#his voice is fantastic who am i kidding

[cece693]

So I just read a fic on Tumblr about reader acalling their lover 'bro', 'dude', etc. and I thought it was hilarious. Like it's something so harmless but your lover sees it like betrayal. I couldn't think of a person who would allow such a thing, but then comes in Joe Goldberg :)

You’re My Bro—Wait, What?

pairing: joe goldberg x male reader tags: 'bro' zoned, power bottom Joe, no explicit smut but mentions of it, reader is amused, Joe is not, casual turned into relationship, Joe monologuing

You’re starting to think Joe might be just a little too possessive—but hey, that’s half the fun, right? The two of you are standing at a crowded bar, shoulders touching as you each cradle a drink, when one of your friends strides over. You see Joe tense the moment they look between you and him, curiosity shining in their eyes. “So are you guys—?”

���Buddies,” you blurt, before you can think of something more diplomatic. Joe’s entire posture goes rigid as a steel rod. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth.

(Joe's inner monologue): You have got to be kidding me. First, “friend.” Then, “buddy.” Now, “bro.” Every time he does this, it feels like I’m being listed on some discount website: ‘And here’s my pal Joe, 50% off while supplies last!’ Doesn’t he realize he’s basically advertising that he’s still on the market? Am I a placeholder until some new fling shows up? Because I am definitely not a placeholder.

You finish the interaction with your friend, laugh awkwardly, and they move off to join the crowd. You turn to Joe, but he’s already looking at you with that borderline laser-focused stare. “Hey, buddy,” you try, testing your luck with a playful grin. Joe’s brow twitches, and you mentally kick yourself—buddy is basically the forbidden word at this point.

(Joe's inner monologue): He’s doing it on purpose…right? He must be doing it on purpose. Is he oblivious, or am I supposed to interpret this as some twisted come-on?

“Not now,” he says under his breath. “We’re going somewhere quieter.” He practically grabs you by the wrist, weaving through the bar crowd, until you’re both in a dimly lit corridor near the bathrooms. The incessant clacking of pool balls and muffled Top 40 hits fade behind the hum of neon beer signs.

You watch Joe pace in a tight circle, raking his fingers through his hair. It’s endearing and simultaneously a bit intense—like he’s one step away from either kissing you or strangling you. (In Joe’s defense, that’s basically his resting expression.) “Okay,” you begin, leaning back against the wall, “what was that about?”

He whirls on you, eyes narrowed. “You keep calling me your buddy. Or your pal. Or your bro. I’m not some backup plan you keep on the sidelines until you find a better guy to binge-watch Netflix with.”

You chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Dude, it’s just—”

(Joe's inner monologue): Oh, now I’m ‘dude?’ Fantastic. Might as well just write ‘NOT AVAILABLE FOR COMMITMENT’ on my forehead.

“It’s not just anything,” he hisses, crossing his arms. “I’m pretty sure after everything we’ve done—” He lowers his voice, leaning in. “After letting you do literally every position we saw in that questionable YouTube video—maybe you could stop calling me bro.”

You open your mouth, realize no words are coming, then awkwardly clear your throat. “Alright, maybe I have been a little casual about this, but that’s only because we’ve never had the talk. I didn’t think you’d want me shouting from the rooftops about how we’re—”

Joe cuts you off, stepping closer. “And maybe I don’t want a rooftop announcement. But I do expect more respect than a frat-house label.”

(Joe's inner monologue): Just say it. Just say you want me. No big speech, no elaborate plan—just an acknowledgement that I matter. That’s not too much to ask… right?

“Fine,” you admit, swallowing your pride. “You matter. I’m not looking for anyone else. I’m not hooking up with random guys. But, Joe, you gotta give me a little grace. I’m not great at labeling…this.” You gesture between the two of you.

Joe exhales loudly. “Right. Labeling is apparently your kryptonite. Noted. Just...can we skip this weird in-between? Because every time you say ‘bro,’ it sounds like you’re flipping the sign on the door from exclusive to vacancy.”

You sigh, stepping in closer, placing a hand on Joe’s waist. “Dude—I mean—Joe, you’re not replaceable.” You soften your voice. “I’m not looking to replace you. I’m not looking for anything new. I’m good right here.”

He stares back at you, arms still crossed, but his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up. Before you know it, the tension in that cramped hallway flips from charged anger to charged…something else. Joe’s eyes flash with a challenge, and you swear he’s daring you to make a move. You lean in and give him a slow kiss, feeling him momentarily stiffen before melting against you. It’s kind of funny—he’s so prickly about your label issues, but the second your lips meet, he’s turning to jelly. Well, controlling jelly.

He tugs on the front of your shirt, yanking you closer so your hips align with his. You groan against his mouth, the adrenaline from the argument still spiking through your veins. “Still want to argue?” you tease, pulling back.

Joe’s cheeks flush, but his gaze is steady. “Oh, I can argue and get what I want,” he mutters.

There’s a momentary scramble of limbs, heated looks, and the two of you decide that maybe the corridor behind the bathrooms isn’t the best place for what’s about to happen. Next thing you know, you’re ducking into the single-occupancy restroom—fortunately not locked. You twist the lock shut behind you while Joe promptly shoves you against the sink, eyes blazing.

(Joe's inner monologue): We’ve done this in decent places: my apartment, his place, that weird bookstore corner once (don’t get me started). But a bar bathroom, mid-argument? Maybe it’s not the classiest setting, but I need him to understand: I might be the one on my back, but I’m the one running this show.

He’s on you again—biting kisses, needy hands. Every swipe of his tongue is laced with frustration, wanting to prove a point. The comedic reality that you’re in a dingy bathroom, complete with flickering fluorescent light and a questionably stained sink, is not lost on either of you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Joe’s breath is already ragged when he spins around, shoving you onto the closed toilet lid. He straddles you, controlling the angle despite being underneath—or, technically, on top—of you. You blink up at him, a little stunned by how quickly he’s taken charge.

(Joe's inner monologue): He might be bigger, physically stronger, but I’ve never had trouble taking the reins. Because if I don’t, he’ll probably just keep calling me ‘pal’ until the day we die.

His lips brush your ear. “You’re gonna remember who I am after tonight,” he murmurs, voice husky. “No more ‘bro’ or ‘buddy.’ Unless you’re aiming for round two of this discussion.”

There’s definitely some comedic irony that you were just seconds away from strangling each other verbally, and now Joe’s tugging you into a feverish, borderline out-of-breath makeout. He’s got that gift of making every single movement deliberate—grinding down just enough, leaning back just enough, whispering exactly what he wants.

A short while later—between the occasional slam on the wall from someone in the hallway telling you to hurry up—Joe’s making sure you fully understand your position. He’s the bottom, but he’s the one guiding the pace, telling you exactly how he wants it, and you, well…you’re happy to give it to him.

(Joe's inner monologue): He’s going to call me something else from now on. Not ‘bro.’ Not ‘buddy.’ Something that actually says I’m important. Because the truth is, there’s no one else like me. He’ll see that. By the time we’re done, he’ll more than see it—he’ll feel it.

Eventually, you both emerge, hair mussed, lips swollen, clothes hastily adjusted. The rest of the bar patrons give you a mix of amused and annoyed looks—apparently, you were in there a while.

Joe clears his throat, straightening his jacket with that almost comical air of dignity (as if he didn’t just thoroughly test the structural integrity of the bathroom sink). You wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He doesn’t protest—although he narrows his eyes suspiciously, like he’s waiting for you to casually toss out the dreaded word again.

“So…” you start, leaning in so only he can hear you. “No more ‘bro’ or ‘buddy.’ I get it, loud and clear. Boyfriend good enough?”

His lips part. You’d swear you see relief flash across his face, but he masks it quickly with mild annoyance. “That’ll do for now,” he grumbles, but his hand slides into yours, interlocking fingers. The contact is firm—possessive, even.

You grin, guiding him back toward the bar for that second drink (which you both probably need after the fiasco in the bathroom). He glances up at you, expression softening.

(Joe's inner monologue): ‘Boyfriend’…that’s what I wanted to hear. Maybe it’s not a rooftop shout, but it’s a start. And if he even thinks about calling me ‘dude’ again, well…I’m not opposed to repeating that whole argument just for the fun of making up.

He notices you smiling to yourself. With a mock glare, Joe warns, “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m on to you.”

You chuckle and press a quick kiss to his temple. “Relax, boyfriend. I’m just thinking about how this’ll be one hell of a story to tell…well, maybe not the bathroom part.”

[see-arcane]

You know the one good thing about being a pessimist?

It feels great to be proven wrong.

Bravo, Bobby Egg.

I was so happily surprised by this. This film went through a fantastic puberty between the leaked script and the screen. The main points to note:

-No, Ellen is not hot for Count Orlok. She and Thomas are 110% in love. There are even certain Harker-flavored quotes thrown in to prove as much. (Details under the cut.)

-Count Orlok is a terrifying bastard and a half. Significantly more imposing than classic Orlok’s spindly rigor mortis-stiff figure and only wearing a sliver of Dracula’s performative charm. He is a Devil-Death archetype playing a monster who operates in deceit and contracts to wring out what he wants. That and a lot of corpses.

-This film is so beautiful. No gothic touch is skipped.

In sum, I more than like this film. I love it. It isn’t perfect, because no film can be, but damn. I am so proud of this nightmare you made, Bobby Egg.

SPOILERS FOR Nosferatu (2024) BELOW

-Getting some cons out of the way. There are points where a few of the actors lean maybe a bit too heavy on the ham-and-cheese in their deliveries (I’ll not blame the kids, they’re very young, but yeesh. That’s some cartoon acting.)

Yes, the g-slur is still used; though while I wish it hadn’t appeared in Eggers’ script at all, it does make sense within the context of the setting, i.e. Thomas and the Innkeeper probably only having the one word they know, same as in Dracula. And yes, naked teenage girl-on-a-horse does happen for the vampire hunt scene. Whee.

-Now, an early pro: Eggers nixed the ‘hot teen girl tries to pickpocket Thomas’ bit, and the ‘land of phantoms and thieves’ line never happens. All that happens after Thomas wakes in the inn—post witnessing the vampire slaying in the local graveyard, mud on his shoes to prove it was real—is he discovers himself utterly alone. No people, no horse. Cue the long walk.

-Ellen doing the ‘Come to me,’ bit early on is her in adolescence. It’s revealed that her Weird Girl elements have been turned up to 11, tragic lonely past included (replete with dad threatening to send her to a madhouse), and her prayer was just for company. The psychic ping was picked up by Orlok, who took advantage, turning an isolated and desperate barely-more-than-a-kid’s wish into a ‘covenant.’

-Thomas was met not long after this, cue them being genuinely in love <3

-Knock Does Not Jerk Off On Screen. If he does, his back is to us, and Little Knock is covered with some occult tablet or suchlike while he’s doing his ritual business. Also he kills a guy in his cell. Using his teeth.

-Castle time! Thomas is greeted by a driverless carriage at a crossroads and seems to be hypnotized into stepping in. A lot of things Thomas does once in Orlok’s territory seem to very clearly have psychic puppet strings attached. That and some increasing terror on Thomas’ part. There is no warm Dracula-style welcome from Orlok when he arrives, but a terse and strange leading to the dinner table where paperwork is demanded.

- We get a glimpse of this version of the Count’s ego. Thomas calls him sir. Orlok demands Thomas address him as my lord. And then we get the bread cutting scene. Thomas’ thumb bleeds. Orlok get far too interested. His voice, a very guttural and rasping bass, turns into something closer to an animal trilling and growling. Thomas is paralyzed beside the fire; cut away as Orlok closes in.

-Ellen and Anna Harding have a bit of a Mina and Lucy deal going on at the beach. It’s sweet <3 (Prepare for pain </3)

 - Orlok starts getting tricky. He 1) borrows (steals) Ellen’s locket from Thomas and 2) Tricks Thomas into signing a contract to ‘sell’ Ellen/break their marriage via a strange contract in a language Thomas can’t read, with Orlok using the prop of some gold to imply that this is merely a document in ~his native language~ to complete the property sale. Thomas signs, less for the gold than to be gone from the castle and back to Ellen…only for Orlok to insist Thomas is not well. He must stay the night.

- No mind games here. Just Thomas pleading to leave and Orlok’s parting word being that he will stay, and that he will obey his orders.

-Orlok has already chomped Thomas on the tiddy as of last night. Next night, after Thomas almost lands a blow on him in the coffin—Orlok sleeps with his Orcock out in the box, by the way, alongside several rats—Orlok wills Thomas to unlock the door he shut between them. Cue Thomas being tranced onto the bed, pounced on, and basically dry-humped by Orlok as he drinks Thomas all but dry. Thomas is left that way, only to be woken by Orlok’s wolves—he has those too!—and go clambering out the window, dropping to the river below.

-Orlok makes Ellen’s life hell. Holy fuck. The 1838 quality ‘medicine’ definitely doesn’t help—corsets for correcting posture, draining blood because there’s too much in there, binding to the bedposts to stop sleepwalking, general drugging etc etc—but FUCK. Lily-Rose Depp did a great and terrible job of reproducing shaking fits and some of the faces and sounds she made had me thinking I might choke on my own tongue. And for all the sexually provocative poses/noises that happen, every time she comes out of it it’s clear that she hates this. It’s on par with psychic rape.

-The only times we see Ellen respond positively~ to Orlok’s dream-advances is when she’s telling Thomas about the ‘marrying Death’ dream where everyone died and she was deliriously happy and then the infamous trailer line about Thomas not being able to satisfy her as Orlok can~~~

Well guess what.

Guess fucking what.

That was Orlok leaning on her brain. The same way he did to Thomas when, eventually, after the nuns rescue him and pray the plague/vampirism out and he makes it home while half-dead, he lays in bed with Ellen and gets a panic attack combined with Orlok’s image being grafted over Ellen’s face…

…a reverse of the illusion Orlok gave him in the castle, with Thomas imagining it was Ellen on top of him instead. The effect terrifies Thomas all over again and he unwittingly tosses Ellen away, I can't breathe, get off of me, get off!

-Orlok does his murder snacking. Knock, who escaped, offers to find and kill Thomas to please the Count, literally on his hands and knees. Orlok calls him a dog and backhands him, insisting Ellen must be given, not stolen.

-Orlok has already visited Ellen by this time. He presses her to keep her deal with him. She tells him, flat out, I abhor you. In response, Orlok grabs her and chucks her like a ragdoll in a rage. He fumes, telling her he will give her three nights to pledge herself to him, and in the meantime he will start killing. (RIP to Anna and her little girls, the latter of whom ORLOK KILLS IN FRONT OF HER, EATING THEIR THROATS OUT AS SHE ENTERS THEIR ROOM.)

-Before all that, he spins bullshit about Thomas ~selling her to him for mere gold~. A technical truth that Ellen, mid-Orlok spell, spits back at Thomas amid a rage, along with details that are likewise based in only a granule of reality; but which Orlok did not mention in their scene together. Things like Thomas being weak and childish, that he ‘fell into Orlok’s arms like a fainting woman.’ Interesting choice of spin there, Orlok. But whatever.

This all culminates in what is either reality or a dream or a blend of both as Thomas makes sudden desperate love to her, Ellen weirdly heady about it, telling him yes yes yes they will show Orlok their love. Cue her snapping back to full cognizance (awake? dreaming?) as her eyes and mouth spurt blood in a vision. She collapses in fear and tears as Thomas holds her. AND THEN:

-Ellen. Drops. The I am unclean line. She wants Thomas away from her, she is not worthy, she puts him in danger.

-Thomas goes full Jonathan and clings to her. Nonsense. I love you. I love you. I love you.

-V i n d i c a t i o n

-Anyway.

-Dafoe-Von Franz-Van Helsing is a kooky science occultist. Finds a book that Knock had which fills the role of highlighting Orlok as Solomonari (hey, Scholomance shout out!) and Knock as a would-be beneficiary. Also includes the ‘maiden offers her body and blood to the monster to kill it via sunrise’ bit.

-While he reads this, he does NOT actually spell any of these details out to Ellen when they have their secret mini talk about tricking Thomas into hunting for the coffin with him and Sievers. He gives her a big ~you're the only one who can save us magic maiden martyr~ pep talk, but that's it. Meanwhile, Ellen was already preparing to offer herself to save Thomas and whoever’s left in Wisborg. Not the same kind of agency as the original, but still better than I was expecting.

-Harding, Thomas’ rich friend whose wife and children got drinked to death, dies of plague in the family tomb. They burn the bodies.

-In the ruin Orlok bought, cue the iron stake slamming down as they open the coffin..! But whoops. Knock’s in the box, not Orlok. Von Franz says Ellen offering herself is the only way~ Thomas doesn’t waste time throttling him, just makes a run for their home.

-Too late, of course. Orlok is there (with a very cool homage to the original stalking shadow silhouette routine) and Ellen welcomes him. While they are both naked in bed and it’s implied that they are/or intend to have sex, the bulk of the scene centers on Orlok taking Ellen’s blood from her breast. No clear shot of the Orcock on screen for that bit—Bobby Egg saved that pleasure for the Count flashing Thomas at the castle.

-Orlok’s death throes. Are so. Fucking. Cool. Definitely up there with one of the best vampiric demises I’ve ever seen on film. No spoilers there. You’ve got to see it.

-Heartbreak o’ Clock as Thomas bursts in just as Orlok has died and as Ellen is dying under him. There’s time for them to hold hands. And then she’s gone.

-We close on Von Franz popping up with some poetic soliloquy shit and a bunch of lilacs. The final beat is an overhead shot of Ellen, the Maiden, laying under the now-skeletal Orlok, as Death. Looks almost like a painting. Unlike the implication in the leaked script, she does not look happy/at peace. Simply asleep. The End.

-Other important notes:

1) Orlok has a little combover’s worth of hair on top and mighty and powerful ‘stache. Not Dracula-white, but it is there. Finally.

 2) The guy who plays Dr. Sievers has Alan Rickman’s voice. If he isn’t in opera, he should be.

3) I was too late to get a popcorn coffin box. I shall be in mourning until the New Year.

4) Bobby Egg if you can give me one more gift, let it be a deleted scene of Thomas beating Von Franz over the head with the iron stake, please and thank you <3

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.1

Chapter One: Hide Your Heart From Sight

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Celebrities, Starstruck,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Welcome to this disaster of a fic that I have constantly daydreamed about. Logistically, yes, it is so improbable and unrealistic— but there’s a 0.001% chance that it could happen… to you. It’s nice to wonder and dream. I like wondering. Granted, I’ve never worked in production ever… I am studying advertising and arts soooo that’s as much knowledge I have tehe. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: It Could Happen To You by Laufey

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The hum of the plane’s engines filled the air as you settled into your seat, trying not to fidget. You glanced at your boarding pass again, as if to double-check you weren’t hallucinating. Seat 3B—business class. Marvel had spared no expense for the production team’s travel, but you still couldn’t quite believe you’d be flying so comfortably.

What shocked you even more, though, was the man lowering himself into the seat next to yours: Pedro Pascal. Yes, that Pedro Pascal. The man whose movies you’d watched obsessively before joining this production, the actor who somehow seemed both unattainably larger-than-life and heartbreakingly down-to-earth.

“Hi,” he said with a warm smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Looks like we’re seatmates.”

You froze for a moment, then managed a weak, “Hi.” Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you mentally scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete idiot.

“You’re with the crew, right?” Pedro asked, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “What do you do?”

“Oh, um,” you stammered, “I’m just a production assistant. It’s my first big project.”

“No kidding? That’s awesome,” he said, genuinely sounding impressed. “First time working on a Marvel movie? How’s it going so far?”

“It’s… surreal,” you admitted, relaxing slightly under his easygoing demeanor. “I mean, it’s been amazing, but also kind of overwhelming. There’s so much to do, and everyone’s so talented. I…” You trailed off, realizing you were rambling.

“I get it,” Pedro said, nodding. “First big gig can be a lot. But hey, you’re here. That means someone saw something in you, right?”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Pedro asked you about your favorite movies, your hobbies, and how you’d gotten into production work. You told him about your love for art direction and set design, your dream of one day being a production designer, and your side passion for writing and music. When you mentioned you played guitar and sang, he raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to play something for us on set sometime,” he said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed nervously. “I don’t know about that. I’d probably die of embarrassment.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he replied, his tone light but mischievous.

By the time the plane landed, you were buzzing—partly from the conversation and partly from the fact that you’d just spent hours talking to Pedro Pascal as if he were an old friend.

The buzz quickly faded when you arrived at the hotel. You stood in the lobby with the rest of the crew, listening as the location manager, Duncan, argued with the front desk staff. Apparently, there’d been a mix-up with the bookings. The hotel was overbooked due to a telecommunications conference, and somehow, you’d been assigned to share a suite… with Pedro Pascal.

“This has to be a mistake,” you muttered to yourself, your anxiety spiking as Duncan tried to sort things out. But no matter how much back-and-forth there was, the conclusion remained the same: there were no other rooms available.

“Look,” Pedro said finally, stepping in with his usual calm demeanor. “It’s fine. I don’t mind sharing if she’s okay with it.”

You blinked up at him, your mind racing. “I…”

“Hey,” he said gently, noticing your hesitation. He leaned in slightly, his voice soft but steady. “Look at me. I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it. No pressure.”

You swallowed hard, glancing over at Duncan, who looked as stressed as you felt. Finally, you nodded. “I’m fine with it if everyone else is.”

“Great,” Pedro said, flashing you a reassuring smile. “It’s settled, then.”

Duncan pulled you aside before you headed to the elevators. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, his tone fatherly.

“Yes,” you said, forcing a smile. “Is there any kind of form I need to sign, or…?”

“No, it all falls under the NDA from your employment,” he assured you. “But seriously, if you need anything, just text me.”

You thanked him and joined Pedro in the elevator. The ride up to the suite was silent, save for the soft dinging of the floors passing by. When you finally stepped into the room, you couldn’t help but gape. It was a spacious suite with two bedrooms on opposite sides, a small kitchenette, and a cozy living area.

“This isn’t so bad,” Pedro said, dropping his bag by the door. He turned to you, his expression kind. “Do you have a preference for which room?”

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag. “Um, no, you can pick.”

“Ladies’ choice,” he insisted, his tone playful.

“Okay,” you said, gesturing to the room on the right. “I’ll take that one.”

“Perfect,” he said with a grin. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

As you unpacked in your room, the reality of the situation began to sink in. You were sharing a suite with Pedro Pascal. For at least a week. And somehow, you had to act like a normal, functioning human being the entire time.

You took a deep breath and flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Letting out a huff of air in disbelief, you muttered to yourself, “This has to be some sort of dream… or prank, right?”

Placing both hands over your face, you rubbed it in exasperation. “Get your shit together, girl. No screwing things up, no more internal freakouts. He’s a person, like you. Mhm, sure. Yup. Totally fine.”

You sighed deeply, trying to convince yourself of your own words. The suite was spacious and nicely furnished, with plenty of room to keep your distance—but that didn’t stop your overactive imagination from running wild. Every interaction felt loaded with the possibility of embarrassing yourself, but you swore you’d keep it together.

To say people around the production crew had heard about your new roomie was an understatement.

The day before shooting began, you attended a pre-production meeting that covered everything: call sheet details, blocking and camera movement, technical requirements, and a bunch of safety protocols. It was standard procedure but felt ten times more overwhelming knowing your friends would tease you mercilessly.

You sat with your friends from the art department, trying to focus, but they weren’t making it easy. Archie, one of the lead set designers, leaned over with a smirk. “So, how’s life as Pedro Pascal’s roomie?”

You felt your face heat up instantly. “I—it’s not… it’s just temporary,” you stammered, fiddling with the edge of your notebook.

Stephanie, a costume designer with an endless supply of sass, raised an eyebrow. “Temporary or not, it’s the stuff of rom-coms, babe. Don’t tell me you haven’t imagined a meet-cute scenario in that suite.”

“I have not!” you protested, though your flaming cheeks betrayed you. 

Will, an art director with a love for stirring the pot, chuckled. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit it’s a little… serendipitous? You, a huge fan, sharing a suite with the guy? Sounds like fate to me.”

“It’s not fate,” you insisted, trying to deflect. “It’s a logistical mistake, that’s all.”

Max, the trainee set dresser, chimed in with a grin. “Yeah, but a logistical mistake that’s got everyone talking. Even Steve heard about it, and he’s usually the last to know anything.”

Steve, the lighting technician, shrugged. “What can I say? Word travels fast. I’m just here to see how long it takes for Pedro to find out about your… fandom.”

“Oh my god, can we not?” you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “He’s going to think I’m a weirdo.”

Rebecca, a fellow production assistant and one of your closest friends, patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, he seems like the kind of guy who’d find it endearing. Besides, you’ve been professional so far, right?”

You nodded hesitantly. “I think so. I mean, I haven’t said anything stupid yet.”

“Yet being the keyword,” Sophie teased, earning a laugh from the group.

Patricia, always the voice of reason, smiled warmly. “Just be yourself. You’re great at your job, and Pedro’s just another actor. A very charming actor, sure, but still just a person.”

“Thanks, Patricia,” you said, feeling slightly more grounded. But the anxiety still lingered, especially with everyone’s teasing reminders of your not-so-secret crush.

As the meeting wrapped up and you headed back to your tasks, you couldn’t shake the nervous excitement bubbling inside you. Sharing a suite with Pedro Pascal might’ve been a logistical mistake, but it was quickly turning into one of the most unreal experiences of your life.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL, LONDON — NIGHT

Dinner with the cast and crew had been lively, filled with laughter, and far too many knowing glances sent your way by your friends. The teasing hadn’t stopped, even over plates of pasta and glasses of wine.

Archie had leaned over at one point, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when Pedro walks out of the bathroom shirtless? Swoon or faint?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Archie!”

“I’m just saying,” he said with a laugh. “It’s a valid question.”

Stephanie smirked. “She’s probably rehearsing her ‘I’m totally cool and unaffected’ face right now.”

You groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Rebecca grinned. “No, you don’t. But seriously, just enjoy the moment. How many people can say they’ve shared a hotel room with Pedro Pascal?”

By the time the group had wandered back to the shuttle, your cheeks were sore from laughing, and your nerves were only slightly calmed. But as the cold London air nipped at your skin, you found yourself longing for the warmth of the hotel.

Your teeth chattered as you stepped off the shuttle, clutching your coat tighter around you. You didn’t like the cold very much, and London was very, very cold.

The moment you entered the hotel lobby, the warmth began to seep into your body, and you let out a sigh of relief. The elevator ride to your floor was quiet, your mind finally shutting down after a long evening of socializing. By the time you reached your room, you were operating on autopilot.

Tapping your keycard to the door, you quietly pushed it open, careful not to disturb Pedro if he was already asleep. It was just past 9:30 p.m., and you knew the early call time tomorrow would have him resting early.

You shut the door softly behind you, locking the deadbolt before shuffling into the room. You removed your coat, scarf, and shoes, swapping them for the fuzzy slippers you’d packed. The room was dimly lit, and you moved quietly, hoping not to make too much noise.

“Oh, you’re back.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, clutching your chest as your heart tried to escape it. Whipping around, you found Pedro lounging on the sofa, a book in his hands and a soft, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He was wearing a plain white tee and gray sweatpants, his square-framed glasses perched on his nose, and he looked entirely too comfortable—like he belonged there. Like this was normal.

“Oh my god, I didn’t know you were still awake,” you said, voice breathless as you tried to recover from the scare.

He chuckled, his laugh low and warm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. You were so quiet coming in, I thought maybe you were sneaking around.”

You set your things on the small table by the door, giving him an exasperated look. “I wasn’t sneaking around. I was trying not to wake you.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” He tilted his head, watching you with that relaxed air that somehow made you feel completely exposed. “How was dinner?”

“It was good,” you said, shrugging as you moved toward the kitchenette to grab a bottle of water. “Everyone was in high spirits, and the food was great. We took a little walk around the city before heading back.”

Pedro closed his book, setting it on the coffee table. “Sounds nice. London at night can be magical.”

“Yeah, it was.” You paused, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Though, I think I underestimated just how cold it gets here. My teeth were chattering the whole way back.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile softening. “Didn’t bring a warm enough coat?”

“I thought I did, but apparently not. I’m not built for this kind of weather,” you admitted with a laugh, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to stave off the lingering chill.

Pedro stood, crossing the room with an easy grace that made your breath hitch. “Well, we can’t have you freezing, can we?” He grabbed the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa and held it out to you. “Here.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the simple gesture. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I just get cold really easily. Besides, I’ll warm up eventually.”

“Take it,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “It’s not a big deal.”

Reluctantly, you took the blanket, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. It sent a jolt of warmth through you that had nothing to do with the fabric now wrapped around your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmured, pulling it tighter around you.

“Better?” he asked, stepping back to give you space but still watching you with that disarmingly kind expression.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “Much. Thanks, Pedro.”

He smiled again, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, like something unspoken was hanging there. But then he broke the silence, his voice light. “So, did they give you a hard time at dinner?”

