#car rear glass replacement

[nazim662]

When to Repair vs. Replace Your Rear Windshield

Introduction

Imagine you're heading out to your car, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. As you approach your vehicle, you notice a crack or chip in your rear windshield. Your mind races with uncertainty: Should you repair it or replace it? What’s the best course of action to ensure your safety and avoid costly future repairs?

Rear windshield damage is a common issue that many drivers encounter but often overlook. Ignoring or delaying the repair of such damage can lead to potential safety hazards and more expensive repairs down the line. It’s crucial to address any damage promptly to maintain the integrity and safety of your vehicle.

When faced with rear windshield damage, you typically have two main options: repair or replacement. Each option has its own advantages and limitations, and choosing the right one depends on several factors, including the size, location, and depth of the damage.

This guide will help you assess the damage to your rear windshield, determine whether repair or replacement is the best course of action, and provide tips for choosing a reputable service provider.

Understanding Rear Windshield Damage

Types of Damage

Chips: Small, localized areas of damage usually caused by flying debris like rocks or gravel.

Cracks: Lines that can vary in length and severity, often starting from a chip or impact point.

Shattered Glass: Extensive damage where the glass breaks into numerous pieces, typically necessitating immediate replacement.

Common Causes

Road Debris: Rocks, gravel, and other objects can be kicked up by other vehicles, causing chips and cracks.

Temperature Changes: Sudden changes in temperature can cause the glass to expand or contract, leading to stress fractures.

Accidents or Collisions: Rear-end collisions or minor fender benders can result in significant damage to the rear windshield.

Vandalism: Acts of vandalism can cause intentional damage to your vehicle's glass.

The Importance of Acting Quickly

Expansion of Damage: Small chips can quickly expand into larger cracks, making them harder and more expensive to repair.

Safety Issues: Compromised visibility and structural integrity can lead to dangerous driving conditions and increased risk during collisions.

When to Repair Your Rear Windshield

Size

Small Chips: Typically, chips smaller than a quarter can be repaired.

Short Cracks: Cracks less than 14 inches long are often repairable. However, the feasibility depends on the crack's location and type.

Location

Driver's Line of Sight: Damage within the driver's line of sight may necessitate replacement to ensure optimal visibility.

Edges and Defroster Lines: Chips or cracks near the edges or within the defroster lines are often not repairable due to the structural and functional implications.

Depth

Surface-Level Damage: Shallow chips or cracks that don't penetrate the inner layers of the glass are typically repairable.

Deep Damage: Cracks or chips that go through multiple layers of glass generally require replacement.

When to Replace Your Rear Windshield

Extensive Damage

Shattered Glass: This level of damage almost always requires a full replacement.

Large Cracks: Cracks longer than 14 inches or multiple cracks and chips necessitate replacement.

Location

Obstructed View: Damage that obstructs the driver's view or interferes with defroster lines usually requires replacement for safety reasons.

Structural Integrity

Compromised Structure: If the damage affects the structural integrity of the windshield, replacement is necessary to ensure the vehicle's safety.

Choosing the Right Rear Windshield Repair Service

Certifications

Certified Technicians: Look for technicians certified by reputable organizations such as the National Glass Association (NGA). Certification ensures that the technician has the necessary skills and knowledge to perform high-quality repairs or replacements.

Experience

Proven Track Record: Choose a company with a history of successful rear windshield repairs and replacements. Experienced technicians are more likely to provide reliable and efficient service.

Warranty

Parts and Labor Warranty: Inquire about warranties on both parts and labor. A good warranty indicates that the company stands behind its work and materials.

Customer Reviews

Reputation: Check online reviews to gauge the company's reputation and customer satisfaction. Positive reviews from previous customers can give you confidence in the company's services.

DIY vs. Professional Repair

DIY Kits

Availability and Affordability: DIY repair kits are widely available and relatively affordable. They offer a quick fix for minor damage but have limitations.

Limitations

Risks: DIY repairs come with potential risks such as incomplete filling or improper resin curing, which can lead to further damage or ineffective repairs.

Professional Expertise

Specialized Tools and Techniques: Professional repairs involve the use of specialized tools and techniques that ensure a thorough and effective repair.

High-Quality Materials: Professionals have access to high-quality resins and adhesives that provide a stronger and more durable repair.

To learn more about what to look for in a repair service and get additional tips on rear windshield replacement or repair, check out our expert guide.

Conclusion

Deciding between repair and replacement of your rear windshield depends on the size, location, and depth of the damage. Small chips and short cracks are often repairable, while extensive damage, compromised structural integrity, or damage within the driver's line of sight typically require replacement.

Prioritize safety by consulting with a qualified professional for an accurate assessment and recommendation. Professionals can provide the expertise and materials needed for effective repairs or replacements.

If you notice damage to your rear windshield, don't wait. Contact a trusted auto glass specialist like Camelback Auto Glass for a free consultation and quote. Ensure your safety and comfort on the road by addressing rear windshield damage promptly and professionally.

[portlandautoglass]

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Portland Auto Glass has the expertise, tools and experience to help you get your car fixed. Once you have selected a repair both our auto glass experts will give you a free estimate for any windshield replacement or even a chip repair. We are proud to offer auto glass services only from our local company so that we can give you the personal service that goes above and beyond the call of duty.

[ohwowimlonley]

poly!marauders x drunk!reader at a party and reader needy but they don’t want to help reader because they don’t want to do anything when reader basically unconscious of what’s happening because reader is drunk. So they try to explain to reader that they will gladly take care of them after they get better and go to bed. Thank you!

Small psa to all the people that have requested recently - im trying to get through all of them but some i want to write longer fics for and some im keeping in my inbox for blurbs! <3

—

You reach out for them blindly, fingers groping at dead air as you murmer their names. You’re strapped into the back passenger seat of James’ car on the way home from girls night. It’s safe to say that even three hours with Lily and Marlene drinking wine and gossiping about your boys had caused the three of you to go through maybe five bottles of wine between the three of you. Lily had called the boys to pick you up when it got too late, leading to them all but carrying you out to the car while you try to grab at them.

“Siri,” you muster up your sweetest voice, but it’s tinged with a slur and you can’t quite pinpoint where he is when you open your eyes to gaze at him. He makes a small sound from next to you, and his fingers finally brush yours, “you’re so pretty, d’you know that?”

“Oh yeah?” You can hear the grin in his voice, along with the other boys chuckles from the front seats. You squeeze his fingers and follow the line of his arm until you get to his jeans.

“Mhm,” you nod, clenching your fingers around his thigh and fumbling your way towards his crotch, “I tell the girls all about it, like how good you make me feel,”

“Alright, enough,” Remus calls from the passenger seat, leaning back to grip your arm and remove it from Sirius’ crotch. He shushes your whines at the loss lf contact, and fends you off as you lean forward and try to wrap your arm around his chest, “sit back, love, you know that’s not safe in a moving car,”

“But daddy,” you keen, tugging against your seatbelt and pouting around at your boyfriends as they gently keep you from touching them. As your last resort, you turn to James, “Jamsie, you’ll make me feel good, won’t you?”

“I’m sorry, sweetness,” he makes the briefest glimpse of eye contact with you as his head whips back to look through the rear window to check his clearance as he reverses into your driveway.

You don’t exactly remember the next five minutes of your life, it’s mostly a flurry of opening doors and light switches flicking before you’re sat squarely on your shared bed by Remus. The others aren’t far behind him, shutting the door behind them and busying themselves with clinking a glass of water onto the bedside table and finding pyjamas out for the four of you.

Your eyes brighten as James begins removing your dress, and you surge forward and plant a firm kiss on his plush lips. He indulges you for a brief moment before pulling away and tugging your clothes off, only to replace it with one of his tshirts.

“Jamesie,” you whine, wide eyes filling with tears as he moves away from you to begin changing himself, “why won’t you fuck me?”

“Oh, sweetness,” Remus turns in his spot as a tear dribbles down your cheek. He pulls the boys over to you and all of a sudden you’re crowded by your boyfriends.

“Baby,” Sirius takes your hand and crouches down to your level, “you know we love you, and we love makin’ you feel good, but you’ve had way too much to drink tonight,”

“No I haven’t,” you insist.

“Yes you have,” Remus does the same thing as your curly-haired boyfriend, bringing your fist up to smooth a kiss there, “how much wine did you drink with Lily and Marls? You know red is your weakness,”

“But- but that doesn’t mean anything, you can still fuck me,” you grip their hands tighter, nodding at your own words.

“No, baby, not when you’ve been drinking,” James, as always, has the most gentle voice of the three of them, “you’re not in your right mind when you’re drinking, right? You might say yes to something you might regret,”

“But we’ve had sex loads,” you complain, “and I’ve never regretted it before!”

“That’s not the point, sweetness,” Remus interjects, “look, why don’t we go to bed, and when we wake up, I promise we’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“But-“

“No buts,” Sirius extends back to his full height and presses a kiss to your forehead, “go to bed now, okay?”

“And drink some water before you fall asleep,” James reminds you, reaching over and handing you the glass as you resign yourself to silence, pouting to yourself.

“Will you at least kiss me?” Immidietly, you’re overwhelmed with kisses all over your face, causing you to giggle drunkenly at their affection.

[mysticgalsworld]

swept away pt.2

a/n: thank you all so much for your support on pt 1 !! i’m so happy to continue this story for all you lovely ppl.. also just a reminder i take requests !! (special shoutout to angelikaschischi for requesting this specifically 😋) anyways pls enjoy lovelies 💕

pairing: hugh jackman x cleaning lady f! reader

summary: after getting a job at a cleaning company as a maid, you’re surprised to find out that the house you’re cleaning for belongs to the Hugh Jackman..

content warnings: fluff, angst, f! reader, maternal role, cursing, hospital, mental illness, power imbalance, slow burn?, not spellchecked

parts: 1, 2

The car ride to the small headquarters of Pristine Cleaning Co. was long. Your knuckles grip the steering wheel tensely, white emerging from the force of your grip.

“I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” His vicious words cut back into your memory and your foot presses on the gas to go faster.

The squeak of a giggle behind you rings in your ears as you look behind you. The small toddler grabs her own foot in the carrier. Looking at her, you sigh, allowing the tension from your body to exit.

The roundness of her cheeks distract you from your memories and force you to look at her from the rear view mirror. Her finger comes out suddenly with a small whine as she points to the busted radio.

“The radio?” you ask her, not expecting an understandable response. You press the knob, waiting a bit before a slight sound comes out. It’s scratchy and distorted, but after harshly smacking the top of the dashboard, it clears up.

Alicia Keys’ voice comes out slightly muffled, but to the gummy grin of the toddler behind you, she doesn’t seem to mind.

You closed the banged up door of the old sedan before opening the back and grabbing the baby carrier. Slamming the door, you make your way into the modern building of the Pristine Cleaning Co.

Even though you would rather chop your head off than take another step, you continue. Adjusting your attire, you knock on the small office door and wait. The silence on the other side is as unnerving as the first time you did your interview, but you stand taller.

“Come in.” a smooth voice answers from the other side. Picking up the carrier from the floor, you push open the door slowly before putting on a trepidatious smile on your face.

The woman’s eyes flicker up to you from her paper calendar. She adjusts her framed black glasses before looking down at the carrier and back to your face. “Y/N. Have a seat.”

With her tone, you have to force the saliva to not gulp down your throat as you sit. Thankfully the toddler is too entranced with grasping at the bows in her hair to make any noise.

