#late answer because my brain is scrambled from work

[tgtbata]

hallo frauke, happy wincest wednesday <3 -- is there a particular era of spn you find particularly inspiring? an era of wincest that just sparks ideas more than the others?

i answered a similar question from eve a while ago i think! late seasons bunker brosbands hits and continues to hit and i draw it a lot. but i'm not sure i would say it sparks more ideas than other eras, i often just find it easier to translate onto paper! whereas for example i have many many many s4/s5 ideas that i cannot quite pin down in a way i like. visually i find dean's depression beard in s9 and sam's depression beard in s14 very inspiring although i like to turn it into a joy beard as well lol oh and dean's early season jewelry and sam's bangs. very inspiring.

[formulawolff]

iv. raising the stakes - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.0k

warnings: cursing, age gap, mentions of divorce, power imbalances, mentions of age gap relationships, sexual references, toto wanting to be with you every second of every day, YEARNING, pining, yadayadayada, the works y'know

prev. | next.

“don’t tell me it’s that fucking nitwit.”

the team principal nearly growls, fury oozing into every single word. 

“i haven’t talked to him in a while,” panic starts to flare up, “fuck, fuck, fuck. what do i do?”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“ignore him?” 

“i can’t do that,” you suck in a breath, “you need to go to my room. just sit on my bed or something until he leaves.”

“scared he’s going to catch on or something?” toto arches a brow, his tone shifting from scorn to a light-hearted tease, “oh schatz, are you worried your little boyfriend won’t like that you’re with another man?”

“no,” you scoff, “you know exactly what would happen if daniel saw both of us. go to my room. stay there until he leaves.”

“fine,” he rolls his eyes, clambering to his feet. he stretches slightly, wincing, “that was not my best idea.”

“that’s what happens when you’re an old man.”

the remark lights a new fire in toto, the austrian licking his lips, “oh don’t worry love, this old man will you show you soon he’s actually–”

“get. in. my. room.” you hiss, scrambling to your feet. 

“fine, fine,” he exhales, nodding towards the end of the hall, “i assume that’s it?”

“yes,” you affirm, “just stay there. answer some emails or something.”

“will do,” he whistles, turning on his heel. 

once the door to your room closes, you clear your throat. your voice was probably shaky from what just occurred. hell, even your brain felt like it was a pile of mush. 

there was not a single thought rattling around, your memory only replaying a constant loop of what just happened. 

oh fuck. you realize your shorts were completely soaked. and it was noticeable. although you weren’t going to be opening your legs, you were obviously flustered. 

time to act like nothing ever happened. 

quickly, you throw a blanket over you, “come in!”

daniel pokes his head in, a bright grin enveloping his face, “hey there, winner, winner!”

“how are you?” 

“i’m okay,” he shrugs, crossing over to the couch, “were you watching something? i thought i heard some voices.”

“oh yeah,” you nod fervently, “i was just watching some tik toks before you came in.”

“sorry it’s so late,” daniel fiddles with a loose thread on his shorts, “i figured i would come by after all the press and all that. you must be tired, yeah?”

“a little bit.

“it was a huge day for you,” he points out, “i’m happy for you. i really am. i couldn’t think of anyone who deserved that win more than you.”

you can’t help but feel a grin form, “thank you, danny.”

“also,” he lets out a shaky breath, “i feel like i owe you an explanation why i’ve been so distant this last week.”

“oh daniel you don’t have to–”

“but i do,” he interjects, his voice so quiet you had to lean forward to hear it, “i guess when you asked me that question after bahrain, i was confused. to tell you the truth, i was confused about how my feelings for you. i guess i never really addressed the feelings i had for you until you brought it up. yeah, i do have feelings for you. i am attracted to you. but i can’t act on them because i know that you would never pursue me in that matter. you’ve always seen me as one of your best friends, and that’s okay. i figured i would take a step back so i could heal without hurting you or lashing out. because it’s not your fault, it’s all been one-sided.”

“daniel i–”

“you don’t have to say anything,” he shakes his head, avoiding eye contact, “i had to heal on my own. i had to come to terms without bringing you into it. it would have been immature of me to make you feel like you had to reciprocate the attraction. besides, i feel like you’re attracted to someone else.”

your heart nearly stops beating for a moment, eyes widening, “oh – um, i–”

“you’ve always spoke so highly of carlos, and with the way you look at him, i have a gut feeling you like him.”

you can clearly picture toto in your room, leaning against the door, listening to every word. this meant you had to tread these waters carefully. 

very carefully. 

“oh daniel,” you begin, “at the moment, i’m not attracted to anyone on the grid. if anything, i see most of you guys like my brothers. it’s the best group of friends i could have ever asked for. if i were to have romantic relationships with any of you guys, i feel like it would diminish the bonds we have. also, i just don’t think it’s very professional. we have to keep things professional, you know?”

“i understand,” daniel’s eyes meet yours, and you can’t help but see nothing but anguish, “i appreciate you, i really do. can we just act like you never asked that question?”

“of course.”

“i love you,” daniel leans forward, scooping you in an embrace, “you’re the best. i’d stay and chat about your big win today, but i bet we’re both exhausted. i’ll text you, okay?”

“okay,” a giggle bubbles up as daniel shakes you back and forth, “i love you too, danny.”

“i’ll see ya around,” he places a swift peck on your temple before getting up, “sleep well. you deserve some rest.”

“you too,” you murmur, waving as the australian strolls out, “see you around.”

“byeeee!”

once the door shuts, you flop backwards, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

that seemed to go well. 

shooting up, you remember that there was a very large, very handsome austrian man waiting for you in your room. wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, you spring up, nearly jogging down the hall. 

pushing open the door, your breath hitches in your throat. 

instead of being wide awake, toto is slumped on your bed, limbs sprawled out. light snores fill the air, his chest rising and falling. rays of moonlight cascade into the space, shrouding him with a soft glow. 

quietly, you make your way to the bed, discarding your shorts and underwear. after seeing the clothes on the floor, you realize you may as well ditch the top too. peeling it off, you toss it, burrowing under the comforter. 

toto stirs, blinking, “how long was i– oh my god.”

you can’t help but smirk as he’s left speechless, mouth agape, eyes nearly as wide as saucers, “not long. daniel only came over for about fifteen minutes.”

“and you didn’t wake me the moment you started taking off your clothes?”

“i didn’t know i was supposed to,” you tease, scooting towards the principal, “you don’t have to leave. you can stay.”

“i don’t know if i should,” light kisses pepper your nose, cheeks, and forehead, “they’re probably all wondering where i ran off to. i’ve been gone awhile and haven’t been answering my texts or calls. if i’m not careful, they might send out a search party.”

“lewis hamilton can’t be without his team principal for one second?” 

at your response, toto laughs, his chest vibrating against your shoulder blades, “you’d be surprised. at times i wonder if i adopted him as my own. george too.”

“please?” you roll over, facing him. for extra measure, you jut your bottom lip out, ensuring that your lashes flutter as you blink, “please stay?”

“hmmm,” he hums, leaning in, “what’s my incentive for staying?”

“you know, not everything is a business transaction.”

“i just wanted to hear you beg a little.”

the truth of the matter was that the team principal knew if he stayed, he would be in too deep. even further deeper than he already was. 

oh, toto wolff was already weak for you. 

but now? 

it was far worse than he could ever imagine. 

there was just something about you that he couldn’t shake. as you laid beside him, moonlight swathing your figure, he couldn’t resist admiring. fuck, you were just so gorgeous. 

however, that was not the only thing that drew him in. your aura alone was attractive enough. confident, radiant, oh so intelligent, and level-headed. also, you were unapologetically yourself. toto needed that. he needed someone to match his energy. 

the fact that you were one of the best drivers on the grid was just a bonus to the plethora of qualities that he adored. 

of course, there was that ever-present thought looming in his mind. 

if a single soul found out about this blossoming relationship, every aspect of his life would come crumbling down. 

his children would shun him. he would be let go from his esteemed position at mercedes. the fia would exploit his wrongs in every way imaginable. the media would have an absolute frenzy. his drivers would no longer speak to him. 

and susie? oh god. 

although there was still a band gleaming on his left finger, the marriage with susie had devolved three years ago. the papers weren’t signed until several months ago, the team principal keeping that matter private. merely for the sake of his ex-wife and children. wearing the band was simply a promise he made with susie for the time being, to keep the public thinking that they were still happily married. 

the divorce would be announced at the end of the 2024 season, just so that the media wouldn’t speculate. 

although, they already speculated more than he liked. 

yet, there was this part of him that urged him to take that risk. to pursue you. to get to know every part of you. to learn, cherish, and love you in every way possible. 

you were his golden girl, without a doubt. 

a shining ray of light that deserved the world. 

and by god, he was more than determined to give you that.

“toto,” your eyes were closed, lashes fluttering as a hand ran through your hair, “can you please stay?”

“if i stay,” the team principal shifted his body, propping himself up with an elbow, “i’m going to have to leave early. probably before sunrise so that i’m not spotted.”

“you could just disguise yourself.”

“right,” a light chuckle flows his lips, “i’ll find a mustache and stick it on. no one would ever dare recognize me then.”

“you think?” fuck, your giggle was going to be the death of him. 

“i know,” leaning over, he presses a kiss on your temple, “i’ll stay, schatz. just don’t be disappointed if you wake up and i’m not there. all right?”

“all right,” you nod, sleep slurring your words. 

quickly, toto unbuttons his shirt, discarding it to the floor. fuck, it was probably going to be wrinkly in the morning, but he didn’t care. as long as he got to spend a few more hours with you, it would make up for it. standing, he unbuckles his belt, slacks falling to the floor. 

pulling the comforter back, he curls up next to you, bringing you close to his chest. 

“you know, sixteen-year-old me would be screaming, crying, throwing up, right now.”

“is that right?” his chest rumbles as he laughs, “well, we’ll have create a time machine to let sixteen-year-old you that all of her dreams come true.”

“are you sure you don’t have a crush on me, mr. wolff?”

“like i said before schatz,” his arms squeeze you gently, “crushes are for children.”

“then what is it?”

“we’ll have to find out,” toto found his eyelids drooping as you snuggle closer, “goodnight, golden girl.”

in his heart, toto knew the answer all too well. 

if the two of you continued to meet like this, one of you would be bound to want a relationship. with such a bright future ahead for you, would you even want to settle down at mercedes with a man like him? a previously divorced man going through a potential midlife crisis? 

additionally, if the two of you continued to meet like this, one of you would be bound to fall in love. 

and if that was the case, the stakes would only be higher. 

not only would be acquiring one of the best drivers in formula one’s history, he would be acquiring the girl he loved. 

and god, was he determined to make that happen. 

by any means possible. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @toldyouitwasamelodrama

please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! thank you for reading! <3

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

So uh. I had this super dumb idea and decided to roll with it.

Which I guess is kinda how writing works on the whole but anyway.

Here's the first chapter of a Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB Reader fic that absolutely no one asked for but my brain dumped on me anyway.

Whole first chapter is basically setting the scenario. Bear with me here. I intend for this to be both heartfelt and fcking hilarious in equal measure. As of right now I don't really have plans for it to carry on for more than three or four chapters, but who knows.

Timeline is set to around a decade after Gol D. Roger's death, prior to Mihawk having status as a Warlord of the Sea. He'd be in his late 20s to early 30s (don't ask me to math right now, it's almost five in the morning, I'll be more specific later). So not super-young Mihawk. He definitely already has his silly lil adorable pointy goatee/moustache that we all know and love so very much.

I don't even have a damned title yet. We'll just call it, uh. I don't know. Fucking uh........

Flight Risk

Ch. 1 of who even knows

Next Chapter Link

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No trigger warnings yet, possible future trigger warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Word Count: 3420

Only a few months had passed since you enlisted with the Marines, and nothing seemed to be going right. You were clumsy with both melee and ranged weapons, not particularly strong physically, and while you had improved through training you weren’t learning at nearly the same rate as the other recruits. It was no help at all that your somehow borderline useless devil fruit abilities had somehow been exposed and you were now the target of constant torment from other cadets, and even some superior officers.

You almost wanted to give up entirely.

You spent most of your free time hiding away from your peers at an old dock on the base to avoid the teasing. It was here you say now, arms wrapped around your knees and glaring out toward the setting sun after another day of being squawked at and offered crackers. All because you had taken a stupid dare from a stupid friend when you were six years old and eaten that stupid fruit.

You let out a heavy sigh at the sound of footsteps behind you, certain that one of your tormentors had discovered your hiding spot.

“Really not in the mood,” you said aloud, not bothering to look over your shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just as much fun talking about me behind my back—”

But instead, a commanding voice that made your breath catch in your throat and your eyes grow wide as saucers answered. You recognized it as its owner spoke your name aloud—anyone on base would have recognized it. You quickly scrambled to your feet and turned around to face Bogard with your hand raised in a salute, trying to keep your knees from shaking.

“S—sorry, sir, I—” He just held up a hand to stop you, and your mouth snapped shut immediately. His own mouth remained turned down in his usual characteristic frown, and after a moment he let out a vaguely frustrated sigh.

“Vice Admiral Garp requires your presence. Please follow me.”

You remained glued to the spot for a moment even as he turned on his heel and began to stride away. Garp and Bogard had shown up at the base a week ago on some business from headquarters that was being kept quiet around the rest of the base. You quickly forced yourself to follow after Bogard, your stomach in knots as you jogged to catch up to his long strides.

He didn’t speak again until you were outside the door of the office the vice admiral was occupying, turning to face you with his arms crossed. You quickly saluted again, your eyes still wide, burning the slightest bit—you were fairly sure you hadn’t blinked a single time since he had first addressed you.

“At ease, cadet.” You swallowed, lowering your hand and folding it behind your back with your other. “The vice admiral has some questions for you,” he said in brief explanation, opening the door. “Come.” You flinched as you followed him in, Garp’s booming voice meeting your ears as he shouted at someone through the den den mushi on his desk. It was clear he wasn’t in a good mood.

“Again?” he was saying, pacing behind the desk. “Yeah, I got it. Why do you think I’m at this shithole of a—” He gave a growl of annoyance, his grip tightening around the speaker. “Yes, Fleet Admiral. I think if I could manage to capture Roger, I can handle some brat calling himself the World’s Stronge—”  He closed his eyes tightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’m well aware of the threat. Doesn’t make him any less of a brat. With all due respect, sir, I know what I’m doing, Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah. Understood.”

He dropped the handset back onto the den den mushi, sitting heavily in his chair behind the desk, strumming his fingers on the arm for a moment impatiently.

You felt as if you might pass out any second as you stood in front of the desk, trying to keep yourself still but still fidgeting slightly as your nervousness evolved toward something more like abject terror. There was no way this was about anything good. The vice admiral was here on orders handed down directly from his own superiors at Marine Headquarters. Vice Admiral Garp, recognized the world over as the hero of the Marines, the man that had brought Gold Roger to justice barely a decade ago.

An officer of his status wouldn’t waste his time with a lowly cadet like yourself unless the situation was incredibly dire.

When he finally lifted his eyes to look at you, you sprang immediately into a salute, and it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling. He glanced at Bogard, standing off to the side and idly flipping through a book on one of the shelves along the right side of the office walls. “This the one?” asked Garp.