Your face heated instantly. “What do you mean?”

He smirked, leaning casually against the back of the sofa. “I heard some of the cast talking earlier. Apparently, your friends in the art department have been… teasing you about the room situation.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh no. What exactly did you hear?”

“Nothing incriminating,” he said with a laugh. “Just that they’re convinced this is some kind of meet-cute scenario straight out of a rom-com.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, mortified. “I’m so sorry. They’re ridiculous.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, his tone easy, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

Your hands dropped to your sides, your eyes wide. “Flattering?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s nice to know someone thinks sharing a room with me is worth all that excitement.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to process the fact that Pedro Pascal—Pedro Pascal—was standing in front of you, teasing you in the most charming way possible.

“Well, I’ll let you get some rest,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big day.”

He gave you one last smile before retreating to his side of the suite, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a head full of thoughts you were too scared to unpack.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY  

You woke to the soft chime of your alarm, the faint glow of early morning light creeping through the curtains. Shuffling into the bathroom with a yawn, you turned on the shower, letting the warm water coax you into wakefulness. You placed your phone on the counter, tapping on a playlist to fill the small space with soft, melodic tunes—comforting background noise that kept your mind from spiraling too early in the day.  

After your shower, you toweled off and began your morning routine. Skincare applied with practiced ease, makeup brushed on with care, you avoided the mirror for too long, focusing instead on the growing anticipation of the day ahead. Pinning your ID to your lanyard, you glanced at your phone again.  

The group chat with your team was buzzing:  

Archie: "We’re fifteen minutes out. Don’t keep us waiting, queen 👑."  

Rebecca: "Text when you’re coming down!"  

Max: "Coffee run? Pls? 🙏"  

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tapped out a quick reply, your fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before you switched apps.  

Your heart did a little stutter as you opened your browser—a Joel Miller fanfic you’d been obsessing over still lingering on your screen. You skimmed the most recent chapter, your thumb pausing to scroll as you half-laughed at the absurdity of sneaking in a few paragraphs before a full day on set. You switched to the chat thread with your online friends, who were deep in a heated discussion about whether Joel would be the type to cook breakfast for his partner. You couldn’t help but chuckle, throwing in a quick, “He’d definitely make pancakes and act like it’s no big deal,” before locking your phone and setting it on the counter.  

Moving on autopilot, you padded into the small kitchenette, barefoot and still humming softly to the tune stuck in your head. You set the coffee machine to brew, pulling out a couple of mugs, a jar of Nutella, and some bread. Your hands moved with muscle memory, spreading the hazelnut spread on toast and slicing up a handful of fruit without a second thought. It wasn’t until the scent of coffee filled the air that you realized you’d made two plates of toast—one for you and one for Pedro.  

The realization struck at the same moment you heard the faint shuffle of footsteps behind you.  

“Morning.”  

His voice was low and warm, still carrying the huskiness of sleep. You froze, phone in one hand, butter knife in the other, as you turned to see Pedro leaning against the doorframe. His hair was adorably tousled, and he was dressed in a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants that somehow made him look effortlessly put together. His eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled at you, and you nearly dropped your phone in a panic.  

“Good morning,” you managed, your voice a little too high-pitched as you fumbled to lock your screen. The thought of him catching even a glimpse of what you’d been reading was enough to make your cheeks burn.  

Pedro glanced at the counter, taking in the toast, coffee, and neatly sliced fruit. “You made breakfast?”  

“Oh, uh—yeah.” You set your phone down and gestured awkwardly toward the spread. “I made you some coffee and toast with Nutella. I wasn’t sure if you’d want that, and there’s fruit, too. I was just about to cut some more, but obviously, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, and—”  

“Hey.” Pedro’s soft chuckle cut through your rambling, and when you met his gaze, he was looking at you with a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”  

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Oh. Yeah. No problem. It’s nothing, really.”  

He moved past you to grab a mug of coffee, the proximity sending your pulse into overdrive. As he poured himself a cup, you noticed his shoulders relaxed and his movements unhurried. He took a sip and let out a small, contented sigh.  

“Perfect,” he said, glancing over at you with a grin. “You’re spoiling me, you know that?”  

Your laugh came out nervous and breathy. “I’m pretty sure this doesn’t count as spoiling. It’s just toast.”  

“Yeah, but it’s good toast,” he teased, holding up a slice as if to emphasize his point.  

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension in your chest easing slightly. The moment felt impossibly domestic—like a scene out of one of those fanfics you’d been reading. Only this time, it wasn’t Joel Miller standing in the kitchen with you. It was Pedro.  

And that was somehow even more surreal.  

Pedro leaned against the counter, his mug cradled in both hands. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. “So,” he started, his voice warm and casual, “what were you so engrossed in on your phone earlier? You looked ready to throw it out the window when I walked in.”  

Your stomach flipped, and you tried to play it cool, even though you were fairly certain your face was now several shades of red. “Oh, nothing,” you lied, brushing a crumb off the counter. “Just the group chat. You know how chaotic they are.”  

Pedro tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mm-hmm. Sure it wasn’t something more... intriguing?”  

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. “Intriguing?”  

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes twinkling with mischief over the rim of his mug. “You tell me.”  

“It’s nothing!” you blurted out, a little too defensively. “Just—just boring stuff. Work stuff.”  

“Work stuff,” he repeated slowly, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Because people laugh at boring work stuff while making toast.”  

You groaned, setting your mug down as you ran a hand over your face. “Can we not? Please? I’m already mortified enough.”  

Pedro chuckled, the sound low and teasing but not unkind. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it go... for now.” He set his mug on the counter and raised his hands in mock surrender. “But you owe me a story later. Deal?”  

You hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “Depends on how much coffee you’ve had by then. I might need you slightly less smug for that conversation.”  

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, just enough to make your heart stutter. “Smug? I prefer charming. But I’ll take it under advisement.”  

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. The playful banter made the room feel lighter, warmer.  

By the time you both finished your coffee, the atmosphere had shifted into something comfortable and easy. You quickly rinsed the dishes, your hands moving on autopilot as Pedro lingered nearby, chatting about everything and nothing.  

As you dried your hands, your phone buzzed on the counter, and you glanced at the screen.  

Rebecca: “Bus is almost there. Better get your cute butt down here!”  

You shot back a quick reply: “On my way.” Turning to Pedro, you grabbed your bag and gestured toward the door. “I’ve got to head down. My shuttle’s waiting.”  

Pedro grabbed his own bag and trailed after you. “I’ll walk down with you. I’ve got my own ride coming, but they’re always late.”  

The two of you stepped into the elevator, the hum of its descent filling the silence. The confined space suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with unspoken tension.  

Pedro stood close—too close. You could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint hint of his cologne. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you pressed the strap of your bag tighter against your shoulder, hoping it would anchor you somehow.  

“So,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost intimate in the stillness of the elevator. “What’s the plan for today?”  

You glanced at him, his brown eyes watching you closely, the curve of his smile softer now. “Same as usual, I guess,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Make sure everything runs smoothly while you and everyone else look good on camera.”  

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You make it sound so simple, but I know you’re the one holding it all together.”  

His words caught you off guard, and you looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I just do my job.”  

“And you do it damn well,” he said, his tone sincere now, no teasing edge in sight.  

The elevator dinged as it reached the lobby, breaking the moment. Pedro gestured for you to step out first, and you did, your pulse still racing.  

“Thanks,” you murmured, not entirely sure if you were thanking him for his compliment or just for letting you escape the charged space of the elevator.  

As you spotted your shuttle waiting outside, you turned to him, suddenly aware of how reluctant you were to leave. “I’ll see you on set?”  

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. See you soon.”  

You stepped outside, the crisp morning air hitting your face as you walked toward the shuttle. But even as you climbed aboard and found a seat, your mind was still back in that elevator, replaying every glance, every word, every spark.

End Notes:

Oh hi! I missed doing these silly bits; I thought to bring ‘em back. But, don’t worry, I’ll try to yap less haha

Yes, it’s super cliche, cheesy, unrealistic, and practically a hallmark movie in the making. But that’s the fun part in fanfiction and writing, it’s all made up and no one here is allowed to “yuck” each other’s “yum” if you know what I mean. ;)

Also, I have no idea how production for film works so I’m researching stuff and making stuff up along the way pls no one come after me T^T

Weirdly enough, I saw a reddit post from someone who works at the front of the hotel desk and they say the one-bed trope/one-room trope; it actually happens pretty frequently lol so who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca

[firingstars]

neighborly advice | ch. 5

bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you said you would never let a man come between you and your best friend. the situation has finally presented itself and is testing your resolve.

warnings: mdni, eventual smut, timeline is somewhere around the middle/end of fatws, language, alcohol, angst, betrayal, self pity, bucky’s short circuiting again

word count: 3.4k

a/n: this is my previous jealousy for leah showing when i first watched fatws </3

previous chapter | next chapter

“Mr. Nakajima, you can explain the rules all you want to me, but I’m still not going to get it,” you told him with a smile.

“Nonsense,” the old man said, and swatted at the air around him like he was trying to rid you of the idea you brought forth. “You are a bright child. Mahjong would be like checkers to you!”

You wanted to admit that you already knew the rules of the game to him. You knew how to win, and you knew that his movements were less than ideal, and you could easily win the board if you really wanted to end this game now. You didn’t want to rain on his parade though. Not when he was talking so happily, explaining with so much passion that it couldn’t help but make you smile.

Mr. Nakajima reminded you of your grandfather. He had passed away during the first year of the Blip. It was after his death, you found out, that your father went mentally insane and started planning a wedding for his daughter that was legally dead in the eyes of the government. Not literally insane, of course. He was insane in your eyes, but he was just doing what he could finally do now that your grandfather wasn't around.

Your mom said his passing was from heartbreak. You were his favorite grandchild, and he loved to spoil you rotten. He was the reason why you got to do so much of what you wanted to do pre-Blip, and why you were able to get so far ahead with your research before disappearing out of existence.

It was your grandfather who taught you mahjong. He taught you go, too. You would do anything to see him again. Perhaps this is why you found yourself taking care of other elderly men that you ran into. Mr. Lin. Mr. Nakajima. Bucky.

Did Bucky even count in that list?

You were sure he did, if you really considered it. Technically, he was old enough to be your grandfather. You needed to stop yourself before things got too weird and too technical in your head. You were going to make yourself feel weird even though there was nothing to really feel weird about. This man spent more than ninety percent of his life out of control, and only just started living. Technically, he was the same age as you. Maybe just slightly older. Maybe.

Mr. Nakajima said your name with another click of his tongue, shaking his head with disappointment. You smiled. You could tell that it wasn’t real disappointment with the way he was looking at you. “Rookie mistake. You need to pay attention to the tiles! Come on now. One more time.”

You hummed, reaching for another tile that would clearly earn another scolding from him. Which was fine. You wanted him to chat your ear off. It was better than him shouting at some young kid on the street.

The tile was pushed out of your reach before you could touch it. You watched as an arm reached from behind you grabbed a different tile-- the winning tile. His gloved hand moved to create a space in between your pieces to fit the tile there, then let all the pieces drop, showing off your win.

“Come on now, doll. Mahjong isn’t that hard,” he said, his voice so close to your ear that your body shivered before you could realize it was happening. He was close, and if you just leaned back slightly, you would press your back against his chest– that strong, muscular chest– and be wrapped in the scent of Bucky.

“See! I taught Bucky mahjong, which is why I know that you can do this well. I am a fantastic teacher, and you are a smart student.” Mr. Nakajima clapped happily, a grin spread wide across his face. He wasn’t even upset over the fact that he lost the game, just so elated over your potential win. Though, it really wasn’t your win to begin with.

“It really isn’t that hard,” Bucky repeated from beside you, still crouched to talk into your ear. You fought the blush that was creeping up your face, and turned to face him. Your breath hitched, catching in your throat as you realized just how close he was to you. Just a few centimeters away, and he was looking right at you.

“Must just be natural to you, then,” you finally said, and watched a small smirk play on his lips before he finally stood up straight. He pushed his gloved hands into his pockets, looking towards Nakajima now.

“Are you ready? It’s Wednesday. Time for lunch.”

“Is it that time already?” the old man gasped, pushing his sleeve up his arm to check his watch. He looked at you. “Would you like to join us for lunch today? You don’t have anything planned, right?”

“Oh, no. I can’t crash your guys’ lunch date.”

“Not at all. The more the merrier,” Bucky said with a smile.

You found yourself at Izzy’s again, and Leah was there. You guys sat at the bar once more, this time, with Bucky sitting in the middle. The appetizers were brought out for you guys by Leah, giving each of you your regular orders that she knew by heart. Nakajima opened up a newspaper, raising an eyebrow at the words before him.

“No one lived past ninety-five this week,” Nakajima said with a deep sigh. Bucky looked over his shoulder to the paper, then let out a hum before picking up a gyoza with his chopsticks and bringing it to his mouth.

“So young. What a shame,” he said dryly. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh beside him, one that he seemed to catch on to. Bucky glanced over at you, a smile on his face as he gave you a knowing look.

Something fluttered in your chest. Was it that fact that you knew his secret? Or that you were trusted with it, and that he continued to stick around you despite the fact you knew his secret? Either way, it made you want to kick your feet in the air and giggle like a little girl.

“Speaking of being young, when will you go out on a date, Bucky?” Nakajima asked, folding the newspaper and putting it to the side of him. “Why not ask Leah out?”

You paused, your eyes catching Leah’s. There seemed to be a playful glint in her eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed at her, trying to read her expression, trying to figure out what she was planning to do.

“No, no,” Bucky shook his head. “There’s a dance to those kind of things and I haven’t danced in… years, it feels like.”

“Why not?” Leah cut in, leaning across the bar towards Bucky. Your eyes widened as you stared daggers into her. She ignored you. Her eyes were locked on Bucky, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. A pit began to form in your stomach. “I’m off tonight at ten. Swing by and we can get a drink together.”

Bucky stuttered, unable to find the right words as she walked away to attend to the other patrons at the bar. Mr. Nakajima laughed happily beside Bucky, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a grin. You couldn’t hear the words he was saying. You were tunnel-visioned again. Who were you supposed to be angry at? Nakajima? Bucky? Probably Leah, for even agreeing. Yeah. This wasn’t your best friend. You were going to kill whoever this clone was.

Bucky breathed your name beside you, snapping you out of your momentary hate train to look at him. He looked panicked. You clenched your jaw as you stared at him. Yeah. You were going to be angry at him, too.

You reached into your wallet, grabbing a couple of bills to drop onto the counter.

“I’m heading out, Mr. Nakajima. Gotta run some errands,” you told the old man, giving him a tight smile before standing up. He gave you a small wave, ignorant to the storm he had just created.

You ignored Bucky as he whispered your name again. You didn’t meet Leah’s eyes as you turned away from the bar. You walked away without any other word or recognition to any of them, jealousy settling deep and mixing in to kill the butterflies that Bucky had personally placed in your stomach. All that was left was an empty forest of barren trees and a frozen wasteland.

If you could really think about it, there was no reason for you to feel like this.

Sure, you called dibs on the man, but that really didn’t mean anything. You made out with him once, dreamt dirty dreams about him the past few nights, daydreamed about him when you should’ve been figuring out your next move with your research, and only had two and a half conversations with him.

Girl code had to mean something, right? It probably meant nothing to Bucky seeing as he was over a century old, and most likely had no idea what the term meant. Did that kind of thing exist in the 40s? Even if it did, he was a man, at the end of the day. Guy code applied to him, not girl code.

Leah should be the one you should be directing your anger at. She locked eyes with you and you saw her. Then, she leaned over the counter, elbows pressed under her chest to push her boobs up and spill over the top of her shirt right in front of him. She didn’t give him a chance to deny her offer before walking away, but he also didn’t chase her down and tell her that he did not want the date at all. He sat there like an idiot.

Maybe he really was an idiot, when it came down to it. He was a man. A stupid fucking man.

You got yourself to your apartment fast. You wanted to bury yourself in your bedsheets, blast some sad music, and stare at the ceiling. The betrayal was setting heavily in your chest. As you were about to push open your apartment door, you were forced to pause. A metal hand was on the door at eye level with you. You turned quickly, finding Bucky standing there. He looked stressed.

“I didn’t want to grab you out of nowhere in case, you know, you’re a little traumatized from being grabbed by that asshole,” he said softly, but quickly. Almost rambling. He was trying to avoid what he really wanted to say.

“Right. Thanks. Do you need something from me?” you asked him, and he swallowed.

“I… I just… That wasn’t– I didn’t say any of that, you know, right?”

“Right,” you said again, frowning. “And why didn't you tell her no, if you didn't want it then?”

“It just happened too fast–”

“Uh huh,” you cut him off, turning towards your door and opening it. “I’m gonna go inside now, okay? You have a date to get ready for, so you should probably go do that.”

Bucky said your name again as you stepped through the threshold, but you didn’t turn back. No, you were angry. Pissed off. Annoyed. You shut the door behind you, and locked it without acknowledging him.

You ignored the knocks at your door for the following hour and a half after you got home. You don’t know if they lasted any longer, since you decided to hole yourself up in your room and close the door. For good measure, you pulled your blanket over your head and decided that it would be a good time to take a nap. Decompress. Allow your subconscious to shuffle through your memories and figure out the best course of action next. Before all of that, you put your phone on do not disturb.

When you woke, it was quarter to eleven. The anger you felt was changed now. It was directed towards yourself.

There was really no reason for you to be acting like such a spoiled brat at the end of the day. Who were you to Bucky? His neighbor. That was it. You didn’t even have his phone number. You weren’t anyone special to him, and you sure as hell couldn’t hope for yourself to be after acting like that with him.

Leah, on the other hand, had been there for you through thick and thin. Losing her felt like losing a limb. Being mad at her over something stupid like this wasn’t right. She thought he was cute from the beginning, even before she knew he was your roommate. You didn’t even tell her that you were beginning to fester a crush for him. You didn’t tell her anything past a casual make out session that happened late at night, which she assumed happened out of comfort after all that happened to you previously in the night.

You were the one not explaining anything, and no one was at fault but yourself. Holding other people accountable for actions that you didn’t take wasn’t their fault. She was always more outgoing, after all. Always got more dates, always stuck her neck out there for the opportunity if she thought there was something there, if there was something worth it.

If it went well between the two of them, you decided that you would root for them. She was your friend, and he was your neighbor. That’s all he was. Your neighbor.

You let out a soft groan, feeling your stomach rumble in agitation. You barely ate anything other than a couple pieces of dumplings before your appetite had been shot to pieces earlier, and breakfast wasn’t something that you usually partook in.

There was a family-run Chinese restaurant on the corner of the street. They were open until midnight. If you went now, you would be able to order some fried rice and roasted duck. You shoved yourself into a pair of sweatpants and grabbed a hoodie out of your closet, then took yourself out.

The old lady at the counter gave you a smile as you entered, already inputting your order.

“You haven’t come to see me,” she said, light scolding in her voice. “I thought you might have moved away!”

“Sorry, Ms. Chan,” you smiled as you took your wallet out. She immediately batted at your hands, pushing it away.

“Stop, stop. It’s the last batch of the night. It’s no good. Not worth money,” she fussed, and you knew it was a lie. She didn’t even let you pay when you came in the middle of the day.

“You’re too good to me,” you told her, shaking your head as you accepted an early defeat.

“Where have you been?” she asked, turning her back to you to start packing your food. You forked out a few bills and dropped them into the tip jar. You knew it was more than what the meal cost, but that was fine. She took good care of you on these late nights. “You look a little sad tonight. Boy problems?”

“Why does everyone assume that it’s boy problems?” you asked with a sigh.

“You’re not denying it this time,” she said with a grin. “I always ask you if there are boy problems. Tell me. I want to hear the gossip of the young girl on the block.”

She turned back around and put your food on the counter, bagging it and tying it off before pushing it towards you. You let out a soft sigh, contemplating it. Ms. Chan knew none of the parties involved. Plus, you still had that strange soft spot for elderly. Her daughter didn’t talk to her much these days, not after she moved out of state to start a family down in the south.

So, you told her. You let her know about your dilemma, your internal struggle, your conflicts. You had no idea what to do about the situation.

“What would you do, if you were me?”

“No clue.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have wisdom beyond your years?” you asked with a frown.

“I’m old, not God,” she huffed. You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “But you feel better by talking about it, yes? You look a bit lighter now.”

She was right. She offered you a smile, one that would let you know that everything would be alright. You wished her a goodnight, and went off back towards your home. You pulled your phone out of your pocket to check the messages.

Missed call from Leah (3) [3:42pm]

Leah [3:50pm]: you’re not actually mad, are you?

Leah [4:02pm]: hellloooo

Leah [4:12pm]: if u dont want me to go on the date, js lmk

Leah [4:30pm]: my break is over. If u dont say anything them im js gonna go thru w it

Leah [9:49pm]: ur not gonna let a guy come between us right?

You cleared the notifications. You didn’t want to see it. Talking to Ms. Chan may have momentarily lifted the weight on your shoulders, but there was a new bitterness in your mouth. She didn’t see a problem with all of this? She really didn’t? Maybe you weren't losing a limb after all.

You would have to answer her by tomorrow night though. Otherwise, she would show up at your apartment door and start banging it down and demanding to see you. You ran your hand through your hair, letting out a deep sigh as you finally got to your floor.

“Oh. You weren’t home? I was standing out here knocking for the past ten minutes.” You looked up. Bucky was standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Standing in front of your door. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

“Nope,” you replied, deciding to not let him get to you. You moved to the door, Bucky taking a few steps back to give you some space as you unlocked your apartment. “Good night, Bucky.”

“Wait!” he exclaimed, stopping your door with his hand. A strange sense of deja vu washed over you as you stared at his hand on your door. It felt like the roles had reversed. Except he held flowers, and not muffins. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him, frowning. He swallowed, and looked down at the assortment of flowers in his hands. “Girls still like flowers, right? They did, back in the day.”

“Most girls do. Why, your date reject them or something?” you asked with a raised eyebrow. You didn't bother to hide the bitterness in your voice.

“What?” he asked, eyes widening slightly. “No! No, um, I got these for you. As an apology.”

You stared at him, biting the inside of your cheek. You couldn’t smile. Not right now. You wanted to be mad, be petty, be something for a little bit longer. You didn’t want him to know that this was enough to win you back to his side– though you never truly left.

“Okay,” you finally said.

“Okay?” he echoed, looking hopeful. He held the flowers out to you a bit more. “Please, take them.”

“I don’t have space for flowers right now,” you lied, watching as his face crumpled. You wanted to take it back. Of course you had space for flowers. You had space for whatever he wanted to give you and more.

“Then throw them away,” he said, moving so fast that you couldn’t register it for a moment. In a few seconds, the bouquet was securely placed in your bag of Chinese food, and he backed away out of your reach, as if he was afraid that you would try to give it back to him. “I don’t know how to take care of flowers, and you’re smart, so it would be better with you.”

“Bucky–”

“If flowers aren’t good, then coffee?” he cut you off quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Or– or lunch? Dinner, maybe, actually, since you sleep late and wake up late.”

He was nervous. It was clear he was nervous. He didn’t have the smooth voice he had earlier in the day, nor did he have the confident smirk on his face when he closed in on your space to let you know that he was right there, just ghosting by you. Now, he was giving you space. An opportunity to run away, to reject him and never return.

You were afraid that if you rejected him again, he may do just that.

“Captain America doesn’t need your help tomorrow?” you asked softly, finally allowing a smile to reach your face. You could see his shoulders visibly relax as he let go of a breath.

“Sam can go fuck himself and figure it out on his own,” Bucky said, smiling back at you. He looked like a breath of fresh air. All the stress you had earlier in the day melted away when you saw his face.

“Well, I’m down for anything tomorrow night. As long as you don’t take me to play mahjong with the other grandpas.”

“Are you calling me– ouch, doll. You know how well I can move,” he said, fake hurt lacing through his voice. You could only smile wider at him, letting out a soft laugh as your heartbeat accelerated.

Doll. He really liked to call you that. It made you feel strange and warm inside, soft and mushy. There was a certain tone he used when he said it, like he was saying it with such gentle care to ensure that you and everyone who heard him say it would be able to know that there was something special about you. If you really let your mind wander, you could start to believe that it meant that he held you in some special way.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Let me know when you’re ready,” you told him, then gestured to your apartment, “You’ll know where to find me.”

Bucky swallowed, nodding. His eyes met yours and you felt like you could fly in this moment. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

next chapter

taglist: @iyskgd @falconxsoldier

[theharddeck]

do you wanna make somethin' of it (Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!reader)

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: audio porn, a truly unhinged amount of dirty talk, overuse of pet names, bob's raging size kink, overstimulation via vibrators (and otherwise), unprotected PiV sex, an unrealistic number of orgasms, some dumbification, as can be expected.

A/N: this is way late bc i had to make sure the people who reblogged the moodboard were legal, thanks everyone for the patience and support! esp thank you @hangmanssunnies for being so encouraging, @sometimesanalice for being a gem and betaing thank you @laracrofted for coming up with bob's (ahem) inspirational reveal, and thank you everyone else for letting me be feral. there were a couple people who reblogged the moodboard but I couldn't tag them, so for the record, if you ask to be tagged, pls do make sure you're taggable AND ALSO THAT YOU HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO I AM NOT KIDDING. the title is from Jo Dee Messina's 90s country bop, "Do You Wanna Make Something Of It" -- okay enjoy!

You paused, halfway into your flight suit, looking down at your phone. 

It was probably a bad idea to open an audio erotica app forty minutes before you had to be in the debriefing room with the rest of the aviators in your unit. 

But. 

You were ovulating, your vibrator was charged, and you’d just gotten a notification that BullRiderRhett had posted a new audio.

Before you knew it, you were grabbing your headphones and folding your flight suit by the door, leaving your tank top and sports bra on, but shimmying out of your panties. You set an alarm on your phone, connected your headphones and opened the app. 

Quickie During the Rodeo

After my ride, I don’t have much time before they call up the winners…but you look so damn good in that sundress. We have to be quick, though. [M4F] [Short Audio] [Established Relationship] [In Public] [Strong Language] [Moaning] [SFX]

Yeah, you thought to yourself, that’d do. 

You slid into bed, pulling a muting blanket over the lower half of your body as you settled into your bed and clicked play. 

Immediately, the sounds of a rodeo pushed through your headphones. 

You heard the shuffle of hundreds of feet, a rowdy crowd cheering, and distant country music over a speaker. You could almost imagine the dusty air, the smell of fresh hay and sweat, and the clamor of barrel racing in another arena. 

There was a steady clanking of spurs as a pair of boots walked towards you. 

“There y’are,” a low voice said, the perfect combination of fond and gravelly. You heard a shuffle of fabric, and a soft inhale, like the cowboy was wrapping you in his arms. Your eyes fell closed so you could immerse yourself in the fantasy. 

“How’s my girl doin’?” he asked, his voice muffled like he had buried his head in your shoulder.

You never responded verbally to these things; it broke the illusion to speak to an empty room, but you liked that Rhett paused, as if waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, well, I always ride better when I know you’re in the stands, cheerin’ for me,” he said. He had such a fantastic voice, low and soft, with this drawl that was so unpretentious and alluring. His canvas jacket rustled like he was hugging you tighter. 

“Just let me hold you for a sec, yeah?” he asked, as the ambient sounds of the rodeo seeped back in. You found yourself just listening for the sound of Rhett’s breathing over it, a slow and steady rhythm that was deeply centering. 

You heard when his breath caught, followed by a shuffling sound and a choked gasp from the cowboy.  

“Whoa, whoa,” Rhett’s voice was warm with surprise and delight. “Cut that out, darlin’, we can’t, they’re gonna call me back–”

His voice broke off on a low moan that had you biting your lip. 

Why did guys in real life never moan? 

It was such a pretty sound, deep and masculine, and full of desire. It was one of your favorite things about Rhett. Your hand slipped under the blanket, rubbing over your pussy gently, getting yourself used to the pressure. 

“Darlin’,” Rhett’s voice had gotten deeper, like a warning. “Ya can’t tease me like that, ‘s not kind.”

Your hips shifted at that voice, and Rhett laughed, low. 

“Y’just can’t help yourself, can you, sweet girl?”

It was your favorite pet name he used, just the way he said it. You were obsessed with the gravel in his voice, the melodic twang coupled with a gentleness that belied all his ruggedness. It was like he was being quiet to make sure no one overheard him, like his words were for your ears only. 

His spurs clinked as the noise of the rodeo faded, as though he was leading you somewhere away from prying eyes. A second later, there was a gentle, wet sound, like he was kissing you. 

How would he taste, you wondered. Would his lips be soft? Or would they be chapped? Would he be ravenous, turned on from the adrenaline of the ride, or would he be slow, savoring your taste? 

You turned on your vibrator, on a low and warming setting. You traced it lightly over your pussy,  acclimatizing, as Rhett’s voice and the soft vibrations sent a heat under your skin. 