The room is almost completely silent, saving for the heavy breathing from the child, the automated air conditioning blowing softly into the office, and the heavy sound of keys clicking as she continues to type.

To save you both from the awkwardness of the half-silent room, you speak. “Miss Wong. I was wondering if you have considered finding a replacement for Mr. Jackman’s house?”

She starts, pausing to look thoughtfully at you, resting her manicured fingers on the desk in front of her.

“Mr. Jackman?” Her voice is boarder line sharp as she asks the question. Shit. You were supposed to be “silent, thorough, and unnoticeable” not aware of the residents who lived there.

You swallow softly before meeting her eyes. “I saw a picture on the dresser. So I assumed..” Her eyebrows raise before she sighs, a sound so strangely unlike her you almost shiver.

“Your job is to clean, not to assume. But we have attempted to find a replacement cleaner for his house, yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly, hands making slight fists under the table as you process her vague sentence. You nervously glance up at her, urging your voice to exude professionalism.

“Attempted? After my last cleaning I had hoped to switch his house for the one near Rosemount Grove..”

Miss Wong nods, acknowledging your words. Her gaze remains fixated on you, expression unreadable. The silence stretches on for a few more seconds before she finally responds.

“Yes, attempted. Unfortunately, we have been unsuccessful in finding a replacement cleaner. All our other cleaners at this moment have their hands full with their assigned clients.”

She leans back in her chair, her manicured fingers drumming lightly on the stack of papers in her desk.

“I’m afraid I can’t reassign you, Y/N. It’s either this house or nothing.”

Your hands begin to sweat against your pants as you look at the toddler, now completely passed out. Your voice comes out soft as your gaze is stuck to the sleeping toddler.

“I suppose you’ll call him?” With a wavering voice you think of how much this job means. Without it, you don’t know where you would be.

Pushing up her thick framed glasses, Miss Wong continues to type. She watches silently as you look down at the sleeping toddler, a flicker of understanding passing through her usually stoic expression. She nods slightly, acknowledging your statement and the implications it holds.

“I’ll call him,” she confirms, her voice as poised as ever. “But Y/N?”

Your eyes flash to her, searching for a hint of her next words, but her gaze is already back to the computer screen. Professionalism oozing from her tone, she tries to hide her concern. “The kid won’t be a problem, will it?”

Rapidly shaking your head, you wonder if she even sees it from her typing. “No, Valerie stays with my parents during the cleanings. Not an issue at all..”

She nods imperceptibly, her head barely moving. You move to stand, grabbing carrier from beside you. “Thanks Miss Wong, have a nice day.” She glances at you once more, her eyes drifting back down to the carrier before you exit, but saying nothing.

Once in your car, you try to start it. The engine stalls slightly but you try again, making a mental note to get it checked out. The car starts with a low stammer and you finally leave.

When you enter the familiar open house, your breath catches in your throat. Opening the door with your key, you beg to some higher power that he sent the company the correct days he wouldn’t be here.

Wiping your sweaty hand on the thighs of your worn jeans, you start. As it was before, you start with the kitchen. Then you go to the living room, basking in the peaceful silence surrounding the house.

The creak of the front door knocks you out from your trance while dusting. Heavy steps enter the home and as you turn to look, you see the man you were hoping to avoid.

Hugh Jackman’s tall, muscular figure steps through the front door, filling up the space with his mere presence. His eyes scan the living room, taking in your figure as you stand frozen in the middle of dusting.

At first, his expression is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and slight regret. But then it softens slightly as his gaze roams over you, noticing how skittish you seem at his unexpected entrance.

“Oh, hello...” His voice is gravelly, and his steps slower as he moves further into the room.

You nod in response to his greeting, you face no longer cracking professional smiles when you see him.

To you, his face is a reminder of those fucking words. “I don’t want to accuse you, but what am I suppose to think?” Because that’s all he thought you were. A thief. A criminal.

The words replay in your brain. They taunt you. In the morning, in the silence of a car ride, in your nightmares.

Turning away, you continue to dust. Hoping that your brushing him off would’ve given him the hint, you are surprised to hear his weight shift as he continues to stand in front of the door.

Now you drop the duster, going to pick up the vacuum. In your peripheral you can see his mouth open to speak, regret so clear on his face. But instead of listening, you crank the vacuum to the highest setting and hope he gets the hint.

He pauses for a moment, watching your dismissive behavior with a mixture of guilt and frustration on his face. Realizing you were purposefully avoiding his attempts to talk, his brow furrows and his tone sharpens slightly.

“Y/N. I need to talk to you.” His tone seems regretful as he slightly raises his voice to talk over the vacuum. You see him out of your peripheral, hands on his hips as he stands there in his sweaty workout clothes.

Instead of acknowledging him, you turn with the vacuum, pretending to not have heard him.

Seeing you ignore him makes him breathe out a heavy sigh before placing a hand over his face in frustration. “Y/N, please! I need to apologize…”

Lowering the vacuum, you turn to him absentmindedly. “I’m not supposed to talk to you…” you respond, devoid of any warmth.

His frown deepens at your words, his shoulders sagging slightly in disappointment. “I know that. But I need to talk to you…”

Turning off the vacuum abruptly, a sudden silence engulfs the room. You turn to him with your arms crossed. You raise your eyebrows with calm anger, hoping to urge him on.

He swallows, his accent sounding gravelly with his low tone. “I’m sorry.”

Raising your eyebrows in surprise, you almost laugh. The two words you dreamed about hearing finally coming out of his mouth and they don’t feel like enough.

Instead of responding you grab a cloth, starting to wipe down the coffee table. Behind you, he clears his throat. “Y/N.”

You turn to him, the dirty cloth still in your hand. With a tone oozing professional indifference, you start. “I have nothing to say sir. Please let me finish my job and I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“I can’t. I need you to know how sorry I am. I really messed up and I apologize.” He starts to pace slowly, the scene strangely mirroring the situation he was apologizing for.

He continues, his voice rising slightly in regret. “I mean—the second you found the watch behind the dresser I felt like an fucking idiot.”

You giggle slightly at he starts to ramble out his apology. Suddenly your old phone starts to ring. Shit. You keep it on silent and only emergency calls actually ring.

You mumble a quick sorry to him before picking up. Glancing down rapidly at your phone, you answer. Hugh sees this and stops, wondering why you looked stressed as you answer the phone.

Your brows furrow as the person on the phone speaks. “What? Is she okay?” Breathing more heavily, you listen to the other side. “The hospital!” Your voice raises before you mumble a quiet “fuck” under your breath.

Ending the call with a “I’ll be right there,” you rush to pack up your things, leaving a very confused Hugh.

When you say “the hospital” Hugh’s heart drops for you. A sense of dread fills him when he sees you pack your things with panicked movements.

“What’s going on?” His voice exudes authority as he commands an explanation. Your head already feels like it’s about to explode and trying to explain the situation to him may make your head literally melt off. With a rushed sigh, you brush your messy hair off of your forehead. “I’m sorry sir, I have to go to the hospital. So I can’t finish the cleaning today.”

Hugh watches your stressed mannerisms, his mind racing with unanswered questions. He feels a pang of concern, and his brows furrow as he looks at you.

"Ok that’s completely fine.” With that, you nod and head towards the front door with a jog. Once outside you run to your old, beat-up car. Unbeknownst to you, Hugh stands in the front doorway, watching as you rush to leave.

Turning the key, you pray to any higher power that your car starts. It spudders with a low dying sound and you could almost laugh. Of course this happens at the worst possible fucking time. You try again, getting the same result and sighing.

In frustration, you bang your head against the steering wheel, tears fighting to fall. A hard knock against the window startles you as you look up. Hugh stares with furrowed brows as you open the car door. “Need a ride?” His smooth voice almost acts like a buey in this moment.

“Please…” You hurriedly follow him to his silver Audi Q7. Not used to the luxury car, you hesitate but think back to why you need to ride with him in the first place. His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Which hospital?” Your breath catches as you think, “Uh—Rosemount Community Hospital.” With a nod he drives, a solemn expression on his face.

The drive was silent. As soon as the car came to a stop, you hopped out. Rushing through the glass doors of the community hospital, you ask the lady at the front desk for the room number.

Hugh follows, not wanting to leave you here at the hospital alone. He knows he hates the smell of hospitals, the place where death and life meet, and wonders what you think. Do you like hospitals? Do you find them comforting? Or a bad omen?

Following you to the room, he can’t hide his surprise when you open the door to a small toddler sitting with an older woman.

“Valerie…” Your voice whispers softly and you go to cradle the toddler who now has a bright green cast on her tiny leg. You turn to the older woman, your expression becoming venomous as you grit out,“What happened?”

The older woman splutters in surprise at your tone before crossing her arms. “I was making lunch. She wanted to sit on the counter so I let her, but she started to climb. I turned around for one second—once second and she fell…”

Your face reddens as you breathe deeply. Your normal calm anger transpiring into a red-hot fit of rage. Hugh, still stuck in a state of confusion and shock from seeing the toddler, glances curiously at your expression. “Mom, you can’t do that. She’s a baby, she can’t even walk yet… She shouldn’t even be on the counter in the first place.” With a sigh, you put a hard on your tired face while picking up the giggly toddler.

“Just—can you get the doctor please, Mom?” You sit with Valerie in your arms, watching as your mom leaves the room. Almost disassociating, you stare at the stark white tile before Hugh speaks up.

“Is that your daughter?” His voice seems curious and a little shaken. You aren’t really old, maybe mid 20s. Clearing your throat slightly, you still hold your gaze to the tile. “No.. she’s my little sister. My mom has early onset Alzheimer’s and usually my dad is there to help take care of her.”

Hugh feels his heart drop slightly at your response, a pang of sympathy filling him as he to you. His eyes flicker to the little girl sitting snugly on your lap, who is still giggling obliviously.

Nodding slowly, he takes in the weight of your words before speaking quietly. “I'm sorry about your mom—that’s horrible. And your dad?"

You shrug your shoulders casually, your expression blank and disappointed. Valerie brings you out of your the thoughts, her small hand getting stuck in the bottom of your hair. With a smile, you glance to her face. Chubby cheeks, stubby baby teeth, and the soft tufts of her hair remind you of who you’re doing this for.

Clearing your throat, you look to Hugh, who’s now standing in the corner. “Thank you…” Your voice comes out in a whisper, almost as if you are afraid to say them louder.

His eyes widen for a moment, his heart clenching at the almost timid tone in your voice. He swallows deeply, feeling his throat grow dry as he responds.

"Don't mention it..."

You laugh softly as you think of your piece of crap car sitting dead in the front of his nice house. With a small sigh, you realize having to get it fixed will eat into your already minimal savings.

Pulling out your phone, you call a tow truck company to pick up the car and take it to the shop. Hugh just watches as you do this, a little confused because he was more than willing to do it for you. While you’re on the phone, your mom comes back with the doctor in tow.

Immediately, you end the call and give your attention to the doctor as he explains that Valerie’s leg is broken, but will heal nicely after a couple months. You breathe out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding and thank the doctor for his time.

Turning to Hugh, your voice comes out strong. “Thank you, Mr. Jackman. For everything… I’ll see you next week.” You almost miss the slight frown at your professional use of his name, but you don’t. Turning to walk out of the room with Valerie in your arms and your mom on your heels, you give him one last smile as you go.

The next week goes smoothly. Continuing your routine, you start with the kitchen. As you start to organize the refrigerator, you hear the heavy steps of Hugh entering. Instead of his normal sweaty workout clothes, you’re almost surprised to see him in comfy clothes.