“It would seem so,” he affirmed.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering over you. “At ease, cadet.”

Once more you folded your hands behind your back—though in literal terms, you were anything but at ease. Your face flushed and your legs visibly shaking at this point, it was all you could do to keep your eyes on his.

The vice admiral gave a small snort of amusement at your nervous state as he picked up a folder from his desk—a folder with your name written on the tab.

“Calm down, you’re not in any trouble,” he said. You still swallowed nervously, your mouth turning down ina  slight frown. He read your name out loud at the top of the file before going on. “Says here your old man was a Lieutenant. Died in the line of duty among a fleet that took on a division of the Whitebeard pirates.”

“Y—yes, sir,” you said, giving a short nod when he glanced at you from over the top of the folder. “He’s the reason I enlisted.”

“Revenge?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“No, sir,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I looked up to him. He wanted to make the world a better place. Safer. That’s...why I enlisted.”

He nodded slowly, observing you for a long moment as he seemed to mull over your answer. “Good to hear,” he said finally, lowering his eyes back down to what you could only assume was your enlistment paperwork. “Revenge is thankless work. Your old man was a damned good Marine. Honorable. Sounds like the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.” You relaxed the slightest bit in the approval at his tone—it was perhaps the first compliment you had gotten from any of your superiors. “Unfortunately, we’re not here to reminisce. This is official business. And confidential.” He set the folder down on his desk, still open, meeting your eyes again. “I’ll need your word right now that you won’t repeat anything we discuss here to anyone.”

Your eyes widened a little, and you nodded quickly. :Of course, Vice Admiral,” you said immediately, your heart hammering in your chest.

He nodded slowly himself, picking up a lowball glass of what appeared to be whiskey from his desk. He gestured with his free hand to the chair across from him. “Then have a seat. We could be here awhile.”

You glanced at the chair behind you, and took a few steps backwards, folding your hands in your lap. You couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of official business he might have with you. You were a new recruit, tended to blend into the background—at least you had, until word had gotten out about….

Your stomach dropped at Garp’s next sentence.

“I understand you’re a devil fruit user?”

“I…am,” you said slowly, almost cautiously. You had received nothing but jeering and taunting for your ability, even before you enlisted. “It’s…not exactly a useful ability, though.”

“You don’t think so?” he said, with a hint of a smirk, and you shook your head, your eyes dropping down to your knees. “‘Omu Omu no Mi,’” he read off from the file. “‘Zoan type devil fruit. Gray parrot.’ You’ve had the ability for…fifteen years?” You nodded shortly, your brow still furrowed in your growing confusion. “You can’t think of any application where that would be useful?”

Your remained silent for some time, wondering if it was a trick question, some sort of joke at your expense. Sure the vice admiral wouldn’t waste his time calling you here for the sake of a joke. After a moment, you shook your head, lifting your gaze, grimacing a little. “It’s, uh…been more of a burden than anything, honestly,” you admitted.

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” Your brow furrowed a bit, and he gestured over to Bogard, still leaning against the bookshelf off to the side. “I’ve had Bogard here keeping an eye on you since we got here.”

That was incredibly surprising news to you. You glanced at Bogard yourself. You had seen him around the base a few times, but it had seemed to be only in passing. While you were still rendered speechless at the claim, Garp when on.

“I read in your file that your mother’s an…ornithologist?” he said, glancing down at the folder once more. Your brow remained furrowed as you nodded slowly, trying to wrap your head around where this could be going. “So I’d guess you have a pretty good understanding of birds. How they behave, interact with humans?”

“I—”

“With all due respect, Garp…” Both you and Garp glanced over at Bogard at his interruption. He lowered the book he had been flipping through, his frown deepening. “This is still the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard of.”

“Give me a better idea, then.” After a moment, Bogard rolled his eyes, lifting the book again, still looking quite disgruntled with the situation—whatever the situation was. Garp turned his attention back to you, gesturing with a wave of his hand for you to continue.

“I-I…did learn a lot from her,” you affirmed. “She specializes in parrots and corvids. She runs a veterinary practice and rescue service for them in the East Blue.”

“Think you’d be able fool people into believing you’re the real thing?”

“Wh…wha…”

You felt like you were trapped in some strange fever dream you couldn’t wake from. Garp raised his eyebrows as he waited for your response, as you frowned, struggling to collect your thoughts into something organized enough to allow you to speak.

“I…used to prank my mom into thinking I was one of the birds in our aviary,” you admitted, almost sheepishly.

Garp let out a hearty laugh at that, his smirk spreading into a grin. “Well, if you could fool an expert, then I guess you could fool damn near anyone, huh?” You blinked rapidly as he leaned forward, crossing his arms over the desk. “So. How much do you know about a pirate by the name of Dracule Mihawk?”

Your breath caught as you froze in place, your blood running cold.

There was no Marine, likely no one in the world, that didn’t know that name. It wasn’t long after the execution of Gold Roger that he had begun making the headlines, and not for anything good. Even as a rookie he had quickly gained a reputation for being ruthless and deadly, slaughtering pirates and Marines alike with seemingly no distinction between the two. For a few years now he had gained notoriety for being considered by many to be the world’s most powerful swordsman. You had heard stories of him singlehandedly destroying entire Marine warships without batting an eye.

The man was practically a living nightmare for any Marine.

“I…I’ve heard of him,” you managed to force out weakly.

Garp scoffed at that, taking a sip from his whiskey. “Who the hell hasn’t?” he said. “Especially among us. He’s been responsible for the deaths of more Marines over the past few years than any other pirate sailing the Grand Line. And completely on his own. No crew.” He shook his head, giving another scoff. “Almost no one we’ve sent after the bastard comes back alive. Except, of course, those he lets go willingly to tell us he’ll continue to slaughter anyone that challenges him. It’s a problem we can’t ignore.”

You swallowed, the rising tension in you rendering you as stiff as a statue. You could sense where this was going…and you didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m thinking a different approach could be out best bet in taking care of the problem. Something a little more subtle.” You nodded slowly to indicate you were following what he was saying—what he was suggesting. “I’m sure you don’t want to see any more Marines die at the hands to this monster any more than I do. Am I right?”

Of course he was right—you knew it as well as Garp did. Your father had been enough. Knowing that there were so many other Marines, other men and women that might leave behind broken families, losing their lives at the hands of such a ruthless killer…it sickened you to your core.

Once more, you nodded.

“Then we’re on the same page,” he said. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, taking a sip from his glass, before he set it down and stood up. “You say you think your devil fruit ability is useless. I say it could be exactly what we need.”

“Y…you want me to use my devil fruit to…” He paced slowly behind his desk, his eyes remaining on you, waiting for you to say it. “T…to take down…him?”

“Not…quite,” he said. “Like I said, different approach I want you to use your devil fruit ability against him. But not to take him down. I think you’re probably smart enough to know that you wouldn’t stand a chance in combat against him.” You swallowed, giving a short nod in agreement. “What we really need at this point is information. Any potential weakness that he might possess. Your ability isn’t useless, but it is…unassuming. You could spy on almost anyone you wanted without them knowing. And hey, let’s face it—pirates like parrots.”

You heard Bogard sigh heavily at this statement, and you couldn’t help but agree with his wordless disapproval. Pirates like parrots was a pretty broad generalization to make regarding such a dire situation.

“Look,” Garp said as your brow furrowed once more. He stepped out from behind his desk, slowly circling your chair. “Parrots are smart birds, right?” You nodded. “And they tend to bond pretty easily with humans?” Another nod, your eyes following him as he came around the other side of your chair, stopping right in front of you and leaning back against his desk. “You could get close to him without him having any idea you’re anything but a friendly, intelligent bird.”

“or he could consider her a pest and kill her,” said Bogard dryly—voicing the exact concern that was already forming in your own head.

Garp rolled his eyes. “One, there haven’t been any reports that he makes a habit of killing animals. Two, you’d be a bird. You can fly. He can’t.”

“He can split entire ships in half from at least a hundred yards,” Bogard pointed out.

“Yeah, he can,” agreed Garp—and his confirmation of this claim did absolutely nothing to help your resolve. “But why bother killing a bird that’s already flying away? He’s killing Marines to send a message that we can’t touch him. He’s killing pirates so his competition knows they can’t touch him. What’s he going to kill a goddamned parrot for?” Another sigh came from Bogard—it seemed as if the man had been through this exact same argument before. “Worst case scenario,” Garp continued, “you fly off to safety and consider it a failed mission. No black mark on your record, brownie points for even attempting it. Best case…” He crossed his arms, his mouth spreading into a grin. “You get close to a pirate no one has been able to touch for years, and return with commendation and respect from the entire Navy. Show all these recruits that have been laughing at your abilities that you’re a hell of a lot more useful than any of them.”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting off to the side. You didn’t consider yourself vain…but you had spent fifteen years considering your devil fruit completely useless. Now you had a Marine vice admiral, a man regarded by much of the world as a hero, telling you that you could potentially use your power to save the lives of countless people. It was the exact reason your father told you he had enlisted—to protect innocent lives, to make the world safer.

“I…I’m not much of a fighter,” you said finally. “If he were to figure out that I’m a human…a Marine, I…”

“You’d receive special training before the mission,” said Garp. “Enough to give you a fighting chance at escaping if you had to. Given what we know about Dracule Mihawk, it would still be dangerous, of course. But you’d still stand a better chance alone at gathering intel than an entire fleet of ships would stand facing him in combat. As it stands now,” he said, his expression shifting into a scowl, “there are several high ranking Marine officers that believe the only chance of dealing with him is offering him status as a Warlord. There’s still a problem with that, considering no one can get close enough to him to propose the offer. If nothing else, you could get close enough to do that.”

“Which would likely be the best course of action,” Bogard interjected.

And Garp ignored him.\

“I propose,” said Garp, “that you keep an eye on him for a month. Get as close as you safely can. Search for any potential weakness we could exploit, and report back. If there aren’t any,” he said, tossing a sharp glance at Bogard, before leveling his gaze with yours again, “then you go back with the paperwork in your pocket and propose the offer.”

And possibly be killed the moment you revealed who you were—what you were. That detail remained unspoken, but you had no doubt that both Garp and Bogard had already considered the possibility, if you were already thinking about it yourself.

You could be killed. In the blink of an eye. Without any warning. You could die attempting thing. It was almost insane to even consider what Garp was proposing.

But you couldn’t ignore the possibility that it could work. That it could save countless lives from ending.

Save countless families from the same grief you and your mother had endured.

You pulled in a slow, deep breath, lifting your eyes and meeting Garp’s.

And you nodded.

“I’ll do it.” His eyebrows shot up at your acceptance. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

His surprised expression slowly split into a grin.

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” You turned your head as Bogard snapped his book shut, leveling his dark eyes with yours. Garp was already chuckling to himself, but Bogard’s expression remained grave as he went on. “You’re aware of the risk, I’m sure. The pirate in question has killed thousands of Marines to date, and I wish that was an exaggeration. This could very well be a suicide mission. If you’re doing this for recognition, I suggest you walk out of this office and forget every detail of this conversation.”

“I don’t care about recognition.” You shook your head as Bogard continued to regard you with a frown, lifting an eyebrow; as Garp tossed a glance at him that very clearly said told you so. “And I know the risk.I know I could die.” He crossed his arms, waiting for you to continue. You swallowed, going on quietly, “But…if it succeeds, then it could stop thousands of others from dying.” You lifted your gaze to meet his, straightening your back in the chair. “That’s all I care about.”

Though Bogard didn’t look entirely convinced, he wasn’t given any further opportunity to protest, as Garp let out a laugh. “You heard the girl, Bogard,” he said, reaching behind him and picking up the receiver from the den den mushi on the desk once more. “I say it’s time to get the ball rolling and finally give this madman a run for his money.”

Next Chapter Link again, for your convenience

[meanbossart]

Another much overdue ask compilation! Some short-ish lore asks (Gale, Gort, DU drow relationships and pet-companion preferences) and a couple of art/advice ones sprinkled in. THIS IS BY NO MEANS ALL OF MY ASKS so as usual I appreciate everyone's patience!

I actually think he'd give them a pass entirely as soon as he noticed. Correct me if I'm mistaken but half-drow get No love from underdark drow and are usually surface babies right? So that fruit is miles away from the tree lol. I think he generally has a bit of a soft spot for mixed kinds since he himself feels like an amalgamation of sorts.

Thank you! They're kind of a pain in the ass to draw at times for that very reason but man I do like the look 😩if other people like it too then that makes it all worth it!

THAT'S TRICKY TO ANSWER BECAUSE OFTEN TIMES I'M NOT... REALLY TRYING. I've draw a ton of horror comics for mine and my partner's series' SAD SACK and SORTIE, so I think it just comes naturally to me 😅 also I do genuinely find expressive and, uh, rugged faces more attractive? (I think they look rugged, again that's what people tell me at least.)

I think the secret might be adding bits of realism in there. I get a lot of comments about the wrinkles and eyelashes I add to my art, as well as the way I draw individual teeth (though I've lately been making an effort to simplify my style in favor of drawing faster, so I haven't done that as much or in as much detail.)

Both symmetry and the lack of it can also add to that effect. I have employed both facial unevenness and almost point-perfect symmetry to achieve something a little frightening or otherworldly in my work. [MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Thank you so much!!! The contrast is very much intentional, that's what DU drow's character is all about ;)

Hahah well I somewhat doubt Bhaal would care that his spawn gets named, but either way he stripped himself of his name as soon as he killed his foster parents and abandoned the Underdark. He had a drow name that I jotted down somewhere but it's completely irrelevant because nobody has used it since he was a child, and he doesn't remember it (even pre-tadpole/having his brain scrambled.) Here's a little write up about his origins that might shed some more light on that: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/739688837431836672/did-drow-ever-have-a-childhood-before-the-temple

And about his original drow-given name and the reason behind it: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/741350986692591616/drow-had-to-have-been-given-a-name-by-his-adoptive

Everyone just referred to him as his supposed race, or as Bhaalspawn or Bhaal's child, and any other similar titles. Orin called him "kin" and "brother" and Gortash likely called him his associate. Post-tadpole the camp grows entirely used to calling him "the drow" and he has no desire to change that or to choose a proper name.

THANK YOU BOTH SO MUCH😭 no reason to be intimidated, I'm just some rando drawing BG3 fan art LOL I've been drawing since I was a child, and started taking it semi-seriously when I was 16 years old, so twelve years ago! That's around the time where I got my first non-display tabled and used that well into my twenties, prior to that I only did stuff on paper and liked to do inks color with pencils. I never really ventured into traditional painting at all except for a little bit of water-coloring in college.

Traditional and Digital art are very much different beasts. Which one you want to start with is, in my opinion, just dependent on what you want to do. Digital art gives you a lot of tools that makes learning easier, but you might find yourself having much steeper of a learning curve if you ever decide to do traditional art instead. If you want to be good at both, you need to practice both, since the skill doesn't entirely translate from one medium to the other.

Naturally you will be able to draw well on either, it's just... Different. I will say though, that I think if you're still learning you should use whatever allows you to look directly at what your hand is doing, so either traditional or display tablet/Ipad. I have no idea what a non-display tablet would do to a beginner, but remembering my experience with it I feel like it might be a huge detriment to developing the skill (feel free to share your experiences in the replies if you disagree, as I would definitely be curious to read them!)

