparent. 

Maybe it’s just a game. She knows about your little crush on her apparently—the comment about transference making that clear—and this could be her way of catching you in the act. 

The door to your room opens and you jump with a yelp before immediately dropping your phone on your chest like you might get caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

It’s Wanda. She gives you a bemused look as she strolls to her bed before dropping her bag on the floor. “What are you doing?” she asks suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” you say hastily. 

She smirks. “If you’re watching porn or something, I’m more than happy to give you a few minutes alone.” 

“You just startled me, that’s all,” you mutter, picking your phone up and turning it back on. It comes back to life zoomed in on Agatha’s phone number and your cheeks heat up. 

Chewing on your lip, you tilt your head to Wanda and then back to your screen. You think about asking her for advice but there’s a voice in the back of your mind nagging that Agatha could get in trouble. 

If she did give you her number, she took a risk. And although she could play it off and there’s no actual way to tie it to you, you don’t want to take that chance. 

So you make a new contact for Agatha, choosing not to add a last name just in case. You open a new message and the space bar blinks at you, making your heart beating fast and heavy. 

Even just the thought of sending something makes your stomach twist. 

Letter by letter, you type out an introduction text and your finger hovers over the send button. It feels like time is slowing down, like your head is spinning. Should you do it? 

You think you might throw up from the ball of nerves growing inside you. 

“How’s Morgan?” Wanda asks casually while scrolling on her phone in her bed. You swallow hard and glance over. 

“She’s good I think,” you rasp and then clear your throat. “We haven’t talked since our date yesterday.” 

Wanda glances over at you. “You didn’t text her or anything?” The judgement is clear and you vaguely remember seeing a message from Morgan earlier that you forget to respond to. 

Whoops. 

Even when you’re trying to be invested in Morgan, your thoughts still find a way back to Agatha. 

“I will in a bit,” you mutter and Wanda snorts because you both know it’s a lie. You turn your attention back to your phone where your text to your professor is still waiting to be sent or deleted. 

The butterflies in your stomach come back with a vengeance and you feel like you’ve been torn in half. What the fuck should you do?

There’s not a good enough reason to text her. But you want to. What would you even say? Come up with a question about the presentation. What if she thinks you’re acting too desperate? What if you’re completely off-base with how you’re perceiving this? 

The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth and you realize you’ve broken through the skin on your lip with how hard you’ve been biting it. You start to chew on your nails instead, still staring at your phone. 

The screen starts to go dark and you tap it, a burst of panic flashing through you when you realize that your finger almost landed on the send button. Eventually, your heart rate returns to normal but it feels like your typed out message is mocking you. 

You can’t do it. It’s too much of a risk and you don’t want to look like a fool when it turns out that Agatha doesn’t actually like you like that. 

Deleting the text, you turn your phone off, slightly disgusted and disappointed with yourself. If only you were someone who didn’t have to overthink every single possible thing that could go wrong if you decided to take a chance. 

Your phone buzzes and you have a momentary lapse in judgement in which you think Agatha somehow texted you first. You grab it quickly, breathing quickening, and scan it. 

It’s just Morgan. 

Hey. Just wanted to check in again. Maybe we could do something this weekend if you’re free? 

Rolling over onto your side to face the wall, you quietly groan and turn your phone off, ignoring her. 

—

On Sunday afternoon, you decide to go for a run. The August air in New Jersey is nice and cool and you really need to clear your head. 

You spent all yesterday in your room pondering what to do about Agatha. You had come to the conclusion that you weren’t going to text her—not unless there was a good enough reason to. And you weren’t exactly sure what that would look like, but you were now hoping more than anything that you’d get one. 

Wanda barely looks up when you change into a white tank top and athletic shorts and leave the dorm room. She was with Nat all of Saturday and you remember her saying that they’re going out for dinner tonight as well. 

She had invited you and Morgan to come as a double date, but you still hadn’t responded to Morgan and you felt like you couldn’t just ask her if she wanted to go out again. You’d have to say you were really sick or something. 

Once outside, you stretch your legs, wincing at the burn. Working out is never something you really enjoy doing, but every now and then, you get in the mood for it. You think a nice run, maybe a mile or two, will do you some good. 

You put your airpods in your ears, click a song at random to start your playlist, and take a deep breath. 

The moment you start running, you regret it but the burn in your legs is doing wonders to get you from thinking about Agatha so you push through the pain and keep going. The thump of your shoes against the pavement becomes a rhythm and before you know it, you’ve gotten off campus and you’re now running down the side of the road. 

Sweat stings your eyes and your lungs ache so you welcome the darkening of the clouds above you and the light drizzle that starts to come down. 

Until the drizzle turns into a downpour and puddles are drenching your shoes and socks and you can hardly see two feet in front of you and you have to stop. You’re almost a mile away from your dorm and there is no way you’re going to be able to get back in the rain like this, but luckily, there’s a grocery store a few hundred yards away. 

The cold air hits you the second the doors slide open and your teeth begin chattering. Your clothes cling to your body, water droplets running down your arms and legs, and you make a beeline to find a jacket or anything that will warm you up. 

Heat from the deli counter radiates and seeps into your bones so you go stand next to it, pretending to check out the fried chicken while you’re actually getting feeling back into your limbs. 

“Late lunch?” someone says next to you and you inwardly roll your eyes before turning to look at them, about to make some polite but passive aggressive comment but instead your mouth falls open. 

It’s Professor Harkness. 

She’s staring at you amusedly, eyes wandering over your soaked body. Her stare pauses and you glance down and notice, in dismay, that your white shirt is almost completely see-through and your green bra is very noticeable. 

Along with your hardened nipples from the cold. 

“Following me around?” you joke and don’t miss the way her eyes darken. 

Agatha takes a step closer and her perfume overwhelms your senses. She’s wearing a blue shirt tucked neatly into jeans with Keds and her hair down and a little frizzy from the rain and humidity. It feels like you’re sucking air through a small straw. 

“I thought I’d test out the mere exposure effect on my favorite student,” she says, a teasing smile playing on her lips. Your heart skips a beat. 

Her favorite student?

You hum, pretending to be nonchalant, trying to maintain eye contact. “Is that the one where you like things the more familiar you are with them?” 

“Exactly. Is it working?” 

It’s hard to tell whether or not she’s being serious. “I mean, you are my favorite professor so…I guess?” 

Agatha snorts, but looks silently pleased. “I’m kidding, hon. As Freud may have said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I just came to get some groceries,” she nods at the basket in her hand that’s full of fruit, lunch meat, and chips, “and I saw you standing here. Thought you looked a bit wet.” 

Your cunt actually clenches around nothing and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Just got caught in the rain on a run,” you say finally, your thumbnail finding its way between your teeth. She tracks the movement with a knowing smirk and you feel your cheeks heat up. “The one time I actually go work out. The universe is out to get me, I guess.” 

Agatha nods conspiratorially while you shift your weight between legs, both from the cold and from the awkwardness settling. Should you ask about the phone number? Is she upset that you didn’t text? 

“How much do you know about the idea about the locus of control?” she asks suddenly. 

You eye her a bit wearily, the gleam on her face signaling nothing but trouble. “I mean, I’ve heard a bit about it. An internal locus of control means you think you have authority over your life and external doesn’t?” 

Agatha nods and your stomach twists pleasantly. “Internal versus external locus of control. How much control do you think you have over your life? Do you wait for things to just happen—or do you make them happen?”

With the way she’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world, you think for a second that she could be talking about you pursuing her. 

Which would be insane. 

She sees your confusion and gives you a coy smile. “I don’t think the universe is out to get you, hon. I think you’re perfectly capable of getting everything you want all by yourself.” 

“So, you’re saying I should get back out there and run back to my dorm in the rain?” you ask, swallowing roughly at the dark glint in her eye. 

Does she know that she’s everything you want?

Agatha glances toward the front of the store where you both can see the downpour through the sliding glass doors. “No. I can’t have you getting sick. I’ll drive you back.” 

Before you can say anything, she motions for you to follow her and you do—you trail after her like a lost puppy, like one of Pavlov’s dogs that salivates at just the sight of its owner. You stand obediently by her side while she pays for her groceries after asking if you need anything and then you jog after her to her black Range Rover parked close to the front of the lot. 

Once you slam the door shut, Agatha turns on the car and reaches over to turn on your heated seat. 

Is she even allowed to do this? 

Will anyone know?

She gives you her phone with the maps app pulled up for you to put your address in. You type in the name of your dorm and hand it back to her. 

“Are you from here?” she asks, effortlessly backing out of the spot and you’re distracted by the way her hands move. 

Agatha glances at you and you realize that you’ve been staring at her. You clear your throat. “Um, no, I’m from out-of-state. I knew I wanted to go somewhere up north, though, for the cold and to get a little distance from home. I just fell in love with Westview when I was touring places. It’s a really cute town and I really like the school. And I read good reviews about the psychology department so it just seemed like the perfect place.” 

She nods like she’s in agreement. “It is really nice here.”

“What about you? Have you been in Westview your whole life?” 

Agatha tilts her head from side to side like the answer is complicated. “Most of it. I understand wanting to get some distance from home.” 

You study her face, running your eyes over the lines on her forehead and the slight wrinkles by the corner of her blue eyes and her pointed nose. She seems unguarded right now, unlike the way she is in class. 

This might be the first time you and her have had a conversation outside of impromptu ambiguous psychology lessons and school. This might be your favorite version of her. 

“You’re graduating in the spring, right?” she breaks the silence and you’re once again startled to find out that she knows that about you. First your name and now what year you are in college?

You looked her up, but what are the chances she looked you up? 

She’s probably just being a good professor. She probably knows all her students’ names and years. You push the nagging voice out of your head. 

“Yep! Kind of crazy. I still don’t know what I’m going to do after this.” 

Agatha pats your leg, her palm on your bare skin, and you freeze. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re very bright, hon.” 

“Thank you,” you stammer, cheeks burning with a ferocious fire. She takes her hand back but you can still feel the ghost of her touch. 

She tosses you a wink. “And if you don’t find something, I could always use a research assistant. The pay isn’t great but you do get a stipend and if you wanted to go to graduate school here, it would help with that.” 

“What kind of research?” 

“Oh, this and that,” she hums and turns onto the street that your dorm is on. The rain has slowed down. “I want to do practical, real-life work based on theories from psychologists like B.F. Skinner and Mary Ainsworth and such. I’m always looking for students to recruit and I think you could be a great fit. If you’d be interested. Obviously I don’t want to rob you of something that you’re actually interested in.”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, that seems like something I would want to do.” As long as it keeps you close to Agatha, you think you might do anything, even without knowing what it is. And the idea of getting something lined up for after graduation is also very enticing. 

Agatha grins and pulls up right in front of your building, shifting the car into park. “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind then, hon. Have a great rest of the weekend and I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” 

You give her a smile and her gaze drops down to your lips and the tension becomes palpable. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing and heartbeat and then she leans over the center console. 

Biting your lip, you’re stuck frozen in your seat as her perfume wafts into your nostrils and she reaches around you, her dark blue eyes meeting yours. 

There’s a click as the car door unlocks from behind you—all Agatha’s doing—and she pulls back to settle into her seat, a smug smile on her face. You’re disappointed but also strangely relieved—if she was going to kiss you, you’d want it to not be in her car while you’re still wet and freezing from the rain. 

“See you tomorrow,” you rasp before wrenching open the door and trying to walk as calmly as possible to the door. When you turn around, you see her still parked out front, watching and waiting for you to go inside. Your heart warms at the gesture and she doesn’t drive away until you’ve safely gotten in the building and pressed the button for the elevator.

You strip off your still-drenched clothes the second you get back to your dorm and grab some new ones before going to take a shower. While the water warms, you stand there shivering, not thinking of anything else but Agatha. 

Internal versus external locus of control. How much control do you think you have over your life? Do you wait for things to just happen—or do you make them happen?

Is it about the phone number? You can almost convince yourself that she wants you to text her, that she wants you. 

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. 

Are things really just what they seem? Is Agatha really what she seems? It’s like she’s telling you something, spelling it out for you, but you’re missing the final piece to make sense of it all. The phone number could be the cigar. The way she looks at you and makes ambiguous comments could be the cigar. Is there a chance she’s being so obvious, so real, and you’re just not able to accept the fact that your professor might like you?

You think you might be losing your mind with this obsession. 

The shower burns your skin but does little to clean off the growing feeling inside you that threatens to swallow you whole. Even through your confusion, there’s still the fire in your stomach, the embers of your conversation with Agatha fresh and making you reel. 

When you accidentally brush your legs together, the slight pressure on your clit makes you jump and you realize just how wet you are. Your upper thighs are slick and you run a hand through your folds and pull your fingers away dripping. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. You put a leg up on the tub and begin to lazily rub at your clit, hips bucking, and you almost slip. Holding onto the wall with your other hand for balance, you’re able to get more leverage without the risk of hurting yourself and you feel your walls clench around nothing when you resume your motions. 

It doesn’t take long for you to get close and you’re about to slide a finger into yourself when there’s a banging on the bathroom door. 

“Can you hurry up please?” someone shouts and you jump. You and Wanda share a conjoined bathroom with another dorm and sometimes they have the worst timing. 

“Yeah, sorry, just a second!” you call back over the rush of the shower but the knocking continues. You grumble and step out, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself. 

You swing the door open to find your suitemate Chelsea standing there, a panicked look on her face. 

Before you can ask if she’s okay, she rushes past you into the bathroom and closes the door. “I really need to pee,” she tells you and you clench your jaw in frustration, both at her and not being able to cum. 

Quickly throwing on your clothes, you climb into bed and bend your legs up. You’ll just have to finish what you started. 

The first brush against your clit has you lightly moaning, still worked up from the shower. You try to think of Morgan at first, the way she fucked you at the party a week ago. Her fingers had twisted skillfully and her thumb had rubbed against your clit in a way that made you keen. And god—her smell. The vanilla and coffee and something else, something dangerous. You can see her in your mind, the slight smile on her lips as she watched you while she fucked you. Your hips move in an attempt to feel more but it doesn’t work. 

But then her face morphs into someone else—someone else with dark hair and blue eyes and the same addictive scent. 

Agatha. 

A gasp escapes you as you involuntarily jerk, a flash of pleasure bolting up your spine. 

“Oh, god,” you murmur. The picture of your professor with her fingers inside you makes your walls violently clench and electricity cackles under your skin. 

Your mind wanders and you swear you can see Agatha in front of you, clear as day, smirking while she condescendingly coos psychology facts at you and fucks you. 

Her fingers would fill you so nicely, her tongue on your clit would feel so nice, and your head tosses on the pillow as your back arches off the bed. 

“Fuck,” you whine as you slide a finger into yourself and curl it up, your palm bumping against your clit. Your eyes roll back—it should be her touching you right now, claiming you. 

Your hips move faster, taking your finger as deep as you can and you add another one into your wet cunt. Squelching sounds fill the air along with your pants and your wetness trickles out of your pussy and down onto the bed. Your other hand pinches your nipple the way you imagine she would. 

The Agatha in your mind scrapes her teeth against your breast and then swirls her tongue around your nipple while she chuckles at how breathless you sound. She makes her way down, biting and sucking on the expanse of your stomach so you know exactly who you belong to. 

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss as you twist your fingers and stroke your clit with your thumb. You’re fucking yourself fast and hard, giving up all pretenses of trying to take your time. You need this too bad. 

You need Agatha. 

Pleasure tingles in your veins and your chest heaves as you now think about what she would taste like, what it would be like to make her feel good. You can see her writhing under you, thighs tensing up as you tease her clit with your mouth. Is she loud? Would she moan your name when she cums? 

Imagining it’s her guiding you, teaching you, you yank on your hair and the sting makes the euphoria more acute. You gasp loudly, hips bucking, walls clenching around your fingers. You know you look like an absolute mess right now, completely and utterly ruined for your professor, but you don’t care. 

For a fraction of a second, you wonder what she would do if you took a picture of yourself and sent it to her. 

Would she instantly block you? 

Or would she fuck herself to the sight? 

A guttural moan tears itself out of your throat at the thought. You can visualize her confusedly clicking on a text from an unknown number, only to find her student masturbating, and then sliding a hand into her pants to relieve the tension. 

The same tension that’s building in your lower stomach. 

You turn your head and pant open-mouthed against your shoulder and your hips keep moving furiously to match your thrusts. 

Agatha’s hair would be sprawled beneath her, the veins in her hand prominent and outlined as she fingered herself. As much as you want to touch her and taste her and make her feel good, you also want to watch. You want to watch her be in control of her own pleasure the same way she commands your class. 

You press against your special spot and rub and keep doing that but something is missing. It feels so fucking good but you’re right on the edge and you need more. 

Your subconscious knows it before you do and you pull your fingers out of you and roll to face your nightstand. Yanking open the drawer, you begin to rummage through, knowing that you threw it in here somewhere. 

Finally, through the pulsing of your clit, you manage to find the box and you rip it open. The small, dark vial of Black Opium lays in your palm and your breathing becomes laborious. 

It’s like you’re in a trance as you twist the applicator out and spray it. Instantly, the sensual smell of coffee, vanilla, and spice fills the air and you inhale deeply. The scent lingers as you close your eyes and your cunt aches to be filled. 

Now, it’s even easier to imagine Agatha when you slide your fingers back into your waiting pussy and the sensations are heightened tenfold because of the perfume. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” you cry, the muscles in your stomach tightening and your hips rolling. Everything is so much clearer now, like the pleasure you were feeling before was muted. You can hear Agatha’s voice showering you with praises like she always does and it’s like she’s right there—you’re right there and with one more thrust, you fall over the edge, the dam of tension exploding and rushing through your body. 

You keep rubbing your clit and fucking your fingers fast to prolong the feeling and you can’t help the name that falls from your lips. 

“Agatha.” 

The aftershocks of your orgasm make you twitch until you finally come down from your high and you lie limply on your bed, completely spent. You know you should feel guilty and maybe a little bit shameful for that, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not after you just came harder than you ever have in your whole life. 

There’s no denying that you are absolutely and irrevocably fucked for your professor. 

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand and you crane your neck to look at the lit-up screen. 

It’s Morgan, again. You still haven’t responded to her. 

Chewing on your lip, you grab your phone and do possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life. You open a new chat and your heart pounds in sync with each letter you type. 

Hey, Professor. Thanks for the ride today.

You re-read your message until the words don’t even make sense before hitting send and then you immediately throw it back onto the nightstand, praying that you didn’t just fuck everything up. 

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[lxndonorris]

Chocolate- Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smutish, Teasing, light touching Charles is your best friend and you're joining him in Australia. However, Pierre pranks the two of you with some spicy chocolate x word count: 1930+ taglist: @game-set-canet mentions of Pierre :P requested by anon :) feel free to request in my askbox gif by me

The scorching Australian sun beats down on the bustling Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit, where the roar of Formula 1 engines fills the air. Among the throngs of racing enthusiasts, you stand nervously, your heart pounding with excitement. Charles, your best friend and Ferrari's star driver, invited you to spend the weekend with him at the track, a dream come true for any racing fan.

As you stand inside the Ferrari garage, Charles flashes you a mischievous grin. "Ready to cheer for me?" he asks, his eyes sparkling brightly. 

"Absolutely," you reply, barely able to contain a giggle. "I can't thank you enough for this opportunity, Charles." 

"That's what friends are for, right?" He says, running a hand across his chest to button up his racing suit, getting ready to jump into his race car.

He zooms out of the garage and onto the track, while you watch the screen with a mix of excitement and nervousness. To calm your nerves, you brought yourself some chocolate from Charles' motorhome. He told you he got them from Pierre earlier today, and both of you enjoyed a bar before this training session—it tastes so good.

As you wait for Charles to finish his last training session for the weekend, the anticipation bubbles within you, heightened by the thrill of the fast-paced racing world.

Clad in his Ferrari shirt and cap, you feel a strange sense of exhilaration coursing through your veins, mingling with the nervous excitement that pulses beneath the surface.

When Charles finally emerges from his car, his presence seems to command the entire paddock. His aura is magnetic, drawing you in with an irresistible force. In one swift motion, his helmet and balaclava come off, revealing a face flushed with exhilaration. 

He exchanges a few words with his mechanics, his focus on the training still evident in his demeanor. But then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his gaze finds yours.

His expression softens slightly as he runs a hand across his chest firmly, stroking himself through his racing suit. Charles licks his lips before turning his attention back to the conversation.

A tingling sensation erupts in your belly, sending shivers down your spine when he approaches you. As Charles closes the distance between you, palpable energy seems to radiate from him, his every movement infused with a magnetic charm that is impossible to resist. Time seems to slow down; everything around you is out of focus; just Charles remains the center of attention.

A confident swagger in his step, he exudes waves of effortless allure, seemingly pulling everyone's eyes on him. With casual grace, he runs a hand through his tousled hair, the strands falling back into place with practiced ease.

His touch lingers on his beard, his fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jawline before trailing down to his chest, where they linger for a moment longer.

You can't tear your gaze away, captivated by the sight of him and the way his features seem to be sculpted by the very hands of a divine artist. His confidence is intoxicating, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

"How was I?" He asks, his words washing over you in a warm embrace. 

"Simply amazing." You smile as your skin heats up rapidly. Your face flushes with color, nearly as bright as your Ferrari shirt.

"Thank you; the car was so good." Charles remarks with a coy smile forming on his lips. "It felt amazing, like it let me do all that I wanted."

Despite your best efforts to concentrate, your attention keeps drifting, drawn inexorably to every nuance of his being. His lips move with fluid grace, forming each word with precision, and you can't help but be mesmerized by their subtle curve.

His beard, perfectly groomed yet with a hint of ruggedness, frames his jawline with an undeniable allure. As his fingers trail along it, you feel a surge of longing wash over you; the desire to reach out and touch the softness bristles alomst overwhelming.

