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thebiscuitlabryinth · 7 months

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"...We're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

The whispered confession falls clumsily out of Pure Vanilla's mouth, almost dragged out, bitterly sweet and strange on his tongue. The words are addressed to his own stained candy glass visage, spilling tendrils of bright blue light across the Solarium of Unity despite the almost suffocating darkness invading the rest of the space.

He knows this isn't really the Solarium of Unity, and he knows he isn't just speaking to a window. The lurking shadows, thick like molasses and blinking every once in a while, give that away. Even if it didn't, there is a haziness here that exists only in dreams, and a lack of the deep tiredness that has been plaguing him as of late.

"Oh, are you finally ready to admit that?" Sure enough, Shadow Milk Cookie's voice comes from all sides, far too cheerful. The candy glass melts and warps before him, the blues darkening until Shadow Milk stands in his place, far more detailed than the artisan silhouette he replaced. His grin is mocking as he looks down at Pure Vanilla, who cannot help but feel uncomfortable at the sight of their appearances blurring together like that, even though he had been expecting something along those lines. "Too bad though – you can't admit something that's wrong!"

"Huh?" It catches Pure Vanilla by surprise. It had been difficult emotionally, but logically straightforward to admit they were two sides of the same coin. He couldn't imagine how that could be wrong, and acting upon an old habit from his student days, he finds himself frantically unravelling that conclusion in his head again to figure out the issue.

Shadow Milk doesn't give him the chance, tutting as he shakes his head in mock disappointment. "You must have a brain in there, can't you use it?" He laments theatrically, contorting himself into an odd shape against the edge of the window pane. Then, again barreling on before Pure Vanilla can reply, "Look, think of it like this. To say we're two sides of the same coin means that we have similarities, even if we are otherwise opposites. That is true to an extent, but it makes our differences sound way more clear cut than they actually are. It may be easier for you to believe, but we aren't really opposites. That would imply I am not whole, and I can assure you, Soul Jam aside, I am just as I always was!"

Ah, so it's a matter of wording. Pure Vanilla isn't sure why he is entertaining this - no, it's because he doesn't want to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction of turning away from the truth. Even now, Shadow Milk's eyes squint cheekily at him, daring him to try and end the conversation.

"Then... we are made of the same components in a different composition." Pure Vanilla tries, a little frustrated with his own hesitance, but it is difficult to tell how Shadow Milk wants him to answer when he isn't making it blatantly obvious.

"So close!" Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he snaps his head to the side so sharply it makes Pure Vanilla wince, imagining the cracks that would cause on any other Cookie. "But you're relying on technicalities. It's much simpler than that."

It dawns on Pure Vanilla, then, exactly what Shadow Milk is aiming for, the realisation making his insides crawl. He doesn't have to say it, not really, but he isn't sure what Shadow Milk will do if he doesn't, and he unfortunately doesn't have the ability to wake himself up on command.

So he takes a deep breath, fidgeting with his staff as he says, even less than a whisper yet twice as loud. "We're... We're the same. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"Ding-ding-ding!" Shadow Milk trills, suddenly reaching through the candy glass to grip the window frame and lurching forward across the threshold, leaving a mess of shattered glass behind his head like a halo. It startles Pure Vanilla, who instinctively shifts his foot back, only to be instantly locked in place as the reaching shadows soldify around his legs, its eyes winking up at him playfully. His grip on his staff tightens, willing it to shed its light, the beginnings of panic stirring within him at the restraint. The staff does, but the shadows seem to eat the light without a problem.

Pure Vanilla is so distracted by the shadows that he doesn't notice Shadow Milk's hands until they grab his face. His heart jumps in alarm, and his eyes dart up to find half of Shadow Milk leaning down out of the window, far too close. He is grinning at him, wide and self-satisfied, and his hands are cold and harsh. "See, I knew you had a working brain! Yes, the right answer is that we are one and the same."

He pinches and pulls at his cheeks, and Pure Vanilla tries to cringe away, tries to manuver his staff between them. It doesn't work, if only because hands emerge from the darkness to anchor his staff too.

"But that isn't true." Pure Vanilla mumbles when he isn't able to wiggle his way out and Shadow Milk still shows no signs of stopping, hoping the argument will make him lose interest in his face. "I admit that there are similarities between us, but we aren't really the same."

Shadow Milk pauses, his grip tightening until it borders on pain, and for a moment, Pure Vanilla thinks he may have miscalculated.

But then Shadow Milk snickers to himself, releasing his face entirely and pulling back, his hands resting lightly over Pure Vanilla's shoulders. The brush of weight keeps Pure Vanilla from relaxing, but it is a bit of added distance, at least.

"Aren't we? Well, you are the biggest liar, so I should have expected you would lie to yourself too." Shadow Milk hums, almost sounding delighted at this turn in conversation. It unnerves Pure Vanilla, because he had assumed his disagreement would annoy him.

Instead, Shadow Milk smirks, his many eyes glinting gleefully at him. "Listen carefully, Vani, because here's the truth." He says, his voice dipping into a wicked purr that seems to shudder through Pure Vanilla's whole body. "All the things you hate that I have done, you have the capability of doing too. After all, you've already used people for your own gain, haven't you?" Shadow Milk leans closer with a condescending lilt to his words, shifting his hands so he can wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders, and Pure Vanilla freezes under the touch. "Oh, I know you think it was necessary, but you still sent those naive, tiny Cookies off to carry out your errands for you, regardless of the dangers. That's only a few steps behind what I've done, you know, making people dance to my tune. The only difference between us is severity and time."

The words sink heavily to Pure Vanilla's stomach, not quite true but not quite not true, and he feels a little lightheaded, fingers twitching against his staff. Maybe it's because of that, or maybe it's because of his discomfort from the close proximity, but he finds himself distracted by the way Shadow Milk is talking. He carries his usual air of showmanship, but it is nowhere near as exaggerated as during his brief takeover of the Faerie Kingdom. With his insistence of specificity, his mention of technicalities, his structured method of explaining things, he almost sounds like a–

"We are the same," Shadow Milk repeats, tilting his head to the side, the glow of his eyes burning holes through Pure Vanilla, "and one day, you'll end up just like me."

A scholar.

That makes sense – at some point, his virtue had been Knowledge, and nobody seeks it out as fervently as a scholar – but it still feels like a surprise. Pure Vanilla had always known that Shadow Milk was different, once, but only in the sense that the fact existed in the back of his mind.

"No rebuttal, hmm? Are you ready to accept that?" Shadow Milk asks smugly, slightly impatient with Pure Vanilla's lack of response, but mostly watching him expectantly, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Pure Vanilla has never thought about what Shadow Milk might have been like, before he became like this. There was no reason to even consider it. But now, he can't help but wonder, because while he cannot imagine this chaotic, brutal Beast, this great unknown evil, as anything else – Shadow Milk still carries echoes from a past life that he doesn't seem to notice enough to hide with his lies.

"...If we are the same," Pure Vanilla finally scrapes his thoughts together enough to reply, carefully, "then doesn't that make the opposite possible too? That, one day, you will become like me and return to the light?"

Shadow Milk blinks once, his face falling blank. He blinks again, all of his eyes in quick succession.

And then he throws his head back and laughs, the movement jostling Pure Vanilla in the process with his arms still firmly around his shoulders. It sounds unhinged, ricocheting across the room, but it is openly amused. It makes Pure Vanilla antsy, especially with how it rings in his ears like an explosion from their closeness.

He wonders if Shadow Milk's laugh was different, before everything. It must have been. He wonders what it sounded like, and immediately realises that he's being ridiculous. The realisation that a before exists seems to have opened the floodgates in his mind, and now thoughts of hypotheticals can't help flitting in.

"You say such silly, silly things." Shadow Milk bites out offhandedly as his laughter winds down, the lingering remnants still dancing on his tongue. Without warning, he pulls Pure Vanilla even closer, the darkness that had been keeping him in place swirling and shoving him forward. Pure Vanilla gasps, the sound catching in his throat, and one of his hands fly off his staff to reach for something to steady himself on. It finds an edge of shattered candy glass, flinching back and falling down to scrabble against its smooth, intact surface.

Shadow Milk is giggling at him and Pure Vanilla is mortified, horribly so. They are far, far too close, Shadow Milk's face taking up the near entirety of his vision and their upper bodies almost pressed together. It feels claustrophobic, which should be impossible in such a wide, open space.

Shadow Milk makes matters worse by pressing their foreheads together, the gesture weirdly tender and doing nothing to make Pure Vanilla any calmer. His bright blue eyes look directly through him, dissecting him piece by piece.

"Why don't you cut down the Silver Tree and find out?" Shadow Milk coos, his voice overlapping with the Light of Truth's in a deeply unsettling way. His presence is overwhelming.

Pure Vanilla's eyes flicker downwards to escape his piercing gaze, and finds their chests so close that their Soul Jams are overlapping. Overlapping, and not touching, because Shadow Milk's Soul Jam seems to fizzle out of existence where the other makes contact with it, as if it were an illusion. Behind it is an empty space, black as the abyss. With the way they are lined up now, it is obvious that Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would fit perfectly into the crevice with a little turning. He knew that already, but it still feels strange to see it.

Pure Vanilla sighs, a long, thin, shuddering sound. "...You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

In the edge of his vision, Shadow Milk smiles tauntingly, all teeth, but he doesn't say a word.

And Pure Vanilla wakes up, off kilter, exhausted and oddly cold.

[next]

#sm flirting: hey wanna debate the fluidity of ur identity and morality and have a crisis? wanna make out over it?#if ur confused dw i was confused writing this too. sm strikes me as the type to say the most convulted stuff for funsies #also he is scheming. idk what exactly but he certainly is!!#and poor pv is just along for the ride #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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the girl next door 7

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

Your body is stiff. You blame your late-night drawing session hunched over the folding table. You feel it in your neck and shoulder. You sit up and groan, rubbing your muscles as you try to loosen the knots. You roll your arms as you stand up, yawning as you rub your eyes.

A dewy breeze flows in. The air feels like rain but the density has yet to break. You remember vaguely in the middle of the night cracking the window to cool off, your room stagnant and stale.

You near the window in your baggy shirt, dampened slightly with your sweat. It’s caught under your chest as you bulge against the fabric. You pull it free as you stand in front of the pane and blanch as you see movement on the other side. Shoot.

Your eyes meet Steve’s as he closes the window across from yours. He can feel the approaching storm too. He smiles and gives a two-fingered wave. You lift your hand weakly, barely extending your fingers before you tug shut the curtains. How much did he see? How much could he see?

You go out to get the day started. The overhead light of kitchen blares yellow across the space and you put the coffee pot on to brew. As you wait, you tidy the table, once more cluttered with your mother’s forgotten distractions. The crossword book, several pens, a home magazine, and several wrappers.

You slow the pour of coffee into your mug as you hear your mom’s bedroom door. You stare at the doorway until she appears. She limps to the table and sits heavily. You put the cup before her and grab another for yourself. She mutters and leans her head in her hand. She was home late last night.