He gives you a smile before continuing to the coffee machine. Without turning around, his voice rings out above the soft hum of your music. “Coffee?”

Instead of answering, you walk to the cupboard and pull out two mugs. He watches as you place them next to the machine, a small smile on your face. The hint of domesticity from making coffee shocks both of you, so you retreat back to the fridge.

He pours the coffee and approaches you at the fridge with both cups in his hands. Your pinky brushes against his as you grasp the ceramic mug. A buzz of electricity shoots through your arm as you revel in the warmth of it. In a daze, you whisper a thank you before picking out the creamer and offering it to him. He takes it with a smile, happy that you are no longer ignoring him.

Taking a sip, you bask in the rich taste before Hugh’s voice pulls you out of your focus. “How’s Valerie?” Almost completely forgetting that he was at the hospital with you, you clear your throat surprised. You don’t know what surprises you more, the fact that he remembers her name or actually cares about how she’s doing.

“She’s fine—finally getting use to the cast.” I take another sip of my coffee, choosing to keep my gaze on the island between us. He nods in my peripheral, his voice coming out to give a small “That’s good.”

The silence is somewhat awkward and somewhat comfortable, but he decides to break it. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never accused you.”

Nodding, you take in his words. You focus on the deep rumble of regret in his voice, the emotion of it making his accent come out stronger. “I’m not a thief. I just—I can’t lose this job.” Your voice comes out almost desperate. You could curse at the small wobble that comes out as you bite through the words. Afraid to look him in the eye after your words, you set the mug down and go back to reorganizing the fridge.

You can feel his eyes stuck on you, the feeling of it curious and prodding. You continue, picking up the condiments and reorganizing them.

“My father gave me that watch.” The words are so sudden and soft, it shocks you. Your shoulders deflate as you unravel the tension from your earlier words. You turn slowly, mouth open to say something but he stops you. “—That’s why I was so upset… He passed a couple years ago and I wear that watch to—uh remember him, I guess.”

The soft and somewhat solemn expression on his face takes you off guard. Even though he is looking down at the counter in remembrance, you almost feel like the atmosphere is staring down into your soul.

“Mr. Jackman…” you start. He interrupts, holding up a hand, “—Hugh, please.” Nodding, you play with the handle of your mug as you watch him. “Hugh, I’m so sorry.. I shouldn’t have been so defensive and—”

Your mouth opens to explain more, your fear and hatred of people not treating you as a human with thoughts, maybe even your fear of losing this job, but he stops you. He stops you from your unnecessary groveling. “None of it was your fault. I was just stressed and upset and I took it out on you… I’m the one who’s sorry…”

With a nod and a small smile, you listen. Really listen—to everything; his voice, his words, and the soft gravel of his accent. “It’s okay…” With a nod and soft smile, toeing the boarder of friendship, you turn and go back to the fridge.

The following week, the smiles only grow. Instead of telling your company the dates he won’t be there, it seems that every time you come to clean he “accidentally” keeps running into you. When you are cleaning the kitchen, he decides that is the perfect time to have his midafternoon cup of coffee. Or when you’re cleaning his bedroom, he needs to grab things that he coincidentally forgets to bring downstairs.

And the notes reappear too. Silly doodles with swirls and faces conjoined with encouraging notes of admiration. And every time, they make your day. Even when your morning has taken a turn for the worse.

Like this morning Valerie decided now was the time to try to take her cast off by herself. You sigh exhausted as you remember the wails and cries of pain from the itching she had under the cast this morning.

Even with your face and body exhausted, the neon brightness of a colored note sticking to the TV screen brings a soft smile to your face. You pull it softly off the dark screen and pull it closer to your tired eyes to read.

“Coffee?” It’s covered in zigzags, smiley faces, and a badly-drawn cup of coffee, but yet you still feel your feet pulling to the kitchen.

Moving to the kitchen, you are shocked to see Hugh sitting at the countertop with a puzzle, a steaming cup of coffee in his own hand and another in the seat beside him. With a tired smile you greet him, a casual “Hey Hugh” coming from your lips.

He glances up from the puzzle, a pair of reading glasses and a concentrated smile on his face. For a second you glance down to his lips, drawn in a concentrated pout from the puzzle. But still he greets you warmly, the pout disappearing in an instant, replaced with a warm smile.

You take the counter seat next to him, sipping your coffee and watching as he continues his puzzle. Small conversation flows easily, you focused on the coffee and him on the puzzle.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he focuses on his next question. “And Valerie? How’s her leg?” Your shoulders sag as you sigh with exhaustion. “She wasn’t doing too well this morning, her leg itches a lot but she can’t verbalize it yet so I basically just have to guess.”

Hugh nods, his lips pursing together as he thinks. “God, that sounds tiring. I know when my kids were younger it helped if I distracted them with things they liked.” He shrugs casually as he suggests for you to try it. You nod, taking in the information before taking another sip of your coffee.

Raising the mug to your lips, a piece of the puzzle stands out to you from your peripheral vision. Timidly, you slide the piece over to him, noticing it’s the one he’s missing. The appreciative smile he gives you could light up a room as he slides the puzzle to fit in between you both.

Knowing that you company wouldn’t approve, you have so many things that need to be done, and are a complete hot mess, you work on the puzzle with him.

You find it peaceful. Another taste of the domesticity you could have if you just let yourself be swept away.

a/n: hey lovelies !! as always, let me know what you think and whether or not you want me to continue with a part three.. i’m hoping to update a least once a week, but sometimes it may be more or it may be less (also pls lmk if you have any requests) anyways, love you guys 💕

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1960 DiDia 150 Custom

1960 DiDia 150 Custom

1960 DiDia 150 Custom

1960 DiDia 150 Custom

1960 DiDia 150 Custom

1960 DiDia 150 Custom

The car was originally powered by a 365 cubic inch Cadillac engine, later replaced by a 427 cubic inch high-performance Ford engine, and had a 125-inch wheelbase, with a tubular aluminum frame and a hand-fashioned soft aluminum body. The car has Batmanesque set of rear fins dominating the bodyline and ruby red hubcaps on whitewall tires.

The car was designed by Andrew Di Dia, a clothing designer, who Bobby Darin had met while on tour in Detroit in 1957. Darin telling Di Dia at the time that he would purchase the car if he ever "hit it big".

For seven years, from 1953 to 1960 the DiDia 150 was hand-built by four workers, at a cost of $93,647.29 but sold to Darin in 1961 at a cost of over $150,000 (1.5 million today). At the time the car was listed as most expensive "custom-made" car in the world by the Guinness Book of Records. The body was hand-formed by Ron Clark and constructed by Bob Kaiser from Clark Kaiser Customs.

Di Dia toured the car around the country, when Darin wasn't using it for public appearances. After publicity and film use, Darin donated his "Dream Car" to the National Museum of Transportation in 1970 where it remains. It was restored by Mike Manns of Manns Auto Body in Festus, Missouri before going on display.

The gasoline-fueled V8 engine (originally 365 cid, later upgraded to 427 cid) is located at the front. It is rear-wheel drive. The body and chassis are hand-formed from 064 aluminum with a unitized alloy tube frame.

It has a glass cockpit in back, a squared steering wheel resembling a superellipse and thermostatically controlled air conditioning system. The interior is rust colored in contrast to the ruby paintwork. The design included the first backseat-mounted radio loudspeakers and hidden windshield wipers, which start themselves when it rains. Other features include retractable headlamps, rear turn signals which swivel as the car turns, 'floating' bumpers and a trunk that was hinged from the driver's side. Each of the four bucket seats have their own thermostatically controlled air conditioning, individual cigarette lighters and ashtrays, as well as a radio loudspeaker.

Source: Wikipedia / motorius.com

[ervotica]

this isn’t so much specifically about rafe but i’m low-key obsessed with polycule rafe x reader x barry. especially in their dominance with her, because it feels so inherently different. on the surface, barry’s is so much softer but there’s a sinister bite to it, as opposed to rafe who affronts it, but when push comes to shove and reader needs help, she’ll go to him. like the best way to describe it is, reader feels safe with barry but protected with rafe.

yes yes this is all so true! rafe & barry even each other out and i love that for miss reader </3

barry appears outwardly softer with you, all soft touches and smearing kisses along your cute features when you crinkle your nose at him. sitting you in his lap when you’re tired and holding glasses of water to your lips when you’re thirsty so that you don’t have to exert yourself in your sleepy state— generally, barry is playful with you and very soft.

that courtesy only extends so far; you rile him up, you push his buttons in any way, there will absolutely be hell to pay. you can locate the bite to his words from a mile away, the hidden violent streak that wards you off from pushing him too much despite his leniency when it comes to his baby girl.

rafe is argumentative; he pushes back when you mouth off, dishing out as many punishments as he sees fit until he’s sure you’ve learned your lesson. he’s harder to crack than barry, more guarded with his affections, and you have to push past the way his nonchalance twinges at your heart and remind yourself that’s just how he is.

then you get into trouble— real trouble. some prissy kook girl running her mouth at a kegger and suddenly you’re hitting the bitch, breaking her nose and sealing one of her eyes shut at the very least.

you call rafe in a blind panic— you only did it ‘cos she was talking smack about him and barry, you justify, the petulant whine in your cadence vanishing and being replaced with an anxious wobble that drives rafe into action as white-hot panic seizes his own heart.

“‘s okay, baby. i know you jus’ did what you had to do. i get it, okay? ‘ve been there too many times… yeah, yeah, i’ll come get ya, little firecracker.”

you plant your ass on the sidewalk, comforted in the fact that rafe will be here any second when the girl’s boyfriend decides to run up on you. you stumble back, arms out protectively, babbling about how your boyfriend’s gonna be here any minute so he’d better quit it. he grabs your arm hard enough to bruise the soft flesh, getting in your face as he sneers about how his girlfriend was right to say those things and your boyfriend isn’t going to do shit.

you spit back that she shouldn’t have run her mouth if she didn’t want someone to shut her up, and the guy’s features contort in unmistakable rage as he rears back to… hit you?

a fist collides with his jaw before he makes it even another step, and there’s an audible crunch as the guy hits the concrete face-first. rafe stands over him, chest heaving, knuckles bruised and bloodied. the guy still makes to get up, stopped short by a boot to the rib, kicking until he stays fucking down, gasping and limbs askew on the ground.

rafe has you against his chest in an instant, hooking a shoulder beneath your armpit to press his cheek to yours and curse you for being an antagonistic little shit. but he’s softened, his hard edges melting away as he fusses over you, brushing hair back from your eyes and checking you over for cuts and bruises. you get to the car and your bottom lip wobbles, knees tucking in tightly against your chest.

“you gonna tell bar?” you sniffle, cheek smushed against your knee.

“have to, baby,” he murmurs. “he’s not gonna be mad, i promise.”

“are you mad?”

he bristles. “c’mere,” he beckons, arms open in a rare display of affection as you climb over the center console of the car and into his lap. he drags slow lines across your cheekbone with swollen knuckles. “i’m not mad, baby. i’m not pleased, but this isn’t something anyone’s gonna punish you for.”

you will the tears back, fighting the onslaught as your adrenaline drops and you sag. he hooks arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“none of that,” he says gruffly, sitting up to gauge your expression at eye level. “you’re a good girl, okay? jus’ looking out for us, yeah?”

you nod tersely, pushing into his grasp, greedily seeping up every inch of affection you can pull from him. “‘m sorry.”