YOU KNOW ME BABY IT WAS MESSY AND COMPLICATED the tldr.: is that they were "buddies", absolutely no romance intended there on either mine or DU drow's part, but due to his nature the friendship was extremely weird.

Here's a couple of replies where I go into more detail about it: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/739191190871818240/i-dont-have-a-particular-question-in-mind-sorry

https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/744952815768764416/so-not-sure-if-youve-covered-this-but-i-thought

That's definitely reserved for the vamp LOL DU drow very much enjoys when Astarion teases and fusses over him, and while Astarion probably got a kick out of acting that way around such a big and scary looking guy at first, I think by "now" (later and post-game) he's pretty much immune to DU drow's looks and just enjoys doing it in earnest.

He's not at all averse to being touched (even rather intimately) by close friends, but he wouldn't be quite THAT vulnerable with anyone else.

HE REALLY DISLIKED GALE... He irked him out by seemingly fostering a rather persistent romantic interest in him for at least half the time they spent together (very much based on my interpretation of their in-game interactions at the time, though my Gale might have been a little bugged.)

But also they had a... Fairly in depth relationship still? Gale was a staple in my party, and even though I antagonized him constantly by the end of the game it still felt like they had so much weight in each other's lives, if that makes sense. I might need to do a bit of an "update" on the DU Drow/Gale lore sometime, I feel like I've had some thoughts since that warrant more exploration of their dynamic (you can find a lot of old asks about it if you just search the Gale Dekarios tag in my blog though).

The gist of it is that DU drow found him arrogant and duplicitous, his constant optimist irritated him to no end and felt like it veiled a stream of self-pity (two things DU drow despises) Gale's attempts to get through to him only added insult to injury. By the end of the game he decided to pursue the crown of Karsus and this only lost him even more respect in Drow's eyes, seeing as he doesn't value godly power at all.

I was pretty overwhelmed by the game at the start so I actually missed a lot LOL including Scratch. I did get the owlbear cub though, which DU drow gladly welcomed into camp since it was injured - but I think he would have wished for it to remain a wild animal and to return back to it's home after it had grown up a bit. He didn't really make a "pet" out of it more than he just looked after the little guy in the way it's mother might have, probably with Shadowheart's help.

He wouldn't be opposed to proper pets though if one were to stumble into his life. He'd definitely be more of a cat guy because of their independence and strong little attitudes.

It is very hard to build proper rapport with him. He will be "friendly" to most people who have a good sense of humor about them, but friendSHIP is another thing entirely.

I think it's kind of circumstantial. He's very economical in his relationships and doesn't really seek them out at all - so a situation where he's forced to be in someone's company might be the only way to develop a bond with him, as he doesn't appreciate insistence either and that's more likely to push him away. He doesn't value status or titles either (kind of looks down on them really) so that won't help.

I think he just likes people who are true to themselves and their nature, sometimes even if the nature is one he disagrees with at it's core. This is why he liked Gortash, why he and Shadowheart got along so well, and why him and Astarion fit together so seamlessly despite seeming so different. Likewise I think it's why he didn't jive with people like Gale or Wyll, because they seemed to be rather... Dishonest with themselves and their own end-goals.

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

Acacia - a hidden relationship

Sharena knows something weird is going on between you and Alfonse, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. As she stands in Anna's office, she can't help but feel the need to voice her pondering.

“Hey Commander, have you noticed how much time Alfonse and Summoner have been spending together lately?” Of course, she could just brush it off as the two of you both throwing yourselves headfirst into work. After recent events, it wouldn’t be strange for you both to be extra diligent in both defense and offense alike. But still… there’s more to it, she just knows it. Based on how Anna’s expression turns from one of contemplation to something downright impish. It’s safe to say, she also has her own suspicions.

“You know, now that you mention it, I did ask Alfonse if there was anything he needed to tell me.” Anna had asked the question as the Commander; it shouldn’t fall to just the two of you take on the problems of several realms. She had asked the question with a great deal of concern and sincerity, only to become perplexed when Alfonse seemed to be at a loss for words. “He started to panic, and I guess at the time I didn’t really think about it, because I just thought he was really stressed.” And in fairness to Anna, he was stressed, going through event after event in his life with little reprieve is in fact quite damaging to the psyche. Alfonse, scrambled through his brain to decide on a response to her. She had followed up with expressing her concerns that he and Summoner might be overworking themselves too greatly.

“And what did he say?” Sharena is leaning forward in anticipation, goading the Commander to continue on with her retelling.

“Well, he assured me that they weren’t overworking themselves and he promised if there was anything I could do to help that he’d ask. And off he went.” In fact, he almost ran out of the room. The two women place their hands on their chins, contemplating the strange behaviour. Sharena is the first to speak, with a cheeky grin.

“Do you think they’re together?” Before Anna even has a chance to share her thoughts, there’s a knock on the door, followed by the door opening. You enter holding against your chest a bundle of papers.

“Hey Anna, hey Sharena, look I just needed-“ neither can contain their looks of suspicion as you close the door behind you. “Why are you both looking at me like that?” You’re perplexed, even more so when Sharena starts to grin.

“You know Summoner you sure have been spending a lot of time with my brother.” There’s no visible reaction from you. Your brows are still furrowed as you try to understand what you’ve wandered into.

“I value his advice and counsel.” Your answer is curt, and almost disappointing from how little it gives away. But the two press on, ever determined.

“So that’s why you spend every chance you get together?” Sharena questions.

“It’s important for us to be on the same page.”

“Even late at night when you’re sneaking into his room?” Anna thinks she’s got you there, as you visibly freeze on the spot. You are quick to rectify this momentary pause by outright brushing off heir accusations.

“Somethings can’t wait until morning. While we sleep our enemies move.” The two almost want to sigh about how little you gave them to work with.  You press the papers you were cradling onto the desk. “Speaking of our enemies, I wanted you both to just give me your opinion on this new training regimen. Alfonse and I have been in talks with some of the more knowledge heroes about…” you’ve dismissed anymore queries from either of them completely, jumping into the conversation about training.

For a moment neither of the two women are sure if it’s intentional to dodge any further questioning, or you really have thrown yourself so deep into your responsibilities that you haven’t even given it a second thought how improper things might appear to others.

Although… you do seem to be more focused more on objects in the room then the inquisitive stare from either of them. And that enough is to continue their suspicions further.

“Alright, thank you both for your time. I’ll let some of the Heroes know we are changing some of their training accordingly.” You’re about to take your leave when you notice Anna’s facial expression change to a smirk.

“And let me guess you’re going straight to Alfonse?”

“If there’s something you need to know you should just ask outright.”

“Come on Summoner are you Alfonse together? Can you please tell us?” Sharena whines, and now it’s your turn to grin at the pair.

“Oh yes, we spend a great deal of time together. It’s the best way to get work done.” The two exchange a look, you use it as an excuse to beeline straight to the door. By the time they object to your sudden exit, you’re practically out the door.

“Hey, wait that doesn’t answer the question!”

“Sorry guys but I really have to go, bye!” The door slams shut, and your footsteps quickly dart down the hall until they disappear. Sharena frowns, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“There is no way they’re not together. They just don’t want to tell us!” Anna nods. That would explain so much about the sudden strange behaviour, not to mention the strange staring contests between you and Alfonse during the War Council meetings.

“Yeah, I agree. But why haven’t they told us?” The two make verbal noises of contemplation, trying to rack their brains about why you both would be keeping it a secret. Of course, there are very reasonable explanations, but Sharena can’t help but latch on to a particular train of thought the second it appears in her brain.

“Maybe Alfonse is waiting to propose first?” Both are visibly excited at the idea. Sharena, at the thought of you officially becoming part of her family and the never-ending jokes she can make to her brother about him scolding her about not befriending the Heroes as they’d need to go back to their own worlds. Anna can hear dollar signs in her mind as someone is going to need plan the wedding and arrange the venue. Who better than your dear Commander? For a reasonable fee of course!

Meanwhile, as you’re walking away from Anna’s office, you run into Alfonse along the way who was heading to see Anna and Sharena for a different matter. “Unless you’d like to be interrogated about our relationship status I wouldn’t go there right now.” He raises a brow, only to then follow it up with a defeated sigh.

“Are we really that bad at keeping secrets?”

“Anna made a comment about me sneaking into your room late at night.” His cheeks visibly flush at that. He brings a closed fist up to his mouth and lets out a cough to regain some composure.

“Perhaps I’ll speak with them at a later time.”

“Good idea.” You nod continuing in your direction further away from Anna’s office. It doesn’t help the rumours that he instead trails back beside you, his hand hovering over yours begging to be held.

You really are awful at keeping secrets. Given how you don’t even hesitate to take his hand in yours.

[paranormaljones]

2, 6, 7, 23

HI I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer this, my brain has been a pile of scrambled eggs lately but I promise I do appreciate ask game responses. I'm just so very bad at actually answering them.

2. Name something you want to read?

The Outlaws Scarlett and Browne by my most beloved author, Jonathan Stroud. I'm honestly very surprised that I haven't read these yet. I really want to get physical copies, which is probably what's held me back. Spending money and all that 😔

6. Show us a rock?

You know what's so very sad? I haven't any rocks at the moment. My rock collection is all back at home. If I had it I would show you my favorite chunk of jasper. But since I can't, I shall show you these many jaspers from the internet.

7. Draw something that makes you happy!

I wish I could bang out another little drawing right now but I must go get food momentarily, so I shall share this drawing of my dnd character Dusk that I did a few days ago! I'm not really satisfied with his hair and he looks weird without his hat. But it was only the second time I'd drawn him so I'm sure I'll figure him out with some more practice.

my beloved caracal fellow.

23. Talk about a WIP?

So this is a fairly new WIP that I really need to buckle down and work on soon because I can tell it's something that's very close to my heart, but basically it's a fantasy WIP and there's this one character named either Elio or Mehu (haven't decided) and he's a traveller in search of a particular Tree, and he stumbles into a land that's very hostile to outsiders and gets thrown into prison, but something about him intrigues the daughter of the ruler of that region and she secretly visits in him while he's in prison (her name is Tassah), and basically she ends up throwing her life away to free him so he can continue searching for the Tree and she expects to be executed by her people for doing so, but he gives her a way to return to her people without them knowing at all that she was the one who freed him while also trying to convince her to come with him on his journey and. that's as far as I've gotten. Sorry for the Dickensian run-on sentence, I'm horrible at talking about my WIPs. 😂

[c4ttheart]

have wtv this is (originally posted on wp -KUROMIS for my wonderful and very much real soon to be girlfriend) while i figure out how tumblr works

ermm.. this isnt angst but it isnt fluff either ? wc is smt around 500

he must have imagined it all.

from the influence of the stars driving the both of you together, to your empty hands and the lingering promises in the air.

from the pitter patter of your footsteps down the hall when the light of the rising sun would illuminate your face to the sound of your laughter echoing around his room.

from the cavity in his heart filling up to the feeling of your fingers grazing the skin of his arm. from the softness of your lips to the twinkle in your eye, megumi fushiguro must have imagined it all.

it is some late afternoon in October when you don't answer, and it is later that same day he realises he misses you. but he is expecting too much, he has let himself fall for your sweet words and promises so low he can't even see the sky anymore. his makeshift throne filled with insincere praise is crumbling appart and soon he will find himself down a hole he dug with his own bare hands, a hole so deep no amount of saving can help him.

the stars twinkle softly under the sky turned dark, as if laughing at him from above. tonight, they are particularly hellbent on punishing for something he isn't aware he has done.

but he does not care, for he can not see what is above. he has hit rock bottom, yet he continued to dig. now he wishes he had brought something- anything- to get him out of here.

megumi fushiguro isn't a religious person in any way, no, yet he prays to the god(s) above for a sign. he is as lost as the ant scrambling against the floor trying to escape, wondering how he got here.

he finds that his words don't even make sense anymore. maybe he needs sleep. maybe he needs the heat. but he is in too far deep to have any of those, so he has to crave them instead.

he feels as if he is drowning in air, grasping onto anything he finds around him to breathe. how long has it been ?

everything is made up, he reminds himself, there is no hole, no laughing stars in the above he cannot see, and he can breathe. he is here. he is home.

but where are you ?

that is when megumi fushiguro realises that it is all a figment of his imagination, just like the sky, the throne, and the lack of air.

he must have imagined it all.

from the smile bearing all your teeth you would give him to the orange juice you would drink in the mornings. from the words you spoke to him in a daze to the smell of your perfume. from the tip of your head to your toes, megumi fushiguro must have imagined it all. he must have imagined you.

he thinks and ponders every word his brain speaks to him as he sips on a half empty glass of canned orange juice. maybe the glass is half full, he doesn't know. he does not even like orange juice and the different opinions people have on glasses depending on their mood.

yet again he wonders if he imagined it all. he must have, he probably has, he definitely has.

because you were never there.

he must have imagined it all.

megumi in his schizophrenic era

[dracocheesecake]

I'm tired of holding in my cringe here it is:

Redimus' New Family Headcanons:

Mate is a mountain Dorcean named Doshika.

Twin daughters named Besteen and Dorcy (Eva suggested this one- yes it's supposed to be "Dorcean"+ "Dorothy". She didn't think Redimus would use it. ).

Besteen, despite her namesake, is almost nothing like her late uncle. She is quiet (for the most part), reserved, well-behaved- save for one point: she's an absolute cuddlebug.

Seriously this child cannot handle being put down. If her father gets tired of holding her all of the time then she'll go up and paw at someone else's leg, whining and begging until they hold her. If they won't pick her up she'll cling to their leg or just climb on up herself. Good luck getting rid of her when she sinks her tiny little claws in.

If someone sits down she'll scramble to be the first to sit in their lap.

Obviously as she got bigger these tendencies started to get more difficult to continue, so now she just gives crushing bear hugs instead.

Her first word was actually "up". Couldn't get her to say anything else for awhile.

Dorcy is much more energetic. When she was little she had a tendency to nibble on the toes of people's sneakboots and steal socks to play tug of war with her sister (Hailey and Van Turner were primary victims when they were around, but she wouldn't hesitate to take Eva's socks).

Dorcy is really fond of rides on her father's glider. Besteen likes it, too, but not as much as Dorcy does.

She was the first to learn how to drive a glider, and when she was older she actually "borrowed" it for a joy ride across Lake Concors and through Solas. She was grounded for three months- if you ask her, it was worth it.

Both sisters have actually always gotten along with one another. They don't really fight often.

Redimus doesn't play favorites between them. He doesn't want them to end up the way he and Besteel did.

Shortly after they were born something shifted in Redimus' brain. Basically he had them for a minute and immediately knew he would kill everyone in Lacus if anything happened to them, and then himself; and he would never be anything like his sire.

Dorcy was the first to make her first kill. She was only a few months old, and while sitting on a pier with her father and sister, watching the fish, she dived right in and caught one, swallowing it whole.

Both sisters will almost immediately fall asleep if they hear the sound of a strumil. Even as adults, hearing strumil music has a nostalgic, near-hypnotic effect on them, since Redimus always played his to put them to sleep.

Dorcy is more artistically inclined. She learned how to paint from Zoozi.