But it is his hands that truly capture your attention—strong and calpable yet gentle in their touch. Every movement is deliberate, and each gesture imbued with a quiet confidence.

And then there are his eyes, pools of endless depth that seem to hold the entire universe within their gaze. They sparkle with warmth and mischief, drawing you in even closer.

Then, however, he leans in to whisper in your ear. "You look so good in that shirt," he breathes, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine. "Almost as good as me out there on track, huh?" 

You chuckle nervously, the air crackling with tension as you struggle to keep your composure. Charles' newfound flirtatiousness is both exhilarating and unnerving, stirring emotions within you that you had never dared to acknowledge.

His hands brush over yours before he separates himself, a knowing smirk forming on his lips as his eyes roam all over you again.

One of his mechanics calls him over, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Charles has been your friend for years now, and you can't deny the attraction you feel to this beautiful man, but this comes out of nowhere.

Later, you make your way back to his motorhome. The atmosphere grows increasingly charged, thick with unspoken desire. With each step, you find yourself drawn to Charles, unable to resist the magnetic pull that draws you closer together.

Inside his quarters, the air was heavy with anticipation, the silence punctuated only by the sound of your racing hearts. The scent of his cologne is all around you as Charles moves with fluid grace, his movements mesmerizing as he sheds his racing suit.

You watch, transfixed, as he lets the upper half of his suit hang down his waist, exposing his tight fireproofs that hug his form. Like a second skin, its fabric clings to his skin, and you can't help but admire the way they accentuate every contour of his muscular physique. Despite their attempt to conceal his strength, his powerful frame is unmistakable.

With causal ease, he flexes his arms, the fabric stretching taut against the bulging muscles beneath. You gasp silently as he stretches and moves, showing off his beautiful form.

But it is when he runs a hand over himself, stroking firmly along the curves of his chest and abdomen, that you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away. The sight is hypnotic, a tantalizing display of masculinity that leaves you breathless with desire.

Caught in the act of staring, you feel a blush creep into your cheeks as Charles' eyes meet yours. But instead of embarrassment, there is a playful twinkle in his gaze.

"Like what you see?" He winks, a mischievous grin quirking the corners of his lips as he teases you with a knowing look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." You raise your hands slightly, but he doesn't mind you watching him.

"I don't know. I'm so horny right now." He lets out a low moan that gives you goosebumps. 

Unable to suppress the surge of desire that courses through your body, you close the distance to him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch him.

His body is warm beneath your fingertips, eliciting a soft gasp as your boidies collide in a frenzy of longing. As your hands venture forth, a hesitant yet undeniable curiosity guiding its path, you feel warmth and a tingling sensation run through you. 

Charles stands before you, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath, the fabric of his fireproofs offering little resistance to the exploration that lies ahead.

With a tentative touch, you allow your fingers to trace the contours of his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the thin barrier of fabric. Each ridge and curve elicits a soft gasp from you and an even softer yet guttural moan from him.

Charles breath hitches at the touch, his gaze locked with yours in a slient exchange of longing and desire. Emboldened by his response, you press your hand firmer against him, reveling in the sensation of his warmth seeping through his clothes.

His muscles ripple beneath your touch, a testament to the strength and athleticism that define him as a professional racing driver. And yet, beneath the surface, there is a vulnerability, a rawness, that speaks of the humanity within him.

"It feels so good," he growls, and places his hands on your waist, holding you close.

In the heat of the moment, you lean in, and your lips meet in a hungry kiss, the world around you fading into insignificance. But just as your passion reaches its zenith, a sudden sound shatters the intimacy of the moment.

Startled, you break apart, your gazes locking in shared disbelief as you turn to see Pierre standing behind you, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. His laughter echoes through the motorhome, mingling with the stunned silence that envelopes you.

"It looks like someone's been busy," Pierre teases, unable to contain his amusement.

Embarrassment floods through you, your cheeks burning as you struggle to find the words to explain the situation. But Charles simply chuckles, his arms wrapping around your waist in a protective gesture.

"Thanks for the chocolate, Pierre," Charles says with a wry grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Looks like they had quite the effect."

Confused, your gaze shifts between them, trying to make sense of the situation. Then, you notice him brandishing a box of chocolates with an impish grin. 

Pierre's grin widens, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. "My pleasure," he replies. "I must say, if I weren't taken, I'd be falling for either of you. You both look so good."

You can't help but giggle at his remarks, even though you're still slightly confused, as the warmth of embarrassment creeps into your cheeks.

"Oh, Pierre, you're naughty," Charles chimes in, his laughter joining yours. "But I suppose I can't argue with you there."

Pierre approaches you, the box of chocolates held out in offering. You accept it, and your eyes fall on it right away. 

"Spice up your life with our new aphrodisiac chocolate bars." You read to yourself and pout, "Really, Pierre?"

Pierre's hand lands on Charles' firm chest, a playful pat that elicits a low growl from him.

"Aren't you just the heartthrob of the paddock?" He teases, his hand stroking Charles' chest a few times, before Charles nudges him with his elbow.

"You're unbelievable, Pierre," he says, shaking his head with a shy smile. 

Still feeling the effect of the chocolate coursing through his veins, Charles can't resist the urge to indulge in a bit of self-admiration. With a smirk, he strokes his own chest, his movements mirroring Pierre's teasing gestures.

Sensing the playful energy in the room, you join in on the fun, nudging Pierre playfully as well. 

He giggles in response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he returns the gesture.

"I think I should leave you to it then." Pierre licks his lips. "You can keep the chocolate." He smirks and shrugs before leaving the motorhome.

As his laughter fades away and you are left alone once more, a comfortable silence settles between Charles and yourself.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. "You know, it felt good to hold you close like that," he admits, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability.

You nod, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his words. "Yeah, it did." You agree, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

[demonic0angel]

Violent Violet: Stephanie joins Sam and her friends in ghost related tomfoolery.

“So… what’re we doing?”

“Shh,” Tucker said, “There’s a ghost nearby.”

Stephanie frowned and then looked at Sam, who gave her an apologetic smile. She kissed her on the lips as an apology, satisfying Stephanie’s curiosity for now. She stood next to Sam and Tucker with a look around the place, which was only an ordinary neighborhood.

Why was she here again?

Oh yeah, her girlfriend had a ghost as a best friend.

Stephanie wasn't sure what to feel, other than surprise at the fact that Tim hadn't died from caffeine overdose and became a ghost too.

"Oh! He's here! He's fighting Technus!" Tucker cried out suddenly, and Danny, or well, Phantom, swooped in as he was followed by a metal robot ghost.

Sam took Stephanie's hand and then used the other to shoot at the ghost with the gun she was holding.

Stephanie stared at their enterjoined hands and resisted the urge to smile as warmth bloomed in her chest.

Both Tucker and Sam fought the ghost with their guns as distractions while Phantom fought the ghost on his own, driving it back.

Stephanie watched, just holding Sam's hand for emotional support, but as she watched them all struggle to contain the ghost and drive it back, she couldn't hold herself back from helping.

"Oh my gosh!" She said with a pretend gasp. "Is that the off button on the back?"

Phantom perked up and then zoomed around to look at the back of the robot ghost. In only a few moments, the robot was disabled and Tucker and Phantom were sucking in the ghost through a green thermos.

"Good observation earlier," Sam said with a smile towards her. "Technus usually has some sort of failsafe for his suits, so it's a good thing that you noticed it quickly."

Stephanie beamed. She had rarely gotten praised for her work, and although it was a new feeling, she still enjoyed the warm and tingly feelings.

She was sure of it now.

Bruce's orders be damned, she was so kidnapping Sam Manson back to Gotham.

[inhuman-obey-me]

🕶 with Barbatos please??👀 also yes on MC! (sorry for being specific, you can ignore it if you want but can it be directed at mc i'm not normal about Barb)

"I saw a little thing I didn't like you tried to hide." - Barbatos/MC

content warning: blood, reference to torture/gore

Barbatos has a reputation.

It is one that you remind yourself of at times, when you get lost in his sweet words and even sweeter treats. Those soft smiles, his ever-readiness to serve, his meticulous attention to detail so that things were always perfect for you – he would insist you had him wrapped around your finger, but sometimes you wonder if it truly isn’t the other way around.

After all, while you loved that side of him – one that few had the privilege to witness – you could not help but be intrigued by the part of him that reigned in the shadows. 

The part of him that delighted in the slow torture of a traitor. The part of him that could use a knife to cut up a bleeding-heart artichoke just as deftly as an actual bleeding heart. The part of him that could drive someone mad just by warping the space around him, damning them to experience eternity in a matter of seconds. 

Perhaps you were a bit too intrigued, your morbid curiosity having led you now to wander the dark halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle in search of him. He was supposed to meet you at the foyer earlier, but when the ever-punctual demon was nowhere to be found, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You wanted to see if you could catch the consistently composed butler off-guard, unprepared. 

A fool’s quest.

You pass an archway and stop in your tracks, swearing you heard a faint scream from down below. A metallic scent pervades, your stomach churning as you take a step, and then another, and yet another – slowly descending the stairs, unsure of what you’ll find at the bottom. 

It’s dimly lit, torches along the walls flickering with magic flames. Your eyes adjust, and your heart nearly skips a beat as you see Barbatos in the distance. You dive behind a wall, peering around the corner to observe. 

He seems to be talking to someone, though you can’t see who. A cell, you think, as you notice the iron bars gating certain areas. The light catches on an object in his hand, something silver, and you realize he’s cleaning it off with cloth. Your own hands fish out your D.D.D., opening the camera function to zoom in and get a clearer look.

Oh.

He’s splattered with blood, standing in a pool of it. It’s a sight to behold, and you’re unable to tear your gaze away from him. Slowly, your finger goes to the capture button, taking a photo of the scene. You duck back into the passage, checking to see how the shot turned out – and chills run down your spine as Barbatos seems to be looking straight into the lens. 

“Tsk, tsk.” Gloved fingers tightly wrap around your wrist, forcing you to turn around to meet a dark gaze that you knew all too well. “I saw a little thing I didn’t like you tried to hide.” 

“B-Barbatos!” His name leaves your lips in a squeak. You don’t know how he got to you so fast, but you do know it’s better not to question it. “I-I’m sorry, you didn’t show up earlier and I got curious and wanted to look for you so I ended up down here and then I found you but I didn’t want to disturb you and –” 

He puts a halt to your rapid explanation with a single finger against your lips, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s not like me to forget or lose track of the time. I must make this up to you immediately.” He lets go of your wrist, examining you once over before taking a step back. “But first, I need to freshen up. Shall we go upstairs?” 

With a nod, you follow him back up to the brighter hallways of the castle, though he pauses once you’re at the landing. “...And what are you going to do with that photo?”

“Oh.” You can feel the warmth rush to your cheeks. “I, uh … just kind of wanted it for myself.”

“Is that so?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, see the way his lips twist into a smirk.  “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I can let your little reconnaissance slide. Next time, however,” he leans in close, breath ghosting your ear. “Just ask.”

[remotewatch]

for this simp I have no sympathy 🏃‍♀️‍➡️💵

part two section A (just trust me) • part one here!

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 3.3k wc

summary: Jack steps out of line. What’s to be done?

cws: sugaring, inappropriate workplace dynamics, findom, submissive loser jack, spit kink, phone sex, he’s so pafetic innit, there will be part 2 section B and also part 3 I promise, Hermès is getting whacked unprovoked

AN: as always heaps of thanks to @mystardustmelodyyy (genuinely who knows when this would have been posted without your help) best editor to eva do it 🩵🩵

minors dni gtfo focus on getting taller first

By some grace of the universe, you get an urge to reach over and check your phone for the first time today and see “reminder: bs zoom 🤮” received five minutes ago. You barely have time to straight arm sweep all your shit off the side table into your purse and book it back to your cabana, leaving your poor Ghia unattended for the birds. A hand gets stuck putting on your coverup (another stroke of intuition, packing the button up instead of anything crocheted), but you manage to free it, toss your sunglasses aside, and join the call right on time.

Tragically, before you can mute yourself and shut off your camera, a crystal clear seagull squawk (enjoying your drink no doubt, asshole) cuts through the murmuring of waiting for everyone else to arrive. Even with only a few cameras on, you can feel every single one of “JS and 165 others” turn their attention straight to you. Amy, your coworker who you confided in about the card suspicions, turns fully to the left pressing her lips together to suppress her laughter. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the fabric of your cabana flapping behind you, blowing what’s left of your cover. Jack looks only mildly interested; his poker face has drastically improved in recent months. The team probably thinks he’s sending you a dreaded “stay on afterwards for a quick chat” message when he glances down for a moment before clearing his throat and picking up where he left off.

Your phone lights up with a text from Jack’s private line: ‘where the FUCK are you???’

You text back as inconspicuously as possible: “Ibiza??? we booked it together?”

You’d forgive him if he didn’t remember, considering the circumstances.

One Month Earlier

“Let me taste you?” Jack looks utterly pitiful facedown on his own office rug, creasing his suit to hell and back while he grinds against one broad palm. It’s a splendid view, but you’re too busy booking your flight to pay it any attention. The sun-warmed windows against your back perfectly mirror how his cheek is burning up against your calf, a delicious contrast to the icy office air tickling your bare legs.

“How much do you think that’s worth?” You ask flatly without so much as glancing at him. Jack looks at you blankly, desperately, gears turning behind glassy eyes. You place one heel on his forehead and shove him back when he tries to lean in for a better view of you

“Um, fifty?” You whip his phone around with Face ID already open, and he involuntarily bucks into his hand with a pathetic whine when the transfer goes through. There’s no formalities; you merely spread your legs a bit wider and twist your free hand into his hair as he plunges his tongue as deep as he can with a voice-cracking groan….

💳💳💳💳

“Are you upset with me? Can I buy something to make you feel better?” texts from his personal line continue to blow up your phone, disrupting your trip down memory lane.

He seems genuinely distressed, poor baby. You reply “Nooo, I’m not mad ☺️” with some extra heart emojis for good measure, followed by a link to the local leather atelier. By the time you get to your hotel suite that evening, there’s a gorgeous handbag in buttery nubuck waiting on your bed.

💳💳💳💳

Within a week of your hiring, multiple coworkers had pulled you aside to warn that Jack’s phone, Slack, and other channels of communication were perpetually set on Do Not Disturb, all sighing with resigned acceptance that ‘he responds eventually’. A few months into your tenure, you’d noted that he always replied promptly to your messages and chalked it up to gross exaggeration on their part. These days, he answers within seconds no matter when you text him.

This was your first trip out of town since you’d taken this job, and you were just a smidge thrilled to see his punctuality unaffected by the five hour time difference. Jack could easily pore over the charges littering his bank statement, but his generosity must be contagious, because you find yourself itching to keep him updated on the fun. A bikini pic here, an artful spread of your beachside mezze there. Each time, he responds instantly with a heart reaction accompanied by a picture of his spit-less coffee and “ :,( “.

You're not sure if it’s the heat or the way Jack’s forearms looked in his rolled up oxford, but when there’s a follow-up meeting on Zoom Tuesday afternoon, you decide to send him photos from last night’s rose water steam bath, accompanied by one of his emoticons.

“The water feels so nice here :)”

Admittedly, the way his jaw tenses with his tongue poking into his cheek made logging on entirely worth it.

💳💳💳💳

You’re beginning to think you could spend the rest of your days in your oceanfront cabana living on Rocha pears and sea breeze when Pepper, your favorite Maître D, comes in to deliver your breakfast on Thursday morning and mentions that “your husband” will be there soon.

“Who?”

“Señor Schlossberg! He said he has an urgent message for you.” Pepper winks playfully. “I’ll leave you love birds to it! Look, here he is now.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen Jack in casual clothes- rolled-down black basketball shorts, a backwards baseball hat, and a sweaty gray t-shirt with the word “Funcle” emblazoned on the front.

“Jack!” You sit up and start to reach for your cover up before realizing that’s silly to do for a man who regularly gives you pap smears with his nose. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he briefly takes off his hat to wipe the shine from his forehead; it’s unclear if it’s from the humidity or nerves. “I’m so sorry to do this, but there’s this presentation.”

“A presentation? How riveting. I’m on the edge of my seat!” You giggle, placing the raspberry garnish from your morning smoothie onto your tongue.

He smiles stiffly and manages a droll chuckle. “Unfortunately, it’s for Gary- yeah, I know” when he sees you wince. “He’s about to go postal. We need you back when I pitch.”

Motherfucker. You’ll kill him if he doesn’t get to you both first.

💳💳💳💳

Not even ten minutes after takeoff and Jack is frowning at his laptop, way too worried about a client that would have left six meltdowns ago if he ever planned on it.

You slide your feet up his legs and under the keyboard to steal some residual heat from the motor and his thighs. His face doesn’t change, but you can feel his quads tense up when you curl your toes.

“The meeting’s not until tomorrow, right?”

He doesn’t look up, too busy stabbing the backspace key. “Yeah. Why?”

“Would you drop me off at Heathrow so I can do a little window shopping?” The “s” word gets his attention. Jack pauses his frustrated pen tapping to glance up at you and raise his eyebrows.

“Window shopping? Is that right?”

“I was going to do some this afternoon, but someone interrupted and made me miss my Loewe appointment. I’ll catch the next flight back.” His thumb draws pensive circles on the space bar.

“We can both stop there. It’ll be a pain to find you a new seat this time of year.”

“You just want to watch me work, don’t you?”

“Guilty.”

💳💳💳💳

You tear across the sparkling terminal floors like a tornado, Jack scrambling after you struggling to balance your ever increasing load of shopping bags as you flit from store to store to duty free counter. The Harrods stop weighs him down considerably: “I’ve been dying for a 24 inch cast iron!” Never mind that the thing dwarfs both your stove and oven, or that you have zero space to store the rainbow of Sferra towels and linens you heap into his arms. “This red piping will be so gorgeous for the holidays!”

When you strut right past Hermès, he nods pointedly at the entrance. “Want to go in there?”

“God, no. The last time I went to the one by work, they offered me a white picotin. I’ll never get anywhere with their stupid mind games if they think I’d like something like that!”

His eyes linger on a mannequin drowning in fuzzy striped knits. “Can I at least get you a blanket? You’re always so cold on the plane.” The earnestness in his voice is enough to make you pause, and Jack’s poked out bottom lip seals the deal when you look back.

“Fine, but only if they have a real pattern and not those fugly H ones.”

“Obviously!” He just can’t help himself from snagging you a horse charm on his way out.

For the most part, he maintains a respectful distance, content to watch you stalk around the perfume counter, unblinking predator eyes roving for an elusive green apple note. At one point, you catch him leaning down to sniff your hair, and a steely glance banishes him right back to reshuffling the VAT refund paperwork.

Friday

Exactly fifteen minutes into Jack’s pitch, it’s dreadfully clear that he did not need you for this meeting, so you spend the next forty quietly seething and waiting for your lunchtime “touch base”. The tension in the boardroom grows thicker as everyone trickles out, Jack shifting uncomfortably under your watchful eye. When you collect your things and trot wordlessly back to his office, he follows close enough to literally breathe down your neck. A click of his lock and the whisper of the blinds, and you’re twisting his ear until he sinks down to his knees, already stumbling over his words.

“What the FUCK was that?!” you hiss right into your boss’s face, not caring about the spit that lands right between his eyebrows. “I looked so stupid sitting there with nothing to do like I’m your little accessory!”

Jack’s jaw snaps open and shut uselessly like a marionette before he finds his voice.”I’m so sorry; I should’ve been honest with you. It just really helps me focus when you’re here on important days. It’ll never happen again. I swear, there’s nothing more important-” you cut him off before he can really get going, releasing his ear and hauling him back to his feet by the tie.

“You son of a bitch!” You snarl, dragging him along while you pace between the bookshelves framing his desk. “I should be eating fresh pomegranate on the beach right now! I booked an aerial yoga class with a former olympian! But NO, I needed to be here for this meeting. Those were your words! Why did you lie to me?”

You’re surprised by the softness of your words, and Jack looks as if they’ve gutted him straight onto the carpet. He takes a minute to massage his temples before daring to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t want you to think I was looking for any reason to bring you back, or like I was trying to control your trip. I was losing it prepping for today and panicked, but that wasn’t right.” He chews on his lip for a moment before adding: “I also didn’t think you’d believe me, how much you calm me down. It sounds like bullshit even saying it now, but it’s true.”

“You thought I’d assume you were lying, so you lied?” Jack grimaces hearing it laid out so plainly.

“Yeah, I did.”

“And how did that work out?” He looks down at your iron grip on his tie, looped around your hand enough to force him into an awkward stoop.

“It could’ve gone better. I’m sorry about that.” You fight to keep the scowl planted on your face, but the downright obsequious sincerity pouring off him cuts straight through it. Half a step closer and he has enough leash to straighten up fully; the unobscured relief on Jack’s face is nothing short of heart melting. He leans in eagerly when you lift his chin and offer a gentle swipe over his jawline, “Be honest with me next time.”

“I will. I promise.” Finally releasing the tie, you step back to lean on his desk and give him a proper once over. His puppy eyes are going to be the death of you.

“Alright then. Sit.” Jack’s knees hit the floor before you can finish the word, unmoved by the resounding thud that echoes throughout the office.

“Should I get the rope?” He can’t stop himself from swaying in anticipation.

“Ugh, I can’t even look at you right now.” you exhale dramatically, spreading your palm over his forehead. “Let me calm myself down.”

His relieved grin shatters the tension, and, like clockwork, you start manhandling that mane of hair, guiding Jack south and letting him sneak in a few pecks along the way. You’re not made of stone.

“As you wish,” he murmurs peacefully.

💳💳💳💳

In between your ferocious shopping sprees, Jack had stayed true to his word, continuing to pay your rent month after month. Your studio apartment was still on the smaller side and may or may not have a mold problem, but at least now it was filled to bursting with late-night impulse purchases from 1stDibs. In particular, you were proud of the Alexander Girard rug that you’d converted into a wall tapestry to hide the massive crack in your back wall wainscoting.