“let’s go home, yeah?”

barry forgoes any lecturing when you return with one curt stare from rafe and the sight of your pouting bottom lip alone. he bundles you up and murmurs lowly against your skin as you hum and close your eyes, preening sadly. wetness clings to your eyes, pooling against the smudged black caked at your waterline.

rafe makes an entire display out of the way he relents for you, his eyes softening in worry despite the way he bristles and attempts to harden his features; one sad look from you and he’s gathering you back up for a squeezing cuddle and pressing a begrudging kiss to the crown of your skull.

“jus’ go t’sleep, kid. love you, okay?”

you know he does, but hearing him say it sends adoration roiling through your chest in a wave.

“love you more,” you whisper as he kisses right between your pinched brows, pushing you back towards barry.

“you softening old country club up, angel?” the dark haired man snorts, shucking up the duvet until it’s laid over your shoulders as you tuck your face into the juncture of his neck. you roll your eyes at the nickname.

“maybe a little,” you muse, a laugh bubbling at the base of your throat despite the sorrow that sits heavy in your bones.

“there’s my girl.”

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"get me a damned matcha" | Chapter 1: June I

{{ Chapter 2: July I }} Chapter Directory

I'm so excited to finally publish this jdkflsjd. I'll get this chapter up on AO3 later this weekend or on Monday since my parents are in town, so I'm not sure how much I'll be able to be on! If you're interested in getting tagged for updates, fill out this new form here: x :3

EDIT: this is now up on AO3 as well!

✧ pairing ➼ levi ackermann x fem!reader, college x coffee shop x roommates!au ✧ summary ➼ After you find yourself plagued with misfortune due to struggles in your personal and family life, you find yourself needing to move last minute. As a junior in undergrad with little money and little social support, you considered yourself lucky when you found a sublease that was close to campus and was relatively cheap. Unfortunately, it seemed that your roommate did not seem to be so excited regarding your presence. ✧ content/warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, enemies to lovers (sorta), strangers to lovers, fem!reader, eventual smut, ex was originally porco but i accidentally made him too much of a dick so i replaced his name with zack, no it is not a reference to zeke i'd rather puke, only adding tags/content warnings that are applicable to each chapter so people can skip around if need be!, will continue to add as more stuff comes up ✧ word count ➼ ~3.9k

College was difficult enough without having to worry about money, housing, and relationship issues. Unfortunately, you were not one of the few lucky students that could just get through those four years in isolation. In addition to worrying about school, you also had to deal with a last minute housing change after some recent bullshit regarding your now ex-boyfriend. Your dynamic had gotten to the point that you couldn’t afford to wait for another two months as leases began expiring and apartments would open up for prospective renters again. You’d rather live on the streets when compared to having to live with him for another day. 

Given the fact that it was June and your only remaining family was out of the country, you were left with no choice but to desperately try to find a sublease that wasn’t ridiculously expensive. That, plus the fact that you didn’t have a car and would be forced to live near campus, meant that you were ready to rip your hair out by the time that you finally found a sublease.

You knew it was due to nothing other than pure luck when you found an apartment complex that was a ten-minute walk to campus, close to a bus stop, relatively cheap, and had a tenant that moved out the week prior.

Unfortunately, your luck ran out when you found that you'd have to take a 2-hour bus ride from your ex-boyfriend's house to your new apartment. It wasn't that far from the two destinations, but the bus routes looped around the town multiple times, making your commute much longer than if you had gone by car.

As a result, you found yourself leaning your head back against the glass window at the rear end of the bus.

This really is Zack's last "fuck you" to me, isn't it?

You anxiously tapped your foot against the floor as you pulled out your phone for the millionth time. The previous tenant that set up the sublease had given you the contact information for your new roommate to set up the exchange of keys along with getting everything set up regarding who's paying for what utilities and how rent would be split. You already knew this was going to be a pain in the ass to handle. What you weren't prepared for was the lack of a hasty response when you sent a text to the number that Miche had given you.

> [you (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work

You had sent that text message to your mysterious roommate roughly an hour ago when you had boarded your first bus back towards campus. You were now about half-way through your trip and had boarded your third bus, which was finally your last one before getting dropped off roughly a block away from your new apartment. 

You shot a frown towards your phone. Your roommate had still not answered. Frustrated, you began typing again, in case the urgency in your first text was missed.

> [you (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

By the time you arrived, your roommate had still not answered. You had spent the entire two-hour ride anxiously bouncing your leg up and down, checking your phone every 5-10 minutes to see if you would ever get an answer. 

You didn't.

When the bus driver finally announced your stop, you found yourself more anxious than you were relieved at finishing your annoyingly long bus ride. You stepped off the bus in a dejected manner, with your right hand holding onto your phone and your left hand holding onto your backpack strap that was a bit too tight on your shoulders. Your back ached from lugging it around all day. It was packed with the basic necessities that you would need to survive the week, with your ex-boyfriend, Zack, promising to drop off the rest of your stuff next week—although you knew that translated to "shit he didn't want". That's just how your dynamic was. 

You unlocked your phone and typed in the address for your new apartment complex again, navigating your way through the fairly empty streets. It was a residential area and given the fact that it was near a college campus—and therefore primarily made up of university students—and it was in the middle of June, most of the tenants had gone home for the summer.

The new apartment complex wasn't bad. It certainly couldn't compare to a house, but it had an indoor lobby with mailboxes on one side and a recreation room on the other with some vending machines, and even a small kitchenette. 

No wonder the rent was so expensive.

You stepped inside, a relieved exhale escaping your lips as you felt the cool air from the air conditioning unit wash over you. Although you were definitely still irritated, seeing the lobby and escaping the heat brought up your mood slightly.

Your resolve renewed, you began to climb up the stairs, trying to figure out the best way to greet your new roommate without being overly frustrated. 

Maybe their phone was off. Maybe they took a nap and couldn't see the texts. Maybe you got the wrong number from Miche. 

You thought of all the reasons as to why they wouldn't respond. You shook your head, knowing that you should just brush it under the rug. As long as your roommate was home to let you in and give you your keys, there shouldn't be any more issues—for now. 

"Unit 217," you mumbled to yourself as you walked down the hallway, looking up at the door numbers.

Once you appeared in front of Unit 217, you frowned, noticing that the lights inside were off. That wasn't good news.

Maybe there's enough lighting from the windows that they don't need lights.

You gently knocked on the door.

There wasn't a sound—no movement, no noise, no talking, nothing.

You knocked again a bit harder. 

Nothing.

You knocked again.

They're not home. Of course they're not home. What a wonderful start to this already shitty situation.

You rested your forehead against the door, tempted to smash your head against it out of frustration. Your eyes finally shot open when you heard a door open. You glanced over to the side and saw a tall blonde man with a beard and glasses walk out.

"Locked out?" he asked as you made eye contact.

"You could say that," you mumbled with a frown. "You wouldn't happen to know of anywhere within walking distance that has wi-fi?"

If you couldn't get ahold of your roommate, you might as well get some writing done until you can return later in the evening when your roommate has to be home. 

"There's a café roughly a block down, if you were wanting to hang out there, although I'm not sure when Ackermann will be home. His schedule's been all over the place recently."

"Hmm," you muttered, indicating the lack of interest in learning about your roommate's backstory, although you now at least had a name.

Ackermann, huh? What a pretentious sounding last name.

~~~~~

These damn undergrads...

Levi Ackermann currently stood behind the doorway that led from the breakroom and into the main seating area of the small, local café that he currently held a part-time position as a barista at. 

He wasn't supposed to be here. He had purposefully given himself the week off so he could catch up on some lab work, yet he still found himself here. One of the new hires—a sophomore named Marlo—called out roughly 20 minutes ago when Levi was headed home from his immunology lab after spending the entire morning chatting with his mentor about whether he'd be able to graduate with his PhD on time.

To make things worse, since he was new, Marlo's shift meant that Levi was stuck working at the registers to take orders, which he easily considered the worst part of the job. If his shift just consisted of making the specialty brews that came his way, he'd be significantly less grumpy. That way, he could just tuck away in his corner and do the one aspect of the job that he enjoyed—making tea—instead of having to deal with the irritation that came with dealing with the undergrads that frequently visited.

"For fuck's sake," he whispered underneath his breath as he shut the door to his locker, ignoring his phone that kept on lighting up. He had it on silent for everyone except for the two people that mattered in his life—Farlan and Isabel—and they wouldn't contact him unless it was an emergency. 

The fact that coming into this shift was one of the smaller annoyances in Levi's life simply poured more salt onto his wound. He wasn't even supposed to be working this much since it took away from his school time to do his research, but the graduate program's financial aid office fucked up his stipend and he was left to fend for himself. It was only for this month, so it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but then his housing situation got all fucked up.

He had been living with Miche for roughly a year and they had a decent partnership as roommates, until Miche left to live closer to the city after freshly finishing a Master's program. Miche had moved out about two weeks ago, telling him that his new roommate would be reaching out soon. Levi's stipend situation couldn't come at a worse time, as Miche moving out meant he had to cover this month's rent on his own unless his new roommate magically showed up within the next day and was willing to cover rent when they hadn't even really started living there yet. 

After shooting a death glare at the front register for a few more minutes, he finally decided to step up to the counter, hoping that it was at least a slow day so he could get home and pretend the grievances in his life weren't as bothersome for a few hours.

His shift had just started, so he was more than a little annoyed when he already heard the door open. The semester had just ended, which roughly translated to all the undergrads leaving for summer break. Other than the few stragglers and the unfortunate PhD students that were forced to work through the summer, everyone should have gone home. He glanced up as he saw someone walk inside. 

An immediate frown appeared on his face. He could immediately tell that they were an undergraduate student, and likely an oblivious one at that.

Levi watched as you stumbled in through the door, dragging in a backpack that was slightly too large and overpacked. You looked like you had been running around with no sense of direction or purpose. You were all disheveled, as shown by how chaotic your hair looked and through how much you struggled stepping away from the door frame and towards the coffee bar.

He felt his eyes begin to roll before seeing you approach him.

Taking over Marlo's shift means I'm working the registers and have to talk with the undergrads. What a pain in the ass.

He stared at you with a neutral expression on his face as you plopped down at the coffee bar in front of him.

"Can I get you something?" he finally said, in a tone that indicated that customer service was not one of his skills in this profession.

You looked past him at the menu that was hung up behind him. Although you had passed this café a bunch whenever you found the time to travel off-campus and explore the town that surrounded the outskirts of Paradis University, this was the first time you actually found yourself in Chosahei Café. You squinted at the menu, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion at some of the options.

"Why are the specialty coffee drinks unavailable?"

"Ah?" mumbled Levi before turning around to glance at where you were looking. "The barista that specializes in those stepped out. I can get you one of the standard ones or I can get you one of the specialty teas."

You blinked at him for a few seconds as if you were struggling to process what he was saying.

"You're a barista and you can't make coffee?"

"Tch," he muttered, already beyond irritated as he frowned at you. He knew that he was likely biased against your presence and simply lumped you in with the rest of the undergrads that constantly drove him up the wall with their obsession with cheap iced lattes that he couldn't be bothered to care about making. "Did you not hear what I just said? I can get you a standard one or—if you were really wanting one of the house specialty drinks—one of the teas."

"You must get top remarks for your customer service skills," you said with a monotonous tone.

Levi placed his hands on the counter, leaning against it as he stared at you.

"This isn't some retail café like Starbucks—which is down the street, by the way," he said, pointing towards the door as a gesture to indicate that you could leave if you weren't satisfied. "The house drinks were all created by the employees and the barista that made the specialty coffees stepped out. Now are you going to order or not? I have other customers to attend to."

His eyes raised off of you and towards the back of the café, where a line of about 3-4 people gathered as they impatiently waited for you to order.

"Hmph," you said, letting out an irritated exhale. "Get me a matcha."

Levi raised an eyebrow at you.

"Out of all the specialty ones here, you go with something as basic as that?"

You were beyond confused over why this random barista in a small, local café was giving you this much grief.

"Oh what the hell? Just get me the damned matcha, you asshole," you snapped at him as you tossed your card towards him.

He quickly grabbed your card and put in the order with an unamused look on his face.

You kept your gaze on him as he begrudgingly prepared your drink. After about a minute, you glanced towards the door that opened as a tall gentleman that also wore the barista apron stepped inside. He was average height, but seemed much taller, likely due to the fact that the barista in front of you that decided to chastise you for ordering a matcha barely rose above you in terms of height—and you were not a tall person.

The new barista went behind the counter and started taking the other customers that had gathered behind you, removing the "unavailable" sign that covered up the specialty coffees. You frowned as he smoothly chatted with the customers, with your expression quickly turning into a scowl as you saw him remove the sign.

"I'm guessing he's the barista that actually knows how to make coffee?" you said, shooting another unamused look towards Levi as he walked back with your cup of matcha. 

You heard a quiet grunt from the grumpy barista you had the misfortune of being served by and you sighed as you picked up the cup and took a sip of the matcha that he reluctantly made you.

You paused, a little taken aback by the taste.

It was pretty damn good—much better than any you've ever gotten at Starbucks, anyhow. 

"Onyankopon brought over some specialty recipes that he apparently grew up making over at Marley," Levi grumbled to you. "That is why I couldn't make the specialty coffees."

After he said that, he subtly scowled at himself. Why he was even explaining himself to you was beyond him. You were just some random undergrad that stopped by and said annoying undergrad things. He had literally no reason to explain himself or justify his actions.

"So what brought you in? You're undergrad, right?" Levi asked, prompting you to look up at him. "Didn't classes just end? Most of you are back at your parents by now."

You sighed and pursed your lips, with a dark look entering your eyes. Levi was able to tell that you were biting your tongue on some information that was relevant, but that you didn't feel like divulging.

"Yes," you finally said. "I had some shit come up and had to move last minute, so I'm stuck on campus for now."

You took another sip of your matcha as a frown grew on your face.

"But at this point, I'm pretty sure it was a fucking mistake."

"Oh?" Levi asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

"I had to take a two-hour bus ride here since my asshole of an ex just happened to be busy on the day I need his car, but as luck would have it, my roommate also happens to be out, so I can't even get my damn keys from them, hence why I'm here getting chastised by you because I ordered a damned matcha instead of being in my new apartment and getting settled in."

You looked up at Levi upon hearing his silence.

"How unfortunate," he finally responded in an uninterested tone.

You rolled your eyes at his response.

"God, talking to you is a pain in the ass," you spat before quickly finishing the rest of the matcha and throwing a spare dollar onto the counter as a tip before getting up.

You paused before walking away, turning slightly towards the grumpy barista.

"You should probably consider the fact that people don't order your teas because they don't want to order from you."

"Ah?" Levi muttered as he took the dollar off the counter.

"People generally don't like interacting with someone that acts like a dick right off the bat."