Rhett’s breathing was heavy, like being near you made him breathless.

“Shameless,” Rhett chided, amused and fond. “I know I can’t stop you, but I’m not about to let anyone see ya like this. You’re mine.” 

Your hips canted up into the vibrator, spurred on by the idea of being his. 

“Oh, you like that, huh, sweet girl?” Rhett practically purred, his voice like a caress, “You like being mine?”

Rhett’s words washing over you, and vibrator’s motions met less resistance as you felt yourself growing wet.

“What if I…” he asked, and you heard fabric shuffling, like he was reaching down and under your dress. “Fuck, darlin’, are you wet for me already?” 

You pressed your lips together to trap in a whimper. 

You knew it was formulaic, but that didn’t make you less turned on. In this fantasy, you were Rhett’s girlfriend, you were already wet for him, you were needy enough to risk being caught to have his dick inside of you. 

“Ya sure about this?” Rhett asked, and you could hear the intensity in his voice. Like he needed you too, just as desperately. “Yeah? Yeah, me too…fuck—yeah, feel me through my jeans. Feel how hard I am for you.”

You turned the vibrator up, imagining the rough texture of denim against your pussy. How hard Rhett would be, how good it would feel to rock up against the dirty fabric. Probably not the most hygienic, but he’d be so hot, even through his jeans, impossibly tempting.

“Go on, take me out,” Rhett directed, his voice a low whisper. 

He moaned in your ear as a belt buckle came undone, and your head fell back as you circled the vibrator over your clit. God, he sounded so good, he sounded unraveled. You imagined the weight of him in your hand, and you shifted your hips, wishing you could feel the heat of him. 

“Shit, okay. We hafta be quick,” Rhett panted. “I know, I know, turn around for me, darlin’. Brace yourself against the wall here…Christ, you look so good like this…ya ready for me?” 

You couldn’t help yourself; you slid a hand down your body, changing the angle of the vibrator so you could run a finger through your folds. 

Rhett held his breath, like it was too good, too much, and you waited.

Then came his strangled, relieved exhale, and you pushed a finger into yourself as you imagined him sliding into you. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” Rhett praised, his voice breathless, awed. “Let me into that tight pussy, nice and easy...”

Your mouth fell open as you imagined him filling you. 

Would he be thick? Long? Maybe a slight curve to his cock? Cut or uncut? You licked your lips, your mind spinning with possibilities, your fingers a paltry imitation of the thing you wanted so badly. 

“Ah, that’s it, that’s it,” Rhett murmured, and you couldn’t help but add another finger. “Such a good girl, for me, aren’t ya?”

You wanted to be his good girl. 

Rhett was breathing hard, and the rhythm of it was perfect. You circled around your clit with the vibrator, and you were panting now too, your hips canting up as you fucked yourself on your fingers. You could imagine him driving into you, his hips thrusting his cock into you. It would be thick, you decided, broad and heavy. 

“Ah, you’re taking me so well,” Rhett grunted. “You were made to take this fat cock, weren’t you?” 

His breaths were coming faster, and you could hear him slamming his hips into yours. You could imagine his balls swinging, could imagine him driving into you to reach that spot your fingers just couldn’t brush against. 

“This pussy feels so good, darlin’,” Rhett whispered, “the way you’re clenchin’ around me…”

Your thighs fell farther apart as you tried to time your fingers’ thrusts to his cadence. He was grunting after each thrust, this beautiful soft sound of exertion and pleasure.

A faint cheer rose above the sounds of your panting; another event had concluded. 

“Shit, we hafta hurry, they’re gonna–” Rhett broke off, his hips snapping faster. “C’mere, let me play with that clit, let me feel you–fuck yeah, clench around me, just like that.” 

You turned the vibrator up, your fingers faltering inside of you at the increased vibration and his words. Rhett’s grunts were getting higher pitched, a delicate thread of need seeping into them and you were going to lose your mind; it was perfect. 

“Ah, such a good girl,” Rhett groaned. “God, I don’t deserve you, ya feel so good…are you close, darlin? Tell me you’re close, I need to feel you cumming on my cock, will ya do that for me?”

You were bucking into your hand, chasing a release that had come on so fast, so strong and you were so damn close, you just needed–

“There ya go,” Rhett breathed, his voice tight. “You feel–oh, sweet girl, don’t stop clenching me like that. Oh, you’re gonna make me cum with that tight pussy, fuck, are you gonna come with me, darlin’? Please come with me, please…”

You pumped your fingers in time with his pleas, Rhett’s voice growing hoarse as his hips sped up. You were so close, he sounded so good, you were almost there. 

“Feels so good…Ah, I’m coming, I’m there– ah, shit,” Rhett moaned, his voice choking, and you orgasmed along with him, collapsing back into the pillow. 

Your legs shook and you jerked the vibrator away from your sensitive clit, stroking gently over your pussy with your other hand and easing yourself down.Your body felt like it was humming and you turned the vibrator off, sated and pleasure drunk.  

Something about Rhett always had you timing it perfectly, feeling so in sync and so primed, and when he came, it was like your permission to. 

Rhett was groaning softly in your ear. 

“So beautiful, darlin’,” he whispered. “God, I’m so lucky, look at you…so damn beautiful…”

The audio would fade out in another few minutes and you fumbled for your phone to turn it off, and turn off the just-in-case alarm that you’d set. 

There was a bittersweet moment with audio erotica that didn’t exist in traditional porn– aftercare. Instead of just ending a scene, most creators seemed to enjoy winding down with their listeners, saying soft things, silly things, fond things. It straddled the line between soothing and demoralizing, and you couldn’t say you loved the contrast between the care in Rhett’s voice and the emptiness around you. 

An emptiness that was interrupted by a loud pounding on your door. 

“Hey, I can see your light under the door,” Bradley called from the hallway, “you better not still be asleep! If we’re late to Mav’s briefing you know he’s gonna have us doing laps around the tarmac.”

You stuck your tongue out at the ceiling on principle, grateful for the quiet of your vibrator and the distance between the door and your bed.

“Calm your tits, Rooster,” you yelled back, “I’m practically ready.”

“Damn better be,” you heard Bradley say, loud enough to be heard, soft enough to know he wasn’t actually pressed.

You gave yourself another ten seconds to revel in that perfect orgasm, and then swung your legs over the side of the bed. You cleaned yourself off quickly, dressed even quicker, and were out the door in no time. 

Some might even say, with a pep in your step. 

“Told you,” you muttered as you walked by Bradley’s row in the debriefing room, on time, and he huffed. 

You settled into your normal seat, waving good morning to Callie and lifting your chin at Mickey, who grinned back at you. Bob was in the seat next to yours, as you’d all agreed early on that WSOs had to stick together, and you bumped his shoulder with yours as you sat. 

The sweet man smiled, a hidden thing, and looked away quickly. 

Sometimes, you felt like you knew there was more to him than he let on. 

You’d seen him in action, seen him make split-second decisions that kept him and Phoenix in the air. You’d seen him crank out 200 pushups with Jake and Javy like it was nothing. But at the same time, he never seemed to hold your eye for longer than strictly necessary, seeming more comfortable to address the floor (unless someone pushed too hard, and he’d snap something so sassy it’d make you bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing). 

When you’d first met him, you’d thought he was cute, in an Old Hollywood leading man kind of way, soft muscles and deep eyes.

You’d wondered if maybe you made him nervous. You’d thought maybe there was interest in those ocean blue eyes, but time went on, and he remained sweet and polite and kind. He was the same to you as he was with everyone else, and you were led to the reality that he was just an incredibly decent person. 

Crushes came and went like water, especially in a group as gorgeous as the one you flew with, so you let him have his secrets. 

The lights clicked off as Maverick strode to the front of the room, already talking and clicking his way through some kind of demonstration. 

The hours in the room flew by.

By the time he finished, your head was spinning with a blur of parameters and calculations and mission expectations. You knew pilots felt the same way about your job as you did about theirs, but you were always grateful that at the end of briefings you only had to worry about systems and odds, not about flying a plane. As you were dismissed, everyone crowded to the center aisle, trying to get out and to the hangar as quickly as possible. Someone sneezed, or someone pushed someone; Harvard dropped his coffee.

It wasn’t full, and you were all in flight suits anyways, but you still startled when it fell, splashing over the row you were sitting in. Black coffee flew over seats and notebooks (thankfully no phones), and someone laughed as Harvard’s attempts to catch it just served to further empty the cup. Bob took the worst of it, on the end of your row.

"Ah, shit," Bob muttered, and you froze. 

It wasn't that Harvard's spilled coffee had ruined Bob's notes, and yours too. 

It wasn't that everyone in the briefing room was looking back at your row in surprise. 

It wasn't even that Bob had sworn, even though you'd never heard anything harsher than "gosh" from the WSO's lips. 

It was that that cuss, in that voice, in that same mumbled tone, had pushed you to orgasm four hours ago. 

“Alright, it’s just coffee,” Maverick called over the clamor. “We’re burning daylight, people, come on.” 

Harvard was apologizing profusely, someone was passing paper towels out, but you felt completely out of your body, in shock. 

Bob was BullRiderRhett.

The WSO who asked for ginger ale when everyone else did shots at the Hard Deck, who cleaned his glasses when he got nervous, who stayed up all night to help Payback’s kid put together a Lego Statue of Liberty last time he was in town …was the guy who had talked you through the last few months of orgasms. 

(Yes, you had an annual subscription).

(Yes, you deserved it). 

When you let yourself back into your room at the end of the night, it still felt surreal. 

In retrospect, you should’ve been a million times more dialed in– you’d had a $73 million machine under your hands, and the only thing on your mind all day had been this revelation.

How had you never noticed before?? 

Now that you were thinking of it, Bob did have that slight accent when he was tired, or when he was mad enough at something stupid Jake said…but what were you even supposed to do with this knowledge?

You moved through your skincare much the same way you’d moved through most of the day – on autopilot. 

A knock on your door startled you. 

“Now’s not the time, Bradshaw,” you called, automatically. 

“Uh,” called a too-familiar voice, “not Bradshaw.”

You winced at your reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to decide if you recognized Bob’s voice from countless drills or from your Favorites list. You crossed your arms across your chest, your sweatshirt dragging against the hem of your pajama shorts as you slouched over to the door. 

“Robert,” you announced, as you opened it, mentally smacking your palm against your forehead. You had literally never called him Robert; what was wrong with you??

Could’ve been worse, you mused. 

You could’ve said ‘Rhett’.

“Hey,” he said, and if he was thrown by the use of his full name, he didn’t show it. 

He looked the same. 

The same, but in the way that had made you catch your breath when you first met him, when you were relieved that he was so unassuming and kind, because if he’d been any kind of authoritative, it would’ve debilitated you. 

Tonight, he’d clearly showered after drills. 

His hair was freshly combed and still damp, darker than normal. A tendril fell in front of his glasses, leaving a small line of fog against the outer corner of one of the lenses. He was in a plain white tshirt and light sweatpants, and you made yourself stop from looking further because you were not about to objectify your friend just because you now knew that he could dirty talk with the best of them. 

And now you were thinking about that.

“Are you mad at me?” Bob asked, and it snapped you out of your spiral. 

He was frowning at the sill, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his chest tight. There was a purse in between his eyebrows, and you really could not understand him, because how could a man who was objectively gorgeous, subjectively sweet, be this adorable? He looked up and the moment your eyes met, you looked away. 

“No,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “Of course not. Obviously.”

“I mean, not obviously,” Bob said, rubbing a sneaker against the carpet in the hallway. “You practically sprinted out of the briefing this morning, refused to speak to me over comms during drills, and you won’t look at me for more than two seconds, and that’s normally someone else’s line to me.”

It was a weak joke, but it was funny, and you could hear in his voice that he was trying to set you at ease, and that really only made you feel worse. 

So you stepped aside and held open the door, not really trusting yourself to say anything else. Bob looked nervous, and you wanted to tell him it was you, not him, but instead you waited in silence as he stepped into the room. 

You only had the light over the sink on, and the room was in soft shadows, but you thought it might be more weird if you turned on a light, like you were calling attention to it. You shut the door and Navy rooms didn’t really come with guest furniture, so you gestured to the foot of your bed, while you paced. 

“This is going to be awkward,” you warned him, glancing in his direction, and wishing you hadn’t. 

He was sitting on the foot of your bed, as directed, legs spread slightly and his elbows resting on his knees. You could see the muscles of his shoulders through the tshirt, and his eyes seemed especially bright, in the dim light from the room. 

“Okay,” Bob said easily, and you appreciated that he wasn’t rushing you. Maybe he was starting to understand that this was something you were working through, rather than something he had done.

You switched directions, walking the length of the room, and then the length again. 

You had to say it.

You’d just have to say it, and that would explain it, and then it would be out, and then you could figure out how to move forward. Bob was a problem solver, like you, and you were both smart enough to figure this out. You were also both adults. You could just say it. 

You stopped in front of him, and Bob sat up a little straighter, like he wanted to be sure he was being respectful to the weight of whatever you were saying. God, he was such a good person, why did you have to be such a creep. 

“Iknowaboutbullriderrhett,” you said in a rush, clasping your hands in front of you. The words seemed to echo around the room and you stared at Bob, waiting for him to react. 

He didn’t, not really.

He nodded, slowly, and you watched him process the day through the lens of your revelation. 

“So, you’re disappointed it’s me,” he said, like he was clarifying, and you shook your head.

“What?” you asked, confused, and Bob shrugged.

“Like if you were expecting a ranch hand from Wyoming, I get it, it’s weird that it’s just me.”

You blinked. “That…that’s beside the point; I feel guilty, like this is a weird invasion of privacy, and isn’t that what you should be asking, anyways, is if I’m going to tell anybody? I won’t, but–”

Bob shook his head, his expression still pretty guarded. “Whose opinion do you think matters to me more than yours?”

And how the hell were you supposed to respond to that?

“What?” you managed again. 

Bob looked at you.

It was maybe the longest uninterrupted eye contact you’d ever had, and you weren’t sure if it was because he initiated it, or if something was different. But it made you curious, it made you stop rambling, it made you be still, and let Bob look, because you liked how he was looking at you. 

He smiled, that familiar, bashful, expression, and it calmed you slightly. 

It wasn’t like there was a demon possessing your friend, it wasn’t a dark secret, it was just a part of him that he didn’t bring out at work. His smile reminded you that you knew him, that you trusted him. 

Then his head fell to the side, his eyebrows lowering behind his glasses, his expression turning inquisitive as he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

It was still Bob. 

But his voice was lower, his voice was softer and you knew that voice, but seeing it fall from petal pink lips was a revelation and you shivered. You pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt down over your palms, hoping you could disguise it, but Bob saw it anyway. 

Of course he did. 

He could calculate projectile trajectories while at supersonic speed; of course he could see when his voice made you shiver. The expression on his face turned smug, and that was new, that was nothing you’d seen before and you were pretty much infatuated with it immediately. 

Objectively, Bob was the best. 

You knew it, everyone knew it. This was maybe the first time you’d seen him look like he knew it, and something like pride blossomed in your chest at the thought that it was because of you. 

“I’m not disappointed,” you said honestly, and Bob smiled fully.

That was how he should always be, you decided, proud of himself, pleased by you. 

He pushed himself off the bed. 

He walked towards you slowly, slow enough that you could tell he was giving you time to back away, or tell him to stop, but you sure as shit weren’t going to do either. 

Instead, your head tilted back as he came to stop in front of you.

“We have two options,” he said, almost conversationally, like you weren’t this close to melting into a puddle at seeing this side of him. “One: I go back to my room; we’ve learned something new today, but we go on like normal. Or–”

“Or,” you chose, not waiting to hear what the second option was. “Whatever ‘or’ is, that’s the one I want.”

It truly didn’t matter; if the choice was him walking out the door or not, you wanted whatever made him stay. 

He huffed an exhale of a laugh, a soft sound that you’d heard a dozen times but it still made your breath catch. You’d grinned fondly when you heard it over comms, after Callie calmly roasted Jake, you’d shivered when you heard it in your headphones, but now that Bob was physically in front of you, you thought this was the best iteration of it. 

“What do you like?” he asked softly, and it felt like a loaded question. 

Like maybe he was asking which audios, or maybe the themes, or if him, in front of you, was enough. The room felt suspended, like someone had paused the film of your life and you could see everything outside of yourself. The heat in Bob’s eyes, the way his fingers, held loose at his side, twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach for you. The way your own breath caught, like you were careful not to break a spell, like you wanted it to never break. 

You kissed him. 

You probably could’ve been more graceful about it, but he was standing just there, and you needed to know, needed to feel him against you. You reached for his arms, your hands grasping above his elbows to pull him down and press yourself closer. 

He was so soft. 

The moment your lips brushed over him, you felt him bending, moving. His glasses bumped into your nose as he adjusted and then his hands were on your waist, spreading over your back and how had you never noticed how big his hands were? They felt huge, and his chest was strong and warm as he pulled you into him. 

You could smell his shampoo, something earthy and sweet, and it was intoxicating how pure it was. He didn’t feel pure. He felt hot, kissing you back with an urgency that stole your breath away. Bob kissed you with certainty, with earnestness, and you were obsessed.

You pulled back, staying in the cradle of his arms, needing to be this close when you answered the question he’d asked. Long lashes fluttered against the tops of his cheeks as you broke the kiss, and Bob pulled in a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, the blue of them was so bright, cutting. You didn’t know how he held it all, his sharpness and softness, gentleness and intention. 

“Can I show you?” you asked. 

He blinked, the motion slow, as he looked between your eyes, trying to focus with you so close. You saw the corner of his mouth turn up in that bashful smile, and his arms around you tightened slightly.

“Show me,” he said, your question but now a command, and your mouth went dry. 

His voice sent a flush of heat over your skin, and whatever he wanted, you’d say yes, for this man who was your friend and your fantasy, and asking you so nicely. 

It amazed you how you didn’t feel nervous. 

This was arguably the most intimate situation you’d found yourself in in a hot minute, but instead of nerves or anxiety, you could only think of how much you wanted Bob to see how much he affected you. From that first moment you’d met him, to the crush you’d packed away, to the voice that haunted your dreams, you wanted him. And you wanted to see how that would affect him. 

You walked over to the sink, grabbing the vibrator from where you’d left it after you cleaned it this morning. Bob walked back over to the bed, taking up his original post at the foot of it, but his eyes never left you. He toed off his sneakers, and you slipped out of your pajama shorts, leaning over to arranging pillows against the headboard. 

You climbed into the bed and rested your back against the pillows, nudging Bob’s thigh with your toes before you bent your knees. He turned himself to face you, his long legs unfolding outside of yours. It was like he was being careful not to touch you, and you liked that this was how it was going to start– just his voice and your pleasure. You hoped once he saw what a tight string was tied between the two, maybe he’d get a little more involved. A part of you wished that you’d deepened the kiss earlier, but it was just as well to have the anticipation of it.  

It was ridiculous that you were already turned on. 

You’d had eight hours to come to terms with the fact that Bob was Rhett, but as he sat across from you, it was like his gaze was scorching you. His bright eyes ran over you hungrily, and you rolled your neck, enjoying being the object of his gaze. 

You’d been bold when you suggested it, but now the silence of the room seemed to stretch. You wondered if you should ask Bob to talk, or if that would be weird. Bob looked at you, his damp hair falling in front of his glasses again, and he brushed it aside absently. 

“Is this where you lay, when you listen to me?” he asked, his eyes tracing over the simple bed, the regulation bedding, the pillows you’d brought in to spruce it up. His voice was low, curious, and now that you were listening for it, you could hear the traces of a drawl, hanging on the edges of it.

You nodded, unable to look away from him, and his nose flared slightly at the confirmation.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, and it washed over you. It was such a simple compliment, but the truth of how he said it, like every fiber of his being meant it, warmed you. 

“God, thinking about you…” he trailed off, “just lying here, looking like this…getting off to my voice…do you touch yourself first? Pet that pussy before you use your toy?”

Your mouth actually fell open hearing Bob Floyd say ‘pussy’ so casually. 

And he said it sitting in your bed, his eyes on you, his voice dropping into a deep drawl and yeah, you were going to do whatever he asked. 

You shifted slightly, a hand falling between your thighs to press over your clothed cunt. You cupped yourself, loving the way Bob’s eyes followed your hand with rapt attention. The kiss, his words, his eyes…you weren’t wet yet, but you could feel your body warming, turning towards Bob. 

“Love that you take your time with your pussy, warm her up, slow. ‘s not a thing you have to rush, not when the building feels so good. And I bet you feel so good, don’t you, so soft and warm…”

It didn’t feel slow, not with how hot Bob’s voice was. How good it felt to have him in the room with you, not just an empty echoing in your ears but physically here. You continued to tease yourself over your panties and you felt when they grew damp, when your arousal slowed your fingers, made the fabric slick.

“Fuck,” Bob breathed, and you whimpered. 

The sound was involuntary, a reaction to seeing sweet, wholesome, Bob swearing over the sight of you. It made you feel regal, and if you had to guess, pulling sounds out of you made him feel the same. At the sound of your whimper, Bob’s eyes dropped to your mouth, and you watched the tip of his tongue push through his lips, as he wet them. 

“Ah, you sound so good, too, I can’t believe–” he broke off, laughing quietly. “Can’t believe I’m jealous of my own damn self. How many times have I made you cum, and I’ve never gotten to see it?”

It was your turn to laugh, not quite willing to reveal how much you listened to BullRiderRhett. 

“That many, huh?” Bob’s voice was smug, and it was such a good sound on him. You ground your wrist over your clit, pressing into the hard bone, craving the friction.

“Take your panties off,” he said, “touch yourself, not the vibrator yet.”

You followed his instruction, pulling up your legs to peel off your panties and resettling. You extended a leg down the bed, pressing inside of Bob’s long leg, as you trailed your hand between your thighs. At the first brush of skin against your sensitive folds, your head tipped back against the headboard. 

It was just your hand, but with Bob here, it felt like it was almost his. It was his bidding at least, and you explored yourself leisurely, dragging your fingers through your wetness.

“Yeah, that’s right, bet you feel so good,” Bob said, his voice so low. “Feel yourself, sweet girl, tell me how it feels.”

You gasped, your hips rising in a pavlovian response to the endearment. It was somehow even more overwhelming when it was Bob who spoke it over you, here, in the flesh. When he could see that your skin prickled, that your breath caught, in response to him. 

“Say it again,” you whispered, hoping he’d understand, and when you looked back at him, the expression on his face was one of adoration and hunger, awe and need. 

“Sweet girl?” he asked gently, but his eyes were so dark. “You like being that for me, don’t you? My sweet, sweet girl.”

You nodded weakly, your fingers suddenly not enough. You rubbed over your clit, trying to stop the truth from spilling out of you as heat fanned out through your body from your touch. 

“Yours,” you corrected weakly, and you scrambled for the vibrator and switched it on, using the intense humming of the toy as an excuse to hide from Bob’s reaction to your admission. 

You felt one of his hands wrap around your ankle, and his long thumb stroked from your heel up to the joint. It was the perfect touch, and just grounding enough to keep you from being overwhelmed by the vibrations. 

“You sound so pretty,” Bob murmured, “those little whimpers you make, fuck.”

Were you whimpering?

You felt like you noticed everything a bit too late, too loud. You realized you were pulling the vibrator over your cunt in a mimicry of the strumming motion Bob’s thumb was tracing on your ankle, and your hips canted up. Pleasure swirled in you, hot and tingling, but you felt something missing. 

“Bob,” you panted, god, how were you already panting, “I need–”

You turned the toy higher and broke off, writhing. 

“Darlin’, love you saying my name like this,” Bob drawled, and it was a proper drawl now, and how he said darlin’ made you feel like you might combust. “Can’t believe I get to see you like this, you look so good…knowing this isn’t your first time working yourself to my voice, makes me so damn jealous.”

You whined, pressing the vibrator more firmly against your skin, your hips starting to grind into it. 

“Tell me,” you asked, your voice reedy, and Bob huffed a laugh, like you didn’t even have to ask. He ran a hand over his thigh, coming to rest at the seat of his sweatpants and you bit your lip as he adjusted himself through the thin fabric. 

“So damn jealous,” he repeated, “thinking how many orgasms I’ve missed. How many times you came when I asked, how those thighs would tremble as you fucked yourself thinking of taking me…fuck, honey, you’ve heard me cum, and I’ve never–”

A moan pushed its way past your lips, as you realized that the groans and grunts and needy noises that you got off to weren’t incorporeal: they belonged to Bob. 

You looked down at the foot of the bed where Bob was watching you greedily. His eyes roamed over your spread legs, the twitches in your thighs, the slackness in your jaw, and you looked at him too. His pale skin was flushed, color in pink splotches high on his cheeks, and his lips were parted. His chest rose and fell as he drew in deep breaths, and when he shifted slightly, you moaned again. 

“Can you touch yourself?” you asked, almost shy, wanting to see him. You felt good, so insanely good, but the thing you’d always loved about the Rhett audios was how much pleasure it sounded like he was getting too. There was something so hot about knowing you were the root of someone else’s desire and pleasure, and you wanted so badly to be that for Bob. 

“You’re gonna have to wait just a little longer, sweet girl,” Bob said, but he ran a hand over the thigh of his sweatpants, adjusting himself again, and your hips bucked up of their own volition. You guessed he was wearing underwear under his sweatpants because you couldn’t see an outline, but the idea of his dick hanging that far down his thigh had your mouth watering. 

“Wanna see you,” you protested, hearing a sound like a pout in your voice and Bob’s hand on your ankle tightened. He looked at you hard, and you knew he was gambling, trying to decide if he wanted to play a card.

“I know, sweet girl,” he said, licking his lips, “but you have to earn my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back and your core clenched at those words. How many times had you heard Rhett tease you with that? But it was different now, because Bob was here. Because he was real, and his cock was real, and however many times you’d wondered about Rhett, your curiosity could be sated in Bob. 

When you lifted your head to look back at Bob, he was slackjawed, watching you writhe. You were practically humping the toy, chasing an orgasm that suddenly felt so much closer. The vibrator felt stronger than normal, or maybe you were more sensitive, but you felt your climax building, and your thighs started shaking. 

“I wanna see you,” you repeated, and it sounded pathetic, but it was true, you did. In a moment, this had switched from getting off in front of your friend to needing your friend’s dick, and you didn’t know how Bob knew it but he did. 

He readjusted his grip on your ankle and before you could react he pulled. 

You slid down the bed, your thighs parting around where he now kneeled; he braced himself over you, and you whined, needing his touch. He kissed you, his mouth wide and plundering, slanting his lips over yours. You moaned into his kiss, so different from the soft gentleness of your first embrace. This was Bob kissing you, and his tongue delved into your mouth and you opened for him. 

“I’m too greedy for that, sweet girl,” he whispered, his lips against yours. “I know if I get between these thighs I’m going to lose myself, and I want to see how much you want it. I wanna be here, fully here, the first time I get to see you cum.” 

He reached down, and you felt his hand trace over yours. You’d nearly dropped the vibrator when he pulled you down the bed, but now Bob tightened your grip, and guided it back to your cunt. You keened as the vibrator pushed between your folds, and Bob followed your lead, wanting to see how you fucked yourself for him. 

It was better with him. 

His strong hand bracketing yours, his other at the back of your neck, holding you steady. His hand was on yours but he brought his face close to yours again, and you drank in the reality that he was here, this close, holding you. His breath was hot against your skin, and his glasses were fogging up from how hard you were breathing. 

“So are you gonna let me see it, darlin’?” he asked against your skin, and that voice, coupled with his touch, nearly had you there. “You gonna come for me, let me see what it looks like when my sweet girl gets off with just my voice and the toy we’re using on her? You’re almost there, honey, I can see it, come for me come on now–”

He sounded so good. 

His voice was perfect and soothing and it felt like a dream but it wasn’t, it was real. He was holding you, feeling you, breathing the same air and working you. You’d never been so aware of your body and how it was tuned towards someone else. You cried out his name as you came, your back arching and your free hand fisting in Bob’s tshirt, reminding yourself he was there, he was there, he was there. 

You felt like you were floating. 

Pleasure coursed through your body and you could feel it pulsing in your fingertips, beating in your heart. You became slowly aware of the room around you. The air felt cold against your sweat-dampened skin, the hum of the refrigerator was the only noise other than your hard breathing. Bob was still over you, and he’d pulled the vibrator away from you, switching it off without really looking, running a soothing hand over your hip. The hand at the back of your neck was firm, holding you tightly so you could feel him. 

“How’re ya doing, sweet girl?” he asked softly, and you felt him press a kiss to your cheek. “Did that feel good?“

You hummed in agreement, words still beyond you. His voice was so gentle, but had a raspy edge, like he was thinking over the last several minutes, holding them in his mind.

“You did such a good job for me,” he murmured, and you turned into his touch.

He was like sunshine, wasn’t he? 