Almost every single wall in Redimus' home has many of Dorcy's "early works". Redimus let her use the walls as a canvas.

Dorcy wants to join the Royal Beamguide crew like her father did. Besteen doesn't know what she wants to do yet, but she seems to have an interest in Solas' museum and rebuilt education district.

Usually female Dorceans leave their father to live with their mother at the age of 15- but because they inherited Redimus' "delicate constitution" (as Doshika puts it), they cannot survive the harsh conditions their mother lives in, and so they still live with Redimus.

When they were still little chubby puff balls that could barely move on their own, the Gens liked to dress them up in silly costumes. Dorcy hated it and always tried to crawl away or claw the costumes off, but Besteen never minded it; when she's older Besteen still has a thing for cosmetics, usually nail polish or eyeliner (as much as she can stand the strong smell)- to her father's dismay.

Redimus tells them about their uncle. He doesn't talk often of their grandsire, though, only answering their questions about him in short, terse, to the point responses.

[oswaldthatendswald]

for the writing ask game:

besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

how you feel about your current WIP

Oh actually these go really well together. I'm going to shuffle them into groups for the flow.

do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

All the time. Perpetually. It's all well and good to say "write for yourself" (and in truth I do plenty of writing that is genuinely for myself, that I don't intend to share) but I am not posting for only myself. More precisely, when I write something with the intention to post it, I am very aware of that larger audience. It's really easy for me to get caught up in the weight of perceived expectations. I'm afraid I don't have any perfect solutions either. Sometimes talking about it with my partner helps, as she can often point out that the things I'm worried about are entirely the products of my own overthinking. Other times I just have to sit myself down and go "look, bud, you're not making any money off of this. The stakes are very low. Chill Out."

how you feel about your current WIP

Cry Havoc, my beloved. I love it so much, but I'm also very intimidated by it. It's a much bigger project than my previous fics, and (speaking of public reaction) it's also gotten a lot larger response. I'm quite nervous too, because at times it feels almost gratuitously self-indulgent-- and it definitely is. I feel at times like someone should jump out and go "hey wait a minute! You're just writing whatever the hell you want! Guards! Seize them!" But, as my partner pointed out, if other people weren't interested, they wouldn't be reading it.

Going to put the rest under the cut because this got long.

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

Stepping away from the writing is always a good start. Working on something else-- a different story, sometimes, or a sewing project, or even just a small craft-- can be a decent reset if I still want to be creative but have run out of steam for one story. Getting out of the house and walking to the secondhand bookstore or taking a bus to the mall can help too. Other times I just need to put on a movie and turn my brain off for a while.

Bigger picture creative block, when nothing is working and I just can't put words together anymore, usually requires a more significant solution. For me, it can be really hard to tell the difference between writer's block and creative burnout, because they both manifest in not wanting/being able to write but have different causes. Writer's block, for me, usually indicates a structural problem with the story that I need to identify and work around. Creative burnout is an problem on my end, either because I've been putting too much pressure on myself or the circumstances in my life have gotten tangled up with my current writing project and made it not fun anymore. This means I need to step back and either play with stories that don't have as high stakes for me or just take a break from writing for a short period of time.

besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

I'm an upper-year undergrad in university which means that, during the semester, I'm in a frantic scramble to outrun deadlines. What free time I do have goes to writing, but when I have a spare evening, I also like watching horror movies (other genres too, I'm just on a horror kick. I like trawling through the horror category on Tubi and seeing what I can find) and sewing. I've been hand-sewing patches onto a vest and making a pouch for my planner lately, but I've gotten very little done on either project this past month.

Thank you very much for the questions! I had to think about my answers for a while and went a little bit overboard!

[awkwardtickleetoo]

Wake up brain strikes again, I'm thinking this playfulness would be Ler!Sapnap and lee!George. "If you can catch me, I'll tickle you" reverse chase! The lee chases the ler around and if the ler is caught then the lee gets any kind of tickles they want

okay, FIRST of all, I just wanna say that this has been sitting in my inbox since probably the last week of november/first week of december,,,,,, and for that, i am sorry, I really wish it didn't take this long to answer, BUT. better late than never, or whatever wise people say

second of all, I went... a liiiiiitle bit overboard with this one, but I feel like the length makes uo for the wait, possibly? that's for you to decide

but THIRD of all, YES SLEEPY YES YES ABSOLUTELY YES

im thinking is something along the lines of this:

george is in a pretty severe lee mood, but he flat out Refuses to admit it, so he finds sap in the movie room and starts provoking and bothering him to try and get him to retaliate and wreck him

sap catches on pretty quickly (it doesn't take long for him to figure out, he knows george's tells like the back of his own hand, plus hes not exactly subtle) and goes "okay. I know what you want, so I'm gonna make you a deal. I'm gonna run around the house, and if you can catch me, I'll tickle you in ANY way you want. deal?" pretty much exactly like you said!!

and obviously, george denies AGGRESSIVELY at first, and his cheeks turn pink at the PROSPECT of being lee and wanting tickles, because how DARE sapnap accuse him of something like that!! he is NOT lee, he does NOT want tickles, sapnap can shut his MOUTH, thank you very much—

.....but eventually, after sap is just Staring at him in silence waiting for him to crack, he giggles a little and goes "wh- uh... you- you said any kind I want?" and sap just goes "mhm :) anything you want. does that mean you're in?" and george just nods, very slowly, and sapnap goes "awesome! seeya, slowpoke!" and skitters his nails over George's tummy before SPRINTING out of the room and leaving George to squirm and sputter out a protest and scramble to run after him as he darts out of the movie room they were sitting in

and honestly I feel like George would like... kinda get lost in the game a tiny bit? not fully, he is still Extremely hooked on the idea of getting his tickles, but it would kinda slip his mind what exactly would happen when he catches sap, simply because he gets so lost in the act of actually chasing and catching him

so, when he manages to skip the top step of the staircase and grab sapnap's arm, successfully pushing him against the doorframe of george's own bedroom, he just giggles his heart out because he won!! he caught sap!! he did it!!!

until sapnap goes "okay!! you caught me, georgie, good job!!! how do you want your tickles?" and hes just like "oh 😳 right 😳 that's what's happening....."

and he would just keep giggling in that little flustered and squeaky way he always does as he squirms where he's standing, and he's like "I, uh... I didn't really– I haven't really thought about it yet..." and sap reaches forward and puts his hands on George's waist and goes "That's okay :) I can wait :) i have time"

and george's brain nearly short circuits, and he realizes he has to actually come up with something and then actually ASK for it out loud before sap does it, because sap can't read his mind!! but eventually he's able to get out "can you– do you think– can you maybe, like..." as he tries to ask for what he wants but gets caught up in his own brain

but, to take a break from the teasing and be a lil sweetheart for a bit, i feel like sap would hug him as he stutters through his words to encourage him as well :( he pulls George in by his waist, wraps his arms around him, presses his cheek to George's collarbone, holds him close and goes "anything you want, anything my gogy asks for, okay? whatever comes to mind"

and after some more whines and stutters and broken giggles and other noises, george works up the courage he needs to say “so, y-you know that... that claw thing you do to my– uh… like, my ribs? yeah i… i-id like that" and then he follows it up with "and- and maybe also, if you want, just like... some raspberries maybe? a few, or something like that"

and sapnap would pull back from the hug, smirk at george, and suddenly drop down to his knees and push george's shirt up to blow the BIGGEST raspberry on his tummy, and george is so caught off guard that he squeals and nearly crumbles right then and there

so sap does a few more until one well-placed raspberry right above his hipbone makes him go a little limp, and then suddenly sapnap lifts him up over his shoulder and brings him over to the bed, plops him on it, and straddles him to suddenly do little jellyfish and claws scratchies on his ribs :)

and george is just so giddy and giggly and happy and squirmy and wiggly the whole time!!! because!!! this is exactly what he asked for!!! sapnap KNOWS exactly what he likes!!! it's playful its fun it tickles its GOOD!!

and his little tickly hands are shaking around, going a mile a minute, and his smile is so big and he's already breathless from the running and the raspberries and the laughter and being thrown around so much and!!!!! he's just. so HAPPY!!! and sapnap thinks he's so god damn cute too, and he just can't stop tickling, and he knows george doesn't want it to stop either, so they're both just giggling together while george squirms underneath sap and glances up at him with the biggest, sweetest, tear-filled heart eyes sapnap has ever seen in his life when he's not squeezing them shut or shaking his head through his laughter :((( he's just the cutest little angel isn't he :(

[sparkywrites25]

Mobuhan Modern au pls 🫶🏼

I am so so sorry for how late this is. So much for aiming to get things done in a few weeks. Work and life just took me away.

Summary: Moblit gets a call he never likes to receive.

Pairing: Mobuhan

Taglist: @youre-ackermine @lunar-rainclouds @4melo-dy @captain-natey

Trigger Warnings: heavy depiction of anxiety, mentions of injury and brief mention of transphobia

Notes: If you like my work and want to see more then please join my taglist. Form is pinned on my blog.

Mobilit’s attention jumped from pan to pan, brows furrowing in concentration as he examined the progress of each one. The cooked bolognese mince was sitting comfortably on a low, steady heat waiting for the rest to catch up. Next to it, the pan of spaghetti was bubbling nicely. Mobilit swiftly turned down the heat on it and addressed the final pot with the cooking broccoli in it. That too was almost finished. With a satisfied smile, he began to unload the food into large bowls ready for their placement on the dining table. 

He checked the clock. 6pm. 

Hange would be arriving home any minute. They’d assured him that they would not be pulling a late one tonight. It had been too many weeks since they’d enjoyed a meal like this together. Takeaways and ready meals had become too much of the norm for them over the last month so Mobilit had insisted on using his day off to catch up on some errands at home and cook them a meal himself. The red wine was chilling in the fridge and some hot bread sat in the air fryer nearby. 

Mobilit grinned to himself as he remembered how excitable Hange had been over the air fryer, and how much electricity they had promised they would save by using it. The actual oven had been removed from the kitchen and placed in Hange’s home lab. They had insisted that it could still form some kind of purpose for scientific advancements in their experiments. Which meant that the electricity saved wasn’t actually going to be saved, ultimately, but at least the appliance would find another use. 

Once everything was in their bowls and plates, ready to be carried to the table, Mobilit switched the appliances off and wiped up the surfaces. He was just getting the wine out of the fridge ready to pour when his phone rang. Mobilit tensed up as he placed the bottle down at once. 

Oh for god’s sakes, not again, he mentally prayed as he answered the call. It took him half a second to realize that the number wasn’t Hange’s and he exhaled in relief. 

“Hello?” he asked in a fairly cheery voice. 

“Is this Mobilit Berner?” a male voice spoke. 

“Yeah. Who is this?”

“This is Mitras General Hospital. I’m calling about your partner Hange Zoe.”

Mobilit’s stomach and appetite dropped out of him at the same time. The air was punched from his lungs and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred in front of him and suddenly he wasn’t sure that his legs would hold him up. His free hand scrambled for the counter and clutched onto it. 

“W-what about them? What’s happened?” he fired the questions out in a stumbling mess. His brain was already contemplating some scenarios and creating painful visuals along with it. Hange having picked an argument with the wrong person. Hange being cornered on a quiet street. Hange having experimented with too many chemicals and having an allergic reaction in their skin or something. Hange stepping out into the road at the wrong time because they were too busy thinking of ideas around whatever stumbling block they’d hit at work. Hange just simply tripping and falling into a moving bus or something. 

“Hange’s been injured in a laboratory accident at their workplace,” the receptionist - Mobilit assumed anyway - answered. “There was an explosion and-”

“Oh god!” Mobilit cried out, slumping against the counter. More images flew through his head one by one; violent images of Hange blistered, bleeding and screaming or Hange lying in hospital with missing limbs. His chest constricted and he grit his teeth to force back the cry that threatened to rip out of him. 

A vicious, violent accident had put Hange in danger and it had happened at work. Worse, this was a line of work where that sort of thing could happen. That reminder stabbed through Mobilit’s insides. This could happen again and again. This could be something he’d have to live with. What if next time Hange didn’t just get injured? What it it killed them?

“How bad is it?” he managed to get out finally. 

“They’ve suffered some superficial burns on the face and arms but those are very shallow and will heal in a week or so.” 

Mobilit bent his head, offering gratitude to whatever deity might be out there that had given Hange superficial injuries. He forced himself to focus on the receptionist once again as the man began to speak once more.

“From what we understand, they weren’t standing directly next to the chemicals when the explosion happened.” 

A small bubble of relief began to grow in Mobilit’s chest. Another mercy was granted to him, at least. Although, his brain offered in its wicked voice, the mercy wouldn’t have been down to Hange being particularly careful. They were just lucky. In another scenario, it could have gone very differently. The relief was instantly swallowed up in a wave of horror-struck imagination. 

“But still, the force of it threw them across the lab and they broke their arm.” The receptionist continued after another pause.

 Mobilit appreciated that he was delivering the news in processable chunks. Of course he probably has to do this, and worse, every day, Mobilit thought abstractedly. That must be one of the worst parts of that job; having to tell people that their loved one is dead or dying or seriously injured or ill. He tried to snatch some gratitude that at least he wasn’t being told any news that was worse. Even so, anxiety gnawed away at him and he could barely find it in him to refocus on the conversation.

“They have hit their head, though, as a result. So we’ll be monitoring that injury for a few days. However all the tests so far have come back clear.”

Mobilit tried to take the rest of this in but, primarily, he felt himself sagging closer to the floor in another wave of relief. “They’re going to be okay?” he sounded breathless and his stomach flipped over and over itself uneasily. 

“They will make a full recovery, yes. We’re keeping them in for observation and monitoring the healing process of the burns more than anything else.”

“Okay, I understand,” Mobilit scrambled to say as he ran a hand over his face. “Thanks for letting me know. Where are they?”

“They’ve been assigned a private room, number 14 on the second floor. They’re still being treated right now so you might have to wait outside,” he was advised. 

Mobilit’s mind switched off and autopilot took over. He made the remaining pleasantries with the receptionist and ended the call. He wasn’t fully aware of packing the food away into containers, making sure the appliances were switched off and giving the surfaces a last wipe. Perhaps other people might not have prioritized such things in the wake of such a call but the act of cleaning up helped to get him moving and it felt good to be doing something for now. 

Once it was all taken care of, he grabbed his phone and car keys and hurried towards the door. 

— — — — — — —

The clinical smell of the hospital made Mobilit’s throat close up. He took no comfort from the clean scents or the smiling, reassuring faces of the staff that he passed. It was all a charade to cover up the fact that people were ill here, that some of them were dying. That bones had been broken and lives had been changed, maybe forever, in this place. He walked through it all with an increasing detachment, turning his head away from the worried loved ones, sitting around in the same position that he was about to be in. He ignored the tears in some eyes and the despair that poured from their faces as they clung to their friends and family members, mourning the state of things and cursing the events that had brought them here when they could have been doing something else. When they could have been happy. 

And yet it was all imprinting on his mind, so clearly that he could have painted the scene with very little concentration on his memory. Imagining people’s pain forever painted onto canvas somewhere. But then it was there, in so many works of art. Artists didn’t shy away from such things but right now Mobilit wished that he could. 

