#unless a whole new disaster comes up

[eyesontheskyline]

Friends, I am finally making progress with my next chapter, but life has been A Huge Struggle for the past week for reasons that will be consuming my time and most of my brain function until the weekend, probably.

I have enough written that I feel like I'm on the right track, and I'm managing to get a bit of writing done in my short stretches of weekday free time, but my head is in such a weird place right now that it feels like I literally can't tell if the mood / tone of what I'm writing is right or not. So I'm keeping at it, but even if I get to the end of what I've outlined for this chapter, I don't want to post until I have a bit of space from how intense it is in my brain right now, so I don't end up throwing off the entire thing because of my current existential dread / anxiety spiral situation.

So the next chapter will be next weekend, I think.

Thank you for your patience, and thank you for caring about my lil story.

[pucksandpower]

What’s the Worst That Can Happen?

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles convinces his unathletic girlfriend to join him for his annual winter training ski trip … what’s the worst that can happen?

Warnings: description of ski injury and mentions of surgery

Based on this request

“Pretty please?” Charles begs, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh come on, you know I’m hopeless at anything athletic. I’ll just end up faceplanting in the snow the whole time.”

Charles grins, wrapping his arms around your waist. “That’s what I’m here for, to catch you when you fall.”

“Yeah until I drag us both down a mountain,” you retort.

He laughs. “I promise I won’t let that happen. We’ll start nice and easy on the bunny slopes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bunny slopes? Mr. Formula 1 driver wants to ski the bunny slopes with his clumsy girlfriend?”

“Hey, everyone has to start somewhere,” Charles protests. “Even the great Charles Leclerc was once a beginner. And the bunny slopes are the perfect place to learn together.”

You snuggle against his chest, still not convinced. “But it’s so cold there. You know I hate being cold.”

Charles kisses the top of your head. “The hotel has an amazing spa with hot tubs and a sauna. We can warm up in there after skiing. I’ll even give you a massage if you’re sore from falling down too much.”

“Gee thanks,” you laugh. “But what if I really am hopeless at it? I don’t want to ruin your trip.”

“Impossible,” Charles declares. “You could never ruin anything. This is about us having fun together, not about expert skiing. Though I have no doubt you’ll be shredding the black diamonds in no time.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Okay now you’re just lying to make me feel better.”

“Never,” Charles gasps in mock offense. “I have complete faith in your yet-to-be-discovered skiing abilities.”

You bite your lip, smiling shyly. His enthusiasm is adorable, even if misplaced. “Well, I guess it could be fun to try something new together ...”

Charles pumps his fist in excitement. “Yes! That’s my girl, up for an adventure!”

You hold up a finger in warning. “But I get to pick my own skis, and a helmet with a cute design on it. If I’m going to be falling a lot, I at least want to look stylish doing it.”

Charles grins. “Of course, whatever you need. I’ll take you to the best ski shops in town. You’ll be the most fashionable beginner skier on the mountain.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re crazy, you know that? Most guys wouldn’t want to deal with their girlfriends being accident-prone novices who will just slow them down.”

Charles takes your hands in his, gazing into your eyes earnestly. “Most guys are idiots then. I don’t care if you’re the clumsiest skier ever, I just want to experience new things with you. We’ll take everything slow, stop for plenty of hot chocolate breaks, and I’ll catch you every time you start to slip. The most important thing is being together.”

Your heart flutters at his words. You lean in for a tender kiss. “How did I get so lucky to find a man as sweet and patient as you?”

Charles smiles, pulling you close again. “I’m the lucky one. Now come on, we better start packing if we want to make our flight tomorrow morning!”

You wrinkle your nose. “Tomorrow? As in, the day after today? Don’t you think that’s rushing it a bit?”

“Why wait any longer to start having fun?” Charles counters enthusiastically. “Unless … you’re trying to back out already?” He pouts accusingly.

“No, no, I already agreed!” You insist. “It’s just, my suitcase is a mess and I’ll have to dig through my winter clothes and shop for ski gear and ...” Your protests trail off at the amused look on his face.

“Excuses, excuses,” Charles teases. “Admit it, you’re trying to stall so you can change your mind.”

You smack his shoulder again. “I am not! I promise I’m not backing out. I’m just … nervous. I’ve never skied before, what if I really am a disaster?” You bite your lip anxiously.

Charles tilts your chin up. “Hey, you’re going to do great. I’ll be with you every step of the way. But if you really aren’t comfortable, we can rethink this.” His eyes search yours with concern. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, even from me. We can pick a different winter trip if you would rather do something else.”

You shake your head, smiling softly. “No, it’s okay. You’re right, it’ll be fun to try something new together. I’m just psyching myself out cause I’ve never been skiing before. But with you there supporting me … I can do it.”

Charles’s face lights up. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning up on your toes for another lingering kiss. “Yeah. I trust you.”

“You’re the best!” Charles shouts gleefully, lifting you up and spinning you around. You cling to his shoulders, laughing.

“Whoa there, save some of that energy for the slopes,” you tease.

Charles sets you down gently, though his eyes still sparkle with exhilaration. “I’m just excited, that’s all. This is going to be such an amazing trip.” He kisses your forehead. “Thank you for agreeing to come. It means the world that you trust me enough to try this with me.”

You smile, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. Any chance to spend time with you is worth facing my fears and clumsiness.”

Charles grins. “Remember you said that when I have to stop every ten feet on the bunny slope to help you up.”

You smack his chest playfully. “Hey! I might not be totally hopeless.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Charles says seriously. “For all I know, you could be a secret skiing prodigy.”

You snort. “Yeah right. But I promise I’ll try my best not to plow into too many innocent bystanders.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles encourages. “We’re going to have the best time.”

You smile up at him softly. “I know. Anywhere with you feels like an adventure.”

Charles’s eyes shine with adoration. He leans down for one more lingering kiss. “I love you so much. Now come on, we’ve got packing to do!”

He grabs your hand and you let him lead you excitedly down the hall, butterflies swirling in your stomach. You still feel nervous attempting something so out of your comfort zone. But Charles’s childlike enthusiasm is contagious. And you know without a doubt that by his side, you’re ready to try anything.

What’s the worst that can happen?

***

Famous last words.

This is the only thought running through your head as you stand at the top of the beginner ski slope, knees knocking together nervously. Charles had seemed so confident about this yesterday. But now, staring down the gentle incline covered in packed snow, you’re starting to realize how insane it is to strap slippery sticks to your feet and careen down a mountain.

Beginner slope or not, you’re certain to make a fool of yourself.

Charles must notice your trepidation, because he squeezes your mittened hand gently. “You’ve got this, mon amour. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

You smile weakly, comforted by his presence. At least when you inevitably crash and burn, it will be into his strong, steady arms.

Charles grins at you eagerly. “Ready to give it a try?”

You take a deep breath, willing your knees to stop quaking. “As I’ll ever be.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charles says brightly. He turns to address the small crowd behind you — his performance coach Andrea, best friend Joris, photographer Antoine, trainer Nico, and friend Antonio. “Okay guys, let’s start nice and easy so she can get the hang of it. We’ll take turns skiing slowly beside her.”

You feel a rush of gratitude for Charles’ patience and consideration. The other men cheerfully voice their agreement. With so many experienced skiers guiding you, surely you can handle gently sliding down this minor incline.

Charles volunteers to go first, expertly snapping into his skis and gliding to your side. “Just stay relaxed, bend your knees, and focus on keeping your tips pointing forward. The snow will do most of the work, you just have to guide the direction. I’ll stay right here if you need me.”

You wobble forward, mimicking Charles’ athletic stance as best you can. The slope doesn’t look nearly as gentle anymore now that you’re staring down it. But with Charles’ coaxing, you slowly push off.

For a moment, you feel triumphant. The icy wind whips past your face as you coast downhill, skis sliding smoothly. You’re doing it! This isn’t so hard after all.

But your small victory is short-lived. An unexpected bump jolts you, throwing off your tenuous balance. You pinwheel your arms frantically as the ground rushes up to meet you.

Before you can taste snow, Charles’ strong hands grip your waist, stabilizing you back upright. “Whoa there! I’ve got you, just regain your balance.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs. But the reassurance in Charles’s voice helps settle your nerves. With his support steadying you, you manage to get both skis back under control.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. “That would have been a quick first run.”

Charles grins. “What are ski instructors for? You recovered nicely. Want to keep going to the bottom?”

You eye the remainder of the slope warily. But so far with Charles’ help, you’ve managed not to cause a complete disaster. “Okay, but stay close please.”

“Always,” Charles promises, sticking to your side like glue.

With Charles’ hand hovering protectively behind your back, you make it the rest of the way down the slope with only a few wobbles. At the bottom, you collapse into Charles’ arms, exhilarated.

“I did it!” You cheer. Charles sweeps you up in a hug, spinning you around.

“You were amazing!” He proclaims proudly. “A natural.”

You smack his shoulder. “Oh stop, I would have face-planted in two seconds without you.”

“But you didn’t and that’s what matters,” Charles insists earnestly. “I told you this would be fun!”

You can’t help but smile, caught up in his enthusiasm. As the rest of the group takes their turns skiing slowly beside you for a few more timid runs, you start to relax into the motion. Having skilled athletes guide you step-by-step gives you the confidence to slide a little faster, turn more smoothly, and keep your balance over bumps.

With each successful run, Charles’ grin grows impossibly wider. “Look at you go!” He exclaims after your latest effort. “You’ve gotten so good, I might have some competition soon.”

You snort. “Let’s not get carried away.” But secretly, you’re thrilled by the progress. Maybe you do have some hidden athletic talent after all.

On your next run, you’re feeling confident enough to wave Charles forward. “I think I can make it one time on my own now. Just stay ahead in case I start to wobble.”

“You sure?” Charles checks, poised protectively at your side. At your firm nod, he smiles. “Alright, you’ve got this! I’ll just be a few paces ahead.”

As Charles slides effortlessly downhill, you push off after him, a fierce look of determination on your face. For a few moments, everything goes perfectly. You whoop excitedly as you zip down the slope, wind stinging your cheeks. Charles cheers you on from where he’s stopped halfway down.

But right as you reach him, disaster strikes. Your left ski hits a patch of ice and skids wildly sideways. You flail your arms, trying to stay upright, but it’s too late. Your legs fly out from under you and you’re airborne, the white ground spinning dizzily.

You slam down hard on your bottom with a painful whump. For a second, stunned silence fills the air. Then Charles is at your side, helping you up as raucous laughter echoes from the group gathered at the bottom.

“You okay?” Charles asks, barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

You groan theatrically. “Only my pride is bruised.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, joining in the laughter. “It was an awesome run up until that point!”

You lean your throbbing head against him for support. “Laugh it up, superstar. We can’t all be pros like you.”

Charles presses a quick kiss to your helmet. “Even the pros take spills sometimes. Falling is part of learning. And you really are getting so good!”

From below, Joris cups his hands to shout encouragingly, “We’re proud of you!” The rest of the group gives thumbs up and cheers.

Their support, combined with Charles’ steadfast pride, melts away your embarrassment. This mishap was simply proof you still have more to learn on your journey to skiing mediocrity.

After a few more cautious runs under the wing of Charles’ companions, you regain the courage to try solo again. Each time you stay upright a little longer, recovering from slips with increasing agility. The sun reflects brilliantly off the pristine white slopes, making you squint against the glare. But with the Dolomites rising majestically around you, icy air filling your lungs, and Charles’ voice urging you onward, you feel truly in your element.

By afternoon, the group decides you’re ready for something more challenging. Charles leads everyone to the top of a longer and steeper slope. It’s still rated for beginners, but looking down the incline makes your stomach drop.

“You’ve got this,” Charles says as you stare uncertainly. “It looks scary, but you’ll build up speed gradually. Just remember everything you’ve learned.”

You take a deep breath and nod, encouraged by his vote of confidence. As the others line up to follow behind you, Charles gives your gloved hand one last encouraging squeeze.

“See you at the bottom, mon amour!” He snaps on his own skis and glides smoothly to the base to wait. Heart hammering against your ribs, you push off.

The acceleration down the hill is alarming at first, icy wind biting your cheeks. But focusing on keeping your skis parallel, you manage to control your speed, leaning into smooth turns like Charles taught you.

Halfway down the slope you chance a glance over your shoulder. The group is fanned out behind you, following your path and whooping encouragement. Their cheers on this more difficult hill send a thrill of pride through you. Just wait until you tell your friends back home that you, Miss Uncoordinated Klutz herself, skied down an actual mountain!

But in your moment of distraction, disaster strikes again. Your right ski snags on something, jerking you off balance. Panicked, you spin your arms rapidly to recover. But it’s too late. You’re careening out of control, picking up dangerous speed.

“Look out!” You scream as you zip across the slope sideways. But the ground is racing too fast to stop. Other skiers scatter hastily out of your path as you barrel toward them like a runaway freight train. You slam through their midst in a spray of snow, not even having time to wince apologetically at the curses that follow your wake.

Up ahead, Charles’ figure grows rapidly larger as you hurtle toward him. He holds out his arms bracingly, but the impact when you collide sends you both tumbling head over heels in a tangle of skis and poles. Snow sprays violently in your wake.

When you finally roll to a stop, face down and groaning at the base of the slope, all is silent. Hesitantly you raise your head, blinking snow from your eyelashes. The sight that greets you is one of absolute chaos.

Skiers litter the slope, sprawled in your destructive path like fallen bowling pins. Poles, hats, and gloves are strewn haphazardly across the snow. Fresh scarlet tracks stain the pristine white from ski edges catching on now-shredded pants and jackets. Groans of pain and bewilderment fill the air.

Horrified, your gaze lands on Charles pushing himself up just a few feet away, covered head to toe in snow. He shakes powder from his hair, blinking dazedly. Then his eyes land on you.

“Mon amour, are you okay?” He asks, scrambling over in concern.

Mortified tears prickle your eyes as you stare speechlessly around at the scene of destruction. So much for impressing everyone with your burgeoning ski talents.

Some first day on the slopes this turned out to be.

***

As Charles helps haul you to your feet, pain suddenly explodes in your left knee. You cry out, leg buckling dangerously beneath you. Charles’ arms instantly wrap around your waist, holding you up.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brow creased in concern.

You grimace, tentatively trying to put weight on your leg again only for searing agony to shoot through your knee joint. “Something’s really wrong,” you gasp through clenched teeth.

Charles’ face pales. He keeps you supported against his side as he quickly unclips your skis so you’re not stuck in them. The moment your left foot touches the snow though, you yell in pain, leg giving out dangerously again.

Charles sweeps you up effortlessly in his arms. “I’ve got you, don’t try to stand on it,” he urges worriedly.

Over Charles’ shoulder, you see his friends weaving through the dispersing crowd of skiers, fetching a medic. As they confer in urgent French and Italian, Charles holds you close, face etched with guilt.

“This is all my fault,” he murmurs, distressed. “I never should have pushed you to try skiing when you weren’t comfortable.”

Despite the fire burning inside your knee, you force a pained smile, touching Charles’ cheek. “Hey, don’t do that. I wanted to try, remember? You didn’t pressure me into anything.”

Charles just shakes his head bitterly. “But look what happened. I’m so sorry, mon amour.”

You open your mouth to protest further, but just then the medic arrives with a toboggan sled. Charles gently sets you down on the padded plastic. You recline back, trying not to jostle your leg as the medic examines your rapidly swelling knee.

At the lightest touch, you flinch away with a sharp cry. The medic frowns. “Possibile lesione al legamento crociato anteriore. Abbiamo bisogno di portarla in ospedale,” he says grimly.

Charles squeezes your hand, face pale. “He thinks you may have torn your ACL. They need to take you to the hospital.”

You blink back panicked tears. You’ve always been prone to clumsiness, but nothing this severe. As the medic gestures ski patrol over to help transport you, the pain throbbing inside your knee seems to mock your brief foray into athleticism. Maybe you just aren’t cut out for winter sports after all.

Charles refuses to leave your side during the bumpy toboggan ride down the mountain. At the base, an ambulance is waiting to take you to the nearest hospital. While the paramedics work swiftly to transfer you into the back, Charles cradles your hand, looking utterly distraught.

“I never should have let this happen,” he berates himself again. “What was I thinking taking an inexperienced skier down that slope?”

Despite your pain-induced haze, you glare sternly at him. “Charles, stop. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine for losing control. Please don’t blame yourself, you’ll make me feel even worse.”

Charles still looks unconvinced. But he forces a tight smile, brushing hair back from your face. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you in pain. Let’s just focus on getting you fixed up. The doctors will know how to help.”

You nod, trying not to let panic overwhelm you. As the ambulance wails toward the hospital, Charles keeps his gaze locked comfortingly on yours.

Once there, nurses whisk you immediately in for x-rays and MRIs. Charles paces the waiting room, refusing offers from his friends to bring him food or drinks. When the doctor finally emerges, Charles springs forward anxiously. “How is she?”

The doctor’s solemn expression says it all. “Your girlfriend has sustained a complete ACL rupture. She will require reconstructive surgery as soon as possible to repair it.”

Charles sags back against the wall, color draining from his face. You fight back tears as the doctor explains your diagnosis — one of the worst knee injuries possible. It will require months of intensive rehab even after the surgery.

When the doctor leaves, Charles returns to sit by your side from where he was pacing back and forth. The pain in your knee has settled into a pervasive throbbing. At the sight of your obvious anguish, Charles’ stoic facade finally crumbles.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, rushing to your side. “This is all my fault.”

You grab his hand fiercely, despite the IV of painkillers tugging at your skin. “Charles, stop. I already told you not to blame yourself. It was an accident.”

“An accident I caused by pressuring you to ski,” Charles argues miserably.

You level your most stern glare at him. “Charles Leclerc, you listen to me. I chose to try skiing. Me. Not you.” Your voice softens. “So please stop tormenting yourself over this. It kills me to see you like this.”

Charles searches your face silently for a long moment. Finally he nods, exhaling shakily. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just hate that you’re hurt. But no more blaming myself, I promise.”

You smile weakly. “Good. Now come here.” Charles leans down and you tug him into a fierce kiss, trying to convey without words that you don’t hold him responsible.