You go to grab her inhaler from the bathroom. Once more, it’s missing. You return and find it on the counter hidden beside a used plate. It's only then you notice the blackened frozen fries on the cookie sheet. What the heck?

“Ugh, that man,” she croaks, letting it roll into a laugh, “he convinced me to have a little wine after the milkshake.” You put her inhaler in front of her. She raises her head and scowls. She rubs the furrow between her brows. “And then another. And another.”

You don’t even remember her getting home. You were up until one in the morning drawing. She must have been much later. How hadn’t you heard her make all this mess?

You sip your coffee around cleaning up. You wash the glass from the milkshake Steve brought over and set it aside. Your mother hacks and clears her throat.

“Mm, he’s too nice,” she mutters, “told him you didn’t need that. Too much sugar. You don’t even like strawberry.”

You hide your frown. You like strawberry. You’re not sure why she thinks otherwise. She’s never really asked.

“I’ll bring the glass back--”

“You remember your manners,” she girds before she hums into her coffee cup. She gulps through her wet lips noisily. “I don’t need you ruining this.”

“I will, mom.”

“Ugh,” she stands up with a groan, “I need my chair.”

Her hand trembles and the cup with it. She spills a little over the sides but doesn’t pay attention to it. You dump the tray of burnt fries and put it in the sink. You just cleaned this place top to bottom. You don’t think you’re that messy but it’s always a disaster.

You clean the rest of the dishes and put them away. Your mom hollers for more coffee and you bring the pot with you to refill her cup. She leans it on her chest and closes her eyes.

“I’m going to take the glass back now, I guess.”

“Mph, do whatever,” she utters irritably.

You trod back to your room and change into real clothes; straight-legged jeans and a stripped jersey tee. You just want to get this over with. It’s so awkward. You would rather your mom just take it back the next time she goes over but she’s in rough shape. It must be the alcohol. She’s not really supposed to have any.

You grab the glass and put on your shoes. As you come out, there’s a speckling of rain falling from the sky. You go up the walk and around the sidewalk, coming back down the pavement squares to Steve’s porch. You stop and look up at his front door. You climb the steps and drag your feet to the door.

You tap the bell. It’s one of those ones with the camera built-in. You feel overly conscious as you stand before the lens. The door opens before you can prepare yourself.

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve greets, “how are you?”

“Erm. Okay. Here.”

You hold out the glass. He doesn’t take it. He leans on the doorframe and smile.

“Crummy day, huh? Supposed to thunderstorm soon,” he comments, “too bad, I was really wanting to get that pool going.”

“Mm, yeah,” you keep the glass raised before you.

“Oh well, guess I’ll have to figure out what to do all pent up. Maybe a movie night? With all this moving, I’m way behind.”

You look at his chest, staring at the short-sleeved button up with chagrin. What is he talking about? Why is he talking so much?

“You got any suggestions? You youngins always know what’s hip,” he shakes his head and laughs, “sorry, I sound old, don’t I?”

“No,” you answer dully.

“No what? No suggestions or no I don’t sound old?” He challenges.

Your eyes go round and you look him in the face. “I don’t know.”

“I’m teasing--”

“Here,” you wiggle the glass at him.

He takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. You let it go and recoil. You bare your teeth strangely and back away, “thanks, er. Bye.”

You turn and cringe at the grey sky. You trudge off the porch and cut across the lawn, too mortified not to trod over his grass. You clamber up the front steps and quickly shut yourself inside the house. You hiss at yourself as you press your back to the door.

“Don’t slam the goddamn door,” your mother sneers, “Jesus. No wonder this place is falling apart.”

🏠

It’s one of those days where you’re just sad. You can’t pinpoint why. It’s just a vague malaise that won’t leave. Even as the sun beams and deepens to a soft evening hue, you can’t see a light among the dark.

You don’t know how long you’ve been like that. Under your covers, crying for no good reason. It just hurts to be. You keep your arm folded over your pounding head. You just want to sleep and yet you can’t cross the barrier into unconscious.

You give up and roll onto your back, pulling the blanket to your waist. You exhale and stare up at the ceiling. You’re head swims from the deluge of tears. You sop them up with the sheet and sit up. Your head is full and throbbing.

You get up, bleary-eyed, and muddle your way through reality. You pull open your door and find the bathroom on instinct alone. You shut yourself in and blow your nose. The effort has you even more dizzy. You shake your head, trying to clear out the fog, and turn on the cold water. You throw it across your face, holding a wet palm to your forehead to try to ease the tension.

Your ears tickle with a strange noise. A low drone. Like bass on the front television. Now and again, your mom will amp up the TV but it’s unexpectedly loud. You twist off the faucet and stand straight. You dry off and head back into the hall, peering down at the shifting light glaring from the living room doorway.

“Woahhh,” the voice catches you unaware as someone collides with you from behind in the dim hallway. You stumble and turn to face Steve as popcorn scatters onto the floor, tumbling over the brim of the bowl. The smell tugs at your stomach, “sorry sweetie, I didn’t see you there.”

You look at his silhouette, unable to make out any of his features. You didn’t even know he was there. Your mother didn’t even warn you. You suspect that may have been purposeful.

“Sweetie?”

“Sorry,” you back up, “didn’t mean... to get in the way.”

You turn and shuffle back to your room. He follows, “your mom said you weren’t feeling good. Hope you get better soon, but if you’re interested, we’re watching a movie.”

Your bedroom door is wide open. If you’d known, you would’ve been sure to shut it tight.

“No, thank you,” you grab the handle and slowly shift the door behind you.

“No problem,” he calls after you, “offer stands if you change your mind.”

You click the door shut gently and stay on the other side, listening for his footsteps. He lingers, a bit too long, and it’s only as he walks away that you go back to your bed. There’s something strange about him. Or maybe it’s just you.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

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l0vergirlv0mit · 10 months

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Christmas with gf!Hazel Headcanons

No one yearns like I do I swear

⭑favorite Christmas movie is obviously Jim Carrey’s The Grinch.

⭑Christmas music has been on since November 1st.

⭑singing “Last Christmas” in the car as if you both had just gone through the most devastating life event anyone could ever go through(a tummy ache).

⭑hugs you from behind and hummus softly to Christmas music in your ear. While your making her homemade hot chocolate that she absolutely NEEDED you to make her that moment.

⭑buys you little ornaments of different random objects like a golf ball cause she thinks they’re funny.

⭑absolutely has to mix the sugar cookies for you cause she wants to seem strong.

⭑makes you a burr basket that’s basically your whole Christmas list cause she’s got MONEY money.

⭑takes gingerbread house construction VERY VERY serious like she’s making melted sugar window panes.

⭑zips you into her jacket so she can use your body heat to warm her up when it’s cold outside.

⭑buys the thickest cutest Christmas blanket specifically to snuggle and have a Christmas movie marathon.

⭑love’s Christmas decoration shopping. Takes you to Christmas markets and loses her shit over everything. She really likes the vintage colorful Christmas theme.

⭑when you go to said Christmas market if there’s a Santa she’s taking a photo with him wearing the brightest smile.

⭑her favorite thing to do right now is to say “Hey, he’s watching.” Very seriously over everything. Don’t wanna take a nap together? Yeah he saw that.

⭑hates boring Christmas themes like White Christmas makes her annoyed cause there’s no color.

⭑getting absolutely blasted together at Christmas parties on mulled wine. Somehow making grinding on each other to “All I Want For Christmas Is You” seem completely called for.

⭑your family loves her cause she came over by herself to help them decorate. Had a photo shoot with your grandma in matching Christmas sweater.

⭑made a dance routine to “Santa Baby” and passionately performs it for you. Like wiggling her eyebrows at you and shimmying.

⭑her cheeks and nose get so red and rosy in cold weather you can’t help but kiss them all over.

⭑she loves homemade gifts with a lot of sentimental value. Once you made her a scrapbook of picture of both you, you put little stickers and wrote her little notes as well. She couldn’t stop crying for like 30 minutes.

⭑she’d definitely get you tickets to see your favorite band or singer cause she literally already bought everything you wanted BEFORE Christmas even happened.

⭑insist on leaving cookies out for Santa even though you literally don’t have children. And yes there will be a cookie with a bite taken out of it when you wake up.

⭑matching pjs are a must.

⭑Christmas eve is like a Hallmark movie. Cuddling the whole night watching movies and giggling.

(I need a soft masc so bad.)

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x you

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friendlylocalwhumper · 9 months

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“Come here, little light.”

He’s not so little anymore. Lux shifts where he sits against the wall, eyeing the unusually tall silhouette atop the stairs warily. His knuckles rest on the floor at his sides, arms far too achy to even bother to lift them. He had to be chained up years ago, when he was young and sometimes fought back; now he is in his thirties, and carrying the painful consequences of being chained up in one position for too long a decade ago.

“I don’t really want to,” Rasps Lux. It must be sometime in December, he knows. His sweet Penny must be inconsolable about her dad being mysteriously gone around the holidays. Maybe Emory made up a kind lie about where his husband went, and when Lux is set free he can pretend to be coming home from some kind of business trip.

The top stair creaks with a threatening step down into the cellar, and despite his age and experience, Lux feels his breath catch and his eyes fall down and to the side in instinctive submission. It’s never worth hesitating too long to obey. Exhausted from too many years fearing this man, he sets his creaky body into motion, slow and careful not to force any throbbing joints to the point where they lock up in complaint.

He can’t walk up the stairs and they both know it. Lux plants an elbow to the second lowest step with grim determination and pulls himself up enough to set his better knee in place to climb.

A warm chuckle tumbles down from above. His long wavy hair, once curly, falls into his face as he keeps his head tipped down to hide his shame. Broken leg dragging miserably behind him, he climbs, arms shaking with the effort of pressing on in spite of the pain. He learned a long time ago to handle it. He knows it’s possible to get this done. It’s just hard. Hard to wake up huddled on concrete instead of his bed with a warm body beside him. Hard to feel pain in his shoulders that usually is warded off by Emory’s cautious, confident hands. Hard to usually be the one comforting someone smaller, and be reminded forcefully that he was once smaller and weaker than someone standing over him. That he can always be dragged back down to this position on a whim.

He got distracted. He’s sitting, panting between his elbows pressed to the step above. There is a heavy presence above him, and after a beat of silence, a warm hand pressing to his back. Lux shrinks down and away from it.

“Get moving, my light,” The Hunter hums, not unkindly. He can sound perfectly happy while threatening someone.

Lux swallows and nods. He makes it up the stairs and when he finally reaches the hardwood floor and warm lighting of upstairs, he collapses, pale and sweating. The weighty presence of his captor follows from behind, then passes over him, a waft of vanilla and spices following behind him. Bleary blue eyes blink open and long black hair lifts from the floor and for the first time today, Lux really looks at the Hunter.

Red pants, a black belt, white edges to his sleeves, a floppy hat. He’s dressed as Santa.

A turn of the head reveals the colorful lights around the room. The tree in the corner littered with shiny ornaments. Cookies on the coffee table.