Your nighttime routine has grown lavish as well. Lately, the end of the day meant changing into a plush terry cloth robe, making a pot of specialty oolong tea, and lighting a Cire Trudon candle. The time change is still kicking your ass, so you also throw on a face mask and eye patches, plus your favorite microfiber headband with tiger ears, for the whimsy. As you massage your favorite rosehip oil over your collarbone, your mind can’t help but drift to Jack and how nice his tongue felt there earlier. Sure, you weren’t thrilled to have your time in Ibiza cut short, but it was so touching how genuine he’d been in his office. You two weren’t the types to play mind games, but it’s not like you spilled your guts out to each other either. Once your session ended, you even stayed behind to discuss how his presentation went. He’d listened raptly, jotting down occasional illegible notes before asking what kind of food you’d like delivered for dinner since there were zero groceries left in your apartment.

God help you- you decide to call him once you flop onto your new tufted Kluft mattress.

“Hi-” he answers instantly “I’m so glad you called, I was actually thinking about calling you because, again, I am SO sorry, I was so out of line this week. Who was the olympian you booked? I can get them over here for that aerial yoga class, we could do a whole workshop-”

“Jack, stop,” you cut him off before he can go on another one of his famous tangents. “I accepted your apology, and I know you’re sorry. That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh. What is it?” His tone shifts from frantic to concerned “Is something wrong? Do you need anything?”

“No. I just wanted to let you know that I will be finishing my trip in Italy.”

“Oh! You should go. I’ll be ok for a few days.”

He sounds utterly unconvincing, but his wanting you to enjoy yourself is genuine; god, it’s always so genuine.

“Do you want to come with me?” you squeeze your eyes shut, not sure what you just brought upon yourself or if that was even an option within your arrangement. The breathless ‘Seriously?’ you get back after a beat and a half feels rocket-powered, like a triple shot of adrenaline.

“Yeah. I still have all the tours and accommodations booked for later this week so we can go to those. But if you’re in, we are NOT leaving early. I’m serious, Jack, I don’t care if Gary blows his brains out in the conference room, I’m going on that yacht!”

“Gotcha,” he laughs. You can so easily picture him kicking his feet in the air. “So, what else did you plan?”

“I just had to spend a few nights at Borgo Santo Pietro.”

“Oh that’s a lovely choice,” his voice slips into a low purr that hasn’t graced your ears before; you must’ve woken him up from the sound of it.

“Yeah, I was thinking massage in the gardens, wine tasting all afternoon, room service dinner because I’d probably be jet lagged.”

“Mhm,” there’s a tinge of breathiness to Jack’s voice, and you can just barely hear fabric rustling in the background. “What else?”

“Then an unstructured day for shopping. Super chill so I have time to browse without being yanked back across the pond-”punctuated with a giggle so he doesn’t start groveling again. He’s too busy panting into the mic to bother.

“And then I’ll charter their boat on the Lake. I’m renting it for the whole day so I can really take my time, see the sights and dive in the grottos in one of my new L’Agence bikinis-you remember those, right?. I’ll probably have to bring all of them on the yacht, just in case. And my footwear- I’ll need the Ferragamo flats, those sheep’s wool slippers from Daylesford market, maybe something sparkly for the evening?

“Will you need a new dress?” He gasps. You can hear the snap of elastic on his boxers, eliciting some goosebumps on your skin.

“No, I think it would be fun to wear a heel with a bikini… but I could add on some Pavè drop earrings and a diamond lariat. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’ll look like I’m dripping in jewels.”

He lets out a long groan that makes you throw your head back with satisfaction; he was putty in your hands.

“I booked a private painting lesson because the suite has a lovely pied-á-terre. Then there’s this service where you can get a bath set up by the head of spa staff- they’ll incorporate all the oils and extracts you could possibly want. It also comes with the option to get a massage afterwards, although I guess you could do that if you’d like.”

Your voice is starting to fray into arousal around the edges, but you’re enjoying yourself way too much to keep a lid on it, and the pitiful whimpering noises from Jack are just music to your ears. You absentmindedly stretch your legs over your percale duvet and continue:

“Some prosecco would feel just heavenly to pour down my throat after such a full itinerary. I should order a whole case for the suite. Two cases! Should we get enough to fill the bathtub? So can you shower me with it?”

There’s no response, just the obscene slapping of skin mixed in with Jack’s strained noises. Your lips curl into a mischievous smile as your heart rate speeds up right along with him.

“You’re being so rude, you know? I invited you along out of the kindness of my heart and you’re too busy fucking your hand to plan our time together.”

“Sorry-yes, yes, two cases! Oh my god-”

He veers off into a fit of ragged grunts, louder and louder then silent. There’s nothing on the line but desperate, deep breathing until he crescendos with a stifled whine of a moan. As you sink back into your silk sheets, your hand glides over your stomach and between your thighs, thinking about the outline of his chest in that goddamn funcle t-shirt.

“Have you unpacked yet?” He chokes, snapping you out of your haze.

“Well no… I haven’t had time.”

“We should go now.”

“Really?”

“God, yes. Just give me fifteen, and I’ll send a car for you.”

[filmbyjy]

MINESTREAM

SYPNOSIS > Wanting to start a new stream series with his best friends, Jay had a bright idea of playing some simple Minecraft with them. Everything was normal, until he realises there is another person in the call with them. He quickly learns that it was ni-ki’s older sister, (name). Watch how streaming a simple game of Minecraft can dig up some interesting feelings between the main leads.

EIGHT – asscrack

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

a/n: the inspiration behind jake’s little world naming…that was the first word that popped into my head. don’t ask why. I’d like to know too.

finally after so long with multiple technical issues on jay’s end, the minecraft series could officially start. he could hear jake and ni-ki just chatting about the free online soccer game they found on steam. his eyes gazed the mute button right beside your username. the other boys had turned on their cameras in discord while you and angel(Yvette) didn’t.

he hasn’t once heard your voice. well, he could barely hear your voice since he shut ni-ki’s stream off earlier due to the boys attempting to catch something. he only heard your giggle once and that was it. nonetheless, in that short moment he thought you sounded adorable. his heart drumming in his chest, wondering how your voice would sound like.

he shook his head and clicked on the stream button. as per usual, he puts on a waiting screen to tell the viewers that ‘hey, we’re going to play soon. please wait.’

he unmutes in the discord, “hey, everything has been set up. I just wanna ask what should the server name be?”

“asscrack.” jake suggests as he looks up from his computer and directly into the camera.

“what?” heeseung speaks up as he was caught off guard by the weird name.

“I don’t know, don’t ask me. I’m shit at giving names to things.” jake shrugs. the other boys deadpanned at him.

“let’s name it…sunoo and the boys.” sunoo suggests.

“as if. just put the default ‘My World’ that’s the easiest. not a single hassle to the world.” jungwon adds.

“Alphas.” sunghoon voices out.

“uhh, have you forgotten there are two girls here?” ni-ki says.

“well, who cares about that. Women can be dominant too.” sunghoon shrugs.

jay sighs, “I’m just going to call it MineStream.”

“lame ass name.” jake says. jay turns on his camera on discord and zooms in the camera to his face. he gave jake a death stare and so jake awkwardly laughs it off.

“okay, you scare me. I’m sorry.” jake pouts.

as for you, the moment jay opened his facecam. your eyes widened, a tiny gasp left your throat. since no one could see/hear your reaction due to you being muted and your camera was turned off, you were basically in shock. that man is most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

the way his eyebrow raises as the rectangle glasses suited his face. he was just in a simple black shirt and his jet black hair was parted prettily. good lord. you were going to play with him? you were going to play with all these pretty boys?? oh lord.

“okay, the world is loading so wanna do the intro when we all load into the world?” jay asks.

“yeah, we should. we have new guests here and we have to introduce the fans too!” sunghoon says.

“alright, I’ve already loaded in. I sent the world invite into the discord. by the way, there are mods that I added to make the game more interesting.” jay says.

“the only interesting thing we should try to do is do hardcore mode or like a ‘if one person dies, everyone dies’ kinda thing.” sunoo suggests.

“we could do that for another time.”

you had clicked on the link and waited to load into the world. since ni-ki helped to create your account, you could easily go in and of course he was your first friend in the game. you had finally clicked turned on the camera in discord and so everyone could see you. you weren’t exactly streaming but you were recording for a video since ni-ki suggested that putting up videos onto YouTube also generates money. once everything was settled, jungwon claps his hand and starts off with the intro.

“hello everyone, today we are-” ni-ki’s character punches jungwon’s as he was talking. “ni-ki!”

“whoops misclick.” ni-ki says. jungwon rolls his eyes.

“today we are playing minecraft! woo!!”

“the premise of how this started. jay hyung wanted to do a series together that was nostalgic and so we decided to go with minecraft because who doesn’t love minecraft!” sunoo says.

“besides our normal friend group, we have two other people on here! let’s welcome angel and (name)!”

“hello hello.” angel says. her little vtuber character moves and tracks her movement.

“woah, cool character, angel. it’s really pretty.” sunoo says.

“oh, thank you.” angel smiles. everyone’s attention was now on you.

“oh umm, hi. I’m (name). I’m ni-ki’s older sister.” you waved towards the camera. everyone was mesmerised (excluding heeseung and ni-ki), you were beautiful.

“good god.” jake says.

“you have a very sexy voice. would love to hear that all night-” sunghoon gets cut off.

“sunghoon hyung, i will find a way to ban you from this server.” ni-ki warns him.

you giggled and jay’s heart melts. god, he’s a simp but he can’t show that…his facecam was turned on. jay turns to read a couple of his comments. most of them were simping for you. kinda made him jealous, not going to lie. plus, it didn’t help that jay had this overlay thing where whoever talked, it would display the person’s facecam (if turned on) from discord to his livestream.

— “she’s so pretty.”

— “wow, she’s so…no wonder she’s ni-ki’s older sister. the family genes are so strong.”

“let’s just start playing. gather resources everyone.” jay says.

and so everyone does. each of them collected wood, from the trees. you sat there looking clueless and so jay comes up to you in game.

“something wrong?” he asks.

“oh, sorry. this is my first time playing minecraft so I have zero clue how to do things.”

“want me to guide you?”

“sure.”

jay happily guides you on how to play the game, from punching wood to making crafting benches and finally making tools. jay turns to read the comments for a bit,

— “woah, what is this visual couple going on?”

— “yoooo, they would look cute together! like wow.”

jay was satisfied by the comments. he can’t help but look at your facecam, your concentrated face as you mined for stone and attempted to make stone weapons.

“hyung!” jungwon whacks jay’s character. it causes him to turn around.

“did you have to hit me.” jay deadpans.

“whoops, anyways. ni-ki and sunoo found a cave. I don’t remember minecraft caves being fucking huge.”

“there was a huge update I believe 1-2 years ago so yes, huge cave.”

“they also found a mob spawner with saddles in the chest and jake hyung stole them to try and get horses.”

jay sighs, “can’t say I’m not surprised.”

“are you and (name) noona flirting?” jungwon suddenly asks. it causes you and jay and to look at each other in game before turning to jungwon.

“no? he’s just teaching me how to play minecraft.”

“yeah, she doesn’t know much about the game so what better way then to teach her?”

“don’t believe it one bit. next thing you know, we will have a couple in a minecraft server who share a house together, sleep together and have cats and dogs together.”

— “oooo, jungwon is onto something.”

“the comments are agreeing with me.” jungwon smirks.

“shut the fuck up, my friend.” jay shoos jungwon away. the younger boy runs off to find sunghoon, who wants currently getting chased by a creeper.

jay sticks by you throughout the whole thing, he gives you tips and even hands you some stuff.

“we are making a community.” heeseung says.

“and why?”

“because with 9 people on this server, all the resources are going to be sucked up. also I am not sharing a house with any of you. especially, (name). she’ll make the house with pink wood.”

“there’s pink wood?” you say.

“there is, you just need to find a cherry blossom biome.” jay explains.

“why are you helping her?” heeseung asks.

“because she doesn’t know how to play and I’m just being a gentleman since you guys aren’t helping her, clearly.”

jake bursts out laughing, “I’m sorry but this is the first time I see you being so gentlemanly to a woman.”

“do you want me to set myself into creative so I can blow up your shit dirt house.” jay threatens.

“go ahead, I feel like renovating it anyways. just let me move my stuff first-”

sunoo quietly hands jay some tnt and a flint and steel. before jake could even grabbing his things from the chest. jay covers his base with the tnt and ignites it. it hisses.

“(name), I suggest you run if you don’t wanna blow up.” jay warns.

“oh.” you quickly dashed out of the way and the explosion was massive. it causes sunghoon to yell.

“I had a pet dog in there…” jake says.

“too bad, mess with me again and I’ll burn your next house.” jay says.

jake definitely learnt his lesson of not teasing jay during this session.

-

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[exhaustedpirate]

cinnamon-flavoured kisses

my offering for the 'crash that jeep' fam with a dash of missing scene from 7x03! take a shot everytime i make a coffee metaphor and keep 911 on speed dial (i take no responsibility) also, tommy kinard's coffee order is my coffee order and i will hear no complaints *smooch*

rated T | 6626 words also on AO3

It’s been almost two months but Buck still forgets to set up the coffee machine to brew in the morning.

Firefighter Buckley!

Every night, he goes to bed and every morning, he wakes up without coffee hot and waiting for him. 

It’s nothing major, really, just an extra fifteen minutes he could save.

Buckley!

Tommy used to set it up for him. 

And every night, they went to bed together and every morning, they would wake up to the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee. 

Buck, come on!

Tommy chose the machine. 

One morning, they woke up to an overpowering smell of coffee in the house. To a kitchen flooded with coffee. 

Please!

Tommy helped him clean up. They grabbed coffee on the way to the appliance’s store as Buck rambled on about this or that machine until he let Tommy choose one.

So it really isn’t his fault that he forgets to set up the coffee machine. It’s on Tommy. He chose it.

Yeah.

“Evan, Evan!”

It’s Tommy’s fault.

“Please, come back to me!”

---

15 Minutes Earlier

His coffee sucked.

He had set it to brew while he took a shower that morning. It was probably the wrong temperature, he must have clicked the wrong button. 

He must have been wrong.

Nope, not the time for that, Buck. That’s what the shower was for - it’s not crying if you’re in the shower. And that was a bad habit on its own, his morning routine was suffering.

But it was coffee and really, he needed all the energy he could get. It wasn’t as if he had been sleeping well for the past couple months. 

He takes another sip at the red light. It really doesn’t help that the coffee sucks.

He’s been adamant at making it work, though, he isn’t about to give up now. There is a metaphor that he is not going to acknowledge. He isn’t.

The sound of sirens approaches the intersection, distracting him. An engine zooms by first, so fast he can barely see the numbers on it. The RA engine drives by just as fast. The vans in front of him are too tall. 

Buck sighs, taking another sip of the coffee. It still sucks. He doesn’t know why he expected it to be any different, he should have learned his lesson. He downs the rest of the coffee.

The light turns green and he follows the vans towards the right. He’s probably gonna get to the station just in time. Bobby will probably have coffee and breakfast for him ready, he’s complained enough about his coffee machine that his Captain has taken pity on him.

The sounds of sirens get louder and louder as he drives. In the approaching distance, he sees the orange glow of the fire. Almost unconsciously, he turns on the radio he still has on his truck, fiddling with the frequency to catch the walkies’ channel.

“-igin is on the first floor, Captain! The second floor has been evacuated.”

“Secure the first floor with Gimenez, Melton!” The Captain’s voice is familiar. The vans in front of him pick up speed on the stretch of road in front of them. “Jones, Nolan, check the basement. Donato, Kinard, feed the hoses.”

The coffee taste in his mouth turns bitter. It feels like a cruel sign from the universe. His coffee sucked and his ex-boyfriend is working a fire a few meters away from him. Bobby better have pancakes, he needs it. 

The traffic slows down. He starts to see the flames.

“Cap, there’s a methane leak in the basement.”

“Evacuate the building! Kinard, help cover the perimeter.”

Buck can see Tommy’s large figure jog across the street, to a familiar figure in blue. He swallows around the lump in his throat. He begs to anyone who’ll hear that he won’t have to drive past him, that he won’t have to pretend to be unaffected by his presence, that he won’t have to see the look of indifference in Tommy’s face. Please.

“Cap,” The panicked and breathless voice of one of the firefighters comes through the radio and Buck holds his breath as the van in front of him slows down almost to a stop. “The gas main line is damaged, it’s-”

There’s an explosion right behind him, the car behind him tipping to the side. It’s followed by an explosion from the building. His world shakes. Before he can move out of the car, straighten himself or even take another breath, an explosion sets off right under the van in front of him.

The large van tips over his jeep just as the ground rumbles. 

“The ground is unstable!” Tommy. His voice is full of static and he almost wants to smile. “We need to evacuate!”

He can’t believe that he has been having terrible coffee for two months.

He hears the cracks on the pavement over the shouts of the firefighters of the 217. No matter where he goes, he knows what’s going to happen. 

He should have fixed his coffee machine months ago instead of waiting for it to magically fix itself. He could have used those extra 15 minutes today.

The ground clatters right under him, he feels that weightless feeling for only a few seconds. His jeep reaches the ground first before everything else joins him. He hears the groaning metal of the van before it tips over him and the world goes dark.

---

The sun has set by the time Buck is following Chimney through Harbor Station’s mostly empty hangar.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Eddie asks as he walks alongside Buck. “Shouldn’t we talk to Hen first?”

“This is the only way,” Chimney says for the millionth time in the past hour. “Besides, I know she’s coming here.”

“You still haven’t told us why, Chim.” Buck points out.

“Howie?”

A large figure in blue walks towards them when he spots them. Chimney beams before winking at Buck and Eddie.

“He is why,” He says before he brings the man in for a back-slapping hug. “Good to see you, man!”

The “why” is a tall, broad man in a dark blue flight suit. He has a wide smile that makes wrinkles appear on the side of his face. The “why” has a cleft. His stomach feels weird.

Maybe he does have food poisoning. 

He didn’t actually have the sushi.

“Let me guess,” The man looks amusedly at Chim as he crosses his very large arms over his very broad chest. Hmm. “You need a favour?”

“You make it sound as if I only come to you for favours,” His brother-in-law holds up his hands with an innocent expression on his face. The man raises an eyebrow looking pointedly at Chim. “Fine, fine, I do need a favour.”

The man rolls his eyes good-naturedly, letting his posture relax, hands on his hips. “You’re lucky I owe you, Howie.” 

Eddie lets out a pointed cough and Buck could kiss his best friend for how it brings the man’s attention to them. He has blue eyes. They are…really blue.

He needs to remember that he didn’t have the sushi.

“Ah, before we get down to business,” Chim turns so he’s between them. “Guys, this is Tommy Kinard, he used to work at the 118 seven years ago.”

“Eddie Diaz,” The brunette man holds out his hand for Tommy to shake, a friendly smile on their faces. “You used to be at the 118?”

“I did, but that was before I decided flying helicopters was a much better fit.”

“That is so cool,” Buck’s voice comes out breathy and awed without his permission and it brings Tommy’s eyes back to his. That damn sushi. Wait. Buck clears his throat and holds out his hand. “Evan Buckley.”

“Nice to meet you, Evan.” 

His hand is warm and calloused. His smile is so damn soft. And his eyes are really blue.

Maybe someone snuck the bad sushi into his stomach on the way here?

“About that favour,” Chim interrupts and Buck almost growls at the loss of Tommy’s hand on his. Damnit. “We really need your help.”

Tommy stands with his arms crossed over his chest, a carefully attentive expression on his face, as Chimney explains what happened and subtly pleads for the pilot’s help. Buck feels Eddie’s eyes on the side of his face and turns to him - reluctantly because who doesn’t want to see those arms stretched over the flight suit? - with a confused frown.

“What?” Buck asks quietly.

“You didn’t-,” Eddie interrupts himself and presses his lips together. Buck feels like he’s been put under a microscope the way his best friend is looking at him. “You good, Buck?”

And his nickname felt like an accusation, like Eddie was poking at something but Buck didn’t get it. His confused frown wrinkled his whole face.

“Wha-”

“Alright, boys,” Tommy’s voice cuts him off with a clap of his large hands. They all turn to him. “Who’s ready to commit a crime?” His grin was wide despite the worry hidden in his face.

Chimney was just delighted as he put up his hand. “I am, I am.”

Eddie laughs as he nods. Buck follows them through the hangar even as he frowns.

“Wait, what are we doing?”

Tommy opens his mouth but Chimney is the one to answer his question. “Tommy here is gonna help us find Cap and Athena.”

Buck’s frown turns into wide eyes as he looks between Chim, Tommy and the sleek helicopter that almost magically appears in front of them - maybe Buck was distracted, maybe it was magic. “You’re flying us?”

Tommy just winks at him, and really there must be a rave going on in his stomach, before opening the door to the helicopter. “Wanna hop in first, Evan?”

And really Buck is too busy grinning widely at Tommy’s offer and making sure he doesn’t fall on his face while getting into the helicopter, to notice Eddie’s suspicious gaze on his back and his muttering of ‘Evan’. But really, there are better things to focus on, like Tommy’s fond look and his deep laugh. Much better things.

And then there was really nothing else to focus on besides not dying on a helicopter in the middle of a hurricane and saving Cap and Athena. But he did get to see Tommy’s smile again, the one that made his face scrunch up in the most adorable way.

And then he was going for his best friend’s ankles like the jealous man he was.

And getting kissed in his kitchen.

Seeing Tommy smile, feeling Tommy’s touches, the way he holds him. 

He did end up figuring out his coffee order. It took him five tries.

The new machine made great coffee. Before it broke.