~~~~~

Levi frowned to himself as he kicked off his shoes upon walking in the front door, placing them neatly upside down on the shoe rack next to the door. He sighed as he flipped on the light switch to his empty apartment. He didn't particularly mind living on his own, but Miche was a good roommate and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little on edge over who his new roommate was going to be.

He walked over to his bedroom, pushing the door open as he lifted his barista apron over his head to put away for the night. Seeing the apron reminded him of the café, and in particular, the conversation he had with a certain undergraduate student that he was forced to serve and insulted him right before they left.

Tch, he thought as he recalled the comment you made.

I'm not a dick. What the fuck.

He shut his closet after he put the apron away, his mood soured by the recollection of your conversation, although he wasn't in a great mood to begin with in the first place. He looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw that he had a few hours before he was supposed to "go to bed". Being a notorious insomniac, "going to bed" basically meant laying down and staring at the ceiling for a few hours. He rarely ever got to actually sleep, but the few minutes he can occasionally catch were enough to keep him going.

He walked over to his desk, turning the switch on his small desk lamp and pulling out a folder from his backpack that was hung up against the side of his desk. He pulled out a stack of paper and neatly placed them at the center of his desk. He took a seat in his chair and flipped through the packets, frowning at the sheer number he had yet to go through. His original plan for the day was to get home and read through some of these papers that Erwin had assigned him to read before he went back to lab on Monday—it was currently a Friday. He knew Erwin had high expectations for him. Erwin would even occasionally say that Levi was the best student he's ever had, which made Levi immediately want to shrivel up in discomfort.

He glanced up from the papers in his hand. His room was "empty". Miche had commonly made fun of him and said that Levi always made his space look like no one actually lived there. The top of his desk was always empty, his bed was always made, and not a single article of clothing was in plain sight. Levi Ackermann was just that type of person. It heavily contributed to why he was so on edge over who his new roommate would be and if they would even be compatible in terms of living style.

He turned on his phone to check the time, having ignored it for the entire latter half of the day.

7:30pm. That meant he had time to get at least a few papers reviewed. 

He frowned as he looked through his notifications and saw an unknown number appear. The texts were from this afternoon, so he knew it was long past an appropriate time to respond.

> [unknown number (12:35pm)]: hey, miche said you'd be free this afternoon so i can get your keys? does 3:00 work > [unknown number (1:45pm)]: im on the bus ride over. i don't have a car, so would we be able to handle this so i'm not stranded outside?

He sighed as he locked his phone and placed it onto his desk. It was just his luck that he went into a last-minute shift right as his new roommate contacted him. He knew that this new roommate was going to be irate with him since it's been around 6 hours since they sent that text. This just added more things onto Levi's plate that he really didn't need right now.

Before he could move to pick up his phone to shoot a reply at this unknown number, he heard not-so-gentle knocking on the door. Knowing that this was likely his new roommate that he had unintentionally ignored all day, he internally groaned to himself before forcing himself out of his chair.

He heard another knock as he made his way from his bedroom to the front door, bracing himself as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

A frown appeared on his face as he looked at the person in front of him in confusion. 

"What the hell?" he muttered as he saw an equally confused expression appear on your face. 

That annoying undergrad from this afternoon?

"Did you follow me home?" 

You raised an eyebrow at him. The last person you had expected to be greeted with was the grumpy barista that you had the misfortune of interacting with earlier in the day.

"Did you?" you retorted.

Levi scoffed.

"How the hell would I have followed you home if I was here first?"

He cursed to himself as he recalled the monologue you gave him earlier on in the day.

You had said that you had to suffer on a bus ride and couldn't get in contact with your new roommate to get keys to the unit. Now that you were standing in front of the door to his apartment, his frown only grew.

Your eyes widened as you finally put together the pieces.

"Wait," you asked, shaking your head slightly. "Are you-?"

"I guess so," Levi responded with an unamused sigh.

"Fuck."

#: @levisbrat25 @gothgril69 @sckerman @berrijam @notgoodforlife @meowjaa @averysmolbear @roseofdarknessblog @bejewelledd @hhighkey @ayame236 @sad-darksoul @velouria17

[thatone-brightstar]

Before You (Carmen Berzatto X Fem!OC)

It was Isaac before Carmy, and it was Ross before you.

Read part I.

Part II: January.

words: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you all so much for 200+ followers!!! Idk what to do in these situations but I'll celebrate by giving you more Carmy content! Slide into my dms with your prompt ideas and I'll gladly do my best to write what I can! Also: Image does not represent OC's skin type, just needed a summary pic. WARNING: Smut ahead, p in v unprotected sex (birth control is present but not mentioned), minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

This was not how she expected her New Year to go, dress hiked up to her hips, nails digging into his neck and shaking thighs painfully wrapped around the man continuously slamming into her. The lewd sounds he makes reverberate inside the small depot, echoing back into her dew covered skin and fueling the shivers traveling up and down her spine. Ross has always hated her name, but the way Carmy says it- blissed off his mind, crimson cheeks and pink pouty lips rounding over each syllable and followed by a breathy ’fuck’- god does he make it sound devine. 

Her nails drive deeper into his reddened flesh and the pain of her grip tightens his fingers over the plush skin of her parted thighs. The flimsy fabric that barely covers her navel lets him see himself lost with each thrust, sight replaced with a gripping sensation, choking him with his own air.

There was something cathartically thrilling about their… situation. The sneaking around, the lingering stares each time she crossed to the depot and the tauntingly short uniform that made him visibly gulp. It all brewed thick inside his gut like he’d never known, the warmth of her lips weeks before had shaken the loose earth over his buried desires and there was no way he would get his fill from just the one time. 

Unbeknownst to them, they had fallen into a clandestine rhythm. After closing, Ross would get in her car, drive a few blocks away and wait for Carmen in the warm comfort of the vehicle. Her pulse always quickened in anticipation around the ten minute mark, when she’d spot him in the rear view mirror, blowing smoke into the wind and hair disheveled after a hectic service. The drive to his felt longer each time, anticipation thick and pulsing in the empty space. They could never reach his place though, once she parked on the narrow alley beside his building, his fingers would wrap around the side of her jaw and her breath would be stolen by hungry tobacco scented kisses. She enjoyed the feeling of his needy hands circling her hips and pulling her over him, before his mouth attacked the frail skin of her throat.

But tonight felt different to her. The frustrations of a shitty service had Carmen on edge and he didn’t even give her a chance to leave as she popped her head into the empty kitchen to say goodbye. Instead wrapping his grip around her wrist to drag her into the small room and pinning her against a shelf with the strength of his panting chest. His usual doubtful behavior is replaced by strong and steady thrusts, ones that have the glass olive oil gallons behind her vibrating angrily. Her worry of them braking only lasts a few seconds, soon being pushed out of her mind by the constant pattern of his movements and the tightness inside her that’s beginning to burn.

“Fuck- Ross-” He moans into her neck as he speeds up his slams, breath blowing cold over the sweat on her skin.

The relentless strike of his hips on the base of her thighs paints the sensitive skin with a light shade of pink, causing a hiss from her when he readjusts his grip over the slick flesh.

“S..sorry- you good?” Carmen asks with slight concern, slowing down his movements and gulping the dryness in his mouth.

“Ye-yeah-” She reassures with a panting grin, eyes slightly glossy and mascara staining her bottom lashline. “Keep going, I like it…” 

“Oh.. yeah- right okay.” Her bluntness gives him a blush that matches the underside of her thighs before resuming with a brutal blow, ripping a gasp from her lungs and making her breasts jolt with force.

Ross’ fingers tangle in the sweaty strands of his hair and pull him down to her awaiting lips, licking and nibbling over the delicate skin while his hands dent the muscle of her legs and his actions grow faster each time. With a string of groans pouring from her chest, she does her best to chase his hips with her own, striking a perfect spot each time. Her feet hook tightly at the base of his spine and this restricts his actions into shorter and faster shoves against that specific, beautiful spot that seems to split her in two.

An almost filthy cry bursts out when her orgasm shoots up from deep in her core, sparking in each nerve ending in her body and his hand flies quickly up to it to drown out the obscene sound. The remaining force in his last thrusts carries her back down into her body just in time to feel his fingers dig into her bruised skin. A throaty groan blows heavily over her collar bones before he slumps down completely with heavy inhales. She likes this part, when his shoulders lose tension and the beating of his heart doesn’t palpitate as hard against her chest. 