When you pull back, Charles looks significantly less tormented. He caresses your cheek tenderly. “I’ll take care of you, I swear. You’ll get the best care possible and recover even stronger than before.”

You try for a teasing smile. “Guess you’ll have to find a new ski bunny next season.”

Charles shakes his head. “Never. No one could ever replace you.” His voice drops earnestly. “I don’t care if you never ski again, I just want you healthy and happy.”

Before you can reply, the doctor returns with consent forms for surgery. When he mentions performing the operation here, Charles’ brow furrows.

“No, she needs the best surgeon possible for this injury,” he argues. Turning to you, he adds, “I know a specialist at a private clinic in Austria. It’s where all the elite skiers go. I’ll fly us there tonight.”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion, but you know better than to argue once Charles is in protective mode. You have a feeling you’re about to receive world-class medical treatment fit for an Olympian.

Sure enough, Charles arranges for emergency transport to the prestigious clinic. On the flight, he sits vigilantly by your side, holding your hand through every painful bump of turbulence. By the time you’re admitted to the glamorous facility, you’re touched, but not surprised by the lengths he’s gone to in order to help you.

The surgeon Charles selected, Dr. Braun, inspires immediate confidence with his warm bedside manner and decorated credentials. After thoroughly examining your knee, he determines you are indeed a candidate for ACL reconstruction.

Charles listens intently as Dr. Braun explains the procedure, involving grafting tissue to replace your ruptured ligament. Though you try to follow along, exhaustion and pain medication make it hard to focus. All you can register is Charles rubbing your shoulder and reassuring you that Dr. Braun is the best there is. You trust Charles completely, so his confidence in this surgeon is enough.

Too soon, nurses arrive to prep you for surgery. As they wheel your gurney toward the operating room, Charles walks alongside, face etched with worry. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “I love you so much.”

You cling to his hand for as long as possible before the nurses firmly insist he can’t go any further. As the operating room doors swing shut between you, separating you from Charles, your heart clenches anxiously. But Dr. Braun smiles kindly down at you, patting your arm.

“Not to worry, we’ll have that knee fixed up nicely,” he says. “When you wake, you’ll be on the road to recovery.”

As the anesthesia mask descends and your vision fades to black, you cling to the doctor’s reassuring words. Maybe there’s still hope for a somewhat happy ending to this disastrous ski trip after all.

***

As you blearily open your eyes, the first thing you see is Charles’ worried face hovering over you. The moment he notices you stirring, his expression floods with relief.

“Thank god,” he breathes, grasping your hand tightly. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, trying to clear the hazy fog of anesthesia from your brain. “Okay I think.” Your voice comes out scratchy. You glance down at the heavy brace immobilizing your knee and the events leading up to surgery come rushing back. “Did it … go alright?”

Charles smoothes your hair back gently. “Everything went perfectly. Dr. Braun said it was a very successful surgery.”

You exhale, tension easing from your shoulders. With the capable doctor and Charles by your side, you’ve made it through the first step.

Right on cue, Dr. Braun enters, smiling when he sees you awake. “Wonderful, you’re up. How is our patient feeling?”

“A little groggy, but not too much pain yet,” you report.

“Excellent. The pain medication should be keeping you comfortable.” Dr. Braun moves to your bedside, examining your knee closely. “Everything continues to look promising in recovery. You’ll need to take it very easy for the next few weeks to protect the graft while it heals. But if all goes smoothly, you’ll be back on your feet before you know it.”

You nod, stomach swooping anxiously at the thought of the long recovery ahead. Noticing your nervous expression, Charles gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Whatever she needs, we’ll make sure she has the best care and recovers properly,” he tells Dr. Braun seriously.

The doctor smiles. “Her rehabilitation will be the most crucial part. I work closely with a wonderful physical therapist, Elisa, who specializes in ACL reconstruction recovery. I highly recommend continuing your physio with her once you return home.”

Your eyes widen, not having considered that aspect yet. But Charles nods without hesitation. “Just tell us where she’s located and I’ll arrange for her to fly out to stay with us as long as needed. Money is no object.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” you interject, head still fuzzy but fairly certain booking a private international physiotherapist is overkill. “That’s incredibly generous, but I’m sure I can find someone local-”

Charles silences you with a stern look. “Not a chance. Dr. Braun said this Elisa is the best. I won’t risk your recovery with anything less.” Turning back to the doctor, he adds, “Just say the word and I’ll have a plane and a place to stay waiting for her.”

You sigh, but can’t help feeling touched at the lengths Charles will go to help you heal. Dr. Braun seems equally unfazed by the bold offer — clearly Charles’ wealth affords certain privileges in care.

“I’ll speak to Elisa immediately and make the arrangements then,” Dr. Braun confirms. “With around the clock support from both her and myself, I’m confident you’ll recover wonderfully.” He gives your other knee an encouraging pat.

Over the next few days in the upscale hospital, you begin to adjust to the restrictive new reality of your injury. While your knee remains heavily braced and immobilized, the rest of your body seems to ache from compensating. But true to his word, Charles sticks to your bedside attentively, keeping you distracted with games and books during the long inactive hours.

When Dr. Braun finally clears you for discharge, you’re armed with piles of post-op instructions, crutches, and medications. As Charles helps you hobble out of the hospital lobby, you eye the crutches nervously.

“I’m not sure I can manage these things along with the brace,” you admit. The awkward metal sticks feel precarious beneath your arms.

Charles frowns, glancing between you and the crutches uncertainly. Then in one swift motion he sweeps you up into his arms instead.

You yelp in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Charles! What are you doing?”

“Carrying you, obviously,” he states, as if this were the most natural solution in the world. When you open your mouth to protest, he silences you with a look. “The doctor said to stay completely off your leg if possible. So no walking for you until it’s healed.”

You know better than to argue with Charles in protective caretaker mode. So you simply chuckle, shaking your head in amusement, and let him carry you like a princess out to the idling car.

At the airport, he again insists on keeping you cradled securely in his arms the entire walk out to the waiting private jet. Normally you’d feel self-conscious being lugged around like this in front of staff. But the utter tenderness in Charles’ hold makes you feel nothing but safe.

Once settled on the plush leather seat, Charles hurriedly arranges pillows under your braced leg. “Here, keep it elevated like Dr. Braun said. Do you need more pain meds? Let me grab you an ice pack ...”

He fusses attentively until you’re thoroughly bundled up with your knee raised and iced. Only once he’s certain you have everything required for the flight does Charles take his own seat, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Get some rest if you can,” he says gently. “I’ll wake you when we land to carry you home.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “My knight in shining armor.” Leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzle into his warmth. The steady rumble of the engines is soothing, and despite your lingering aches, you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

Throughout the flight, Charles continues diligently caring for you. He helps you hobble to the restroom with assistance. He ensures you take your next round of medications on schedule. When the flight attendant delivers meals, Charles only picks at his own, too focused on making sure you actually eat to remember his food.

You’re simultaneously touched and exasperated by his hyper-vigilance. But you know it comes from a place of love and residual guilt, so you endure his constant fussing without complaint. If doting on you helps absolve his conscience, then so be it.

By the time the jet begins its descent toward Nice, your eyelids are drooping heavily. Charles lifts the window shade, sunlight streaming over your face. “Almost home,” he says with a tender smile.

You blink groggily, glancing down to make sure your knee is still properly supported. Reassured that Charles hasn’t forgotten a single detail of your care, you nestle back against his chest contentedly.

As the jet coasts down the runway, Charles cradles you close, placing a kiss atop your head. “Get some rest, mon amour. I’ll carry you out and get you settled back home.”

His quiet promise fills you with cozy warmth despite the lingering chill from your ice pack. You let your heavy eyelids fall shut, lulled by the steady thump of Charles’ heart.

Tomorrow your intensive recovery begins. But tonight, safely encircled in your love’s arms thousands of feet in the air, you feel confident you have the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

***

When you wake a few weeks later, pale morning light is just beginning to creep across the blankets. Blearily, you glance over to see Charles already awake beside you, brow furrowed as he stares up at the ceiling.

“You’re up early,” you murmur sleepily. “Everything okay?”

Charles startles slightly, as if pulled from deep thought. He forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, just thinking about some things.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, scrutinizing him in concern. His evasive tone is uncharacteristic. “What’s going on? And don’t say nothing, I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Charles holds your gaze silently for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking about the start of the season coming up so soon.”

Your brow furrows. The opening race in Bahrain is only two weeks away. As the realization hits, your heart sinks. With your still-mending knee, it will be a lot harder to keep up with Charles globetrotting to races worldwide. For the past two seasons of your relationship, you’ve attended every race possible together. The thought of that no longer being the case feels daunting.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Charles’ expression is conflicted. He gently takes your hand, “I just hate the idea of leaving you here alone when you’re still recovering. It doesn’t feel right being apart.”

You force an optimistic smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself and Elisa will still be here for physical therapy. I’ll be okay.”

But your reassurance doesn’t seem to ease Charles’ frown. “I know, I’m just worried about you re-injuring yourself with no one here. I can get my mother to check on you too ...”

As he spirals back into restless thoughts, you squeeze his hand firmly. “Charles, stop. I’ll be fine, I promise. This isn’t my first time on my own, remember?”

Charles grimaces. “I know, but you’re hurt now. I just hate leaving you when you’re still recovering. If something happened while I was gone ...” He trails off, looking stricken.

Your heart swells at his protectiveness. But you won’t let him torment himself with hypotheticals. Sitting up fully, you level Charles with your most stubborn expression.

“Well then, it’s a good thing you won’t be leaving me here for long, because I’m coming with you just like always.”

Charles gapes. “What? No, you’re injured, there’s no way-”

“Uh uh,” you interrupt firmly. “I’ve been to every race I could since we got together, and I’m not about to miss one now over a bum knee. I’ll agree to skip pre-season testing but then I’m going to Bahrain no matter what.”

Charles' mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he finally manages to argue, “But how will you manage airports and flights and crowded paddocks? You’re still on crutches!”

You wave a hand dismissively. “So I’ll hobble around the paddock looking pathetic, big deal. Better than moping here alone.” Crossing your arms, you fix Charles with your most unyielding stare. “Face it, you’re stuck with me.”

Charles searches your determined expression, clearly trying to formulate another protest. But he knows you too well, can recognize when your mind is made up. With a resigned chuckle, he pulls you against his chest.

“You are the stubbornest person ever, you know that?” He kisses the top of your head, a smile in his voice. “But I really shouldn’t be surprised. Nothing can stop you from being there to cheer me on.”

You grin, basking happily in his embrace. “Damn right. You should know by now that I’m going to be by your side every race, no matter what.”

Charles just shakes his head in amused exasperation, arms tightening around you. “Well in that case, it seems I have some calls to make to arrange for your care in the paddock.”

You kiss his jaw tenderly. “See? Problem solved.” Settling back against the pillows, you add teasingly, “Now stop stressing and let me sleep a little more. Unlike you, I need my beauty rest.”

Charles barks out a laugh, the last tension fading from his frame. As you drift back into cozy slumber cradled against his chest, his steady breathing lulls you like a soothing melody.

Later that morning, it’s time for your daily physical therapy session in the makeshift rehab space set up in your apartment. Elisa guides you through gentle range of motion and strengthening exercises, keeping up cheerful encouragement. The work is grueling, but Elisa’s optimism inspires you to push through the discomfort.

You’ve just finished up with an ice break when hushed voices drift in from the adjacent room. Craning your neck, you glimpse Charles sitting at the kitchen island, phone to his ear as he rifles through an open notebook. Though you can’t make out his full conversation, you catch snippets.

“Need to make sure she has somewhere to rest comfortably ...”

“Don’t want her trying to walk too far ...”

“She says she’ll be fine, but I need to be sure ...”

You muffle a laugh into your hand. Of course Charles is already contacting Ferrari about you joining him in Bahrain, planning every detail to accommodate your injury. Elisa raises a questioning eyebrow but you just shake your head with a smile. Charles’ protectiveness never fails to make your heart melt.

Oblivious to your eavesdropping, Charles continues speaking in a hushed but urgent tone. You can visualize his serious expression pinched with concern, wanting to arrange every detail to ensure your comfort during race weekends.

It’s hopeless trying to curb his caring instincts. So you simply shake your head in amusement and turn back to your exercises, resolved not to override the plans you’re clearly not meant to hear.

After your session concludes, Elisa helps you prop up your leg to ice before gathering her things. “You’re making great progress,” she encourages. “Keep it up and you’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

You smile through your fatigue. “Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”

Elisa nods, waving farewell as she heads out. Once she’s gone, you eye your crutches propped nearby. Normally you’d use them to hobble around, but mischief sparks inside you. This seems like the perfect time to test your boyfriend’s hovering instincts.

Bracing yourself on the workout table, you carefully rise to your feet, keeping all weight on your good leg. The short hobble to the living room leaves you breathless, but triumphant.

Rounding the corner, you spot Charles sitting on the couch reviewing emails on his tablet. Before he notices your approach, you boldly flop down to sprawl across his lap.

Charles yelps in surprise, tablet clattering away as his arms reflexively cradle you. “What are you doing walking around alone? Where are your crutches?”

You grin up at him impishly. “Must have forgotten them back there. But I managed okay for a short distance.”

Charles gapes, torn between horror at your recklessness and awe at your determination. You take advantage of his stunned silence to wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down into a kiss.

“Have I mentioned how amazing and caring you are?” You murmur when you finally separate for air. “Taking care of me even when you think I don’t notice?”

Understanding flashes across Charles’ face and his cheeks tint pink. “You heard that phone call earlier, didn’t you?” At your smug grin he groans. “I should have known I couldn’t get anything past you.”

You laugh, nuzzling your nose against his. “It was very sweet. But you really don’t need to go through so much trouble for me.”

Charles’ eyes lock earnestly on yours. “It’s no trouble at all. I want to make sure your needs are taken care of so you can be comfortable and safe.” He brushes your hair back gently. “I hate the thought of you struggling while supporting me at races.”

Your playful expression softens. You take his hand, intertwining your fingers against your heart. “Do whatever you have to do so that you can focus on driving your best without worrying about me. I’m a big girl, I can handle a few weeks of long flights and sitting in the back of your garage instead of standing. As long as I’m cheering for you, I’ll be happy.”

Charles searches your face, as if committing every detail to memory. “I don’t deserve you,” he says finally, voice husky.

You smile, squeezing his hand. “Sure you do. We take care of each other. It’s what partners do.”

Charles’s eyes shimmer with emotion. He cradles your jaw, kissing you deeply. When he draws back, the anxious creases in his face have smoothed away, leaving only tenderness.

“I promise I’ll do my best not to worry,” he concedes. “Just promise you won’t push yourself too hard.”

“Deal,” you agree easily, then smirk. “Now, how about carrying me back to the crutches you claim I so desperately need?”

Charles laughs, once again sweeping you effortlessly into his arms. You cling to his shoulders, perfectly content to let him fuss over you just a little longer.

***

“We should all go skiing together!”

Pierre’s enthusiastic suggestion makes you freeze mid-bite, forkful of pasta suspended comically halfway to your open mouth. Across the table, Charles goes completely still, face draining of color.

Oblivious to your boyfriend’s reaction, Pierre barrels on with growing excitement. “There are some amazing resorts in the Alps we could visit over New Year’s. Epic mountains, fresh powder-”

“No!” Charles interjects forcefully. He looks mildly ill at just the thought. “Absolutely not happening.”

Pierre blinks in surprise at the vehement refusal. Even his girlfriend, Kika, appears confused by Charles’ sudden change in demeanor. You have to press your lips together to keep from laughing at their bemused expressions.

“But why?” Pierre asks, brow furrowed. “I thought you loved skiing.”

Charles shudders. “Not anymore. Not after ...” He trails off, eyes darting to you meaningfully.

Understanding dawns on Pierre’s face. “Oh! Right, of course.” He smiles apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t think-”

You wave a hand, unable to contain your amusement any longer. “It’s okay, Pierre. I know you didn’t mean to bring up traumatic memories.” You cast a teasing glance at Charles. “But I think skiing might permanently be off the table for us.”

Charles nods emphatically. “Absolutely. Never again. From now on, we take beach vacations only. Somewhere warm, with no snow, mountains, or treacherous icy slopes.” He shudders again for effect.

By now, you’re laughing so hard you have to set down your water glass to avoid spilling it. You knew Charles was still sensitive about the topic of skiing, but you hadn’t anticipated him having such an extreme reaction tonight. His overprotective dramatics are too adorable.

Still chuckling, you lean over to smack a kiss on his cheek. “You’re being ridiculous, but it’s very sweet that you’re so traumatized on my behalf.”

Charles wraps an arm around you, some tension easing from his shoulders. “After what you went through, can you blame me for swearing off anything to do with skiing forever?” He shakes his head vehemently. “Never again. It was the most terrifying experience. I thought I might have permanently damaged the love of my life.”

Your heart melts. “I’m completely fine now, thanks to you. But I can understand preferring to avoid ski trips in the future.” You smile teasingly. “We can find a nice beach to lounge on instead.”

Pierre chuckles. “Yeah, that’s probably smarter. Sorry for bringing up bad memories.” He smiles sheepishly across the table. “A tropical vacation does sound nice though!”

The group dissolves into easy laughter, the awkwardness forgotten. The conversation meanders to warmer destinations and the approaching off-season. Charles eventually relaxes his grip on you, seeming reassured that skiing is off the table.

You make it through the rest of the amicable double date without incident. As you all exit the restaurant into the cool night air, Pierre turns to you and Charles apologetically.

“Really sorry again for that ski trip suggestion earlier. Definitely wasn’t thinking.”

You wave off his concerns with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it! No harm done.” You pause, then add impishly, “Though from now on, Charles may vet all vacation plans just to be safe.”

Charles nods, face comically serious. “It’s true. I take your physical safety very seriously now.” His grave expression cracks into a grin. “So expect lots of beach vacations in our future together!”

Everyone dissolve into laughter again. After final farewell hugs, you and Charles head to your car, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders.