They’re going to be fine. It’s not like they’re ill or dying. They’re gonna walk out of here in a couple of days. He had to repeat this mantra in his head as he rode the elevator to the second floor. He continued with it all the way down the hall towards the waiting area near room 14. 

Nifa, Erwin and Levi were waiting outside the room when Mobilit finally reached them. Erwin and Nifa were perched on two seats on a string of colourful plastic chairs. Levi leaned against the wall, arms folded and brow furrowed in an expression that many would mistake for anger but Mobilit knew well enough to recognize as concern. The door to the room was closed and the blinds were drawn for now. Mobilit felt his anxiety surge upward as he stared at the covered window intently. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erwin and Nifa straighten up. He turned to them and saw that Nifa’s left arm was in a cast. One side of her face was still quite red although the lack of bandages told Mobilt that at least her face wasn’t considered to be all that injured. 

She swallowed, her eyes wide and anxious as she stared into Mobilit’s face. 

“You called them,” Mobilit remarked as he approached her. 

“Yeah,” Nifa confirmed. “I’m sorry. I was nervous about calling you so the receptionist said that they would do it.”

“It’s okay, Nifa,” Mobilit placed a hand gently on her uninjured elbow. “Are you okay? You look like you took a nasty hit.” Looking over his friend was hard but it gave him something to do other than stare at the door and wait to be allowed to see Hange. 

“I’m fine,” Nifa assured him. “I was further away from the explosion. I just fell badly.”

Mobilit nodded. Anxiety continued to grow inside his stomach like one of those elastic band balls that people built when they were bored and it, ultimately, grew to be quite weighty. It brought an increasing feeling of nausea with it too. “What happened exactly, Nifa? Hange said that they weren’t staying late today.”

The subject chased some of the anxiety out of Nifa’s expression and her brow furrowed in instant focus. 

“It was just after four,” Nifa recalled, “and Hange said they were gonna finish early so we didn’t start any new testing after 3pm. We were just waiting on this last concoction to finish boiling so we could test its effectiveness after being heated. But something must have gone wrong with the glass. The liquid must have spilled somehow. Maybe it splashed out of the glass. It’s hard to know for sure because the explosion took a lot of equipment out when it happened.” She tucked some hair behind her ear and stared down at the ground. 

Erwin stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Take your time. The CCTV will determine what happened soon enough.”

“Yeah,” Nifa agreed, a miserable expression filling her face now. “I just wish I could have seen it. I could have stopped it.”

“If Hange had seen it, they would have removed it from the danger area,” Erwin comforted her. “It sounds like it was just one of those things. You can’t always predict them.”

“I’m sure this wasn’t your fault, Nifa,” Mobilit gently took her uninjured elbow in his hands. “They said Hange has some facial burns,” he said after a pause. “Did they notice something before it happened? Were they going to check on it?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Nifa answered. “They weren’t expecting it to be ready yet. They were just cleaning up another table while they were waiting.”

“Huh. Hange was cleaning.” Levi scoffed from behind Erwin. 

Nifa smiled. “They were bored. Normally we’d have another testing on the go at the same time. They had some time to kill.”

“And some germs, apparently,” Levi quipped. 

“So Hange wasn’t trying to go near it,” Mobilit sought out confirmation, gazing intently at Nifa who nodded. But it was Erwin who spoke next. 

“Perhaps you could leave any further questions until later, Mobilit. There’s not much more to learn about how this happened.”

Mobilit nodded and squeezed Nifa’s arm gently. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry. Nifa,” he said in a quiet but sincerely apologetic murmur. “I really am. I just… I guess I just want to try and picture what happened. I just keep imagining-” he cut off his sentence and pulled back. 

“Don’t go there,” Erwin recommended in a gentler tone. “Hange will be fine. They were lucky.”

“Yeah,” Nifa said encouragingly. “The lab will look at the CCTV and see what exactly started it. Once they tell us, we can take even more precautions.” She smiled into Mobilit’s worried eyes. “I know Hange’s really passionate about their work but we both know that they do take precautions too. We just need to do a few more next time we look at that test. We’ll figure it out and, at least for now, Hange will have to take things easier.”

“You both should,” Levi had moved over to join them. “You and Shitty Glasses are always working too hard. I’m surprised Rico isn’t here already.”

Suddenly Nifa’s eyes ballooned and Mobilit stared into the redhead’s guilty face. A chuckle rose out of his throat despite the circumstances. “You haven’t told Rico,”  he said.

“No… I was too preoccupied with calling people about Hange,” Nifa said biting her lip. She sighed and squared her shoulders. “I’m gonna do it now. Hopefully she won’t freak,” she added as she pulled out her phone and went to take a seat. Mobilit watched her type in a number and then hold the phone to her ears. 

“If Hange’s missed any safety precautions and Rico gets wind of that,” Levi mused, folding his arms, “then Hange’s gonna be in the right place.”

“Levi,” Erwin chided. 

He returned to his seat, beckoning for Mobilit to join him but the shorter man shook his head, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. The nerves and the knowledge that Hange was behind the door receiving treatment, that they were so injured, had bubbled up again during his conversation with the others. Now there was that sinking, overwhelming feeling again, like not being able to tread water. He took a few deep breaths and turned away from the door. 

Levi took his arm. It wasn’t a terribly firm hold but the way Levi’s fingers dug in suggested that he might press harder if Mobilit were to try and throw him off. “Hey,” he told Mobilit. “Breathe. They’re going to be fine.” 

Mobilit tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “I know,” he mused. “It’s just that… I forget how dangerous this job can be for them.”

“That’s true but it’s also what Hange is good at,” Levi reasoned. “They got unlucky today but they have made significant advancements in medication thanks to their experiments,” he reminded Mobilit. “You’ve been a part of them all so you know. Those tablets that cut Covid down by a few days? The syrup that takes care of the flu within 48 hours? These all came from your partner’s brain and skill.”

“Levi’s right,” Erwin added. “It’s dangerous work but in Hange’s hands it’s also successful work.”

Mobilit nodded, slumping a little as he began to slowly pace in front of Hange’s room. “Yeah… I do understand that,” he said quietly. He understood it very well. He worked with them on this. He knew how passionate they felt about their work and how valuable they were. He didn’t want to be that guy that demanded Hange chose between him and their work. If he was 100% honest with himself, he wasn’t sure Hange would be able to turn their back on something that was such a huge aspect of their life. Asking them to do that would only end up breeding resentment anyway even if they did do it. 

Besides, he loved their passion and their ideas and that completely chaotic drive to do some good in the world. As he considered this, a slight smile played on his lips. Hange wouldn’t be Hange without their love of experiments and seeking out knowledge. They were born to do this sort of thing, to be bold enough to chase down those possibilities. 

It just meant that he had to keep reminding himself that Hange was walking - no, let’s be honest, they were skipping - down a dangerous road. He had always known this from the moment they had chosen to become more than friends. No one could say that he didn’t know the risks. Ugh, just get it together, Mobilit kicked himself mentally. They’re gonna be fine. The receptionist told you that. It’s nothing too serious. Yet, even while he tried to remind himself of that, another voice, one far nastier, began to speak up. 

What if it happens again? What if next time you’re not so lucky? What if next time, they’re not giving you a list of whatever meds they’ll need but a death certificate. 

Mobilit stopped pacing at once. The idea was so horrific and yet so painfully plausible. The thought made him feel viciously sick and he pursed his lips, convinced that he might actually throw up with the bubbling fear that was shooting up his throat right now. He looked up and along the corridor, quickly spotting the doorway to a bathroom. He broke into a fast walk, making a beeline for it.

“Mobilit!” He heard Erwin call after him but he was too occupied to pay him much attention.

— — — — — — —

When he emerged from the toilet stall, Erwin was waiting by the sink. Mobilit washed his face and the cool water helped to ground his uneasy levels of anxiety. He threw more water over his skin, chasing the comforting sensation. 

After a moment, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He flinched instantly.

“Just breathe,” Erwin told him.

Mobilit stared up at him. He hadn’t even seen that the man was in here with him. The fact that he hadn’t even noticed Erwin was somewhat surprising considering the man’s size. However, it didn’t entirely surprise him that the man could keep himself out of anyone’s focus if he so pleased. It was kind of a terrifying skill to have but not one Mobilit wanted to dwell on right now. 

 “Just one breath at a time. Don’t think. Just breathe.” Erwin advised. He inhaled deeply himself, gesturing for Mobilit to mimic him. 

Mobilit did so, taking in a deep breath of air and held it in for a moment before copying Erwin’s exhale. They did that together a few more times before Mobilit began to feel the overwhelming feeling begin to settle. Clarity returned to him gradually as well.

“Feeling calmer?” Erwin asked and Mobilit nodded. 

“Thanks.”

“No worries,” Erwin said. “I figured you’d want to calm yourself down before you go in and see Hange.”

Mobilit straightened up. “Can I go in now?”

“Yes, a doctor came out just as you left. Levi is speaking to him now. I’m sure he’s asking about the cleanliness of the room and the quality of the supplies in relation to whatever budget the hospital has,” Erwin answered. He spoke the last part with a smile that eased Mobilit a little. 

“I guess the doctor won’t be hanging around then,” he managed to joke feebly. 

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Erwin smiled. “But Levi can tell us what he said anyway.”

“Yeah. I just really need to see Hange right now.” Mobilit said.

“Of course,” Erwin gestured for him to exit the bathroom ahead of him, “just try and stay calm. Remember, they weren’t too badly hurt. They’re going to be okay.”

Mobilit tried to focus on that as he left the bathroom and stepped out into the corridor again. He began the walk towards Hange’s door, a walk that felt so long the more he thought about it. He was about to see Hange and see for himself that they were okay. Why wasn’t he excited about it? Why did his stomach feel like it was going to empty itself? Why did his legs feel this wobbly? It wasn’t the first time Hange had been hurt and - while he hated to think it - it probably wouldn’t be the last. He just needed to get used to it. 

Levi was waiting outside the door, noticeably alone, leaning against the wall. Nifa was sat near him, still on the phone to Rico. Levi eyed Mobilit thoughtfully as he approached. “I hope you cleaned up in there,” he muttered although the words had none of their usual harshness. 

It was enough for Mobilit to crack a smile. “Of course I did.” 

Levi nodded to the door. “We’ll wait out here,” he said. He then looked to Nifa. “Or we can take her for some tea. It sounds like Rico isn’t too happy,” he mused. 

Mobilit glanced over to Nifa who was grimacing and speaking her quickly and lovingly down the phone. “Can’t say I blame her,” he remarked. “Nifa could have been a lot worse as well.” 

At last, he returned his attention to the door of Hange’s room and pushed at it, stepping inside. 

— — — — — — —

Well, this bites, Hange huffed to themself as they stared out of the window with their uncovered eye. 

Not that the other eye was missing much outside of the glass. It wasn’t even a good view. All they could see were constant columns of grey corporate building, their windows plastered with colourful posters promoting the usual lies and propaganda of billion dollar companies that were destroying the planet one office at a time. Hange’s fists clenched in the bedsheets for a moment as they gritted their teeth. Instantly half of their facial muscles twinged and they eased up on the expression instantly. 

That’s going to be a pain. Hange acknowledged. Being an emotionally expressive person and having half of their face being sore and tender for a week or so were not going to be friendly bedfellows. They looked down at the menu list for dinner soon and sighed. 

I was supposed to be having dinner with Moblit tonight. He was making his spaghetti bolognese. I love his spaghetti. That man is an artist in the kitchen too. Instead, I’m gonna be stuck here eating whatever processed crap they serve up. With a heavy sigh, they leaned back against the pillows and ran a hand down the uninjured side of their face. They’ll have called him by now. He’s gonna freak. I promised him I wouldn’t be late. It’s his day off too. Who wants to spend that in here?

They’d been careful today. So fucking careful. It had been too long since they had had a date night and almost as long since they’d last eaten Mobilit’s cooking. It was the nature of Hange’s job that things tended to get intense and all-consuming very quickly. Anything else tended to take a back seat. But they and Mobilit had recognized that. They’d made plans to take time for themselves. All through the day Hange had kept her mind on how long things would take to finish and what they could do instead to fill up the hours before leaving early that wouldn’t involve starting a new test. It was all supposed to be straight forward and that stupid explosion had fucked things up for them. 

I’m amazed that he doesn’t lose patience with me. Hange reflected as they tapped their fingers on the table hovering over their legs. But then that was Mobilit. He’d been by their side, putting up with a lot of shit for years now. 

The door opened again and Hange’s attention whipped towards it just as Mobilit stepped inside and closed the door. They beamed at him and waved with one hand. That was another thing that would be hell to get used to. Managing with a broken arm. They already missed their double wave. 

“Mobilit,” they greeted softly with a smile that disappeared as soon as Hange saw their boyfriend’s eyes. 

They were glassy and filled with so much pain and fear that any confident, quirky quip that Hange might have conjured instantly died in their mouth. Their own face tightened with immediate guilt. I did this to him. Worrying about me again has done this. 

His shoulders were trembling, not a great deal but enough for them to notice. They watched as Mobilit’s eyes roamed over their injuries, lingering briefly on their face before dropping to take in the sling that currently held Hange’s left arm. With every second, the anxiety seemed to bloom more across his features. Hange saw his fists clench and his jaw tighten. They recognised those signs instantly. 

“This isn’t something you could have prevented,” Hange told him in as calm a voice as they could manage. “It was just an accident, Mobilit. I’m gonna be fine.”

“Just an accident?” Mobilit repeated, his voice cracking. “Are you being serious?”

It had been the wrong thing to say and Hange grimaced. “I’m not playing it down.”

“Yes you are,” the retort that came back so quickly was angry and it surprised Hange. Mobilit’s chest was starting to heave. “Yes, you are,” he repeated. “It happened and it’s a big deal, Hange.” Their boyfriend stepped forward, grabbing the nearest plastic blue seat and pulling it towards the side of their bed. The left side, Hange noted, closest to their heart. It was sweet and they wanted to smile but right now, faced with Mobilit’s anger, Hange forced that smile back for the time being. “You’re about to tell me that it could have been worse, right?” he asked and the pain in his voice was evident. 

“Yeah,” Hange admitted. “I’d rather focus on the fact that it wasn’t. I was lucky.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Another crack in Mobilit’s voice. “I have to think that we’re lucky because you only ended up here with a broken arm and some burns? That’s not lucky, Hange. That’s you being hurt!” he snapped. Tears shone in his eyes. “You being hurt is never lucky.”

Hange itched to reach out to him but he was sitting on their injured side. “Okay that was a bad choice of words-”

“Hange!” Mobilit’s voice came out as a dry sob. “Just stop! Stop trying to make this okay! It’s not okay!” He bowed his head and clasped his hands over his face. “God, this is not okay, Hange. It’s not.” His shoulders shook and Hange’s heart broke a little for him. 

Hange couldn’t remember ever having seen Mobilit this anxious before. He always worried so much about their welfare and their safety. Things that, admittedly, were not high on Hange’s list of priorities and they never really had been. Such things took up too much room in their head that could be better filled with ideas and possibilities and combinations. 