---

Tommy had had crappy coffee before.

Especially at the fire station. Harbor was great but the coffee machine sucked - he’s been a big advocate for getting a new machine. But the budget doesn’t care about his caffeine intake.

Evan learned his coffee order. It took him five tries. 

He kinda wished it had taken him longer. He loved to see the expectant look on his face, the way he would frown when Tommy would shake his head, the way his eyes would sparkle with determination as he made some sort of mental note. 

He kinda wished he could relive the day he got it right. The way Evan’s eyes widened and his lips stretched into a happy smile, ecstatic, giddy, and the way they high-fived and laughed together. The way Evan moaned and sighed into their kiss as he surely tasted the sweet coffee on Tommy’s mouth. “Great choice, babe”, he had said as he licked his lips.

Now, every coffee sucked. For the past two months, he’s been having coffee at the station, not wanting to risk running into Ev-Buck at their coffee shop. 

They had a coffee shop. The barista knew their names and their orders.

He couldn’t go back there alone.

So, fire station coffee would have to do.

Maybe if he continued to punish himself with crappy coffee, he would feel better.

As he followed his Captain’s orders, he still felt the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue. It did its job, it kept him awake, he hadn’t been sleeping well. 

“Cap,” Nolan’s voice comes through the radio and Tommy welcomes how it brings his thoughts back to the scene. “There’s a methane leak in the basement.”

“Evacuate the building, now!” His Captain turns to him, a finger pointed towards the police officers already on scene. “Kinard, help cover the perimeter.”

With a nod, Tommy jogs towards the closest police cruiser and almost falters at the familiar figure that turns towards him. Athena Grant raises an eyebrow at him, the only crack in her otherwise professional mask. His heart pounds in his chest.

“Firefighter Kinard.”

His heart is ready to jump out of his throat. “Sergeant Grant,” He nods. “There’s a methane leak in the building, we need to start evacuating people.”

She nods and half-turns towards another officer. “Start working on traffic-”

“Cap,” Tommy falters at the panic in Jones’ voice. “The gas main line is damaged, it’s-”

An explosion startles both him and Athena as they watch a car tip over from the off-center explosion. The fallen vehicle is the third in the line, a van at the front and a Jeep between the two cars. There’s something familiar about the Jeep, maybe the color or the model. Another explosion sets off under the van and it causes it to rear up and fall over the Jeep.

The ground rumbles and Tommy jumps into action. 

“The ground is unstable!” He yells at the radio as he rushes to the fallen vehicles, his heart pounding as if it knows something Tommy doesn’t. “We need to evacuate!” 

He hears the cracks and watches as the pavement under the Jeep opens making the car fall down. A hand pulls him away as the cracks reach close to his feet. The van falls over the Jeep and his heart stops. 

Why? He doesn’t know. There’s a desperation in his body, a numbness spreading all over and he wants to claw out of his body.

“The 118 and 133 are already on their way,” His Captain calls out through the radio. “Sound out.”

Tommy stands paralysed, looking at the cars filling up the hole on the ground, as his colleagues call out through the radio. Most of them are okay, a couple of them got injured but everyone is walking.

“Kinard?” He hears the crackle of his radio like he’s underwater. 

“Firefighter Kinard?” Athena calls, pulls on his wrist, tries to catch his eye. “Tommy?”

Tommy frowns, clears his throat, shakes his head. He reaches for his radio. “Kinard here, two vehicles fell into the hole caused by the gas explosion. We need extraction teams.”

“Donato, Melton, get ready with the winch.”

“Tommy?” Athena calls him again.

The sirens have him turning towards the other side of the street, the engines approaching them quickly. The 118 is on scene and his stomach feels weird. He watches as Captain Nash orders everyone around, expecting to see a head of curls rush to comply with orders. 

But he’s not there.

Bobby makes his way to where he and Athena are standing. She is still holding his wrist. His old Captain has a frown on his face that is more than just regular work focus.

Something is wrong. His gut pulls at him.

“Is everything okay, Bobby?” Athena asks and finally lets go of him, his body aches.

Bobby looks at Tommy and he expects anger, disappointment or something equally as painful. But he just nods, maybe more tensely than normal, before he turns to Athena, apprehensively. His eyes keep glancing at Tommy and that desperation starts clawing at his throat again.

“Buck didn’t make it to the station-”

Tommy doesn’t wait to hear the rest before he rushes out towards the scene. He vaguely hears the others call out for caution. The van covers the top of the jeep, the angle causing it to hide the driver from where Tommy stands but he sees the van driver move. 

Time moves slowly as he carefully walks around the hole until he can see the back of the Jeep. He chokes out a laugh as tears blurry his vision at the sight of the bumper sticker he gave him a month before the breakup. “I am a great ally,” Evan had beamed as he immediately stuck the pink, purple and royal blue sticker on his car. “And I have a great boyfriend to prove it.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, pushing down the memory of that smiling kiss so he can focus. Evan needs him to focus. He grabs the radio as he looks back at a confused Bobby and Athena still where he left them. Tommy sees how Bobby realises what he’ll say before he does.

“The van driver is conscious and moving, Firefighter Buckley is stuck in his Jeep below, no visual on him.”

Everyone starts moving. The van driver is being carefully extracted by Hen and Howie while Eddie hooks the winch onto the van to remove it first. Images of what they’ll find when it’s removed flood his mind, that clawing ripping through his throat, a fist clenching his heart, a stomp on his stomach, his feet unstable.

“Eddie,” Bobby calls through the radio as he stands beside Tommy. “Once you’re done with the van, get strapped in, you’re going down to the Jeep.”

“Bobby-”

Eddie interrupts Tommy’s protest. “Will do, Cap.” 

“You’re staying here,” Bobby’s tone brokers no argument as he looks at Tommy. “You’re too close to this.”

“The driver is out,” Howie’s voice comes through the radio. “You can pull the van.”

The sound of the winch echoes all around him as he watches the battered Jeep being revealed from under it. The metal roof has caved in on itself and a hand sticks out from the open window. 

It’s his hand. Drops of blood fall from his fingertips. 

He remembers the day when Tommy cooked his famous lasagna, the only thing he could cook really, and Evan insisted on doing the dishes. He remembers making Evan laugh, the sound filling his chest with that bubbly feeling he had gotten so used to. He remembers the feel of Evan’s body shaking with laughter under his tickling fingers. He remembers the soapy water falling from his fingertips to the floor as Tommy got Evan’s arms around his neck and kissed him against the counter. 

It was a good memory. He wished they were back there. He wishes that the blood would be replaced by soapy water and the sounds of sirens and yelled out orders would be replaced by laughter.

“Get strapped in, Eddie.” Bobby says through the radio. It echoes. Tommy frowns.

Tommy’s hand wraps tightly on his radio. “Firefighter Buckley!”

The sound echoes all around the scene and he hears his voice from inside the Jeep. Evan’s fingers twitch, barely a move, but it’s there.

“He’s alive, Bobby,” Tommy turns towards his former Captain, uncaring for the desperation in his voice. “Did you see that?”

Bobby is frowning, a concerned look on his face as he meets Tommy’s eyes. “Eddie is almost ready,” He must see the way Tommy gets more restless. “Tommy.” He warns.

Tommy clenches and unclenches his toes, wanting to follow orders, he was made to follow orders. “Buckley!” He calls through the radio again, the fingers twitch again.

He hears Eddie curse, hears the harness fall to the ground from fumbling fingers. It’s taking too long.

“Buck,” The name tastes bitter on his tongue, he misses the sweet taste of Evan, of his perfected coffee, of him. “Come on!”

Eddie curses again. Tommy stops moving his toes, his body tenses. Bobby turns towards his clumsy firefighter - sure that it’s nerves and worry that has him failing a task he had to have done a million and one times before. It’s taking too long.

Tommy’s boots thud on the unsteady ground below before calls of his name can start from above. He stumbles from the sudden movement, balancing himself with a hand on the car. 

He begs to whoever hears that the last time he saw Evan wasn’t the last time, that he will see him smile again, that he will hear his voice again, even if it isn’t for him. Even if it isn’t Tommy making him smile, talking to him, he just wants Evan to be okay.

Tommy falters before he takes hold of Evan’s hand, his fingers trembling before he wraps it tightly on his. “Please!” He resists the temptation to kiss the hand in his, sucks in a deep breath instead before he turns towards the inside of the truck.

The breath he was taking gets stuck on his throat. Half of Evan’s face is covered in blood from a gash at his hairline. A vision straight from one of his nightmares. His other arm is bent at a strange angle and there are cuts all over his exposed flesh, a large one running down his bicep. 

“Tommy?” Bobby’s voice crackles on his radio and the one in Evan’s car, the terrified tone in his voice clear and duplicated.

Tommy’s hand trembles when he reaches for Evan’s neck, fingers pressing on his pulse point. A relieved breath almost causes his knees to buckle.

“He’s got a pulse,” He swears he feels the collective relief of the 118. “Uh, several cuts and bruises, head injury and uh, probably dislocated shoulder.”

“I’ll prepare the extraction team, see if you can get him to wake up.”

“Evan,” Tommy lets the desperation take over, reaches inside the car to unbuckle the seatbelt before he cups Evan’s cheek. “Evan!” 

His skin feels sweaty from the heat of the explosions, feels hot. He never thought he would be able to touch Evan again, much less like this. His thumb rubs over his bottom lip, hoping it would cause his mouth to open like it had before, like it always did. It doesn’t now.

Tommy feels a tear running down his cheek. All this time drinking crappy coffee when he could have been having coffee in Evan’s kitchen. In Tommy’s kitchen when they would’ve found a space on his counter for the fancy coffee machine. He could be having cinnamon-flavoured kisses against their kitchen counter if he hadn’t let his fears speak louder than his desires.

“Please,” His voice comes out as barely a whisper and he hears the mechanism for the winch above them. “Come back to me.” 

Eddie’s hand on his shoulder carefully pulls him away from the car, his eyes understanding, frightened, pleading, making Tommy take several steps back. Evan’s fingers on his twitch and just as he can no longer hold his hand, Evan’s eyes flutter open. 

Tommy’s knees buckle and he grabs hold of the car as Eddie forces the door open with the jaws. The sound drowns out Evan’s pained groans, each of them breaking Tommy’s heart bit by bit. The two of them get Evan situated on the board and Tommy has to look away. He feels a different hand on his shoulder. Howie. 

Wordlessly, his old friend helps to pull him out of the hole his ex-boyfriend almost died in. A shout of pain rings loudly in his ears when Hen feels for Evan’s shoulder. 

Evan passes out from the pain, Hen and Howie rushing to the ambulance after that. He feels unmoored, the car doors snapping the ropes holding him to shore. Tommy feels Bobby’s strong hand on his shoulder and he allows him to guide him back to shore.

“Let’s go, kid.”

Everything else after that is a haze of sirens, of a blurry LA through the engine windows. He feels Bobby’s stare from where he’s sitting on the back of the truck, next to a silent Eddie. He shouldn’t be there, he’s not part of the 118 anymore. 

He doesn’t move.

He crosses the glass doors side by side with Bobby and Eddie, following Evan’s stretcher. 

This time there isn’t an enthusiastic kiss greeting him on the other side. This time there isn’t a strong hand on his leading him to an impromptu wedding.

This time there’s hard waiting room chairs, there’s blood on his hands, there’s silence. 

He sits with the rest of the 118. 

He waits to hear if he’ll be having crappy fire station coffee for the rest of his life. Tommy would happily drink all crappy fire station coffee so long as Evan makes it through this. So long as Evan is able to make the cinnamon-flavoured coffee Tommy loves, even if it’s for someone else.

---

He has a concussion, a dislocated shoulder and fractured rib but Evan is awake.

Tommy keeps his eyes on the doctor informing Bobby and the rest of the team. Lets out a breath of relief along with the others, before he lets doubt, unease settle in.

He feels Bobby glance at him with thinned lips, almost pleading but Tommy doesn’t catch his eye. He has no rights, not the way Bobby does.

Eddie follows Bobby and the doctor to Evan’s room.

Tommy doesn’t move, he hasn’t moved since they got there. He can’t.

Hen and Howie glance at him, barely audible whispers between them, he can feel it. 

His hands still have Evan’s blood on them. It’s dried by now, it’s become part of his skin. He wants to keep it there, he wants to never see it again. He stands up abruptly, the whispers quiet and he feels their eyes on him as he walks away. 

Tommy should leave, should go back home, back to the station - he hadn’t talked to his Captain. He shouldn’t be there. Evan had his family with him. Tommy wasn’t family, he was an ex, he was nothing. And yet, standing in front of the automatic glass doors, he couldn’t take that step. 

His eyes struggle to adjust to the harsh lighting of the hospital bathroom as he makes his way to the sink. He doesn’t look up as he turns the tap, sure that his hair is a mess, he feels sweaty and he has seen them enough times to know there are bruises under his eyes from his sleepless nights. He takes a deep breath and places his hands under the warm water.

The water runs red as Tommy cleans all of Evan’s blood from his hands, a slow movement, hypnotising really. All it does is remind him of Evan’s face hidden by a stream of blood, his fingers barely moving dripping blood, the sounds of his pain. 

He’s alive, he reminds himself. In a room, a few feet from where he stands, Evan is awake and around family. And yet, all Tommy can see is blood. Evan was so restless, to see him so still, to see him so quiet, cries of pain where he usually heard laughter.

Evan is alive and yet Tommy tastes the bitter taste in his tongue, tastes the heartbreak he caused, tastes the pain he deserves, not Evan, never Evan.

His hands clench around the sides of the sink and that’s when Tommy feels how unstable his legs are, when he feels the tears falling onto the sink, when he hears the sobs shaking his body.

The sound of rushing water stops and someone removes his hands from their tight grip on the sink before they pull him towards a warm embrace. There’s a hand behind his head and another at his back. Tommy knows the embrace, it isn’t familiar, they’ve never hugged like this before - it doesn’t stop him from unleashing his fear against the man’s neck -, but he knows it.

Bobby doesn’t try to quiet him, simply keeps a tight hold on him, one hand running up and down Tommy’s spine, the other massaging the back of his neck.

“He’s been at the hospital so many times,” Bobby says when Tommy’s sobs quiet down, when his breathing is finally under control. “That I forget you haven’t been through this before.”

“I don’t think I want to again,” Tommy’s voice is rough and he clears his throat as he slowly disengages from the hug. “Seeing him like that, I-I thought he was dead, I-”

“Yeah,” Bobby nods and in his eyes, Tommy sees understanding, sees a person who saw exactly what Tommy did. Who’s probably had to see it a few times before. “But he’s a fighter.”

Tommy nods, wiping his tears. He knew Evan was a fighter, he reminded himself of that as he waited for news in the waiting room. It didn’t stop him from imagining the worst case scenario.

“I thought you left,” Bobby says after a moment, head tilting to catch Tommy’s gaze but he refuses, looking towards the bathroom corner instead. “Hen and Chim said you got up and left.”

“I almost did.”

Bobby nods as if he knows, as if he really knows. “It would’ve been easier if you had.”

“He doesn’t need me here, he doesn’t want me here,” Tommy says and hates how small his voice sounds, hates that he deserves to feel this way, hates that it’s true. “He has all of you and I’m n-”

“He asked about you,” Bobby interrupts him and Tommy inhales sharply. “He said he heard you calling for him, asked where you were.”

Tommy tries to find the lie in Bobby’s eyes. He doesn’t, never thought the man would lie about something like this. Tommy shakes his head, his heart pounding in his chest, refusing the truth, desperately holding onto the lie. “No, no, h-he-”

Bobby’s hand finds the side of his face, forcing Tommy to look at him. He sees the fear reflected in the older man’s face, knows that seeing Evan like that was just as hard for him as it was for Tommy. 

“He’s been asking for you, Tommy,” Bobby repeats, forcing him to believe the words. “You have a decision to make now. You can either go through those glass doors and I’ll tell Buck that he imagined hearing you,” The tone and frown on his former Captain’s face tells him exactly what he thinks about that plan. “Or you go into that room and you explain yourself, you make it right because Buck hasn’t been himself since you two broke up.”

“Neither have I.” Tommy confesses, a barely there whisper. 

“So,” Bobby takes a step back, looks at him with subtle scrutiny. “What’s your choice?”

Tommy could leave. He could go out those doors and out of Evan’s life for good. 

He had done it before, hadn't he? He had left Evan in his loft, a pained expression on his face. He had ignored how each step away from Evan ached and burned him from the inside. He had done it to free Evan, to let him explore the world, to let him find something, someone, better than Tommy. Because Evan was sunshine and, at best, Tommy was a cloudy day.

And yet, as he thought of the last two months, of the pain, the heartache, the sleepless nights, the crappy coffee, he knew. Tommy couldn’t handle another lifetime of what he only had a taste of. He couldn’t handle a lifetime of pain, of heartache, of sleepless nights, of crappy coffee. Not when he finally tasted the sweetness of cinnamon-flavoured coffee, of warm nights with Evan’s weight on top of him, of a chest full of love, of sunshine. 

He loved him. He loves him still. 

And maybe Evan wouldn’t take him back, that would have to be okay. Because, Tommy knew, Evan was one of a kind, he was everything, and he’d rather have him in his life just a little than nothing at all.

---

Tommy hears the beeping of the Holter monitor before he walks through the open door. Evan is sitting up in the hospital bed, bandages covering one side of his forehead almost covering left eye, birthmark hidden. His arm is in a sling and he can see the bulk of bandages wrapped around his torso under the hospital gown. 

Once he notices Tommy’s silent presence, his bright blue eyes land on him and Tommy feels like he can breathe again and like there is no oxygen in the room. What a ridiculous notion.

“I thought I had imagined it,” Evan confesses, his tone unreadable and that was unnatural - he was usually so expressive. “I thought Bobby was about to come in and tell me that I imagined your voice after the face he pulled.”

“Y-You were caught in a gas line explosion,” Tommy clears his voice, hates how professional his voice sounds, impersonal, he never spoke to Evan this way. “I was already at the scene, you got crushed under a van after the ground caved under your car.”

Evan nods, his eyes never leaving Tommy. He feels exposed to the intense gaze of the younger man, he wants to hide, wants him to see it all, see the things Tommy can’t say.

“Eddie told me you were the one to know I was under there.”

Evan knows. Tommy is sure Evan knows exactly what happened, knows what went through his brain during the whole thing but he wants Tommy to say it. It’s almost cruel, it’s actually genius.

“I saw your bumper sticker,” Tommy explains and Evan smiles, that soft smile he would have when Tommy made him breakfast in bed, when Tommy would kiss his birthmark. He can’t kiss his birthmark now. 

“I felt it,” Tommy confesses and Evan stills. He can be brave. “I was at the scene and I saw the Jeep and I-I felt something was wrong. The ground caved in and I felt it,” Tommy takes a deep breath and he really thought he didn’t have any more tears. “When the 118 appeared and you weren’t there, I knew.”

“Eddie said you jumped in without a harness,” Evan admits and Tommy wonders how Bobby would have ever been able to hide Tommy’s presence when Eddie had already made it impossible. “Y-you shouldn’t have done that.”

Tommy takes a few steps towards the bed, standing at the foot of it, right next to Evan’s left foot. “I couldn’t have stopped myself even if I wanted to,” He felt ripped open. He knew that if he wanted to stop the pain, he would have to fight for this, for them. 

“And I didn’t want to. If I could, I would have swapped places with you in the blink of an eye. Bu-Evan,” And god, it felt right to call him that to his face again. Evan seemed to think so too. “I love you.” It was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, and it could end up badly but he had said it. He had finally said the words that for the last four months of their relationship had been begging and fighting to get out even if it was way too soon then.

The Holter monitor beeps faster at Tommy’s confession and Evan sighs in annoyance. He wants to laugh, wants to tease Evan for not being able to hide the way his heart reacts to his confession but he can’t, it’s too important to rely on the beeps of a machine.

“I have been having shit coffee for the past two months.”

Tommy lets out a startled laugh at Evan’s confession, even as his heart tightens in anxiety. He scratches the back of his neck as he nods. “So have I.”

“Tommy,” Evan calls and he looks up at the man he loves. His eyes are wide and he looks overwhelmed and Tommy is regretting his confession - not what he said, just the timing. “I-I thought I had to be this perfect person to be with you, to be as perfect as you-”

Tommy shakes his head, trying to push away the memory of the conversation they had in the loft. “Evan, I-”

“No, please, let me,” Evan interrupts and Tommy takes a deep steadying breath before he nods. He prepares himself. “I thought I had to be perfect but you never saw me as perfect and I think finding out about Abby made me realise how you aren’t perfect either.”

Tommy crosses his arms, holds himself together.

“But you never actually tried to be perfect for me either,” Evan continues and groans in frustration. “I don’t know if I’m making sense and I really don’t want to say the wrong thing again,” Tommy raises his eyebrow and Evan lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Tommy, I told you I admired you.”

Tommy mirrors his laugh, remembering how that word felt like a stab to the gut. “Yeah, that was…yeah.”

“When what I should have told you was that I can see a future with you,” Evan explains and Tommy turns sharply to him, to his soft smile and bright eyes. “That your happiness is just as important to me as mine, that your concerns are my concerns, that I think about you when you’re not around.”

Tommy’s vision blurs and he blinks his eyes to clear them. “Evan-”

“Josh asked me if I loved you the day we…talked,” Evan continues and his hand twitches. 

Tommy can still remember the blood dripping from his fingertips and holds his hand to try and stop those visions. Evan smiles and grips his hand back and that brings back memories of their hands clasped together as they walked, as they slept, as they relaxed. It slowly extinguishes the bad memories.

“He did?”

Evan nods and his thumb rubs over Tommy’s knuckles. God, it feels good.

“I freaked out when he asked,” He lets out that guilty laugh again and Tommy frowns. “And I just realised that all the things he asked me instead just spelled out how down bad I was for you,” Their eyes meet and Tommy takes in the soft, happy smile on Evan’s face. “How in love with you I am.”