“Not already,” He croaks, devastated. White flurries dance outside, glowing softly against the frosty window pane, stark against the night. It’s Christmas day - no, night. Christmas morning is already gone. Poor Penny, worried about her dad, with only most of the presents she was supposed to get. Poor Penny with a worried Papa trying to keep the day magical but secretly scared for his husband, who’s been gone for… for over a month already.

“Yes already, little one.” That name doesn’t work so well anymore, but the Hunter doesn’t seem to mind. “Come on over. I want you to see this.”

Seemingly done with waiting so long for his favorite victim to make his way over, the torturer takes a fistful of knotted curly hair and pulls as he walks along. Lux grunts in complaint and crawls as best he can to keep up, whining lowly as his broken leg drags and catches all along the way.

He’s dropped at the rug before the tree and Lux hides his face to catch his breath, struggling to ward off frustrated tears. Kids only get so many special days in the year where everything is about them having a magical experience, and his little girl didn’t get to have her daddy on the most important one of all. She throws a fit whenever he’s five minutes late picking her up from school, whenever he has to miss a recital because it doesn’t work with his or Em’s schedule. It’s going to ruin her whole week that-

Pain like he hasn’t felt in years erupts in his bad leg, and Lux’s mouth stretches wide to let no sound out at all. He can’t put any voice, any breath behind the silent scream, the pain is swallowing him whole.

Green, red, blue, and yellow lights suffocate his vision into nonsensical blurs as Lux twists to try to see… oh. The Hunter is standing on his leg, that’s all. Not cutting it off or setting it on fire or mangling it with magic. The pain is humiliatingly debilitating. Furious, frightened blue eyes swimming in tears blink up at the torturer, and the killer dressed as Santa laughs.

“Stay with me, light. You keep drifting off.”

“...Sorry.”

“I don’t like this attitude you’ve picked up, you know. Behaving like you are anything…” He leans forward, and Lux’s breath catches as more weight is applied along with it. “...but entertainment for me.”

“-Sorry!” He sounds it, this time. His voice cracks worse when the Hunter presses down harder, the damaged bone seeming like it’s going to creak audibly any second. “S-, I’m s-sorry, I, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” Says the jolly man, and he steps off, moving somewhere out of sight. Paper rustles.

Lux already knows it’s a gift. Some stupid gift in bright paper that he’ll have to open and act grateful for. He doesn’t want to be here, play this game. He wants to be home.

“I made this for you.” The Hunter returns with, surprise, a small box in red paper and topped with a gold bow. Lux sinks further into the floor with a groan of vague acknowledgement. He can feel every heartbeat in his leg, and sweat sticks frizzy stray hairs to his forehead.

“Want me to open it?” He anticipates. Maybe it sounded too dry, too tired, because he doesn’t even get a warning this time. His shoulder pops out of socket, and even as he screams and his vision whites out, he knows that magic did it. That the Hunter sent that magic with a flick of a finger and a disapproving frown. “S-sorry, I, I-I, I me-ean, s-”

“Shh. You’re getting used to this again, I know. I don’t mind helping you learn.”

He absolutely does mind, he’s the most insecure and bitter man alive. But Lux won’t argue again. He just reaches out with a quaking hand and accepts the gift, lowering it to the floor and picking apart the ribbon holding it shut.

The Hunter sits on the nearby armchair and leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching happily.

Lux thinks about how pathetic it is to have a prisoner instead of a family. To not know what love is. Because you can’t really know what love is, what overwhelming deep inescapable love is, until you have a little kid looking up to you with sparkling eyes.

The lid falls free, and he’s able to pull out a… Lux’s eyes focus fully, his distracted angry thoughts dissipating into a much stronger, formless cloud of rage. Outside the snow slows to a stop mid-air.

“...Okay.” One elbow presses to the floor, firm as stone as he pushes himself up to sitting. His displaced shoulder tries to make him collapse and sob but he refuses. His broken leg, too, wants to make him give up, but no amount of pain can override the feeling that’s caught in his throat right now. The small pair of earrings, little capybaras with diamonds instead of oranges atop their heads, is protected in his fist. These earrings were specifically asked for, and impossible to find online or in any store, so he met up with a jeweler and personally approved of drawn-up designs. They were bafflingly expensive and irrefutably worth it.

“Okay,” Lux repeats, and when his cold eyes meet the Hunter’s, he sees just what he expected - surprised, impressed curiosity. Joy. Amusement. “We’re not doing this. These? I know you summoned them without even bothering to go steal them in person.” They were hidden in a cardboard box in the closet, not wrapped yet. They were safe in the home his daughter sleeps in. “I know you didn’t step foot in our house.”

“Oh?” The Hunter reaches for a mug and drinks from it, setting it back down at a condescendingly relaxed pace. “How do you know that?”

His fist is pressed to the floor to keep himself upright. Lux won’t let himself pass out, he won’t let himself fall back down. “You used some kind of spell to find something valuable and hidden, there, and summoned it here. You didn’t go anywhere near her.”

The man shrugs and glances at a window, happy and calm, about to answer with some coy taunt. The words die before they reach his lips as his expression hardens with cautious focus, and he has to squint to make out the fluffy snowflakes hanging frozen mid-air out there.

“You can keep me here,” Continues Lux. “Do the whole scary Christmas thing, throw me back down there, make me obey. But this was a mistake.” He lifts his arm and holds out the earrings in gesture. They shiver and wobble in his palm. The Hunter’s focus is back on him, now. “Put them back. Never even pretend you went there. Never even hint at even knowing about her. Do you understand?”

“My light, I don’t think you want to-”

The windows shatter. The Hunter flinches - and good, he should - as glass flies in and scores a small cut across his cheek. Outside, the flakes tremble, straining to continue their natural path of falling but afraid to defy the furious magic holding them.

Lux hasn’t moved from where he sits. He doesn’t have to stand, to loom to be frightening. His eyes don’t glow, he doesn’t raise a hand in threat. He’s still quivering with pain and exhaustion. But his eyes are locked on his target, and the Hunter seems to finally feel like the prey that he now is.

“Do you understand?” Lux repeats. The tiny diamonds of the earrings glint beautifully in the light shining from the tree.

“...I’ll wipe your memory. Start the night over. You will obey me,” Says the Hunter carefully. He hasn’t moved since the windows blew in.

“Alright. But these will go back, and you won’t try this again.”

The Hunter sighs, looking down to the little pieces of metal and precious stone, then back up at his prisoner.

“Come here, little light.”

Lux shifts where he sits against the wall, eyeing the unusually tall silhouette atop the stairs warily. His knuckles rest on the floor at his sides, arms far too achy to even bother to lift them.

“I don’t really want to,” Rasps Lux.

The top stair creaks with a threatening step down into the cellar, and despite his age and experience, Lux feels his breath catch and his eyes fall down and to the side in instinctive submission. He sets his creaky body into motion, slow and careful not to force any throbbing joints to the point where they lock up in complaint.

Lux plants an elbow to the second lowest step with grim determination and pulls himself up enough to set his better knee in place to climb.

“Get moving, my light,” The Hunter hums. He sounds happy, calm. But underneath his pleasant warning, it sounds like there is some kind of… worry. Some kind of fear.

#whump #drabble #christmas whump woohoo!#lux #the hunter #mine #captivity #rage! hatred!

96 notes · View notes

asacredthebread · 23 days

Text

cover by @no-other-mashter

A Cabin In The Woods - Ch.1

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Sam x F!Reader

𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 - 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚌𝚎?

Warnings/Themes: Enemies to Lovers, Douche Sam, Ex Danny, Soft Twins.

wc; 8425

a/n: finally a series!! this little idea was fleshed out with the help of @dannys-dream . please enjoy!

taglist : @musicislove3389 @peaceloveunitygvf @jazzyfigz @sarahbethgvf @fleetingjake

You glance around the room, taking in the scattered reminders of your lives intertwined. A few empty soda cans on the coffee table, remnants of your last gaming session. The stack of board games, some still in their boxes, others half-assembled, waiting for another night of laughter and playful competition. The anticipation thickens in the air, and you can almost hear the sounds of their arrival—a chorus of friendly banter, footsteps heavy with eagerness, the slam of the door as they burst in, bringing with them the energy of a weekend where everything seems possible.

With a sudden burst of energy, you jump up and move around the living room, tidying up just a bit. You gather the cans and throw them away, arrange the games into a neat, crooked pile, and adjust the throw pillows on the couch for an inviting look. As you work, you think about each of your friends and the unique role they play in your little group. Josh, the planner, always with a map in hand and ideas for adventures. Jake, the jokester, whose humor lights up even the cloudiest day. Danny, the quiet but observant one, who often surprises you with his insights. And Sam, the wanderer, whose spontaneous spirit often leads you to places you'd never thought to explore.

After a few minutes, you pause to listen again, straining for any sound of them arriving, but all you hear is the mesmerizing chirping of birds outside. You cross back to the window, pulling back the drapes to peer out at the driveway. The sunlight dances on the pavement, an empty space waiting, just like your heart wants to be filled again with the laughter and camaraderie that only this group can bring.

You think back to the plans you had made, each one a thread weaving the fabric of this weekend together. Hiking in the woods, fishing by the lake, maybe even telling ghost stories around the fireplace. Memories of weekends spent laughing until your sides hurt and sharing secrets that only deepened your bond float to the surface. You can almost picture how it will be: the five of you piled into the cabin, the air filled with chatter and the smell of snacks being prepared, the excitement of adventures awaiting just outside the door.

Time drags as you check your phone again, scrolling through messages but finding none. You switch to your playlists, letting the melodies fill the room, hoping they’ll calm your impatient heart. The music swells, wrapping you in its embrace as you move to the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked cookies still lingering from earlier. You grab a couple, hoping the smell will entice your friends upon their arrival. You take a bite, savoring the rich sweetness that temporarily distracts you from the ticking clock.

Minutes crawl on, and your imagination takes flight, picturing each friend’s face, their expressions as they step through the door. You imagine Josh already trying to set up the itinerary, Jake’s inevitable quips punctuating the details, Danny’s dry humor, and Sam’s enthusiastic agreement peppering their discussions. The thought brings a smile to your lips, and you allow yourself to get lost in it.

You lean against the counter, glancing again at the clock. The hands seem stubbornly fixed, but finally, you hear it—the soft rumble of a car engine breaking through the afternoon stillness. Your heart skips a beat, and you rush to the door, peering out through the glass pane. It’s not just one car, but two, the familiar shapes of their vehicles parked haphazardly on the gravel.

Adrenaline courses through you, and you throw open the door, taking a moment to soak up the sight. Josh is the first out, already waving excitedly at you, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Sam tumbles out next, nearly tripping over his own feet, laughter spilling from his lips. Jake hops out of the backseat, a mock flourish accompanying his arrival. Then there’s Danny, who emerges more slowly, his presence calm amidst the whirlwind.

You step out into the open air, and as they draw nearer, the energy in your chest ignites into a full flame. Josh is already unfolding a paper with scribbled plans, Jake is regaling you with a story from the ride, and Sam is juggling a bag of snacks like a circus performer. You laugh, your voice mixing with theirs, as the worry of waiting melts away.

“About time you got here!” you tease, gesturing dramatically to your watch as they gather around you.