Just warm, and good, and you wanted to bask in him and his light like a dryad. His eyes darted away once he realized you were looking at him, and it made your heart skip a beat, that he could somehow be shy after coaxing you through one of the hottest orgasms of your life. 

You were trying to think of how to say “your turn” in a way that wasn’t corny or cringey, but what you came up with was, “Can we keep going?”

Bob’s eyes snapped back to yours, and the world seemed to pause for a moment, hovering. Waiting, hoping, and Bob’s chin dipped, just slightly, and all was right. 

“Baby,” he said, in the low, perfect, voice, “I’d like nothing more.”

When he kissed you, you were both smiling, somewhat giddy, and any nerves that had gathered during that pause dissipated, as you kissed his smile-thinned lips. 

You shifted slightly, pushing yourself back up the bed and pulling Bob with you. 

He moved easily, his long body spanning over yours, pressing you back into the mattress with the most delicious pressure. His hands were wandering, then, delicate fingers tracing over your sweatshirt, and when he lingered at the hem of it, you pushed him off. You didn’t want to be patient, didn’t want his chivalry, and so you pulled your sweatshirt over your head before you had time to second guess yourself. 

The way Bob looked at you, you wished you’d done it sooner. 

His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip as he stared at your chest and you pushed yourself off the bed by your shoulders, so you could reach behind you and undo your bra. The moment the garment fell off, Bob’s hands were on you, his wide palms cupping your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, humming in the back of your throat as his fingers explored you. You felt the bed shift as he moved, and you gasped when a warm breath ghosted over your bared skin. 

Bob kissed down from your sternum, wet kisses over you, and by the time he reached your nipples, he was practically lapping at your skin. You whimpered as his mouth closed over your nipples, his tongue swirling over you as his hand teased your other breast. When he hummed, you felt it all over, the soft vibration over your skin. 

“Bob,” you gasped, and he moaned. 

“Ya sound so pretty,” he whispered into your skin, “somehow better than I imagined.” 

Your breath caught as his mouth moved to the valley between your breasts, and he laved the same attention to the other. He couldn’t have meant that how it sounded. As incomprehensible that this was happening, it was wilder still to think that he had imagined this, as you had. 

“You thought of me?” you asked, your own voice sounding nearly breathless. 

“Honey,” teeth grazed over your nipple, and Bob chuckled, that beautiful low laugh. “Who do you think I’m talkin’ to when I make those audios?”

His lips closed over you again, but the swirling of his tongue wasn’t enough to distract from the words he’d just uttered. 

He wasn’t done, either. 

“Y’know how many nights I’d wondered about the taste of your skin,” he murmured into it, “or what your tits would feel like in my hands? What sounds you’d make when I kissed you, how soft you’d be, everywhere? If you’d cry, or moan, or laugh when you came, or how you’d say my name…” 

Your hand wound back into his hair and you pulled him back up to your mouth. This kiss was desperate, so much unsaid between the both of you. So much longing, so much wondering and now it was here. You couldn’t explore each other fast enough, and you were clawing at his clothing, trying to feel as much of his skin as possible. Bob was just as eager as you were, pulling off of you to shuck off his tshirt and sweatpants, and you reached for his glasses. 

He blinked at you slowly as you pulled them off of him.

This sweet man. 

He was so focused on you, his eyes so intent even as he struggled to focus, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You leaned over to place them carefully on your nightstand, and when you came back to the bed, Bob’s arms settled around you in the most comforting embrace. 

You loved the feeling of his skin. 

He was so soft, pale skin covering deceptively strong muscles, and you were obsessed with the dichotomy. Your hands greedily traversed over his broad shoulders, thick biceps, taut stomach, and when you got to the hem of his boxers, you felt his breath catch as he shifted over you. 

Fuck. 

You’d thought it might’ve been a trick of the light, or a trick of sweatpants, some kind of trick, but under your hand, Bob felt hung. Your fingers rubbed over the bulge in his boxers, and Bob’s head dropped to your shoulders. 

“We don’t have to–” he started, and broke off when your touch reached the end of him. You were just tracing the shape of him, but your breath caught when you felt his fat head, the cleft at his tip, even through the thin fabric. 

“We do,” you said, swallowing quickly, not even trying to hide the way your thoughts were racing, “I really hope you have a condom, Floyd, because we really, really have to.”

He huffed, and then he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pushing himself off you and reaching down to feel around the ground for his sweatpants. You loved that he had a condom on him – not because it meant that he was expecting this, but because it just confirmed for you that Bob was the type to look at birth control as shared responsibility, not just a matter of whether a gal took the pill or felt like risking going without. He fumbled for a moment, and you couldn’t help yourself. 

While he was distracted (admittedly, this was probably a task you could have thought of while he still had his glasses on) you leaned over and traced your tongue over his collarbone. He smelled so good, and you could just taste the salt of his sweat. Bob’s breath grew ragged, and you loved the sound of it, kissing up his neck and finding that tempting spot where you could feel his pulse. You loved how frantic it was, loved the steadiness of him. 

He found the condom.

You shifted back to your elbow, watching with blatant interest as he shoved his boxers down his thighs, tore the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his dick. 

Holy. Shit. 

He looked like a work of art. 

A beautiful flush had worked its way across his chest and throat, the tendons on his arms and hands stood out in stark contrast, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his cock. He really was that big. 

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and your eyes darted back up to his face to find his brows furrowing slightly, since he couldn’t read your silence or your expression.

You pushed yourself up to kneeling on the edge of the bed, Bob still standing beside it, and reached for him. He stepped into your embrace easily, mollified by the shared warmth between your bodies, as you reassured him with soft kisses wherever you could reach.

“I thought it was a line,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed at how wantonly you’d just been staring at him. “Just a cliche ‘oh, you want to choke on this big dick’, but…but you’re actually, you know…”

Bob smiled, somehow bashful, as you pitched your voice lower in an approximation of Rhett’s drawl. 

“Is that an offer?” he asked, and oh you liked this side of him– teasing, relaxed, a little cocky. 

And the thought of choking on him…it was a really great fantasy. He’d hurt your jaw something fierce, but you wanted to see if you could draw those breathy whimpers out of him. Figure out what your tongue could do to him, see how much he could take, push him a little further, and make him cum down your throat. 

“Honestly,” you said, and yeah, your throat was dry just from the thought of it, “I really want to try that, sometime.”

At your tone or your words, you couldn’t be sure, Bob’s hips pushed forward slightly. With the height difference of you kneeling and him standing, his cock brushed against your ribs. You were both suddenly so aware of him, his thick cock resting between you, and Bob’s hips pushed forward again. 

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, and his hips slid back, slowly. His hands were on your waist, holding you still as he ground against you. Your mouth fell open at the heavy motion, the promise of it, and the duration of it. 

“You’re so big,” you whispered, another truth that should’ve sounded like a cliche, but instead was just a fact. 

“You’ll fit me,” Bob said, with such confidence and certainty that suddenly you didn’t care if it was in your mouth or between your legs, you needed him in you. 

“Please,” you asked, and Bob groaned, actually groaned, like you asking was the best thing he’d ever heard. His hands were so tight on your waist, like he needed that control and you knew how you wanted him. 

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then turned back to the bed, your hand sliding up towards the headboard, your ass lifting like an invitation. Bob wasted no time, climbing back over the bed and shifting you so you were lengthwise on the bed again, and then draping his long body over yours. Your head rolled between your shoulders; he felt so good. Warm and strong, and all around you, and then you felt his big hand between your thighs. He opened your thighs gently, and then a thick finger traced between them. 

“So wet,” he murmured, so close to your ear, and you shivered. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, words failing you in your anticipation. But Bob wasn’t in a rush. His calloused finger teased through your folds, smearing the remnants of your orgasm up over your clit, playing with your cunt, until you were shaking. 

You whimpered, your arms trembling as you braced yourself on the bed. You pushed your hips back into his touch, and you felt Bob’s breath shutter from his chest pressed to your back, but he didn’t move any faster. 

“Don’t rush me, honey,” Bob said, his voice low, and you tried to hold still, you did, but his teasing was too much. 

He alternated between spreading your folds, circling your clit, dipping his finger into you just enough to tease you, then pulling back entirely. You felt like you were aching, desperate for him, needing him. Bob spread you open with one hand, and you felt his thick head at your entrance, seeking. You saw the hand that wasn’t playing with your clit drop down to the bed beside yours as he braced himself, and you pushed your hips back, weakly. 

“Ask me nicely, sweet girl,” he said, his voice so low, and you swear you nearly came on the spot. 

“Please,” you managed, your voice sounding entirely too weak, “please, please, I need to feel you–”

You broke off when he pushed into you. 

A steady, overwhelming pressure as that beautiful, enormous cock pushed into you. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets as he stretched you out, the gentle, even pressure nearly blinding. He was so thick, you felt like you could feel his heartbeat, like you’d been lit on fire, and the only thing you knew you needed was more, more. 

Your head dropped to the sheets, even as your hips worked weakly back into his, welcoming him despite the burn. 

Bob’s hand covered yours, his thick fingers tangling with yours on the bedsheets, and you felt cherished, you felt wrecked, you felt perfect. 

Fuck, he felt so good. 

You were full to the point of overwhelmed, and you realized he’d stopped pushing, was fully seated inside you. You felt so connected, so whole, even though you were heaving like you’d run a marathon. 

Bob‘s nose traced your cheek, his soft lips kissed your jaw as his breath tickled your ear. “Does that feel good, darlin?” he asked. 

You nodded, wordless, it felt like a dream come true. You felt every inch of him in you, every inch of him over you, and it was perfect.  

“So,” Bob whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “what do you say?”

“Thank you,” you moaned, you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life. “Feels so good, fuck, thank you–”

Bob groaned, and his hips pulled back before he slammed back into you. His thrust would’ve pushed you up the bed, except for his body over yours, holding you steady.  

“Sweet girl, it’s like you don’t want this to last long,” he said, almost angry, and the sound of his voice had your eyes rolling back in your head. He sounded so good, he felt so good, he was so perfect, you were so full… “Like you’re trying to drive me mad with this tight cunt, with those sweet little whimpers, you feel so good, baby.”

You couldn’t do anything. 

You were a molten mess of heat and driving need, your body aching and craving and sated by the thick cock pressing inside of you. Bob was thrusting so deep into you, his fat cock head prodding against a spot you distantly registered wasn’t made up, but might’ve been, for how perfectly he was hitting it. You weren’t aware if you were making sounds or just lying there, all you knew was how fucking good he felt in you, how you needed him to never stop. 

“Feel so full,” you gasped, and Bob pushed into you again.  

“Damn right,” Bob muttered, his voice dark, “full of my dick, like you’re fucking meant to be. Gorgeous girl, bent over, taking my cock like you need it.”

You whimpered, clenching around him. “I do, I do,” you babbled, “need you.”

Bob moaned, and it might’ve been the prettiest sound you’d ever heard. How was he real? How could he be this good, this kind, this fucking hot??

The sounds in the room were dizzying. 

Bob’s hips slapping into your ass, the squelching sounds where you were joined, your gasps and his breathy grunts. It was perfect, and you felt the heat around you condensing in your core. 

He knew, somehow. 

The fingers that had been spreading you for his cock, moved to the top of your cunt, teasing over your clit. Your legs jerked, your mouth dropping open as Bob circled your clit, his fingers tracing over it, gently pinching it and coaxing you higher. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted, heat and need rising. 

“Christ, please,” Bob said, his voice so earnest, so dear, as you pushed back into him. “Let me feel it, sweet girl, let me feel this pussy I’ve been dreaming about. Want to feel you milking my cock, so damn good, you can do it, come on…” 

He pumped into you once, twice, and you shattered. Your legs gave out, shaking, and then Bob’s hands were on your waist again, holding you up. You moaned his name, trembling and lost, and he held you, ever steady. He kept working into you, his thick cock pressing into you, like he was the only thing tethering you to this pane, and you felt drunk off of him. 

“There it was, that was beautiful…fuck, you’re so hot, that feels so damn good. You sounded so gorgeous, sweet girl, you did so well…”

You moaned as his words coaxed you back. 

He was still pumping into you, that steady, punishing pace and you were so sensitive but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He felt so strong, so hot, so close to you and you needed it. Needed him. His thick arms cording around you, his strong grip digging into your hips, his fat cock stuffing you, you never wanted it to stop. 

“You’re so good,” you whispered, needing him to know. Not just how he felt, or how he sounded, but who he was. How he was, and how much he meant. 

Bob’s hips stuttered.

You were aching, you were spent, but you tightened your core and clenched around him. 

“Baby,” he groaned, “I’m close you can’t–”

You rolled your hips. 

Bob grunted, and then he was moving, faster than lightning. He swept your hands out, pushing you down by your shoulders into the mattress, his body draping over yours. You turned your head to the side, and like he knew, he was there, kissing you. 

It was sloppy, it was messy, but your lips and tongue tangled together, like you both needed the sweetness of a kiss to balance the savage way Bob’s hips were fucking into you. 

Each press of his hips ground your pussy into the mattress and the pressure was so fucking unreal. You moaned into him, and Bob seemed drunk off the sound, off of you. You were so overstimulated, so out of your body that pleasure was the only thing that made sense. Only the way his hips rubbed your clit into the mattress, only the way his cock was stroking into the deep part of you, only the way he was panting against your lips. 

“You’re everything,” Bob whispered, just a breath away. “So much better, so much – fuck, you feel too good. Will you come for me again, sweet girl? I want to feel it so bad, need another one from you, can you do that for me?”

You shook your head, wrung out, but you felt it building anyways. Fuck, how was that possible? But Bob’s thrusts, the pressure on your clit, the weight of his warm body, the need in his eyes, it was driving you higher. 

And then. 

And then he got close. 

He broke off from the kiss, his thrusts growing almost frantic. Each breath he drew ended on a gasp, a soft whine that reached deep into your gut and set off something primal. He was fucking into you but he was whimpering, and you knew he needed it, needed you, like he said. He moaned, a needy, beautiful sound, and before you could feel his orgasm, yours broke over you. 

You collapsed into the mattress, Bob covering you, and you distantly heard him getting louder as your thighs shook. He sounded so pretty, those sweet moans and the desperate gasps driving you mad. The world was just molten heat, desperate thrusts, echoes of whimpers and you faded into the vacuity of it. 

When you came back, you were on your side. 

You were drenched in sweat, you both were, and a sheet was covering you from the cool room. Bob had taken off the condom, you noticed absently, and had pulled your sheet up over both of you, tucking you into his chest. His arms were warm around you, and when you exhaled, you watched the blond hairs on his forearms blow back and forth.  

“How’re you doing?” Bob asked softly, and you could weep. It was him, so familiar, so gentle, and so much better than any recording, any fantasy, anything. Your arm swung halfheartedly in his direction. 

“You jerk,” you sighed, “you’ve ruined my subscription.” Bob chuckled, the bed shaking with his deep laugh. “Think you can content yourself with the real thing?”

You shifted, turning to face him. In the dim light of the room, he somehow still managed to look like an angel. His soft eyes were unfocused, his mussed hair was snarled from your fingers, and he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

You leaned over to kiss him, Bob’s lips already thinning on a smile. “I think I can manage,” you said.

//

tagging: @withahappyrefrain @cheekymcgrath @mxgyver @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @callsign-fangirl @callsignspark @sometimesanalice @daggerspare-standingby @rhettabbotts @teacupsandtopgun @attapullman @yuckosworld @skteaiy @yanna-banana @briseisgone @gigisimsonmars @milesmillergf @katiedid-3 @hangmandruigandmav @3tabbiesandalab @marchingicenotes7 @callsignmedusa @ryebecca @tgmavericklover @cottagecori @becks-things @sorchathered @mulletmcghee @straightforwardly @high-speed-r @rcmupout @purelyfiction @fairyheart @sunsetsimpsblog @angelbabyyy99 @cremebruleequeen @marvel-djarin @sgt-barnesveins @supernaturaldawning @echo-ethe @sunlitide @alilstressyandlotdepressy @hughesvolpe @aczhang777 @saltsicklover

chances are high i'll do a part 2/followup with both of them recording an 'overheard' audio...let me know! comments and reblogs are the surest way to make that happen 💙

[luveline]

could i request teacher!reader with hotch? like maybe she’s jacks teacher

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1.2k

You're a teacher: you're always tired. Overworked, underpaid, everybody knows how it goes. And maybe you've let yourself go because you don't have any real material hopes for the future beyond getting Macy Danish to read at a first grade level, but how were you supposed to know that Jack Hotchner's father would be so overwhelmingly attractive? It's not fair. 

He's handsome though older than you'd been expecting, but that isn't the cut and dry of it. When he comes in, it's alone, in a well-fitted suit. He's tall and remarkably dark-eyed, shaking your hand without trying to impose any authority, as some of the fathers tend to do, and when you call him Mr. Hotchner, he says, "Aaron, please," but continues to call you Ms. L/N.

"Aaron," you say, pulling your skirt under your thighs as you sit down. You're dressed in nice clothes for the parent-teacher conferences, but you could've covered your sleeplessness better. "Jack is the nicest boy in class. He's actually my loveliest kid. Um…" You search through your notes for the preliminary assessment of Jack. "Sorry, two seconds." 

"Take your time. I know what it's like to dig through a mountain of paperwork every day." 

"Jack mentioned you work in the government, he calls you a special agent," you say, smiling. "You get the bad guys." 

"I am a special agent. Supervisory." Aaron is conscientious enough to pretend he doesn't notice your surprise. "I'm chief of the behavioural analysis unit." 

You can't even begin to guess what that entails. "Oh," you say breathlessly. 

"I understand that it sounds fantastical." 

"It sounds impressive," you say, floundering to correct yourself. Behavioural analysis? It must be obvious to him how nervous he's making you, then, and when you realise that, you get worse. "I'm so sorry about this. I should be more organised. I usually am." 

"That's alright. Take your time." 

Does he always speak that way? His voice is like fucking silk? Is he messing with you?

You yank the notes you made for Jack from the pile and flatten them across the desk. "Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, Jack is really the nicest kid, him and his friend Molly. They're both lovely, and teachers shouldn't have favourites, please don't tell the other parents, but they're my favourites." You smile at him quickly and return your eyes to the paper. The words swim in front of your eyes. "Jack can read better than you could ever hope for a first grader, he's immensely intelligent for his age group. He's patient. He'll explain anything to anyone if they ask him too, and he does it well." 

"I'm glad to hear that," he says, again so softly. 

You pick up one of your skinny biros to have something to fidget with. He's a very good looking man, but you're a good teacher. You can focus on what to say. Some parents need good things only. Some need reassurement that they're doing a good job. Aaron is harder to read, but you know what he needs, too. 

"He can be lonely," you say, looking him in the eye. "I don't think that that's down to any fault. I'm sure you know better than I do why he might feel that way." You know about his mom's passing over a year ago. You've seen grief in children too many times. "He… I understand if this isn't okay with you, but he eats lunch with me sometimes. I encourage him to sit with his peers, of course, but I think he runs out of energy pretty quickly." 

Aaron nods thoughtfully. His brows quirk into a furrow that you're afraid is directed at you. 

"I don't think he necessarily has trouble connecting with his friends." 

"What do you think?" 

"I think something awful happened to your family, and Jack will feel it for the rest of his life, but that it won't stop him from being great. It already isn't. And… he clearly has a father who loves him and who he admires. You're his second favourite topic." 

"What's his first?" he asks. 

"He's really into Fruity Fridays," you say with a laugh. "I bring in fruits you don't get often in America. Someone would've had to sign a form." 

"No, I remember signing it. He likes that?" His smile is golden. "I can't get him to try new things." 

"He had all the leftover gold kiwi last week." You rub your lips together. Time is ticking. You have nearly thirty parents to see tonight, but talking to Mr. Hotchner has been so normal. He's a regular person in a sea of inattentive helicopter narcissists. It's a relief and a half to meet him and know a kid as gentle as Jack is in good hands. "Mr. Hotchner, I have to tell you, I'm really relieved to meet you." 

"Aaron," he corrects.

Your tone drops too low. "Aaron." 

"I'm more than relieved," he says. "I knew that this year would be harder for him. I didn't know… I'm grateful to you, for being so kind with him." 

You look down at your notes, flushed from head to toe despite your airy skirt. Crossing your legs, you shake your head. "It's my job." 

"To let him take up the only break you get all day?" he asks. 

"It's not like that. Jack doesn't bother me." You fold your notes in half. "I can see his role model measures up." 

"I could say the same thing." 

The next time you see Jack, bright and early Monday mooring shepherded by his aunt Jessica, he's very happy to see you. You offer him a hug and pat his back when he wraps his arms around your hips. "Hello, Jack. Was your dad pleased with your drawings?"

Jack smiles at you. "I have a note for you." 

"You do? Can I see? Where is it, honey?" 

Jack takes off his backpack and pulls out the note and a tupperware container. "Oh, wow, did you make treats for the class? Jack, that's so nice!" 

"No. Dad said those are for you. He said you should have nice for nice, or something," Jack informs you. 

"You'll share with me, though? I can't eat them all by myself," you whisper. 

He nods with enthusiasm and runs off to put his backpack in his cubby and his coat on the hook. You look down at the cookies and note, which is actually an envelope. 

You open it with your thumbnail. The writing is Aaron's usual tight cursive.

Dear Miss L/N, 

I hoped to thank you again in person, but work makes that hard. I appreciate everything you do for Jack. There are teachers who work, and there are teachers who go above and beyond. I can feel confident anywhere in the country knowing Jack is being taught by the latter. 

Gratefully yours, 

Aaron Hotchner. 

P.S. Please don't feed Jack too many cookies. They're not for him. 

You keep the letter even if it's lame to do so. When is the next parent teacher conference, anyways?

[ckret2]

Chapter 60 of human Bill Cipher almost wasn't the Mystery Shack's prisoner but he's back here for some reason:

Everything you never even imagined about how Bill survived his execution.

(warning for cultists doing cultish activities in this chapter. and i don't mean "fantastical Blind Eye Society hijinks," i mean "discussing how to indoctrinate & isolate new recruits.)

####

"Hiya, Stan!" Bill Cipher beamed brilliantly. His gold tooth matched his new coat. "Didja miss me yet?"

Stan punched Bill in the nose.

Bill tumbled on his back, hand over his face. Voice tight with pain, he said, "Just so you know, I let you do that."

Stan's voice hit a pitch he hadn't been able to reach since puberty. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING ALIVE!"

Bill sat up gingerly. "Well, funny story—"

"NO! Nuh-uh, I'm finishing you properly this time!" Fists raised, Stan lunged at Bill.

Ford grabbed Stan from behind, one arm around his neck and one hooked up under his armpit. (Bill took the opportunity to scoot backward and get to his feet.) "Stanley! Stand down!"

"YOU!" Stan flung Ford's hands off and whirled around, pointing accusatorially at him. "You gave me your word! Tell me you didn't let Bill out."

"I didn't let Bill out."

Stan grabbed Ford's turtleneck. "Don't you lie to me!"

"I didn't let Bill out!" Ford ripped Stan's hands off his turtleneck. "He was already gone when I went into the kids' room."

"Then who— Who else would've known—"

Stan whirled around at a creak on the stairs. Dipper, halfway down the stairs, jumped when Stan saw him.

"DIPPER!" Stan stormed up to the stairs. "Did you help the demon escape?!"

"What, no!" Dipper took a step back up. "I don't even know how he got out! All I did was not say anything!"

"Well, who's left that could've helped him?!"

"BIIILL!" Mabel barreled down the stairs. "YOU CAME BACK!" She climbed on the stair railing, jumped off, and Bill—who'd crept inside behind Stan—was once more tackled to the ground.

Stan's hands twisted in the air like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to strangle someone, punch something, or pull out his own hair. He finally settled on curling them into fists and shaking them at God. "AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO DIDN'T KNOW THE DEMON'S ALIVE?!"

Soos, still sitting in the living room by himself, staring into space, voice hushed with horror, asked, "So who did I sweep into the flower vase..."

"Okay, family meeting!" Stan pointed at the living room, "Right now! You," he pointed at Bill, "upstairs! I don't wanna look at you and your—your stupid Las Vegas magician sequined coat!"

Bill sat up with a wince and grinned, "Oh, do you like it?" He took off his backpack and checked to see if its contents had been crushed when he was knocked down twice.

"You look like a circus clown!"

"I liked the Vegas magician thing better."

"GO!" Stan pointed up the stairs.

Bill raised his hands, rolling his eye as he started up the stairs. "Fine, fine—"

Stan grabbed Bill's wrist, making him drop his backpack. "STOP!"

"Make up your mind!"

Stan yanked one half of the enchanted friendship bracelets down over Bill's wrist. "You're not getting out again. Not on my watch."

Bill jerked his arm free, shot Stan a dirty look, and stomped up the stairs, umbrella clutched angrily in one hand and backpack in the other. Stan pulled the other half of the bracelet on.

In the living room, Ford, Dipper, and Mabel were lined up shamefacedly on the couch, like three students waiting to be lectured by the principal. Stan glowered at them each, fists on his hips. "Now, I wanna know why my own family all joined in some big secret conspiracy to help Cipher escape! Is it alien mind control?! Did you join a cult?!"

Mabel took a deep breath. "I saved him because he's my friend and I don't want him to die and he really is getting better and you'd all see it if you just gave him a chance to prove it and you just don't understand how he thinks like I do"—she took another breath—"and I promise he won't try to take over the world again just give him a chance!"

Stan's glare melted into something close to guilt. "You're... you're fine, pumpkin. I know you wouldn't have let your friend get hurt." He shot a glare at the other two conspirators. "Which is why we weren't going to tell her."

"Listen," Dipper said, "I still hate him and I don't trust him, but—but I heard part of a poem about Bill that I'm sure is a prophecy; which means he's important, we'll probably need him to save the town or something! So we can't let him die before then! He's already passed up chances to kill us and even saved Grunkle Ford and me, that proves he can restrain himself enough to be useful!" He winced, "Plus... I didn't wanna make Mabel sad. I have seen a future where she loses a friend, and it is not pretty."

Mabel leaned against Dipper. "Thanks, bro-bro."

Stan screwed up his face, but just muttered angrily under his breath about stupid prophecies and stupid life saving, and turned his glare on Ford. "Well? What's your excuse?"

Ford didn't answer, staring down at his hands, grimacing as he searched for an answer.

Stan pressed, "You told me that if you couldn't pull the trigger, you'd give me the gun. Why didn't you?"

"Because I could have pulled it! The situation was different, I—I only changed my mind because he wasn't there. If he had been, I'd have done it—"

"Would you? If you couldn't even tell me that he wasn't dead, do you really think that if he'd been right there, looking you in the eyes, you'd have done it?"

In his mind's eye, Ford could see Bill, hiding under a towel, grinning up at him with one bright eye. And Bill, collapsed beside the lake, shaking all over, sobbing so hard he didn't even notice he was clinging to Ford's stupid borrowed t-shirt like a lifeline. And Bill, staring tiredly across a chess board, telling Ford that the black king was taking the whole board down with him. And Bill, lighting up the room as he taught Ford's niece about his own long-extinct alien civilization.

And Bill, glowing golden, lighting up Ford's dream as he taught him about fifth-dimensional calculus.

Ford didn't answer.

Stan asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Softly, Ford said, "Because I don't want him to die."

Stan spread his arms in disbelief. "Well, why the hell not?!"

"Because—I'm—beginning to think that there might be a chance that Bill could..." he winced, "change. Maybe."

Stan's silence was deafening. Mabel leaned forward to stare around Dipper at Ford.

Ford rubbed his forehead. "I—it made sense yesterday, but it sounds stupid out loud."

Stan slowly shook his head. "Have you all lost your minds? You think he can change? You think he's part of some prophecy?! Y—Mabel, honey, you're the sweetest girl in the world, but you could do way better for friends than him."

Mabel sorta shrugged, sorta shook her head, sorta grimaced, and sorta nodded. "Yeah, but, I like him."

"WHY?!" Stan roared, making Mabel and Dipper both jump. "Why, why are any of you wasting your time on him?! Guys like him don't change! He's a dangerous, self-centered crook, and that's all he'll ever be. He's a rotten, greedy, lazy loser, he's only gotten as far as he has by conning guys smarter than him, he's got no regard for anybody but himself, all he does is cheat and lie, and if you let him stay in our lives he'll just ruin them! The best thing he could do for our family is—" Stan choked on a lump in his throat. "Is d-die."

The room was silent. Dipper and Mabel, leaning back into the sofa to get away from the rant, stared at him with wide eyes. Soos, over in an armchair bearing silent witness to this family drama, had his hands steepled in front of his face.

Stan couldn't look at Ford. He didn't know why Ford looked so sorrowful. Thickly, Stan asked, "All I want is to get rid of him—why don't you?"

He could hear Soos wince. "Oof."

Stan pointed at him. "Not a word. Not one word," he growled. "Fine—if none of you will deal with him properly," he cracked his knuckles, "I will."

Mabel flinched. Dipper moved to stand, "Grunkle Stan—" but stopped when Ford put a hand on his shoulder.