Once home, Charles tucks you into bed with an amount of care bordering on reverence. As he curls up behind you, you lace your fingers through his against your heart.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You murmur into the darkness.

You feel Charles smile against your hair. “Maybe, but feel free to say it again.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “You’re pretty much the best boyfriend on the planet. I love how protective you are over me, even when it’s a bit dramatic. It just shows how much you care.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your spine. “Of course I care. You mean everything to me.” His voice drops lower. “I never want to be the reason you get hurt again.”

You roll over to face him, gently cradling his jaw. “You could never hurt me. What happened was an accident, and I recovered just fine. So no more feeling guilty, okay?”

Even in the dim light you can see the sincerity in Charles’ eyes as he searches your face. “You really are too good for me,” he murmurs. “I’ll try to stop feeling overly responsible. Though I make no promises on vetoing future ski trip suggestions,” he adds with a teasing grin.

You laugh, snuggling happily against his chest. “Now get some sleep.”

As his breaths deepen into slumber, you reflect on how lucky you are to have found someone so devotedly caring. With Charles’ fiercely protective presence heating the sheets beside you, the future — filled with sandy beaches rather than ski slopes — looks bright indeed.

[iris-qt]

𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗

ᴘᴛ. ɪɪ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅɪꜱᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❆ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ | 3.6ᴋ

❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴍꜱᴛɪᴄᴋꜱ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ…?

Fate was indeed quite cruel for you and Theodore Nott

Fate? Or just an incredibly annoying best friend named Mattheo Riddle?

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet that evening, the typical crackle of fire and hushed whispers replaced by a tense stillness as the storm howled outside. The wind battered the windows, sending flakes of snow spiraling in every direction. Inside, though, the four friends had finally returned from their little excursion to the Three Broomsticks, all of them dripping wet and looking far too pleased with themselves.

Mattheo Riddle collapsed into an armchair by the fire, his usual smirk more of a self-satisfied grin. “Well, well, well. That was absolutely perfect.”

Draco Malfoy, having shed his wet cloak and settled by the fire, shot him a glare. “Perfect? Are you out of your mind? We were spying on them. They’ll kill us when they find out.”

Pansy Parkinson kicked her booths off and flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. “They’re practically made for each other.”

“Yeah, a match made in sarcasm and tension,” Blaise Zabini chimed in, lowering himself onto the armrest beside her. “But I have to admit, y/n’s got Nott wrapped around her finger.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms. “See? I told you. It was destiny. The universe wanted this.”

“Destiny?” Draco scoffed. “This was a disaster waiting to happen. Those two will never get along. They’re like oil and water.”

“You’re forgetting one important detail,” Pansy said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “They’re both annoyingly competitive. They’ll keep each other on their toes.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Draco muttered, eyeing Mattheo. “You do realize we’ve practically pushed them into a blizzard together, right? They’re going to be stuck in that pub for the rest of the night. There’s only so much avoiding each other they can do.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the window where the storm raged outside. “It’s really coming down out there. I bet they’re already stuck in that pub for a while.”

“Good,” Mattheo said smugly. “That’s exactly what they need. The whole ‘forced proximity’ thing works wonders, trust me.”

“Uh-huh,” Draco said skeptically, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “And when they start throwing punches instead of witty remarks? What then?”

“You don’t think they’ll, you know, talk about their feelings, do you?” Mattheo asked, smirking.

“Talk about their feelings?” Blaise scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Theodore Nott and y/n y/l/n? The only feelings they’ll share are how much they loathe each other.”

Pansy raised her cup of tea, a wicked grin on her face. “To Theo and y/n. May they finally see what we’ve known all along: they’re perfect for each other.”

“Here, here!” Mattheo toasted, holding up his own mug. “No way they’re escaping this. Not unless they manage to hex each other into oblivion first.”

Blaise chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

They all fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling as they relaxed in the warmth of the common room, the storm howling just beyond the walls of the castle. Outside, Theo and y/n remained trapped in the Three Broomsticks.

The winds rattled the window panes of the cozy little pub.

As if getting stuck with the bane of his existence for a few hours wasn’t torturous enough, kind Madam Rosmerta, who Theodore was beginning to suspect was secretly evil, decided to share some unfortunate news regarding available rooms…

Madam Rosmerta gave them a sympathetic smile, her hands clasped tightly around a steaming mug. “I’m afraid there’s only one room left upstairs, dears. The others were taken by travelers when the storm started picking up.”

Your head snapped toward Theo, your jaw already tightening. “One room?” you repeated, voice sharp.

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Of course, it’s one room. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Rosmerta glanced between them, clearly trying to gauge if a fight was about to break out. “It’s got a big bed and a cozy fire. You’ll be warm, at least.”

“Great,” You said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Warmth will really help when I’ve been murdered by morning.”

Theo crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anyone’s at risk here, it’s me.”

Rosmerta sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Look, I’m offering it as a courtesy. If you’d rather sit out here all night with the cold drafts and creaky chairs, be my guest.”

You shot Theo a glare. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m hexing you into next week.”

Theo smirked, grabbing his trench coat from the chair. “And if you start ranting about Potions essays at midnight, I’m jumping out the window.”

With a heavy sigh, you followed him toward the stairs, muttering under your breath about “the worst night ever.”

Rosmerta chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “Young love,” she murmured, returning to the bar.

...

The door creaked open, revealing a small but warm room. A crackling fireplace cast flickering light across the wooden walls, the flames throwing shadows onto a quilt-covered bed nestled against the far corner. A single armchair, worn but inviting, sat by the hearth, and a rug that looked as though it had been knitted decades ago lay sprawled on the floor. 

Theo stepped in first, his sharp gaze flicking around the room. It was simple and unremarkable, yet the warmth from the fireplace immediately softened the icy tension that clung to his shoulders. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them onto the chair before brushing the snow from his sleeves.

“Cozy,” he muttered, though the word carried a hint of sarcasm. He glanced over his shoulder at you, lingering in the doorway, expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance.

“Cozy,” you echoed flatly, eyes landing on the single bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Classic.

You huffed, stepping further inside and dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. “I’ll take the chair,” you declared, pointing toward the armchair by the fire.

Theo snorted, shaking his head. “Good luck sleeping in that thing. You’ll be begging for the bed by midnight.”

“And you’ll be sleeping on the floor by morning if you keep talking,” you shot back, unbuttoning your coat with stiff, jerky movements.

Theo didn’t respond, instead shrugging off his trench coat and hanging it neatly on the back of the chair. He busied himself with the fire for a moment, adding another log and stirring the embers. The room grew even warmer, the heat seeping into his cold hands.

When he turned back, you had pulled off your scarf, revealing flushed cheeks and a few stray snowflakes still clinging to your hair. He watched as you brushed them away absently, the gesture oddly... endearing.

He frowned, shaking off the thought. “You should take the bed,” he said abruptly, the words surprising even himself.

You blinked, turning to him with suspicion. “What?”

“The bed,” he repeated, his tone more clipped this time. “You’ll be unbearable tomorrow if you don’t get any sleep.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment, he thought you were going to argue. But then you sighed, the fight draining out. “Fine. But don’t complain when you’re stiff and miserable in the morning.”

Theo smirked faintly, grabbing the blanket from the armchair. “I’ve survived worse than a night on the floor, y/l/n. Don’t flatter yourself.”

As he spread the blanket out by the fire, he caught himself glancing at you again. Your expression had softened slightly, your usual sharp edges dulled by the firelight. You didn’t look quite as insufferable now, standing there with your arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought.

…

The wind howled outside as Theo paced the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Meanwhile, you were glaring daggers at the small, frosted window in the corner, where an icy draft was sneaking through a crooked frame.

“Are you going to do something about that?” you asked, rubbing your arms.

Theo shot you an incredulous look. “Do I look like a handyman to you?”

“Well, you’re the one with the pureblood superiority complex,” you quipped. “Surely fixing a window is beneath my ‘mudblood’ capabilities.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, but then he smirked. “Fine. Stand back. Watch and learn.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as Theo strode toward the window with unbelievable confidence for someone who had never fixed a thing in his life. He fiddled with the latch, muttering under his breath.

“Step one,” he announced grandly, “assess the problem.”

“You’re narrating this?” you deadpanned.

“Step two,” Theo continued, ignoring you, “apply logical reasoning and brute force.” He yanked on the window frame.

It didn’t budge.

“You’re going to break it,” you warned, suppressing a grin.

“I’m improving it,” Theo shot back. He gave the window another tug, and the whole frame groaned ominously.

With a loud crack, a chunk of ice dislodged from the outside and tumbled onto Theo’s foot.

You burst out laughing, doubling over as Theo hopped on one leg, muttering curses.

“Step three,” you said between gasps for air, “check if the window is laughing at you because I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” Theo said, shooting you a glare as he hobbled back to the chair.

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t use brute force,” you said smugly, grabbing a blanket from the bed. “Here. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Theo watched with exaggerated skepticism as you climbed onto the chair, draping the blanket over the frame and tucking it into the edges. “Voilà!” you declared triumphantly, stepping back. “No more draft.”

The blanket immediately sagged and slid to the floor, letting the icy wind back in.

Theo barked a laugh, clapping slowly. “Brilliant. Truly groundbreaking work, y/l/n.”

“Oh, shut up!” you snapped, grabbing the blanket and tossing it at him.

Still laughing, Theo caught it and stood. “Move. You’re terrible at this.”

He stepped closer to the window, brushing past you. This time, instead of pulling or yanking, he gently adjusted the frame and tucked the blanket into the top corners, muttering charms under his breath to secure it in place.

When he finished, the draft was gone, and the room suddenly felt warmer.

“There,” he said smugly, turning to face you. “Step four: call in the expert.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. You win this round, Nott.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice quieter now, almost teasing.

For a moment, the bickering subsided, and they stood there by the now secured window. The firelight flickered across their faces, and you glanced up at him, noticing for the first time how soft his smirk could look when it wasn’t accompanied by an insult.

“Thanks,” you said, surprising both of them.

Theo shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “Don’t mention it. Or actually, do. Preferably to everyone we know.”

And just like that, the moment passed, but the warmth lingered.

The wind howled outside, but the warmth of the fire in the room kept things cozy…except for one thing: the floor. Theo sat cross-legged by the hearth, his arms wrapped around himself as he gave the ground an occasional glare.

“This is a crime against my back,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get comfortable but only managing to shift in place every few seconds.

You glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still complaining about the floor?”

“It’s not the floor, it’s the principle of the floor,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh. “The suffering of it.” He adjusted his position for the fifteenth time, finally giving up and lying flat on his back.

“Poor Theo. The floor is too hard for your delicate aristocratic back,” you teased, pulling out a bag of crisps from your bag.

Theo shot you a look but didn’t respond, instead reaching for the nearby blanket. His stomach, however, had other ideas, gurgling loudly enough to make you look over with a raised, slightly concerned eyebrow.

“Hungry, are we?”

“I’m fine,” Theo said defensively, as if his stomach hadn’t just betrayed him.

You held up the packet of crisps. “Well, I have snacks.” You shook the bag temptingly.

“Ugh, crisps?” Theo wrinkled his nose, but his stomach grumbled again, this time louder.

You smirked, leaning forward. “What’s the matter, Nott? Too simple for you?”

He glared at her, but his stomach won that round. “Fine. Give me one.”

You tossed him a chip, and Theo inspected it like it was a cursed artifact. He took a small bite, making an exaggerated face. “It’s like chewing on nothing.”

“Is that so?” you asked, unimpressed. “Maybe you’re just not sophisticated enough for the finer things in life.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another chip. “Finer things? It’s a bag of plain crisps, not an heirloom from my great-grandfather’s collection.”

“Well, sorry for not carrying around caviar in my school bag,” you replied dryly, reclining back onto the bed.

Theo ignored you, popping another chip in his mouth. “You know, I expected something better,” he muttered. “This is barely edible.”

You snorted. “You’re so picky. Can’t believe I’m wasting my high-class snacks on you.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another crisp. “High-class? It’s a bag of crisps, not some exclusive delicacy.”

“Just eat the damn crisps, Nott,” you laughed, tossing him another.

Theo sighed dramatically. “Fine. It’s not like I have a choice.” He slowly chewed the next chip, making an exaggerated show of tasting it.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, barely hiding your smile.

“Look, I’m just saying… if I were to critique the flavor,” Theo began, licking his lips as if in thought, “I’d say it’s… offensive. Lacking a certain je ne sais quoi.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly fell off the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s potato chips, not fine wine.”

Theo gave you an insufferable smile. “Exactly why I can’t trust you with snack recommendations.”

You picked up another bag from your bag, this one chocolate-covered pretzels. “You want to try these, too, Mr. Refined?”

Theo cautiously took one, studying it like it might explode. He bit into it, then paused, his eyes widening a fraction. “Okay, this is actually… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” you grinned. “Are you really that hard to please, or are you just trying to be difficult?”

Theo shifted again on the floor, finally conceding defeat to the uncomfortable surface. “The floor is awful,” he muttered, as if the snacks were the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

You give him a slightly sympathetic look.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a moment, Theo stuffing pretzels into his mouth like he was trying to make up for lost time. You finally cracked a smile, glancing over at him.

“You know, for a picky snob, you’re not terrible,” you said, the teasing tone light.

Theo swallowed his pretzel, his expression serious as he looked at you. “You’re not the worst company either, y/l/n.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment he’d given you, and though it was seemingly wrapped in sarcasm, you couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take it.”

…

The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. Theo had long since stopped pretending the floor wasn’t absolute torture to sit on. His posture was slumped, his legs stretched awkwardly in front of him as he tried to find some position that didn’t make his back ache.

You, who had long since claimed the bed and made yourself comfortable, glanced over at him. He was practically squirming, his face a mix of annoyance and defeat, and you couldn’t help but stifle a smile.

“You okay there?” you asked, your voice light but with just a hint of genuine concern.

Theo shot you a look. “Oh, I’m fantastic. Just living my best life on this luxurious floor.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting up in bed. “You don’t look very fantastic to me.”

“Thanks for the observation,” he muttered, glancing at the bed and then back at the floor. I’m just fine,” he added with a dismissive wave.

You studied him for a moment. Despite his usual bravado, there was something about the way he was holding himself, like he couldn’t quite escape the discomfort. His jaw was tight, and his hand kept fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

A thought crossed your mind, and for once, maybe showing some kindness to Nott wouldn’t hurt. You swung your legs off the bed and stood up, walking over to where Theo was sitting with an exaggerated sigh.

“Get up,” you said, holding out a hand.

Theo stared at it like it was some sort of foreign object. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you suffer on the floor like that. It’s ridiculous.”

Theo opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. After a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly took your hand and let you pull him to his feet. He winced slightly as he stood, stretching his stiff legs.

Theo hesitated but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he adjusted the position of his legs. He wasn’t quite comfortable yet, but the soft mattress was a welcome change from the floor.

“I still don’t know why you’re being nice to me,” Theo mumbled, not looking at you.

“Because I’m not entirely evil,” you teased with a little laugh, sitting back down beside him.

There was a pause as Theo’s watercolor eyes flicked to you, then away. He glanced at the small couch across the room that was far less comfortable than the bed but was still an option. He wasn’t entirely ready to admit that he liked the idea of staying near you for a while…

Finally, he sighed, and, almost begrudgingly, moved further onto the bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged beside you.

You watched him, noting the way his usual air of self-assurance was slightly dropped. It was strange to see him like this…vulnerable, not in control. and for some reason, it made him more… approachable.

“See? This is better,” you said with a teasing grin, glancing over at him.

Theo, still half-pretending to be indifferent, couldn’t quite hide the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well… I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

The tension between them softened even further. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just listening to the crackling fire and the sound of their own breathing. Theo, surprisingly, was the first to break the silence.

“Thanks,” he murmured, almost under his breath.

You blinked, glancing at him with mild surprise. “For what?”

“For… not leaving me to sleep on the floor like some kind of peasant,” Theo said, his voice light but sincere.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Theo shrugged, but his smile was genuine now. “I try.”

For a moment, they just sat there, quietly, but the air between them had changed. The teasing, the banter, the barbs…they were still there, but there was something softer now, something that wasn’t just about annoyance or putting each other down.

Theo’s thoughts drifted for a moment, and he realized, in a way that made his chest tighten a little, that this wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, this moment, this strange and unexpected peace with you, was… nice.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d like to stick around a little longer.

The Morning After

The room was bathed in soft morning light, the snow outside blanketing the world in a peaceful silence. 

Theo woke slowly, his eyelids heavy, the quiet of the room wrapping around him like a comfort he didn’t expect. The fire had long since gone out, but the warmth from the bed kept the cold at bay. He shifted, and that’s when he realized.

 His arm was around you. 

Your head rested against his chest, your hair slightly tousled, hand curled loosely over his side. The weight of you, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, was surprisingly soothing.

Theo didn’t want to move. Ever. He stayed still. He could feel your warmth seeping into him, and it made something in his chest tighten in the most unexpected way. He wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, he felt… content.

You stirred in your sleep, nuzzling closer without realizing, your fingers twitching against his chest. Your soft breath brushed against his neck, and Theo’s heart did a funny little jump. He smiled quietly to himself, the kind of smile that didn’t feel like a defense or a mask but just a simple, genuine reaction.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his fingers gently brush against your hair, the motion instinctive, as if he’d done it a thousand times. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a promise of something soft, something unexpected.

You sighed in your sleep, face relaxing further against him, and for a moment, Theo thought he had died and gone to heaven. His arm tightened ever so slightly around your waist, as if he were holding on to something precious. something he didn’t want to let go of.

He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes again, the quiet peace wrapping around him like a warm blanket. Maybe he wasn’t as good at pretending as he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found something worth holding on to.

pt. 3 here <3

Taglist: @lazycrazyme, @lovrsm, @minhlajenni, @rafeluvrr,

(ty for the comments and support!!)

[genderfluid-insomniac]

S/O being extra sweet to the baby monkeys with Wukong + Macaque (separately)

Sun Wukong

He’s going to be jealous since yes your playing and getting along with his siblings is adorable but why aren’t you giving him attention? He’s right here and will would cuddle you and give you all the affection you asked for if you said so. You do give him a lot of affection and attention when you aren’t at your job or busy, staying at FFM when MK trains and you reminding them to take breaks to stay hydrated since the man doesn’t stay hydrated as much as he should.