“Sorry! There was a weird traffic jam. Blame the ducks,” Jake shoots back, somehow managing to sound both sarcastic and sincere all at once.

The laughter that erupts is warm and infectious, wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You know that this is just the beginning; the weekend stretches out ahead of you, full of messiness and adventure, laughter and shared moments, just waiting for you to dive into it together. As the initial chaos of greetings dies down, there’s a gentle tug in your heart as you catch sight of Sam, now standing a little farther back, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His expression is unreadable, a mix of wariness and stubbornness that you’ve seen before. It wouldn’t be your first time navigating this peculiar distance that seems to have blossomed between you two since the breakup.

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of discomfort coiling in your stomach. You remember when Sam was just a kid, tagging along with Danny, wide-eyed and full of curiosity. He idolized his older brother and you, too. But as the years rolled on, things shifted—the innocence of childhood faded, and the complexities of adulthood crept in. Once an eager participant in your little adventures, Sam now stood at the fringes, a silent observer in a space that used to feel so inclusive.

You flash him a smile, hoping to breach the silent wall that’s grown taller between you over the years. “Hey, Sam! You ready for this weekend?” you ask, trying to keep your tone light and inviting.

He responds with a tight, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze shifting to the grass at his feet. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice barely audible over the excitement buzzing from the others. The wave of disappointment crashes over you like a cold breeze, leaving you shivering even in the warmth of the sun.

“Awesome! We’ve got hiking and fishing on the agenda. You’ll love it,” you say, keeping your voice steady, even though every word feels like a fragile bridge being built between you and him. You want him to feel included, to remember the fun the five of you shared—but something always seems to break that connection.

He shrugs but doesn't respond, and you can't help but notice how much his demeanor has changed. This is not the same Sam who once giddily climbed trees with you in the backyard or raced across the playground, his laughter mingling with yours. No, this version of Sam stands guarded, like he’s built a fortress around his emotions, and you’re left on the outside, struggling to find an entry point.

Josh, oblivious to your unspoken struggle, throws an arm around you and Sam, pulling you both into the group. “I brought the marshmallows! We need to find the perfect spot for making s’mores, right?” he announces, attempting to lift the mood.

You can feel Sam stiffen slightly against you as Josh continues to speak. You wonder if he even realizes how much the past has influenced his views on you, or if he’s even bothered to tell Danny how he feels. You want to reach out, to talk to him alone somewhere quiet, but the fear of making things worse holds you back. Hadn’t you tried before? You think back to the moments after the breakup, sensing that Sam’s icy glare had been directed at you more often than not.

Danny notices the tension, shooting a glance back at you. He’s always been the peacemaker among your friends, but even he hasn't managed to bridge the gap between you and Sam. He steps closer, trying to draw you back into the group dynamic. “Alright! Let’s load up the cars. I’ll grab the bags,” he says cheerfully.

You watch as Danny hustles away, a familiar sense of comfort and guilt flooding through you at his actions. He’s still your friend, even after everything, making this situation increasingly complicated. You had shared a deep connection, a bond that was special, but now that connection felt fragile, with threads fraying as each day went by. The decision to remain friends with him had been simple at the time, rooted in mutual respect and affection for one another, but you hadn’t fully anticipated how it would affect your relationship with Sam.

“Why does he still talk to you?” Sam’s voice cuts through your thoughts abruptly, and you turn to find him glaring at you, confusion etched across his features.

You blink, taken aback by his straightforwardness. It was a question not merely about your friendship with Danny, but something deeper, one that suggested unresolved feelings.

“What do you mean?” you reply, trying to keep your voice from wavering.

“Just… why? After everything? You broke up. It’s not fair to Danny, you know.” His eyes narrow, and there’s no mistaking the defensiveness that wrapped around him as he stood his ground.

Your heart sinks at his words. You had expected some tension, but you hadn’t anticipated this raw confrontation. “Sam, it’s not like that,” you respond gently, striving for sincerity rather than defensiveness, but it comes out muddled. “Danny and I are friends; that doesn’t change the past, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be there for each other. What happened between us was… well, it was years ago.”

But Sam isn’t ready to ease off. “Then why’s he still so close? Doesn’t it bother him? You just act like nothing happened.”

You feel a wave of frustration and hurt rise within you. “It’s not like we pretend it didn’t happen,” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve moved on. It was a mutual decision. But you haven’t even tried to understand.”

“Understand?” His voice cracks like glass, sharp and brittle. “You think it’s that easy? You hurt him—and you hurt me. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

And there it is, the voice of a protector, a younger brother shielding his older sibling from the pain you had inadvertently caused. Regret gnaws at your heart; you hadn’t anticipated how deep the roots of the past would grow, or how they would fester.

The moment stretches, a fragile silence hanging between you. You want to explain how even though the breakup had been tough, it was healthier for both of you to let go. You want to tell him that your friendship with Danny no longer carries the weight that it once did. But as you look into Sam’s frustrated eyes, filled with the hurt and resentment that he carries, you realize that words alone may not be enough.

You take a step toward him, lowering your voice, “I’m still the same person, Sam. I care about you. I always have. And I never wanted this. If I could take everything back, I would.”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in Sam’s expression, but it’s quickly masked by a wall of defiance. He shakes his head, the battle between his emotions evident. “But you can’t. You can't erase the past. You’re just… you’re just not the person I thought you were.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air like an oppressive fog. Deep down, you know this isn’t just about you; this is Sam grappling with his loyalty, with the fragments of his innocence being directly affected by choices made long ago, neither of you fully prepared for the landscape of change that followed.

A voice in your head whispers that perhaps this moment isn’t the time to press further. What he needs might be different than what you want. So, instead of pushing, you simply take a deep breath and offer him a small, tentative smile. “I hope one day, you’ll see that,” you say quietly. It’s a promise to yourself, a commitment that you won’t give up on him, no matter how tough he chooses to be.

Josh calls out for everyone to grab their things, pulling you back into the present. The others have wandered off to the cars. You feel the pulsing uncertainty hanging over your head, yet a flicker of hope ignites amid the tension. While things may not settle overnight, perhaps this weekend spent together in the cabin can lay the groundwork, the first tentative steps toward rebuilding what feels broken.

As you approach the vehicles, your heart still heavy with the confrontation but your resolve steady, you glance back at Sam. He stands a little apart, watching as the others prepare for the adventure ahead. You can only hope that somewhere in him, beneath the hurt and the resentment, lies the same Sam who once laughed with you, the one who could still find joy in the shared moments to come. In the complicated web of friendships and past relationships, all you can do is be patient. And for now, that has to be enough. As you gather your things, moving methodically through the motions without allowing yourself to get attached to the feelings brewing within you, you can feel the invisible barrier remaining firmly in place between you and Sam. Over the months—no, the years—you’ve grown increasingly indifferent to his indifference. You’ve learned to encapsulate your disappointment in a box labeled “Sam,” pushing it aside among the remnants of a past that no longer holds the warmth it once did. It’s a survival tactic more than anything, one that helps you navigate the reality of being with the group without constantly feeling the sting of his coldness.

You toss your backpack into the back of the car, and from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Sam’s silhouette. He is leaning against the trunk of his own car, arms crossed defensively as he furtively shoots glances your way, as if keeping track of your every movement. The feeling of animosity between you both has morphed into a standoff—one that has grown all too familiar. Civil, yes, but you’d be lying if you didn’t think of him as an enemy of sorts.

“Hey! You ready?” Josh’s voice pulls you back into the moment, a jovial spirit breaking through the tension that lingers over you like a storm cloud.

“Yeah, let me just grab a couple more things,” you reply, pushing away the distractions of the cold exchange with Sam. You put on your friendliest face, hoping it radiates enough warmth to block the chilly vibes from the younger brother.

As you turn back to your car, you can feel Sam’s eyes boring into your back. The sharpness of his gaze is enough to make you almost cringe. In a moment of pure habit, you catch his glance across the distance between you, but instead of engaging, you look away, resignation washing over you. This is your new normal—walking around each other with an almost practiced ease, avoiding topics that felt like landmines, running the motions without the heart.

You join Josh, who is animatedly motioning toward the pile of bags ready to be loaded into the car. He lifts your duffel bag, tossing it into the backseat. “You know what? I think this weekend is going to be pretty epic,” he says with an enthusiastic grin, and there’s a spark in his eyes that suggests he might be cooking up something devious underneath the cheerful exterior.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be fun,” you respond, keeping your tone light, but the spark of excitement doesn’t quite match what you feel inside. You know you’re only here for the rest of them—not for Sam, but for the camaraderie that the others bring. The thought serves as a bitter reminder that this weekend isn't going to be the joyful adventure you once experienced; it’s veiled in complications now.

“You don’t sound too thrilled,” Josh observes, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. His playful smirk hints that he knows you better than you’d like to admit.

“I am! I just— I don’t know. It’s hard with all the… dynamics,” you admit, glancing back at Sam, who is now leaning against the car, scrolling through his phone, feigning disinterest in everything around him.

Josh catches your gaze and follows it. “Ah, Sam,” he says knowingly, his smirk widening. “You know how to handle him, right? Just give him some space. He’s a brat, but he’ll come around… eventually. Maybe.” There’s a lightheartedness in his tone, but you can hear the flicker of truth beneath it as well.

You sigh softly, refraining from saying a whole lot. It’s tiring, dwelling on Sam and the gulf that has opened between you two. “I’m just here for the rest of you,” you finally say, attempting to shake off the weighty atmosphere hanging between you all.

“Oh come on, don’t sell yourself short,” Josh nudges playfully. “You’ll have a good time. Trust me; I’ve got plans. Just wait.” His eyes glimmer with mischief, promising something that you can't quite articulate but makes you feel a sense of intrigue mixed with a sprinkle of apprehension.

“Plans?” you raise an eyebrow, instantly curious. “What kind of plans?”

Josh just smirks and shakes his head. “You’ll see. Just… keep that excitement brewing. You’re going to need it.” He glances over your shoulder at Sam, who’s obliviously shifting his weight between his feet, looking anywhere but at you. “And if you want to help Sam thaw out, I’d say surprise him this weekend.”

You can’t help but snort. “Yeah, because that’s worked so well in the past,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully. There’s a moment where you and Josh share a genuine laugh, an infectious moment that lifts your spirits—if only for a heartbeat.

But as the laughter fades, you find yourself swallowing the edges of optimism that Josh had carefully woven among your words. Everything feels like it’s wrapped in prickly layers, and you can’t quite shake off the lingering frost that Sam has established around himself. You glance back at the car, the rest of your friends mingling as they load their bags, and you know that whatever happens this weekend, the shadows will continue to linger.

But for now, you focus on the group—the familiar sounds of friends, the camaraderie that still exists, and the small moments where joy can weave through the complexities. If nothing else, you can hold onto that, at least for a little while longer.

The excitement builds as the group begins to finalize the car arrangements, laughter and chatter filling the air like the sweetest of harmonies. Meanwhile, you stand by your car, your bags safely stowed in the trunk, watching as Danny, Jake, and Josh cram themselves into one vehicle. Jake is behind the wheel, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms as he adjusts his sunglasses.