Stan stomped up the stairs. He'd wring that monster's stupid neck, and if it started the apocalypse then so be it—

He stopped halfway up the stairs. Bill was sitting on the steps, just around the landing corner, leaning against the wall, backpack in his lap. His soaked pant legs were dripping rainwater on the steps. "You," Stan snarled. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like, genius? I'm trying to eavesdrop," Bill said. "So what'd they say?"

"What? What did who say about what?"

"About leaving me alive. Why did they say they don't want me dead?"

He asked like he was genuinely curious. Like he didn't know.

Stan stared at Bill.

"I have a good idea for Shooting Star, but the other two...?" Bill made an uncertain gesture with his hand. "I've got my top guesses, but I want to know what clinched the deal."

Stan couldn't kill him, either.

He'd already lost this fight. Pathetic lonely dead con artist who'd rather lose a tooth than look scared, how could Stan take him out? He understood too well. "Just—shut your stupid mouth, take off that stupid circus outfit, and get out of my sight, Cipher."

Bill bristled. "Hey." He stood. "What's that for? It's not like I did anything wrong. Sure, I got your whole family in on a conspiracy, but that's their mistake! I was just doing what I had to! You can't blame me for—"

"I don't blame you," Stan said.

"You d— You don't." Cautiously, Bill asked, "You... don't?"

"How can I?" He shrugged heavily. "It was self-defense. Ford should've known better—but I can't blame you. I'm not an idiot, I don't expect you to just lay down and die for us."

"Oh." Bill squinted at Stan, like he thought this was a trick and he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Oh. Okay." After a pause, voice uncharacteristically small and confused, he asked, "So I'm... not in trouble?"

Stan's face did a gymnastics routine. "Heck," he muttered. "No! I guess not! I don't like it, but I'm not gonna punish a guy for saving his own miserable worthless hide! Just... stay out of my way, I don't wanna see your stupid face."

"I'm just minding my own business," Bill said. He sat again and leaned on the wall, arms crossed, staring into space thoughtfully. (He didn't know what to do with a reality where he'd done something everyone hated, but nobody blamed him for it.)

Stan trudged back downstairs. Everyone was where he'd left them. He glowered at his family. They quietly waited. "Well," Stan said. "We're stuck with him now. Since somebody wasted the only bit of fuel we had that could kill him. Is everyone happy."

Nobody seemed particularly happy. Ford shifted on his seat. "Kids... you should go to bed. Stan and I need to talk."

Dipper and Mabel quickly took the opportunity to slide off the sofa and escape the room.

"Oh! Oh you bet we need to talk! You have no idea how much we need to talk—"

"Downstairs," Ford said firmly.

"What, you don't want everyone else to hear exactly what I think of your crazy stunt?"

Ford lowered his voice. "Downstairs where he can't overhear. It's important."

Stan's face twitched with the effort of suppressing more shouting; but then he growled, "Fine! But this had better be worth it. Lemme get my bathrobe, your stupid underground office is like a freezer..." He trudged from the room, grumbling. "Hey, demon! Take off your bracelet, I'm done being tied to your sorry hide." After a moment, the thread reappeared on the stair steps as they both took their ends off.

Dipper glared at Bill as he and Mabel passed him going up the stairs. Bill gave him a tiny, cheery wave. Dipper grumbled, "I can't believe you finally escaped like you wanted just to come right back."

"Hey, it wasn't my idea! Blame your sister!"

Mabel hugged him again. "Thanks for coming back."

Bill said, "Thanks for absorbing Stan's wrath for me!" He laughed.

The kids ran upstairs.

And Bill placed the tip of his broken umbrella on the stair step and quietly walked back down, winding the enchanted bracelets' thread into loops as he went.

####

Soos looked at Ford and shyly raised a hand. "So... when you said the kids should go to bed, did that include..."

"Yes, Soos," Ford said. "You should go too."

"Yes." He quietly pumped a fist. "One of the kids." As he left, he said, "Hey, Bill. Sweet coat."

Ford looked over. Hovering in the shadows of the entryway, almost glowing gold from the living room's light, Bill peered into the room. He was by the coat rack, hanging the bracelets back up. Bill said, "Fancy meeting you here."

Ford sighed irritably. "I'm not in the mood to talk, Cipher."

"Don't flatter yourself, I'm not down here for you." Bill gestured at the sofa Ford was on. "I want my bed back."

Right. Ford stood so Bill could retrieve the cushions.

As he grabbed the first cushion, Bill smirked at Ford. "So..." (Not here for you. Sure.) "What was it that swayed you?"

Ford just glowered at Bill.

Bill pressed, "Was it that handy list of starter spells I gave you? I doubt it was my chess prowess, that wasn't my best playing." He laughed, "What am I asking for! You humans are suckers for a life debt. You can consider it paid off—a life for a life, fair and square—"

"It wasn't any of those."

Bill's smile disappeared. "Then what?" he asked. "Don't tell me you did it out of the goodness of your heart, I've seen enough of yours not to buy that—"

"It was Mabel."

Bill dropped his first cushion on top of the second and awkwardly tried to get his arms around both. "What'd she say about me?"

"Nothing." Nothing that had changed Ford's mind, anyway. "It's how you treat her."

"How I—?" Bill was so baffled that he almost looked offended. "What are you talking about? I haven't been treating her any way at all! I'm just... just goofing around with her. She's a fun kid."

"Exactly," Ford said. "If you can treat just one odd little girl with kindness, for no reason—then maybe, just maybe, there's hope for you." He sighed; he felt the sternness in his face slacken. He felt tired. "At least... I want to hope there is."

There was a flash of something Ford couldn't recognize in Bill's face. Something like pain; something nearly like guilt. It was gone almost as soon as he saw it.

"Well, sure," Bill said flatly, glancing away like Ford had lost his interest. "Why wouldn't I be nice to her? I like weird freaks." He managed to stand with his awkward armload and turned away, cutting the conversation off. "Anyway. It's been a long night. I'm going to bed. You should too," he shot back over his shoulder from the bottom of the stairs, "when's the last time you got decent sleep? Your eye bags are more... bag than... eye." Bill cringed at himself. "Don— Don't say anything. I'm tired." He headed up the stairs, his umbrella hooked over his left elbow. They'd have to get that umbrella back.

Tomorrow. Ford couldn't be bothered tonight. Bill wasn't killing anybody before morning.

Ford leaned on the doorframe where he could still see Bill. "I hid your hoodie in the box of spare bedding in the loft. Under the spare pillows."

Bill stopped halfway up the stairs and turned back toward Ford. "You didn't incinerate it?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I assumed you'd be back here eventually. I thought you'd want it."

Bill's face was unreadable.

He turned away from Ford and continued upstairs without saying a word.

Mabel's crayon drawing of Bill—"YOU CAN CHANGE. I BELIEVE IN YOU!"—felt like it was burning a hole in Ford's pocket.

####

Saturday, 7:52 a.m.

Bill stole a handful of loose change out of a tip jar and timed his exit so he walked out of the Triple Digit Truck Stop just as a man walked in and kindly held the door for him.

Gravity Falls really was a charming little town. Behind the times. The Triple Digit Truck Stop had expanded significantly in the past decades to add a convenience store and additional amenities for travelers, but the diner that made up the heart of it had barely changed. Same patchy grassy parking lot, same giant lumberjack sculpture watching over the cars... same public pay phones around the left side of the building.

He put in a few coins, punched in the number he'd memorized, and leaned against the wall while he waited to be answered. "Hey, Sue! Guess who?" A smile curled across his face. "That's right. Hey, how many people can say they've been personally called by god?" He laughed. "My Star Boy told you what preparations to make, right? Good. It's time. Midnight. Just north of the county line. I'll see you there."

Then he hung up the phone, left the clearing around the diner, and vanished into the trees.

Unless something dramatically changed, he'd be meeting his dear devotee that night.

####

9:30 p.m.

Something had dramatically changed.

His disloyal devotee had saved him.

It was a long walk to the county line. If Bill wanted to make his midnight meeting with his cultist, he had to leave before sunset.

He was still up on the cliff when the last of the light left the valley, pacing restlessly back and forth—first toward the side of the cliff overlooking the town (he could see the Mystery Shack's roof through the trees), then toward the side aimed away from the valley, toward the county line.

He should go. He needed to go. He needed to go now. He needed to go two hours ago.

He'd spent three out of the last four days hiking all over this town's forests and caves. In the last thirty-six hours he'd barely gotten a quick nap. (In the morning, when Mabel heard that Ford had covered for Bill, she'd come straight here.) He told himself he didn't have the energy for the hike to the county line. (What if Mabel got here and couldn't find him?)

If he didn't show up tonight, surely his cultist would try again tomorrow night. He'd go tomorrow.

It was fine. Everything would work out for him. Everything always worked out for him.

####

Sunday, 4:10 p.m.

He'd been right. Mabel had come straight here. As the platform lifted him back up, Bill watched her wheel her bike through the trees, slowly heading toward the main road back into town.

For a midsummer day, it was chilly in the rain.

Don't you wanna be in the shack with your only friend on Earth? Would you really rather spend the rest of summer in some dumb old busted alien ship?

Interesting question.

####

8:30 p.m.

It was a long walk to the county line. Bill packed his supplies—he didn't have that much to pack, he'd only ever needed enough food and shelter to last him a couple of days. He flung one backpack over each shoulder, closed and concealed the alien ship fragment, and shrunk his floating platform with the height-altering flashlight so he could wrap it in a shirt and stuff it in his second backpack.

And then, under the cover of the rain and the falling night, he began the hike north.

####

10:45 p.m.

Even to Bill's eyes, the weirdness barrier around Gravity Falls was typically invisible. He could only see it where something touched it or passed through it, making waves travel out in circles from the point of contact. The circles glowed a dull coppery color at their peaks. Tonight, with the rain falling, the barrier rippled as though the rain were falling on the surface of a lake, and the whole thing glowed a faint filmy orange.

Precisely in the middle of the barrier was a sign marking the border of Roadkill County.

Ten feet beyond the barrier, just off the edge of the road, headlights and engine off and lurking beneath the trees, was a black car.

Bill walked straight through the weirdness barrier as though it wasn't even there. He didn't feel a thing.

The car engine started and the headlights turned on. Bill didn't even blink. The driver's door flew open and Sue popped out, fumbling to open an umbrella as she did. "Bill Cipher?"

"Hiya, Sue! You made it early."

"Oh, thank goodness." She hurried up to him. "I was so worried—I didn't know if I'd come to the wrong place, or if something had happened... And when I didn't hear anything from you the next day, and Gideon didn't know anything..." (Great, she'd gotten Gideon involved?) She started to offer Bill her umbrella, realized he was already holding a closed umbrella as a cane, looked up as she registered that no rain was falling on him, then stared at him in wonder.

"Yeah, sorry about that—an unavoidable emergency came up, I couldn't get out and couldn't call." And he'd gotten a pretty good night's sleep. "But look at you, loyal enough to come try again the next night! You're a rare sort of human soul, you know that? This world could use more people like you."

Sue flushed with pleasure. "Oh... thank you, I..."

Bill tilted his head toward the car. "Let's not talk out in the rain, huh? Another car's coming by in about a minute, I think we shouldn't be seen."

"Right! Of course, my lord." She hurried back to the car.

"There's a terrific diner just a few minutes up the road. We can talk there, it's safe enough. Cute decor, too—have you ever seen a twenty foot tall lumberjack...?" He paused uncertainly by the car. "Hey, Sue? This'll sound silly—but I'm gonna need you to get the passenger door."

The car's interior lights flashed on as Sue opened the passenger door, long enough to catch the glittery purple nail polish on Bill's fingers. Sue gave it a curious look. Even though they'd just gotten painted three days ago, the polish was already scuffed again from his escape; but a few tiny flower stickers were still sticking to his nails.

Bill grinned. "There's a thirteen-year-old staying in the shack. Sweetest thing. She's a real artist."

"Oh! I see." A smile stretched across Sue's face. Bill suspected it wasn't for Mabel. That's right, your god's good with children. He lets little girls give him goofy manicures and proudly shows them off. Chicks dig that kind of thing.

When they were both buckled in, Sue hesitated, holding the steering wheel. "Lord Cipher... I wanted to say... if my... actions the last time we met were out of line in any way, I want to apologize—"

Bill placed a finger under her chin, turned her face toward him, and kissed her lightly. (He was so smooth. He mentally congratulated himself.) "Sorry if you got confused. I had to keep the outsider from getting suspicious, get it?"

She sucked in a small breath. "I... yes. Yes, of course."

"Don't trust anything I say or do when unbelievers are listening. The only time you can be sure I'm telling the truth..." his voice dropped to a near whisper, "is when we're alone."

He could see the goosebumps raise on her arms. "Yes, my lord."

He was so good—and his worshipers were so, so stupid. That was why they followed him. "Now, let's get to that diner, huh?"

As they got on the road, he studied his nails; to a normal human it was too dark to see, but to Bill's eyes they still glittered bright purple. The question Mabel had asked him earlier had been playing over and over in his mind all afternoon: Would you really rather spend the rest of summer in some dumb old busted alien ship?

Naive, trusting kid.

She really thought she was his best option.

######

"... And then, as if directly launching a psychic attack on my ethereal essence and forcing me into a mortal fleshly form wasn't bad enough," Bill said, "they imprisoned me! And get this: just to rub salt in the wound, they thought it would be funny to take a divine muse who's spent an eternity helping mortals build doorways between dimensions—and curse it so it can't open doors. I have to ask my kidnappers to open the fridge for me. Have you ever heard something so condescending?"

"Insane. That's just sadistic," Sue said. "After all you tried to do for them."

"You don't know what a comfort it is to hear a human say that."

They fell silent as someone approached. A waitress stopped next to their table. "Hey, I—Goldie!"

"Dani Miranda! Hey, how's it going! I see you found the treasure map I left you."

Dani was wearing two large gold earrings, two heavy gold necklaces each with a large gem-encrusted pendant, and four rings. "Yes, oh my gosh. I cannot believe you knew where a whole treasure chest was and you just gave it to me? That's the nicest thing ever?"

That's right, it was. "What are you doing working here! You can retire on that kind of money. Unless you want to rebury all that gold yourself?" He'd respect that.

"I'm still getting it appraised. Besides, I like talking to the late night travelers."

Bill ordered a strawberry banana shake, the monthly pancake special—which meant three quarters of the pile covered in stripes of strawberry sauce and cream cheese frosting and one quarter covered in a big puddle of blueberry sauce—floppy bacon, three eggs prepared "any way except scrambled," a cup of bleu cheese dressing, a cup of salsa, and a bottle of hot sauce. Sue ordered a water and a small grilled chicken salad.

(Bill tried to remember whether the Death Valley girls were one of his "purify the flesh by practicing harsh asceticism" cults or his "hedonistically revel in the pleasures of the senses" cults, in case he needed to make up a justification for why god was ordering pancakes instead of practicing what he preached—something something a human body containing a divine soul burns through much more energy, maybe—but no, he had the Death Valley girls on psychedelics, that was a hedonism cult. He kept them controlled through drugs, exhaustion, and poor air conditioning, not starvation. Small grilled chicken salad, indeed. The only thing stronger than cult brainwashing was diet industry brainwashing.)

When Dani was safely out of earshot, Sue lowered her voice and asked, "'Goldie'?"

"My captors decided to keep my identity secret so an angry mob won't execute me before they get the chance," Bill said. "The entire town's against the All-Seeing Eye named Bill; but only a handful know there's anything unusual about the handsome human in the Mystery Shack they've been calling Goldie."

She looked taken aback at the angry mob comment. "The entire town's against you?" Her gaze roved around the Triple Digit Truck Stop, taking in a lone trucker several tables away and a bored waiter scrolling on his phone behind the counter. "Is there anyone we can trust?"

"Gideon's on our side, of course—good kid—but, well... he isn't completely reliable. You know what happens with child celebrities. The fame and fortune spoils 'em a bit."

"I never would have guessed from his television appearances. He seems so... gracious."

Bill choked back a laugh. "He'll grow up all right—he's just going through a phase. But I'd rather not trust him with more involvement than necessary until he... matures a little."

"I understand." Sue sighed. "It's too bad the dawn of the new age didn't begin closer to us, where we could have assisted your work."

She didn't have the guts to question her god, but Bill heard the implicit question: why here? Why in some tiny tourist town that didn't even like tourists, buried in a forest in the middle of nowhere, amongst the ignorant ungrateful masses? "Yeah—too bad," Bill agreed with a shrug. "But hey, I didn't choose where the veil between worlds would be thinnest! There's energy in this town like nowhere else on your planet. It's the only place where a machine built with modern human technology is strong enough to punch through dimensions—and that's with the help of extraterrestrial equipment."

Besides, he didn't like Death Valley.

Dani returned from the kitchen. "One chicken salad, and one breakfast combo with the pancakes of the month."

"Great! I'm starving." Bill picked up the little plastic cup of salsa and dumped it into his shake. Sue choked on her water.

Dani's brows shot up. "Is—is that good?"

"What can I say, I've got the palate of an alien." (Sue choked on the sip she'd taken to recover from her first sip of water.) Bill poured the bleu cheese over his eggs, then started drizzling hot sauce on his pancakes. "Anyway, it keeps people from stealing my food."

"I guess so!" Dani laughed. She hovered near their table a little too long; and then she said, "Okay, I've got to ask: how did you know where to find buried treasure? I mean...!"

"I know lots of things." He fought down a smirk. "I happen to be psychic."

"No way." But she looked curious. She wanted to believe.

Bill had had a hunch that giving her that treasure would pay off. Nice to know his understanding of human nature was still sharp, even when he couldn't double-check the far future to see how his meddling would turn out. "If I wasn't psychic, would I have known your last name? Or where that treasure chest was?" he asked. "Or that you keep three pictures of tarantulas and a Canadian twenty in your wallet? Or that you have recurring dreams of trying to hide in sewer manholes from a fire-breathing dragon?" While he waited for her to process that, he triumphantly dug into his pancakes. He had a feeling he wouldn't be eating much more before his food got cold.

Dani's smile had disappeared. The blood drained from her face. "How...?"

"I'm... let's say, connected to a higher plain. I can see dimensions most humans can't."

"It's true," Sue piped up. (Bill took the opportunity to dig into an egg. Oh, the bleu cheese was a great choice.) "The insights h—she's offered me and so many others have been... life-changing. World-changing." Good girl.

"Insights?" Dani asked weakly.

Bill shrugged modestly. "You could call me a 'spiritual teacher,' I suppose, but that makes it sound like I'm preaching some kind of religion! All I do is teach people what I know and tell people what I see if I think it'll help 'em. Like if I see a bunch of buried gold that could change the life of a nice kid working minimum wage."

Dani reflexively touched one of her necklaces.

"You didn't think going to parties in togas was my full-time job, did you?" Bill laughed.

Dani laughed feebly too. She hadn't moved away. She was closer now, her thigh leaning against the edge of the table. "That's... wow. I've never met an actual psychic before. I mean—I went to one of Lil Gideon's live shows, but that was before the big scandal and his arrest."

"You hate to see a pillar of the community go down like that, don't you?"

"What..." Dani swallowed hard, lowered her voice, and asked, "What kinds of things does a psychic 'teach'?"

Got her. "It depends! Everyone's got different lessons they need to learn, right?" He slid out of his seat, nodded toward Sue, and said, "Excuse me ladies—I'd love to elaborate, but I'm afraid I need to hit the restroom. Sue, why don't you tell her what you've learned about, give her a concrete idea of what I do."

"It would be my honor."

As Bill passed Sue, he leaned over and whispered, "Don't mention triangles." And then he got out of her way, to let Sue do what his Death Valley girls did best.

####

When he returned to his seat, Sue leaned over the table and murmured, "I got her phone number and email."

"Good work. I bet she'd be an easy recruit."

"I bet. She's already asking how much lessons cost."

"What'd you say?"

"You offer your help to others for free, but cover your living expenses and travel costs with donations."

"Attagirl." It had been easier to use that line when he was a triangle—of course our great mentor and muse doesn't need money, he's above such earthly concerns; his mortal devotees who spread his word, though, subsist on donations... It was better for his image. They'd just have to modify their fundraising pitch for a while. "This is exactly what I hoped would happen when I invited you to this diner. I knew you wouldn't let me down."

The ghost of a smile flitted across Sue's face. "I'll follow up with her by phone. It's a pity we don't have enough time to really put the pressure on her in person."

"Why not? I bet we'd win her over in less than a week."

"I've already contacted the main compound in Death Valley. We've got plane tickets for first thing in the morning."

(Bill's blood ran cold. Somehow, it hadn't dawned on him until that moment that escaping Gravity Falls meant leaving Gravity Falls.)

"I have a motel room a few towns over, it was the closest I could find to Gravity Falls," Sue went on. "It's a straight shot to the Portland airport in the morning. Everyone's so excited—"

"Hold on," Bill said, figuring out what he was about to say next as he went. "There's been a last minute change of plans. I'm staying in Gravity Falls."

Sue stared at him. "But—my lord! You're a prisoner here, why wouldn't you come home to the people who love you?"

Love you, love you, love you. The word love alone was nearly enough to make him change his mind again. How he missed being revered. He could picture them now, these zealots who adored him so much they'd willingly bend their bodies into a throne to lift him up—and he didn't even need to turn them to stone first. It would be so easy to get away from all his human enemies forever...

Don't you wanna be in the shack with your only friend on Earth?

He shook his head. "Two reasons," he said. "One: no matter what, eventually I'll have to come back. The Age of the Triangle can only dawn in Gravity Falls. Staying makes it that much easier to get things started again. And two... I'm—working on a couple of potential recruits." He was? Wow. He was impressed at himself.

"You mean Gideon, or...?"

"No, others. One's the girl who helped me escape." He drummed his fingers on the table, calling attention to his purple fingernails. "She's a good kid. Lots of potential. Could be a real leader someday—she's a natural fit for our new world. She's got a few strings, but I'm working on helping her untie 'em."

Strings was a term that Mary, the leader of the Death Valley compound, had come up with and spread to the other girls: it meant petty mortal concerns that could tangle and tie you up, dragging you away from pursuing true spiritual growth and preparing for a better, liberated world. Your childhood religious beliefs were a string. The misguided ideas about morality you learned from the secular world were a string. Your job was a string. Your spouse was a string. Your family was a lot of strings. The intervention where your friends sat you down and told you they were worried about how much you'd changed lately and they were afraid you'd joined some kind of cult was a string. You had to cut them all.

And then Bill could tie on his puppet strings in their place.

"How old is she?"

"Thirteen. Fourteen at the end of the summer."

"Oh, wow—younger than I thought. That's great, kids are more open-minded," Sue said. "Though if she decides to join, it'll be hard to get her away from her family without a kidnapping charge..."

"Ugh, you don't need to remind me. I remember how we almost lost Karen and Jennifer. The legal system in this country is a mess." Bill had needed to torture that divorce court judge with nightmares for weeks before he caved and awarded Jennifer's mother sole custody so they could move to the Death Valley compound together. "But hey, got some good news: the other potential recruit. You remember the 'ex-cultist' who gave you gals my location. He turned on the humans who are pushing to execute me. He's almost back on our side. And he just so happens to be the girl's great-uncle. The family trusts him. If we can get 'em to pass her to him as her guardian, then she's ours. We can work out how to get her to the compound later." That was a lie. Bill was never handing Mabel to the Death Valley girls. She was better than them.

Sue looked less enthusiastic for this ex-cultist than she had for the girl. "Is he one of your captors...?"

Bill waved off her concerns, frowning. "Look. He's obviously been corrupted by the outside world. I lost contact with him for thirty years and he came back with more strings than a mop head. But I don't think he's beyond purification. He's already shown major improvement, now that he's once again under the shining light of my influence."

"But, this town..." Sue shook her head doubtfully. "Cipher, my lord, they nearly killed you once. You'd risk staying just to try to recruit two people? One who's already betrayed you—?"

"Yes!" Bill snapped. Sue flinched. "They're worth it." (He didn't question his own vehemence, his own anger at their value being doubted. He rarely questioned himself. If he asked questions, he might get answers.) "Don't you dare let this face fool you—I'm still your all-seeing god and I know what I'm doing better than you do. These two are perfect. The Age of the Triangle needs them. The traitor will repent. He WILL worship me again."

Sue stared at him with wide eyes; for a split second her breath froze in fear. She gave him a tiny nod. "Of course, my lord. My apologies."

Dani appeared at their table again. "Hey, how was everything?"

And Bill was immediately all good cheer. "Terrific, thanks!"

"Great!"

As Sue reached for her wallet, Dani waved her off. "Oh, don't worry about it—it's on the house." She winked. "I think I can afford to cover it."

Already making donations to the cause. Pretty soon all the profits from her treasure chest would be in one of Bill's bank accounts.

As they headed back out into the rain, Sue said, "So, we're staying in town at least long enough to pick up another three recruits?"

"Maybe four," Bill said. "There's another kid in town I think needs some help finding a direction."

"Another? Is this one old enough to leave home alone?"

"Not for a couple more years—but she's dying to get out just as fast as she can," Bill said. "I think you can handle her."

####

They parked just up the road from the Mystery Shack and turned the headlights off.

"Here's everything Gideon said you wanted," Sue said, handing over a paper bag. "Candles, matchbook, knife, pens, spare notebooks, five thousand dollars, a burner phone, new clothes..."

Bill pulled out a flashy golden sequin-covered coat. "Oooh!" He dug around until he also found a button-up shirt and a pair of black opera gloves. He shrugged on the shirt.

"That's... what Gideon said you requested, right?" Sue eyed the tacky, gaudy coat uncertainly.

"As long as I'm in this body, I don't have the benefit of showing up glowing in people's dreams when I have something they need to hear! I need to make them pay attention any way I can." Also, normal people had boring tastes and sequins were fantastic. He buttoned up the shirt.

"I also brought—I—thought you might want..." She held out a large pendant on a thin chain. It was an eye inscribed inside a triangle inscribed inside a circle; rays radiated out from the eye, as though it were the sun. Bill's heart leaped into his throat at the sight of it.

He realized this was the first time since his death that he'd seen his own face in any form other than a thirteen-year-old's artwork—and his own corpse. His face was ubiquitous on this planet; it was plastered on everything from money to buildings to common consumer goods. Its conspicuous absence in Gravity Falls was uncanny.

"I'm not sure if it's inappropriate—"

"It's perfect." Bill snatched the necklace from her and fiddled with the clasp until he got it on. "Exactly what I need. What did I always say about your intuition?" He considered the gloves, decided he wasn't ready to pull them on quite yet, and shrugged on the coat instead.

She restrained a pleased smile at the flattery. "Thank you, my lord."

She looked out the windshield. Just up the road was a flock of wooden signs and arrows pointing which way to turn to reach the Mystery Shack. Bill wondered whether Sue's eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that she could see their silhouettes. Sue said, "If you're not coming back to us yet, then I suppose it's time to..."

"Hold on a minute," Bill said. "You've been a bigger help tonight than you know. If it weren't for your loyalty and diligence, I wouldn't have been able to consider escaping." Blah blah blah. The truth was he'd been soaking in her reverence for the past hour and a half, like a dehydrated cactus under a cloudburst, and he wasn't leaving until he'd sucked every drop from her. "There isn't a lot I can do for you right now, trapped in this form, but you deserve a reward." He leaned toward her, his elbow against her car seat, hand on the headrest. "Let me express my gratitude the way I would have if we hadn't been interrupted during our last meeting." He tilted his head toward the back seat.

She froze as she processed the offer; and then she leaned in to kiss him hungrily.

####

"The tide's changing in this town," Bill said, pulling on his gloves, smoothing his hair back into place, putting his new coat back on. "The dawn is coming. You should stay in town now that our enemies are losing their teeth."

"Yes, Lord Cipher," she said breathlessly, still trying to get her wits about her.

(From what Bill had eavesdropped between her and Dani while he was pretending to be in the restroom, he was right that she'd been one of his "dissatisfied housewife" converts. This was probably the first time she'd ever been touched by somebody who understood anatomy. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to return the favor. But he'd been touched by reverent hands, he'd tasted tears, he'd heard a voice whine "Bill, my god, my god, my god—" That would have to hold him for a while.)

"And ditch the rental. Buy a used car," Bill said. "There's a place in town called Gleeful Auto Sales. Ask Bud for the best car on the lot, pay whatever he asks—and tell him Mr. Locke sent you."

"'Gleeful' as in...?"

"His father. My Star Boy was the only person in town who supported me—and the town's turned on his family for it. They could use our help."

Sue pursed her lips in displeasure. "Of course."

Bill gestured toward his door. "I think we've put this off long enough."

While he waited for her to get his door, he slung his two backpacks over each shoulder. Under his breath, he muttered, "'Coffee break's over; back on your heads.'"

Sue opened the door; he picked up his umbrella and stepped out into the rain.

As he walked back to his prison, he tucked his necklace beneath his shirt.