Tommy tries to keep his trembling to a minimum as his free hand cups Evan’s cheek. He rubs his thumb slowly, a barely-there movement, on his cheek and it catches on Evan’s bottom lip. His lips part and Tommy’s hold on Evan’s face tightens. He forces himself to take a deep breath, to hold back.

“Evan, I don’t need you to be perfect, I just need you to be you, that’s who I fell for,” Tommy says and watches as Evan’s eyes shine with unshed tears, he nods.

“I never wanted you to be perfect, Tommy, I just wanted the man who made fake mouth static at the fire chief,” Evan grins and Tommy lets out a watery laugh. “The man who watched me maim my best friend and still decided to kiss me, the man who made me happier than I’ve been in a long time.” 

Tommy was done holding back, he would break apart if he held back another minute longer. He steps closer to the bed and watches as Evan’s eyes spark as he tips his head up, expecting the kiss and Tommy grins.

“I love you so much.” Tommy whispers, face inches from Evan’s.

They still have a lot to talk about. A past to share, expectations, desires, boundaries, all of that. And they will. They will talk and come out stronger than ever. They will talk over perfect coffee and share cinnamon-flavoured kisses when they’re done. 

They will never have crappy coffee again.

“I love you too.” Evan whispers back.

And maybe cinnamon-flavoured aren’t as sweet as love-declaration kisses but who says they can’t have both?

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 1: Roadside Help

The End is Near (Gravity Falls x Reader)

← Prologue | Masterlist | Chapter 2 →

Word count: 6.9k.

WARNING: mentions of violence, nausea, blood, injuries, weapon and gun usage, a monster, and body horror.

Note: thank you for the likes and reblogs! Btw, this is the first time I write a character with a country accent, I apologize if it's horrible xdd

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‘Good evening, folks! Or is it morning? Well, either way, fantabulous of you to tune in at The New Wave Network, where we’re grooving no matter the time of day! It’s the 2nd of October and the clock strikes at 1:15 a.m. Hoo boy! We’re just a few weeks away from Halloween, so, let’s set the mood with Shadowplay’s new wicked song “The Graveyard Shift”. Have a listen, folks!’

As you step on the accelerator, pine and cedar trees zoom past your window and the outside world becomes a blur. You've been surrounded by greenery and nature for two hours now, and while it's been a pleasant sight at first, you're quickly becoming concerned as the scenery repeats itself. Your destination seems completely unreachable, almost non-existent.

When you woke up two days ago, you didn't expect to uproot your entire life and move halfway across the country for your job. It started when you arrived at the precinct that morning; a week earlier, rumors of a possible promotion in your unit had spread like wildfire, leaving your colleagues and friends suddenly on top of their game.

For example, Craig, who always had food stains on his shirt and an unshaven face, wore immaculate button-downs and slicked-back hair. Jack, who had always flipped the bird at your boss whenever the old man wanted something, now happily made his coffee and showered him with sickly sweet compliments.

You, on the other hand, were content with your position as a forensic scientist. That's not to say that the possibility of a better salary and even having your own office away from the row of wall-to-wall cubicles wasn't tempting, but you weren't exactly desperate for a change within the precinct. You were planning on moving sometime soon.

But that thought flew out the window as your boss immediately dragged you into his office and offered you the opportunity. But what the rumors didn't tell you was that it wasn't a promotion... you were being transferred to another precinct to fill an empty position and it offered better benefits, like a new house and a higher salary... though it was in the middle of nowhere.

It was a tempting offer, and you almost gave in when you were shown a picture of the beautiful house. But something kept nagging at you: the town. Gravity Falls? Never heard of it. Sure, you don't know every single place in the United States, but something about it told you to not take that chance.

When asked why you were chosen, your boss simply replied: “You’re the perfect candidate for this.” He didn't let you probe further into his answer but fervently insisted on hearing your verdict. He almost checked the "yes" box on the form until you physically stopped him.

“I’ll think about it,” that didn’t last long, because as soon as you exited the office and made a beeline to your cubicle, you ran into Jackson Murdock, an asshole who thought he was more important than the moon and who worriedly took far too much pleasure in pestering you, leaning against your desk and sneering that he would love to take said “opportunity”. 

So, without a moment’s thought, you turned right back around and shook your boss's clammy, wrinkled hand. His smile was rather off-putting as he handed you the paperwork.

And that's how you found yourself here, your entire life packed into a myriad of cardboard boxes shoved into your car as you drive through a darkly lit, foggy forest. You were supposed to arrive five hours earlier but ended up getting stuck in traffic due to a massive accident. 

The soft rock tune from the radio fills the quiet space as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel, desperate to stretch your legs. “Fucking hell, where are you, Gravity Falls?” as if on cue to your annoyed tone, you finally drive past a massive weathered billboard with the town's name accompanied by a: ‘Nothing to see here!’. 

“Finally,” you murmur in relief as exhaustion tugs at your eyes, the coffee from earlier did nothing to keep the sluggishness at bay. You lean forward, eyes squinting as your foot deftly shifts to gently press against the brakes, slowly decreasing the car's speed. The last thing you want right now is to miss a possible exit into town and end up deeper in the woods.

Speaking of which, you knew that Oregon was famous for its breathtaking scenery and gorgeous natural landscapes, but where the hell were you driving? Outside your window, the forest looked like something straight out of those recently popular horror movies that everyone in the precinct was talking about.

Tall, monster-like trees stretched far into the sky, their dense foliage and branches so intertwined that it was almost impossible for any of the moon's rays to penetrate through and illuminate the dirt road. Past the bare nature that forms a pathway, there is nothing to see, not even other trees, rocks, or signs of wildlife. It's completely pitch dark and dead.

Your stomach is in knots, perhaps from the lack of food or the scenery outside. Whatever it is, you need to get through this as soon as possible, because you're exhausted, and the less you're near this road, the better. You crank up the heat a little more and take a sip of the now-cold coffee that sits on the cup holder, as the engine of your car hums quietly climbing over a dirt hill, its dim headlights breaking through the thick fog.

But before you get very far, you come across a peculiar sight. Down the small hill, parked on the right between some large rocks, is an old, somewhat battered red pickup truck. Exaggerated clouds of thick smoke billow from the raised hood, and through your window you notice a pair of hands clutching some tools in a desperate attempt to repair the car.

Curious, you approach the vehicle and catch a glimpse of what you assume to be its owner, blowing away the gray clouds while coughing furiously, his small round glasses barely hanging from the tip of his nose and his green patterned shirt stained with grime. Your headlights cast a shadow on the car, and when the man hears the sound of your car’s engine, he lifts his head excitedly, but accidentally smacks his forehead against the hood.

You cringe at the image and watch as the poor man stumbles away from the truck, holding his head in pain as he almost falls to his knees. You feel sorry for the guy, not only did his car break down in the most eerie place possible, but it also happened in the middle of the night. Still, you remain cautious, silently reaching for the police-issued Taser tucked in the left pocket of your coat, which is haphazardly lying on the passenger seat on top of your purse.

Even though the man looks scrawny, and you assume that if he were to throw a punch it would only leave a nasty bruise, you can't help but think that he might want to inflict some harm on you. You've read countless files, back in the archival rooms of your old precinct, of victims who kindly stop to aid others only to be robbed or even murdered in return. 

Dazed, the man looks up in the distance at your car, and his eyes light up in pure relief at the sight but are quickly replaced with desperation as he furiously wails his arms around, silently begging you to stop. Meanwhile, you maneuver the vehicle to the side of the dirt road, harshly pulling on the hand brake as you swiftly attach the taser’s holster to your belt before quickly lowering your sweater to cover it. 

Cold, harsh air bites at your warm skin as you lower your window, making sure to keep your feet near the accelerator and your left hand on the hand brake to book it as soon as this man tries to do anything remotely suspicious. Soon, two shivering hands cling to your windowsill and you’re finally able to get a better look. You noticed that he clumsily cleaned his face and glasses using his sleeve. ‘He’s rather cute.’ 

“Yer a lifesaver! I’ve been sittin’ here for what feels like a whole eternity!” he exclaims in a thick country accent, giving you a closed-eyed smile as he shivers from the freezing wind. You make a small note of his fast speech and silently wonder if it’s the temperature or an underlying anxious habit. 

“No problem, what can I do to help?” you don't mean for your voice to sound so monotonous, but you're exhausted from the long drive and the eerie atmosphere isn't helping. The man removes his hands from your car, opting to shove them into his pants pockets as a puff of condensed breath escapes from his mouth, his back hunched at an awkward angle. “Do ya happen to have a lantern or somethin’ to light up this here mess? I just wanna see how bad this damage is.”

You decide not to blurt out that his car might be beyond repair, as you swear the thing will burst into flames in a matter of minutes. Instead, you wordlessly reach for the open cardboard box on the floor of the passenger seat, silently thanking yourself for putting your work stuff in the front, as you quickly find the lantern and hand it to him. “Careful, it’s an industrial flashlight so it might be a bit heavy.”

The man beams at your actions, his cold fingers gently brushing against yours as he takes the lantern from your grasp. “Thanks a bunch! Could ya give me a hand here and hold this light for me?” he asks rather cheerfully as you mull over your answer. Well, the faster he gets his car fixed the sooner you’ll be able to get home and sleep. 

After a few seconds of silence, you wordlessly nod before rolling up the window to preserve the little heat left inside and then turning the key on its side, your car ceasing its small vibrations as the motor shuts down. You don’t waste any more time as you grab your coat and kick the door open, immediately slipping on the warm attire as your teeth slightly chatter. ‘Fucking wind, why is it so cold? It’s not even winter, yet.’

The man has already made his way back to the pickup, and your tired eyes notice that the amount of smoke coming from under the hood has, thankfully, decreased. Taking wide strides, the dry leaves crunch underneath your boots as you quickly approach the man and gingerly slide your hand out of your pocket, your index pointing to the flashlight. 

He perks up at your presence, but when his gaze lands on your face, you notice in the dim light that a small blush adorns his pale cheeks.

He stares at you for a few seconds with a dumbfounded expression, and it's only when you clear your throat and jab your finger forward that he seems to snap out of it, clumsily handing you the lantern as he focuses on the car's motor. A rather awkward silence ensues as you simply shine the light on the battered machine and he quietly tinkers with it. You should ask him his name.

“So, what are you doing out here at such an hour?” you ask, holding back a yawn. The man doesn't look up from his work, but you notice a small, rather endearing smile on his lips. “Oh! Well, my college buddy moved out here about a month ago and was lookin' for a research partner. Asked if I'd help him out and here I am!�� he remembers enthusiastically as he looks at you for a moment, quietly inquiring about your reasons for being here.

“I’m the new Chief of Police in Gravity Falls,” if he was about to try something, then perhaps mentioning your work would dissuade him from that thought. Instead, however, his eyes twinkle with what you assume is excitement as he gives you a broad smile. What a bizarre man. “Well, I reckon we'll be seein' each other a whole lot!”

Suddenly, as if processing his words, he pales at the implications of his sentence and stares at you, eyes wide. “N-Not like that! I’m a law abidin’ citizen, I-I swear! We ain’t doin’ anythin’ illegal!” his panicked reaction gets you to laugh out loud, the light slightly shaking in your grasp. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I get what you were trying to say,” as the laughter dies down, the two of you fall back into silence, but this time it is more comfortable.

Unfortunately, it doesn't take long for the man to let out a frustrated sigh as he runs a dirty hand through his caramel blond hair. “Darn it… radiator’s busted,” he mutters under his breath. He won't be able to start the truck tonight; he'll have to look for a spare part. But your conscience won’t allow you to leave him here, especially when you feel as if something might jump out of the bushes and attack you.

Yes, the forest is creepy, but you doubt it is plagued by cryptids. At most, some predators are lurking around.

You lean over to take a look at what's in his truck; there aren't many boxes or luggage stuffed in the back seats, and it seems like everything fits perfectly inside your car. “Hey, how far’s your friend’s house? I’ll take you there,” he perks up, a hopeful expression washing away the worries and stress of the broken car. “Really!? Oh, bless your soul! It should be ‘bout ten minutes from here.”

The man scurries off to put his tools away and pushes the hood shut before getting his luggage out. Meanwhile, you leave the right-hand door of the back seat open as you start to take some things from his hands, wanting to hurry the process as the cold has now seeped into your bones and you can't stop shivering. You think the cold will kill you before any imaginary monster can.

Soon, the man's truck is empty and locked, but just as you're about to climb into the driver's seat, he lets out a small gasp and rubs his hands roughly against his trousers before extending one to you with a polite smile. “My mama would give me a piece of her mind for bein’ so poorly mannered. I'm Fiddleford H. McGucket, pleased to meet ya.”

You return the greeting firmly, noting that his hand is calloused and freezing, as you reply curtly with your name. Fiddleford repeats it under his breath, testing to feel how it rolls off his tongue, but a strong gust of wind causes you both to rapidly let go of each other's hands as you hurry to get into your car.

You waste no time turning on the heater, both of you breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth relaxes your muscles and soothes your frozen skin. Soon the wheels are turning and the sight of Fiddleford's truck grows smaller and smaller as you make your way along the foggy road.

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The ride is peaceful as Fiddleford leads the conversation, telling you a few facts about himself before turning his attention to you, his dark eyes full of curiosity. You cringe a little, not meaning for your voice to be so flat and your responses to be curt, but you're still getting used to socializing and you're tired. You also don’t understand what’s so interesting about yourself. 

But Fiddleford doesn't seem to mind, enjoying the brief silences and conversations he has with you as he stares out the window. You also finally start to see some signs of civilization in the form of crude wooden signs haphazardly nailed into the trunks of trees, indicating how far the town is. After a few bumps in the road, Fiddleford pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it.

“Ok… so, when ya see that sign sayin’ we’re three kilometers from the entrance to Gravity Falls, turn left,” from your peripheral vision, you watch as he extends a finger and motions to the side. “Your friend lives quite far away from town,” as the words leave your mouth, you’re made painfully aware of the taser still strapped to your belt. You hope that Fiddleford didn’t trick you… you were starting to like him.

Thankfully, your comment seems to resonate with him as he turns to look at you with an excited expression. “Right!? Told’im the same thing! But he said the place was perfect ‘cause there’s a ‘large concentration of specimens’ or somethin’ like that. Gosh, what a pain s’going to be to go to the market every week,” you can help but quietly chuckle as he huffs in frustration, relief coursing through your body.

Soon the two of you return to your normal routine, and before you know it, you're turning your blinker on and maneuvering the steering wheel as the car begins to enter the man-made driveway. A few meters ahead, you see a bizarre A-shaped house with the lights on, and Fiddleford exclaims happily, "That's the house!" 

But just as you're about to step on the gas to start driving up the hill, a figure suddenly dashes out of the trees and you instantly hit the brakes, stopping the car just in time to avoid hitting the person standing a few inches from the hood. You and Fiddleford lurch forward as you gasp in shock, staring with wide eyes and fast-beating hearts at the scene ahead of you. 

You grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white as you hold your breath from the momentary fear that quickly turns to worry. In front of you, a young boy, no more than 16 years old, stares blankly at the window like a deer caught in the headlights. His face is deathly pale, his cheeks sunken as his chest rises and falls at an increasingly rapid pace, puffs of white steam quickly condensing against the cold air. It’s almost invisible, but you notice he’s trembling either from the cold or fear.

But what makes your stomach fall is the state he’s in. Three long cuts decorate the lower part of his jaw, the blood around the wound is dried, he has a busted lip and a large bruise surrounds his left eye, you can see that he is having trouble keeping it open, perhaps it is already starting to swell. 

His blond hair is disheveled, mixed with twigs, leaves, and dirt. There are several cuts and other wounds on his neck and near his stomach, his shirt has four large gashes, although he does not appear to be bleeding in that area. But that does not explain the fact that his hands and part of his forearms are covered in dirt, moss, and a combination of fresh and dried blood.

From what you can see, he's wearing pajamas and doesn't appear to be armed or carrying any kind of weapon. Nevertheless, he appears to be in a state of hysteria and shock so any sort of rapid or sudden movement could lead to a violent reaction or you could scare him away. You must approach him with caution.

You get out of the car, taking care to open the door gently but quickly, not hearing Fiddleford's warning to wait. The sound of the door seems to wake the boy from his stupor, and as you expected, his face falls swiftly and he begins to back away, his body shaking uncontrollably. “Please… don’t hurt me,” his voice trembles, filled with panic as his eyes become crystalline, tears threatening to spill.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just worried, are you okay?” you stay put, making sure your tone is as gentle as possible to not alarm or scare him away. You notice that the atmosphere outside is deadly quiet, you can’t hear the singing of the crickets, much less the howling of the wind. ‘What the hell is going on!?’

“I need to know you’re human,” the boy demands in a shaky tone, having put a good distance between you and him. You raise an eyebrow at his request, but he seems deadly serious as his forehead furrows and his jaw clenches, his fists balling up as if ready to fight if you don't comply. “How do you want me to prove I’m human?”

For some reason, the question seems to put him at ease, as he relaxes his posture though he remains rather hostile. “I… I don’t know but… I-I just don’t know who to trust,” through whispers, tears spill from his eyes as he holds a hand out, terrified. You stand still for a moment, completely confused as to what to do, but it seems the best way to calm him down is to tell him about yourself.

“My name is (Y/N),” you begin and gently close the car door as you take a step forward. The boy perks up, teary eyes staring at you in confusion. You continue, slightly shivering as a gust of wind passes by, yet you don’t hear anything but your voice. “I’m 27. I graduated from Backupsmore as a forensic scientist… um… I hate bees and my favorite color is-”

Before you can finish, the boy suddenly bolts from his spot, his frail arms quickly wrapping around your torso and hugging you as tightly as he can. Unfortunately, due to the force, you come tumbling down, your back harshly scratching against the dirt. You're shocked for a moment, but then you feel his tears rapidly soaking your sweater and his bloody hands tightly clutching the material as he wails loudly, the sound reverberating through the dead ambient.

Somewhat stiffly, your arms embrace the boy, one hand gently rubbing circles on his back, which is shaking as he sobs. His skin is frozen, he's been out for a long time. Fiddleford quickly gets out of the car and crouches down beside you with a worried look on his face, quietly asking you if everything is alright. You just give him a small smile in return, hoping to reassure him.

"M-Miss, please help me, I'm so scared," he mumbles between loud cries, hiding his face in your shoulder. You just nod and guide him through some breathing exercises to help him think more clearly and calm down. When the crying ceases, you take off your jacket and drape it over his shoulders hoping it will warm him up a bit, while Fiddleford gently places a hand on his head.

"Let's start at the beginning, what's your name?" your question in a soft tone. The boy lifts his face from your shoulder and two red-rimmed eyes look at you sadly. "M-My name is L-Lawrence W-Woodworth," he replies scared, the words barely leaving his mouth as he shivers. "Nice to meet you, Lawrence. This is Fiddleford, my friend," the brown-haired man gives the boy a slight smile as he nods.

"You have to tell me what happened, how did you get here?" Lawrence shudders at your words but dryly swallows, as if to gather courage, and begins "W-We were coming back from my house, Dylan, Kyle and I... we were working on a s-school project. And out of nowhere, I don't know what it was, but s-something came out of the trees and..."

His palms harshly wipe away at his eyes, though he winces as he grazes the injured one. Fiddleford silently encourages him to continue as he rubs his shoulders. “I-It ripped Kyle’s s-stomach out… D-Dylan called 911 and t-then in the woods something that looked like Kyle but wasn’t Kyle… it even talked like him… it was just standing t-there and i-it started to chase us… w-we got separated and somehow I ended up here…”

You can't believe what you're hearing. If it weren't for the fact that Lawrence looks completely paralyzed with fear, you'd think this story was taken from a horror book. Could the monster be a product of the possible trauma of seeing his friend badly hurt? Or did they mistake the killer, who was standing at a long distance from them, for a more twisted version of a friend? Those are the only explanations you can currently come up with.

You look up and notice that Fiddleford has a much more serious look on his face, he seems to believe everything the boy says. But before you can question him, a bloodcurdling scream followed by a distorted roar echoes through the forest and Lawrence looks up, what little color he had regained in his face drained away. "DYLAN! OH GOD IT'S DYLAN! I HAVE TO GO GET HIM!"

Lawrence is about to run off into the woods when you grab his wrist to stop him from moving, causing the boy to yelp in pain. "Sorry, but you're not going, you're injured and putting yourself in more danger. Fiddleford, take Lawrence to your friend’s and call the police. I'll look for the other boy," you order firmly, before getting up and going to your car, opening it forcefully and diving between all the boxes.

Behind you, you hear Fiddleford gasp in surprise, his boots breaking several branches as he quickly approaches your figure. “(Y/N), be extremely careful, please. Whatever it is, it's dangerous. Please tell me you're carrying a weapon or somethin’,” the man exclaims worriedly. You quietly nod before you notice a small, thin, black briefcase, unfamiliar to you tucked between some cardboard boxes labeled “kitchen”.

Quickly, you unlock the clasp and open the lid, revealing a Smith & Wesson Model 4506 stored in the middle. Your stomach twists, this would be your first time using this thing. But you swallow that fear, a kid is in danger. Fiddleford gasps as he watches over your shoulder as you quickly load the gun with nine rounds and strap the holster to your belt, right next to the Taser. "Don't worry, it's police-issued, I've got a license and I know how to shoot."

You quickly head over to your driver’s seat, shut the car off, and grab the lantern that you stored in the glovebox. As you turn around, you quickly shove your car keys in Fiddleford’s unexpecting hands and turn over to look at Lawrence, who’s now standing up, still trembling. “What does your friend look like?” you walk over to the car, momentarily covering one of the headlights.