Once in a while, Wukong has to not so subtly ask his successor to bring you with him so he can spend time with you and totally not show off plan more dates since he’s still learning how to use the phone MK gave him after the whole Azure nearly ending the world disaster. Back to the monkeys residing on Flower Fruit Mountain; you give them extra special food than they’d normally have (search up food that monkeys can have as treats that won’t kill or hurt them) and give them scritches where they want.

Playing games like hide and seek, tag, soccer, or simple toss is nothing new however the smaller monkeys adore it and use ripened fruit as a ball. If you asked Wukong, who you’d have to bribe with some kisses or a night of cuddling, he’d tell you they ask him when you’re coming back and if you can play with them more.

Putting aside his jealousy it is incredibly heartwarming to see you bonding with his siblings and reminds him that might be what it’s like if you had a family with him. That though is something that pops up whenever you interact with them and if you catch him staring you’ll see his tail shaped like a heart.

Six eared Macaque

He’s not as jealous as Wukong is because he isn’t at FFM often unless it’s because of MK or a world-ending disaster and he likes how soft and cute you are when many of the monkeys climb all over you like you’re a jungle gym. Especially when you feign innocence of “stealing” a fruit like a peach or banana that one of them left lying around which ends in them running after you until they tackle looking for said fruit. Of course, you’ve switched it up by throwing the fruit to your boyfriend who instinctively caught it and then pretended that he stole it from you, which since most of the monkeys were fond of you they helped you and a good amount of them managed to latch onto Macaque.

Other times when it’s sunny you and some of the cubs are napping in the sun comfortably with you sleeping on your lover’s shoulder and many white monkeys curled up on some part of your body. He’s never really fully asleep more like in a relaxed or meditative state due to how sensitive his hearing is in addition to being vulnerable but when he looks over to you and sees how peaceful and adorable you look. He doesn’t want to move you but if it gets cold or looks like it’s going to storm then he’ll pick you up bridal style and the cubs that fall or aren’t on you when you’re picked up are carried by his tail.

You have begged him to spend a night or so on FFM to see the baby monkeys more but that means Macaque would have to ask Wukong and both parties don’t wanna do it unless they have to. Luckily for you, there have been times when a storm rolls in and with some pleading, he helped you gather the monkeys around you into a nearby cave till the storm let up which wasn’t that hard given they love you and you’re adorably sweet to them.

[zmbiesoph]

rainbow sprinkles

Summery: you and Steve fight over sprinkles, and it turns to something more

wanings: none

It started with an argument about sprinkles.

“I’m just saying,” Steve declared, leaning against the counter with that signature smirk of his, “sprinkles are the worst ice cream topping. They don’t even taste like anything.”

You gasped, clutching the container of rainbow sprinkles like he had personally insulted your family. “Blasphemy.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, name one good thing about them.”

“They’re colorful and fun,” you shot back, dramatically shaking a handful over his head. A few landed in his hair, getting lost in the soft brown waves.

“Great. So they make a mess. That’s two strikes against them.” He ruffled his hair, shaking the sprinkles off, but one stubborn little blue one stayed put. You decided not to tell him.

“Sprinkles are elite. This is a hill I will die on.”

Steve smirked, crossing his arms. “That’s a dumb hill, Y/N.”

“You’re a dumb hill.”

Before he could respond, a mother with a crying toddler approached the counter, and both of you straightened up. Steve launched into customer service mode, flashing a smile that was equal parts charming and tired.

“Ahoy! Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. What can I get for you?”

As Steve took their order, you tried to focus on work, but it was hard when he was so—well, him. It had started out as just another summer job, slinging ice cream and dealing with sweaty mall-goers, but somewhere between Steve’s awful jokes and the way he always made sure you got the last waffle cone before they ran out, you started to feel something.

Which was so not part of the plan.

You were still trying to shake the thought when the mother took her toddler’s ice cream cone and, naturally, disaster struck.

One second, the kid was reaching for his scoop of chocolate, the next, it plummeted onto the counter, splattering all over your apron.

You froze. The kid froze. Steve? He howled with laughter.

You turned to glare at him. “This is your fault.”

Steve wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “How exactly is this my fault?”

“You jinxed me with your bad sprinkle opinions.”

“You’re right. My anti-sprinkle stance is a powerful force.”

The kid started sniffling, and Steve, to his credit, immediately switched gears. “Hey, little dude, don’t worry—we’ll fix it.” He grabbed a new cone, added an extra scoop, and handed it over. “On the house.”

The kid beamed, all traces of distress gone. You hated how attractive that was.

After they left, you went to the back to clean up, still grumbling about how Steve was definitely responsible. He followed, arms crossed as he watched you scrub chocolate from your apron.

“So,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Am I gonna get an apology?”

You raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For accusing me of sprinkle-based sabotage.”

You scoffed. “Never.”

Steve clicked his tongue. “Shame. I was gonna offer to buy you dinner after work, but if you’re not feeling guilty…”

Your hands paused mid-scrub. “Wait. What?”

His smirk softened into something more genuine, a little nervous, even. “Dinner. You, me. Not here. I mean, unless you really want more ice cream.”

Your heart did a very dumb thing in response—like a little flip. “Are you… asking me out?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “Uh, yeah. I mean, unless you don’t want to. In which case, I was totally joking, and this is just, you know, workplace banter—”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to get dinner with you.”

His whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “Yeah.”

“Well, in that case,” he reached over and plucked a sprinkle from your shoulder, holding it up with a grin, “this is coming with us as a third wheel.”

You shoved his arm playfully, laughing as he pretended to stumble. Maybe working at Scoops Ahoy wasn’t so bad after all.

HELP I LOVE THIS SOSOSOSO MUCH LIKE ITS JUST SO… FUN

[litfeathers]

In all the excitement over the HD Hollow Mind paintings getting released, and in the resulting discussion and theorizing of the Wittebane story, I haven’t seen anyone bring up something that is potentially a HUGE part of the puzzle. Which makes sense, because it only appears for a split second in Yesterday’s Lie:

Hopkins shows this picture, says “disaster struck”, and then tells us a bit about the Wittebane brothers, namely that they met a witch and were lured into another world.

There are two options here.

1) The meetinghouse caught fire and started the witch hunt that we see in the HM paintings. The same one that ended with this:

…and it’s entirely possible that Evelyn is the one who blew up the meetinghouse. Why? *shrugs* The witch hunters pissed her off? In any case, that sequence of events would track what Hopkins said (meetinghouse catches fire, witch hunt is called, Caleb and Philip are separated from the pack, and they find Evelyn).

But if this sequence of events is slightly off? He says exactly this:

We know that Caleb was sneaking around with Evelyn for a while before he left. Look at Philip’s hair here vs his hair in the above painting. Time has definitely passed. He even has his ponytail and adult hair noodle.

Further evidence that time has passed? Masha says “they used codes to travel between worlds.” Which I take to mean that the lovebirds traveled back and forth a bunch.

This is where theory two comes in.

Hopkins said the brothers were lured into the BI. We know Caleb left with Evelyn first, and some time later Philip followed them. We don’t know the exact details, but keeping in mind that the fire could have happened at any point before the “luring” (ie Caleb leaving)…

What if this is our scenario instead:

2) Caleb got caught hanging out with a witch, and was arrested. Evelyn blew up the meetinghouse to save him, spiriting him away in front of the whole town. Philip spends years trying to find a natural portal and finally succeeds, entering the BI at Eclipse Lake. He tracks down his brother and the witch.

We know what happens next.

And here’s the kicker: in that new painting, we see Philip watching his brother leave through the portal all happy and carefree.

This seems like just one of many trips. Caleb might or might not know Philip is there. But in any case, it is probably not what Caleb expects to be his last trip. He doesn’t have any possessions with him. He’s not under any sort of duress. And unless he was a MASSIVE jerk, he does not seem to be concerned that he is leaving his little brother forever.

But. What if this is an important memory because it’s the memory of Philip finally catching Caleb in the act?

What if this is the moment that led to Caleb getting caught (perhaps the next day when he returned home), setting into motion the events that required a rescue from his cell in the meetinghouse and for him to escape to the BI permanently?

I mean…what if Philip rattted out Caleb?

[just-null]

hii! i was thinking, after seeing your who's-your-fav-clone post ,about who would be their darling's favorite & i just wanted to 2share my thoughts.

honeslty my fav has always been urogi and in real-life context, i would be drawn to think that he would be the best yandere choice. like, he is the embodiment of positive emotions; everyone would like that, right? he fluffs up when he sees you, is happy to keep you company and loyal to his bird-like side, whenever he would see some shiny piece of something, let it be a jewel or radom metal or anything he likes, really, he would bring it to you and offer it as a mating gift^_^ so everything's perfect, right?

wrong😖 i mean all of the things above r still true, but urogi can get super overwhelming and your drawings + the you-mention-a-new-name post lowk highk made me scared of himm LMAOO like he is just so menacing, his devotion and love feel just super threatening no matter how sweet he tries to appear.

then, maybe the most gentle one, aizetsu? 🙅 nuh-uh, no. i actually really love your aizetsu cs i never thought about him in like this passive-aggressive manipulative/victim-complex toxic boyfriend light but it just fits him soo much! out of all the 4, he'd probably b the most emotionally drainig to be around.

sekido doesn't seem like a bad option too, if you put aside his bad temper... meaning, putting all of him aside lol. i mean, he seems like a guy who's dealing for the first time with very intense romantic feelings and his first instinct is to raise his guard up at like maximum security level�� all of his worries and uttered love confessions come out the wrong way and it just makes his darling withdraw from him, wich makes him panick. he tries to 'make things right' only scaring them further. his darling doesn't want to see him, spending all of their time w the others and he eventually lashes out on them and his siblings. even though he's only trying to look out for everyone..

soo i really think karaku is the better option. hes just a chill guyTM who might or might not be trying to get under his darling's pants sometimes, but he's so carefree (convinced that they won't never ever manage to escape since everyone is always watching them 24/7) that he just kind of lets them do whatever. like yeah you wanna go out? sure. have fun. if their darling is coming to seek any of them for comfort, it would most likely be him.

ultimately, i think the ranking would b this:

1. karaku

2. urogi

3. aizetsu

4. and much to his dismay, sekido

All pros and cons you stated are pretty accurate but you missed Karaku's cons. Surprise, he also is awful like the rest! Yes, he does let you go out and about, but not without consequences. He does things that could get others (or you) hurt on purpose or to save you from problems (that he made) You probably won't get overwhelmed if the others are there to regulate everyone, so you'll be a semi regular couple. Harem?

Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing as the saying goes. Karaku is too carefree. He's too confident that you'll bounce back if wounded. He's too confident you'll still come back to him at the end of the day.

They're parts of a whole at the end of the day, they need each other so they dont make you lose your mind, and life. The worst of them can end up being your saviors and vise versa.

As for our special hedonist, Karaku likes to PORTRAY himself as a pretty relaxed guy, to you specifically. He's not too pushy unless he knows you won't be too put off by it. But that damn thrill seeker side.....

He gets bored easily and constantly seeking pleasure like an addict. How do you get the best hit? After a disaster, of course! A disaster he made since things can get pretty quiet without a push.

Karaku wants your praise and favor, but he's not going to ruin his image in front of you. (Un)Fortunately for him, he knows you aren't able to have your eyes on him 24/7. In that downtime, he can do whatever he wants, like causing disaster around you or others. Little things that snowball and have you calling them (specifically him) to "save" you.

It's a good day if all Karaku does is try seducing you.

[libraryofloveletters]

Call My Name Series

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader // Carlos Sainz Jr x Fem!Reader 

series summary: ferrari has always been red, it’s iconic really. the colour of passion, of love; people tend to forget that love and anger carry the same colour. you aren’t sure when you left one bed for the other, but it’s made and you’ve got to lie in it now, hm? 

author's note: I'm aware similar ideas have been done with these two but this is my take on it :) I hope you guys enjoy it and love it as much as I do!!

call my name taglist!

Chapter One: Colour Me Red

carlos meets the mystery woman charles won’t shut up about. everything about her was intoxicating; as bad as it seems, carlos can’t help but think you’re better suited for someone else.

Insta File: Who Is She?

a glimpse into charles’s new girlfriend.

Chapter Two: Disaster and Despair

charles brings you to his home race. monaco wraps you up in glamour and excitement but amongst those things, you face lust.. a wicked feeling that you struggle to keep a bay. 

Insta File: His Girl 

a glimpse into y/n’s instagram post monaco grand prix  

Chapter Three: The Eyes Never Lie

carlos pushes the guilt away as it swallows you whole. charles can’t seem to piece together what was going on with his girlfriend and his teammate.

Chapter Four: Show Me The World 

summer break; charles focuses on training for the second half of the season but sends you off with best wishes for your summer trip with your girlfriends in sunny, sunny, spain. 

Insta File: Spanish Sunshine

a glimpse into y/n’s summer trip in spain, wonder who will be featured in the photo dump. 

Chapter Five: Red; Like Blood 

there’s no denying it anymore. there are some things better left unsaid and things that the imagination just doesn’t make up. 

Chapter Six: The Sins Of The Past 

the consequences of your actions finally catch up to you; you’re on the outs with the most important person in your life and the one person you should stay away from comes running to you  

Chapter Seven: Bitter 

charles is ready to speak to you and despite your own wrong doings, your mind has already been turned; poisoned to speak. carlos couldn’t be more pleased. 

Chapter Eight: Cross Roads

as much as he wants things to work, he won’t fight for you unless you show him that you want him too. 

Insta File: Can't Hide

a glimpse into the headlines that put the final nail into the coffin of your relationship.

Chapter Nine: It’s You, Not Me

the affair gets out of hand, literally. the headlines pop up faster than you can shut them down and you think it’s time to finally make up your mind. 

Chapter Ten: Better Off 

there’s a sense of relief that comes with being single, especially after a messy relationship, or rather relationships in your case. except you can’t seem to find that feeling. 

Epilogue: It Was Always You. 

finding your way back to him after everything was the easiest thing you had ever done in your life. 

[httpsdana]

please, can you write a fic angst to comfort with gavi with 24 prompt list?? 💓

Crumbled Sweetness~Pablo Gavi

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: first request from my new prompt list!! keep sending in your requests and don't forget to specify the prompt and it's genre <3

24-“Stop laughing! It's impossible to stay mad when you smile like that.”

“You’re unbelievable, Pablo!” y/n yelled, pacing the living room while Pablo leaned against the kitchen counter, trying very hard to look remorseful—but failing miserably.

“It’s just a cake,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s not just a cake!” she spun around, glaring at him. “It was the cake! The perfect cake I spent hours choosing! The centerpiece for the whole party!”

“And now it’s, uh…” Pablo trailed off, gesturing to the mess on the floor. “A modern art piece?”

y/n gaped at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re joking right now? After you demolished the one thing I trusted you to handle?”

“I didn’t demolish it!” he said defensively. “It slipped out of the box.”

“Oh, it just slipped?” she ecohed, throwing her hands in the air. “Because cakes are known for their ability to leap out of boxes!”

He tried to hold back a smile, but it was useless. She saw the twitch at the corner of his lips, and her glare intensified.

“Stop it,” she warned.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently, though his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

“Stop smiling!” she exclaimed, pointing at him. “You’re making me even angrier!”

“I’m not smiling!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you—” she cut herself off with a frustrated groan when she heard his laugh. “Ugh! Stop laughing! It’s impossible to stay mad when you smile like that.”

His grin widened. “So you’re not mad anymore?”

“Don’t push it,” she muttered, trying to keep her stern expression intact.

But Pablo wasn’t about to let her off the hook. He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist as he pulled her in. “I’m sorry, mi vida,” he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity. “Let me make it up to you.”

“How?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you have a secret talent for baking a new cake in under an hour, I’m not sure you can.”

“I could try,” he said, his tone so serious she almost believed him.

“You in the kitchen unsupervised? That’s a disaster waiting to happen,” she shot back, biting back a laugh.

“Harsh,” he said, feigning a wounded expression. “But fair.”

He pulled her closer until their foreheads were touching. “What if I do something else to make it up to you?”

“Like what?” she challenged, crossing her arms even as he held her.

“Like…” He paused for dramatic effect. “A lifetime supply of kisses?”

y/n couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking her head. “You’re insane.”

“And you love it,” he teased, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Come on, admit it. You can’t stay mad at me.”

“I’m still a little mad,” she said stubbornly, though her tone had softened.

“Then I’ll just have to try harder.” He kissed her other cheek. Then her nose. Then her forehead. Then her lips, lingering just long enough to make her heart skip a beat.

“Pablo,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, mi vida?”

“You’re still cleaning up that cake,” she said, though a smile was finally tugging at her lips.

“Deal,” he said quickly, kissing her again. “But only if you help.”

“Why should I help?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Because,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug. “You love me too much to let me suffer alone.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered, her face buried in his chest.

“I know,” he replied smugly, resting his chin on top of her head.

After a few more moments of holding her, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “You know you’re the most important person in the world to me, right?”

Her heart melted at the sincerity in his voice. “I know,” she said softly.

“And you’ll still let me come to the party?”

“Only if you promise not to touch anything,” she said, poking his chest.

“Deal,” he said with a grin. “I’ll just stand in the corner and look pretty.”

“That’s about all you’re good for right now,” she teased, leaning up to kiss him again.

Pablo laughed, the sound so warm and contagious that she couldn’t help but laugh too. After that Pablo had promised to get her another cake from the shop for her party, this time asking for delivery service instead of him getting it. She couldn't trust him not to ruin it again with his clumsiness

[bekolxeram]

Long sigh......