Bill reminded himself that he didn't have anything to be afraid of. Ford had thrown away the one shot that could have killed him. He was safe.

####

1:20 a.m.

As Stan followed Ford into his underground study, he shot a glance at the barren far end of the room. He grumbled, "Nice to see you haven't started putting triangle posters back up."

"I'm not..." Ford sighed in irritation. "Never mind."

"So what's so important that you had to drag me down to your nerd cave? If this isn't good—"

"I didn't waste our shot."

"What?"

At his metal worktable, Ford unlatched the Quantum Destabilizer's carrying case and opened it. "You said I wasted the only fuel we had. I didn't." He detached the NowUSeeitNowUDontium's fuel tank and held it out. The needle on the side indicated it was about a quarter full—nowhere near its full capacity, but enough for one shot, and just as much as they'd brought home from Fiddleford's.

Stan gaped. "But... hold on—we saw that shot through the walls. How the heck did you fake...?"

"Before he started developing a process to generate Dontium, Fiddleford came up with a power adaptor that could plug into the town's electricity." Ford picked up the power cord wound up in the carrying case. "He determined that it only gave the Destabilizer enough power to operate like a laser, not destroy matter and energy, so we still needed to develop the Dontium... but, I still had the cord on hand."

####

Saturday, 12:07 p.m.

Ford looked at the dummy. Looked at the note.

And then he lay the note on the dummy, knelt by the edge of the loft, opened his case, and removed the Quantum Destabilizer.

He slid out its fuel tank, returned it to the case, and pulled out the cord.

He climbed down to the bedroom; unplugged the room's air conditioning unit from its dedicated higher voltage wall socket; and plugged in the Quantum Destabilizer's cord.

In the loft, trying to figure out how to plug the other end of the cord into the Quantum Destabilizer, he was suddenly struck by the hair-raising feeling that someone was watching him. He whipped around; the eye on Bill's hood stared at him resentfully.

Ford stared back at it a moment; then he stood, pulled the hoodie off the dummy, and stuffed it into a nearby box.

He knelt. He plugged in the cable. He carefully lined up the shot with the dummy.

He fired.

####

12:09 p.m.

The atmosphere abruptly grew eerily quiet and still as the unplugged air conditioning unit fell silent. There was a shrill, whistling shriek and a blast of blue-white light so brilliant it pierced the cracks of the wooden boards in the attic bedroom's walls.

Every light in the house went out as the Quantum Destabilizer's power adapter drained every drop of electricity in town.

####

12:10 p.m.

The air was hot, stagnant, and stuffy. There was a pile of ashes three feet in front of Ford's knees.

Ford heard Dipper and Stan come into the bedroom and climb the ladder. He was seized by an urge to sweep away the ashes and the evidence of his trick before they could realize what he'd done:

The Quantum Destabilizer, at full power, completely destroyed all matter and energy.

It didn't leave behind ashes.

####

Monday, 1:23 a.m.

Ford said, "Bill left a letter in the attic asking me to help cover his getaway. If I didn't fire the gun, Bill would have known I'd told you he escaped. But if he could see the Quantum Destabilizer firing, he'd think I'd chosen his side. The only way to lure him back to the shack was by making him think I'd used up the only substance we have that could destroy him." He muttered, "Granted, I'd assumed he'd try to contact me secretly rather than knock on the door in the middle of the night, but..."

Stan gaped at Ford. Then he burst into loud laughter. "Sixer, you tricky sonova! I don't believe it!" He socked his arm. "I oughta retire from the conning business and hand it over to you!"

A smile slowly crept up Ford's face.

Stan pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the elevator. "So we can go up there and finish him off now, right? Just wait for him to fall asleep, and...?"

Ford's smile disappeared. "No."

"N—What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I..." He took a deep breath as he chose his words. "I was serious, earlier, when I... said I want to give him a chance."

"Wh—? Still? Ford, come on, you can't think he deserves it?"

"No. Of course not. Not even close." Ford didn't hesitate. "But... does he need to deserve a chance to get one? I wonder if maybe Mabel's on to something. If he could be better, he can't show us unless we give him the second chance—before he's earned it." He sounded like a lunatic. "He can't earn it if he's dead."

Stan looked for a moment like he wanted to argue; and then something painful flashed through his eyes; and then he looked away from Ford, scowling to himself as he thought. He sighed heavily. "Yeah. Okay. Fine. Darn it, I don't wanna do it either. The creep's actually starting to grow on me. Like some kind of foot fungus."

Ford huffed. "What's important is, if we give him a chance and he throws it away, I haven't left us unarmed." He gestured to the unplugged fuel tank.

Stan looked at the tank; then looked at Ford. "You could've told us about the power cord trick yesterday, and you didn't." Stan crossed his arms. "Be honest. Do you really think, if it came down to it, you'd be able to pull the trigger now?"

"No." And again Ford didn't hesitate. "I want to believe I could; but I... don't trust myself. Yesterday morning, I never would have thought I'd decide against executing him for any reason. I know Bill's playing games with me, and yet I'm still playing along—so what else might I do?" He shrugged helplessly. He hated that Bill could still take control of his mind—even when he couldn't physically get inside it. "To some extent, he's gotten into all our heads."

Stan grimaced, but he didn't argue.

"That's why I think Fiddleford should keep the Quantum Destabilizer. He's never been taken in by Bill's tricks. If it becomes necessary, he won't hesitate."

"You know the situation's bad when Old Man McGucket's the voice of reason," Stan muttered. "But, I like that idea.  We can drop it off with him in the morning."

Ford sighed. "He's probably spent the last two days thinking Bill's dead. He won't be happy to see us."

As they walked back to the elevator, Stan said, "Maybe leaving Bill alive isn't an end-of-the-world bad idea. How much trouble can he get in when he can't escape that magic barrier around town?"

"That's true," Ford said. "He's essentially harmless—at least to the rest of the universe."

Ford didn't have anything to be afraid of. Bill was trapped in the weirdness barrier; and he couldn't even leave the shack without help. They were safe.

####

As fancy as his new coat looked, Bill was was grateful to crawl back into the comfortingly formless body-obscuring shelter of his hoodie. He pulled his hood over his face, curled up on his usual cushions (sigh) in his usual spot (sigh), and quickly fell asleep.

And began to dream.

And, in his dream, saw through his nearby eyes.

In his sleep, he could see the attic from where he lay on his cushions. He sat up, realized his vision was crooked, straightened out his hood, and stood; and he began sleepwalking.

He crept silently downstairs. He walked backwards into the gift shop. He walked up to a spinning rack of keychains that Soos had set up on the display case, took off his necklace, and hung it from one of the hooks.

He pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof.

Bill was very good at lying. Bill was very good at lying to himself. No, that wasn't true—Bill had never lied to himself in his life, and he was willing to kill anyone who tried to say he had. Bill didn't tell himself lies; he told himself what should be the truth. Believing in a new reality was the first step toward making it real. All you had to do was lie until you weren't lying anymore—and then, you'd never lied at all. It was very simple.

He'd spent billions of years swimming in and out of dreams, until he was more comfortable with how reality worked in dreams than he was with how reality worked in actual reality; and there was no other state of existence where the line between truth and lie was blurriest. Unlike the physical world, where altering reality tended to require a little more actual work, in a dream, lying until it came true really was as simple as thinking about your new truth.

That was all it took. One bright, lucid thought to shine order through the confused fog of the subconscious.

Bill was getting good at lucid dreaming.

Bill was dreaming now.

A couple of weeks ago, Bill had heard Wendy called the trap doors in the ceiling "roof lids."

No, that wasn't true. A couple of weeks ago, Bill had heard Wendy call the roof lids "roof lids," because that was what they were. Bill couldn't open doors, didn't have the first idea of what to do with a door, but he could open lids. Jar lids. Pot lids. Toilet lids. He'd practiced with toilet lids—they had hinges, that made them the most similar to roof lids. If he could open all those lids, he could open these lids.

As he stared, the trap doors changed, in the way that dream images had of swimming and shifting dizzily before your eyes, into roof lids.

He climbed the ladder, pushed up the roof lid, climbed through; and then opened the second one that led onto the roof. He moved so silently. The rickety rungs and old wooden boards didn't even creak beneath his footsteps. He climbed out, sleepwalked his way to the roof hangout spot, and jumped off the roof.

He descended, slow as a feather, to land lightly on the ground, as though gravity hardly touched him.

Almost a month ago, on his birthday, Stan had taken off his gold chain and chucked it off into the forest so he could put on his birthday gift instead. Bill had watched enviously from the window. Now, triumphantly, he scooped up the long-coveted chain and wrapped it several times around his wrist.

And then he went to the tree where he'd hung up his second backpack full of contraband and retrieved it.

There were several pine trees right next to the shack. As near-weightless as Bill was in his dream, it was easy for him to climb one of the trees and get back on the roof.

In the gift shop, the vending machine swung open as Stan and Ford returned to the house level. They went into the living room, heading toward bed. The All-Seeing Eye hanging on the keychain rack watched as the door swung shut behind them. After waiting a few more seconds to ensure they were gone, Bill slid down onto the ladder, shut the roof lid, and jumped noiselessly to the floor. He retrieved his necklace from the keychain rack.

This was a vending machine. It wasn't a door. It clearly wasn't a door. Bill punched in the vending machine's code and stepped back as it swung aside for him. He crept down the stairs.

This was an elevator. The elevator had doors, and he didn't know how to open them, but he wasn't worrying about those. The doors would sort themselves out somehow. All he cared about was the elevator. He was NOT trying to open the doors. He wasn't even thinking about opening the doors. He pushed the button to call the elevator.

The elevator doors slid open. See, just like he'd thought: the doors took care of themselves.

He pushed the button for the lowest floor. The doors slid shut.

As he rode down, he wove his new necklace's thin chain between the links of Stan's much thicker chain. Oh yeah. That looked much better. 

The doors opened again into the interdimensional portal's control room.

He put on his necklace and stepped out. It was about time he made it back here. Bill really should have taken more time to check this place out at the start of summer. Why had he been in such a rush to kill the Pines? He'd had time travel. He could have rebuilt the entire portal by himself, won the lotto in Texas, spent a week in a seven star hotel, watched the Titanic sink, become President Trembley's First Lady, gotten Mysterious Mo's autograph, planted a NASA rocket in an Aztec temple just to give those ancient alien morons an undeserved but funny win, and then come back to finish the job.

Well, hindsight, whatever. At least he had a list of things to do if he ever got his hands on that time tape again. Anyway, he was back now.

He didn't think he'd need to be asleep to get back into the gift shop, and he probably needed his full brain turned on for the task ahead. He pulled his hood off, opened his eyes, and woke up.

The world looked so much less malleable.

He fished a notebook and red and black pens from his backpack, picked his way through the rubble of the portal, and began taking notes in Plaintext on how many parts were salvageable. Every few minutes, he flipped a page forward to begin work on blueprints for a new portal.

####

(And that concludes... season 1. idk out of how many seasons, but it sure feels like a season finale, don't it?

Next week's The Book Of Bill y'all! I'll be posting a chapter, but which chapter depends on TBOB. If TBOB is either compatible with the backstory I've got for Bill, or so wildly incompatible that there's no way I can reconcile my backstory so don't bother trying, I'll be posting a flashback chapter! But if TBOB is compatible enough that i MIGHT be able to reconcile it with my backstory with a lot of editing, I'll be posting the first chapter of "season 2" to give me time to edit the flashback. We'll find out next Tuesday!

In the meantime, a whole lot happened in this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what y'all think—about this chapter, about everything that's happened so far, about what's coming up, whatever!)

[traincat]

hey! how r u! idk if anyone’s asked this before but I wanted to know ur thoughts on johnny canonically having a good singing voice, p sure he’s described as “having the voice of an angel”!

and if you had any spideytorch fics based on this?

Can Johnny Storm Sing is one of the greatest Marvel mysteries of all time for me and I am not even remotely joking. Not even a little bit.

Walk with me here.

Johnny having "the voice of an angel" and being the best singer out of the Fantastic Four comes from Fantastic Four (2018) #1, the first issue of Dan Slott's run:

Unrelated but I'm still unfortunately a "Dan Slott was setting up canon JohnnyWyatt and Marvel said no" truther.

Important for our analysis: Johnny is the best singer in this particular group, not necessarily objectively a good singer. Ben does say he has the voice of angel though. That we cannot deny.

And yes, Johnny had a brief career as a pop singer in Robinson's run.

(Fantastic Four (2014) #1)

"Storm Warning." Okay buddy. The decision to become a pop star was hastily made at a barbecue on the moon after his singer girlfriend dumped him for Ant Man.

(FF #16)

Does it matter. Good question!

Sidenote: this is such a tiny detail that it doesn't matter at all, but Wyatt being both the person to be like "can you sing" and one of the people saying Johnny's the best singer of the group the above issue is one of those little comics contradictions that annoys me. Whatever. I'm actually inclined to side with Slott here solely because I, unfortunately, think he's a stronger Johnny writer than Fraction.

Anyway, "does it matter," not really actually, because Johnny's entire tour is canceled after he loses his powers in Robinson's run.

(FF (2014) #8) "The world already has more blond pretty-boy singers than it needs. They wanted more than that from you." Haha. I'm sure that won't set off any negative spiraling from a character who thinks he's nothing without his powers. We have fun here in Johnny Storm fandom.

If I'm looking at this objectively, I think there's a pattern here that follows Johnny's similarly short-lived acting career, where he repeatedly froze on the set of his gay cowboy movie, The Rawhide Kid.

(Listen. The Rawhide Kid wasn't canonically gay when Johnny was cast to play him in a movie. He WAS declared canonically gay in a miniseries that was released a handful of months later. I just want to talk, Marvel.)

It's not that Johnny is necessarily a bad actor, so much as that he's extremely self-conscious. He would freeze on set, forget his lines, get frustrated, etc. (There was other stuff going on, but I think it's fair to say he wasn't comfortable in the role of a movie star.) But he can play an undercover role fine enough. So the issue isn't acting itself, but the context. I imagine singing might be the same. Johnny might sing fine at karaoke with Jen and Wyatt, or with his family, but in front of a hundred thousand screaming strangers? He's going to rely on his image as the Human Torch first, and any talents separate from a fire show after that. Take away his powers and he probably can't muster the stage presence needed to be a global pop star.

(Marvel Knights 4 #1) "Johnny, you're good-looking, sure, and you can fly -- no one's arguing with that -- but you can't sing, you can't dance, and you can't act."

Johnny's grown now, but he's always going to be the kid who actually wanted a secret identity somewhere deep down.

(Strange Tales #106)

It's going to be a long fifteen years of zero privacy, Johnny.

Subjectively speaking: I truly and honestly believe Johnny has an annoying voice. That doesn't negate him from being a good singer, necessarily -- it could just be his speaking voice. But I believe sincerely that his voice is annoying. Thanks for backing me up on that one, Marvel Rivals. (I'm saying this with nothing but pure and true love.)

But honestly nothing I just said matters. Because of this. The piece de resistance when talking about Johnny Storm and singing.

With infinite weariness. This one's for you, Melinda.

[xichilie]

Phainon x (fem) reader (6)

Part5 Part6

The ruins stretched endlessly before them, bathed in an eerie glow from the bioluminescent moss creeping along the stone walls. It would have been an awe-inspiring sight—if not for the fact that Y/N and Phainon were too busy laughing like idiots while Mydei trudged behind them, radiating pure done-with-this-energy.

“You should’ve seen your face earlier, Mydei!” Y/N snickered, nudging Phainon with her elbow. “When we fell through that hole, you looked like you were questioning all of your life choices!”

“I was questioning all of my life choices,” Mydei grumbled, crossing his arms. “Specifically the ones that led to me being here with you two.”

“Oh, come on,” Phainon said with a wide grin. “Admit it—you love our company!”

“Yeah, love it so much I’m considering retirement,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon and Y/N burst into laughter again, their amusement echoing through the ruins. The uneven stone path ran parallel to a flowing underground river, the water glowing faintly under the ruins’ mysterious light. It was beautiful—serene, even.

And then, disaster struck.

In her fit of laughter, Y/N took a step forward—and the moment her foot hit the slick stone, she knew she was doomed.

“Uh-oh.”

The ground betrayed her.

She slipped. Hard.

In a blind panic, she grabbed the closest thing she could—Phainon.

“Whoa—Y/N?! Wait—!”

Phainon, caught off guard, tried to steady himself, but instead, his instincts betrayed him in the stupidest way possible—he latched onto Mydei.

“Don’t you dare—!”

Too late.

Like a perfect, synchronized disaster, all three of them tumbled off the ledge, limbs flailing in every direction.

SPLASH.

The river swallowed them whole.

The first one to resurface was Y/N, coughing out water and pushing her soaked hair from her face. The water was freezing, but she barely had time to register it before—

SPLASH!

Phainon shot up next, looking far too excited for someone who had just involuntarily plunged into an underground river. “That. Was. Amazing!” He flipped his drenched white hair back like he was starring in some dramatic movie scene, completely missing the way Y/N was giving him a look that said, Seriously?

Then, much less gracefully—

SPLUTTER—COUGH—SPIT

Mydei emerged, looking like a man who had just been personally wronged by fate itself. His blonde-red hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes narrowed into pure betrayal.

“I hate both of you,” he wheezed, wiping water from his face.

Y/N, still trying not to laugh, paddled in place. “Okay, but technically that was my fault.”

“Oh, really? Really?! I wouldn’t have noticed!” Mydei snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because here I was, thinking Phainon just randomly decided to drag me into the freezing abyss for fun!”

“To be fair,” Phainon piped up, flashing an easygoing smile, “I do think this is kinda fun.”

Mydei turned slowly, glaring daggers at him. “I am this close to dunking you underwater.”

Phainon just beamed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

Before Mydei could act on his very real threat, Y/N clapped her hands together. “Alright, alright, enough drowning each other—let’s find a way out before we turn into icicles.”

Still grumbling, Mydei swam toward the riverbank while Phainon and Y/N followed, their soaked clothes clinging uncomfortably. The second Y/N reached the shore, she shivered, rubbing her arms. “Okay. That was not my best moment.”

Phainon, ever the sunshine of the group, turned to her with his usual bright grin. “Are you kidding? That was fantastic! You even managed to take both of us down with you! I’d call that an achievement.”

Y/N let out a snort, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah, so impressive.”

Mydei, standing a few feet away, wrung out the edge of his coat with a deep scowl. “If either of you ever grab me like that again, I’m throwing you into a pit on purpose.”

Phainon leaned over to Y/N, whispering, “He totally loves us.”

Y/N grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

Mydei groaned. “I heard that.”

Still smiling, Y/N stretched, trying to shake off the cold. “Well, let’s see where this riverbank leads. Who knows? Maybe we just accidentally discovered something important.”

Phainon nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! See, Mydei? This wasn’t a complete disaster!”

Mydei rubbed his temples. “If I pretend you don’t exist, will you stop talking?”

“Nope!” Phainon chirped.

As they continued along the riverbank, Phainon nudged Y/N, his smile softer now. “Hey,” he said casually, though his voice held a hint of something more. “For what it’s worth… that was pretty impressive.”

Y/N tilted her head at him. “What was?”

“The way you reacted,” Phainon said, rubbing the back of his neck blushing a little. “I mean, yeah, we all fell, but you managed to keep hold of me and Mydei while thinking on your feet. That’s… pretty cool.”

Y/N gave him a lopsided smile. “Huh. Didn’t think nearly drowning was something to be proud of.”

Phainon chuckled, his face a little pink. “Well, when you do it, it somehow seems heroic.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me right now?”

Phainon’s entire brain short-circuited. “I—uh—no! I mean, yes—I mean—WAIT, NO, THAT'S NOT—”

Y/N just smirked. “Relax, Phainon, I’m messing with you.”

“Oh. Right. Haha. Yeah.” Phainon let out a nervous laugh, his face now fully red.

Mydei, watching this entire interaction with an expression of pure pain, sighed deeply. “I swear, I am never getting dry at this rate.”

And with that, the three of them continued onward, one of them very flustered, one very amused, and one desperately wishing for peace and quiet.

After trudging along the riverbank, soaked to the bone, the trio finally stumbled upon a dry clearing nestled between the ruins. The stone walls around them provided decent shelter, and the soft glow of bioluminescent moss gave the place an eerie but peaceful ambiance.

Y/N shivered slightly as she rubbed her arms. “Alright, we desperately need a fire before we all turn into ice sculptures.”

Phainon clapped his hands together. “On it!”

Mydei gave him a flat look. “Do you even know how to make a fire?”

Phainon gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? Do I look like someone who can’t start a fire?”

“Yes,” Mydei said without hesitation.

Ignoring him, Phainon crouched down and started striking flint together. Against all odds, sparks flickered to life, catching onto the dry twigs. Within moments, a warm fire crackled before them.

Y/N sighed in relief, holding her hands up to the flames. “Nice work, Phainon.”

Phainon beamed, golden-retriever energy practically radiating off of him. “You see? I am so much more capable than you guys give me credit for!”

“Still debatable,” Mydei muttered as he unstrapped a piece of his armor and set it on a nearby rock to dry. “Ugh, this thing is soaked.”

Y/N glanced over at Phainon, noting the way his elegant coat was still dripping. “Phainon, take that off before you get sick.”

“Oh, I’m fine—”

“Nope,” Y/N cut him off, standing up. “Come on, give it here. You’re already shivering.”

Phainon opened his mouth to argue, but the moment Y/N reached for him, his brain short-circuited.

Oh no.

Oh no, she's close—

Oh no, she’s touching me.

Y/N tugged his soaked coat off his shoulders, completely unaware of how Phainon had gone completely stiff. His brain was looping at high speed.

Y/N, meanwhile, casually found a place to hang the coat up to dry, giving Phainon a satisfied nod. “There. Now you won’t freeze to death.”

Phainon just stood there, blinking rapidly.

Mydei, watching this unfold, exhaled sharply. “Unbelievable.”

Y/N turned back to Phainon, only to frown when she noticed his face had turned a suspicious shade of red.

“…Phainon, are you feeling okay?”

Phainon jolted. “Wha—? Me? Yes! Totally fine! Perfectly healthy! Never better!”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You look feverish.”

“What? Pfft. No way. Not at all—”

Y/N suddenly placed a hand on his forehead.

Phainon died instantly.

Okay, no, he didn’t actually die, but he might as well have. His entire body locked up, face burning, because—oh stars—Y/N’s hand was warm and soft and he was definitely going to combust.

Y/N frowned. “You are warm. See? I told you to take that coat off earlier!”

“It’s—It’s probably just the fire!” Phainon squeaked. “Very warm fire! Extremely toasty!”

Y/N didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure you’re not getting sick?”

Phainon nodded so fast he probably gave himself whiplash.

Y/N hummed, unconvinced. “Hmm. Alright. But if you do start feeling dizzy, tell me.”

Phainon nodded again, but in reality, he was already dizzy. Just for entirely different reasons.

Y/N sighed, finally removing her hand. “Alright, let me check on your wound while we’re at it.”

Phainon paled. “My what?”

Y/N shot him a look. “Your arm? From earlier? The wound you brushed off like it was nothing?”

“Oh! That wound. Uh—It’s fine! Totally fine! You don’t have to—”

Too late. Y/N was already gently rolling up his sleeve to inspect the cut.

Phainon immediately forgot how to breathe.

Stars help him. He was never going to survive this mission.

Y/N carefully examined the wound. It wasn’t too deep, but it was still red and irritated from the earlier fights.

“You need to be more careful,” she chided, grabbing a fresh bandage from her pack. “Seriously, just tell me when you’re hurt next time.”

Phainon barely heard her because all his brain could focus on was:

• Y/N is touching my arm.

• Y/N is really close.

• Her hands are so soft.

• I am about to explode.

Y/N worked quickly, wrapping the bandage snugly around his arm before tying it off. “There. All patched up.”

Then, without thinking, she reached up and ruffled his damp hair.

“You did so good today, Phainon.”

Critical hit.

Phainon.exe has stopped functioning.

His face went bright red as he sat there, absolutely paralyzed by the casual affection. Meanwhile, Y/N simply dusted her hands off, oblivious to the absolute devastation she just caused.

Mydei, watching all of this from the sidelines, dragged a hand down his face. “I cannot do this anymore.”

Y/N turned to him. “Do what?”

“Witness this pathetic excuse for a crush.”

Phainon made a strangled noise. “I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH.”

Y/N blinked. “Who has a crush?”

“NO ONE!” Phainon practically yelled, face still burning.

Y/N looked confused, but before she could question anything, something moved.

swish.

At first, none of them reacted. The movement was too fast, too quiet.

Then—

swish.

Y/N sat up, suddenly alert. “Did you see that?”

Phainon, still recovering from his near-death experience, blinked in confusion. “See what?”

CLINK.

They all turned toward the rock where Mydei had placed his armor.

It was gone.

Mydei’s eye twitched. “Where. Is. My. Armor?”

Silence.

Then—

SWOOSH.

Phainon jumped up. “THERE! Something just moved!”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at the darkness. “Okay, what is that?”

A moment later—

“My food is gone,” Mydei said darkly.

Phainon clutched his remaining rations. “Oh, this is personal now.”

Then, before they could react—

Something snatched Phainon’s coat from where it was drying.

Phainon let out a gasp of pure horror. “MY COAT.”

Phainon looked personally offended. "What is it even doing with it?!”

"Probably trying to rid the world of your terrible fashion choices," Mydei muttered.

Phainon pointed dramatically. "You know what? This is war."

“Alright, alright—let’s track this thing before Phainon actually starts crying over his coat.”

Phainon sniffed dramatically. "Too late. I’m already suffering."

As they prepared to investigate, the ruins around them remained eerily silent—too silent.

Whatever was lurking nearby… was still watching them.

And it was far from done.

The ruins were eerily silent except for the faint dripping of water and the occasional whisper of wind through the cracks in the stone. The air was thick with moisture, carrying the scent of moss and damp earth. Shadows stretched unnaturally against the ancient walls, distorting the carvings that time had nearly erased.

Something was here. Watching. Waiting.

Phainon shifted uncomfortably, his usually carefree demeanor dimmed by the unsettling stillness. His white coat—gone. Mydei’s armor—vanished. And now, as they walked along the overgrown pathways, tracking whatever had taken their things, he clutched onto the one thing he had left.

His sandwich.

Y/N led the way, her sharp eyes scanning for more signs of disturbance. There were traces, subtle but present—something had moved through here recently. But it wasn’t leaving the kind of tracks a person or even an animal might. Instead, there were disturbed patches of moss, faint imprints in the damp soil, like something too light to leave proper footprints.

It was almost like chasing a ghost.

Mydei walked a few paces behind, arms crossed, his perpetual state of irritation increasing by the second. “We’re wasting time,” he muttered. “Whatever this is, it’s too fast. We should focus on finding a way back up, not chasing after—”

A rustling sound.

The three of them froze.

The leaves of a thick bush trembled, though there was no breeze.

Y/N subtly signaled for them to stay alert. Her fingers curled around her weapon, waiting, watching.

Phainon barely breathed.

Then—

SWOOSH.

A blur shot out from the bush, impossibly fast, nothing more than a streak of movement—

And then it was gone.

Silence.

The three of them remained motionless, waiting for another sign of movement.

Then, finally, Phainon exhaled. “Okay. That was weird, but—” He paused, looking down at his now empty hands.

His eyes widened in horror.

“…It stole my sandwich.”

Silence.

Y/N blinked. “Wait. Did that thing just—”

Phainon turned to her, looking absolutely betrayed.

“It stole. My sandwich.”

Mydei, to no one's surprise, was unamused. “Really? That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”

Phainon looked back at his empty hands, as if still processing the loss. “I—yes! That was my last sandwich!”

Y/N’s expression remained serious, her gaze still fixed on where the blur had vanished. “This isn’t random.”

Phainon gasped dramatically. “It feels pretty random.”

“No,” she corrected. “Think about it. It took your coat. Mydei’s armor. And now food. It’s not just stealing—it’s collecting.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Collecting what?”

Y/N gestured around them. “Things it considers useful.”

Mydei frowned, crossing his arms. “So what, it’s some kind of invisible hoarder?”

Phainon suddenly gasped. “What if it’s building something?”

Y/N and Mydei turned to look at him.

“…Building what, exactly?” Mydei asked dryly.

Phainon’s eyes narrowed in deep, philosophical thought. “A… sandwich shrine?”

Mydei groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Y/N snickered at the nonsense, while still focused on their surroundings. “We need to track it. Now that we know it’s still nearby, we might be able to corner it.”

Phainon clenched his fists dramatically. “Yes. I will retrieve my stolen food—”

“It’s not about the sandwich, Phainon.”

“It’s a little about the sandwich.”

Y/N sighed, already moving forward. Mydei, rubbing his temples, followed.

The ruins suddenly felt much more ominous.

Whatever was lurking here wasn’t just playing with them—it had a purpose.

And soon, they were going to find out exactly what it was.