Hange had been that kid experimenting with dangerous stunts or homemade scientific concoctions as a child. They had had their fair share of hospital visits back then too. Even then, they hadn’t been terribly afraid of the pain or the healing although it had certainly been inconvenient for their relentless curiosity and determination to explore and investigate. It was just normal for them to handle things this way. Their parents had been worried about it at the time, back when they had been someone her parents could approve of. Back when they had accepted them as their child. They had supported Hange’s curiosities and strong scientific mind and forgave the occasional hospital visits. 

It was just their gender identity, that they couldn’t forgive. Their so-called “decision” to be different. Their ultimate rejection had been a lesson in being careful who to trust, after that. Hange was lucky in that they had accepting friends to help them through it. They had moved in with Erwin and Levi for a while as soon as they left home at 17. A year later, Erwin had introduced them to Mobilit. Life had transformed for the better since leaving that house. 

Mobilit had shown concern about the risks of Hange’s experiments and their tendency to overlook the risks right from the beginning. Hange liked to call him their worrier. He worried so they didn’t have to. But seeing him now, guilt churned away inside their stomach. How much of that worrying had stayed inside Mobilit eating away at him?

“I’m sorry,” Hange reached out their uninjured hand and smiled when Mobilit slid his into it. “I’m sorry,” they said again. “I know this isn’t okay. How much you worry.” They stroked the backs of his fingers with their thumb gently. “I’m just trying to focus on the positives. It could have been a lot worse and I’m grateful that it wasn’t.”

“Me too,” Mobilit mumbled. “I am. It’s just that it could have gone the other way so easily, Hange.” 

“Mobilit,” Hange kept their voice gentle as they squeezed his hand. “Thoughts like that don’t help. If we worry about what could happen, we’d never live our lives. You could go to the store tomorrow and get hit by a bus,” they explain. “We could take a vacation and get scammed out of all our money. We could get sick. Our house could burn down.” They exhaled gently. “It’s a rabbit hole but you can’t go down it. Look at what it’s doing to you.”

Hange lifted Mobilit’s hand to kiss it. “How long have you been holding back your worries, Mobilit?” they questioned. 

Mobilit lifted his face to theirs with a confused frown. “Since I got that call this afternoon.” His brows furrowed deeper. “How did you expect me to react? Am I just supposed to shrug it off now? To be used to you getting hurt?”

His partner shook their head. “No. I’m not saying that. But Mobilit, this feels like it’s been going on longer. You sound like you’ve been carrying this for a while.” 

Mobilit’s eyes shifted away from theirs and his frown deepened. “I… I always have to worry because you don’t,” he mumbled. “Someone has to.” One of his hands lifted to run through his hair, his eyes squeezing shut with obvious frustration. His shoulders sagged even lower and Hange’s heart went out to him. This was the worst they had ever seen him react to one of their accidents at work. Some of it had to be build up from previous concerns. They had been injured worse than this before. 

“Do they?” Hange asked. They kissed his fingers again. “Caring and concern are one thing but this… Mobilit, this is anxiety and it’s not healthy for you.”

Their boyfriend stared at them for a moment or two, blinking slowly. “Really?” he asked. “Really?! You’re lecturing me on what’s not healthy from a hospital bed? Because it’s so healthy to disregard your own safety.” Mobilit’s sheer disbelief seemed to chase a great deal of the anxiety from his face for the moment. Hange welcomed that distraction for however long it lasted. Seeing some of the pain leaving his face was a very good thing. 

Hange’s lips twitched into a smile. 

Mobilit stared at them like that for a moment before a small smile began to take over. “You’re unbelievable,” he mused softly. “You’re really something else, you know?” He lifted his hand and brought theirs to his lips softly. He exhaled again, this time releasing a weak laugh with it. “You’re such a pain,” he joked. 

Hange smiled wider this time. “Yes but I’m your pain.” 

“Yes you are,” Mobilit’s smile was growing as well. “Although I could very much live without these trips to hospital, you know?” He pointed out, cupping their hand in both of his. “And we both have much better ways of spending our time, don’t you think?” He sighed, his features relaxing more although some of the anxiety still lingered in his eyes. “So, if you could very kindly spare just a little of that massive brain of yours into taking more care,” he suggested and heaved a dramatic sigh, “I’d really appreciate it very much.”

Hange nodded emphatically. “I’ll try and be more careful, Mobilit,” they assured him. “I promise.”

“Good.” Mobilit leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed. He eyed the bandages over half of Hange’s face and lifted their hand for another kiss. “I really wanna kiss you but I guess your hand will have to do for now,” he remarked. 

“I wish you could,” Hange complained quietly. “My face is stupid sensitive right now.”

“At least the burns aren’t too bad, so the doctors say,” Mobilit answered. 

“Yeah they’re just enough to be a pain but they won’t leave lasting damage,” Hange told him. “Not gonna lie. A few burns might have given me more of a badass edge in the science department but ah well, I can live without it.”

Mobilit bowed his head, releasing a laugh of mingled amusement and exasperation. “You’re a freaking maniac.”

Hange grinned and then winced at the pain in their cheek at the movement of their mouth. “Yeah well, you still love me right?”

“Of course I love you,” Mobilit stroked their hand in his. “I’m never gonna stop loving you.”

“And I love you,” Hange’s smile softened, easing the pain in their cheek. “I promise to be more careful. And at least we can take some positives from this.”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m gonna be home for a little while now thanks to this stupid thing.” Hange gestured to their sling. “So I hope you’re prepared for me to drive you a little crazy.” 

“Hange,” Mobilit laughed a truly happy sound, “you already drive me a LOT crazy. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[the-al-chemist]

18, 20 and.. 37 for fic writer asks? ♥

Firstly, I’m sorry. This ask is being answered embarrassingly late, and I apologise PROFUSELY for that. Thank you for sending it, and for being so patient with me being slow to respond!

First, second, or third person?

For fanfiction I always write in third person, which is a stylistic choice - the source material for the fandom I write for is a third person narrative, and the genre of fiction my work falls into (coming of age fantasy) is more often than not written in third person narrative. For my original stories I use a mixture of first and third, depending on what suits the story in question. I’ve never written a second person narrative, and I’m not certain that I ever will.

Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

If you’d asked me this time eighteen months ago, I’d have told you that I was working on at least three longform stories at any given time (@lifeofkaze can vouch for this). Since then, I’ve found it increasingly hard to focus on multiple stories at once, and so I now concentrate on one “big” project at a time, with the odd short story or a little bit of work on a different longform story when the muse takes me there. My brain is less scrambled if I concentrate on just one thing, but it’s still nice to take a break from the long stories sometimes!

Do you research before writing or while you write? Is it fun or boring for you?

Both!!!! There are certain things I research at the planning stage, because they are of major importance. To make sure that my work is all canon compliant, I will check that there are no major events in my story or the canon stories that will contradict each other. I also check my own canon in terms of what I already have for past events and what I have planned for future events. This means that I (hopefully!) don’t get any nasty surprises that mean major rewriting later.

I also like to spend time researching anything that’s important to get right. I spent a month researching how grief and trauma affect adolescents before starting to write a story (you know which one I mean) that centres on a teenager going through a traumatic grieving process, because it was important to me to write that in a way that’s sympathetic and truthful.

Whilst writing I will look up what I need for smaller details - checking exactly what canon says about how places look, what colour different spells are when they’re cast, etc. I have a very poor memory and bad organisational skills (dyspraxia lyf) so if I researched this stuff in advance, I’d forget it all by the time I got around to writing and have to do all the work twice! It also stops me from falling down the rabbit hole when I’m researching - I do really enjoy it, and if I don’t stick to the “only research what is relevant” rule I’ve imposed on myself, I’d never get to actually write anything!

[hotchley]

Semester One Moments That Altered My Brain Chemistry:

tw: food mentions, islamophobia

(it's a very long list so all of it is under the keep reading)

Waking up on Sunday and realising that I was completely alone in a brand new city because both my parents had texted asking how I was doing

Eating in my room and sadly watching Strictly Come Dancing because I didn't want to see any spoilers, even though I skipped half the dances because I didn't like them

My flatmate, who had known me for a matter of hours, opening her door when the maintenance man came to my room about my chair, just to make sure everything was legit

Talking in my first ever tutorial because I was one of two people that had actually done the work for it so my answers were easily accessible

Doing my first weekly shop alone and realising I should have made a list when I got home and realised how much stuff I was still missing

Marching down to reception to demand they do something about our heating and hot water because it was getting ridiculous and we were all getting ill (he gave us portable heaters but we couldn't see that happen for some reason)

Making scrambled eggs all by myself for the first time

Showering in one of the fancy accommodation rooms and just enjoying the utter luxury of it all

Getting fed up with the guy who was shouting at me and my flatmates because the door was being weird and then realising he was on my course

The first time I went home

Speedwalking home from McDonald's at 7pm and realising there was nobody waiting for me to do something so I could do what I wanted when I wanted

The time I went out with my friends to eat and we all sent pictures to prove we had made it home

Getting 100/100 on a formative assignment (everyone got marked to a first but it was still really exciting)

Watching the Christmas lights switch on and then running through town with my friend so we could catch up with everyone else

Running back to my accommodation with my friend because we had gone shopping during a four-hour break but were still somehow managing to run late for an event we said we'd go to but then still left early

Buying cheese for the first time- also deodorant

Coming back from the toilet to see that one of my friends had written that I looked cute on my notes- I still have it written there

When my tutorial got combined with other people's so I left my group to sit at a different table and they said they disagreed with public symbols of faith- this was after being nice to me for all of two minutes before I stopped being able to follow the conversation

Developing a crush on this guy because of one interaction and then realising he may actually have something against me because he looked disgusted when he realised it was me holding the door open

Touching the radiator and realising it was hot

Making a referral and realising the worst thing that would happen is they couldn't help enough- in which case they would help you find someone who could help you

Wearing a full face of makeup and all my friends telling me it looked really nice

Sitting down after finishing my moot and realising that although I had no idea what I'd just said or if it was any good, I'd done it and that was what mattered

Getting an email saying we made it to the end of the semester and realising that I made it and the worst thing that happened was things got a little worse than usual but then they got better and actually, this is a good place and I like it here

[mlobsters]

supernatural s7e1 meet the new boss (w. sera gamble)

is this the first time they've used slow ride? i've thought about doing an edit to it because it's very spn/them/dean. the only thing i liked about the part of the new top gun movie i watched was how they used it in the bar. ha (#i have a hardon for fighter jets and fast bikes like anyone else but come on) slow ride. sleazy.

excessive zoom made me laugh the first time too

CASTIEL Sam, you have nothing to say to me; you stabbed me in the back.

lol. god in this fucking tan trench coat

CASTIEL I thought the answer was free will. But I understand now. You need a firm hand. You need a father. And I am your father now. Be obedient, children.

sorry i just keep laughing. this should be serious but i'm having a hard time finding it anything but comical

DEAN Imma fix this car. Because that's what I can do. I can work on her 'til she's mint. And when Sam wakes up, no matter what shape he's in, we'll glue him back together too. We owe him that.

♥️

haha amazing. cas is doING GREAT with all this newfound power

DEAN Seriously though, Bobby. Look at our lives. How many more hits can we take? So, if Sam says he's good.. GOOD.

BOBBY You believe that?

DEAN Yeah.

DEAN hesitates for a moment.

DEAN No. You wanna know why? because we never catch a break. So why would we this time? I just.. just this one thing. You know? but I'm not dumb. I'm not going to get my hopes up just to get kicked in the daddy-pills again.

a) i was hoping sam would tell dean what was going on but now we get instead of him overhearing something that ensures he'll hide it sigh b) daddy-pills??? *shudder*

CROWLEY: Is everybody's boss. What do you think he's going to do if he finds out we've been conspiring? You do you want to conspire, don't you?

cheap but sheppard always puts his back into those and comes out funny

this extended chest burster scene with cas, okay. who could have predicted trapping millions of souls into a ... human vessel? angel? anything?? and just keeping them in there would go wrong!!

good old untitled 1 and 2,

*quirky heist music*

why are they doing the spell in the house they are currently burgling?? haha this quick cuts of them doing the spell stuffs

DEAN You're welcome.

okay.

DEATH This is about Sam's hallucinations, I assume?

well look at that, not even an episode before the the cat's out of the bag. that's a good thing for me at least

SAM No, I don't. But, look, I was pretty far gone sometimes myself, and you never gave up on me.

DEAN Yeah, and it turns out that you're about the same open book as you've always been. Hallucinations? Really? I got to find out from Death?

SAM What was I supposed to do?

DEAN How about not lie? How about tell me that you've got crazy crap climbing those walls?

SAM Why? You can't help. You got a lot of pretty severe crap swinging your way lately, and -- and I thought --what? I thought why burst the one good bubble you had left? It's under control.

💔

so sam is gonna try to appeal to castiel. talk about turning the other cheek

SAM Hey, Castiel. Um… Maybe this is pointless. Look… I don't know if any part of you even cares, but, um, I still think you're one of us, deep down. I mean, way, way, way off the reservation, but…

if they keep saying cas is a family member, will i one day believe it?

well this lucifer hallucination is horrifying. good job

CASTIEL I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you.

how about fixing sam's brain that you scrambled! misha's getting a workout. now he gets to be leviathan(s). had to drag out sam's hallucinations somehow while also dealing with the souls business

death is a fun character, i'm glad he's continuing to pop in

[miekasa]

six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn​​ for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex. 

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.  

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.  

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team. 

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”  

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”  

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.” 

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

[mercy-burning]

Your Favorite — Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Y/N and Spencer decide to keep seeing each other in secret. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, cockwarming, heavy petting, penetrative/unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral sex (both receiving), degradation, exhibitionism, fingering, cum play maybe? Word Count: 7.5k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is... *nervous laugh* this is pure filth. Like... It’s nothing but sex scenes, y’all. Buckle in. (Also the end is a lil angsty so watch out hehehe)

———

JULY 8th

"You're sure you guys are okay without me for a little while?"

I love my mom. Really, I do.

But if she delays her bath for any longer than one more second, I'm going to burst into flames.

Thankfully it seems that Spencer is patient enough for the both of us. "Positive. You deserve to relax a little. Go. Take your bath, we'll be fine."

Mom looks to me for extra reassurance, and I give it to her with a nod.

"Okay. I'll try not to be too long."

She turns and kisses Spencer, long and lovesick, and I want to barf. What's even worse is that when she pulls away and pats my head before retreating up the stairs, he's smiling. And he's supposed to, I know that. Part of him obviously cares about my mom, and even if he's only fucking me on the side, the fact remains that he goes to sleep next to her. That's the way it has to be.

But it still makes me incredibly envious.

It's a problem.

Mom is upstairs now, but our rule is that unless we know for certain that she's not coming into sight or earshot anytime soon, we remain distant.

Still, I make my distaste for their affections known. "You guys are gross..."

Spencer laughs, his hand sneaking over the couch cushion and grazing the end of my skirt. "Jealous, are we?"

Of course, I have to make it difficult for him. "You're a genius, you tell me..."

"Hey now... You're lucky I'm giving you any attention at all... Besides, you know the rules."

I glance over at him, practically crumbling apart at the seams under his intense gaze. It's one I've gotten used to as of late, one that rivals every smile I've ever seen him give my mother.

"Doesn't make it any easier," I mumble, glancing down at where his fingers are still toying with my skirt.

"I know..." He reaches out and touches my hand, and my skin tingles. "Come here."