I've heard that one of the most problematic bnf from the other side of the fandom claimed on Tiktok that Tommy wouldn't be part of the emergency landing rescue because "the controls (of a helicopter and a jet airliner) are different". I know I made a whole thing out of Tommy being a helicopter pilot instead of a fixed wing one. (I even made up a sunshiny airplane pilot ex boyfriend for Tommy, that was fun while it lasted) I have no idea how that bnf makes the logical leap that if Tommy isn't physically solo flying that plane, then he won't be involved at all. He's still a firefighter working with aircrafts at an airport. Unless the writers for some reason don't want Tommy to be in the episodes at all and pull the "not on duty" card, it would actually make less sense for him not to be there.

You know the drill. Don't read further if the discussion of Tommy not being able to fly everything bothers you. Block the tag #aviation realism if this whole topic doesn't interest you. I've hesitated a lot whether I should post my thoughts on this, but I guess this is the last chance to speculate, so here goes nothing. This is my specs for Tommy's involvement in the plane disaster.

First, I want to clarify something. I never said Tommy wasn't on the plane in 2x14. If by flying that plane, you mean actually taking the pilot seat, grabbing the yoke and executing risky low altitude maneuvers over mountainous terrain, no, I don't think Tommy can do it. The thing is, operating an aircraft that size requires a whole team, up to 5 in this case. I can totally imagine Tommy onboard sitting behind the pilots, helping out with navigation or precise drop coordination.

It's possible, even common to transition from flying rotary to fixed wing. JetBlue and Frontier both provide rotor transition programs to veterans, I've also seen a former Army Blackhawk pilot now flies the C-130 for the Coast Guard. Training ex-military pilots to become commercial airliner pilots has a higher success rate and takes less time than training a regular civilian. But you see the problem, none of them have been working as an active firefighter for the past 20 years.

Let's cut to the chase, I don't think Tommy will be landing that plane. In the original film, they decide transferring an Air Force pilot into the crippled 747 is the only option, because they think woman dumb Nancy can't handle it. Aviation technology has come a very long way since the 70s. This MythBusters episode from 2007 proves that not only is it possible for a complete novice to land a jet airliner by following verbal instructions, modern planes are so advanced that they can practically land themselves.

Sure, there probably will be some major damages to the systems needed for a normal landing (landing gear, flaps, brakes, thrust reversers) rendering an autoland impossible, because drama. But then you run into the problem of where the hell is the Air Force. Last season, the Coast Guard was busy rescuing other ships stranded at sea so some LAFD firefighters had to steal a helicopter to search for a cruise ship that didn't call for help. This time, a passenger airliner without its flight crew has a very real possibility of crashing in a densely populated urban area, the whole incident is also reported live on TV news, how can they explain the absence of the Air Force? Even assuming no commercial pilots in the area, including the ex-military ones are willing to do such a dangerous stunt and tether into the cockpit from outside, what's stopping the AIr Force pilots?

I don't think Tommy will be the one instructing Athena through the landing either. You run into basically the same problem. There are plenty of flight instructors of that exact model of aircraft out there better suited for the job. Flying a modern airliner, especially an Airbus, is more like flying a computer than an actual plane. You need someone with intimate knowledge of the plane's flight control systems in order to talk a non-pilot through operating it.

I know, I know, I'm being a killjoy right now, I'm worse than the Tommy haters and I should shut the fuck up, but even if we're going 100% realistic, referring to real life aviation incidents of this scale (Yes, I'm talking about JetBlue 292 again), Tommy is especially going to be part of the rescue.

Real!LAFD deployed a few helicopters in the JetBlue sideway nose gear incident to monitor the airfield and to help coordinate ground personnel/equipment, with a couple more standing by on the ground in case anyone on the plane needed emergency medevac.

I think the first officer might need a chopper ride if they want to save his femoral artery.

In the same incident, a local news copter also helped survey the landing gear issue from the outside. Tommy's helicopter can do that as well.

It's getting too long, but I have a few out-of-universe reasons for why Tommy will likely not play a super major part in this plane disaster arc, I'll just speed through them: Tommy's not a main character when screen time is already tight for the mains (I'd prefer to see him more in later Buck centric eps), he's already saved the day last season, I think production has blown all their budget on the airplane sets, the new trucks and the CGI bees already that they can't fit a helicopter in. (Let alone to replicate the original pilot transferal scene, it was a real stunt, they really got an AIr Force helicopter to dangle a stuntman in front of a flying 747. It was dangerous and hella expensive)

I actually hope Tommy would be working on the ground this time, I would kill to see him working with Buck and the 118, and not in the sky doing his own thing.

[live-laugh-legolas]

How good/bad do you think the members of the fellowship are at cooking?

I love this type of prompt! I turned this into a bit of a “how they cook” as well

Can they cook?

Aragorn:

-Not bad but not good

-He knows how to cook meat; he’s very good at that

-But he doesn’t really know how to season it

-He has a sort of wild man cooking that is better for just survival than for taste

-Basically he will get the job done; he won’t give you food poisoning

Legolas:

-Nope

-Don’t let this guy anywhere near a kitchen

-He never had to cook growing up; he’s a damn princess

-I will never let go of my headcanon that he has literal grave mouth

-Like he had no problem with Eowyns stew level of grave mouth

-He will eat anything and if left to his own devices he will survive purely on lembas bread and fruit

-Once he’s out of premade food or can’t find anymore berries he’s grazing like a cow in the grass

-Don’t leave this boy alone; he needs a babysitter

Gimli:

-He’s too impatient for cooking tbh

-He much prefers to be the sous chef

-And by that I mean he is there to entertain the chef and keep them company

-He will critique the food though or the cooking techniques

-He has no right to but he does it anyway

-If he needs to cook though he can make a pretty mean stew

Boromir:

-I actually think he knows how to cook

-He has a few dishes he knows how to make by memory and they are really good in the way your moms cooking is good

-It’s homely

-He has a lot of cook books

-I imagine him looking like a housewife cooking; like he’s got a frilly apron and no one is allowed in the kitchen while he’s cooking

-He let’s out his frustration while cooking; muttering to himself as he cracks eggs

-Like he’s not relaxed while cooking; he enjoys cooking but he’s kinda scary to share the kitchen with

Frodo:

-Eh

-He will cook if he needs to but anything that’s not eggs or pasta won’t be very good

-And it’s not that he can’t cook; he just has no interest in learning

-His best friend is Samwise Gamgee

-He has no reason to learn because his friend will always make it better

-He’s really good at decorating cupcakes and cookies

Sam:

-This hobbit refused to eat/serve unseasoned food in the fucking wild

-He can cook

-He’s the best cook

-And he’s passionate about it too; his food is made with love

-Please ask him to make you something specific

-It makes him feel important and he loves to feed people; no one is allowed to skip his meals

-He stress bakes

Merry:

-A decent cook; but he really shines in the art of leftovers

-Like he will take leftovers and make it into something new so it doesn’t feel like leftovers anymore

-Very resourceful in the kitchen

-He blasts music while cooking

-His food is definitely edible

-However he did once give Pippin food poisoning

Pippin:

-The most chaotic cook

-If you were to watch him cook or even just see his ingredient choices and the disaster of a kitchen when he is done you would assume the worst

-But it’s actually really good

-It’s almost like he puts literal garbage in the oven but when it comes out it’s a whole ass cherry pie

-Never follows a recipe

-Would use a cookbook as fuel for the oven

Gandalf

-He can cook but he can’t bake

-No one knows why; not even him

-His meals are tasty but he will burn the kitchen down if he tries to make a cake

-He doesn’t really enjoy cooking unless he is alone and it’s just for himself

-He will claim to have more pressing things to worry about so someone else will make them their food for the night

-He cooks a lot of soup

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Rule 1: If An Opportunity Falls Into Your Lap, You Take It.

There were five rules to being a sugar baby—or so you’d heard.

If an opportunity falls into your lap, you take it.

Everything is purely transactional.

Don’t let the lines blur between your sugar daddy and your personal or professional life.

Never meet anyone in his inner circle—no close friends, no family.

Unless it’s in writing, underlined, signed by two lawyers, and you get a new Hermes handbag afterward, don’t fuck your sugar daddy.

Rule 1: If the opportunity falls into your lap, you take it. If there was one thing you had learn throughout this whole experience, it was this: when the universe threw signs at you to just fucking stay home, you should probably listen.

It was supposed to be a normal Monday. As normal as a Monday could ever be for you, anyway—rushed, groggy, but doable. Still, you always made it work. But today? Today, the universe had clearly decided you were its personal chew toy.

It all started with the alarm—well, the lack of it.

You had stayed up way too late the night before with Anna and Ororo, convincing yourselves that one more movie wouldn’t hurt. Of course, that one more movie turned into a trilogy of bad decisions, complete with spilled popcorn, empty wine bottles, and the kind of belly laughs that shake the walls. The clock had crept up on you before you even realized it. By the time you flopped down on the couch, half-drunk on both wine and exhaustion, it was already 2 AM.

Your apartment, normally a place of calm and order, had become a reflection of the chaos in your life. Empty wine glasses were still perched on the coffee table, and the floral throw blanket you loved so much was crumpled into a heap on the floor, abandoned in the aftermath of last night’s impromptu movie marathon. The dim glow of the streetlights outside slipped through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. It was quiet now, the kind of stillness that only comes in the dead of night, but it wouldn’t last.

The universe, as it turned out, didn’t care about your late-night escapades. So when your alarm finally did go off in the morning, you slept right through it.

By the time you actually opened your eyes, the sunlight was already pouring through the window, far too bright for the morning. That was your first clue that something had gone horribly wrong.

Your heart sank. You shot up in bed, your blankets tangled around your legs, and grabbed for your phone. 8:37 AM.

Shit.

You had thirty minutes to get to work. Thirty minutes, and you weren’t even out of bed yet. Panic surged through you, hot and sharp, as you bolted from the sheets. Your bedroom was a mess, clothes from the weekend strewn across the floor, and your dresser was cluttered with half-empty cups of tea and scattered earrings. The small, framed photo of your family on your bedside table seemed to mock you with its serene smiles as you scrambled around the room in a frenzy.

Your body felt heavy with the remnants of last night’s indulgence. Rubbing your eyes, you stumbled into the bathroom, where the mirror greeted you with a reflection that was, to put it kindly, a disaster. Your hair was a tangled mess, dark circles under your eyes told the story of your late-night binge, and the wrinkle lines from your pillow were still fresh on your cheek.

You didn’t have time to care.

You grabbed your toothbrush with one hand while attempting to shimmy into your pencil skirt with the other, already regretting every decision you’d made in the past twelve hours. The bathroom, like the rest of your apartment, was a reflection of your life teetering on the edge of chaos. The soap dispenser was nearly empty, and the hand towel you’d meant to replace days ago lay crumpled in the corner.

Half-dressed and with toothpaste still foaming in your mouth, you rushed back into your bedroom, yanking open your closet doors. The closet, normally your sanctuary of neatly hung clothes and color-coded hangers, was in disarray. You pawed through the mess, desperately searching for something—anything—that didn’t look like it had spent the last month crumpled at the bottom of the laundry basket.

You managed to pull out a white blouse, but as you jammed it over your head, toothpaste dribbled down your chin and splattered onto the fabric.

Perfect.

You let out a string of curses, tearing the blouse off and throwing it across the room in frustration. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your pulse was loud in your ears as you yanked a plain black top from the hanger. It was wrinkled, sure, but you had no other options. You slid it on, grabbed your blazer, and tried to smooth out the worst of the creases with your hands, but it was no use. Today was already a mess. You just had to survive it.

When you made it to the kitchen, the sight of last night’s chaos greeted you like a slap in the face. Empty wine bottles and bowls still littered the counters, and the remnants of the evening’s snacks were scattered across the stove. The coffee maker, which had been your saving grace on so many mornings before, sat untouched and idle. There was no time for breakfast, no time for coffee, no time for anything. The simple ceramic travel mug you normally took with you to sip on during your commute sat lonely and abandoned on the counter, a silent witness to your rush.

Your apartment, once a cozy and organized haven, now felt like a battlefield. The little details you normally loved—the potted plants by the window, the mismatched cushions on the couch, the soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the walls—were lost in the chaos of the morning. It was a reminder that you were too busy chasing after time to enjoy the small comforts you’d built around yourself.

You grabbed your phone, your keys, and your purse, and bolted out the door like a woman on a mission, the sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floor echoing in the empty hallway. You barely noticed the chipped paint on the doorframe as you rushed past it, the little scuff marks you’d always meant to fix but never had time for.

The moment you stepped outside, the crisp October air hit you, a sharp contrast to the warm, cluttered apartment you’d just left behind. The trees lining the street were shedding their leaves, golden and red, fluttering down like confetti celebrating your disastrous morning. The sunlight was too bright, too cheerful for how you felt inside. You were already late, already spiralling into the kind of panic that made your chest tight and your thoughts race.

The subway was a lost cause by the time you made it to the station. The train doors slid shut just as you arrived, the screech of metal on metal mocking your pitiful sprint. You stood there on the platform, panting and swearing under your breath, watching the train disappear down the tunnel, taking your last hope of getting to work on time with it.

As you waited for the next train, you leaned against the tiled wall, trying to catch your breath. Your reflection in the dirty glass across the platform looked like someone who had already lost the battle with the day. Wrinkled clothes, messy hair, smeared makeup. You hadn’t even made it to the office yet, and you felt like you were falling apart at the seams.

When the train finally arrived and you squeezed yourself into the crowded car, the smell of too many bodies crushed together in too small a space made your skin crawl. You clutched your purse tighter, your knuckles white with tension, and tried to focus on something—anything—other than the fact that you were late. You practically stumbled off the train, your pulse racing as you navigated through the throng of people. The station was a blur of hurried footsteps and muffled voices. You checked the time on your phone for what felt like the hundredth time, your heart sinking as you realized just how close you were cutting it.

I can make it, I can make it.

The mantra repeated in your head like a lifeline as you pushed through the turnstiles and broke into a brisk walk. Your mind was already at the office, imagining the look on your boss's face if you were late again.

A red light stopped you at the intersection just outside your office building, and you stood there, practically vibrating with stress, watching the seconds tick by. Each one felt like a hammer pounding away at your resolve. You shifted anxiously on your feet, willing the light to turn green.

When it finally did, you dashed across the street, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts. You barely registered the people you passed as you rushed through the front doors of the office building. The cool, air-conditioned air hit you like a wall, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it.

The elevator doors were just about to close as you sprinted inside, earning a few raised eyebrows from your fellow passengers. You tried to calm your breathing, smoothing down your hair as best you could, but the mirror’s reflection didn’t lie—your hair was a mess, and you could feel the sweat on your forehead. You glanced at your phone again, watching the seconds tick down.

By the time the elevator doors dinged open on your floor, you had mere seconds to spare. You rushed out, almost colliding with a coworker, and made a beeline for the office doors. Your heart was pounding, your nerves frayed to the point of breaking, but you were here. You had made it. That had to count for something, right?

Except, of course, the universe wasn’t done with you yet.

As you pushed through the office doors, the weight of the morning’s chaos still heavy on your shoulders, you realized you were in no shape to face the day just yet. You needed a moment—a breather, a mental reset before you could even think about diving into your work. And more than anything, you needed caffeine.  

Without a second thought, you changed direction, detouring toward the break room. The thought of hot, fresh coffee was the only thing keeping you from falling apart at this point. The office buzzed around you—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, coworkers already deep in conversation—but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was getting to that coffee machine.

When you stepped into the break room, it was thankfully empty. The fluorescent lights were harsh against your tired eyes, but the quiet felt like a small mercy after the chaos of the morning. You exhaled slowly, allowing yourself a moment to just breathe.

The coffee machine whirred as you set it to brew, and you stood there, watching the dark liquid drip into the cup. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, and for the first time that morning, you felt a small sense of relief. It was a tiny victory, but you’d take it.

As you waited, you leaned against the counter, your mind still racing but slowly beginning to settle. You thought about the train ride, the rush to get here, the constant pressure of being on time, of staying on top of everything. It felt like you were always teetering on the edge, like one more small inconvenience would send you spiralling.

The coffee cup finally filled to the brim, and you pulled it from the machine, taking a tentative sip. The warmth spread through you, grounding you, offering the smallest bit of comfort. But as you stood there, allowing yourself this brief moment of calm, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the day had more in store for you—that the universe wasn’t quite done testing your patience.

The door to the break room swung open, and a coworker poked their head in. “Hey, they’re looking for you,” they said, a little too chipper for your mood. “You’ve got a meeting in five.”

You blinked, your stomach sinking. Of course you did.

“Right,” you murmured, taking another sip of your coffee and trying to mentally prepare yourself for whatever awaited you. You forced a smile. “Thanks.”

As they left, you stared down into your coffee cup, the fleeting peace you had felt quickly evaporating. The clock was ticking again, and you had no choice but to jump back into the fray.

With a resigned sigh, you straightened your shoulders and made your way out of the break room, coffee in hand, trying to mentally brace yourself for the day ahead. The ride to the office had felt like an eternity, but the day? The day was already shaping up to be a whole new battlefield. You could practically feel the weight of your tasks piling up before you even reached your desk.

You took another sip of your coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in and magically transform you into someone capable of navigating the chaos. If only it were that simple.

You rounded the corner, your mind still chewing on the details of the upcoming meeting, when it happened.

The moment your body collided with his, time seemed to stretch unnaturally, like the universe wanted to ensure you witnessed every agonizing second of what came next. You barely registered the solid, unyielding presence of the person you’d run into before your coffee cup slipped from your hand.

It tumbled through the air in the most tragic slow motion, and you could only watch in helpless horror as the dark liquid arced, suspended for a split second, before splashing down all over him.

And it wasn’t just anyone you’d run into.

It was Remy LeBeau.

The CEO of your Fortune 500 company. The man whose face graced the covers of business magazines and who was regularly featured on Time’s ‘50 Under 40 Most Influential People’ list. The man who, if the tabloids were to be believed, spent his weekends jetting off to exotic locales with supermodels and starlets.

And now, that man—the one who could fire you with a single word—was standing in front of you, covered in your coffee. His perfectly tailored suit—a suit that probably cost more than your rent—was soaked, the dark stain spreading like an inkblot across his chest and down his sleeve.

Your heart stopped for a beat, then started again, pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You stood there, frozen, staring up at him, wide-eyed and panic-stricken.