“Hey, we’re all set over here!” Danny calls out, giving you a wave with a grin that feels impossibly bright against the growing shadows of your own swirling emotions.

“Great! How's it looking?” you ask, attempting to maintain the upbeat spirit that the others seem to exude.

“It’s a tight fit,” Jake chuckles, shifting a few duffel bags to open up his side. “But I think we can manage. It’s like a fun little challenge. Just squeeze in!”

Your heart sinks a little. There’s no room for you to join the fun trio. There’s the undeniable reality that someone has to ride with Sam, and as fate would have it, that someone is you. The mental calculation runs through your head as Josh leans over. “So, it looks like you’re stuck with our favorite ice-cold brother,” he teases, a smile dancing on his lips.

You force a smile back, but the corners of your mouth barely lift. “Yeah, sounds like a blast,” you say, your voice dripping with false enthusiasm. But you know better; you’ve moved past hoping for a magical transformation between you and Sam. Instead, you brace for the awkward silence that awaits you.

“Just try not to kill each other,” Danny chimes in with a laugh, clapping Jake on the shoulder as he climbs into the backseat. The two of them crowd in with Josh, leaving you standing at the edge of the parking lot, bags in tow, feeling more like a reluctant passenger on a sinking ship.

“Have fun!” Josh throws over his shoulder, a teasing tone layered beneath genuine friendship. You merely nod and turn back toward your own car, steeling yourself for the ride.

As you approach Sam, who has finally peeled himself away from the trunk, your heart sinks a little deeper. He stands there, arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side, like a statue carved from ice. You wonder if he’s ever going to ease up, but you have your doubts.

“Ready?” you ask, trying to inject a hint of excitement into your voice, but it falls flat, met by a lackluster nod from him. Definitely not the response you were hoping for.

He opens the passenger door for you, the gesture surprisingly formal, but no warmth underlies it. You slide in, feeling the chill envelop you like a thick winter coat. The atmosphere in the car is immediate—stark, heavy with uncomfortable silence. It hangs between you like a thick fog, dense and unyielding.

Sam quietly takes his place in the driver’s seat, starting the engine and fumbling with the radio. He seems determined to ignore your presence, staring straight ahead as if making an escape plan from the vulnerability of sharing a confined space. You wish there was a way to breach the awkwardness, to find a thread that could pull you back together, but as the tires crunch against the gravel, any hope for easy conversation dissipates.

Seeking some semblance of normalcy, you reach for the radio dial. “Let’s put some music on,” you suggest, flipping through the static-filled channels, your fingers finding the familiar rhythm of pop tunes and classic rock. Anything to drown out the suffocating quiet.

You land on a station playing an upbeat track—something that hints at carefree moments and happy adventures. As the music swells in the car, you glance over at Sam, who seems indifferent, his eyes fixed ahead on the road. The contrast between the vibrant sound and his unyielding silence sticks out like a sore thumb.

As the first chorus filters through the air, you attempt to find solace in the lyrics, tapping your fingers on your knee. The momentary distraction feels almost comforting, wrapping you in a bubble of familiarity, but the more you look over, the more the disconnection between you gnaws at your insides.

With each passing song, you steal glances at Sam, noticing the set of his jaw, the way he focuses entirely on the road, as if the scenery outside holds his full attention. It’s as though he’s cast you out completely, maintaining an air of impressive detachment. You feel the weight of his emotions pressing down upon you, and the lack of dialogue hangs heavily in the air, making you painfully aware of how this car ride is just another continuation of the unspoken animosity.

“Can we at least talk?” you break the silence after what feels like an eternity, your voice coming out more tentative than you intended.

A flicker of surprise crosses Sam’s features, but it’s quickly replaced by that familiar coldness. “What’s there to talk about?” he replies, his tone clipped and almost disdainful.

You don’t have an answer for that. Instead, you return your gaze to the road ahead, willing yourself to fade into the background. As the landscape lazily unfolds outside, you tap your fingers absently to the rhythm of the songs, clutching tightly to the momentary escape they offer while the awkwardness seeps into any crevice it can find.

The music continues to play, but the sound no longer feels potent enough to bridge the gap. And so, you sit in silence with Sam, together yet entirely alone, gripped by the cold tension that still looms overhead as the car speeds into a weekend that feels far from the promise of the adventure it should hold.

The thrum of the tires against the gravel grows faint as Sam pulls the car to a stop. The abrupt halt rouses you from your thoughts, your body tense and coiled from the ride. You can sense the anticipation in the air as you sit in silence for a moment longer, taking in the surroundings. The cabin abruptly fills with the chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves—a serene welcome that feels almost surreal after the oppressive silence of the drive.

With a burst of adrenaline, you fling open your door before Sam has even turned off the engine. The cool breeze greets you like an old friend as you hop out, not waiting for any farewell or parting glance. Your feet hit the ground with a thud, and you cherish the feeling of freedom as you stretch your legs and breathe in the fresh, earthy scent of the outdoors.

“Finally!” you exhale, shaking off the lingering weight of the car ride as you make your way towards the others, who are unloading their bags with animated chatter. You spot Danny first, his voice carrying over the excited hum of everyone’s arrival.

“Hey! You made it!” he calls, a warm smile brightening his face as he waves you over.

“Yep! I survived,” you reply, injecting a playful cheer into your words as you approach him. He raises an eyebrow playfully, sensing there’s more to your story than your upbeat tone conveys.

“How was the ride with Sam?” Danny inquires, leaning in closer, curiosity dancing in his eyes. You can’t help but let out a short, bitter laugh.

“It was… cold,” you say, searching for the right words. “I mean, really, really cold. Like, I thought I was going to need a parka.”

Danny’s expression shifts to one of mild concern mixed with amusement. He chuckles softly, his eyes glancing towards Sam, who is now focused on unloading bags from the car with an almost robotic efficiency. “Sounds about right. He can be a snowstorm in human form,” he jokes, but there’s an underlying seriousness in his voice.

You nod, the heaviness of the ride still looming over you like a lingering cloud. “I just don’t get why he has to be like that,” you admit, your voice dropping slightly as you try to keep the conversation light.

“It’s Sam,” Danny shrugs, rolling his eyes. “He’s always been like that. Don’t take it personally. He’ll warm up—eventually.” The reassurance sounds hollow, but you appreciate the effort.

Before you can respond, Josh jogs over, cutting into the moment with a laugh as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “What’s the scoop? Did you two drive the entire way without speaking?”

“Pretty much,” you reply, crossing your arms defensively as if that might shield you from the teasing laughter that’s sure to follow. “It was like a contest to see who could be the most silent.”

Josh pretends to gasp dramatically. “An entire hour spent without banter? The horror! Next time, I’ll bring a competition trophy for you both,” he says, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Despite the playful taunts, you feel a little warmth blossom inside you, a reminder that you’re among friends who know the perfect way to lift your spirits even when the situation feels bleak.

As the rest of the group gathers around, you can sense a change in energy, the camaraderie enveloping you like a well-worn blanket. You watch as Jake unloads the last of the bags, and you can see the excitement bubbling up among everyone, a collective anticipation for the weekend ahead.

Maybe, just maybe, you can set aside the awkwardness with Sam and focus on the fun awaiting you all. But the idea of staying civil with him still nibbles at the edges of your mind, lingering beneath the surface.

“Let’s get settled before we explore,” Josh suggests, gesturing toward the cozy cabin that looms invitingly on the hillside. “I could use a good stretch and some snacks to keep my energy up. Who's with me?”

You follow his lead, feeling the warmth of the group draw you in, leaving Sam behind in the background. The unspoken tension ebbed slightly as you turn away, making a conscious effort to step toward laughter and a sense of belonging.

But even amidst the joyful chaos, you can’t help but glance back toward the car, where Sam is still standing, finishing his task in solitude. His presence is a whispering shadow in the back of your mind, a reminder of the icy wall that still divides you. For now, you shake off the unease, hoping that somehow, the thrill of the weekend can melt even the iciest of barriers.

As the group disperses to settle into the two cabins, excitement crackles in the air, mixing with the sweet scent of pine and earthy undertones of the surrounding woods. You watch as Jake, Josh, and Danny haul their gear inside the same cabin, eager to dive into their music and brainstorm creative ideas for the next tour. Their laughter rings out, a cheerful melody that resonates against the backdrop of chirping birds and rustling leaves.

Meanwhile, Sam stands a few feet away, allowing the warmth of camaraderie to wash over him without fully engaging. His body language is closed off, as if he’s placed an invisible barrier between himself and the rest of the group. You steal glances in his direction, still ruminating over the constricting atmosphere from the car ride. But with all the excitement building around you, a part of you feels ready to push that unease aside.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Jake exclaims, clapping his hands together as he leads the way into their cabin. It feels right for them to be together, indulging in what they love best. But then your attention shifts back to Sam as he ambles toward the opposite cabin, the decision clearly marked on his face—he wants out. Out of everything.

“Hey, Sam, you want to join us?” Josh asks, half-joking but clearly hopeful for his inclusion.

Sam shakes his head firmly without turning. “I need a break from all this,” he replies tersely, a dismissal that nearly stings in the air. You can see his shoulders tense, a clear indication he’s not about to open up—about anything. It’s a bark of resistance, a wall of icy resolve that sends a reminder of the distance between you.

As you stand there, the tension in the air palpable, you feel a strange mix of anticipation and dread at the thought of cabin assignments. Jake, Josh, and Danny bustle into their cabin, laughter spilling out like sunlight, while Sam, ever the enigma, remains outside, his posture rigid with resolve. Your heart sinks a little when you hear the casual banter coming from the cabin that’s supposedly supposed to be yours.

“Hey, where’s the other cabin?” you ask, trying to mask the unease creeping in.

“It’s just over there,” Josh points, his demeanor as light-hearted as ever. “You’ll love it! It’s cozy, and the view is killer.”

Sam’s voice cuts in sharply from behind you. “I’m really going to need some quiet.” He slips past and heads toward the other cabin, and you can’t help the irritated glance you shoot Josh.

“What? I’m just suggesting you join us!” Josh grins, unfazed by your discontent. He winks, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

With a resigned sigh, you watch Sam disappear into his chosen retreat. Deciding against further argument, you follow Josh, your heart sinking at the prospect of being ushered into the one space you hadn’t planned on. This was just typical, wasn’t it? The universe had a way of throwing you situations you never asked for.

As you step inside the cabin, you're immediately struck by its rustic beauty. The arching wooden beams overhead give it a charm, while large windows let in soft splashes of golden sunlight. A comfortable couch sits invitingly near a small fireplace, and the kitchen area glistens with warmth and promise of shared meals. There’s an instant feeling of home.

“See? Isn’t it nice?” Josh beams, stepping further in to gesturing for you to join. You can't help but find the ambiance enchanting, the essence of the cabin soothing.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” you admit, allowing yourself to be momentarily distracted by the quaint details—an assortment of vintage mugs hung from a rack, a checkered tablecloth draped over the dining table. Everything feels so inviting, and for a heartbeat, the knot in your stomach unravels. Perhaps it won’t be so bad after all.