He pulls out with a soft hiss but rather than make an effort to step away from the momentary comfort she provides, Ross feels his thumb brush gently over the red dents he produced; a clear contrast from a few minutes before. She tries to remain quiet so as to not ruin the moment he seems too caught up in, but his tender touch pulls an invisible string deep inside her and the fear of unwillingness to anything remotely close to a relationship triggers her mouth before she can stop it.

“You’re gonna leave a mark…”

“Hmm?” He pulls his head up to meet her eyes, bright pools of aquamarine absorb the little saliva left in her tongue and she swallows drily again and again.

“Your fingers…” She clears her throat. “They’re, uh, they’re gonna leave a mark.” Though that’s not really what she originally meant.

**********

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me!” 

“No!” Ross groans towards her friend, trailing behind her as they both cross the entrance to the back of house.

The regularly hectic movement in the kitchen seems less so as service isn’t due for another few hours. There’s a thin layer of peace visible in the rounded backs of a few cooks as they ingest family, elbows glued to the long stainless steel tables. Ross moves to the water filter beside Frank’s station, ignorant to the glance he throws her way, but very present in Meg’s eyes as she gasps.

“Wait, was it Frankie? D’you finally cave?” Meg whispers beside her.

“Ugh, gross no. I’d rather stick hot coal in my mouth…”

“Okay, then who?”

Ross rolls her eyes once again. “I’m not telling you, alright?! So just- hop off my dick.” 

“Oh c’mon, he had to be good if he left bruises like that…” 

Meg leans down to inspect the lilac dents peeking ever so slightly from under the hem of her uniform. A hiss leaves Ross’ mouth and she immediately reaches down to swat her friend’s pointed finger off the darkest spot.

“All I’m sayin’ is, every artwork needs the artist’s signature.” Meg grumbles beside her. 

“What artist?” The cook intervenes as he pokes around his own plate.

“Ross has a new boy toy and she won’t tell me who it is…”

She keeps her eyes trained on the slowly filling bottle, trying hard to tune out the teasing from the two idiots behind her.

“Y’know she won’t shut up ‘till you tell her, right?”

“I’m just hoping for her batteries to run out.” She assures with a flat smile, taking a sip from her bottle and leaning on the table in front of her.

“I thought you’d be more interested…” Meg teases, picking a piece of dried tomato from his plate and nibbling it through her smile.

She can see a slight tension in his jaw before he shrugs, eyes heavy on his dish. “We’ll find out eventually…” He answers under his breath, the words making Ross’ brows furrow.

“Meaning…”

Frank sighs and pushes his forearms off the table, finally looking up at her. “I mean- c’mon Ross, we know your type- plus, if it was one of these motherfuckers-” his fork drags pointing at the few cooks in the room. “-which it probably was- you know none of ‘em can keep their fuckin’ trap shut.”

If his comment struck a nerve, left it beaten and pulsing in agony, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she rolls her eyes one more time and gulps down her water, drowning the many colorful swears with his name written on them. A prickling sensation covers her skin, the grip on her bottle going loose when she catches his persistent gaze falling heavily on her from across the kitchen. It washes over her for a few tender beats, and the water in her bottle no longer seems sufficient to cool the heat his strong stare ignites in her stomach.

Carmy doesn’t mean to stare, his eyes had just wandered, obliviously guided by the source of her vibrant voice, the private conversation not so private in the confinements of the blinding white room. A strange sensation flourished in his chest when Megan mentioned the bruises he had previously apologized ardently for and could hear Frank’s slight annoyance  at them.

He doesn’t dislike Frank per se, he finds him irritating and obnoxious at times sure, but not to the point of hate. Right now however- as he appears completely entranced by her- Carmen can’t help the irritation beginning to course through him from the words he overheard. He knows they’re bullshit- the idea to expose her in such a way had no space inside his mind, Carmy isn’t like that- and with his own eyes roaming her tense features, he hopes that in the few seconds he allows himself to sneak a look, she can catch that. The unspoken assurance that she can trust him to keep whatever they have going on a secret.

“- are you even listening to me?”

Her friend’s voice demands Ross’ attention and he drags his eyes away, setting them back on the paper thin sweet potato slices gliding off the sharp edge of the mandolin.

“What- yeah, um… something about… your hair?”

“No dumbass- your psych exam, how’d it go?”

Despite his heavy attention to the task at hand, his ears can’t help but to tune back into the conversation as her sigh floats thick in the air of the kitchen.

“Failed it again… which is- fine-” She groans and reaches her hands to rub up her face in frustration. “-but that blows my second try so I only have one left or I’ll have to redo the whole course.”

Meg frowns up at her and reaches a hand to stroke over her arm. “You’ll do fine on the last one, I’ll help you study.” She offers with a kind smile. “Next one’s the good one… you’ll see.”

“Yeah… I guess'' Ross replicates her friend’s expression and takes another sip from her bottle, only half heartedly believing her.

“Yeah- we’ll both help you.” Frank adds, reaching his own hand beside Megs, a sly expression turning hers into distaste.

“Chef-” Three heads turn to the far left to see Carmen’s usual serious expression, making Frank immediately straighten his posture. “If you’re done fuckin’ around, that duck amuse in the walk in isn’t gonna confit itself-”

“Yes, Chef- sorry.” 

“Thank you!”

Frank briskly picks up his half finished plate and disappears around the corner with a quick step, barely having time to throw them an irritated expression. 

She feels it before seeing him. Only a wisp of white and blue flashes in her peripheral vision before he disappears behind her, the warmth of his extended digits pressing gently on her lower back and a soft ‘behind’ blowing on her exposed neck.  Ross turns just in time to catch the artist’s eyes lingering on her for a sliver of a second, but it’s more than enough to spread a tingling sensation over the blossoming bruises. She doesn’t notice the change in rhythm inside her chest or the soft sigh that he pulls from her as he moves further away.

Meg’s voice is barely audible behind the thin ringing in her ears and it’s only then that Ross notices she’s been staring down the empty space of the corridor, Carmy long gone.

“What the fuck was that?”

It’d be a blatant lie to say she knew either. The way her hands had suddenly gone all clammy and her stomach had dropped to her knees with a simple touch was not characteristic of her usual hookups. The day prior’s fear resurfaces again and the erratic beating takes another definition as she swallows hard and turns to Meg with a thin lipped smile.

“That was um… the artist.”

**********

Roslyn never wanted a relationship, she didn’t need to be in one to know they were shit. All the effort it took to maintain a façade of contentment and joy just for it all to crumble down into nothing, made every cell in her body recoil in disgust. Besides, nothing ever made her believe in the fairytale and every couple she met while growing up seemed completely tired of each other's company. Why would she ever want to put herself through that most ancient form of torture? For what, just to not be alone? 

Big whoop. She’d been alone most- if not all her life- and from the vast experience could confidently say it wasn’t as bad as people made it seem. Her own company was a hundred times better than some of the questionable creatures she found herself roped with.

Yet, despite all the reminders and admonitions that she ‘wasn’t made for that kind of thing’ and to ‘just leave what isn’t for you alone’, Ross could not contain the tumultuous thoughts banging heavily around her skull. 

The shift had gone by quickly as she spent more than half of it in her head, finally clocking off autopilot once the crisp air brushes past her cheeks at the employee exit. The air comes with the lingering wisp of tobacco. Ross tries to disguise how accustomed she’s grown to the smell, breathing in deep and walking slowly in his direction. She throws a nod to her right, where Carmen stands leaning on a tree.

“Hey…”

“How was your shift?” He asks a bit awkwardly, pushing himself off and dragging his feet beside her.

“Fine, I think-” Ross stops abruptly.”-hey, is it alright if we like, don’t do anything tonight-”

“Oh shit- no I wasn’t here for-”

“It’s just, my head kinda hurts and-”

“Yeah, I get it- I wasn’t-”

 “I also haven’t eaten so-”

“-I can make you some…thing.”

The silence is filled by tension as his words linger heavy in the air. They slipped past his mouth without contemplation and now weigh more with each second she doesn’t respond. Words turn to dust in the back of her throat- scratchy and uncomfortable- while she tries to come up with a lie on why she wouldn’t find it absolutely appealing to be cooked for.

“It’s okay, you spent the whole day cooking- you don’t have to….”

“I don’t mind it.” He’s soon to assure, keeping his eye contact despite the sharp shake of his head.

Her fingers grow sensitive at the constant assault of her nails, she huffs out a small breath of air and looks up at him. She can only hold Carmen’s strong stare for a few seconds, eyes wavering instead on the treetops above his head.

“No one’s ever really made me dinner before.” Ross delicately whispers her confession.

His offer’s dissected in her head for what feels like an eternity while he just waits in place, knuckles cracking at his sides. A slow smile finally covers her face, nodding gently to him.

“Okay…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

He offers what she has come to know is his soft smile, at least what she can see of it under the dim lighting of the street lamp. The clouds of vapor emanating from both their chests pull her from the unintentional staring contest and she makes a following motion to him with her head.

“I-um- I left the car that way.”

“Right- yeah- okay.” Carmy’s nervous stutter widens her grin.

They begin to walk the few blocks in silence, he’s concentrated on the surrounding ambience- second cigarette in hand- while she attempts to ignore the alarms she has strategically set out, all in the name of self-preservation. 

‘It’s just dinner’, she repeats to herself. ‘It doesn’t mean anything’. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?” He speaks out, pulling her from her head. “And you can totally tell me to fuck off-”

“Probably will, but shoot-” She adds with a light laugh, tired eyes concentrated on their path.

He contemplates his words for a second, the dim roar of tired engines penetrating their small bubble of peace. 

“So you really hate your job-”

“Ooh, hate is not a strong enough word-”

“-Okay, so you loathe your job-”

“There you go…” Her humorous smile triggers his usual small one, the tiny dimple on his left cheek guest starring just briefly but she takes a short second to admire it fully.

“Why do you stay?”

Ross contemplates his question while she plays with the strap of her bag, debating between the option she’s always used to deflect any sort of question, or to undust and pop the lock on the box where her truths lay hidden.

“Well you see, I have this horrible habit where I have to eat and-”

“Oh, fuck off- I’m serious.” His laugh is brief but genuine and it shudders something deep within her- it vibrates through her ribs and changes the tempo in her chest- an earthquake came and gone. 

A slight sense of panic trails behind her external joy, looming just out of sight but present still. She sighs and gulps the tightness down, turning to the empty street before them.

“I wasn’t supposed to be there this long.” Ross finally confesses loud enough so he can barely hear her. “I'm majoring in psychology…”

“So this is temporary?”

“Yeah…” She sighs again, picking at the gel polish she gets specifically to avoid the bad habit. “It’s supposed to be, but I’ve been trying to get my license and failed my exams twice. I only have one more chance before I have to retake the course all over again.”

He’s silent for a while, staring at the grimey ground and searching his head on what to say. “I was always shitty in school… but maybe I can like, try and help you study? Some say it helps explaining it to someone else.”

Carmy’s voice falls into a whisper with the last sentence and draws her gaze away from her fingers and up to his concentrated one.

The way his attention falls solely on her- eyes never straining far from her own- heightens her senses and chills her skin past the warmth of her coat. All she can muster is a thin smile, because anything bigger would trigger the lever that’s already too tight. 

“So psychology?” He changes the subject.