[loverslodge]

our secret

summery: you and steve have a secret and it's about time you let everyone in on it

pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

warning: smut, fluff, slight angst, swearing, bad writing?

A/N: i love a cuddly steve. also, this is in the same universe as 'very discreet' but it can be read as standalone.

“Hi Captain. You didn't get your New Year’s kiss. You won't mind if I give you one, now would you?” A drunken woman stumbled upon him, puckering her lips.

Steve moved away and sighed. He did tell Bucky and Doll to come clean but now he thinks he should have done the same. Tony had invited single women purposely to get two super soldiers laid but not everyone knew the truth. While Bucky planned on revealing today, Steve was taking his sweet time.

Steve’s hand goes on the chain around his neck where hung his own wedding band. He twirled it around his finger and slipped it back in his shirt. He was going to be here to support Bucky and Doll and then return home. He missed you. As plain as that. So did Doll and Bucky.

After the party, Steve got on his bike and drove back to his home. He loved calling it home because it's where you were. He opened the front door to see all lights were off except the bedroom. He smiled. You were asleep. He knew that. He knew how sleepy his sweetheart was.

He moved around the room quietly and quickly. You stirred and sighed but didn't open your eyes. You were a light sleeper. Even the slightest of noise would wake you up. Not that Steve wasn't stealthy, you were just too aware of the surroundings. Steve once joked that you would make a fantastic stakeout agent. You had waved it off but you were very close to considering it.

Steve slid in the bed and sighed. “I'm sorry for waking you up, sweetheart. I tried to be very quiet.” He kissed your neck and pulled you against his chest.

“Not your fault. I keep telling you. Now please let's sleep?” Your groggy and whiny voice got him to pull closer than ever and bury his face in your neck. You sighed and went back to sleep, finally feeling safe in his arms.

……………………..

You were running from shelf to shelf, rearranging the books that some college kids had messed up. You were so close to hitting them with the thickest encyclopedia but sorting to violence was the day you were keen on having.

At the end of the hall, you saw a shadow but you thought it must be a customer in need of privacy. You went back to arranging. Just as you reached the almost secluded corner of the bookstore, a hand reached for your waist and pulled you against the broad, thick chest. Your gasp almost turned to a scream till you saw you grabbed you.

“Steve! You asshole! I could've alarmed people! Are you crazy?” You hit Steve on the chest with your fist and he laughs.

“I am crazy in love with you, yes. And seeing that I am Captain America, I'm sure people would have deemed you the safest in the world.” You wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face with a kiss. But you held off. You wanted to pretend to be mad at him. So you decided that it was time to tease.

“Yeah but who's saving Captain America from me?” You pull him closer by the collar of his henley and brush your lips against his. Just as he dips to catch your lips with his, you pull away and make some distance between the two of you. You turned around and started working again.

Steve was shocked. You do tease sometimes but you never completely backed off before. You would always come back to kiss. Steve felt ignited by this. He loved that you teased and moved away. Because now he had a chance to get back to you.

You and Steve did have a little playful relationship. It was innocent of course. He could never be this way with anybody. You had opened him up to a new way of loving. He thought there was a partnership but it always had a hierarchy. But you taught him that it was more of a companionship, a friendship with so many additional perks. So many of the playful interactions led you both to where you are now.

As soon as you put the last book from your hand back on the shelf, Steve pulled you to a shadowed, secluded corner of the store. He pushed you against the wall. Your eyes went wide seeing his blue eyes turn dark. He had a playful smirk on his face but you knew that you weren't going to get out of this one with a simple ‘i love you’ kiss.

“You have learnt new ways to tease me. Let's see who saves you from Captain America.”

Steve crashes his lips against yours and pulls you into his chest. Your hands that were held by Steve against the wall are free and so you snake them around his neck, pulling him closer. Wetness pools on your underwear as Steve decides to take charge of your body. He holds your thighs and you jump to wrap your legs around his waist.

He trails his kisses down your neck and chest, marking your skin as his. You trail kisses down his neck and do the same, gaining a silent moan. You are grinding against him, making him growl. “You never let me tease you, sweetheart, do you?”

A breathy chuckle leaves your mouth. “Not when you take me in your strong, muscular arms.” You pull him in for another kiss while he undoes his jeans and boxer to pull himself out.

His one arm holds your waist and the other moves your panties to the side. He lines himself up to your lips and strokes himself against your wet petals.

“Steve please. Just take me.” You moan softly, trying to keep your whine quiet.

“Oh I will take you, sweetheart. I know youre all mine to take.” He plunges himself in you without warning making you moan loudly which was muffled by his shoulder.

He doesn't give you time to adjust this time and keeps on thrusting in and out. He was harder, faster. Just how you like it. He could always tell when he needed to go harder on you and this was one of those times.

He let you muffle your moans, whines and gasps on his shoulder as he took you against the wall. You left an array of kisses on his neck and sucked a few more areas to leave more marks. He had opened your shirt just enough to bring out your nipples. He sucked on them, making your pleasure increase more.

“Steve, I'm cumming please.”

“Cum for me, sweetheart. I've got you. Come on. Cum with me.” He increased his pace and his thrusts got sloppier. You brought your hand down to your clit and rubbed it to simulate you harder. With one last thrust, you both gushed over each other. While his thrust slowed down, he did not stop. You whined.

“Steve. What are you doing?” You tried to get down but he did not relent. You groaned and arched your back against the wall as you felt the pressure start to build up again.

“I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart. You left me alone in bed this morning. This is for that.” He picked up his pace again.

You arch your back and hold on to the wall as he pushes into you again and again. Your moan accidentally slips out and you hold your hand against your mouth. Steve pulls you back to his chest and puts his lips on yours as he reaches his end as well.

With breathy grunts and moans, you both come back from a high with you ruining his jeans with a squirt and him ruining your pussy. You both stay in that position for a while till your panting seizes.

“Steve, I swear to god if you let me go and I fall, I will beat the shit out of you in front of everyone.” He lets you down and your feet wobble. He holds on to your waist tightly as you try to regain the footing. He chuckles.

“I will never let you go, sweetheart. I don't want you to go and fall for others. I only want you to fall for me.” He leans down and pecks your lips.

You swat his chest playfully and he chuckles again. “You're such a dork.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

………………….

Bucky and Doll were at the door when Steve opened it. He let them in and greeted Doll with a hug and Bucky with a back slap. You walked out of the kitchen and ran to hug her. Bucky envelops you both in a hug and kisses your forehead. Steve takes the wine bottle from Doll’s hand and puts it on the dining table.

“I see our husbands had the same idea this evening.” You point at Doll’s neck and she turns into a blushing mess. Doll also points at most of your marks that were showing around your neck and you laugh your blush off.

“I'm not eating in the kitchen then. I don't want Steve all over my food.” Bucky chuckles and earns a hit on the head by Steve who sees you putting your head in the freezer to hide yourself.

“Well, I cannot exactly help myself when my wife is baking. She’s all kinds of adorable.” Steve stares at you as you are working the kitchen and the dining area with Doll.

“So, punk, how are you explaining your absence from the compound? Since you still haven't told them.” Bucky takes a sip from the beer that Steve had brought out for the two of them.

“Nobody really notices me gone. I have maintained my elusiveness.” Steve bragged with a smirk.

You call them both to the dinner table and all four of you sit and enjoy the dinner. The conversation flows from joking to serious to joking and the shared experiences between two super soldiers.

“We don't need to be here, doll. I swear it's like the two of us are the third and the fourth wheel when it's the two of you.” You point at Bucky and Steve, who laugh along with Doll.

After finishing up washing the dishes, the two super soldiers join you and Doll in the living room. Bucky sits on the sofa with his arms around Doll’s shoulder and Steve pulls you on his lap.

“Woah! You still have guests over Steve, you can't do this in front of my innocent Doll.” Bucky points and you swat in the air, pretending to hit him. Steve’s laughter vibrates through your body, sending tingles all over.

“I'm not innocent Bucky.” Doll, very quietly says and you laugh even louder.

Steve loved seeing you like this. Laughing with the only family he has. You have been getting along so beautifully with his brother and his sister-in-law, he couldn't help but be even more in love with you. He always thought that you would cast him and Bucky out when he had first met you. But you have always surprised him. You embraced Bucky and welcomed him in without a second thought because you trusted Steve.

“On a serious note, don't you think it's time you tell everyone on the compound about the two of you?” Bucky puts his beer down and looks at Steve.

Steve gulped. He knew Bucky would bring it up now that his secret was out. But he did not expect him to do that in front of you. Alone, he could convince Bucky but in front of you, he thought you would take the hiding in a wrong way. Before he could say anything, your reply shocked him.

“Bucky, I trust Steve. If he wants it to be a secret then let it be. Honestly, I do understand where he's coming from. If he tells them about me then he’ll have to share me and I'm definitely sure I'm not ready to be shared.” You leaned in to kiss Steve’s cheek.

“I get it. Trust me, sweetheart, before I told them about me and Doll, I was skeptical too but as you know, it all ended well.” Bucky brings Doll closer to him.

“Bucky, the difference here is I don't live on the compound. Your secret got out because you couldn't take the relentless push for you to date. That's not the case with Steve. He has been discreet before all this happened.” You took a sip from your wine glass.

“Ok. I won't go on. But just be careful. I willingly told people and I don't want the nosy ones walking up to your doorstep to discover that he has a completely separate life, away from them.” Bucky relents.

“They might be nosy but they're still family, Steve. They have been with you through everything.” Doll takes the final sip from her wine glass and sets it down. “I know you want to stay in this bubble longer but Steve, just picture yourself in their shoes. Wouldn't you be hurt to know if one of them had a secret this big?”

“Woah, doll. That's the most I've heard you speak and that's coming from me.” Bucky kisses her forehead and you all chuckle.

Bidding them goodbye, you and Steve finally get ready for bed. You know Steve is thinking hard on what Bucky and Doll said. He talked to you about Bucky’s situation before you persuaded him to talk to the two of them to reveal their marriage. Now, here you were, not following the same advice.

Once you and Steve were settled in the bed, you turned to him. “Steve, you know there is no pressure, right?”

He sighed. He had been thinking about this for a really long time but every time he entered the apartment and saw you, he would go back in the bubble, not wanting to burst it.

“I know, sweetheart. But Doll is right. I would be hurt too. They didn't make a big deal out of Bucky being married because they expect that from him. Me, my life has always been an open book to them. My secret will hurt them more.”

“It's okay, Steve. We will make a new bubble. And as far as I know, Natasha will help us keep our bubble.” Steve smiled at you.

He pulls you in his arms and deeply kisses you. You moan against his lips. He pulls you on top of him and you lean against his chest, snuggling into his neck. He tightens his hold on you.

“Let's stay like this tonight, sweetheart. I will be bursting the bubble tomorrow.”

……………………..

“So, what's up with the meeting, Cap. Do we have a mission we don't know about? Did I fall asleep again?” Sam swivels in the chair.

“Do you always dream about being in a meeting, Birdbrain?” Bucky sits next to Steve and drags Doll’s chair closer to his.

“Tell your husband to shut up, Doll. I will attack him with Redwing.” Sam looks at Doll who just rolls her eyes and looks at Nat who smirks.

Tony saunters in the room, last as usual and Steve sits up straight. “Finally! Now we can start discussing why the hell is Cap so wound up after lunch.”

“I'm not wound up.” Steve shuffles.

“Of course you're not. Because you have regular sex.” Tony quips sarcastically and everyone in the room laughs. Bucky laughs exceptionally loud and Doll hits him on his thigh to keep him quiet.

Suddenly, the meeting room opens up and you stumble in with your hands full of boxes. Everyone goes quiet and Steve rushes to your side to help you with the boxes. You smile sweetly at Steve but refrain from kissing him in front of everyone.

“What’s with the boxes, sweetheart?” Steve pulls out the boxes from the bags.

“Well, I wanted to make a good first impression and I've heard Mr. Stark eats donuts so I assume cupcakes and donuts would be a good idea.” You smoothen your dress and Steve offers his seat for you to sit down, while he stands. He puts his hand on your shoulder and you look around sheepishly.

“Don't tell us you are married too, Cap.” Sam laughs and others join in, except you, Steve, Bucky and Doll.

The laughter dies down with a sudden pause and Steve looks around in embarrassment.

“What the hell, Steve! I thought we were your family!” Tony bounces off the chair and points accusing finger at him.

“I was going to tell you all-” Steve begins but is cut off by Natasha. “Tell us when? After you popped a baby or two? How long have you been married?”

“It's been a while.” You politely interject.

“What do you mean by a while?” Sam looks at you and everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Well, we, uh, got married six months before the fallout so…”

“Is this why you have been cutting back from the missions?” Natasha asked and Steve nodded.

The entire room was thrown into chaos. Everyone was yelling and accusing. Steve shrunk against the wall. You had never seen him so devastated before. You rise from the chair and pull him to sit on it. He sighs and rubs his face. You pull his face against your stomach and stroke his hair to calm down.

“That is enough! So what if he didn't tell you? Can he not have a private life? Does he have to share everything?” Your anger rose. They were hurting your husband and you were not going to stand for it. “He is tired. He deserves a peaceful life and I'll be damned if anyone accuses my husband for choosing himself. Do not make this into a huge deal. If any of you were in this situation you would have done the same.”

You look around the quiet room. You look at Doll and Bucky who give you a small smile of support that makes you want to continue. You are still holding Steve and stroking his hair as he tries to hide his tears. You can feel the wetness of his tears through your shirt and your grip tightens on him.

“I understand that all of you are hurt by this. This is a huge secret he kept but he did it for himself. When has he ever done anything for himself? I'm proud of having all of you as my husband’s family but I implore you to understand the reason why. Think of it from Steve’s perspective and not yours.”

Steve has calmed down and little but still refuses to meet anyone’s eye. You settle on Steve’s lap and he pulls you closer, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales your scent deeply and you feel his body relax against yours. You wanted to coo at him and tell him everything is fine. Hell! You wanted to kiss him all over and make him feel better but now was neither a good time or place.

Steve, while hiding his face, couldn't exactly keep it under control. You always had a calming effect on him but nipping at your neck made him feel better even more. He angled his face and started leaving open kisses on your neck and sucked at a few areas. He tightened his grip around your waist to pull you closer. You held on to his hand and shoulder, concentrating on everyone’s face in the room. You were pretty sure Steve was leaving marks all over.

“We're sorry for lashing out.” Natasha was the first one to speak. “It's just, with the history we all have with Steve, we thought he would tell us if something major did ever happen with him. I'm glad you understand how shit the situation is.”

“For what it's worth, I didn't know about any of you till after a year of fallout. He went under hiding in our then shared apartment with Bucky and Doll in tow. He wanted me to meet you all but the circumstances never felt right. I'm sorry. I should've pushed him into opening up to all of you.” You profusely apologize and everyone’s eyes soften at you.

“Looks like Cap finally found someone who can handle him. Look how snuggled up he is. I guess he finally found the person who will defend him.” Tony pointed at Steve with a smile, who was still attacking your neck, hiding behind the curtain of your hair.

Bucky, who was sitting right next to you, lightly punched Steve on the shoulder to make him look up. Steve stirs and kisses your cheek before looking up at everyone. It looked like everyone was conversing with their eyes and Steve slumped back in the chair with a relaxing smile on his face.

“I'm sorry for not telling you all sooner.” Steve finally voiced his apology.

“It's okay. Your wife apologized in a much better way than you. We forgive you. Just, don't ever try to hide life altering decisions like this again.” Sam nods and takes a cupcake.

Everyone jumps on and grabs a cupcake or donut and chatters away the rest of the day, trying to get to know you better. Steve still hadn't let you get up from his lap and you were more than comfortable to ask him to. You finally saw a more relaxed Steve and your smile widened seeing him in his playful and teasing element.

There was no denying the fact that you married the love of your life and you will always defend him, even if you have to go against the world.

............................

open for request

[lucky-clover-gazette]

my favorite moments from theamandafiles’s confrontation with volo. this is an adult woman talking to a screen for 7+ minutes and im obsessed with it. the dynamic she’s made up in her head for this game is so far from what’s actually happening, but also absolutely fantastic. the sneasler rant has nothing on this.

transcript under the cut:

He is so passionate about his thing, about his special interest. He really is. I am constantly losing my grip on reality. I have no room to judge Volo for a little bit of unhinged laughter and some mildly insane musings.

Hmm? Sorry, I just. I think I just realized what's going to happen. Sorry. Am I an idiot?

That was your—that was you who did the hole in the sky. Okay, mhm, all right. I got blamed for that, Volo, I don't know if you knew that. It's fine. Honestly, it's fine. Just let's keep, let's keep learning more about Volo.

Right, yeah, we did that! We did that, Volo, right? Didn't we fuckin' do that? Why don't we donate them to a museum or something? Wouldn't that be sick? Would that be fuckin' awesome if we put them in a museum for all to see?

What's—what's this? Hey, what the fuck? Who's this? Is this a prank? Surely, with the hair. Because I did not just see that you have a fuckin' Arceus hairdo.

Oh, okay! Volo's crazy! Right, right. Look at the fucking hair. Yeah! No, Volo's fucking crazy—yeah, no, he's a deranged lunatic.

Actually, yeah. Look at his eyes, oh my god. Volo's going to kill me and then cook and eat my remains. It's. It's fine. I'm fine.

Pokemon Wielder Volo? You mean (voice cracks) Gingko Guild Merchant?

You know what, Volo? I'm crazy, too. Look, I can match this. Like you said, when you said you were going to wipe out Jubilife City, I'm all for that. I am all for that. Absolutely! Yes! Let's do it. We can make this work. I am not invested in helping these people. Yeah, we live in a society? Not for long, am I right?

Just, I looked at the costume again. And his hair. He—he did his hair, you guys. And it's... bad.

First and foremost, what the fuck are you wearing? Literally, I keep looking at it. And the more you look, it's like, the more you look, the more you see.

I'm just really unpacking this... as I kick his ass. Anyway, where was I, Volo? Let me just continue to fuck you up. Volo is really doing this. Volo is really doing this. He's doing it in green pants.

He method acted an entire love story between us. Yeah, he is that crazy. He's that crazy, that he's going to let me slip through his fingers. Are you sure, Volo? You really sure? Maybe, like, that was your plan at first. Because if I may be so bold, uh, it's actually not even fucking possible for anyone to spend as much time with me as you have without falling in love with me.

Like I said, I said it before, and I will stand by that—and I'm about to beat you, by the way—

Call me. Call me, Volo! Oh wait, you can't, because we live in the fucking past, and you don't have a phone. And I do. Mhm, yeah. You know, you can't call me on your arc phone because Arceus didn't give you an arc phone, did he? Oh, poor Volo. He did his hair like Arceus and everything. And for what? Right. It was probably the green pants, Volo, honestly. And the gladiator sandals, what the fuck are you doing?

What the fuck was I thinking? God, why do I always go for these crazy ass fucking men?

I don't want to be picked by Arceus! If anything, I wanted to be picked by you! But unfortunately, I'm amazing. And Arceus loves me. I'm sorry that your little fucking hairdo didn't work to impress Arceus, and that all I had to do was literally exist and Arceus stanned the hell out of it.

What, are you going to kill me? He's going to kill me with a knife now just to get me out of the way. Like, what the hell, why does everybody want to fucking kill me?! I get it. I'm the best. I'm amazing. I'm the best that ever was. But murder is illegal, okay?

What is this? Are you fucking kidding me? What is this act? Oh, my god. Volo... this is very camp.

Volo is fucking crazy. Did I even get to heal these motherfuckers? Am I supposed to catch this motherfucker? This Satan ass Pokemon. This is Satan, I guess. And he came to, like, pull up for fucking Volo. Why? The hair? Was it the hair?

Finally, I got, like, a word in edgewise. Finally. Acorn, take this motherfucker out. Yeah. This is embarrassing for you. You're a God Pokémon? Where? You could have fucking fooled me, Giratina.

I do find it very inspiring that my little tugboat-ass Jay Jay the Jet Plane Togekiss, like, ended your entire bloodline. Mhm, yeah.

Volo! Oh, honey, sweetie, are you okay? Are you going to be okay?

He's fucking crazy. He's so crazy, Volo, I fucking love your crazy ass... but this is toxic of me to say, so, I hate it. I hate you. What was I talking about? Yeah. No, you're such a bad guy. You're the bad guy, Volo. I didn't even read that, fuck.

I know, Volo. Believe me, I would have agreed with you when those motherfuckers kicked me out in Jubilife City. I would have agreed if you had come to me then and you would've said, "Let's take down the whole fucking world. Let's end the entire planet." I would have said, "Okay. Yeah. Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah. That's exactly what I want to do right now." But you didn't. And now I'm here, and I'm... being noble, and I'm going to say, "You better stop, because this is not okay. Cut it out."

I'm crazy too, Volo, I'm so fucking crazy. I'm so unhinged, I'm crazy, nobody understands the inner workings of my mind, Volo, you don't get it.

This is your last chance to scoop me up as your partner. Honestly, Volo. That's what it is. I would fix your hair, I would. We would go back to the salon—to the salon!—I would fix it up. It's not that bad. It just needs a little shaping.

(Deep sigh) Volo, you could have had it all. I would have been your crazy bitch. We could have been Bonnie and Clyde, Volo. And we still can, honestly, if you say the word. And let me fix your hair. And also your outfit.

So I also just want to say really quickly, I noticed that you had a Togekiss, and that means that your Togepi that you had in the beginning evolved to a Togekiss. But in order to do that, I think you need to love your Togapi. So it's like, you do—you did have the capacity to love someone.

He's fucking unhinged. He's deranged, he's crazy. Like, why did his eyes go crazy like that? What the fuck?

He actually looks so good right now, like, minus the hair. The hair is so bad. Volo, that is the one and only reason Arceus did not choose you. Honestly, that's all it comes down to. Easy as that!

But I'm putting my thumb actually, on the—I'm putting it on the screen, over the weird part of your hair? I'm begging you. Let's destroy society together. Come on.

That's so sad, he's, like, hanging up his hat. Actually, please put the hat back on. He's giving me something—he's giving me the plate. Spooky plate. Yeah, that's for sure. That's for damn sure, Volo.

Why do you suddenly look so good? You know, you look deranged and crazy like a fucking lunatic. And I could have swore you off forever, but now you look so cute and good. And I'm like, what the fuck were you thinking, Volo? You threw it all away for what, the arc phone? Bitch. It's really not even that good of a phone. Honestly, there's, like, no games on it.

I don't know. I figured like, a true Arceus fanboy would be impressed and enamored by the girl who Arceus is simping for this hard. Like, if you were to date me, I'd literally bring you with me to meet Arceus, and you'd be able to live your stupid little dream.

Although I will say, for someone who so deeply wants me to fail, you giving me that last plate, that spooky plate... I dunno. It's just kind of interesting, and I am reading into it. Yes.

Volo you are fucking out of your mind. You're crazy. I tell you, you're fucking insane. Somebody wheel him off. Seriously, what the fuck? He's going out in public looking like that.

[berryispunk]

Just For Now

pairing: Frankie Morales x gn! reader

tags: mental health struggles, fluff, comfort, dark humor, soft! Frankie, bestfriend! Frankie, no physical description of reader, unrequited love (kind of)

notes: Written on a particularly bad day, so be aware of some triggering topics. Big hug to anyone who gets the feeling. 🫂 Moodboard only for vibes. Kinda inspired by this post I made a few days ago.

word count: 1,3 k

Two rings. Two rings is all it takes for him to pick up. It’s late at night, and every normal person is sleeping.

Should be sleeping.

But you can’t. It feels suffocating.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end comes through—warm, familiar, steady. Him.

“Hey, sorry. I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“It’s alright,” he assures you, like he always does.

A beat of silence between you while the storm in your head is raging. Screaming at you.

It’s getting harder to breathe.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice nothing more than a gravelly rumble in the night.

You contemplate lying, to downplay it. To convince him just as much as you convince yourself over and over again that it’s gonna be okay. Has to be okay.

But you’re too tired to pretend, so you answer, “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

You scoff bitterly.

“I am,” you say. “I am wrong. I am a failure.”

“You are not a failure. You’re a fighter.”

You know he means it, and is so sincere in his words. You can almost picture his worried eyes on you.

“I am tired of fighting,” your voice choked with all the pain. The pain you carried for years, always lingering just around the corner, even when it hurts less for a while. 

“I know. What do you need?”

You. Screams the voice in your head.

But you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud, to bring this new truth into this world.

He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into your abyss.

“A gun? Pills maybe,” you joke. It’s your attempt at humor.

“Not funny,” he says, a hint of warning in his voice—or maybe worry.

“Do you want me to come over?” he probes.

Yes. “No, it’s late. Don’t bother yourself.”

“It’s not bothering me at all, you know that. I’m only 10 minutes away.”

“10 minutes? I thought you were out of the city for work?”

“I came back this evening.”

You nod, even if he can’t see you.

You wanna tell him everything. How dark it is in your head, how you can barely breathe, and how much harder it is every time he’s gone. But you can’t.

“You won’t believe what happened to me on the flight back here…” he starts, telling you about this woman and her baby next to him on the flight. The infant cried the whole time until the woman had to use the bathroom and left the baby alone with him. The child stopped as soon as it sat on his lap. Your lips twitch into the faintest smile.

“You just have a way with children, Frankie. They love you.”

He chuckles on the other end, probably rubbing his neck sheepishly like he always does when he’s affected by something.

“Maybe I should switch careers to something involving children then. Being a pilot seems easy compared to being surrounded by crying kids all day, right?”

“They wouldn’t be crying if you’re around.”

“Maybe…”

And there it is, quietly creeping in, making its presence felt without much warning. It pushes away the dark clouds, or at least lets some light shine through. Like the sun breaking through after a day of rain. Somewhere between your troubled, chaotic thoughts and him recounting the flight, something shifted. It felt as if a weight had been lifted.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Wanted to meet with the boys over at Will’s house. BBQ night. He bought this new grill and wants to brag a bit, I guess,” he snickers.

You shake your head.

“You think I can…?”

“Can what?”

“Join you guys? Only if—if it’s okay. I know I wasn’t invited.”

“I’m sure the boys would love to have you around. It’s been a while since they last saw you. Consider yourself invited now.”

You smile faintly, but it’s a real one this time.

“Maybe I can make a salad? Or bake something? Maybe some muffins.”

“Muffins sound fantastic.”

The darkness hasn’t disappeared; it still hovers, ready to catch up with you. But for now, it feels distant, as if it's miles away

“Chocolate or peanut butter?”

“Is that even a question? Chocolate,” he laughs. The sound ignites a warm feeling sparking in your chest, and you’re finally able to take a deep breath.

“Chocolate it is then,” you retort.

Silence. Comfortable silence, followed by a yawn.

“I pick you up at 6, okay?”

“Mhm-hm,” you hum agreeably. “Should I shoot Will a text, letting him know I’m gonna be your plus one?”

“Nah, I’m gonna do it. You have to worry about nothing. Apart from the baking. See it as your ticket to get in.”

You snort in response. “Alright.”

“So, now that I am wide awake thanks to you, can I at least come over? I think that’s only fair.”

“I already said I am sorry,” you object.

“And I already said it’s okay. But I still would like to come, if that’s okay with you.”

You pause for a moment to collect your thoughts. If he were to come over, he’d see the mess of your apartment—and more importantly, the mess you’re in. Yet, all you want is for him to be there with you, pressing your face against his chest, his scent enveloping you like a cocoon. His warmth would seep into every crack in your soul, and his presence would ground you in a way nothing else in this world ever could.

“Okay,” you ultimately say before you can change your mind.

“Okay?” he asks back, slightly in disbelief that you gave in so easily, because that’s not what you usually do.

“Yeah, okay. You better hurry up or I’m gonna change my mind,” you insist.

“Already on my way,” followed by ruffling sounds and a silent Spanish curse. 

“Give me 10 minutes.”

And the line goes dead.

Exactly 11 minutes later there’s a knock on the door, and you open it slowly, stepping aside to let him in.

He’s wearing the same grey sweatpants you’ve seen on him countless times, worn down and definitely loved. Little bobbles all over the fabric. And the cap, the same damn standard oil cap that’s basically glued to his head at this point. His mop of hair under it peeks out on all sides.

“You know, Morales, I guess your head must have taken on the form of this hat by now. Do you ever not wear this thing?” you cross your arms in front of your chest.

His answer is a wide, boyish grin. The kind of grin that always makes your stomach do somersaults. So contagious, you smile yourself.

“Yes, for sleeping and showering,” he answers, the same grin still plastered all over his handsome face.

You roll your eyes.

This is easy, you think. Way too easy given how you felt just minutes ago. 

What if it comes crashing down on you again as soon as he leaves?

You frown a little as he takes a quick look around, expecting him to make a comment about the chaos. But instead, his gaze falls back to you, and he takes a step closer.

One, two, and he stands right in front of you. Your heart hammering in your chest as he looks down, his warm brown eyes unreadable.