Remy LeBeau—the man whose influence stretched far beyond this building, who could make or break careers with a simple glance—was looking down at his ruined suit, then slowly back up at you. His dark eyes gleamed, the expression on his face unreadable for a moment.

He didn’t look angry.

No, he looked amused.

Your brain struggled to catch up with the situation. You had just spilled coffee on the Remy LeBeau. The man who could ruin you with a snap of his fingers. The CEO. The most powerful person in the building. And there he was, standing before you, smirking like this was some kind of entertaining sideshow.

“I—oh god—I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your voice trembling. Your hands fumbled for the napkin in your bag, frantically trying to wipe the coffee from his suit, even though you knew it was a lost cause. “I didn’t see you, I wasn’t paying attention, I—”

Remy raised a hand, gently catching your wrist. His touch was warm, firm, and his grip was light but commanding. The sudden contact made you freeze.

“Easy, chérie,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with that unmistakable Cajun drawl that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—dark, intense, and glimmering with amusement—locked onto yours. “Ain’t no need t’ panic. I’ve had worse happen on a Monday.”

You stared up at him, your heart still racing, completely at a loss for words. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t yelling. In fact, he was smiling—smiling—at you, like this was all just a minor inconvenience, not the most humiliating moment of your professional life.

Your brain scrambled, trying to make sense of the situation, but it was impossible to think straight. You’d just ruined his suit—his suit—and he was standing there, calm as ever, like this was all just some forgettable hiccup in his day.

“I—I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” you blurted, though you knew full well you couldn’t afford it. That suit probably cost more than your entire wardrobe put together.

Remy chuckled softly, the sound rich and smooth, like velvet. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, waving off your offer with a casual flick of his hand. “I’ve got plenty of suits.”

You blinked, still trying to wrap your head around what was happening. Remy LeBeau, one of the most powerful men in the world, was standing in front of you, completely unfazed by the fact that you had just drenched him in coffee.

Before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps approaching snapped you back to reality. You turned your head just in time to see Yelena, your coworker, striding toward you with wide eyes and a look of barely-contained disbelief. Her blonde hair was pulled into its typical messy bun, and her sharp brown eyes darted from you to Remy, then back again, clearly processing the scene in front of her.

“Oh my god,” she said, her heavy Russian accent making her words sound even more incredulous. “You spilled coffee on the CEO?” She let out a short, breathless laugh, as if the sheer absurdity of the situation was too much to process.

You groaned inwardly. Of course, Yelena had seen the whole thing.

“Yelena, please,” you muttered, your face flushing with embarrassment. If there was any mercy in the world, she’d take the hint and leave you alone. But Yelena, being Yelena, had no intention of sparing you.

“You are joking, right?” she said, her eyes wide with mock surprise. “You actually spill coffee on Remy LeBeau? The Remy LeBeau?” She glanced at him, then back at you, a grin tugging at her lips. “You are disaster, yes?”

You shot her a look that screamed please, shut up, but Yelena just laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “No, no, this is too good. I knew you were mess, but this? This is... spectacular.”

“Yelena,” you hissed through clenched teeth, your embarrassment reaching new heights. “Not. Now.”

But Yelena, being the relentless force that she was, wasn’t done. She turned her attention to Remy, giving him a cheeky smile. “You see what I deal with? Every day, she is like this. One time, she trip and fall into glass door. Another time, she forget she have meeting, show up in gym clothes. Always something.”

Your face burned hotter as you glared at Yelena, praying for the ground to swallow you whole. But instead of being annoyed, Remy’s smirk only deepened.

“Sounds like she keeps things... interestin’,” he drawled, his dark eyes flicking back to you, clearly entertained by the exchange.

“Interesting?” Yelena snorted, crossing her arms. “That is polite way to say ‘disaster waiting to happen.’”

You wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and never resurface, but before you could even attempt to salvage the situation, Yelena gave you a wicked grin. “Well, if he shows up with new coffee later, I am calling it.”

You shot her a panicked look, but she just winked at you and sauntered off, clearly enjoying your discomfort. The room seemed to ripple with the awkward tension she left behind.

You turned back to Remy, your heart hammering in your chest, your mind still racing. He was still smiling, his eyes twinkling with amusement, like this whole thing was some kind of inside joke that only he was in on.

“I—uh—I’m so sorry, again,” you stammered, not quite sure what else to say. You were completely out of your depth. The man standing in front of you wasn’t just your CEO, he was a legend, and you had just turned yourself into a walking catastrophe in front of him.

Remy held up a hand, cutting off your nervous rambling. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, his voice still that smooth, easy drawl. “I’ve got a meetin’ in...” He checked his watch, his expression shifting slightly as he sighed. “Fifteen minutes.”

Your stomach dropped. Not only had you ruined his suit, but you had also potentially thrown off his entire schedule. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you repeated, this time with more desperation. “If you’re late because of me—”

Remy chuckled again, shaking his head. “Chère, it’s not the end of the world. I’ve been late to plenty of meetings. But I’ll tell you what—” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he leaned in just a fraction closer. “You owe me one now.”

You blinked, confused. “Owe you?”

He nodded, a slow, easy grin spreading across his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me with a proper cup of coffee? A fresh one this time.”

You stared at him, still trying to process exactly what was happening. He was supposed to be furious. He was supposed to be annoyed. And yet here he was, casually suggesting that you—you—grab coffee with him after you’d just destroyed his suit.

“I—uh—are you serious?” you asked, your voice slightly shaky.

Remy raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “I don’t joke ‘bout coffee, chérie.”

You blinked, your heart pounding in your chest. “But... you have a meeting.”

He shrugged, glancing down at his suit again. “Gotta go change first anyway. And besides,” he added with a wink, “I think I’ll have time for a quick stop on the way. You in?”

You stared at him, completely thrown off balance. The most powerful man in the company—the Remy LeBeau—was standing in front of you, casually asking you out for coffee. After you’d just spilled it all over him.

“I—uh—thanks, but I can’t,” you stammered, your heart racing. “I have a meeting I need to get to.”

Remy’s grin didn’t falter for a second. In fact, it widened, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. “Chérie, skip it. I’ll write you a late pass or whatever,” he said with a wink, clearly joking. “Tell ‘em the boss said you’re busy.”

You blinked, completely thrown by his offer. “I-I really can’t,” you insisted, trying to sound firm, but your voice wavered. “It’s important, and—"

Remy waved a hand, cutting you off. “Cher, there ain’t nothin’ more important than a cup of coffee after a spill like that,” he drawled, his tone light and teasing. “Trust me, I know these meetin’s. They’ll survive without ya for a bit.”

You hesitated, glancing at the clock on the wall. You did have a meeting in less than fifteen minutes, one that had been on your calendar for weeks. But this was Remy LeBeau, a man who could probably get you out of any meeting with a single phone call. And he was standing there, in his coffee-stained suit, telling you to blow it off like it was no big deal.

“Besides,” he added, his grin turning slightly mischievous, “how often you get a chance to have coffee with the CEO, hein?”

Your stomach flipped at the thought. You couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“I—uh—” you started, trying to come up with a logical reason to refuse, but your brain was still short-circuiting. “I don’t know if I should—”

Remy leaned in just a little closer, his voice dropping to that low, honeyed murmur again. “Chérie, I’m the one tellin’ you it’s okay. I think you��ll survive missin’ one meetin’.”

You stared at him, completely flustered by the way the situation had escalated. He was joking, sure, but there was something about his tone, his easy confidence, that made it impossible to argue with him. And wasn’t he right? How often did anyone get a chance to have coffee with the CEO?

You bit your lip, feeling your resolve crumbling under the weight of his charm.

“Okay,” you finally breathed, your heart still pounding in your chest. “I’ll skip it.”

Remy’s grin widened, and he gave you a little nod, clearly pleased with your answer. “That’s more like it,” he said, his accent thickening just a bit as he spoke. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five.”

And with that, he turned and sauntered away, leaving you standing there, heart racing, mind spinning, and completely unsure of what had just happened.

You stared after him, watching as he disappeared down the hallway.

Did Remy LeBeau just tell me to skip my meeting?

The CEO. The most powerful man in the company. The man who could make—or break—careers with a single glance had just told you, with a smirk and a wink, to blow off your meeting… for coffee. Not just any coffee, but coffee with him.

Your heart was still pounding in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and disbelief coursing through your veins. You stared down the hallway where he’d disappeared, his last words still replaying in your mind.

"The boss said you’re busy."

For a moment, you considered following after him and telling him you couldn’t possibly skip a meeting. That you had responsibilities. That this was insane. But then you remembered the way he’d looked at you—those dark, mischievous eyes gleaming with amusement, his tone so casual, so confident, like nothing in the world could faze him.

And really, who would argue with the CEO?

You glanced at the clock again. Your meeting was in ten minutes.

A part of you wanted to rush to it, to play it safe, to stick to the plan. But another part—the part that was still reeling from the fact that Remy LeBeau had essentially just asked you out for coffee—was telling you to go for it. To take the risk. To see where this unexpected turn of events might lead.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out and saw a reminder flashing on the screen: Meeting in 10 minutes: Q3 Performance Review.

You groaned softly. It wasn’t just any meeting—it was the Q3 performance review with your team. One of those meetings where people expected you to be engaged, prepared, and on point. And now, you were supposed to just skip it?

You hesitated for a moment longer, your thumb hovering over the phone screen as you considered sending a quick excuse to your boss. How could you possibly explain this? Sorry, I spilled coffee on the CEO, and now I’m getting coffee with him instead. Catch you next time!

Your stomach twisted in knots at the thought.

But then, you remembered Remy’s parting words: “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five.” The way he’d said it, as though there was no question that you’d be there. As though it was a foregone conclusion.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. This wasn’t just some random encounter. This was an opportunity—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, honestly. What were the chances you’d ever get to spend time one-on-one with the elusive, charismatic CEO of your company? The man who everyone in the business world seemed to admire (or fear, or both)?

You couldn’t pass this up.

With a resigned sigh, you tapped out a quick email to your team:

> Subject: Apologies - Unable to Attend Q3 Performance Review

> 

> Hi Team, 

> Unfortunately, something urgent has come up, and I won’t be able to attend the Q3 Performance Review. Please proceed without me, and I’ll catch up on the notes afterward. 

> Thanks, 

You stared at the email for a second, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. But then, you hit send before you could second-guess yourself.

It was done.

You quickly stuffed your phone back into your pocket and took a deep breath. Five minutes. You had five minutes to pull yourself together before meeting Remy in the lobby.

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of what had just unfolded. Was this really happening? Were you really about to meet the CEO for coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world?

Your feet felt almost heavy as you made your way toward the elevator, every step echoing in the empty hallway. The office was humming with the usual Monday morning buzz—people on calls, the distant sound of keyboards clacking—but it all seemed so far away now, like you were walking through some surreal version of reality.

By the time you reached the lobby, your nerves were in overdrive. You glanced around, half-expecting Remy to have forgotten or changed his mind. Maybe this was all a joke? Maybe he was just being nice because you’d spilled coffee on him, and now he’d realized how ridiculous this all was.

But then, as if on cue, you spotted him.

Remy LeBeau, standing by the entrance, his phone in hand, looking more relaxed and put-together than anyone had a right to be after being doused in hot coffee. He’d changed into a fresh suit—navy this time, perfectly tailored, of course—and he looked every bit as smooth and unbothered as he had when you’d first run into him (literally).

He glanced up from his phone as you approached, a slow grin spreading across his face when he saw you.

“Right on time,” he drawled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Thought I might’ve scared you off.”

You let out a nervous laugh, your heart still racing. “I, uh... thought about it.”

Remy chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. “Smart girl, but I’m glad you didn’t.” He gestured toward the door, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he guided you outside. “Come on, chérie. There’s a café down the street that makes a mean espresso. We’ll get you some proper coffee this time.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the casual touch. His hand was warm, and even though it was a small, light gesture, it felt... intimate—like you were sharing some kind of secret.

As you stepped outside into the crisp morning air, you couldn’t help but glance up at him, still half-expecting this to be some sort of elaborate prank. But Remy looked perfectly at ease, his long strides confident as he led you down the street, completely unfazed by the chaos he’d left behind in the office.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice low and smooth, “you really skipped that meetin’ for me, huh?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerves in check. “Well... you did say you’d write me a late pass.”

Remy laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver down your spine. “True. Maybe I’ll draft one up later, just for the fun of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, despite the butterflies fluttering in your chest. “I’m not sure ‘the CEO told me to’ will go over well with my boss.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “Trust me, it will. I got more pull ‘round here than you might think.”

Your cheeks flushed at the playful tone in his voice, and for the first time since this whole thing started, you allowed yourself to relax just a little. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as crazy as it seemed.

As you reached the café, Remy held the door open for you, his hand still resting lightly on your back as you stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, instantly calming your nerves.

Remy glanced at the menu, then back at you. “What’s your poison, chérie? Something strong to make up for earlier?”

You bit your lip, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “I think I’ll leave the recommendations to the expert.”

Remy’s grin widened. “Good choice. I’ll take care of it.”

As he moved to the counter to place the order, you found yourself watching him, still amazed by the ease with which he carried himself. He was Remy LeBeau, the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company, and yet, here he was, making time for something as simple as coffee with you.

Part of you still couldn’t believe it.

Minutes later, he returned with two cups, setting one in front of you before taking a seat across from you. “Here you go,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “Let’s see if this makes up for the earlier... incident.”

You lifted the cup to your lips, the rich aroma enveloping you as you took a sip. The coffee was smooth, strong, and absolutely perfect. You let out a soft, appreciative hum. “Okay, I’ll admit it. This is good.”

Remy leaned back in his chair, his eyes watching you intently, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Told ya. Always trust me when it comes to coffee, chérie.” You took another sip of your coffee, savoring the rich, smooth flavor as the warmth spread through your body. It wasn’t just the coffee, though—there was something about the entire situation that was making you feel… comfortable. Relaxed, even. Despite the earlier chaos, despite the fact that you were sitting across from Remy LeBeau, of all people, the conversation felt easy. Natural.

Remy, for his part, was leaning back in his chair, his eyes watching you with that same amused glint, like this was the most normal thing in the world for him. He had the ability to make everything seem effortless—whether it was leading a multi-billion-dollar company or sitting in a café with a woman who had just drenched him in coffee.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence with that smooth, honeyed voice of his, “what had you so flustered this mornin’?”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the question. “What do you mean?” you asked, feeling a bit self-conscious as you set your cup back down on the table.

Remy’s grin widened just a little, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, chérie, I saw the look on your face when you ran into me—before the coffee incident,” he teased, leaning forward slightly. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your neck. He wasn’t wrong. You had been flustered, but it wasn’t just about spilling coffee on him. It was everything—your morning, your nerves, the overwhelming pressure of trying to do everything right in a company where it always felt like you were one misstep away from disaster.

“I was just… running late,” you said with a shrug, trying to downplay your earlier panic. “I had a meeting. I guess I was a little... distracted.”

Remy raised an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly skeptical. “That’s it? Just a meetin’?”

You hesitated, not sure whether to admit the rest of it. But something about the way he was looking at you—genuinely curious, not judgmental—made you feel like you could be honest with him. You let out a breath, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, running a hand through your hair. “It wasn’t just the meeting. I guess it’s just... everything. You know? Trying to keep up, trying not to mess up, trying to prove myself.” You glanced down at your coffee, feeling a little vulnerable. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

Remy nodded, his expression softening as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, I get that.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “You do?”

“Chérie,” he said with a wry smile, “I run this place, remember? I know all about pressure.” He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. Everyone’s tryin’ to prove somethin’. Even the ones who look like they got it all together.”

You blinked, processing his words. It was hard to imagine someone like Remy LeBeau—Remy LeBeau—ever feeling the need to prove anything. But there was something in his tone, something genuine, that made you believe him.

“I guess,” you said slowly, “it just feels like I’m always one step away from screwing everything up.”

Remy chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Chère, if spillin’ coffee on me is the worst thing you do today, you’re doin’ just fine.” His smile was warm, reassuring, and for the first time all day, you felt the weight on your shoulders begin to lift.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the coffee.

“I gotta say though,” he began, his voice smooth as silk, “this mornin’ ain’t even close to the worst Monday I ever had.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What could possibly top getting coffee spilled all over you before a big meeting?”

Remy chuckled, the sound low and rich, as if he were enjoying some private joke. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Well, let’s just say, a little coffee ain’t nothin’ compared to the time an intern nearly lost the company $31 million in one day.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What? How does that even happen?”

Remy grinned, clearly enjoying the look of shock on your face. “Ah, it was a wild day, chérie. Poor kid was new, only been with us for a couple weeks. He was supposed to be shadowin’ one of our senior traders, right? But somehow, he got access to the trading platform and thought he’d try his hand at makin’ some moves.”

You winced, already picturing the disaster. “Oh no...”

“Oh yes,” Remy said, leaning back again, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He thought he was gonna be the next big thing, you know? A real wunderkind. But instead of makin’ us money, he nearly tanked one of our portfolios.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you felt a pang of sympathy for the poor intern. “How did you not fire him on the spot?”

Remy shrugged, his expression softening a bit. “Well, I figured he’d already learned his lesson. No need to ruin the kid’s career before it even started. We caught the mistake in time, fixed the trades, and no real harm done. Besides...” He gave you a knowing look. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you handle ‘em that matters.”

You smiled, marveling at how easily he could shrug off something that would have given most people a heart attack. “I guess that puts my little coffee incident into perspective.”

Remy’s grin widened, and he winked at you. “Exactly. Ain’t no need to be so hard on yourself.”

You took another sip of your coffee, feeling a little more at ease, though you couldn’t help but shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine being that calm about almost losing that much money.”

Remy laughed again, the sound warm and easy. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, chérie. I wasn’t calm. Not at first, anyway. I had to step outside, take a few deep breaths, maybe yell into the sky a little. But once I was done with that, I went back in, fixed the problem, and we moved on.”

You looked at him, more impressed than ever. “I couldn’t keep my cool like that.”