But then, as you continue to stroll through the space, your gaze lands on the sleeping area tucked in the corner. The moment you realize there’s only one bed—small, rustic, and undeniably charming—you stop in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat.

“What?” You whirl around to Josh, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “There’s only one bed? Seriously?”

Josh holds up his hands defensively, a playful smirk on his face. “Hey, I don’t make the rules! It’s a cozy cabin, and they weren’t exactly built with… convenience in mind.”

“Convenience?” you huff, incredulity dripping from your tone. “We’re not in a romantic teen flick, Josh! I can’t sleep in a bed with Sam—he can be like a thousand ice cubes!”

“Relax, it’s just for a couple of nights,” Josh chuckles, clearly not fully grasping the discontent rippling through you. “Think of it as an adventure!”

You let out a frustrated groan, rubbing your temples as you try to process this unforeseen development. “An adventure or a nightmare?” Your thoughts race, imagining the uncomfortable moments that lie ahead.

“Look, just make the best of it! You never know, you might actually enjoy it.” He winks again, turning to head for the door. “I’m going to go grab the rest of my stuff. Just—be nice to him, okay? Sam can surprise you.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you stand in the silence of the cabin, weighing your options. There is a certain comfort in the beauty of the place, but the knowledge that Sam would be your only companion when night descends fills you with dread.

What were the chances of this turning into anything less than awkward? You glance at the bed again, a small, perfect frame draped with a warm comforter, and you can’t help but let out a soft groan. There was no escaping this predicament. Not only would you have to confront the tension that lingered between you and Sam, but you’d also have to figure out how to share such an intimate space without succumbing to the discomfort.

With a cautious sigh, you decide that if you’re going to be stuck in this situation, you might as well make the best of it. Drawing a deep breath, you head back toward the door, determined to find Sam before the night descends—perhaps a little friendly banter could chip away at that frosty demeanor. Or at least, you hope it could. You stand for a moment, wrestling with the urge to chase after Sam. After all, he’s a grown man. This trip is meant to be a break for everyone, and he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, even if he seems intent on brooding in solitude. With a firm nod to yourself, you decide against following him.

Instead, you turn back to the cabin, allowing its warm atmosphere to wrap around you like a comforting blanket. Setting your bag on the cozy couch, you begin to unpack, slowly taking out your belongings. You lay out your clothes in the small dresser and set your toiletries on the counter, your fingers brushing over the well-worn wood. Each item finds its place, and with everything finally organized, the cabin begins to feel more like home.

Once you’re finished, you grab your book from the side pocket of your bag, the familiar cover a welcome sight. Plopping down on the couch, you curl your legs beneath you, settling in to read. The cabin is silent, save for the soft sounds of nature filtering in through the open window—the whisper of the wind and the distant call of a bird.

You find your place in the book, the words enveloping you as you lose yourself in the story. Time slips away, the characters pulling you deeper into their world while the sun sinks lower in the sky, casting warm hues of orange and pink through the windows. The ambiance is peaceful and serene, the perfect backdrop to an evening of escape.

But as the sky darkens and stars begin to twinkle overhead, the lure of the outside world beckons you. You set your book aside and decide to venture out. Stepping out of the cabin, the crisp night air hits you, fresh and invigorating. The soft glow of a campfire flickers in the distance, laughter and chatter weaving a warm, welcoming melody.

You make your way toward the group, and as you approach the fire, you spot Jake’s familiar silhouette, his laughter rising above the others. Instinctively, you feel drawn to him—the effortless way he seems to brighten the mood always brings a smile to your face.

“Hey! Look who finally decided to join us!” Jake calls out, his grin infectious. He pats the space beside him on a log that’s been pulled close to the fire. As you settle down next to him, you allow your body to relax, the warmth radiating from the flames washing over you.

“Sorry for the delay. Getting settled took longer than I expected,” you reply, glancing around at the other members of the group. Danny and Josh sit opposite you, animatedly discussing something that makes them all break into laughter now and then, while Sam appears a short distance away, leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene unfold.

Jake leans closer, his voice lowering a notch so only you can hear. “You know, touring can be exhausting, but there’s nothing like a campfire to recharge. The stories we gather, the people we meet—it’s all a part of it.”

You nod, intrigued. “What’s one of your favorite moments from tour?”

Jake’s eyes light up as he leans back, stretching his arms. “Oh man, there are so many! But there was this one time in Stockholm. We had a show, everything was fine, and then it just started pouring down. Everything was getting wet, crew were running out to try and cover everything, but we decided to go for it anyway. The energy in that crowd was electric. People were dancing in the rain, completely soaked, loving every minute of it. There’s just something magical about sharing those experiences, y’know?”

You listen intently, captivated by the enthusiasm in his voice. As Jake reminisces, you can see the clear passion he has for his craft, for the stage, and for those chaotic yet beautiful moments that make up a musician’s life.

The comforting glow of the fire creates a warm cocoon around the group, and little by little, you become absorbed in the shared tales of adventures, mischief, and unexpected mishaps. The feeling of camaraderie fills the space as stories pass around like cherished keepsakes—each anecdote drawing you closer to the rest of the group.

You steal a glance at Sam, noticing that he hasn't moved. He seems distant, lost in his own thoughts, but you remind yourself that you are not responsible for him. Tonight is about the warmth of friendship and connection, a reminder of the bonds you share with these people.

As the conversations swirl around you, you find a comfortable spot amid the laughter and storytelling, finally allowing yourself to relax. There may be unresolved tension with Sam lingering in the back of your mind, but for now, you embrace the moment—the crackling fire, the rich stories, and the sparkling stars above. As the evening unfolds, the warmth of the fire ignites a newfound energy in the group. Josh reaches into a cooler nearby, cracking open a few drinks, the sounds of cans popping echoing into the night. The laughter swells as everyone grabs their beverages, toasting to camaraderie under the twinkling stars.

“Cheers!” Jake calls out, holding his can high. The others echo him, clinking their drinks together, the sound of laughter mingling with the crackling of the fire. You take a long sip, feeling the refreshing taste wash over you, a perfect complement to the lively atmosphere surrounding you.

The night deepens, and the glow of the fire flickers and dances across everyone’s faces, creating a cozy enclave of warmth amid the cool night air. The conversation flows easily, stories bouncing back and forth, punctuated by the occasional jeer or hearty laugh. You settle comfortably into the moment, appreciating the ease with which everything seems to be unfolding.

As the evening progresses, you catch sight of Sam from the corner of your eye. He stands at the edge of the clearing, arms still crossed, leaning against a tree. He seems disconnected, observing from a distance, his expression unreadable. Yet, as you continue to watch, it’s clear he’s caught in the contagious vibe that surrounds the fire. You look away, not wanting to give it too much thought.

Just when you begin to wonder if he’d stay withdrawn, he edges closer, his presence almost tentative but still steadfast. Jake waves him over, and to your surprise, Sam steps forward, joining the group but keeping a careful distance from where you sit. He responds to the others with brief smiles and nods, his warmth reserved only for them.

A moment later, Josh stretches and calls out, “Hey, Jake! Switch seats with me!” Without hesitation, he stands and swiftly swaps places with Jake, who falls into a natural rhythm chatting with Danny on the opposite side of the fire.

Now seated next to you, Josh leans in with a grin that instantly eases any lingering tension. “So, I’ve been mapping out a hiking trip for tomorrow,” he says, excitement bubbling in his voice. “I found this amazing trail that leads to this gorgeous viewpoint. If you’re up for it, I think it'll be a blast!”

You perk up, intrigued. “Really? How long is the hike?”

“A few hours, give or take, depending on how much we stop to take photos,” he says, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I thought it would be a great way to explore the area while also getting some fresh air. Plus,” he adds with a conspiratorial grin, “you can get a step ahead on your ‘adventure’ with Sam!”

You chuckle at the idea, but a part of you feels a little conflicted. “What if Sam doesn’t want to join us?” you muse, shooting a glance toward him. Even as he sips his drink, he seems engaged in casual conversation with the others, yet his gaze is distant, unfocused.

“Oh, come on!” Josh rolls his eyes dramatically, leaning closer, his voice a playful whisper. “He might be grumpy now, but when he gets out on the trail, the fresh air could do him wonders. Besides, it’s all about enjoying ourselves, right?”

You can’t help but smile at Josh’s infectious enthusiasm. “Okay, I’ll join you. Sounds like fun!”

“Awesome! I’ll make sure to bring some snacks. We can have a little picnic at the viewpoint,” he suggests, and just then, Danny breaks out into another story, eliciting laughter from Jake and the rest of the group.

As you settle into the conversation with Josh, a lightness begins to fill the air, and the earlier tension fades. You steal another glance at Sam, noticing he’s still holding his drink, but has started engaging more than before. It’s small, but you sense a subtle transformation with him—something that perhaps indicates that being around the fire is melting the ice a bit.

Everyone’s laughter mingles with the night sounds, the stars shining brightly above as the embers of the fire flicker and pop. You lean back, soaking in the moment. Tomorrow promises new adventures—one filled with hiking, laughter, and the spirit of exploration. For now, you allow yourself to enjoy that sense of belonging, sharing stories and warmth with your chosen family under the expansive sky.

The night begins to stretch on, each minute blending into the next, the laughter and stories creating a seamless tapestry of warmth and companionship. The fire crackles softly, slowly surrendering to the coolness of the evening air as the flames retreat into a pile of glowing embers. The comforting scent of smoke lingers, weaving through the crisp atmosphere around you.

As the group continues to chatter, the energy isn’t quite as boisterous as it had been earlier. Conversations begin to dwindle into soft murmurs, the warmth of the fire drawing everyone closer as shadows dance around you. You can feel the budding fatigue settling in; the day had been long, filled with travel and commotion. Glancing around, you catch sight of Josh and Danny, both leaning back on their hands, eyelids heavy with sleep.

Jake stands up, stretching with a yawn. “I think it’s about time we call it a night, huh?” he suggests, quickly met with nods and sighs of agreement. Slowly, everyone begins to rise from their places around the fire, reluctantly shaking off the comfort of the warmth.

“Goodnight, everyone!” Josh calls out, before he and Danny wander off toward the cabin.

The others follow suit, saying their goodnights as they drift in their separate directions, leaving you and Sam lingering by the fire. He stands nearby, his expression still somewhat distant, eyes flickering briefly toward the ashes.

“Let’s head in,” you say, breaking the silence as you turn to him. Sam nods but doesn’t say anything, still gazing into the dimming fire.

You walk toward the cabin door, Sam following closely behind. He steps through the threshold first, immediately letting out a breath as he brushes off the chill that clings to him. “Man, it’s cold out there,” he remarks, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

You smile, turning back to the fire for one last moment before stepping inside. As you linger, you scan the darkened cabin, your eyes drifting toward the dwindling logs stacked in the corner. There aren’t many left for tomorrow, and while it tugs at your mind, you decide it’ll be a problem for a later time. Right now, the warmth from the fire still barely fills the room, and it holds a comfort that you want to stay in a little longer.