Without a single spoken word, he opens his arms and pulls you into a tight hug, your cheek pressed against his hard chest and his chin resting on your head.

This, this right here. This is it.

You wrap your arms around his midsection, holding on tightly. Taking a deep breath, letting him fill all your senses, and just for a fragment, everything seems less heavy.

His words are muffled against your hair as he says, “I am here for you. Always. No matter what you need, okay?”

You have to bite your lips real hard to hold back a sob that threatens to slip out just at the pure conviction in his voice.

You’re only able to nod against his chest, which causes him to tighten his arms around you, a fleeting kiss on your hair.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to believe, if only in this moment and in the safety of his arms, that things will be okay.

my masterlist

most recent post

[billy-royalton]

Top 10 lawrusso fics

yay! okay these are in no particular order but i am so happy to rec them :)

The Nail, the Shoe, the Horse, the Rider by @vimesbootstheory is it cheating to suggest a series? if so, then i'm cheating throughout this because there are some excellent series in this fandom. my god, i loved this fic. the plot, first of all, is so creative and interesting! daniel is a time traveler who travels in time to save johnny from his (what feels like inevitable) death at the hands of kreese! like WHAT A PLOT! the lawrusso is a lovely, aching slow burn and the daniel/amanda is so compelling. one of the best fics i have ever read in any fandom hands down.

I Wanna Be Yours by @darthdisco (another series shh) oh how i absolutely ADORE this series!! cw: bdsm so if that's not your thing then i understand but beyond the (fantastic, masterful, beautiful, incredible) smut, the insight into both johnny and daniel as characters and the dynamic that plays between them is so spot on!!! if you like smut that also makes you FEEL then this is the fic for you.

Tuning by menocchio another creatively written fic in this list that starts as a tkk-verse with Signal Studies and then takes place about a decade or so after with Noise Breaking (and Noise Breaking really is THAT girl for me) and i'm not giving anything away just read them both. the author's grasp on dialogue and their ability to flesh out background characters like susan and barbara so well is nothing short of masterful.

what kinda man doesn't by menocchio the tkk-verse road trip fic that will make you cry!!! or at least made ME cry. god, i think about going back to this one often it's another fic that is one of my favorite fics i've ever read in any fandom. the voices of the characters are spot on and the end of this fic is like a big sweeping crescendo that washes over you in the best way possible.

A Fake Date for Christmas by @darthdisco it's like sarah found my "favorite tropes" bingo card and said challenge accepted!!! fake dating!! hurt/comfort!! miscommunciation!! STRIPPER!JOHNNY!! like what do you have to lose with this one!!!!

The Recidivists by @vimesbootstheory the fic that swept the tkk-ck fic awards last year AND FOR DAMN GOOD REASON. what sucked me in was the tag "and they were cell mates" i just immediately clicked from that point and am so, so glad i did.

Bite-Sized by kdyelo i am, admittedly, obsessed with the unknown time period between december 19, 1984 and s1e1 of cobra kai and any fic that plays with that time period is an automatic read for me. but this one was just so beautifully written and had an engaging plot (and a twist!) that kept me clicking next chapter on the edge of my seat!

there's daggers in men's smiles by pinkgrapefloyd i know fuck all about fencing but i felt like i didn't even need to because the author just got the tone and the relationship and the dynamics down so perfectly. one of those fics that i think about out of nowhere from time to time it really stuck with me.

as dark as a wounded doe by honeyvenom jfc this fic. THIS FIC. honeyvenom is one of my favorite writers and what she's written for this fandom is exquisite truly anything she wrote for lawrusso is golden but this fic is just something else entirely. this fic takes place on the night of kreese's murder at the hands of johnny and the cobras and the lawrusso in it is just BEAUTIFUL. there's also a sequel/interlude lamb heart, put my hands around you that is stunningly done and i would recommend it even if you don't read doe.

...and when the rain washes you clean (you'll know) by Storiesofmylife another karate kid-verse fic and i just love the way this author got daniel's teen voice down! wonderfully written tension in this fic. when i need a little tkk-verse, this is the fic i come back to!

[littlespacereader]

Omg yes!! Cg fantastic four!! They all have such a good vibe, I love their comics. They are such a great family!!

To say I’m a huge Fantastic Four fan would be an understatement. I’ve love their “found family” dynamic since the early 2000’s films. But there’s something about this new movie with the 60’s aesthetic and the casting that just makes my little side scream. I watched the trailer and was like “These are my new fictional caregivers, add them to the list.” Plus make Ben the fun Uncle and Johnny an older brother little and you have a recipe for a great fic! Please enjoy!!!

Dinner at 7 o’clock 💙🤍

Caregiver! Reed Richards & Susan Storm, Older brother Little! Johnny Storm and GN Little! Reader (SFW)

Tags- little in trouble with cgs, don’t worry their softies, hugs and cuddles, forehead kisses, sippy cups, stuffies

“We make it a point to do family dinner every week. Sunday at 7, on the dot, no matter what.”

I run off the bus and towards the Baxter building, one hand clutching my stuffed animal, the other holding onto my backpack strap.

Another glance to my watch sends my heart sinking. 7:30pm. I’m thirty minutes late! I try to hold back the tears inside of me. It’s okay, just thirty minutes. Maybe I could make you really good excuse? Maybe they would buy it?

Who am I kidding? Papa would see right through it. He’s super smart. Maybe Mama would have pity on me?

I run up the front steps of the Baxter building and right into the lobby. There Herbie the robot is waiting for me. “There you are Y/N, Mister Richards and Miss Storm have been worried about you.”

“Are they mad?” I ask, walking with the robot to the elevators.

“No, they are disappointed you missed dinner but they have been mostly worried.”

I missed dinner?!?!

It’s as if the world was crashing around me. I try to catch my racing heart, guilt filling me. “Okay…okay I’m heading up to see them.”

“Good idea. I will be waiting here for Johnny’s arrival.”

The elevator arrives and I quickly run in. I press the button to the top floor and wait. My heart and body fill with anxiety as we go floor by floor.

My thoughts go from Herbie who probably announced my arrival up stairs already to Johnny…the whole reason I’m in this mess.

My older brother Little was supposed to stick with me at the fair today….but he left me and said we’d meet up at the bus at 5. I waited an hour, two hours. I looked for him but I couldn’t wait any longer

I knew he just forgot. It isn’t the first time, certainly won’t be the last…But now, I had to cover for him while also trying to get myself out of trouble.

The elevator dings, pulling me from my thoughts as the doors open.

I step out and cautiously walk out and into our shared apartment floor. It’s quiet, too quiet. I walk into the kitchen to find the table cleaned from dinner. I sigh to myself, gripping my stuffed animal a little tighter.

“You’re late.” Papa’s stern voice breaks the silence causing me to jump.

“Papa-.” I turn to look at his and Mama’s disappointed expressions.

“What do I always say? We have dinner every Sunday at 7 together as a family. And neither you nor Johnny was here for it. Can you tell me why that was?” He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow to me.

I look between the two, “I was at the fair today…”

“And?” Mama encouraged me to go on.

“And I had fun. I won this Teddy! See?” I hold it up.

“It’s a lovely Teddy but it still doesn’t explain why you’re late.” Mama’s gentle voice reminds me.

“Yeah…so I…” I try to think of a good enough lie, “I…I lost track of time…and my bus driver was super slow so I got here after dinner.” I quickly rush to say.

The two Caregivers share a look that communicates everything without saying a word.

“Un huh…and you went to the fair, regressed, by yourself?” Papa asks.

“No! I was with Johnny. I told Mama before I left.” I say without realizing…damnit….

“Johnny kept an eye on you all day?” Mama asks.

“Yeah! We had fun.”

“So where is he?”

“He’s…you know him…he’s…”

“I’m right here.” Johnny strides into the kitchen with Herbie behind, “Someone didn’t hold the elevator for me while I was talking to Herbie downstairs.” He pats my back before going to the fridge. “Please tell me Uncle Ben saved some pasta for us.”

“You’re lucky he loves you kids.” Papa replies, clearly not done with the conversation. “Sit at the table. We’ll warm dinner up for you.”

And so while Papa and Mama went into the kitchen to talk a game plan of how they were going to get the truth out of us, Johnny and I say across from each other at the table, whisper arguing.

“WHERE WERE YOU?!?” I whisper yelled to him.

“I got caught up…”

“Caught up?! Seriously?! I was waiting there for two hours!!”

“Come on, it wasn’t that long…”

“It was!! I knew I should’ve taken Uncle Ben instead.” I sit back and cross my arms.

“Look, I’m sorry okay. I lost track of time myself. I was on that spinning top ride over and over again. And when my head stopped spinning I realized what time it was I rushed over but you had left.”

“Johnny, I don’t like getting in trouble with Papa and Mama.”

He scoffs, “Come on, they’re softies.”

“You’re older so you’re not as afraid. I don’t like it…all this lying and make believe and getting in trouble and-.”

Mama sets a plate of pasta in front of me cutting my conversation off. I blush looking up to her before casting my eyes to the ground. “Thank you.” I say softly.

She smiles and kisses my forehead. “You’re welcome my polite little one.” She says, putting Johnny’s bowl down next infront of him. “I just gotta grab our drinks and then we’ll all sit together.”

The moment she’s out of earshot Johnny looks to me, “You better not crack under their pressure.”

“I can’t do this.” I whine, “I don’t like them to be mad at me!!”

“They’re going to put the pressure on you because they know you’re an easy target. They butter you up and you crack on your own.”

“Because I feel guilt to lie to them?! I can’t. When they come over and they’re so nice to me and I’m lying to them, it eats at me…”

“Yeah but if you tell them the truth I’m in trouble.”

“You should be!”

“He should be what?” Papa appears out of no where, putting a sippy cup of juice in front of me.

“He should be…happy…that Uncle Ben saved us all this food.” I lie, blushing under his gaze.

“You both should be. Uncle Ben was very kind enough to make sure there was enough leftovers so you could eat.”

“Where is Uncle Ben?” Johnny ask, taking his plastic cup from Mama before she sat down at one end of the table, Papa sitting at the other.

“He should be around here.” Papa looks around.

“Would you like your Teddy have a chair?” Mama asks me so nicely. It makes the guilt inside of me swirl. I nod my head yes.

Mama smiles warmly, standing. She walks into Johnny and I’s playroom and grabs a small play chair. She brings it to my side, putting my newly won fair teddy in it.

Turmoil swirls inside me. I look back up to her as she takes her seat again. I can’t take it…I can’t take lying to her when she’s being so nice to me and Teddy.

“M-Mama…” I say a bit strain, “We-.”

“Had some much fun at the fair today.” Johnny interrupts.

“Really?” Mama smiles, “What did you guys do together?”

“Everything.” Johnny says vaguely. “Rides, carnival games…”

“Did you win this Teddy all by yourself sweetheart?” Papa asks me.

“I did! Second try and I won.”

“Wow!” He looks so genuinely impressed, “Im so proud of you.”

And all at once my heart sank again. Tears start to form in my eyes as I look at Papa. “I…I CAN’T DO THIS…” I start to cry.

I can hear Johnny sigh and put his fork down, mumbling “for the love of…”

“I wasn’t late because I didn’t realize what time it was! I knew I was going to be late but it was because Johnny left me to go do something else in the fair. I know you told him to keep an eye on me but I wanted to go back to the carnival games and he wanted to go back to the rides-.”

“Y/N, stooooooppppppp.” Johnny whines.

“So we split and promised to meet by the busses at 5 but I kept waiting and he never showed up so I went looking for him but I couldn’t find him so I home without him and was still late.” I cry, trying to explain.

“And I kept lying to cover for him because I didn’t want him to get in trouble but I don’t wanna lie to you Papa, or Mama. I…I…I’m sorry!!” I cry and explain through breaths before crumbling into tears.

“Awwwww sweetheart,” Papa pushes his chair back and pulls me to sit in his lap, holding me into a hug. “It’s okay, let it out.” He rubs my back, holding me close as I sob into his shirt.

“Johnny, you left them alone? Johnny I put you in charge because you said felt big enough for the responsibility.” Mama starts to scold.

“I did! I really did! But they’re just lying!” Johnny whines.

“They wouldn’t be upset if they were lying.” She raises an eyebrow to his defense.

“You don’t know that, maybe they’re a really good liar.”

“Johnny I know you’re not telling the truth and Y/N is.” Papa scolds.

“No you don’t!” Johnny adds, crosses his arms pouting.

“Really? Because while you and Y/N were arguing at the table, Mama and I reviewed Herbie’s footage which shows Y/N running in from the bus into the building and you flying to the building.”

Johnny freezes, rubbing his arm and looking down. “Oh…well that…”

“That, lines up better with the truth than your fake story,” Papa sighs, “I’m disappointed in both of you. I don’t expect you two to be liars.”

Now we both look upset. Johnny tries desperately to hide his tears while I hold Papa as my tears continue to fall.

“Come on Reed, let’s the kids off the hook,” Ben walks into the kitchen. “So they lied, not the end of the world.”

“Ben!” Johnny jumps from the table and hugs him, hiding away against him.

“Awww. Come on, what could the kid have possibly done?” He ask rubbing Johnny’s back to soothe him.

“Ben…” Mama shoots him a look that reads: stay out of it.

Ben gets the message quickly, “Alright, alright.” He holds a hand up in surrender.

“Johnny,” Mama starts to say, “can you look at me sweetie?”

Johnny reluctantly pulls himself away from Ben to look to her. His eyes red with tears.

“I’m not happy with that happened today. We left you in charge of Y/N and you left them alone. They’re younger than you. They could’ve gotten hurt while you were gone or lost. I know you wouldn’t want that to happen.” Johnny shakes his head no her.

“And Y/N,” she turns and looks to them still sitting in Papa’s lap. “I know you just wanted to protect Johnny, but lying isn’t the answer. If he does something wrong, you can’t always cover for him. Understand?”

I nod looking down again.

“I’m sorry…” Johnny breaks the silence saying.

“Me too…” I adds.

“We accept your apologies.” Mama opens her arms and Johnny happily accepts, sitting with her similar to how I’m sitting with Papa.

Speaking of him, “No more trips just the two of you. From now on if you want to go to the park or the fair, you have to take Mama or myself.”

“Or your crazy fun Uncle,” Ben jokes taking a seat at the table. “I’ll happily take you were ever you need to.”

“You’re not helping Ben.” Mama chuckles.

“What? I can’t stay mad at these rascals too long.” He teases.

“Neither can we,” Papa leans down places a kiss to my forehead.

After dinner it’s movie night with comfort and cuddles. We all gather in the living room and cuddle on the couch. Uncle Ben gets the lounger while Papa sits on one end and Mama on the other.

Johnny and I can’t sit still. I sit with Papa at the beginning of the film, then switch to cuddling with Mama where I fall asleep for the night. Johnny follows suit sitting cuddled to Mama, then Papa then falls asleep beside Uncle Ben.

Then all at once everything is calm again in the Baxter Building, having a Fantastic end to the day.

[kimhargreeves]

The Night Shift -Mike Schmidt x Reader (FNAF live action)

Summary: You and Mike have never gotten on the right foot, always bickering and never standing each other's presence. The day comes when both of you are interviewed for the same job and are forced to work together to see who will win the job as a security guard at a deadly pizzeria.

(A/N: The Fnaf movie is almost here! Anyone else ready to watch it this weekend?! Here's the Mike Schmidt x Reader I promised a while back. Hope it's okay but female reader is mentioned to be a bit of a goth/alternative type of girl. Also, things may change in the next part since I am writing this a few days before the movies release date. Let me know how I did and if you want part 2 once we've seen the movie)

I'd also like to tag these kind people who asked me to tag them once this was up, @riaqiax @ahsfan23 @lufvg

"Please come again and have a fantastic day!" I beam and smile as I watch the client I had attended begin to leave the store I was working at.

As soon as they are out of my sight I sigh deeply and frown looking at the direction they left. "I don't get paid enough for this crap." I tell no one.

The client has begun to ask many questions, wether the store finally had the item they had been asking for, or if the movies on the dvd sections were any good, if I had any recommendations for any.

After about half an hour of trying to convince the person to take something from the store, they had decided to leave with a few snacks and movies.

The store I have been working at happens to be a combination of many things, dvd rentals, clothes, snacks and a few figures for sale. At least it paid a bit better than the last job I had, it was a nice job with nice alternative music but the pay wasn't that good.

"(Y/N), you're on your break. Make sure to come back in 15." My coworker passed me when they returned from the restroom.

I nodded my head and left the store beginning to walk further into the mall where I have been working for a few months and began walking to the food area hoping to fill my stomach with some cheap food.

It was a calm Friday with only a few people or families circling around the building. Many kids running over to small area, an ice cream shop called 'Ice Cream Parties'.

I ordered my usual choice of food. Three sandwiches, fries and a taco. I reached my hand into the bag and began to eat minding my own business when I sat down by an empty area and I stopped chewing when I saw two men running past me.

Two security guards running fast and avoiding running into people. Immediately this caught my attention, so I began to follow the guards and quickened my pace when I heard a girl yelling for her dad.

I stayed behind from a crowd that formed near the mall's water fountain and I saw a figure, no, two in fact inside the water fountain, but one was beating the other and the worst thing was that it was one of the security guards.

"Daddy!"

People took out their flip phones and began to take a few pictures of what was happening, it quickly ended when the two men who had run past me earlier stepped into the water and pulled the poor man beneath the security guard away.

One of them began to deal with the man with a small girl running over to her beaten dad, and the other one roughly began to question the young man's actions and took him away inside an office room.

"Fuck." I muttered when I saw the man was dragged away.

I rolled my eyes and went back to my working place and spotted my coworker, "Hey, you think you can cover for me this time? Something very important and tragic happened."

My coworker nodded his head and as soon as he agreed I started running back outside the store and into the security room.

"Do you know how many paperworks we gotta do and how our establishments reputation will only decrease any more because of what you did?!" I heard the deep voice of a man question the young security guard.

"How many times are you going to give me a hard time, Mr Schmidt?"

"The man deserved it." He answered his boss.

His boss remained quiet probably just staring and him and not knowing exactly what to do. "So that's what you think? You're fired."

The man sighed but said nothing. "I'll have you sign a few paperwork before you leave and an investigation will be taken place right now. So this'll take some time to be resolved."

His boss has walked past me but said nothing assuming I was the guards family. I rolled to eyed and leaned my head forward and tilted it when I saw Mike crossing his arms.

"You're anger issues has only gotten worse." I say uninterested and notice Mike roll his eyes when he saw me.

"The fuck is you're problem?" He looked at me again and scoffed when he noticed my appearance.

Freshly dyed black hair and now with a single piercing over my eyebrow.

"You look like shit."

"I was about to say the same thing." I tell him not bothered by his words.

"Why are you so weird?" He scoffed again and looked away from me.

I poured pretending I was hurt. "Daddy issues. What can I say?" I chuckled darkly "You have anger issues, my guy. I have daddy issues. Tell me what's worse."

Mike remained silent when I mentioned him that. I looked around the onto sound coming from the clock on the wall.

"Why did you do it?" I ask him wanting to know his reason on attacking a man in front of his young daughter.

"And why should I tell you?" He remarked. "I don't owe you any favors because you got me this job weeks ago."

"I only did it for her and you know it." I defended myself and crossed my arms over my chest as well.

"Well I don't need anyone's help and that being less from you. I can take care of my own problem."

Mine has been struggling for a while now. Barely having enough money for himself, rent or raising his sister since she had no one left to look after her. The guy has his issues but it doesn't mean he had to be like this, he doesn't have a lot of money and the first thing he does is try to get himself fired… well he is definitely fired now.

Another thing I'd like to mention. Is that Mike and I have never gotten along, we've known each other for almost our entire lives and know what has happened to each other, but we've refused to get along. Not once had he been nice to me and never have I been nice to him.

We've both been through a lot of mess, similar to one another's, and instead of making us grow closer we simply grew further apart.

"Michael." I warn.

"(Y/N)." Michael says back now each of us looking at one another.

I try to remain calm and not start up another argument which always happens when we're together in a room.

Mike is the first to break eye contact and he sighs when he checks the clock again. It's nearly 2pm.

He mutters a few cursed words and looks down at lap. "Can you do me a favor and pick up Abbey from school?"

I lift an eyebrow looking at him. "Please? I know you don't own a car, so you can take mine."

Mike digs for his car keys inside from his pocket and holds them up for me. I smirk as I take them from him.

"Why trust me with your car? I can easily steal it from you and escape town."

"Because deep beneath all the bitchiness, black clothes and awful piercing. I know your a bit less tolerable when it comes to kids." Mike said glancing back at me and looking a bit too relaxed in this situation

I stared at the worn out paper sign in my hands. A second job wouldn't hurt…"Wanted security guard for night shift. Quickly I scribbled the number on my palm and crumbled the paper over and left it on the backseat.

I stepped out of car when I had parked it and recognized Mike's little sister. "(Y/N)?" She asked not expecting me at all.

Many months ago I had looked after her, now I only see her every once in a while, whenever she'd leave school early, Mike would have her stay at the mall until his shift would be over.

I came to see Abbey as a little sister as well especially since we saw each other growing up and Mike would take odd jobs at night leaving me to look after Abbey while she was still rather young.

"I'll be your escort for this ride. Hope that's fine with you, and hopefully you're teacher doesn't think I'm here to kidnap you." I tell her when I see her teacher looking at me weird.

Abbey waved her hand at the teacher making then sure she knew me.

"I'm late to my shift, so, let's hurry up shall we?" Abbey nods her head and got into the backseat when I got into the car again and turned it back on and starting driving back to the mall.

"It's been a while since we last saw each other. Thought you wouldn't remember me." I joked at the young girl while I glanced back and saw her looking outside the scenery as I drove by the familiar streets

"Of course I still remember you. My brother mentions you often." Abbey said getting my attention from her.

Didn't expect Mike to talk about me to his younger sister, Abbey.

"Oh? What does he say about me?"

"Says you're a bitch, weird and complains about his job or yours." I frowned and remained quiet. Of course why was I expecting nice from him.

"Those are his words, not mine. I actually enjoy spending time with you." Abbey said.

My expression softened when I heard Abbey says she enjoys my company. I smiled to myself and agreed with her, "I also enjoy spending time with you, Abbey."

Abbey hummed still looking outside the windows. "My brother got fired, didn't he?"

"…Yes, he did…"

Mike and I only exchanged a few words when I arrived back. He was fired, of course he was or he'd be in prison for what he did. He was probably going to celebrate later that he would no longer have to see my face at work. The guy has his problems but always finds time to argue of talk about me.

I feel for Abbey especially since she has no other female figure to talk about and have to stand and listen to her brother being annoying most of the time.

"Hey! You lose your brain there for a second?" Mike questioned which earned him a shove from his sister.

"(Y/N) thank you for picking me up from school and taking care of my dumb brother." Abbey said being the only polite and rational one out of the pair.

I smiled and patted her short hair. "Anytime Abbey. Maybe we can have a small girls night sometime." I suggest which made her smile a bit.

"You'll only end up corrupting her." Mike said playing with the car keys in his hands.

"Mike." Abbey said making him look down at her with his brown eyes.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged a bit. "Thanks for looking after my sister…well see you never." He said taking his sister's hand and beginning to leave.

How rude. If he weren't cute I definitely would've thrown him again into the water fountain..wait..what am I even saying?! Forget this, I've lost about half an hour of work time because of doing the guy a favor.

I huff to myself watching Mike and Abbey leave the mall for good. I turn around and headed to my work but the moment I arrived, I spotted Tom coworker and my boss looking at me with a face that said it all.

"You're fired."

"Let's hear a round of applause for the birthday girl!"

The lights changed and was now shining across the stage with cheery music playing as background while kids cheered when the pizzerias mascots made an appearance.

The pizzerias staff began to clap along when they began to sing 'happy birthday ' to me. My entire class was invited to my party.

My uncle was the one who invited them over since he knew I didn't have that too many friends, and he wanted me to get in with the right crowd. He knew that I was in a group of kids who would often bully others, I did it so I wouldn't be alone or be the one getting bullied.

I definitely chose the wrong crowd back then, all because I didn't want to be lonely…

My aunt and uncle raised me as their own since I could remember. They treated me like their own kid since they could never have any. They liked to throw these types of parties and invite everyone they knew.

Both of them were always fond and always liked to help financially to one of my classmates, that one being Mike Schmidt. He was kinda of a shy kid, and wasn't that fond at making an appearance at a birthday party without a present to give.

My uncle and aunt didn't mind that he didn't have the money, they still convinced the small kid to come and have a good time. Mike didn't want to leave his very little sister behind so my aunt would be carrying her everywhere.

I watched with glee as my favorite animatronic made his way towards me. I got up on my seat and smiled wide as I watched Bonnie come in with a colorful and big cake in his hands. One of the staff from the place approached and grabbed the cake placing in front of me, the cake seemed delicious with it's different colored candles.

I hugged onto my stuffed Bonnie plush as I wrapped one arm around the animatronic and felt one of its large paws patting my head.

I stared at the worn down building ahead of me as my hands were kept on my bike. 'Freddy's Pizzeria' read a sign just outside. The guy in charge must be inside or late to our meeting, as soon as they fired me from my job at the mall was when I decided to call this place up.

I'm a night owl after all so this'll be a piece of cake. All I gotta see is how much is the paycheck and I'll make sure to be the best security guard.

Maybe I'll be the only one around and have a nice time inside, remember those fond memories of the times I would come to this place and love following around the animatronics.

I knocked on the door a couple of more times waiting until someone would show up. The door slowly opened and I came face to face with an older looking man with large glasses.

"You're (Y/N) (L/N), correct?"

"Yes, sir. It's nice to finally meet you in person." I smiled trying to be as nice as I can.

"Pleasure is all mine…Please come inside." He said when he spotted the weather was beginning to change.

It was getting a bit chilly and the clouds were turning grey, about to rain a bit probably later. "You got here rather early."

"Yeah. The most important thing about a job is getting early." I chuckle beginning to follow the man not that far behind, but still remaining close to the entrance. "I do live a bit far from here but it's no trouble."

The man stopped and turned to face me. "You own a car?" He questioned and I knew I would be screwed if I said No.

"W-Well I don't..but I'm willing to come out here at any hour."

As soon as he was about to say something else, another knock was heard from the other side of the door. The man gave me a quick look and walked past me to open the door once again, I was surprised when I saw I wasn't the only one here.

Mike Schmidt had also applied for the job…

"No fucking way." Both Mike and I said looking at each other and wanting to strangle each other.

[henrygrass]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tag, @heartstringsduet! Once again, I am working on an Andrea-centric fic because I just can't let go of my favorite Lone Star mom. This is sort of a part two of "Love Woven Through Time." Anyway, here's the snippet:

“The lights are still on; there’s still time, mijo,” she reassures Carlos, giving his arm a gentle squeeze to calm his nerves.

Just then, the auditorium lights dim, as if to prove her wrong. She huffs, her eyes darting to the entrance, hoping that TK will burst through any moment. Knowing him, he’s likely racing through the city in the ambulance, sirens wailing, determined to reach Jonah before the curtain rises.

“Is your kid in the play?” a woman beside Carlos chirps, her voice high-pitched and piercing, rising above the chatter of the auditorium.

Andrea turns her head slightly, catching sight of Carlos meticulously adjusting the camera, his brows furrowed in concentration as he prepares to capture every moment of Jonah’s first school play.

“Yes,” he replies, his focus unwavering as he fine-tunes the settings, leaving little room for small talk.

“My Derek is playing the royal messenger,” she announces. “But all the kids playing the animal friends must be talented too,” she adds, puffing out her chest with a hint of pride in her son’s role.

Derek… Andrea’s mind races, connecting the child’s name with a conversation she had with TK last week. This must be Veronica, the mom who commented on TK's chocolate cake during the last parent-teacher meeting for the play, saying, “Good thing you’re a paramedic; you can save us from this.” Andrea can almost see the scene unfold as TK mimicked her, complete with her dramatic coughing. Although she was unaware that TK was the one who made it, Andrea still glares at her; she will remember that face.

Carlos turns to Veronica, nodding. “Oh, that’s fantastic! You must be so proud!” he responds, his voice laced with sincerity, though Andrea can detect the familiar undertone of his own chest swelling with pride. She suppresses a grin, bracing herself for what’s to come.

“Mine’s playing the prince,” he beams, his focus shifting back to the camera.

Open tag & no pressure tagging

@heartstringsduet @emsprovisions @alrightbuckaroo @nisbanisba @welcometololaland

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @lemonlyman-dotcom @decafdino @reyesstrand @futures-tense

@bonheur-cafe @carlos-in-glasses @theghostofashton @tellmegoodbye @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@herefortarlos @strandnreyes @carlos-tk @lightningboltreader @sapphic--kiwi

@ladytessa74 @paperstorm @chicgeekgirl89 @ironheartwriter @everlastingday

@carlossreaders @pimento-playing-hopscotch @goodways @liminalmemories21

(Please, let me know if you want to be added or removed)