Even though I can hear that the bath water has only just started running from below, I comply all the same. I scramble off the couch and return on his lap, straddling him and nesting my fingers through his hair while I lean in to kiss him.

He welcomes me with open arms and an open mouth. The moment our tongues brush, I sigh and melt into him, needing desperately to be as close as possible. Our kisses then are languid and wet, and soft. We don't want to get carried away in case we need to be alert and jump apart, so it's best to keep our bodies controlled.

But as I'm learning, around Spencer, controlling myself is painstakingly difficult.

A whine escapes me when his right hand slips under my skirt and rests along the inside of my thigh, and I shift, silently begging him to give me more.

"So impatient..." he mumbles over my mouth.

I pull away and slide my hands down over his neck and shoulders, my hips rolling forward as I pout. "I haven't had you all week. I'm lonely..."

It's true.

Once all my STD tests came back clean and I got my birth control figured out and solid, the first thing he did was tell my mom he wasn't feeling well and texted me the address to his apartment. And after I told her I was meeting up with a friend, I drove over there and got my brains completely fucked out. We spent all day under the sheets, on the couch, over the kitchen counter, and then on the floor, until I had to go home and pretend like it never happened.

Since then we'd only slept together once, and that was just over a week ago, quickly while Mom ran to the store for an onion of all things. And then Spencer had been busy with consulting on new cases that his old job wanted a little help with, and once he had free time, Mom insisted they go on a date weekend.

I pout harder, stomach churning at the memory of the look he gave me before they left—a silent, sweet goodbye that had left me empty and wanting.

But he's just amused.

A smirk ghosts over his lips, red and a little puffy from the pressure of my own against them. "So I definitely can't trust you to be quiet enough to fuck you properly..."

That warrants another whine and another roll of my hips, and I can feel his hand gripping my thigh a little tighter.

"Please... Spencer, I need you..."

His name rolling off my tongue must be what makes him give into me, because I barely have time to react before he's kissing me again, using both of his hands to lift the back of my skirt up and knead my ass.

"Wait... Are you wearing..."

I grin over his lips, wiggling my ass into his touch and utterly turned on by the fact that he knows what underwear I'm wearing just by touch.

"Mhmm," I answer, nipping his bottom lip. "Your favorite..."

The sound that rumbles in his chest as he crashes his body against mine has to be the sexiest thing I've ever heard. He's obviously trying not to be loud, but it's hard, and that makes the sound strained. He really wants this, wants to keep me, and to do that he has to refrain from going absolutely primal right now. He has to do anything to keep this quiet.

So he pushes me off of him, and I pout, thinking he's given up until we can get a true moment alone.

But I know that isn't the case when he spins his finger and then starts undoing his pants.

"Turn around, sweetheart," he huffs, slipping his pants and underwear down just enough that his erection emerges free. "You're gonna sit here, keep quiet, and keep my cock nice and warm, understood?"

Don't have to tell me twice... I'll fucking take what I can get.

So I spin, back up, and move all my clothing to the side, my skirt lifting as I nestle into Spencer's lap and hold my panties to the side. He laughs at my eagerness, though he isn't laughing much longer once I sink down onto him and get in real close. His hands come out to grab my chest and pull me flush against his own.

The way he stretches and fills me has my eyes rolling back, a long, happy sigh falling from my lips. I wish I could say I'm being dramatic about it, but I'm really not.

I'm genuinely relieved and satisfied with the burn.

"There's my girl," Spencer muses through a sigh of his own, his breath fanning gently over my neck right before he gives it an open-mouthed kiss.

His hands slip under the baggy sweater I'm wearing and run along the planes of my stomach, then up and up, taking the fabric with him until it rests above my bare chest. Being exposed like this, right in the middle of the living room while my mom is just upstairs, excites me more than I think it should.

While Spencer kisses and licks at my neck, his hands now gently kneading my breasts, I squirm.

He doesn't like that very much.

"Ah-ah," he warns, squeezing me tight and pulling me into him more. "Relax..."

He hooks his legs around mine then, spreading them apart and somehow filling me deeper. I whine, leaning my head back onto his shoulder and trying not to roll my hips.

Instead, I settle for clenching myself around him, and that seems to be the right move.

"Atta girl... Lay back and relax... Just feel me filling you up nice and slow..."

"Mmmm," I respond in kind as his hands loosen and glide down my body.

He's light with his touch, though the kisses on my neck feel hungry, and his cock feels heavy and thick inside me. It's a beautiful contrast, really, making me feel so full and yet so light, like I'm a raincloud.

Soon his fingers dip under my skirt and cover my hand, which is working at keeping my panties off to the side. He traces the curves of my fingers with his own, mumbling praises and scattering kisses along the side of my neck. And I'm distracted enough that I almost don't feel his other hand make gentle contact with my clit until I gasp from the sharp sensation.

I can feel his smile against my skin as he starts rubbing in slow, precise circles.

"That feel good, princess?"

"Uh huh," I breathe out, trying to keep still. My other hand digs into my knee in hopes that I can stay grounded and focused on keeping still. But despite that, I'm feeling rather calm. Satisfied...

Right where he wants me.

"Mmm..." He hums happily into my skin, continuing to kiss my neck while working my clit.

And I have no idea how long we lay there. It feels like it could be hours.

The TV is on, but we're not paying any attention to it. In the back of my mind I know that Mom could be done with her bath at any minute, but it's been too long without Spencer inside me... And even though he's not actually fucking me, just having him this close and feeling him touch me, fill me, breathe me in...

God, I never want it to stop.

I'm almost on the verge of coming, but he removes his hand from me and slides them up my stomach again.

I whine at the loss of orgasm, but he pays it no mind. "Here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna start moving..."

I start to get excited, wiggling in his lap a little.

With a dark laugh, he brings his hands to my breasts, kneading them gently and nipping my earlobe. Getting my attention...

"But you're not gonna stop until I fill that slutty little cunt with my cum, got it? I don't care if you come more than once. I don't care if you come at all... I don't care if your mom comes down here and sees..."

I swear I almost come on the spot from his words alone.

And then his voice is somehow even darker, seeping through my skin and settling into the very deepest parts of me.

"You will not stop until you make me come, am I clear?"

I wouldn't deny him if I could. I'm so damn whipped by this man, so eager to please and be near him that he could ask me to do any fucking thing on the planet and I would.

My rational brain might have second-guessed that feeling if it hadn't been horny as fuck...

And so I get to it, maneuvering my hips and working Spencer's cock like my life depends on it. And honestly, it kind of does, because if my mother comes down and catches us I'm dead.

Despite the urgency, though, I relish every second of it. I try to remember every sensation vividly because I don't know when I'll get to feel it again. So every time I sit back down on his dick, I clench it on the way up, because I know that drives him wild and it also means I get to feel him grab me tighter.

I can't see him, not even really when I turn my head, but I can picture how he's probably biting his lip, trying not to be loud. His eyes are probably shooting daggers at the ceiling, praying to the heavens above that my mom won't come down.

But it looks like the heavens above have decided to damn us to hell.

That unmistakable sound of the drain in the tub rumbles through the ceiling and down the inside of the walls as the water travels through the pipes, and my heartbeat races faster than it ever has.

Spencer tugs my hair then, pulling my head to meet his shoulder once more. "You better hurry, little girl..."

That's when I finally come. My cunt throbs and shakes around him as I bounce as quietly as I can. His grip in my hair is tighter, urging me to keep going, and the sharp sensation seems to extend my orgasm a little.

I whimper and whine as I feel it, and that seems to be what does him in.

"Fuck, Y/N, that's it... That's my girl..."

Four more bounces from me is all it takes, and then he's holding my hips in place. He grunts as quietly as possible into my shoulder and fucks into me slowly, filling me to the brim with his cum and breathing harshly into my skin.

I can hear Mom walking around upstairs, most likely getting dressed, which means she'll be down any minute...

"Time to get up, princess," Spencer whispers a moment later, letting go of my hips.

I turn my head into his neck, whining. "I don'wanna..."

"I know, I know... But you have to."

I know he's right. But I can't just get up and lose him so quickly. I want to hold on for as long as possible.

So I tilt my head up and bring his lips to mine. Thankfully he doesn't reject me, instead returning my affections and sighing into my mouth. He's still sheathed inside me, and I can feel his cum very slowly starting to drip down.

I have to get up now...

My mouth reluctantly parts from his and pouts. I expect him to return it with a sad smile, but his lips are rather mischievous.

He smirks, lifting me off of him and quickly pulling my panties back in place. His cum instantly soaks into the thin, lavender fabric, and it only reminds me of his absence.

But then Spencer spins me around on the heels of my feet and presses his hand firmly to my clothed, sopping wet cunt under my skirt, rubbing it in and making me whimper out at the overstimulation.

"I missed you," he whispers sincerely. Sweetly...

I can't help but smile as I lean down to kiss him one more time.

"I missed you, too."

JULY 23rd

I've been looking forward to this weekend since Mom brought it up after her bath—A call from work. A weekend business trip across the country.

She would be gone for almost a whole week.

Spencer's already started on his coursework for the next school year so he'll be busy most days, but at night? That's when he's all mine.

The only hard part about this, really, is containing my excitement. Just yesterday Spencer got me alone and warned me that I better keep my cool and be patient. Though, the way he said it was hardly a bad thing considering it gave me an excuse to feel his hands on me, even in the laundry room where, more or less, this had all started.

Even now I can still feel their warmth and their heft as they grope and paw at my breasts while he attacks my neck with sloppy kisses.

But right now he's not here, and as much as I can't wait to spend the week with him, my mom is also going to be gone for that long.

Just because I'm fucking her boyfriend on a regular basis doesn't mean I don't still love her.

Though, the thought of it all makes me a little uneasy—I don't know what the future holds. I know Spencer obviously cares about my mom, but if it really gets to a point where they've been together long enough, would he ever marry her?

And then what?

It's one thing for him to be my mom's boyfriend, who doesn't live here and only stays when he can... But it's a whole other one to be my stepfather. And what if my mom wants to have another kid?

No.

I'm not even going to think about it... If it ever gets to that point, then we'll deal with it, but right now I've only known Spencer for nearly 2 months, and it's way too soon to be thinking about any of that right now.

"You gonna be alright without me for a week?"

I curl into Mom's side, laughing and thankful for her distraction. "I spend almost a whole year away at college without you, I think I can survive five days."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I wish you could just stay here with me forever."

"Ha, no you don't. I'm a menace."

"Only when you eat all my food and then complain that you're starving..."

My eyes roll affectionately. "Mom. That was one time, and I was fifteen and dramatic."

She kisses the top of my head and then rests her chin on it. "Then my point stands... You were only a menace when you were fifteen. Now you're an angel."

I can tell she's sincere, and when I tell her Thank you, it feels incredibly deceitful—Especially when she starts humming my favorite song and brushing through my hair with her fingers, just like she used to do to get me to sleep as a kid. The foggy feeling it sends through my bloodstream reminds me that I'm definitely not the same person I was back then.

Although, it is true that some things never change, and within minutes I'm soundly asleep in my mother's arms.

———

When Spencer and I are sending her off at the airport the next morning, my heart thrums wildly in my chest.

"You have Spencer's number in case of an emergency?" she asks me in a haste.

"Yes, Mom. For the thousandth time, I have his number, and I have Grandma's number, and I have just about every other number you've ever given me for emergency contacts."

She gives me The Look.

"Yes, I have it. And I'll be okay. I love you."

"Oh, I love you, too," she says, pulling me in for one last breath-reducing hug, though, that's not truly what knocks the breath from my lungs.

She goes to Spencer next, reaching up to give him a goodbye kiss. I'm expecting it. I'm okay with it.

But this is unlike any other kiss I've seen them share, and it admittedly makes me jealous.

Spencer almost has her off the ground, pressing her close to him and kissing her deeply. Her hands weave through his hair as he tilts his head, and this time I can see his tongue slip into her mouth.

"O—kaaay, my eyes are burning... Thank you for that..."

I know I can get away with that because it's a completely normal reaction to seeing your mother make out with anyone, so I don't feel bad about it one bit. And I especially don't feel bad about the warning look he gives me over my mom's shoulder when she comes to give me another hug.

But then she's gone, and minutes later we're leaving the airport parking lot, and I can't seem to shake my jealousy. Even when his hand rests politely on my knee.

The whole way home I only barely acknowledge his presence, giving him half-hearted smiles and remaining mostly still when he glides his hand higher up my leg. By the time his fingers slip under the hem of my skirt, I think he knows something is up, because it stops there.

He waits until we get in the house to bring it up.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

I plop myself down on the couch with an overexaggerated sigh. "Kinda..."

I know Spencer used to be a profiler, and really, it's not that hard to figure out what's wrong with me. But it's still a little scary how easily he just knows.

"You know I had to," he says, walking over and standing in front of me. "Keeping up appearances and whatnot."

He's right. And it's a consequence of what we've decided to do, so really I'm in no place to complain.

Still, I reach out and pull him in by the belt loops, leaning my face in rather close to his crotch. "You know... Actually, I think you just like making me jealous..."

The smile that dances over his lips is amused and downright sinful. "Oh?"

"Mhmm," I drawl, sliding my hands to the front of his pants and rubbing him through the fabric.

He laughs. "Yeah, you are pretty cute when you're all huffy."

With big eyes and a fluttering in my stomach at the way he looks down at me, I feel that pressing of jealousy start to lift off my chest. I know that within an hour he'll have me pinned under his body somehow, and the thought allows my response to come out clearly and without question.

"So how are you gonna make it up to me?"

———

We're already out of our clothes by the time we make it upstairs. And when we finally get into my bedroom, I'm about to shut the door and then Spencer stops me.

"No one's home, sweetheart... Leave it open."

He takes two steps and has me in his arms, his hands sliding down my back and resting over my ass. And when he gives it a squeeze, he grins down at me. "You're gonna be loud for me, understand?"

"Hey, that's on you," I tease, wiggling against him. "You want me loud? Make me loud."

His grip on my ass gets tighter as he pulls me closer, and I yelp out. "Don't challenge me, little girl... You'll regret it."

I laugh then, calling back to his earlier statement. "Aw... You're pretty cute when you're all huffy..."

"Alright, fine."

The next thing I know, I'm on my knees, and his hands are rooting in my hair. The rough carpet underneath me already burns, but I know in the end it's gonna be so worth it.

Spencer brings me close to his exposed crotch and tilts my head up to look at him. "I'm gonna fuck that attitude right out of your pretty little mouth, got it? And you're not gonna do a damn thing but take it like a good girl."

I would have asked him if that was a threat or a promise if he hadn't immediately shoved his dick in my mouth. It has me wet in an instant, the way he just pulls me onto him and starts fucking my face with an urgency that seems to contradict all the time we have. He needs me now, with no time for teasing or pleasantries, and I fucking love it.

Which is why I do as I'm told, enjoying every second as he holds my head still and snaps his hips forward, his velvety smooth cock gliding over my tongue and down my throat with ease. It doesn't take long for my eyes to water, my vision going blurry and my body growing hot. My face is angled straight ahead, but I still find a way to look up at him, and from this low angle?

It's the best thing I've ever seen.

No matter how many times I've been on my knees like this, staring up at Spencer as he loses himself at my hands (or rather my mouth, if you want to get technical), I swear I could never tire of it.