“Yeah, the-uh- child kind.” She awaits the usual taunt that comes with her answer- the ignorant thought that ‘why would children even need a psychologist?’- but it doesn’t. When she looks in his direction, it isn’t there either and she can’t decide if what he’s giving her is worse.

“That sounds pretty cool.” He says instead.

Ross’ brows twitch up momentarily, awe visible only for a few worthy moments. “Yeah it… it is.”

And says nothing else. 

‘Don’t read too much into it’ Ross repeats to herself, as many times as needed to push out the ridiculous thought of anything more than what it is- just a casual thing- out of her head, on the drive to his place.

**********

Part III.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat, @redsakura101 , @hobisunshine13 and that’s it lmao

[literatecowboy]

Dr. Feelgood

4. Nights Out

Part 1 Next Part Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: This is my first fanfiction - please be gentle. Additionally, the reader's callsign is "Feelgood." I have done my best to write the reader as ambiguous regarding appearance, but she/her pronouns and AFAB anatomy will be utilized. I hope for this to be a slow-burn romance with Simon "Ghost" Riley.  Warnings: Gunshot wounds, medical terminology and procedures, inaccurate healing timelines, alcohol consumption, gentle angst, cringeworthy drunken conversations

-----

“I don’t know why you insist on me being in here when you do this,” Ghost growled from the corner, glaring down at his phone as you carefully applied eyeliner, leaned up close to the mirror in your bathroom. 

“You aren’t in the same room as me. I’m in my bathroom and you’re in the bedroom,” you quipped, blinking before doing the other eye. 

“I think it’s interesting to watch ye get made up. I’ve never seen a woman do it before,” Soap said. He was perched on your toilet, examining your mascara. 

“Want me to do yours?” you offered, turning to him and offering a smile. 

“Maybe you can share some of your lipstick with me, lass,” he said with a grin. You socked him in the shoulder lightly. 

“Quit it or I’m having Ghost over there hold you down while I put a full face on you,” you said, setting down your pencil and examining yourself. 

“Now get out while I put my dress on.”

—

When you opened the door to your room and stepped into the hall, Gaz and Price had arrived, dressed sharply like Soap. Ghost was another story - though he had swapped the sweatpants he’d been recovering in for jeans and tugged on a hoodie, he’d kept his balaclava on and stuck to dark colors. 

“You’re gorgeous, doc,” Gaz said, offering you a smile along with his arm. 

“It’ll be good to finally get off base for a change. I’ve hardly been out of the hospital since I arrived,” you laughed, letting him lead you down the hall as you followed the others out to the parking lot. 

“Drinks are on me for having to put up with that bastard for so long. Think you’ll manage alone alright?” he asked, fixing his gaze on Ghost. 

“As long as all of you don’t come back shot I’ll be alright. He’s recovering well. I might almost miss him brooding in my med bay when I send him back to sleeping in his room,” you admitted with a laugh, making Gaz chuckle.

As Price climbed into the driver’s seat of his car and Ghost slid in on the passenger’s side, Gaz opened the rear door for you. 

“You’re a gentleman, Kyle,” you said with a smile, squeezing his hand as he helped you in. 

“Simp,” Soap coughed from beside you as you slid into the middle seat and buckled in. 

—

The club you arrived outside of later that evening was crowded, but that was to be expected for a Friday night. You watched Ghost as he slid out of the car wordlessly and studied him for signs of pain as the group headed for the entrance and were relieved when you saw none. 

After getting your ID examined and heading inside, your group claimed a booth in the corner. Price had insisted on driving back so you had indulged, going to the bar to get drinks with Soap and Gaz. 

“What does Ghost drink?” you shouted above the music, looking questioningly at Soap who grinned. 

“Believe it or not, Chardonnay! You should take him a glass!” he shouted back as you flagged down the bartender. 

Perhaps trusting him was foolish because as you approached Ghost with the glass and a margarita for yourself in your hands, he glared at you. 

“Didn’t peg you for a wine guy,” you said, leaning over the table and holding it out to him. 

“I’m not,” he said coolly, folding his arms over his chest. Your face went hot and you straightened. 

“Making fun of me?” he growled, glaring you down. 

“No, I–” you turned back to the bar. Soap and Gaz were doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from their eyes. You sighed and looked back at Ghost who was glaring the two down. Not wanting to remain at the table with Ghost or go back to the bar to get laughed at, you tipped your head back, chugged the wine, and walked to the dance floor with your margarita. 

—

The evening started to blur after that. You could remember polishing off more drinks to soften your embarrassment and dancing with Soap before going off to the bathroom to check your makeup. When you’d come back you’d danced against Gaz, his hands finding your hips as you moved in tandem, laughing and chatting. 

After that you’d stumbled through a back door on accident while looking for a different bathroom, the first one having been full. 

Ghost stood alone, leaning against the wall as he smoked, his mask rolled up to his nose. 

“Those are gonna kill you early,” you slurred, stumbling up to him and leaning against the wall next to him so that your shoulders brushed. 

“The job’ll take care of that,” he grunted, not looking your way. It was quiet for a moment. 

“Why don’t you like me, Ghost?” you slurred after a minute, leaning your cheek against his bicep and angling your chin to look up at him with your best sad puppy eyes. 

“I like you plenty,” he grunted. Your lower lip wobbled. 

“M’ sorry. Wasn’t trying to be angry at you earlier, or before. Never tryin’ to be angry with you,” he mumbled, looking down at you as he tossed the cigarette away. Your eyes locked. 

“You’re pretty drunk, doc,” he said with a chuckle, brushing some of your tussled hair out of your face and rolling his mask back down. 

“Are you not?” you giggled, swaying in place. He took you gently by the arms to steady you. 

“I can hold my liquor,” he grunted, glancing back at the door to the club. “Come on, let’s round up the boys and get you home.” 

“You never told me what you drink,” you protested, your eyelids heavy. 

“You’ll find out.”

—

You woke up the next morning in your own bed, your dress unzipped but still clinging to you. A vague memory flashed through your head of you rubbing your back against the door like a bear in an attempt to get it down.

After taking some painkillers and a hot shower, you stumbled out of your room and to the med bay. It was empty, so you wandered further down the hall toward the rec room, where you found Ghost quietly eating cereal. 

“Oh, there you are. How’re you feeling?” you asked, yawning and rubbing your eyes. He chuckled. 

“Better than you probably. You remember anything about last night?” he asked. You searched your mind for a minute and froze. 

“Did I– did I almost cry to you about you not liking me?” you asked, your voice deadpan. 

“Yup.”

“Fuck.”

It was quiet for another moment, the only sound in the room being that of Ghost munching cereal. The bastard ate it dry. 

“I’m sorry,” you offered after a minute, your face feeling hotter than the heat from the bodies in the club the night before. 

“S’ alright.”

Price wandered in not long after, headed for Ghost. 

“Would you like to join us at the briefing later? I know you’re benched for this one but I don’t want to leave you out,” he said, sitting down across from the lieutenant with a stack of paperwork and his pen. 

“Sure,” Ghost grumbled. Price glanced back at you.

“You should get some rest, Feelgood. You had quite the night last night,” he said. Heat rushed to your face and you sat down on the couch, pulling out your phone. 

“I’m alright. I need to keep an eye on him anyway,” you said. 

—

The morning passed quietly. Eventually, Price returned to his office to keep working and Ghost joined you on the couch as you sat on your phones in silence. Gaz came in looking surprisingly alright for how much he’d had to drink last night, offering you a smile. You chatted with him idly before Soap came in, moaning about his head and digging through the fridge for something to drink. 

“Did he get you in alright lass?” Soap asked, nodding at Gaz as he plopped down by the three of you. Ghost looked up sharply from his phone, fixing you with a stare. 

“You helped me in?” you asked, looking at Gaz with a raised eyebrow. He nodded sheepishly. 

“Couldn’t just leave you lost outside, lass. You couldn’t remember which door was yours first and said you were going to go sleep in the med bay,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh, god. Thank you, I swear I’ll make it up to you. Last night I acted…wildly unprofessionally.” you admitted with a sigh, rubbing your forehead. 

“You wouldn’t be you if you acted professional all the time, doc. That’s why you’re with us, isn’t it?” Soap asked with a grin, and you smiled. 

“I suppose so,” you said softly. 

Ghost sat on the couch, listening. He had been angry at first that Gaz had been so close to you the night before but did his best to let it go. He had never admitted his admiration of you with the others - of course they would assume that they might be able to cozy up with you. 

And he had been prickly with you before, even almost angry at you. His heart ached as he watched you talk with the boys, wishing that he could just express how he felt to you like a normal man. He wanted to hold you, to touch you more than just having his hand against your back while you listened to his heart race for you. Last night he’d wanted to kiss your worry away and tell you that of course he liked you, perhaps a little too much. 

—

As you walked with him back to the med bay later that day to change his bandages, he was quiet, lost in thought.

“I wanted to apologize again for last night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you said softly, heat finding your cheeks yet again. You could deny it to yourself no longer - you found Ghost interesting and attractive and you were desperate for him to think the same about you. Had you messed up your chances by drunkenly confronting him the night before?

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Feelgood. You don’t have to keep bringing it up,” Ghost murmured, opening the door to the med bay for you. 

“You’ve only got to spend one more night here with me, okay? After that, I’ll be comfortable sending you back to sleep in your room - just come find me each day so I can check your wound,” you said softly as the door shut behind you two. 

“Will you be coming with me to see them off at the airstrip?” he asked, settling down on the couch and pulling out his phone. 

“Sure, is it early?” you asked, getting the supplies to change his bandages ready across from him. 

“Wheels up at 0530. I’ll wake you up,” he grunted. You nodded and headed over to him, sitting on a stool and sitting down in front of him. 

“Shirt up please, big guy,” you murmured. He huffed softly, smiling under the balaclava. 

“You keep callin’ me that,” he murmured, sliding his shirt off completely. You put gloves on and pulled the old bandages off, setting them to the side and examining his wound. Even through the latex, the warmth of your touch made Ghost melt a little and he relaxed, leaning forward into you. 

“Sorry, do you want me to stop?” you asked softly, your brow furrowing as you began applying the new bandages carefully. 

“I don’t mind. It just means that I get to call you ‘love’ now,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Fair’s fair,” you murmured as your stomach did flips in your abdomen. 

—

When you’d finished bandaging Ghost and tossed the old bandages and your gloves into bins, you moved to leave, but he gently took you by the arm. 

“Love, I–”

Soap practically kicked down the med bay door as he came in, making Ghost go quiet and pull away from you sharply. 

“Hey lass, want to get dinner with me before I leave tomorrow? My treat,” he said, leaning up against the med bay wall and grinning. You smiled. 

“Sure! Come on, Ghost, get your shirt on, and let’s go,” you said.

“Yeah, LT, get your shirt back on. What’s going on in here?” Soap teased, making kissy faces behind your back. Ghost scowled as he put it back on. 

“You just missed seeing my festering wound, Johnny. Now get, I’ll catch up,” he grumbled, sitting back on the couch and folding his arms across his chest. 

“You sure?” you asked, smiling at him as you headed for the door Soap had opened for you. He nodded, jerking his head at the door. You went with Soap, leaving Ghost behind, words he was struggling to put together left unspoken on his lips.

-----

Taglist: @iamaliceinwonderland, @itsmeamysworld, @ghostlythots, @oranoyaora, @keiva1000, @aquarianix

[alightinthelantern]

The 1956 Chrysler Norseman was a concept car designed by Chrysler stylists and built overseas in Italy by Carrozzeria Ghia, a coachbuilding (carbody building) firm who famously did the styling for the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia models. Intended for the 1957 circuit, the car was completed in 1956 and sent from Italy to America on the Italian ocean liner Andrea Doria in July.