He shrugged, though there was a glint of pride in his eyes. “Part of the job. Can’t let every little thing knock you off your game. You gotta be able to roll with the punches, you know?”

You nodded, feeling like you were getting a rare glimpse into the real Remy LeBeau, the one who didn’t just glide through life with that effortless charm but actually worked hard to keep everything running smoothly behind the scenes. It was... inspiring, in a way.

“So,” you said, leaning forward a little, “what happened to the intern? Did he survive?”

Remy chuckled again, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Oh yeah, he survived. He’s actually one of our top traders now. Turns out he had a knack for it, once we got him a little more trainin’ and a lot less access to the company’s entire portfolio.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”

“Yep,” he agreed, his grin wide. “But that’s just how it goes sometimes. You make a mistake, you learn from it, and then you come back stronger.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter after hearing that story. It was a reminder that even in a high-pressure environment like this, mistakes happened—and they weren’t always the end of the world.

“You’ve got a good attitude about it,” you said, smiling at him. “I think I’d be a nervous wreck if I were in your shoes.”

Remy’s gaze softened, and he gave you a small, almost serious smile. “You’d be surprised, chérie. You’re doin’ a lot better than ya give yourself credit for.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air between you, and you felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the coffee. There was something in the way he said it—like he genuinely believed it—that made you think maybe he was right.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, feeling a little shy under his steady gaze.

Remy’s smile returned to its usual playful curve, and he gave you a wink. “Anytime, chérie. Now, what do you say we get outta here before I start spillin’ my own coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you stood up. “Deal.”

As you and Remy stepped out of the café, the brisk morning air greeted you, making the warmth of the coffee still lingering in your hands all the more pleasant. The office wasn’t far, but you couldn’t help wishing the walk would stretch out just a little longer. Something about being with him—Remy LeBeau, the CEO—felt surprisingly... normal. Comfortable, even. It felt like you were walking beside an old friend instead of one of the most powerful people in the building.

You glanced sideways at him, watching as he slipped his hands into his pockets and strolled along like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was hard to reconcile this version of him—the laid-back, effortlessly charming man beside you—with the high-powered executive you’d seen commanding boardrooms. The contrast made you smile to yourself, and before you knew it, you were speaking up.

“You know,” you began, your tone light, “I’ve just kinda realised something.”

Remy’s lips quirked into that familiar, lazy grin as he glanced over at you. “Oh yeah? And what might that be, chérie?”

“That you are, without a doubt, the least terrifying person I’ve ever spoken to in this building.”

His grin widened, and a deep, rumbling laugh rolled from his chest. “Well now, that’s a surprise. Most people tend to get a little nervous ‘round me. You know, the whole ‘CEO’ thing.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Trust me, you don’t even come close. There are way scarier people around here. Like Melinda in accounting. She is terrifying.”

Remy threw his head back and laughed, the sound full and genuine. “Ah, Melinda. Yeah, she’s somethin’ else.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “You know, even I feel a little intimidated walkin’ into her office. That woman could make a grown man confess to crimes he didn’t commit if she wanted to.”

You laughed harder than you probably should have, nodding in agreement. “Exactly! Last week, I had to ask her a question about payroll, and I swear she looked at me like I was interrupting a top-secret government operation.”

Remy grinned, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Yeah, Melinda don’t mess around. But that’s why I keep her around. She’s the reason we stay outta trouble with the IRS.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “I guess I’ll take Melinda over an audit any day.”

“Smart girl,” he said with a wink, his voice full of warmth.

You couldn’t help but feel a little flutter in your chest at that. The way he looked at you—like you were someone worth paying attention to—it was surprising. You’d been so caught up in the idea of him being this larger-than-life figure, but here he was, laughing with you about office politics like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As you neared the office, the sleek glass building looming ahead, you realized you didn’t want this moment to end. The walk had been easy, comfortable. It was a side of Remy you’d never expected to see, and you weren’t ready to step back into the world of emails, deadlines, and intimidating supervisors just yet.

“So,” Remy said, breaking into your thoughts with that smooth, honeyed drawl, “if I’m not the most intimidatin’ person ‘round here, who holds that title?”

You pretended to think it over, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Hmm... I’d say it’s a tie between Melinda and Bucky, the security guy downstairs.”

Remy smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Bucky? Really?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, nodding seriously. “Every time I walk past him, he looks at me like I’ve personally offended him just by showing up for work. Like, sorry for existing, Bucky.”

Remy’s laugh was deep and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, Bucky’s got that ‘I’d-rather-be-anywhere-else’ face down to a science. I think it’s his default expression.”

“He could at least mix it up with a smile once in a while,” you joked, shaking your head. “It’s terrifying.”

Remy chuckled again, glancing at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll get him a ‘best customer service’ award or somethin’. See if that lightens him up.”

You laughed, the sound coming out more freely than you expected. There was something about him—about the way he could turn even the most mundane things into something amusing—that made you feel at ease. It was like the usual weight of the office, of trying to keep up and not screw up, just... lifted. And you weren’t sure if it was the coffee or if it was just him, but you found yourself enjoying this moment more than you ever thought you would.

As the office building came into full view, you felt a pang of disappointment. The walk was almost over. The moment was almost over. And you weren’t quite ready for it to be. You glanced at him again, wondering how someone like him—someone with so much power and influence—could make you feel so... steady.

Just as you reached the entrance, Remy slowed his pace, turning slightly toward you. There was a softness in his eyes now, something more serious, and it caught you a little off guard.

“You know,” he began, his voice quieter, “I wasn’t just messin’ with you earlier.”

You blinked, looking up at him. “About what?”

“‘Bout everyone tryin’ to prove somethin’.” He held your gaze, his tone sincere. “Even the folks who look like they got it all together—like Melinda, like Bucky—they all got somethin’ they’re dealin’ with. And you? You’re doin’ better than you think, chérie. Don’t let the pressure get to you.”

His words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting, and for a moment, you just stood there, processing what he’d said. It wasn’t often that anyone—let alone someone like Remy LeBeau—offered you reassurance like that. And it wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said it, with that quiet confidence that made you believe him.

“I... thank you,” you said softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, something akin to relief. “That means a lot.”

His lips curved into a slow, easy smile, the warmth returning to his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he stepped forward and held the door open for you, his hand once again resting lightly on the small of your back as you walked through. The touch, as before, felt intimate without being overbearing, like a quiet promise that he was there, that he had your back.

As you stepped into the lobby, the familiar hum of the office surrounded you, but it felt different now. Lighter. Like the usual weight of the day wasn’t pressing down quite as hard. You glanced back at Remy, who gave you one last grin as the elevator doors slid open.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice playful again, “guess I’ll see you ‘round, chérie. Try not to cause too much trouble, yeah?”

You smirked, stepping into the elevator. “No promises.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling as the doors began to close. “I wouldn’t expect anythin’ less.”

And just like that, the elevator doors shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and with a small, secret smile tugging at your lips.

As the elevator began its ascent, you leaned back against the wall, the warmth of the encounter still lingering in your chest. Maybe this morning hadn’t gone as planned. Maybe you’d made a mess of things with the coffee incident. But somehow, in the span of a short walk and a couple of jokes, Remy LeBeau had managed to turn your day around.

And as the elevator dinged to a stop, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the last time you’d find yourself sharing a moment like this with him. <><><><> The next morning was a blur of routine. You sat at your desk, the hum of the office providing a steady background as you tried to focus on the never-ending stream of emails and reports. But your thoughts kept drifting back to the day before—walking with Remy LeBeau, laughing, teasing, feeling completely at ease with someone who should have been intimidating beyond belief.

Today, however, the magic of that morning seemed distant, and the reality of your workload was crashing back in. You were staring at your screen, half-reading the same email for the third time, when a familiar voice cut through your concentration.

“Ah, pen thief,” Yelena’s voice interrupted, her thick Russian accent layered with playful accusation.

You glanced up to see her leaning against the divider of your cubicle, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she had that mischievous glint in her eye—the one she always wore when she was about to start trouble.

“Pen thief? You’re the one who lost the last one!” you shot back, giving her a pointed glare. “That was my favorite pen, by the way. No other pen here hits that nice paper glide feeling ya know?”

Yelena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Pfft. You act like I lost  Hope Diamond. It was just pen.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, just a pen that I’m pretty sure you borrowed and then abandoned somewhere.”

Yelena pushed herself off the divider and slid into the empty chair beside your desk, making herself comfortable. “You know, you always so dramatic about these things. It probably rolled under desk somewhere.”

“Convenient excuse,” you said, crossing your arms. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you lost it. So you should be the one going to the supply closet to get more.”

Yelena sighed theatrically, leaning back in her chair with the air of someone deeply put-upon. “It always me? Always poor Yelena, doing  hard work. I should get medal.”

You snorted. “A medal for losing things, maybe.”

Yelena leaned forward with a mock-serious expression. “Excuse me, I not lose things. They... disappear mysteriously.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And I suppose the stapler I lent you last week just vanished into thin air, too?”

Yelena waved a hand dismissively. “Staplers do not count. Everyone knows staplers have legs. They walk away on own.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Sure, Yelena. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “So, are you going to get pens, or do I have to drag you there?”

“No way,” you protested, turning back to your screen. “I went last time. It’s your turn.”

Yelena made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Ugh. Fine. You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, amused. “I’ll make it up to you by not letting you lose my next pen.”

Yelena opened her mouth for what was undoubtedly going to be another snarky retort, but the phone on your desk rang, cutting her off. You glanced at the number on the display and felt your heart stop for a second. It was a direct line—Remy’s office.

Yelena noticed the change in your expression and raised an eyebrow. “Who is that?”

You swallowed, your stomach twisting with sudden nerves. “It’s...Big boss man’s office.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oho, someone in trouble, huh?”

You shot her a look, but your nerves were too jittery to come up with a witty comeback. Instead, you picked up the receiver, hoping your voice didn’t betray your sudden anxiety.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” came the calm, professional voice on the other end. It was Wanda, Remy’s assistant. You had never spoken to her directly, but her reputation preceded her. She was known for running Remy’s schedule like a tight ship, keeping his world perfectly organized. “Mr. LeBeau would like to see you in his office. ASAP.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh—uh, okay. I’ll be right there.”

The line went dead with a soft click, and you slowly lowered the receiver, your stomach doing anxious flips.

Yelena, who had been listening intently, leaned forward in her chair, eyes wide with curiosity. “What was that? Why does he want to see you?”

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, feeling a rush of nerves. “Wanda just said he wants to see me in his office.”

Yelena’s grin spread slowly, like a cat who’d just cornered a mouse. “Oh, this good. What did you do? He probably fire you. Or fuck you.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll tell you later.”

Yelena gave you a skeptical look, clearly not buying it. “Sure. But you better have good story for me when you come back,” she said with a wink.

You stood up, smoothing your blouse and trying to calm your racing heart. “I’ll be back soon.”

Yelena leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms behind her head. “Good luck, pen thief! Try not get fired!”

Before you could ask why, the line clicked off, leaving you staring at the phone in a mix of anxiety and confusion. What could he possibly want? Yesterday’s coffee incident had ended on a light note—you thought everything was fine. But now, the CEO was summoning you to his office, and your mind was racing with possibilities.

You stood up, smoothing your clothes, trying to quell the rising tide of nerves. The walk to his office seemed longer than usual, each step punctuated by the thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You mentally ran over everything you’d done in the past 24 hours, trying to figure out if there was something—anything—you might’ve missed or messed up. Was he upset? Had you made a mistake somewhere? Surely, you couldn't be in trouble over coffee?

By the time you reached the executive floor, your pulse was thrumming in your neck. Wanda waved you through without much fanfare, her usual calm demeanor doing nothing to settle your nerves.

You knocked lightly on Remy’s office door, and his voice called out from the other side. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, and there he was—Remy LeBeau, seated behind a massive mahogany desk, looking as composed and confident as ever. His suit today was charcoal gray, sharp and perfectly tailored, and his dark eyes gleamed with their usual amusement when he saw you.

“Morning, chérie,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his voice warm and relaxed. “You look a bit more put together today. No coffee spills, I see.”

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the anxiety that had followed you all the way up here. “Yeah, no disasters this morning. I’m trying to keep things under control.”

He chuckled softly, gesturing for you to take a seat in one of the plush chairs across from his desk. As you sat down, you noticed the way his eyes flicked over you, not in a judgmental way, but as if he was assessing something deeper. It made your stomach twist again, and your knee started to bounce under the desk before you could stop it.

“How’s Yelena?” he asked casually, his voice light. “She still givin’ you a hard time about yesterday?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift to small talk. “Oh, Yelena?” You smiled, relaxing just a little. “She’s... well, she’s Yelena. She hasn’t let me live it down yet, but that’s just how she is.”

Remy nodded, his smile deepening. “Figured as much. She’s got a sharp tongue, that one.”

You nodded, but despite the easy conversation, the tension in your chest didn’t ease. Your knee was still bouncing nervously, and Remy’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as he let out a slow breath.

“Relax, chérie,” he said, his tone gentle but commanding. “Ain’t no need to be nervous. I called you in here for somethin’, but it’s nothin’ bad. In fact, I’d say it’s quite the opposite.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your nerves, but the way he was watching you only made your heart race faster. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with that same quiet intensity you’d seen yesterday.

“I’ve been lookin’ at your employee file,” he said, his voice smooth and even. “All your work, your performance reviews, your history with the company.”

Your stomach dropped, anxiety flaring up again. “Oh?”

Remy smiled, but it wasn’t the playful grin you were used to. It was something deeper, more serious. “You’re good, chérie. Real good. But there’s more to it than just your work.”

Your eyes widened, confusion swirling in your mind. “More to it?”

He tapped his finger on the arm of his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yesterday… I enjoyed our conversation over coffee. A lot more than I expected. You’re easy to talk to. Comfortable.”

You blinked, trying to process where this was going. “I, uh… I enjoyed talking to you, too.”

Remy’s smile widened ever so slightly, but his expression remained thoughtful, his fingers still tapping as if he were weighing his next words carefully. “That’s why I called you in here. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “A… proposition?”

He nodded, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, low tone that always seemed to make your pulse quicken. “I’m lookin’ for someone like you, someone I can trust, to accompany me on business trips. Personal trips. Events. Whatever comes up. Someone who’s easy to talk to, someone I can rely on to keep things… comfortable.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning. “You want me to… travel with you?”

He nodded again, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “In exchange, you’ll get full access to my black card. Anything you need, any expenses you have. Whatever you want.”

The words hung in the air between you, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what he was offering.

“Wait,” you said slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Like… a sugar baby?”

Remy shrugged one shoulder, his smirk returning, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “That ain’t the word I’d use, chérie,” he said smoothly. “But yes, somethin’ like that.”

You blinked, your mind struggling to catch up with the situation. This wasn’t what you had expected—at all. Was this some kind of joke? Some kind of test? But the way Remy was looking at you, calm and confident, told you that he was completely serious.

“You want me to… accompany you. To events. And in return, I get access to… everything?” you repeated, still trying to wrap your head around the offer.

Remy nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “That’s right. No strings attached, just you and me. I’ll take care of you, chérie. Anything you need, you just ask.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind spinning with a thousand questions. What did this mean? What would people think? How could you possibly say yes to something like this?

And yet… the way he was looking at you, the way his voice wrapped around you like silk, made it hard to think clearly. There was something intoxicating about the offer—something that pulled at you, even though you knew it was dangerous.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “And if I say no?”

Remy’s grin softened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Then nothin’ changes. You go back to your desk, back to your work, and we forget this conversation ever happened.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers still tapping lightly on the armrest. “But if you say yes… well, I think you’ll find it’s a pretty sweet deal.”

You sat there, staring at him, your heart racing as you tried to figure out what to do. This wasn’t just about the black card, or the trips, or the perks. This was about stepping into a world you had never imagined for yourself—a world where you were at the center of Remy LeBeau’s attention.

And that, more than anything, was what made your pulse quicken.

“What do you say, chérie?” Remy asked softly, his voice pulling you back to the present. “You in?” You sat there, staring at Remy, your mind spinning as you tried to process everything he’d just said. The offer hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. The room felt too quiet, too still, as if the world had paused, waiting for your response.

Your thoughts began to race, weighing the pros and cons as quickly as you could. On the one hand, this was Remy LeBeau, the CEO of the entire company, offering you a chance to step into his inner circle. It was exclusive and alluring, a position of privilege that few people ever even dreamed of. The access to his black card alone was mind-blowing—anything you need, any expenses, anything you want. Those words echoed in your head, almost dizzying in their possibilities.

No more worrying about rent or bills. No more stressing about whether you could afford that new outfit for a work event or that last-minute flight to visit family. You could have comfort, luxury, and security, and Remy was offering it all to you on a silver platter.

And the trips—business, personal, events. You would be riding in first-class, staying in five-star hotels, attending high-profile events with him. You’d be side by side with one of the most powerful, influential men in the business world. The opportunities for networking alone were staggering. Not to mention the experience, the places you’d see, the people you’d meet.

But then… there were the cons.

Was this really what you wanted? What would people think? You were no stranger to office gossip, and the moment anyone saw you traveling with him, attending events with him, the rumors would start. They’d whisper about you behind closed doors, about what you must have done to earn that position. About what kind of relationship you had with the CEO.

And then there was the question of you—what would this mean for you as a person? Could you handle being seen this way? Could you live with yourself if you accepted? There was something about the offer that felt exhilarating, yes, but also dangerous, like stepping onto a ledge without knowing how far the fall would be.

You glanced up at Remy, who was watching you closely, his expression calm but attentive. He wasn’t pressuring you, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. He was waiting, and while he was patient, you could sense he preferred not to be kept waiting for too long.

After a long moment of silence, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. “I don’t need an answer right now, chérie,” he said, his voice smooth, understanding. “Take your time. Think it over. But…” His eyes darkened slightly, that playful glint returning as he gave you a small, knowing smile. “I’d much rather have an answer sooner than later.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension ease ever so slightly at his words. He wasn’t pushing you, but there was an edge of urgency, a quiet expectation beneath the surface. He wasn’t a man used to waiting—he was used to getting what he wanted.