“D-Dylan’s tall, has short curly black hair, dark skin, and glasses. H-He was wearing… I-I think I white T-shirt,” you nod, creating the mental picture of his friends as you begin to sprint over to the forest. “BE CAREFUL,” Fiddleford’s voice filled with concern sounds distant as you book it, the cold wind cutting at your skin.

The forest is deadly quiet, the only sounds you can hear are your rapid breathing and the crunching of dried leaves and twigs as your boots stomp over them. Your stomach curls into a knot and your mouth goes dry as the faster you run, the darker your surroundings seem to get.

"DYLAN!?" your voice echoes through the trees as you flash the light around you. There are only trees, trees, and more trees! They are all starting to look the same. And the fog makes it worse as you can barely see past a few feet in front of you. You exhale exhaustedly, pausing for a moment as you try to regain your sense of direction. Your muscles ache from the sudden movement, you were more used to a life behind a desk than running in the field.

"OVER HERE! PLEASE! HELP ME!" your head whips to the right as you hear the distant screams of a young boy. There was no time to waste, as the force you used to push yourself forward caused the soles of your feet to kick up a patch of dirt and moss. You call his name again, trying to locate him more easily, and he answers, his voice much clearer now. 

Soon you come to a clearing illuminated by the moonlight, and sitting against the trunk of one of the trees, his head tucked between his head and a hand on his left shoulder, is the boy who fits Lawrence's description.

"Dylan? My name is (Y/N), I met your friend, Lawrence, I'm here to take you to safety," you say breathlessly, watching as the boy slowly lifts his head, tears streaming down his face as he quietly holds back a sniffle. "L-Lawrence is okay? H-He's not hurt?" you nod softly and quickly walk over, kneeling in front of him and as you give him a warm smile.

"Yes, he's with my friend now, and help is on the way. Are you hurt?" now that you're closer, you notice that there's a deep cut on his left cheek and that his glasses are nowhere to be found, most likely lost while running through the woods. As you gently encourage him to roll over, Dylan hiccups, having cried the last of his tears, before carefully removing the hand that was holding his shoulder.

Underneath his bloody palm are two deep, heavily bleeding cuts that look very similar to the ones on Lawrence's shirt. Up close, the injury looks unnatural, and you can't put your finger on what could have done this; you assume it could be something like a hook, but the width of the gash is much wider than a butcher's hook or something heavier. "I-It got me when I tripped on a corner. I managed to f-fight it off though," he admits sheepishly, dropping his head back to his knees as he recalls the encounter. So that was the scream.

"You were incredibly brave, don't be ashamed, Dylan," you whisper comfortingly, focusing your attention on treating the wound. Placing the lantern on the ground, you grab the bottom of the sweater with both hands and pull in different directions with enough force that the threads begin to snap. Ripping the fabric until it reaches above your belt, you pull so that it goes around your waist, gathering enough to make a makeshift tourniquet.

Dylan watches quietly as you successfully separate the torn piece from your sweater. "Okay, this is going to hurt, but I'm going to wrap this around your wound, okay?" he nods shakily at your instructions, lowering his knees and stretching his injured arm out to the side. You quietly guide him to take deep breaths as you slip the fabric underneath the armpit and tightly twist and turn the cloth, softly apologizing when he winces or gasps for air.

After a few seconds, you tie a knot with the remaining cloth, successfully stopping the bleeding for the moment. Dylan tests his arms by stretching and moving the limb before standing up and grabbing the lantern left on the grass. "Where did the attacker go?" your eyes scan the area around you, but the overwhelming darkness and fog make it impossible for you to see what is beyond the clearing. The area is so quiet, so devoid of life, that you can hear your heartbeat, which begins to pick up as you hear the crunch of leaves and twigs.

Dylan and you have not moved an inch.

"Mooooooom," a distorted and crooked voice wails sadly from the trees, shaking you to your core. Its pitch goes up and down as it gets closer and closer to where you're standing, calling out in pain, searching for its mother. It doesn't even sound like a human, let alone an animal, it's as if something is painfully trying to imitate human speech.

Then you remember what Lawrence said: something that had the appearance of his friends yet it wasn’t him. There's no way... there's no way that things like that exist… Those are just myths, right? You feel Dylan tense up next to you and the light source emitting from the lantern begins to shake in his grip. The creature is determined to find you, it keeps calling out, and whatever it is, it is big, as the ground beneath it shakes and rumbles slightly whenever it takes a step. 

"When I tell you to run, keep going straight until you find a hut. Don't stop and don't look back," you command in a hushed whisper, feeling your heart pounding loudly against your chest as your nimble fingers quietly unlock the holster and grab the handle of your gun. “O-Ok, please be careful, ma’am,” he replies, holding the lantern tighter.

Soon the footsteps are shaking the pebbles scattered across the ground and the mushrooms growing in the trunks of the nearby trees, and you can feel the vibrations in your ears. Beside you, Dylan slowly begins to back away from the noise, inching closer to where you first entered, while you stare at the source of the sound. "Mooooom... I want my mom," it cries again, this time louder, and you shudder at the disgusting tone in which it speaks.

"I hate it... why does it sound so much like Kyle?" Dylan whispers through clenched teeth, this time further away from you. So you were right, it's trying to imitate human speech, but you wonder why it's calling to its mother. You don't have time to answer as a massive figure begins to break through the mist, and you hold your gun tightly, raising it so that the barrel points straight at what you assume is the creature's head.

But you freeze up as soon as the thing reveals itself. The monster is incredibly tall, it reaches to the middle of one of the pine trees and you estimate it to be about two meters in height. It is dragging its arms on the ground, massive hands with dirty nails pointing up towards its pale and bony palms, and its head is tilted to the side, in a childlike manner. 

Sunken and completely hollow eyes with a single silver dot are staring directly at you, the toothless mouth is open wide, creating an oval shape in which you can’t see anything other than an empty void, while distorted boyish cries are coming from the deepest parts of its throat. 

Worst of all, you finally understand what Lawrence and Dylan were saying. It has copied the appearance of a young ginger boy, but because its body is so large and deformed, it looks as if it has stretched an image of what you assume to be Kyle and plastered it onto its body. 

The skin is ghostly pale and looks pulled and torn, its hair is a mangled mess with various bald spots revealing a fleshy black interior, and its "clothes" look painted over and reveal a thin torso with paper-thin skin that closely exposes a skeleton with way too many bones for you to count. It twitches unnaturally as it just stands there, looking at you while begging for his mother without moving.

You can't begin to comprehend what the hell is in front of you. It doesn't feel real, the lack of sound around you, the intense fog, and the imagery make it feel like you're in a lucid nightmare. But you're brought back to reality when you realize that Dylan is still behind you, crying softly as he stares at the mockery of his friend's image. "Run on the count of three, okay?" you don't take your eyes off the creature.

"One," your body's facing forward, you move your dominant leg a step back, both feet planted firmly on the ground as you aim the barrel to hit right between the monster's eyes. It doesn't move, only keeps twitching and wailing in a deep tone.

"Two," you steady your body and take a deep breath as your finger hugs the trigger. Behind you, Dylan prepares to run. Once he's gone, the moonlight will be your only guide during the fight. Your heart beats faster as you take one last breath...just get this over and you’ll go home…

"THREE!" without wasting a second, you squeeze the trigger and fire, a flash of bright light shooting from the barrel and the bullet lodging deep inside the creature's head. The sound of the gun being fired echoes through the forest and you swear you can hear birds flying from the trees and some of the sound comes back. Dylan has already started to run, straight ahead as you instructed.

The shot sends the monster reeling a few steps back, but in retaliation, it lets out a distorted roar so loud it makes your eyes vibrate with pain. You don't let that deter you, though, as you load the second bullet into the chamber and prepare to fire at the creature's chest, right where you think its heart is. Unfortunately, it recovers rather quickly and stands up shakily before charging at you like a bull, swinging one of its gigantic arms in your direction.

You're able to dodge the attack, but the limb is so heavy that as soon as it hits the ground, the force knocks you to the ground and the weapon almost slips from your grasp. Luckily, you hold on tight, but the creature is relentless, one of its clawed hands grabs your right ankle, its sharp, bone-like claws digging easily into your flesh, tearing some of the skin. You grunt loudly, your teeth clenched as tears sting your eyes, but you aim the gun at the creature's shoulder and fire.

As the bullet connects with the skin, the monster screeches and painfully removes its claws from your ankle, nursing its new injury instead. You back away as fast as you can, grunting in pain and after a considerable distance, you do your best to stand up, limping slightly as you plant your feet firmly on the ground and load another bullet.

And you fire the third one.

And the fourth.

And the fifth.

“Won’t you just die already!?” you scream in frustration, fear and paranoia seeping into your mind as you watch the monster rise from the ground once more, five small holes in different parts of its body spilling a tar-like liquid onto the grass, staining it. It's almost invincible, no matter how many bullets you fire, it seems to do nothing but temporarily stun it and make it scream horribly.

You jump to the side as the monster charges forward again, but it miscalculates and runs straight through the tree instead. The impact is so powerful that it leaves a massive hole in the trunk, but it is temporarily stuck there; as it struggles to free itself, you waste no time finding its ankle and stomping down as hard as you can.

You almost fall forward...you did not expect its bones to be so fragile. But you almost rejoice in pure happiness as you've found its weak spot; it seems that physical actions are more effective. So you don't stop, kicking and punching with all your might as your limbs easily leave dents and holes in the monster's body. Your hands and boots are covered in the slimy dark substance, but you don't care, you're not going to die here.

In your angry tirade, you fail to notice that the creature is now free of the trunk. It turns, an arm swinging violently, making contact with the side of your torso, sending you flying to the other side of the clearing, where you crash hard into another tree, the air escaping your body as your lungs burn from the pain and your back cracks loudly.

Tears cloud your vision as the monster walks toward you, its actions mimicking a predator that has finally caught its meal. Your hands desperately search your surroundings for your weapon, but as you cough violently, you realize that the weapon has been crushed under the creature's weight on the other side of the clearing. “Oh fuck,” you mutter as the creature stands before you and wastes no time reaching down, its claws digging into your neck as it lifts you into the air.

You struggle to free yourself, your throat slowly crushed under the monster's grip, as something cold and plastic digs into the side of your hip. The Taser! As dark spots begin to fill your vision and your lungs burn, your hand reaches for your belt, unlatches the holster, and shakily pulls the device out.

Your scratched thumb quickly locates the switch and flips it on, and with all your might you jam the probes against the monster's skin and squeeze the trigger. As the volt of electricity coursed through the thing's insides, it let out a blood-curdling scream before dropping you to the ground. The pain is so great for the creature that it falls to the ground, rolling on its wrist.

But even though your world is spinning and you want nothing more than to throw up and fall asleep, you push through the pain and stand up shakily as you sprint to the monster and mercilessly stomp on its head, its skull cracking against your sole and the grass. You keep going, even when there's nothing left but a messy pile of mush and the tar-like substance, you don't stop.

You want this thing dead. Gone. Fuck whatever this thing is.

“(Y/N), STOP! It’s already dead!”

══════════════════

Tag list:

@rotknox @devotee-of-bill

[galaxysupreme17]

Video Game Face-off

Y/n = your name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader

The Harkness-Vidal living room buzzed with the faint hum of an old gaming console, a relic Rio had dug up from the hall closet earlier that evening. It looked dusty and a little worn but still had enough fight left in it to offer a challenge, which was exactly what Rio had in mind.

"Are you sure it still works?" Y/n asked, grinning as she eyed the console. "This thing looks like it belongs in a museum."

Rio shot her a playful look, raising an eyebrow as she fiddled with the ancient power switch. "Hey, show some respect. This little piece of history was top-of-the-line back in the day."

Y/n snickered as the screen flickered to life. Mario Kart's nostalgic theme music filled the room, and a spark of excitement danced in Rio's eyes. "Now, you might think you've got the upper hand here but don't underestimate your mother," Rio teased, grabbing a controller and winking at Y/n.

"Is that a challenge?" Y/n asked, already familiar with Rio's competitive streak.

"Absolutely," Rio replied, her smirk widening. "Prepare to be thoroughly defeated."

They settled onto the couch, shoulders bumping as they selected their characters. Y/n went for Yoshi, while Rio, ever a fan of the underdog, chose Toad.

"Oh, going with the classic Yoshi, huh?" Rio commented, shaking her head. "A little predictable, but not a bad choice."

"And Toad's going to be your secret weapon?" Y/n replied with a smirk. "Mom, he looks like he'd rather be reading a book than racing."

Rio chuckled, "Hey, Toad's full of surprises, just like me."

As the countdown began, both of them leaned forward, gripping their controllers with determination. And just like that, they were off, speeding around the course with surprising intensity.

Within seconds, Rio swerved left and right, fingers fumbling over buttons. "Why isn't he going faster?" she muttered, pressing everything she could find in a frantic attempt to keep up.

Y/n burst out laughing, not even trying to hide her amusement. "Mom, you're pressing the wrong button! That's the brake!"

"Oh, well, no wonder!" Rio groaned, eyes narrowing with newfound focus as she finally found the correct controls. She sped up quickly, determination in her eyes, but it wasn't long before Y/n's character zoomed past her.

"Ha! Take that, Toad!" Y/n cheered, glancing over to see her mom concentrating intensely.

"Alright, alright," Rio muttered, leaning into the game as if it would help Toad turn faster. But just as she thought she was catching up, Y/n released a red shell, sending Rio's character spinning off the track.

"Oh, come on! Are you kidding me?" Rio gasped, shooting Y/n an exaggerated look of betrayal.

"It's Mario Kart, Mom; you gotta use the items!" Y/n replied with a laugh, her eyes alight with mischief.

"Fine, then. But don't think I'm going easy on you from here on out." Rio's fingers danced over the controls with renewed vigor, her competitive spirit fully ignited. Y/n stole a glance, her smirk fading as she noticed Rio's sudden increase in skill level.

"Wait, were you... pretending to be bad at this?"

Rio let out a victorious laugh. "Maybe. I didn't want to intimidate you right from the start."

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "You're the one who's going down now."

Their laughter echoed through the room as they both got serious, their game faces on. Rio wasn't about to give up, and Y/n was determined to hold her lead. They weaved around corners, dodged banana peels, and sent red shells flying back and forth, both fully immersed in the game.

But despite Y/n's best efforts, Rio managed to inch ahead, crossing the finish line just seconds before her daughter. Rio leaped up from the couch, striking a mock victory pose. "Winner! Toad takes the gold!"

Y/n groaned, but she couldn't hold back a smile. "Alright, alright, you got me."

Rio grinned and extended her hand toward Y/n, pulling her up from the couch before launching into a ridiculous victory dance, shimmying and twirling in a way that had Y/n laughing so hard she could hardly breathe.

"Oh my god, Mom, that is the most embarrassing dance I've ever seen," Y/n said between gasps for air.

"It's the dance of a champion," Rio replied, still wiggling proudly. "And besides, you're just jealous you didn't come up with it first."

"Trust me, I'm not," Y/n said, finally regaining her breath. She picked up her controller again, lifting it challengingly. "Alright, winner, round two. Let's see if you can hold onto that title."

They settled back down, ready for a rematch. This time, Y/n was determined not to let her mom's tricks get the best of her. She pressed forward, dodging every obstacle with careful precision.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, old lady?" Y/n teased as she zipped past Rio.

"Nice try, kiddo," Rio replied, grinning as she hit a speed boost and shot ahead. "I'm just getting warmed up."

The race continued neck and neck, with neither willing to let the other gain an inch. Y/n threw everything she had into the game, practically vibrating with focus. But just as she was about to cross the finish line, Rio snuck in one last attack, sending Y/n's character spiraling off the track.

"No way! Are you serious?" Y/n's jaw dropped as Rio's character took first place.

"Victory!" Rio cheered, doing another little victory dance, this one even more elaborate than the last.

Y/n shook her head, laughing at the absurdity of it all. "You're ruthless, you know that?"

"All part of the game, sweetheart," Rio replied with a wink, flopping back down on the couch beside Y/n. "You gotta bring your A-game if you want to beat me."

"Well, I'd like to see you try against Mama," Y/n teased. "She'd probably hex the controller to make you lose."

Rio chuckled. "She would, wouldn't she? Guess it's a good thing it's just us tonight."

They continued their gaming marathon well into the evening, each taking turns winning and losing, with more laughter than either could remember in a long time. When they finally put the controllers down, both leaned back on the couch, thoroughly exhausted but undeniably happy.

"Alright, final score," Y/n announced, stretching her arms over her head. "I think I'm officially the reigning champion now."

Rio raised an eyebrow. "Only by a point. Don't get too cocky."

"Too late," Y/n replied with a smirk, nudging her mom playfully. "Next time, though, we should play something I'm actually good at."

"Name the game," Rio challenged, crossing her arms. "Just don't expect me to go easy on you."

As the clock ticked close to midnight, Y/n stretched, glancing at the array of controllers and game cases scattered across the living room floor. "Alright, Mom, I think we should call it a night," she said, yawning.

Rio gave a dramatic sigh, draping herself over the couch. "You're probably right. I need my beauty sleep if I'm going to keep kicking your butt at Mario Kart."

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes. "In your dreams, maybe. I'm definitely coming for your title next time."

Rio grinned as she shut off the console and stretched her arms. "Looking forward to it." She hesitated, watching as Y/n headed toward the hallway, and then she called out, "Hey, you mind if I... walk you to your room? I know Agatha usually does, but she's not here..."

Y/n paused, caught off guard but pleasantly surprised. She gave a small nod, her smile widening. "Yeah, I'd like that."

The house was quiet as they made their way down the hallway. It felt softer somehow, the echoes of laughter from the living room lingering in the air. When they reached Y/n's room, Rio stepped inside, taking a moment to look around. Her gaze was warm and familiar as she took in all the little details that made Y/n's room feel like home.

Rio walked over to the bed, fluffing Y/n's pillow with a care that made Y/n's heart swell. "Alright, kiddo," Rio said gently, pulling back the covers. "Hop in."

Y/n climbed in, watching her mom carefully tuck the blanket around her shoulders. It was such a small, simple gesture, but it was one Y/n had grown used to with Agatha. Seeing Rio do it filled her with a quiet kind of happiness.

"You know," Y/n said as Rio straightened up, "you're really good at this."

Rio chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/n's forehead. "Don't sound so surprised. I may not have Agatha's...tucking-in expertise, but I can manage."

"You did great, really," Y/n replied, smiling at her.

Rio's eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something more. Instead, she just leaned down, quickly kissing Y/n's forehead. "Goodnight, Dulce niña. Sleep well."

"Night, Mom," Y/n whispered, feeling the warmth of the kiss linger as Rio switched off the bedside lamp. Just as Rio turned to leave, Y/n called out softly, "I love you."

Rio paused in the doorway, a warm smile lighting her face in the dim room. "I love you too, Y/n."

She gently closed the door, leaving Y/n to sleep with the comforting feeling of love and laughter from the night.

[strxwberrymoonstar]

omg i would love if you wrote something for han solo where they’re arguing and he accidentally confesses his feelings for her

omg yes please!

this is definitely around the time of a new hope/empire strikes back xoxo

not proof read btw! so sorry for mistakes x

word count: 768

the sudden bolt from the empire ship catches everyone on board the millennium falcon off guard. Han and chewie stir in their seats, eyes glancing around the ship, whilst yourself, r2d2 and c3po are sent flying around the cockpit.

"Oh what are we to do?" C3po says, his robotic voice mixing in with the blasters of the ship firing as he throws his hands up to try to cover his eyes.

"Just can your tin will ya'" Han yells, flipping switches and buttons around the control centre, trying to angle the blasters to hit the tie fighter that follows. Big bursts of air flood from one of the pipes in the cockpit access corridor, the sound piercing everyone's ears.

Chewbacca swirls his chair around, shoving r2d2 out of the way so he can go fix the other problem. Han aggressively shouts, slamming more buttons on the centre. You slide yourself in in front of the terrified golden robot and into the captains seat, looking at Han waiting for his next reaction.

"I can help! Let me help!" You yell, watching as the tie fighter does rings around the ship. "I am not letting a girl, let alone YOU, fly my ship!" Han states, letting his words out with a poisonous tone. Your mouth falls open in shock, eyebrows creasing as your eyes fill with fury.

The beige colour of the planet that shone before you enters your vision as the ship maneuvers through towers of boulders. Before you could mouth any type of redemption, the both of you are sent flying sidewards, the disregard of the chairs seatbelt causes your body to fall into the lap of his as he turns the falcon sideways.

"Not now sweetheart, i'm trying to fly!"

You roll your eyes dramatically, watching as the ships falls into one of the dark, circle shaped tunnels to hide in. Han softly lands the ship behind a small spot of rocks, trying to blend in. You held your breath as you watch the Tie Fighter zoom past the ship and out the other end of the planet.

"Oh princess, if you wanted to get closer to me all you had to do was ask," the teasing tone of Han's breaks the silence. You let out a scoff as you push yourself out of his lap and back into the other chair. You look up at him and notice the smirk that's begging to be slapped off of his face.

"You're just begging for me to slap you," You say through gritted teeth. "Maybe I would like that princess," He replies.

"Of course you would, and I would guess you like the chase of almost killing us all?" You question, eyes widening and crossing your arms over your chest. Han slowly starts to stand up and you follow subconsciously, the tension rising throughout the room.

"I saved us!" Han shouts, fingers pointed towards his own chest. "You nearly killed us!” You shout back, taking a step towards him. "I would never put you in that amount of danger!" the vein on his forehead starts to pulse slightly.

His calloused hands roughly grab your shoulders, slightly shaking you with the sheer amount of force he used as he makes you stare into his eyes. Your faces are mere centimetres apart, staggered breaths leaving both of your mouths.

"I would never put you in that amount of danger, princess" he says again, this time softer. The parts around his eyes soften as he rubs his hands down your shoulders to your arms and back up again.