The car was a four-seat fastback coupe with hidden headlights and a cantilevered roof supported only at its rear-end, allowing for an all-glass front windshield with no metal supports. The car was state-of-the-art, and it’s unknown how many of its daring concepts would have made it into production models, as the car never entered production. On the evening of July 25, amid heavy fog, the Andrea Doria collided with the Swedish ocean liner Stockholm fifty miles south of Nantucket Island, and sank late the next morning. Forty-six people were killed in the initial collision when the Stockholm’s bow pierced the Andrea Doria’s side, but as the ship stayed afloat for eleven hours after the collision and many ships arrived to take on survivors, the remaining 1,660 passengers and crew were evacuated safely, in what became known as one of the greatest rescue operations of the 20th century. With photographers and television crews in airplanes on hand to watch the final moments, the Andrea Doria slipped beneath the waves at 11:00 AM. The Chrysler Norseman, located deep in the Andrea Doria’s garage, was lost as well, and never recovered.

Although it’s tempting to mourn the loss of such a gorgeous and daring car, I think that the daring concept elements which give the car some of its charm would have been toned down in production. A similar car from 1956, the Mercury XM-Turnpike Cruiser, was a radical car in its concept, with radical styling and glass roof panels above the doors that opened vertically like gullwing doors to allow for easier entrance and exit from the car’s low roof. These elements were toned down in production, with the glass panels replaced by a plain hardbody roof and the styling simplified on the carbody. Doubtless the same would have happened the the Chrysler Norseman had it entered production.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Jensen Interceptor III Convertible 

Jensen's striking replacement for the slant-eyed C-V8 first saw the light of day in 1966. It broke some of the firm's established traditions in that the design was outsourced - to Carrozzeria Touring - and the bodies were made of steel rather than glass-reinforced plastic. Power was initially supplied by a 6276cc Chrysler V8, driving through either a four-speed manual or three-speed TorqueFlite automatic transmission to an LSD-equipped Salisbury rear axle. The MKII model of 1969 brought revised frontal styling and ventilated disc brakes. Introduced at the October 1971 Earl's Court Motor Show, the Interceptor III was visually distinguished by cast headlight surrounds, GKN cast alloy wheels and a comprehensively revamped interior and was produced in four Series - G, H, J and S4. By May 1972 the engines on RHD cars had been increased in capacity to a whopping 7212cc. A total of some 6,408 Interceptors were produced between 1966 and 1976, however, just 505 of those were Convertibles.

One of 262 examples manufactured in 1975, chassis number 23111713 was supplied new to the United States of America in left-hand-drive configuration. Fitted with the aforementioned 6276cc Chrysler V8 engine allied to the three-speed TorqueFlite automatic transmission. 

[mousedetective]

I am so stressed...please help?

I just had to spend $135 on a hotel room tonight because my son wanted to go to the ER for pain in his rear (it's something that's been going on for a while but got worse tonight), and I had to spend the money I had saved for the hotel for my mom's 50th high school reunion on car repairs. I lost my glasses and need to replace them. And my mom and I are currently both out of food stamps.

Anything at all would be a huge help. I have no idea what to do and everyone is relying on me to cover everything.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst

One of the great unknowns about the 1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst is exactly how many cars were built. Estimates put the total as low as 485, and as high as 502 cars. Regardless of what the figure actually is, the car itself is a pretty special piece of machinery.

The 300 Hurst is a giant of a car at 19′ in length. All of the Hursts rolled off the production line finished in Spinnaker White. The cars were then shipped to the Hurst factory in Warminster, Pennsylvania, where a substantial transformation was performed. The first change to be made was the removal of the standard Chrysler steel hood skin, which was replaced with a fiberglass unit. This featured a decorative hood scoop and the obligatory set of recessed hood locks. The deck lid was also removed, and once again, a fiberglass replacement, complete with a spoiler integrated with the rear quarter panels, was also installed. The White paintwork was complimented by the addition of Satin Tan highlights and contrasting pinstripes, and the wheels were adorned with the same Satin Tan color in the centers. This Hurst is a clean car, with a small area of rust visible in the lower section of the driver’s side front fender, and surface corrosion present on the car’s underside. The Spinnaker White paint appears to be in good condition, but there has been some deterioration of the Satin Tan paint on both the hood and the deck lid. The exterior trim and chrome all look good, while the tinted glass is close to perfect.

The 300 Hurst was a premium car at a premium price, so naturally, it required a premium interior. In this case, seat upholstery was available in a single type and color. Continuing the exterior theme, the color is Saddle Tan, and the material is leather. The plush front seats are not standard 300 items but have been pilfered from the Imperial parts bin. While the original intention was for a Hurst shifter to be part of the interior features, this is something that never eventuated. The interior of this Hurst is close to perfect, with a single discolored spot on the dash pad being the most obvious fault. The rest of it presents in virtually as-new condition, and as befits a luxury car, it is loaded with luxury touches. These include air conditioning, power windows, six-way power seats, cruise control, a remote trunk release, and I think that there also might be an 8-track player hanging under the dash.

The 300 Hurst was the biggest of the muscle cars, and as such, it needed a big motor to get it moving. In this case, it is the TNT 440 engine, pumping out 375hp. The Hurst also features a 727 TorqueFlite transmission, a 3.23 rear end, power steering, power brakes, heavy-duty rear springs and front torsion bars, and sway bars. The exhaust was a full dual system, ending in quad tips. This Hurst hasn’t seen a lot of recent use, and documentation confirms that between 1986 and 2019, it managed to accumulate a grand total of 20 miles! Since being removed from its climate-controlled storage, it has undergone a meticulous mechanical check and recommissioning, and it is now said to run and drive perfectly. The owner does suggest that while the tires look good, they are pretty olds, and replacing them might be a good idea. He also says that the Hurst may need mufflers fairly soon. The car does come with a fair collection of documentation, including the original Build Sheet and Window Sticker, a pristine Certi-Card, Owner’s Manual, as well as dealer paperwork and other assorted items.

While there has always been some question surrounding the build totals for the 1970 300 Hurst, one thing is certain, and that is that there are less than 300 cars in existence today. Pristine examples can fetch sums in excess of $30,000, and even a rough example in need of restoration can still sell for anywhere around $13,000. This one doesn’t need a major restoration, but it does require some cosmetic work. I’m not sure where bidding is eventually going to go with this one, but I would suspect that it will be somewhere around the low to mid $20,000 mark. Even at that price, it probably wouldn’t be a bad buy.

[tennypress]

Gun x Goo x reader smut

I’ll write another one !

(No smut sorry, but I might make a nsfw part to it

Street racer AU

(Inspired by fast and furious)

WARNING: love triangle, gender neutral reader

“Ooh, Mami, this a new 'Rari. Hit 150 on the dash, I bent the corner, then she bent it for me sideways, uh I might have to fuck her on the highway, yeah”

You just stepped out of your white and red 1992 Mitsubishi Galant VR 4 hugging your friend Zoe park after she ask you to drive in her place in a local street race. There you see three other cars. A yellow and black 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T and fuzzy dice hanging in the rear view mirror with a guy with blonde hair and sunglasses chilling outside chatting with others.

A green 1993 Toyota Supra Turbo with an older guy with a shaved head and wearing a tank top chilling outside while listening to music with his friends.

Then you see a car that caught your attention. It was a black 1999 Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 with a custom painted oni design on the side. You can see the owner on the side smoking a cigarette and just waved to you. Your intrigued.

But your car was amazing too. It was gifted to you by your father. It was white and red 1992 Mitsubishi Galant VR 4 with a custom paint with hello kitty in the side.

As you enter the race the other racers were snickering and making fun of your car. Saying how it looks girly and too old. However the owner of the nissan just glanced at your car before turning back to focus on the race.

You held onto your wheel as you see the flag girl raise her bandana? Or cloth and just waved it before stepping aside for you guys to race. Then you hear a speakerphone of someone you knew. Daniel park, signaling and counting down. 3, 2, 1, and go! You all step on the pedal

Your racing and your in 3rd place before you see the bridge pull up. The green car owner stopped before you see a flash of yellow also slow down. Now it’s between your Mitsubishi and the owner of the Nissan to finish this race.

Both of you speeding up you drove off the bridge and managed to land on the other side safely.

You both returned back safely and exited the car.

There you get out and a crowd comes rushing to the both of you. Including Zoe and Daniel. They just come up to you and congratulate you. Before you see the Nissan owner also coming up to shake your hand.

“That was impressive, no one has beaten me in a race before. I’m Gun. Gun park” he just greets you with a prideful smirk.

You just smile back and shaked his car before seeing the other racers come up. The green haired guy, or Taejin just comes out pissed and throws his steering wheel out on the ground while another man with tan skinned with glasses comes up to comfort Jin. While Zoe just holds onto you and Daniel looks at Gun with caution. You noticed that the two of them had tension.

“GOD DAMMIT” you see the Blonde glasses man come up with his car totaled and goes up to Gun and grabs his collar.

They were just arguing until you came up to the both of them. “Maybe I can fix your car? I own a auto shop near the city.” Goo just comes up and holds your hand into his and smiles while tears come out of his eyes and agreed. You all bid farewells and drove home. The next day you open your shop and see them both outside with their cars. You welcome them both in offering them drinks while you fix their cars.

Goo just took a coffee while Gun took a beer and you took in Goos car to fix.

Gun couldn’t stop staring at your ass. How it fitted the suit that was covered in dirt and oil. Or how your tank top perfectly outflanked your tits. And how you had that cute hat on your head.

Goo just stared at you with admiration while you fixed his car.

It took a while but you managed to repair the man’s car and took them to the register to tell them the price.

“Good thing most of the car was alright. But for the Windshield crack repair, window replacement, windshield replacement, bumper repair and replacement, scratch repair, frame damage repair, and engine replacement it’ll cost you around 3.4K. How does that sound?” You said ringing up the prices

Goo just nudges to Gun and he groans taking out his card and swiping it. You give the receipt and take out the vehicle out of your shop.

You wave goodbye as you see them leave. Closing up the shop you see a letter left on the counter. Curiosily you went to go pick it up and read it. You see tears swell up with happiness as you see the same love letter you wrote to a good friend of yours after he had left to Japan.

[ahedderick]

Another week like that

Good heavens, last Tuesday to this Monday was quite a ride. My daughter got appendicitis, while at college, had to go the the ER*, spent the day messing about there, and got surgery in the evening. The delay wasn't medical incompetence, btw, she just wasn't presenting "normal" symptoms and it took a while to be sure. She is back at school this week, but my husband and I are suffering a miserable sort of delayed stress.

I got up Monday (kid was back at school, but I was still on tenderhooks) and felt like I had the flu. I spent almost all day sitting still, reading, feeling awful. Maybe a little rest will . .

. . Enter my Big Guy cat, who came to me with a ruptured abscess, bloody and gross, leaking into his damned ear. I've been farming a long time and I'm not overly bothered by blood or pus, but sheesh. That took some cleaning up, and a hot compress the cat was not thrilled about.

Tuesday will be restful? perhaps? Until my son came home from taking his friends rock climbing at the park and told me his rear window had been shattered while the car was parked. It was completely broken out, too, someone clearly took some time and had a heavy hammer to do that much damage. Sheeeit.

Today he has a very full class schedule, so I will be making calls about auto glass replacement.

-* Bless the RA a million blessings for taking her to the ER at three in the damned morning