The embers crackle softly, glowing like miniature stars against the ashy backdrop, and as you watch, a small wave of peacefulness washes over you. But then, the moment takes a shift. You turn back toward Sam and notice he’s looking around the cabin, a scowl etched on his features.

“Huh,” he says. “I didn't realize there was only one bed.”

His tone is curt, and there’s a flicker of something—annoyance? Disappointment?—behind his eyes. You can’t help but raise an eyebrow, feeling the weight of the night's earlier warmth dissipate slightly at his words.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a small cabin,” you reply, trying to keep the tone light. “We’ll figure it out.”

Sam huffs, hands shoved deep in his pockets, the tension palpable. “What do you mean we’ll figure it out?”

“Well,” you start, taking a small breath, unsure where to steer the conversation, “we can always share the bed, given that all the other beds are... well, nonexistent.”

He rolls his eyes, his dissatisfaction clear. “Great. Just what I wanted—sharing a bed in a cabin that’s apparently meant for couples.”

You feel a flush creep up your neck at the unintended implication in his words. “It’s just logistics, Sam. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” he snaps, his glare holding onto the shadows of the cabin. The air suddenly feels thick with tension, spiraling into an uncomfortable silence between you. You desperately search for the right thing to say, to ease the moment, but it seems nothing fits.

“Look,” you finally say, trying to keep the peace, “we can make the best of it, right? Maybe it’ll just be a fun memory to—”

Sam interrupts, his voice edged with frustration. “Yeah, a fun memory. Because sharing a bed with you will definitely be memorable,” he mutters, sarcasm dripping off his words.

You take a step back, a knot forming in your stomach. The atmosphere that had felt so warm and friendly by the fire now feels heavy and constricted. This isn’t how you wanted the night to end.

“Fine,” you say, drawing back slightly. “If you don’t want to share, you could always sleep on the floor.”

Sam’s expression shifts, caught somewhere between indignation and surprise. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Silence lingers again, thickening the air. You both stand in the small cabin, the only sounds coming from the gentle crackling of the dying fire outside, your voices echoing in the corners of the room.

“Let’s just get some sleep,” you suggest quietly, hoping to soften the moment. He shifts slightly, the tension still palpable as he nods, but there’s an undeniable chill in the air that wasn’t there a moment ago.

As the last remnants of warmth flicker in the embers outside, the cabin darkens around you, pulling you both into an unwelcome reality—the boundaries of friendship challenged by the confines of close quarters.

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tainted-liquor · 1 year

Text

'Swing By Anytime˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Earth1610!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Personal Seamstress!Reader Ingredients: sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! TWs: cursing, you being Miles's M.J., Reader being mean as encouragement (you'll see babes trust) W/C: 1.1k? A/N: Purely for the sake of the plot, miles is like 18-20. NOT SMUT!

"Gorgeous! You're so pretty, girl! Alright, the changing room is to the left, you can put it on the hook. It'll be ready for you tomorrow when I finish making all the proper altercations." You squealed in pure joy. Since you had been a fashion major, outfits had just poured out of you like run-off. Of course every now and again there were people who wanted things custom ordered, which made you extremely happy. But you knew who your favorite customer was. And, speaking of your favorite customer, he should be here right now. There was a muffled tiny 'thwip' noise that you would have missed if you weren't straining to hear every individual sound over the beat of 'Shirt' By SZA in your studio.

You sighed with a small smile, walking to your studio's window. "Darling, I keep telling you this, I have a door, just strut through it whenever you want" you giggled as you lifted the window pane, coming face-to-face with the one and only Spider-Man. "Whatcha got for me today, my dear?" you asked as you beckoned him inside the studio, taking a set in front of the many vision boards you had pinned down to your desk. "Hey! sorry, snips, I'll use the door next time. And I brought this design plan, actually." He hummed with a smile that was hidden behind his mask. He had a habit of calling you snips due to always seeing you with some sort of scissors, not that you minded anyway. He walked up to you and handed you a folded-up piece of paper, which had a plethora of sketches for a new Spider-Man suit.

Your eyes widened with joy as you took a scan of the paper. Next to the various drawings, there was one circled design with many notes jotted down next to it with measurements, material, color shades, and substitute color shades. It was the most solid suit plan you had ever seen. You turned the paper around to see more notes, and the smaller parts of the suit enlarged. It was perfect from top to bottom. Everything you needed to know was on paper, which made your job unfathomably easier.

"You know I love you for this, right?" You squealed with a wide grin. "Fuck you! How dare you bring such perfection into my studio!" You joked, giving the Spider a tight hug. He chuckled quietly, muttering, "Had to make it easy for my personal seamstress! C'mon, snips, I'd never do that to you." he added as he gave you a pat on the back. Miles usually came into the studio to fix tears or rips in his suit, get patched up, and then swing back out. But recently, he's been talking about reworking his Spider-Suit. So, like a good 'friend' you offered to help him with his project. Of all your clients, only he had given you such a thorough and precise outfit plan.

He began to recall some of his adventures as his alter-ego, letting his mask hook over his nose as he ate some of your cookies on the ceiling. You listened to his experiences as you plucked each corresponding fabric from the fabric closet, placing them next to each other on the ground. You traced each required pattern with a white chalk pencil, referencing the measurements documented on Miles's paper and keeping seam allowance in mind. "Damn, that's crazy...so what'd you do next, B? You had to web her?" you replied as he raved about some Doc-Oc he caught on his way here. "Yeah, I got her in webs and turned her over to the police. She was dead ass putting up a fight too." He spat as he took the final bite of his cookie.

"That's insane...C'mere I gotta make sure I got this little web design right on your mask," You said as you beckoned him to come down from your ceiling. He zipped down, landing on both of his feet within seconds. You held up the small fabric sheet, allowing him to examine the thin markings where his web design would go. "Nice! Looks amazing. Wouldn't expect anything less from mi Costurera personal!" He exclaimed. You smiled delicately as you continued cutting out the patterns, leaving the spaces he wanted to spray paint on blank.

You spent the next 9 hours talking as you finished his suit and mask. He leaned back on your desk, arms crossed against his chest as you explained color theory, why you were sewing his suit inside out, and why you outlined the pattern with white chalk. It was getting dark outside, and you felt slightly drowsy as you finished the last stitches on his mask. "Alright, love, here you go. I'm pretty sure it's the right size, but put it on when you get time and come back if it's too small." you smiled as you hand him the mask. "Oh, dope! Bet." He says as he suddenly pulls off his mask, releasing his fluffy hair from the tight confines of the spandex. Your eyes widened as you slowly realized Spider-Man had casually taken his mask off in front of me.

You didn't hide that you were staring at his entire face, analyzing his features as soon as the mask came off. He chuckled as he put the other mask on, looking in the mirror on the wall to check out his new mask. "It's perfect! It's exactly like how I wanted, you're a literal angel!" he fanboys as he poses like a dork in my mirror. "How much do I owe you?" He asks as he turns around, fidgeting with the gloves of his suit as he pulled out a wad of money from seemingly nowhere. "Pshh, bitch you look amazing. Just take the suit. It's free." I insisted, leaning back in my chair and placing both feet on my desk.

His eyes narrowed as he advanced to me, grabbed my wrist, and firmly placed the money in my hand. "That was 10 hours of work. I'm NOT taking advantage of your labor." He stated, pulling off his mask purely so he could give me the most serious, slightly-offended look of his life. I nodded slowly as I put the money in my bag cautiously. "Good. Thank you, mi angelita!" He added, pressing a small kiss to my forehead. "C'mon, I'll swing you home. I know your studio closed hours ago" he reasoned as he scooped me up from my chair, throwing me over his shoulder and slipping his new mask back on. "Spidey, c'mon its really no trou-" I began

"Miles." He corrected.

I sighed as I packed up his suit, gently wrapping it in a cute little box and signing it with my infamous signature, "M.J." before wrapping both arms around his neck gently and giving him a small kiss on his temple, mentally preparing myself to swing through half the damn city at inhumane speeds.

Miles's eyes widened at the small detail, turning to look behind him slightly with a small smirk.

"M.J, huh?"

#across the spiderverse #atsv #into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales #miles x reader #miles morales headcanons #miles molares #across the spider verse #spiderverse #earth 1610 miles morales x reader

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

safe harbor | steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 1/?

words | 2k

cw | none for this chapter, additional notes regarding this seaside bakery au are available on ao3.

ao3 link

“How long have you known?”

William’s voice is quiet beneath the crash of the ocean waves. The tide has come in, thundering foamy tendrils stretching across the narrowing band of sand, collecting and redistributing bits of shells and seaweed and driftwood along the shore. The setting sun reflects off of the seated man’s gold rimmed Aviators, a spectacular display of rose and coral and saffron gradients.

“Since the very beginning,” you say. “Since the first time I made eye contact with you in the kitchen that day. I knew it was you. I’ve always known.”

There are no coincidences as wild as the one you’ve both found yourself in: two people from a small town across the country who just happened to choose the same location to migrate to.

It was beyond imagining.

***

The seaside bakery of Safe Harbor does a steady business with the locals throughout the year, but the tourists naturally bring the most income during the summer months.

That’s when you seek employment there, the influx of additional customers requiring increased staffing. You’ve worked at a bakery in a larger chain variety grocery store before, but this specimen was something more unique; not an established, widespread franchise, but the only one of its kind. Under new ownership, so the advertisement had claimed, and it seems as if the new captain at the helm knew exactly how to steer the vessel towards success. The small shop is crowded, every seat filled indoors, visible through the row of window box lined panes of glass, spilling outside onto the small patio area, where white bistro tables and matching chairs perch on the elevated deck that offers a spectacular view of the ocean that’s just across the dual laned road. There’s a long line extending out the door that you have to push past, apologizing to the disgruntled customers, explaining that you’re not trying to cut in front of anyone, but that you’re actually here for a job interview.

Eventually you manage to weave your way inside, thrust up against a long glass case filled with a variety of tempting looking pastries: donuts and cupcakes and cookies, brownies and croissants and cannolis. Everyone working behind the counter looks extremely busy, so you’re forced to speak rather loudly, explaining the reason for your presence and inquiring about the whereabouts of the owner, Steve Raglan.

“In back,” a young man says, jerking a thumb towards the open doorway behind him, then using tongs to retrieve a pair of eclairs from the display case. There’s a small portion of the counter that lifts, granting you access to the area of bustling employees, and you quickly thread through the bodies until you find yourself in a kitchen.

It’s warm inside; you immediately feel perspiration dotting your brow. There’s a tall man standing in front of a rack of cookies, piping different shades of icing over each one. The colors are vibrant: aqua and salmon and rich daffodil yellow. It reminds you of the chalkboard sign you’d seen outside, the neat lettering done in the same eye catching hues, announcing the day’s specials. The baker doesn’t notice you approaching at first, seemingly occupied with applying fine details to each surface, his gloved hands working quickly and precisely. You hesitate to interrupt, hovering at the threshold of the kitchen, somewhat enthralled with the talents of this artist.

Eventually it appears the man has finally realized your presence in his peripheral vision, his voice issuing an order even as he continues working his way down the row of baked treats.