Shambles of words fall out of your mouth as you search his eyes for the truth. Han looks down again and then back up. He shoves his lips onto yours roughly, bringing your body closer to his as he deepens the kiss.

His hand places itself on the middle of your back, subtly pulling yourself closing to him, while his other hand gently caresses the side of your face. His actions, soft and gentle, contrasted greatly at his earlier actions of pushing you around. You both pull away, Han still keeping his large hand on your face.

“If you just wanted a kiss, all you had to do was ask,” You say, rolling your eyes before walking out of the cockpit to go and help the rest of the crew.

A smirk finds it’s way crawling up Hans face before he wipes it off with the palm of his hand, dragging it down his face. He shakes his head before following you.

[juustozzi]

same anon who talk about wings au here are some more ideas/potential moments

winged people are rare and so they're aren't many stores for them so tenma has a few encounters with other winged players (like hayabusa) and or coach (like afuro) from a team that have to face next in a match

tenma , matatagi and minaho become friends more quickly cause they can relate so much with the struggles of taking care of their own wings and the feeling on flying through the air

it took awhile before tenma gave tsurugi another feather of his trust (because fake tsurugi had to where the feather to make sure tenma was convice he was tsurugi and accidentally took it when he left)

have fun with this, hope you enjoyed

hi! thanks for sharing more <3 (I went a bit overboard with this, sorry for a probably long reply...)

I like the idea of Tenma basically knowing (at least by face) a big part of other winged people of the area! Afuro made me thing about the customization of the clothes: with stretchy fabric, like jerseys and regulart-shirts, fixed wing slits work for pulling the wings through. with more formal wear, or fabrics that don't stretch, there could be different mechanics to get the fabric rest around the base of the wings; buttons like vests, or zippers/velcro, depending on the type of the clothing. I think Afuro would have very stylized and fashionable choices with these, showing off the tailoring instead of trying to make it look like a regular garnment!

tailoring can get expensive though, so I think outside of formal wear etc. the selection for kids and teens is mostly stretchy fabrics with standard wing slits. since the clothes won't fit them for long anyway, it isn't as usual to tailor clothes for youngsters. many also prefer baggy/loose coats and jackets, since stiff fabric can feel constraining for the wings, especially while they're still growing.

since the rarity of winged people, schools probably don't offer specific uniforms, but they're lenient with customizing it. I want to think that instead of paying a lot for a tailor, Aki helped Tenma to customize his gakuran! he can do the easy shirts himself, but the school uniform is from thicker fabric and sown to a specific structure, so it's a bit trickier to get neat. (Aki's not too crafty herself, but she does a good job with it!)

and yay for the galaxy bird gang! Tenma must've been so excited to get winged teammates, and even though the teams struggles to get together, they would surely bond a lot quicker than the rest. maybe Matatagi would get his character arc earlier, with Tenma getting closer to him faster, and pushing him more into the team?

also I think Matatagi would be a bit show-off with his wings, zooming too close past others and getting annoyed they can't keep up with him. he's very proud of his wings, and at first it looks as arrogance to others before they get to know him better. meanwhile, Minaho is kind of the opposite: he observes people and happenings silently and while he doesn't scare others on purpose by suddenly announcing his presence, he kind of finds it funny most of the times.

and oh, Tsurugi.. </3 sorry if this strays from your idea, but while I do think it would take a bit for Tenma to give out another feather, I can see it more as Tsurugi being devastated of losing his own in the first place (maybe he doesn't know the fake took it, and he thinks he lost it himself, and someone later tells him they saw the fake having it?) and he's feeling too guilty to tell Tenma about it.

at some point someone either accidentally reveals it or forces it out of Tsurugi, and after a bit Tsurugi and Tenma have a heart-to-heart and Tenma gives him another one. or something along the lines

thanks again! and if you ever get more I'd love to hear them!!

[spicerackofblorbos]

Chapter 4: February

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions, references to child abuse (to be continued as writing is ongoing)

☾ Author's note ➼ Hey guys! Happy (early) Valentine's Day! This would have been out much earlier but I figured since it's February, I would actually release it near the holiday the chapter is actually about. I'm so excited to finally release this into the wild! I'm in the process of working on March but I might take a break to work on some fluffy drabbles/one-shots because tis the season! I'll be back soon with more!

☾ Word Count ➼ ~8.5k (this one is even longer and I'm not even sorry about it)

Your bedroom floor is littered with piles of the clothes you spent the last hour trying on then discarding out of dissatisfaction. You and Hange were expecting company soon and you were standing in just your undergarments while staring into your almost empty closet in disdain. It felt as if you were 17 again, freaking out the morning before a school day because you were not comfortable with any of the fabrics in your wardrobe. You throw your hands up in the air and exhale loudly, thinking to yourself of how hopeless this endeavor was.

With people coming over, you wanted to try and dress up a bit. But in frustration, you opt for your usual wear of jeans and a baggy pullover sweater. Pulling your hair up in two little buns, you just grunt in acceptance. At least you were comfortable, which is the most important factor here. After slipping on a mismatched pair of socks, you pad back into the living room where Hange sat on the floor milling around on her work laptop.

‘Working again?’ You sign at them while passing them to the kitchen. You open a cupboard for a can of black tea. You were told Levi was coming over for the get together and you wanted to make sure there was tea ready. For everyone, of course, not just Levi. Or so you keep telling yourself.

“Just finishing up a couple documents is all. Did you make sure that we had the ingredients for the cookies today?” They mumble from behind the screen, their fingers zooming over the keyboard as they speak. Their eyes flick up at you as you sign a quick yes and they nod in response, shoving their face back into their reports.

You make quick work of the electric tea kettle, pushing the button to get the water boiling before tossing in a couple teaspoons of loose leaves in your favorite teapot. It was a gift from your foster-parents many years ago and it had golden bunnies hopping around on a light teal background. After the kettle shuts itself off, you pour the water into the teapot to steep then place the lid on top gently.

You then set forth to make sure your wipe-off board had fully stocked markers for tonight, placing them on the kitchen bar for you to reach easily. Texting might be faster, but a wipe-off board served better with a crowd of people so everyone could see what you were saying. When you’re satisfied with everything, you then turn to Hange.

It was past two in the afternoon, and they were still in their pajamas with a rat’s nest in place of their hair. Company was due soon and she was still tapping away, so you go up behind them and place your hands on their shoulders gently. She hums in response, not turning to you. You lean forward and place a hand on the laptop, and she stops. They cock their head up to look at you and their glasses glint off the afternoon sun coming through the dining room window. You furrow your brows at them and scrunch your nose.

“Can I help you?” She asks. Nodding, you release your hands to sign to her.

‘You need a shower.’ She purses her lips and averts her gaze.

“I have time, let me just finish this report first.”

‘No, shower first and then come back to this.’

“But-” You cut them off by pinching her cheek, not hard enough to bruise but enough to leave a mark.

‘Don’t make me throw you in the bath, you know I’ll do it.’ You smirk while raising an eyebrow at them. You’re met with an eyeroll, but she saves her work before shutting her laptop anyways. You kiss her forehead from above and then move back so they can stand up.

‘Thanks, don’t forget to wash your ass.’ You laugh silently and she just gives you a disgusted look before heading into her room, laptop under her arm. She flips you a bird before disappearing behind her door. You grin at yourself and then head back to the kitchen to set out some butter to soften.

For Valentine’s Day this year, Hange decided to throw a little party at your shared apartment. You just wanted to bake and watch stupid movies together, but they talked you into socializing. She had said something about today not being just for couples. She wanted to “celebrate singleness”, her words not yours. So of course, you were roped in because honestly, where else would you have to be? But that also meant she had invited quite a few people as well; a few coworkers and Erwin. And with Erwin, the invitation had spread to Miche and Levi. The latter of which you were excited for, no matter how much you told yourself it wasn’t such a big deal.

You smile at how close you and Levi had gotten in the past couple weeks, getting to know each other a little more as the days passed. It mainly consisted of texting each other little things you thought you’d both like or little hangouts at the café after hours. The café meetings were not anything new, of course, but they had a vastly different atmosphere than before. You chalk it up to the friendlier nature and usage of more words around each other.

You preoccupy yourself by pulling out the rest of the necessary ingredients and dishes needed for your baking adventure. One of the compromises Hange had made with you was the allowance of being able to still make your checkerboard cookies regardless of the plans. It was something you had picked up in the last couple years and it quickly became one of your favorite traditions. Hange did not refuse, which you think is mainly because she loved your baked goods and was looking forward to shoving them in her mouth. With that thought, you pull out another stick of butter to make a double batch just in case.

After a while, you place your hands on your hips and nod your head in satisfaction. Your ears pick up the sound of squeaking floorboards coming from Hange’s bedroom which signaled that she had finished bathing. Another noise comes from the front door with someone rapping on the hardwood. When you glance at the clock on the stove, it reads 2:47. Someone was a little early, you think to yourself as you saunter up to the door.

Pulling it open, you’re met with a smiling Erwin holding a small bundle of flowers and a bottle of wine. Miche flanks him with a box of canned beer under one arm, his other out to give you a hug which you run into instantly, making sure to do the same with Erwin. In the last month since their dinner party, it wasn’t just Levi you had gotten close to.

While you were already pretty comfortable with Erwin through your sister, Miche was a confidant you hadn’t expected to have. Throughout the passing days, you found that he was as technologically competent as he was as good of a chef. When he wasn’t behind a computer screen, he was often found sending you obscure recipes through late night text messages that he wanted to try with you.

‘I’m so glad you two could make it!’ You sign to them ecstatically, breaking out into a grin.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Erwin chirps as he winks down at you.

Taking a step back, you lead them through the door with your hand. You peep a quick glance behind them to make sure there was no one else coming. To your disappointment, there wasn’t. You shut the door behind the two men with a sigh. Hange must have talked to them beforehand about the apartment rules because they were quick to pull their shoes off at the door before walking more into the apartment.

You follow them into the living room as you check your phone. No new messages. You had sent Levi a text earlier this morning to see if he was planning to make it, but he had not responded. So, when Erwin places the flowers and wine down on the kitchen counter, you step up next to him to get his attention.

‘Thank you so much for bringing these.’ You hesitate for a moment as he looks down at you patiently. ‘Is Levi still coming?’ You stare up into his bright eyes, his lips twitching in amusement at your question.

“Yes, he is just running a little behind. He had a stop to make before making his way here.” He pats your head and you just blush. But you feel immensely better, knowing that Levi was coming for certain. To not waste the tea you’ve made, of course, you remind yourself. You grab the bouquet of flowers and take a big whiff of them, relishing the sweet scent.

Bending down into a counter beneath you, you grab a vase and get to work trimming the stems so you can place it on the dinner table. Miche is quick to place a couple of his beers in the fridge along with the wine Erwin brought so they would be cold for later.

‘What kind of beer did you bring?’ You sign towards Miche, Erwin translating for you.

“Oh, definitely not something you would like, even if you did drink. I saw it at the store and had to try it though. There’s peanut butter in it apparently.” Miche tilts his head towards the fridge. You make a grimace at him, and he chuckles.

“Hange had said to BYOB but I can’t imagine just having beer would be great, so I elected for something sweeter.” Erwin furrows his eyebrows at the very idea.

‘You do know BYOB doesn’t just mean beer, right? It’s just a figure of speech.’

“Wait, really?”

Just then, Hange comes out sporting a towel wrapped on their head as well as a t-shirt and jeans. They chose to go for the comfortable yet casual look too. She grins widely at the new company and runs to give them both a big hug as well.

“You guys made it!” She shrieks.

“We told you we would.” Erwin’s deep timbre responds back nonchalantly.

“Yeah yeah, but I still worried I ran you off with how much I talked about it. We’re going to have so much fun today!” Hange starts chattering away about the plans she had made for everyone. You giggle to yourself as you listen to them talk excitedly.

Since you weren’t one for alcohol, you always ended up as the mom for everyone, doubly so for your sister. She may be 5 years older than you, but you always felt like more of the responsible one. You didn’t mind it though. You figured it was a good payoff for everything else she does for you on a daily basis. Suddenly, another knock from the front door echoes down the hall and you’re quick to throw the metal bowl you just grabbed from the shelf down onto the counter before running to see who it is.

Much to your dismay, it’s not Levi. When you pull open the door, you see three people; Moblit Berner being one of them, whom you have seen many times since your move here. Hange’s coworkers are all carrying their own vice for tonight in their arms.

You give them a small smile in welcome and Moblit offers a friendly one in return. The two companions behind him consist of Nanaba, someone you have only met twice in passing, and another man, someone you have never seen before. You eyeball him apprehensively as you wave to Nanaba in hello, to which she does the same in response.

“Oh yeah, Onyankopon,” Moblit turns his head over his shoulder to refer to the man. “This is Hange’s little sister.” He says kindly. You wave at the stranger, still wary. The man named Onyankopon is very tall and broad chested with a crew cut that faded up his head. He gives you a big smile that warms up his entire face and speaks to you in a velvety tone.

“It’s nice to officially meet you. You know, your sister talks a lot about you.” His chocolate eyes are even warmer than his demeanor, and you can’t help but grin back at him with a blush, deciding he was okay. You side-step so they can funnel into the door. Your eyes linger down the hallway without meaning to, hoping to see a raven-haired man stalking up to the door. But it remained empty, so you shut it with another sigh and turn back to the ever-growing crowded apartment.

The company sat in various places in the living room while idle chatter filled the space. Some even opted for the floor, Hange being one of them. After a while, you had to remind your sister to take off the towel she had wrapped around her head because she was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn’t even notice it. It had dried for so long that her hair was even more frazzled than before. You just shook your head at her in amusement.

You make yourself busy with the cookies while everyone converses, the noise turning into buzzing. The living room was so cramped with bodies that you could barely breathe, so you found great solace in the kitchen. At this point you had donned on an apron that had floral designs vining their way to the top. It was an attempt to keep the inevitable mess from splattering on to you. While you loved to cook and bake, you were not neat about it in any capacity, but you found that to be the fun of it.

After turning the mixing bowl on to blend the sugar and butter, you turn to your now cold teapot and sigh. It had gone cold, but you hate to waste it; you decide to pour it into a sealable cup to make iced tea with it later.

You start to juggle the choices of either starting a new pot now or waiting until everyone has arrived when your ears perk up at another knock at the door. Your heart now racing at who it could be, you stare out to the living room over the half wall to see if anyone heard but no one had even turned their head. You shut off the mixer then wipe your hands on your apron as you make your way to the door. Taking a deep breath, you pull it open effortlessly.

You can’t keep your face from breaking out into a grin when your eyes fall on the short man with a deadpan expression standing in front of you. Levi. Furlan is there as well, waving at you from behind his friend. You mouth a ‘Hi’ to them both, barely containing the giddiness from the present company.

“Sorry we’re late. Not only did this jerk decide he was tagging along, but he also spent an ungodly amount of time getting ready.” Levi’s gruff voice speaks out to you as he tips his head to Furlan. You meet his soft gaze, and he winks playfully. Levi was wearing a snug, black long sleeve with even darker denim jeans. Your stomach flips as you force yourself to stare into Levi’s metallic eyes.

Waving them in the door, they follow suit and take their shoes off to place next to the pile already sitting by the door. Levi scoffs, no doubt annoyed by the messiness. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how dirty the apartment must look compared to his. After shutting the door behind them, you spin around and almost run right into Levi. You gasp in surprise and step back right into the door with a ‘thud’. Furlan was long gone, and you can hear his playful voice reverberating down the hall as he introduced himself to the rest of the company.

“Are you okay?” Levi asks, concern lacing into his deep voice. You laugh at yourself silently as he eyes you carefully. You nod and wave your hands dismissively at him to show you were indeed okay.

“Mm. I bought these for tonight. Where can I put them?” He shifts three large bottles of various sodas in his arms in awkwardness. His eyes avert from you as he speaks. You stare stunned for a moment as you realize he must have bought them specifically for you. Noticing you haven’t moved, his eyes shift back up to you with an eyebrow raised. Cracking a smile, you nod. The flips in your stomach hardly cease as you tip your head forward to signify where the kitchen was, passing him as well to lead the way.

After he places the bottles in the fridge, he closes the doors, and his eyes widen in surprise at the mess before him. You being you, there was flour everywhere and butter wrappers lie discarded by the mixer. Said mixer was surrounded by sugar from when you missed the bowl earlier. You look away sheepishly as you feel a hard stare at your face.

“Are you a toddler?” He asks, but there is no malice. It almost sounded as if he was amused.

Grabbing one of the wipe-off boards you placed in the kitchen earlier, you pop off a cap and start scrawling. 'Maybe.' Flipping it over to him with a shrug, you see the corners of his mouth twitch.

'Tea?' You point to your cluttered tea station. Levi turns to see an open tin of tea leaves and an empty kettle. He says nothing as he gets to work, doing it all before you can do anything. You gawk at his deft hands as he makes quick work of it all, like he was back in his cafe. Some of his hair fell in his face as his head hung low in focus. After gently placing the porcelain lid back on the pot, he turns back to you.

'You didn't have to do that, you know. I was mainly asking so I could start it.'

"Tch, I was already here. Besides, I'm probably faster at it." You can't argue on that, so you just shrug your shoulders at him again with a slight smile. He leans back against the kitchen counter and studies your face, and you feel your face bloom in heat. You place the board back down on the counter and point to your mess to show you were going to start back on the cookies. Tightening your hair buns, you then wash your hands and get back to work on the mixer, throwing in the ingredients as needed.

After a moment, you hear something rustling behind you and when you glance to the source, you see Levi pulling on the other apron that hung off the fridge. You stare at him curiously and he just tightens the drawstrings behind him as he meets your gaze.

"I'm helping." You hesitate but scoot over in response, and he steps up next to you. Your arms are almost touching, and it takes everything inside of you not to combust. So, you both get to work like that, side by side. The sounds of chatter and laughter from the rest of the group fade out as you both concentrate. You hand him the rest of the ingredients and he carefully pours them in the bowl. When everything is incorporated and set aside, you then measure out the other ingredients for the chocolate portion of the cookies. You don’t see it, but Levi just watches you patiently, admiring your meticulous yet messy way of making sure everything is accurate. When you glance up at him, he looks away quickly.

"Whatcha two up to?" A sly voice rings out after a while. Startled, you both jerk your heads up from the tray you two were placing raw dough cutouts on. It's Hange, leaning on the wall with their chin cradled in two cupped hands. They have a very cheeky grin plastering their face.

"What does it look like, Four-Eyes?" Levi snaps back dryly.

"Well, since you're asking me. It looks like you two are having fun." They wiggle their eyebrows at you and Levi just scoffs and averts his gaze. Your cheeks flare up again because you were definitely having fun, but you weren’t going to admit that. Hange tuts at you two and reaches over to pat you on the head lovingly.

"I just came over because you were both ignoring our calls." Looking over their shoulder, you see Erwin eyeballing you and Levi with a raised eyebrow. He takes a sip of his drink and looks away to keep talking to Moblit and Onyankopon. Nanaba, Furlan, and Miche broke out a deck of cards and are in the middle of a game of Poker.

'Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.' You sign to her, frowning.

"No worries, we were just wondering if you guys were hungry. We were thinking of pizza!" They clap their hands excitedly. They were always thinking of pizza, you laugh to yourself. Hange loves pizza so much that even the mere mention of its cheesy goodness would summon them right then and there. Your stomach rumbles just thinking about it as well, so you nod.

"I could eat." Levi states as he lifts his teacup to his lips, three fingertips on the rim. Him doing so reminds you of the cup Levi had poured for you that you had left to get cold. You lightly touch the sides of it, and it still feels warm. As you take a sip, you’re hit with the boldness of the leaf blend you had chosen as well as a perfect amount of sweetness. ‘Levi makes the best tea’, you think to yourself.

"Perfect, I'll get those ordered. We'll just stick to the basics, yeah?" She pulls out her phone and starts dialing the nearest pizza place while walking away to join everyone in the living room. Levi picks up the couple of trays filled with raw cookies and slides them into the pre-heated oven. When he turns around, you can't help but silently chuckle as you take a closer look at his face for the first time since you both started your venture.

There is a streak of cocoa powder on his forehead that starkly contrasts on his pale skin. You point to it and your shoulders bounce in silent laughter as he brings a hand up to it to rub the spot. His eyes go wide as he notices the brown powder that is now staining his fingers. He grabs the towel you had draped over the dishwasher to wipe it away, his ears turning pink. He turns away from you as he does.

You eye Levi as he folds the towel neatly and puts it back where he got it from, huffing under his breath. He then starts gathering the dirty dishes and piles them into the sink, tugging on the faucet to rinse them off. While he's busy on that, you begin wiping down the counters with a wet rag. Levi gives you a side-eye and you meet his gaze, giving him a warm smile. He looks away again to focus on a bowl he was currently spraying with hot water. As you stare at him for a second longer, you can’t help but think how well you two worked together.

You grab the board once more and write, ‘Thank you for your help. (:’ before flipping the board over to Levi as he dries his hands on the towel. His eyes trail the words, and he glances up at you with indifference.

“Mm.” He hums. His eyes flick over to the timer that was set on the stove as he leans back against the sink and takes another sip of his tea. The cookies had eight minutes left. It almost felt as if he was reading your mind because neither of you moved with the intention leaving the calm kitchen. When you look over to the living space, you see everyone talking over each other in lively conversation. Onyankopon is pointing at the small fish tank that sat nestled in the corner of the room as he shouts over to Hange, who is in the middle of cleaning off the coffee table.

“Hange, I didn’t know you had fish.” He bends down to take a closer look at the two little fish darting around shifting plants.