“I—” you started, then paused, trying to gather your thoughts. “I’ll need to think about it.”

Remy nodded, his eyes softening. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with that same quiet intensity. “But just so we’re clear, chérie, this is a good offer. A damn good offer. And I don’t make it lightly.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at his words. Of course, it was a good offer. It was the offer. One that could change everything for you.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “I’ll think about it, and I’ll… let you know soon.”

Remy’s smile widened, a hint of satisfaction flickering in his dark eyes. “That’s all I ask.” He stood up from his chair, signaling that the conversation was drawing to a close. “Take your time, chérie, but like I said… I’d rather know sooner than later.”

You rose from your chair as well, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood. “I will,” you promised, your voice a little firmer now. “Thank you.”

Remy gave you a slow nod, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re welcome. And just remember—whatever you decide, we’ll keep this between us. No one else needs to know.”

You felt a small wave of relief wash over you at that. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding out before you’d even made a decision.

With a final nod, you turned and made your way toward the door, your heart still pounding in your chest. As you reached for the handle, you heard Remy’s voice behind you, low and smooth.

“Take care, chérie.”

You glanced back at him, his dark eyes still watching you with that same unreadable intensity. “You too,” you managed, before stepping out of the office and closing the door behind you.

As you walked back to your desk, your mind was spinning with everything that had just happened. The offer. The implications. The opportunity. You couldn’t stop thinking about it—how it could change everything for you, how it could open doors you’d never even dreamed of.

But at the same time, that little voice in the back of your head kept whispering, reminding you of the risks. Of what people would say. Of how this might change how you saw yourself.

You sat down at your desk, staring blankly at your computer screen, your hands shaking slightly as you tried to process it all. You had a decision to make—a big one. And no matter which way you looked at it, nothing would be the same after this.

Was this really what you wanted?

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You didn’t have to decide right now. But soon.

And you knew that whatever choice you made, it would change everything.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 15

Warnings: false accusations, intentionally framing for crimes

Villain cast her a sideways glance. “You'll see,” he answered cryptically. Then he brushed past her and headed out the door, Mocha on his heels.

-------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Villain returned to the Agency – dragging a man behind him whose wrists were locked together with power-suppressing cuffs. And the man was wearing Villain's suit.

The look on Superhero's face was priceless when Villain marched his catch into his office and dumped it at Superhero's feet. Villain was rather proud of himself for finding a way around having to bring himself in and reveal himself as the villain they were after. By catching a different criminal to take his place.

But once he left Agency with his shiny new promotion, he found an enraged Hero waiting for him, who pinned him up against the wall of an alley he'd been walking down on his way back to his coffee shop.

"You--" Hero growled accusingly, "do you have any idea who you brought in today?!"

"Why, Villain, of course!" Villain replied smugly. "Like promised. In under 24 hours."

"You can't just drag some random criminal in to take your place!" Hero argued.

"I just did. And besides, why does it matter who I brought in, as long as they are another villain like me? They've still done terrible things they need to answer for." Villain's brown furrowed. He didn't understand what the big deal was. The whole thing about 'being a hero' was stopping bad guys, wasn't it? "It doesn't matter if someone else pays for my past crimes, as long as they deserve the punishment."

Hero's jaw clenched, eyes flaring. "You don't get it, do you? The man you brought in today? His name is (Name), he's 34 and want to guess what his past crimes were?"

"No, because I really don't care. Now if you'll excuse me–"

"Three petty drug charges," Hero hissed. "Maximum sentence would be 15 years. But you? You've got so many felonies it's not even funny. And you know what your sentence would be?"

Villain rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you're going to tell me regardless if I say yes or no, soooo…”

“A life sentence,” Hero growled. "You just gave a man who would have only done 5 to 15 years a lifetime in prison. Did you ever think of that?"

“No, I didn't,” Villain admitted. “But there's nothing I can do about it now, so I've moved on. You should too."

Hero gaped at him in sheer disbelief mixed with angry horror. “How can you be so calm about this?! Another man is going to die in your place! He's going to grow old and pass away in prison, and that doesn't affect you??"

Villain shrugged. “What is there to say? I've made my peace with it.”

Hero really wanted to punch him in the face right now. "Can't you reverse time or something and fix this?"

"That's not how my powers work," Villain said grimly. "I can only affect present-time, slow or stop it within a certain pocket of space. I can't turn back the clock, or time travel, or any of that crazy sci-fi stuff from the movies. It's out of my ability."

Then it truly was hopeless, Hero concluded. The man Villain had brought in was going to pay the penalty for Villain's crimes. And there was nothing that could be done about it. She stepped away from Villain with a scoff, lip curling. Then she whirled around to stalk off.

"I'm sorry," Villain called after her. "I didn't think it through. I could have--"

"Save it," Hero snapped over her shoulder. "I'm going to see if I can find a way to fix this. Just... go home, and don't come back to Agency unless they summon you again.”

Villain sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a disaster. His first mission as a new hero, and he'd already messed it up, apparently. He slowly trudged back to his coffee shop, mind buzzing. What if Hero decided to tell Superhero who he really was, if it meant saving the criminal he'd brought in today from the death sentence? He'd have to prepare for a fight, then, just in case Superhero came after him.

Villain entered his shop and was immediately greeted by Mocha, who mowed loudly for attention, and was also very vocal about the fact that his food bowl was empty.

Villain sighed and prepared a nice meal of fresh chicken and tuna for his precious cat, scooping it into his bowl -- always the best quality food for his close friend.

Mocha booped his leg with his furry head in thanks before digging in.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@federthenotsogreat @everynameistakencarrots

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hiya!! What about the M6 with a Mc who comes out as Bi? 💙💜🩷 (love you)

The Arcana HCs: M6 when MC comes out as bi

~ I'm hoping this will heal me from the disaster that was my outing XD I'm keeping it really lighthearted because one of the original creators' goals was writing about a world where homophobia isn't a thing, and because all M6 are bi as well. Here you go anon, you are loved more than you know! - brainrot ~

Julian

He's very surprised

Not because he thought you only swung one way. He just assumed that you were bi. In Julian's world, everyone is by default bi unless determined otherwise

It's the part where you feel the need to confess it to him like it's news that catches him off guard

Slightly concerned at first that this might be your way of telling him that you're more attracted to his sister than him

Once he realizes that no, you're telling him because it was something you hadn't told many people before, he's determined to make an occasion out of it

Tonight's going to be a date night with his bi beloved. Rowdy Raven? Gondola ride? Romantic walk on the beach? You have so many options (wink wink)

If you still want to keep your orientation quiet, you'll have to tell him explicitly because he is not a natural secret keeper and will mention it to everyone he meets

Asra

They're not the type of person to label anything in the first place, so hearing your news means you sat down and thought about it and found something that describes you

And now you're sharing it with him. He's honored to have your trust like this and loves you very much (which he tells you right away with a big long hug)

Once you're down from your emotional high, they'll let go of you just enough for you to see the teasing grin spread across their face

"So you're really saying, is that with all the options in the world, you still chose me?"

So many bi puns

"Bi, MC! Bi!" all while repeatedly flicking his wrist up and down in the universal gay salute instead of waving normally

Won't confirm or deny your orientation to anyone unless you tell them it's fine

Will compare "types" with you of what you generally find attractive and point out candidates on the street

Nadia

Oh, she knew

Her whole arcana-given ability is insightfulness and everything about you (to her) is a big bi flag

She's wondering why you feel the need to state the obvious, so her reaction is a little flat. She's waiting for you to make your point

Oh, wait, wait, you're sharing something with her that you thought she didn't know!

Darling MC, she loves you, she thinks the most perfect thing you could ever be is yourself, thank you for trusting her with this, she's deeply honored and very touched

And slightly insulted that you thought she couldn't tell

Since this is supposed to be news, would you like a coming out event? Maybe a simple soiree so things don't feel too overwhelming? Of course if it's a grand announcement you want, it's a grand announcement you'll get

Wears bi colors for the rest of the week in support

Muriel

Him too. Did you want to bond over it?

Because he finds the chickens considerably more interesting than any attraction he experiences (besides his attraction to you)

He didn't already know or already suspect. He's just not very surprised or reactive because it's not a big deal to him

But if you want to talk about it, go ahead

He'll just chop this wood while he listens

Of course, this won't be his reaction if it's a very emotional moment for you. In that case, he's getting ready to comfort and sit with you before he even knows what this is about

Will ask you about your story. Did you realize recently or a long time ago? What was that moment like? How long were you in the closet? Is this going to stay a secret for you?

Would holding a chicken help?

Here, hold this baby chick while you talk

Nothing much changes. You're still you. He still loves you. He's still proud of you. Life goes on

Portia

Ohmygosh, SAME

Wait, you two never explicitly told each other what your orientations were!

Ok ok, you say it again when you're ready, and then she'll tell you properly too, and then you'll be officially out to each other

Tears up slightly afterwards because this feels really romantic and it's another wonderful thing to share in common with her exciting, attractive, perfect, BI partner-in-crime

She wants to commemorate this step in your relationship so she'll plan some bi-themed baking projects

But she wants to make a lot of them, which means she'll need more people to feed, and hey MC, how do you feel about a little celebration?

Impromptu pride barbecue in her garden with her palace friends and Nevivon family members

Frequently brings up your superpower as proof of your shared greatness

Lucio

Okay, and?

C'mon, it seemed like you had something exciting to tell him, is it a bi-themed party?

Did you get matching bi capes? Purple isn't his color but he'll wear them with you for the drama

You're really going to have to spell out what your news means to you before he has the slightest clue on how to respond

Slightly peeved because if it was such a big deal to you then he wishes that you felt safe enough with him to tell him sooner, but he's not going to get upset with you for that

Don't worry about whether or not he loves you. You're the best, who else would he fall in love with?

He really doesn't care what category of people you're okay with having in your pants as long as he falls into it

If he's bi, and you're bi, that means bi people must simply be the best, and he will introduce himself as "Lucio the bi" until you stop him

[blazeeblake]

Senseless, unqualified rambling incoming:

I don’t pretend to know what direction anything is going with regards to Buddie callbacks, or whose “turn” it is to have something life-threatening and traumatic happen in the silly wee-woo show, but by my estimation, here’s the tale of the tape so far, so to speak (and I 100% could be missing a few instances, so feel free to [gently] call me out if I do):

Season 2

- Truck explosion crushes Buck’s leg. To my knowledge no call back to this but maybe some behind the scenes hints of it, and I do think it would be interesting for this to be revisited in a flipped way (ie: instead of Car accident that maims Buck➡️ Buddie grocery store drama, they do Buddie drama➡️ Car accident that maims Buck)

Season 3

*Tsunami endangers Buck and Christopher. I don’t know if this counts in the overall NDE/injury tally because even though Buck’s life was in danger (especially because of the whole blood thinners thing), this was largely about Christopher going missing and Buck trying to rectify this and not fail his BFF. I don’t think we’re going to get a call back to this moment unless something goes down in the process of Christopher coming back home, and I have no guesses on the timing of that resolution.

-Well/tunnel collapse almost kills Eddie. We’ve already had a callback to this as of 8x06, and can safely rule this incident out as something revisited directly upon the boys. ��

Season 4

-Eddie gets shot in probably one of the most tragically iconic Buddie moments to date. No callbacks as of yet but definitely a possibility going forward. Could be that it would be revisited in a way that jogs Eddie’s memory of that day (or forces him to admit he remembers more than he lets on 👀), and/or threatens Buck’s life this time around, just because I don’t think they would full on repeat the circumstances of something this formative/important to the canon.

Season 5

-Eddie and Buck are held hostage by escaped prisoners, and ultimately Eddie alone is held at gunpoint in the ambulance. This isn’t really a serious injury or NDE situation, so much like the tsunami, I don’t know if it belongs on this list or has any revisiting potential.

Season 6

-Buck is struck by lightning in yet another shockingly (sorry) memorable Buddie-flavored disaster. From the previews, it looks like we’re getting all visual callback to this next week, which should be interesting but also likely rules it out as something that’s going to directly impact/threaten either firefighter. ✅

-Alongside Bobby, Chim, & Hen, Eddie is injured in a bridge collapse. Again, not exactly an NDE and one could argue that Chimney and Bobby were in way more danger than Eddie, but I think the parallels of it all (Maddie, Athena and Buck trying to save their partners from a life threatening catastrophe…) are worth mentioning. That said, I don’t think this one was major enough to come back to in the near future.

If everything on this list “counts,” even in spite of my doubts, they’re both about even with life threatening situations above and beyond the typical expectations of firefighter endangerment, with about two really major situations apiece (truck explosion & lightning strike vs. well collapse & shooting). I don’t know if the order of all those things matters/will be taken into account in terms of which one of them is at risk for a new NDE or trauma, and honestly I think if it’s going to happen at all it’ll come down to who most needs that kind of push to have a breakthrough.

It could be argued that it’s Eddie’s turn since Buck’s lightning strike was the most recent actual NDE, and that newly single Buck could use the wake up call of almost losing the person who checks all the boxes Josh listed. There’s also the Christopher of it all (maybe Eddie almost dying will bring up The Will and somehow shock Chris into coming back home, but I kind of want that to explicitly be Chris’s decision rather than anything knee-jerk).

One could also make a case for it being Buck’s turn again, timing-wise if the bridge collapse counts, and because of the remaining scenarios to call back to/flip and reverse (drama + car accident or the shooting). There’s also the potential for Eddie to have some kind of realization or need to be honest with himself in a way he never felt he could now that he’s opening himself up to joy and self-exploration. Again, I don’t know anything and I am far from an analytical expert of any kind, so these are just my hyper-focused ramblings, but I do think the show could be narrowing down to something very pointed and specific. Given the behind the scenes pictures and interviews that are probably best taken with a grain of salt, I can easily envision the car accident/drama scenario, but maybe just because I like the narrative roundness of that choice. And obviously, I can’t rule out a variation on the sniper angle because, again, it’s Iconic.

It could also be that I’m just spinning my wheels, delulu on main in full clown regalia, but a gal’s gotta fill the time between now and Thursday somehow, so 🤷🏽‍♀️

[serenastark-official]

🧪💠 03: How NOT to Set the Lab on Fire: A Guide from Serena Stark (Yes, I’m Qualified) 🧪💠

Okay, people (looking at you Emma), listen up. I know I’m probably the last person you’d want advice from on this—after all, my track record with fire might as well be the reason Tony invested in sprinklers—but here we are.

Step 1: Know Your Materials.

Science is fun (at least until you create a chemical reaction that’s a little too enthusiastic). Before you mix anything, READ the damn labels. If it says “flammable,” don’t make it your next big project. Just trust me on this one. The explosion you don’t want is always one click away from your experiments.

Step 2: Respect the equipment.

Seriously, the lab isn’t a free-for-all. If you accidentally start poking around with the plasma torch, or somehow get distracted by a weird glowing thing (I've been there), you’re gonna regret it. So, when the manual says, “Don’t touch this unless you’re qualified,” just—take the hint. Trust me, the fire extinguisher will not be your best friend in this situation.

Step 3: Don’t mix random chemicals.

You think you’re Tony Stark, just tossing together whatever looks shiny? Nah, fam. You’re not a genius inventor (yet), so don’t try to make your own “super-cool new element” by mixing everything on the shelf. You will regret it when you’re trying to figure out how the whole lab ended up in a 10-foot radius of flame.

Step 4: Understand the difference between ‘testing’ and ‘blowing up the lab’.

I get it, you’re curious. But there’s a fine line between running an experiment and deciding the best way to cook your lunch via combustion. And trust me, the fire alarm doesn’t care if you were just “experimenting with the fusion reactor again.”

Step 5: Stop assuming things will be fine.

Just because it “looks safe” doesn’t mean it is safe. I know you’ve got this confidence thing down (I mean, you are a Stark), but if the metal's sizzling or something’s starting to smell like burnt toast, immediately back off. It’s not a sign to proceed. Trust me, I learned the hard way.

Step 6: Have a fire extinguisher, and know how to use it.

I get it, Emma, you’re all about the “cutting-edge tech” and “sophisticated gadgets,” but when it comes to fire, old school is where it’s at. Fire extinguisher should be your first line of defense. And for the love of all that is holy, make sure you know how to use it without just flailing around like I do when I panic. Fire extinguishers do not respond to panic. Trust me.

Step 7: Don’t Use My Lab for Experimenting.

Listen, I’m all for creativity and innovation, but if you’re going to keep setting the place on fire, maybe find a different lab. If I come in and smell burning plastic one more time, I swear, I’ll send Jeff after you. And, spoiler alert: He’s not gonna be happy either.

Step 8: Don’t Get Fancy with the Electricity.

Emma. Sweetheart. I know you're a Stark prodigy—but don’t go playing electrical wizard with a bunch of wires and a half-baked idea. You don’t need to turn the lab into a lightning storm just to impress the machines. Trust me, I’ve been there, and it never ends well. Remember when I electrified the fridge just trying to get ice cream? Yeah. That was a fun day for the lab.

Step 9: If all else fails, RUN.

Sometimes, despite all your best efforts, things catch fire. If that happens—step one is to not panic, and step two is to make sure you're getting out safely. The lab might be the birthplace of genius, but it’s also where disasters are born. So get the heck out, and leave the rest to the actual professionals (read: Tony, Pepper, someone who's not me).

Step 10: Learn from Your Mistakes (and Mine).

Let’s be real for a second. I’ve blown up more labs than I can count. (That’s a very Tony Stark trait I inherited, for sure.) But here’s the thing—every time I’ve learned from my epic fails, and so should you. So, next time you almost set off a chain reaction of fiery chaos, take a deep breath, stop, and think about your actions before everything around you turns into Crispy City again.

In Conclusion:

Listen, Emma, I know you’re a Stark, and burning things is kind of in our blood (right along with the whole “blow up the universe” vibe), but let’s try to keep it to a minimum, okay? You don’t need to give everyone a free pyro show.

But trust me, we’re not all Tony Stark, and sometimes, we don’t get to “just invent our way out of it” when things go wrong.

If I can do it, you can do it. And if you do it, I won’t need to make another post about setting the lab on fire.