His eyes are glaring down at me as he concentrates, his arms are out in front of me as they hold my head in place, and his pubic bone and sculpted hips are right there, moving ferociously in front of my eyes. He's so deep in my throat for a few seconds, holding me down while I gag around him, that my nose is buried in the soft trail of hair that gathers on his skin, and I want to stay there forever.

But my gag reflex isn't much durable for more than fifteen seconds, much less forever, so I have to pull back.

Spencer pulls me off of him completely, a trail of spit following my lips and then detaching until it lands along my chin. I blink away some of the tears that had gathered in my eyes and pout up at him.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're supposed to be making it up to me..." My voice is scratchy and a little hoarse now, but I know it'll probably be worse if Spencer really thinks he can make me as loud as he says (which I truly don't doubt for a second).

He tugs me up by the hair, and I whine as I get to my feet, my knees aching already. And then his mouth is on my cheek, gently kissing away a tear. "Aw, I thought you liked having my dick in your mouth..."

"I do..."I giggled a little, nestling into his body and feeling his erection, now slick with my saliva, press up against the inside of my thigh. "But I like it better in other places..."

"Mmm, you're right... I do, too..."

I certainly hadn't been expecting that answer.

But it doesn't surprise me when he walks us over to the foot of my bed and pushes me onto it. "Hands and knees, princess."

My knees still burn from the carpet, and I'm sure this squeaky-ass mattress won't alleviate the pain at all, but if there's one thing I've learned since having sex with Spencer it's that pain is all part of the pleasure.

So I don't question it. My limbs submit to his simple command, and once I turn away from him and perch myself on my hands and knees, I can feel him climbing on the bed and crawling up the backside of my body. His hands roam my ass and my waist, and within seconds he has his cock nestled against me.

He moves nice and slow at first, dragging the length of him through my slick cunt and ghosting the skin of my backside with his hands.

"Remember... Nice and loud, okay? Wanna hear how good I make you feel."

Like I could ever deny him. Even though I like to tease him and push his buttons, I couldn't think of a single thing in the moment that I'd ever deny him.

So he finally pushes into me, stretching me out well and good, and a low groan slowly rolls off my tongue like a waterfall. And I'm not doing it for his sake; It's like he draws it out of me like a syringe, and I'm utterly powerless against it... Against him.

Like I need a metaphor to explain how I'm well and truly his bitch...

"There she is..." Spencer breathes, reaching the very deepest part of me and staying there. "There's my obedient little girl... Tell me what you want."

I turn my head to get as good of a look at him as I can, and give him the pout to end all pouts. "I want you to fuck me, hard... Please?"

His answer is a gentle push forward, his body leaning over mine to take my hands and pin them behind my back, which pulls me up towards him so that my back is nearly flush with his chest. His hands are so big that one of them is able to hold both of my wrists while the other gathers my hair and tugs.

I feel like I'm being held by a bungee cord, especially when Spencer starts snapping his hips and pounding into me roughly. My knees are pushing into the springs of the mattress and lifting again with each thrust, and I can't help the stream of whimpers and shouts that escape me at the whole experience.

He lets go of my hair in favor of reaching around and palming my left tit, his pace never faltering for a second. Everything he's doing is precise and swift and so fucking good that my eyes can hardly stay open.

"I'm hearing you, pretty girl, but I don't think you're quite loud enough..." he grumbles in my ear, letting go of me and gently pushing me back down on the bed. He slips out of me and I whine at the loss, but I don't have to worry about it much longer when I feel him lay down over top of me and slam into me hard.

I yelp out, my hands reaching out and clutching the comforter for dear life. Spencer's hands, meanwhile, push up off the mattress on either side of my hips to lift himself up, and then he's grabbing my waist and pushing me into it while he fucks me.

When I instinctively shove my face down and try to muffle myself, though, one of his hands leaves my waist and comes up to tug my hair, pulling my head up. His hips pause, pressed deep into my backside, and I can feel how he's struggling to keep still.

"Uh-uh... No one's home, princess... Let it all out..."

He pulls back and plows into me again, and this time his pace is frustratingly slow. With each slam forward my voice grows louder, begging him for more with incoherence until I start to feel myself grow tense with pleasure.

"You're almost there, baby, I can feel it," Spencer breathes. His voice is far away, and I wish he was closer, his breath on my neck and his lips not far behind. But for now I gladly settle for his hands, tight and bruising on my hips, and the force of his pelvis as it collides brutally and wonderfully with my ass.

What finally brings me sweet release is the sound of him grunting out one word. A command. And once again it's like I'm powerless under his spell.

"Come."

I do, and he fucks me thoroughly through each wave. Even once I've finished, he chases his own orgasm for minutes.

By the sounds he's making and the way his hips falter here and there, I can tell he's close, but he wants to make it last. I want to tell him that we have all weekend, to maybe tease him a bit, but I'm so fucked out and incoherent that I couldn't have said a single word if I tried.

So I lay there and take it with a weary smile on my face, ever the whiny, whimpering mess that I am, and patiently wait for the moment he decides to let go.

And when he does, it's the most glorious feeling in the world. I'm tired, yes, but never tired enough to lift myself and wiggle my ass back into him, clenching myself around him and relishing in the way he grunts out my name. He empties himself into me, and I hum, positively satisfied and warm.

Before I know it, I'm sinking down within the comfort of my blankets, and I rest my head in my arms, the pillow still a little too far out of reach. And though I'm content, I still whine out sadly when Spencer retreats and leaves me feeling empty.

I'm about to tell him to get over here and cuddle me when I feel his weight redistribute, and it isn't long before he has his head between my legs, his tongue acting as a net for the cum that drips out of me. He barely touches me, only the tiniest of flicks with the tip of his tongue darting over my skin. I can't tell if I'm thankful because of the relief or if I want the burn to go on forever.

In the end, I don't really have a choice.

He pushes his tongue up, sweeping over my dripping cunt and cleaning me up. Suddenly his mouth is everywhere, making the most delicious sounds and bringing me closer to another orgasm, and all I can do is let it happen. My weary smile is joined by a fluttering pair of eyelids and a string of whimpers that are so small they don't dare drown out the words Spencer is grumbling between my legs.

Some of which, I can hear, sound out, "Another one..."

His finger adds to the mix, coming up and rubbing my clit in tight circles as he finishes cleaning up the mess he made, and within seconds I'm a writhing mess at his undoing.

I'm not sure how long it lasts, only that one second I'm tensing with another orgasm and the next I'm having my limbs moved.

Spencer is beside me in an instant, his face coming into view as I feel my breathing slow to a steadier pace. The longer I wait, the more focused I am on his features, soft and even a little concerned as he strokes some of the hair from my face.

"How are you feeling?"

The smile that beams across my face is just about the most natural thing I'd ever felt. And it seems to bring out those bright glints of adoration in his eyes that only ever serve to make my heart flutter, which makes what I tell him even more true.

"I'm happy."

JULY 27th

Waking up to Spencer next to me, while a daily occurrence these past few days, is still possibly the most surprising and comforting feeling in the world.

Our bodies never part. From the moment we lay down to sleep until the moment we wake up and decide it's time to start doing necessary daily things, not one inch of skin is untouched. Even when showering.

I think back to yesterday morning, where he dragged me out of bed because he had to pee and didn't want to leave me. I was slumped over the backside of his body while he went and then in his arms again while he ran us a shower to wake up.

It brings the widest smile to my face, however sleepy it may also be.

"What are you smiling for?"

I squint one eye open and see that Spencer is staring at me. I hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Just thinking about yesterday..."

He tightens his grip on my waist and pulls me even closer, my face instantly drawn to the crook of his neck. "Mmm," he hums as I nestle in and press a sleepy kiss to the bare skin at the column of his throat. "Which part?"

"Our shower."

I feel his thumb then, rubbing back and forth over my hip as clearly as I can feel him smile against the top of my head. "That was fun, wasn't it..."

"Mhmm," I agree. My lightly tongue traces over his collarbone before I kiss it again. "Our shower is much better equipped for sex than yours."

"So... What you're saying is that shower sex is out of the question this morning?" he confirms with a laugh.

"That's exactly what I'm saying..."

"Well then, princess, what uhh... What alternatives do you think we should try out?"

I start to laugh when he pulls my leg up over his waist and hoists me over on top of him. My face remains buried into his neck, though I trail my lips up and up until I reach his jaw.

"Hmm... What if I just ride you and see where it takes us?"

When my lips finally reach his cheek, Spencer shifts and captures them in a long, butterfly-inducing kiss before pulling away with a smile and brushing the hair from my face. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

It helps that I can already feel him hardening beneath me, and from the moment I felt his hands on me, I'd been aroused.

Though, as soon as I line him up and get ready to start our morning the right way, his phone rings on the bedside table. I'm tempted to keep going, but he half pushes me off of him when he reaches and reads the name.

"It's your mom."

That instantly kills my mood.

With a dramatic sigh and a pout, I hop off of him and curl up under the covers, letting him answer.

"Good morning," he chirps rather happily, and I try not to imagine my moms smile on the other end of the line. Thankfully I can't hear her, but I can still see Spencer smiling as he greets her and goes through all the pleasantries that come with a long distance relationship; I miss yous and how are yous...

I wonder if he really does miss her. He must, at least a little, right?

I'm staring straight ahead now, picking at my nails while I wait for them to finish talking, but something feels off.

I can feel Spencer's eyes on me.

But then he asks, "What are you wearing?" through the phone with a voice so playful and seductive, and I snap my head around, glaring at him.

"Really?" I mouth.

The smirk on his face makes me want to chuck his phone across the room.

"Mmm," he hums, looking me dead in the eye. And the next time he speaks, I swear he's talking directly to me. "Why don't you take it off... I want to talk you through some things..."

I know my mom is hearing the roughness in his voice through the phone, but right now I can see his eyes, hungry as they rake over my body once I slowly peel the blanket away and reveal myself to him, and I know that his main goal isn't to get my mom off.

It's to finish what we started before she'd interrupted.

"Touch yourself for me, baby? Nice and slow. Just relax..."

He softly crawls over to me, keeping the phone to his ear with one hand while the other takes my knees and spreads them apart.

I start to touch myself as instructed, but he swats my hand away and winks, nestling between my legs. I lean up on my elbows and tilt my head, wondering where he's going with this, when he leans his other cheek into my thigh.

"You know what I'd do to you right now If I was there?" A small pause. And then, "I'd use my fingers to slowly stretch you open... Feel you contract around me..."

His fingers do exactly like he says, and I have to stop myself from making any sound. The evil grin growing on his face as he does it all makes it even harder.

"I'd finger-fuck you nice and slow," he continues in a voice just above a whisper. "Until you're begging me for more."

When his eyes meet mine, once more I want to lean forward, snatch his phone, and smash it on the floor. I want him to utterly devour me, without any interruptions or avoidances at getting caught.

But he's such a fucking tease.

Mom must be talking on the other end, because Spencer is silent, slowly fucking me with his fingers and watching them intently as they disappear inside me. Entranced... The thought of her speaking to him and holding his attention makes me jealous— Sure, he's fucking me right now, but really, she's the one calling the shots.

I lean my head back in frustration, letting out the tiniest of whines and grinding my hips up into his hand, hoping and pleading for more.

A low laugh leaves him. "Please, what?"

It's not lost on me that my mom must have asked for more from him at the same time I did... It cements just how absolutely fucked this whole situation is, and yet I can't help but clench around his fingers in earnest, silently pleading with him to go on.

He removes his fingers from me and I sigh out, trying not to disrupt their call.

"And... How would you like me to fuck you?" he asks, looking at me with an evil grin and knowing damn well I can't actually answer.

After he gets her answer, he climbs up on his knees and spreads my legs further, throwing one of them up on his shoulder while he leaves the other on the bed. Since he only has one hand to work with, he gestures to it and I help him out, lifting my other leg up to my chest and holding it with one arm to let him get inside at a good angle.

"Yeah, and how do you want it, baby?" He lines himself up with me and very slowly sinks the head of his cock in, holding it and running his hand along my stomach. "I'm thinking... I'd like to fuck you so slow you're practically writhing beneath me..."

I stick my tongue out at him, and then without warning he slams into me. I bring a hand to my mouth and bite down on my finger, trying not to make a sound.

"You're gonna be patient... And you're gonna let me take my time... Until you're nice and desperate... Whining out for me like a good little whore..."

Each sentence is punctuated with another thrust, hard and deep, followed by a short pause, and it's all I can do not to cry out his name and beg him to go faster.

Mom must be talking on the line again, because Spencer doesn't say a word as he fucks me. His pace doesn't pick up or slow, and his own self control starts to recede—I can see it in his features. I can also feel it in the way his free hand grips my leg. He wants to go faster, he wants to lose control, and this is killing him just as much as it's killing me.

But then he pants into the phone, his voice breaking a little as he pauses and rolls his hips into me, slow and burning. I whine into my hand as quietly as possible, and he asks the question that will seal my fate.

"Where do you want it?"

I wait, clenching around him and praying for the result I want.

And then he laughs. "Yeah? You like when I paint you with my cum, huh?"

I shake my head, silently begging him to resist and stay inside me, but he only shrugs as if to say, Sorry about your luck, and then pulls out, leaving me whiny and desperate.

Just like he said.

And then, he comes all over me, stroking himself fast and hard. Even though I've still yet to feel any sort of relief, seeing him in front of me like this, feeling his warmth dance across my skin in warm spurts, and hearing him groan out as he watches my body gladly accept it all...

It's quite honestly the most satisfying thing I've ever seen.

I can't say I'm not happy, though, when he slumps down and pants, sighing out a few goodbyes to my mom and then tossing his phone on the floor when she hangs up.

He smiles at me then, and I pout.

"You're evil..."

"Mmm, you love it," he drawls, leaning down and starting to dart his tongue over the mess he made on my stomach. Meanwhile his finger finds its way inside me again, and I feel myself start to turn into a writhing mess once more.

And he's right.

I do love it.

JULY 29th

Approaching the front door with Mom in step behind me, knowing that Spencer awaits for her on the other side isn't what makes my heart jump out of my chest.

It's the look on both of their faces when they see each other.

Though I push Mom forward to go see him, it nearly breaks me seeing her run into his arms. He picks her up and spins her around, reminiscent of their little moment at the airport, and the pure happiness on her face specifically makes my stomach twist.

This time it isn't jealousy.

It's guilt.

She's... incredibly happy. I don't think I've ever seen her this happy before. She's positively beaming as she hugs him tight and buries her face into his chest.

And when he looks past her head and looks over at me, I feel it.

The heartache.

Spencer's eyes burn holes into my own, and fill them with a sympathy that makes me feel more wounded than comforted.

I wonder then if he can see it on my face; The way I'm trying not to break down and cry... The way I'm only holding myself together by the weak smile I'm wearing, both to assure him that I'm fine and also to feign happiness for my mother, rather than the aching envy and sadness that festers within every crevice of my soul.

I offer to grab more of Mom's things from the car and dart right back out the door to avoid them for a little while. Maybe to also get some fresh air, even though I'd just been outside less than a minute ago.

After flinging open the trunk of the car, I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my chest start to tighten at the realization that I might be starting to fall in love with him.

A man who isn't mine, and who could never be.

———

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