“Oh yes, they’re my little babies!” She stands straight up and jumps over to the tank and continues as she points at the respective tetras. “This one is Sonny and this one is Bean!” You can’t help but chuckle internally at your over enthusiastic sister. Ever since you both moved to Jinae, Hange really wanted pets. They had requested a dog, but they were too overwhelming for you. She wasn’t really around enough to be able to spend time with them anyways which meant most of it would fall on to you and you weren’t okay with that. So, you both compromised on her getting a couple fish to start out with and would think about the notion again later. Thus far, Hange has been very content with them and hasn’t asked for anything else.  

“They’re gorgeous, Hange.” Onyankopon compliments as he stares at the tank. Hange slaps him on the shoulder in appreciation and starts rambling off the reasons why she chose tetras and all the research she did on them.

“That’s it, boys. I win!” Nanaba shouts from the dining table, slamming her cards onto the hard surface. Furlan and Miche groan in frustration, the latter rubbing his face in exhaustion.

“I swear you’re cheating.” Furlan sits back in his chair as he places his own hand down.

“I second that.” Miche leans over to stare at her cards and just sighs. Dejected, he gets up and wanders towards the bathroom, almost running into Erwin as he emerges from that same direction.

“C’mon guys, at least I vetoed any betting.” She calls out, smirking as she piles the cards up and starts shuffling them.

“You just did that out of pity.” Nanaba just cackles maniacally at Furlan’s dispirited comment.

“Hange, there are too many men in here.” She twists in her chair to face your sister who turns to acknowledge Nanaba’s complaint.

“Psh, I’ll drink to that.” And she does, holding her drink up in cheers and takes a big gulp. You roll your eyes, but you agree. There were way too many men in your apartment right now. Just then, there’s a knock at the door and Hange stands up quickly, face alert like a meerkat in the African wilderness.

“Pizza!” They yell and then they’re off to the front door, a wad of cash in hand.

At the same time, the timer goes off with a soft beeping and you’re quick to grab the oven mitts to pull the trays out. You gingerly place the trays on the stovetop to let them cool and Levi reaches past you to turn off the oven, his face in your periphery as you glance to the side. His movements waft his scent straight into your nose and you find yourself breathing it in deeply. He smelled of clean laundry with a hint of body wash. It isn’t overpowering in the slightest and you revel in it.

“You two are missing out on the fun cooping up in here.” Someone speaks out behind you two as they walk through the archway to the kitchen. You both jump at the voice and turn to see Erwin holding an armful of empty alcohol containers.

“Tch, it beats being surrounded by a bunch of loud mouths.” Levi counters, turning back to the cookies to inspect them. You reach over to grab the trash can and hold it up to Erwin for him to dump the trash. Hange comes in behind him and places four stacked pizza boxes on the counter next to you. You stare at your sister in awe and sign, ‘That’s a lot of pizza.’

“I know but I didn’t know how hungry everyone was. Besides! Leftovers.” They give another cheeky grin, and you just playfully punch her arm. Reaching up in the cupboard behind you, you grab a handful of plates for everyone as well a cup for you, now realizing how parched your throat was.

“Oi, grab me one too.” Levi asks next to you, so you grab another after setting what you held down first. When you turn to hand it to him, he’s a lot closer than you expected and accidentally hit him in the side of the head with the glass in hand. He doesn’t even flinch. He’s looking up at you with knit eyebrows and a thin line in place of his lips.

“Ow.” You hear Erwin and Hange stifling laughter as they organize the pizza boxes.

You set the cup down and start signing frantically, ‘I’m sorry.’ over and over again. You place both of your hands on his face and tilt it so you could get a better look at the spot where you hit him, filled with relief when you find no visible damage. You’re in such a panic that you don’t even notice his stunned disposition. Your hands feel so warm against his cool skin, and it’s so soft. You realize what you’re doing after a moment and let your arms drop to your side, mouthing an apology and stepping away from him.

“It’s fine. I didn’t realize how long your arms were.” He mumbles as he walks over to the fridge without another word, cup in one hand, his other pressing against the spot where you smacked him. How long your arms were? That was such a weird thing to say. Flustered, you grab the plates and shuffle them over to the counter with the pizza. Now that they have opened the boxes, you get a closer look at the options.

There were a couple cheeses, one pepperoni, and one pineapple. Your eyes light up and you gaze at Hange with adoration, forgetting what just happened mere moments ago. They wink at you then call for everyone to plate up ‘while it’s hot’.

Yes, you ate pineapple on your pizza. It first began as a joke just to spite those who turned it down, but then you found out you actually enjoyed the taste. There was something about the sweet and savory flavors that blended perfectly.

Levi comes over with two glasses and hands one with what looked to be a dark cola to you. You mouth a ‘thank you’ as you watch his face twist in disgust as he eyes the boxes in front of him. “Are those pineapples?” Levi leans in for a better look, eyebrows knit.

“Pineapples?!” Furlan rushes over from the table to look at the pizza, the new poker game forgotten. “Alright, who’s the one who asked for them?” He looks around the room and spots you with your hand raised in the air.

“Oh my gosh I could hug you right now. Pineapple on pizza is the best!” He exclaims. He leans over the half wall to marvel at it and then looks back up to you with a massive smile. Levi clicks his tongue and grabs a slice out of the cheese box then makes his way into the living room. You can’t help but feel sad at the sudden absence.

.

“Okay, okay. My turn. Hange. Your obsession with zombies, what the fuck is up with that?” Nanaba leans on the coffee table in anticipation. Your sister just cackles and sits up straight as they push their glasses up their nose with a finger. There’s a glimmer in their eyes.

“That’s hardly a difficult question. I grew up watching zombie movies and I just need to know how they tick. Like what kind of sorcery goes into making them do the things they do?!”

“Hange, they’re fictional creatures, there’s no science that could ever explain that!” Moblit shouts from next to her, exhausted. Hange just laughs and goes on a tangent about possible ways to make and cure zombies, but you zone out as it’s a conversation you have had with them for many years. Looking around the table, you smile to yourself. Tonight has been such a fulfilling evening for you. Being around familiar faces as well as getting to know new ones brought more joy to you than you expected. Not to mention this ridiculous game you were all playing that made your face ache from laughter.

Miche had come up with a game called “What the fuck is up with that?” as a way to wind down from such a big dinner. Players ask someone something personal about their life and follow it with ‘what the fuck is up with that?’ and if they refuse to answer it, they have to take a drink. It honestly felt like a more cracked version of “Truth or Dare” but it was fun, nonetheless. You, of course, nursed soda in your hands instead of alcohol so you were the most sober one here.

So far, no one was really trashed. Tipsy, definitely; There were some words that were starting to slur. What surprised you the most was Levi’s soberness in comparison to everyone else considering how many times he had to take a drink. It figures that any questions directed to him, he opted for silence. You do, however, notice his cheeks were ever so slightly flushed when you glance at him next to you. He radiated an aura of relaxation, which you can’t help but assume is a rare thing for him. He turns to meet your gaze, not looking away after what felt like a good minute.

“Okay okay, we get it Hange. Enough!” Your attention is snapped back into the present company, and you break eye contact to see Onyankopon laughing and throwing a balled-up napkin at Hange’s face to shut her up.

“Fine, sorry! Hmm…” Their eyes wander on the people sitting in the circle with them until they land on Furlan’s face. “Alright, Furlan. You! You’re single and you’re extremely attractive. What the fuck is up with that?” Everyone’s attention shifts to Furlan’s bright red face.

“What the fuck is up with the singleness or the attractiveness?” His voice sounds an octave higher.

“Well, both, obviously, dumbass.” Nanaba pitches in.

“I well. Uh.” His eyes flicker to yours and then look away just as quickly. “I just haven’t found what I was looking for yet, I guess. And for the attractiveness, I just am?” He shrugs his shoulders and laughs nervously. He takes a sip of his drink anyways as he averts his gaze to anything but the people in front of him.

“Hmmm. I don’t know if I’m okay with that answer, but I’ll let it slide. Okay, you pick the next one!”

“Oh okay, uhh.” His eyes travel around until they lock eyes with you again. “The berry nickname. What the fuck is up with that?” Everyone’s gaze now shifts on you. You realize that Hange had called you her ‘little berry’ in front of everyone but had never really given an explanation. You bite your bottom lip and start scrawling on your board. Everyone waits for you patiently and a wave of gratitude washes over you. They really were a great group of friends.

‘When I was younger, I used to steal Hange’s berries from their parfaits.’ You flip the board, and everyone is silent as they read. They burst into laughter one by one, Hange included. Even Levi’s scarred mouth has an upturn. You couldn’t give the full story because it would be too long for you to write, but growing up in the foster system meant you were deprived of a lot of good things, one of those being fresh fruit. So, when the night came when the Zoe’s officially adopted you and they wanted to celebrate with parfaits, you went absolutely feral. You had never tasted anything like fresh berries before and they quickly became your favorite thing in the world, next to your sister of course.

“You guys should have seen her for the month after that. All she wanted was berries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She prefers strawberries, but we don’t discriminate here. All berries are valid!” She yells, taking another sip of her drink. You laugh silently along with them and start thinking of the next victim. After a few moments, you scribble down what was on your mind. Then you point to Erwin and his eyes bulge at the sudden movement but straightens up anyways, clearing his throat.

‘So Erwin, I notice you’ve been taking my sister out for drinks quite often. Your relationship with them, what the fuck is up with that?” You smile innocently at your sister’s composed face.

“Psh, easy.” He pats your sister on the head and Hange just laughs in response, swatting at it. “You of all people know how fun she is to be around. More so when she’s drunk. She’s a great karaoke partner.” They clink the bottles they had in their hands together and smile at each other. You furrow your eyebrows and stick your tongue out.

‘Boooooooo.’ You write and your sister just shoves your shoulder.

“C’mon, you can’t seriously think there’s anything happening between this,” Hange wiggles their index finger in between her and Erwin. “Like really. We’re definitely not each other’s type.”

Miche snorts and mutters something under his breath but you can’t hear the words. Erwin chuckles and nods in agreement then takes another sip of his drink as he surveys the faces in front of him. They land on Levi and his gray eyes bore into Erwin’s crystal blue.

“Hey Levi…” Erwin has a smirk playing on his lips as he stares at his best friend. “I notice you’ve been smiling when you look down at your phone recently. What the fuck is up with that?” Erwin’s eyes sparkle mischievously. Levi just scoffs but you gawk at him with wide eyes, along with Furlan and Hange. Levi doesn’t smile. Sure, you can always tell when he’s fighting it. But you’ve never seen his curt demeanor break into joy.

Levi narrows his eyes on Erwin then answers with a big swig of his glass, finishing off the contents in it as he continues to stare at his friend. Levi’s face is certainly more flushed than before, the tips of his ears bright red as well. He looks away, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Booooooo!” Hange echoes what you had exclaimed earlier.

“Leeeeeviiii! Are you talking with someone?! I thought you were mine.” Furlan pouts, arms crossed.

“It’s none of your goddamn business.” Levi’s voice is brusque. He gets up from his spot quickly and takes his empty glass to the kitchen.

“What do you mean? I think your friends deserve to know.” Hange sits up on their knees to call over to Levi’s backside.

“Then we’re not friends.” He says and disappears down the hall to the bathroom.

“Is he always like that?” Nanaba questions as she finishes her own drink as she stares down the hallway.

“Yes, it’s very normal for him.” Erwin states matter-of-factly, chuckling at the rise he got from Levi.

“Short and angry. It’s quite the combo.” Onyankopon cuts in, grinning.

You fidget with the wipe-off marker as you think about how he reacted. It wasn’t very surprising to you. Levi is a very private man when it comes to such things. All of the conversations you had with him were still on a fundamental surface layer. You knew better than to ask anything deeper for fear of him shutting you out, like he just did with Erwin’s question. Levi, at least, didn’t sound angry right now, but you suspect it was because it was someone so close to him asking such a question. If it was you… then. Well, you were scared of what he might do from such an intimate question.

“Yanno what, it’s probably about that time I head out. It’s getting pretty late.” Moblit chimes in as he starts to get up from his spot on the floor.

“Whaaat!? We still have one more thing left to do. Besides, it’s literally,” Hange takes a glance at the clock on the wall. “10:30. Just a little longer??” They clasp their hands as they beg, staring up at her friend.

“I must agree with Moblit here, we need to submit our report before the end of this week.” Onyankopon replies as he gets up as well. He squeezes Hange’s shoulder as he speaks with a slight smile. Hange sticks her bottom lip out.

“Fine, fine. But just know, you’re missing out on only the greatest tradition ever: Making fun of stupid romance movies.”

“I wanna do that!” Nanaba cuts in, laughing at the idea.

“Nanaba, we’re literally your ride home.” Moblit calls out from the dining room as he pulls on his winter jacket. Grabbing Nanaba’s as well, he makes sure to pick up the deck of cards they brought and shoves it into her jacket pocket.

“Boo.” She gets up clumsily and huffs. “You two are no fun.”

“What she said.” Hange says, sticking her tongue out again.

“Seriously though, Hange. Great party. We had a really good time.” Onyankopon compliments as he zips up his own coat. At this point, everyone is standing up as they talk to each other. You glance over and notice that Miche is getting ready to leave too.

‘You’re going too?’ You scrawl to him quickly.

“Ah yes, unfortunately IT never takes a break.” He mutters to you solemnly as you go in to give him a tight hug. “Are we still on for next Wednesday?” You nod at him with a cheerful grin. “Great, I’ll see you then.” He ruffles your hair and walks past to say goodbye to everyone else.

After a few more goodbyes, it’s just you, Hange, Erwin, and Furlan standing in the living room. Your sister and Erwin were conversing about what movie to watch as Furlan shuffles up next to you. Levi still hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet.

“I bet he’s taking a shit.” His blasé statement makes you giggle uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you do. You hold your hand to your mouth to compose yourself as you give Furlan such a bewildered look. He just winks at you.

“Furlan, I’m going to kick your ass.” Levi’s sharp voice cuts in behind you both and it makes you both jump.

“Hey now, I was just kidding.” Furlan’s voice wavers as he takes a step back. You wave at Levi with a warm smile, but he just averts his gaze and goes to sit down on the sofa, one leg crossed on his knee. Biting your cheek, you go and find a spot on the floor, making sure to put a pillow under your butt for comfort. Hange and Erwin are flicking through a bunch of streaming apps trying to find the chosen movie for tonight.

“Ah okay, I know what we’re doing!” Hange slaps their hands together in finality. Erwin makes his way to the armchair and sits back with a heavy sigh.

“Not my first choice.” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

“Oh c’mon. Everything about it screams bad romance. Plus, it’s the worst out of all of them.”

“Hange, you never cease to amaze me.” Furlan states as he takes the spot next to Levi.

Twilight: New Moon? Really? In your heart of hearts, you couldn’t completely hate Twilight as you were practically obsessed with it in your late teens. But you had to agree, it wasn’t the best out of the five films. It’s like Hange knew what you were thinking because they stare directly into your eyes and wiggle their eyebrows at you teasingly. You roll your eyes, and she chuckles.

“Move it, sis. I’m going for the spot behind you.” Hange slips past you to sit on the couch right next to Levi’s other side. You back up so you’re sandwiched in between Hange’s legs, and you yawn with the added warmth. You had a fleeting thought of not being able to finish the movie before falling asleep. How right you were. You don’t even make it past Bella’s dream sequence, drifting off into your own little world. The smell of clean laundry and musky body wash permeates your senses as you do.

.

Levi isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Even if it was something he was interested in, his focus could not be kept on the screen. Levi felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest as he felt the weight of you leaning against his bad leg. Your soft cheek pressed into his knee while you slept soundly. His joints have been aching for the last hour, but he would sooner touch fire before disturbing you. He couldn’t see your face very well from this angle, but he could only assume how peaceful you looked right now. Your hair is still in buns, but they were much messier than before from the activities of the day, hair falling every which way.

As you sighed softly in your sleep, his mind raced with everything that had happened today. From the ecstatic look in your eyes when you opened the front door to when you had gently cradled his head in your warm hands after hitting him on accident, making sure you didn’t hurt him. He still felt tingles of your touch shooting through his nervous system from that. And making cookies with you, he had more fun than he could admit. You were so meticulous and careful, albeit chaotic in your ways. He found it so endearing.

 Then that damn Erwin asking that stupid question. Erwin knew and still egged him on. Of course, it was you; you were the reason why his heart and stomach did flips whenever he heard his phone vibrate. He wouldn’t allow anyone to know that though, especially you. Not when you already seem so entwined in other people’s lives.

Levi hadn’t missed Furlan’s interest in you. His longtime friend often stated that he wanted to get to know you even more. Not to mention Furlan’s tactless ways of wanting to include you in everything he made plans to do. It seemed as if you weren’t aware of his intentions though, so maybe he wasn’t clear enough. Levi hopes you never pick up on it.

And of course, there was Miche. What kind of relationship did you have with him? Levi didn’t mishear how you had plans with him next week. And the intimate touching? What was that all about? The relationship with Miche did not seem romantic from his viewpoint, but then again.

Levi was never the jealous type, or so he thought. He found that any attention aimed at you ruffled him. What about you made him feel like this? He scoffs under his breath, not able to look away from the back of your head. Hange stops munching on the cookie in her hands and turns at the sound, now noticing you fast asleep on Levi’s knee.

“Want me to take her for you?” They whisper to Levi, shifting to stand up.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want you to miss out on prime Eduardo and Beatrice or whoever the fuck these people are.” Levi waves his hand dismissively and carefully gets up, making sure to move your head so it doesn’t flop forward. “Which one is her room?” He asks as he stares down at Hange. They regard him in curiosity but smile regardless.

“The door with the sakuras on them.” Levi nods and bends down to effortlessly pick you up despite his smaller frame, cradling you as your head falls back. You’re deeply asleep at this point, he assumes, because you make no motion from the disturbance. Levi feels the stares from Furlan and Erwin as he steps over everyone to make it to the set of bedroom doors down the hall.

As he delicately places you on your bed, he starts to pull the soft comforter up to cover you but then you shift in your sleep, making him pause. With the confirmation of your sleep-induced heavy breathing, he pulls the blanket up the rest of the way and takes a long look at your soft features. The peace that radiated off your face was something he delighted in. How beautiful you were to him.

On his way out, he steps slowly to the door, being mindful of his surroundings as he goes. He spots a couple of framed pictures that littered your cluttered desk. One catches his eye in particular; It’s a photo of when you were very young, maybe 5 or so. He takes a step forward for a closer look, minding the creaking floorboards carefully. An unsettling feeling runs cold in his veins as he recognizes the family that surrounded you as well as the house in the background. He knew that family and he knew that house, and he came to realize he knew you as well.

A flashback hits him like a brick. One of him and the boy in the photo, your brother, playing outside until the sunset. Of you yelling for him with your small voice that it was time for dinner and that he needed to come home. Of your little pigtails completely askew as you cried after falling on the gravel due to a skateboard accident from when him and your brother tried to teach you how to balance on it. Of him giving you a flower to distract you from the pain and your bleeding kneecaps. Of having to move away because his good for nothing father threatened his mom and Levi had warned him to try. Of you and your family waving goodbye as he stared from the rear window, the view of your tear-streaked face getting smaller and smaller as his mom drove away.

He had forgotten all about you, and it seemed you had forgotten about him. A breath hitches in his throat and he turns to look back at you, your face scrunched up from a dream as you pull the blankets closer. No wonder he felt compelled to you, almost like he needed to protect you. With a soft sigh, he creeps slowly to the door and slips out before shutting it close behind him.

You roll over in your sleep, sighing again, the night of the fire haunting your dreams.

☾ Previous Chapter: January ☾ Next Chapter: March

[eretzyisrael]

by Chuck Ross

When two of Rep. Susan Wild’s constituents, a mother-daughter pair, wrote the Pennsylvania Democrat urging her to support Israel in its fight against Hamas, they received not one but two letters in response. One declared support for Israel and its "right to defend itself." The other called for international pressure on the Jewish state and an "immediate ceasefire."

The dueling letters, obtained by the Washington Free Beacon, were both sent on May 21 and signed by Rep. Wild herself. They appear to be stock letters drafted by Wild's office. While pushing out such letters to constituents is standard for a member of Congress, Wild's letters provide drastically different assessments of the war that are now public after Wild inadvertently sent one version to the mother and the other to the daughter.

In the pro-Israel missive, the congresswoman said she was "outraged, devastated, and heartbroken" over the "vicious" Hamas attack. She expressed support for "the Israeli people and all fellow Jews" and reiterated Israel’s "right to defend itself." She also pledged to "do everything I can as your representative to ensure Israel has the ability and capacity to restore and maintain its security and safety of all its citizens."

In a contradictory letter sent to the daughter, the congresswoman also said she was "outraged, devastated, and heartbroken." But this time, she was devastated about the "unspeakable tragedy continuing to unfold in Gaza," adding that the Israeli military "has inflicted devastation on staggering numbers of innocent Palestinian children, families, and civilians in Gaza." She called for an "immediate ceasefire" and pledged to "always listen and fully consider" the perspective of Israel's enemies.

The two letters are an embarrassing mixup for Wild, who is running for reelection in one of the country's tightest House races. It comes as she works to moderate her policy positions on immigration, energy, crime, and other hot-button issues in the wake of a redistricting cycle that added Trump-loving Carbon County to her swing district. (Earlier this year, Wild was caught on a Zoom call deriding the county's residents as bigots who "drank the Trump Kool-Aid." In 2022, she was also caught on tape saying she needed to "school" Carbon County residents for their support of Trump.)

Pennsylvania’s Lehigh Valley, which Wild represents, has a substantial Arab population in addition to an engaged Jewish community. For the constituents who wrote to Wild, the conflicting letters raise questions about the congresswoman’s authenticity.

"She tells one group one thing and tells another group another thing," said one of Wild’s constituents, who spoke to the Free Beacon on condition of anonymity over concerns about retribution from anti-Israel activists.

"I’ve never believed when she spoke about Israel that she was being authentic," this person said. "She has definitely favored the pro-Palestinian voters."