“Good, you’re back from break. Can you grab the next batch out of the oven?”

“Um, sure.” It never occurs to you to protest, to explain that he’s mistaken you for someone else. Something in his tone makes you stand a little straighter, forces a kind of alert readiness to your limbs, prodding you into action. You look around for something to shield your hands with, seizing a pair of towels, the fastest and easiest tool within reach. A blast of hot air greets you as you open the oven door and withdraw a tray of cookies that are ocean themed: seahorses and scalloped shells, octopi and starfish.

“These are almost ready to go out. There’s a special order cake being picked up in an hour. I’m going to have to…” His voice trails off as he finally glances at your face, his eyes temporarily obscured by the glare of light reflecting off of the wide lenses in front of them. “You’re not my employee.”

“Uh, no, not yet. Maybe soon. I’m here for a job interview with Steve Raglan.”

The bearded man places the piping bag he’s holding down, glancing at his wristwatch. “Late. Not you, the person I’m working with. It’s been so busy. I’ll have to pull someone from the front to help. The lines will be even longer, but it can’t be helped. It’s always hectic at the start of the summer season.” He wipes his hands on his apron, then stretches one out for you to shake.

The automatic smile of greeting slips from your features as you grasp his hand, your eyes finally properly meeting his revealed pale blue ones as his head inclines slightly, granting you clear sight of them. You recognize him. Even though he’s wearing the required beard and hair net, even though he looks different from the last time you’d seen him, a solid decade dividing that gap of time, you’re certain you know him. He’s from the same town you are. Just a small one in Utah, clear across the country.

His name most certainly isn’t Steve Raglan.

William Afton—that’s who he really is—isn’t the kind of man you forget. Sure, the dark hair might be mixed with more pewter and ivory now, and he’d always been clean shaven then, but the visible portion of his skin still appears smooth and that same presence, that absolute aura, still radiates from the older man, even in this new setting.

He surely doesn’t remember you. You’d been just another customer at the successful establishment he’d previously owned, forgettable in a sea of other faces. You think you do a fair job of recovering your surprise, adequately concealing the fact that you know he’s using an alias, that he’s relocated far from his home to perhaps have a fresh start, after all of the controversy that had surrounded the ill fated pizzeria he’d once run.

The bakery’s owner gestures for you to follow him, leading you into a small office adjacent to the kitchen, disposing of the protective gear into a tall, narrow wastebin along the way. It’s a cramped space with very little decor to speak of, its main features a battered looking desk that dominates most of the room, an equally ragged looking leather office chair, a filing cabinet, and a steel folding chair that you’re directed to sit in.

There’s a lovely breeze coming in through the cracked window, salted and refreshing after the heat of the kitchen. It lifts the bottom pages of a calendar tacked on the wall, the featured image for the month a close up photograph of a sand dollar in pristine condition, bleached pure white. You’ve never found one that color, and certainly never intact during any of your treks across the shoreline. They’re always murky gray, and shattered.

“So I have your resume here. Thanks for dropping it off ahead of time.” You nod, watching him thumb through the stapled pages. “You have previous experience working in a bakery. That’s a huge plus. As you can see, we’re quite busy this time of year. The position is only temporary, but you’ll get your fill of hours for the summer. The pay rate is six dollars an hour.”

He leans back and the chair creaks. Your eyes follow the movements of his long fingers, the narrow wrists and lean forearms, the rest of his upper extremities shielded by the rolled up sleeves of his button front shirt. Dexterous hands, those. You’ve seen them rolling tokens in the arcade, tinkering with the animatronics when you’d peeked into the maintenance area on a dare during a classmate’s birthday party. You’ve even seen them encased in metal and faux fur, when he’d dressed up as one of the mascots. You weren’t meant to know it was him inside the rabbit suit, but you’d been certain then. Just like you’re certain of his real identity now.

Your force your mind back to the present conversation. “That’s perfect. I’m just looking to put some money away before I start college in the fall.”

Steve—you suppose you might as well get used to calling him that, repeating the name several times in your mind—tips his head to one side, regarding you with a thoughtful expression. “You’re not from around here. You don’t have a New England accent.”

“No. I’m from Utah.” A shimmer in his eyes, or maybe you’ve imagined it. “From a small town you’ve probably never heard of: Hurricane.” Definitely a sparkle there.

His head straightens and he leans forward. “No, I’ve never heard of it.”

Another falsehood. Naturally he’s not going to drop the facade to a virtual stranger. He surely has his reasons for starting over. You can relate to that. “You don’t have a local accent either. Where are you from?”

“Seattle.” The lie slips so readily from his tongue, you wonder if he hasn’t rehearsed answering this very question already.

“What made you decide to move across the country?”

“Just wanted a change,” he responds vaguely. “What about you? What brought you here?”

“The same, I guess. Looking for new experiences. New opportunities.” Also a vague, safe answer. There’s a little snow globe on the desk that you’ve only just now noticed, slightly tucked behind a standing rack of upright folders. You can’t quite make out what’s inside from this angle, but the bright colors remind you instantly of a certain rabbit mascot character played by a certain owner of a certain shuttered restaurant. Your gaze returns to the interviewer’s features. “There’s nothing for me back in Hurricane.”

“There’s nothing for me, either.”

“You mean back in Seattle.”

“Of course.” Steve replies smoothly, never missing a beat. He smiles, the lines bracketing the corners of his eyes creasing. It looks so genuine. Friendly. Kind. But there had been those rumors. The missing children. “So, do you want the job?”

“Yes.” You don’t think you could muster the power to refuse him even if you wanted to. You still have one the infamous arcade ‘Faz tokens’, the relic tucked away amidst the sparse contents of the jewelry box on the dresser in the single bedroom of your new apartment. Tarnished, perhaps, but still treasured nonetheless. Like your memories of Freddy’s.

The long fingers fold together. “When can you start?”

“As soon as you need me.”

“Be here tomorrow. Three AM. I’ll send you home with an actual application and the form for your W2’s. You can hand them in tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” you agree. You’d anticipated as much. The early hours came with the territory.

The man stands and you rise from your seat, leading the way back out of the office. You’re quickly reminded of the heat waiting for you in the kitchen, the hot air wafting over you as soon as you leave the open window behind you.

A tshirt bearing the bakery’s logo is pressed into your hands before you exit the crowded shop, a quick reminder about proper dress code hastily issued, and then you find yourself back outside, suddenly grateful for the fresh air, for escaping the close press of bodies.

You’re still thinking about those hands, once slotted between delicate metal components, now hidden by a layer of latex and dusted with flour and sugar.

There’s nothing for me back in Hurricane.

The magician no longer performing his act. The engineer now an architect of very different designs. Working in very different mediums. Trading alloys and circuitry for chocolate and fondant and sprinkles. Pretending to be someone he’s not.

There’s nothing for me, either.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #divider @drinkthesky

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sangoqueenkoko · 9 months

Text

VARIOUS

how they celebrate Christmas with you

headcanons

MAIN MASTERLIST

(other masterlists listed on main^^)

Summary: It's Christmas in Teyvat and can be celebrated differently as to how each person wants.

Warnings? Nope! Just some Christmas-y fluff!

Contains (in order): Kujou Sara, Raiden Ei, Jean Gunnhildr and Ningguang.

Mentions characters above, as well as Yae Miko and Barbara

This is a Secret Santa gift for @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme! Hope you like it!

This will be my last fic of 2023! So Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Kujou Sara

Christmas is one of the few times a year that Kujou Sara can actually have a relaxing day, the others being your birthday as well as her own. She doesn't really think her birthday is important, but she knows that you have special care for it, as you try to make it the best day of the year for her.

ahem

On Sara's last day of work for the holidays, she came back to your shared Minka, only to be greeted by the usual yearly occurrence, the decorations scattered around the main sitting room in their respective boxes. Lights decorating the panes of the windows, nothing too bright and brash, they're soft and calming.

"(Y/N)?" She asked as she took off her Geta at the front door before walking into the main room, the areas smelling rather... sweet. A familiar scent to her. Hato Sabure. One of her favourites.

"Oh, Sara!" You said as you put the tray of freshly baked cookies down on the cooling rack before going over to hug her, "You're finally home! I've made some of your favourite cookies for the holidays. And no" you said as she already had a hand out towards the already cooled batch, "non for now."

"Oh," she frowned, a frown only you could just about resist.

Raiden Ei

Even if the Goddess of Electro has her duties to take care of towards the end of the year, there is always at least one person inside Tenshukaku who is there to keep up the Goddess' spirits.

And that is you.

You come between Ei's meditation breaks with some dango milk and sweet treats. She will forever love you for it.

And to make her feel the festive spirits, you have a small Christmas tree in her main chambers decorated with her favourite types of decorations, sweet shapes too. Also walking around the city seemed to make her happier, better than an eternal state of meditation. And it wouldn't be a trip into the city if she didn't collect one or two sugary treats for the journey.

Yae Miko even came down from the Narukami Shrine to join the both of you, she's genuinely happy that you've managed to bring Ei out of her own confinement. You're happy to be a third wheel in their conversations as you know that they still have things to catch up on.

Jean Gunnhildr

The two of you celebrate with Barbara, she also sees you like a big sister, she adores you, and you let her rehearse the little tunes she writes. Especially on Christmas, or Christkind, when all around Mondstadt there would be the sounds of the traditional Christkind music sung.

She would skip away to be with her friends, leaving you and Jean alone.

The both of you would walk around the market, also known as Christkindlmarkt, where formalities would be dropped and you two could be sweet together.

In my opinion, I don't see Jean as the type of person to hold hands in public, but I can see her letting you hook an arm around hers as you walk, that way she really knows you're with her.

Your favourite part of the festive season is when other places traditionally open their presents on the morning of the 25th, whereas in Mondstadt, the opening of the presents would be held in the evening of the 24th.

When dinner has been eaten and everywhere has been tidied, presents would be under the tree to be opened.

You got her favourite picture of you two put into a fancy yet simple picture frame to sit on her desk in the Favonius Headquarters.

Ningguang

This woman!

Sugar mother.

She will get you whatever you want! A certain type of clothing just outside your price range? She'll get it for you. Trinkets? She got it. You name it, she's already bought it.

When you buy her things, she will treasure them like a shrine as you bought them with your own hard-earned money, no matter what it may be.

Christmas isn't really a major celebration in Liyue like other nations, it's treated as a lighthearted day. It is celebrated for one day and one day only, and that is the 25th.

But that doesn't stop the festive feelings circulating around the nation.

There’s no single traditional Christmas dinner in China Liyue, but it’s common for couples to go to restaurants and enjoy grand meals like Peking Duck as a traditional Christmas feast.

The fast food chains advertise fried chicken as a Christmas dinner. Fried chicken is already a major Christmas tradition in Inazuma, and due to marketing, it’s becoming a tradition in some major Liyue cities as well.

Other nations have large Christmas trees covered in bright lights and ornaments and decorate their homes with wreaths, bows, and poinsettias. People also display statues and figurines of Santa Claus.

Whereas in Liyue, Christmas decorations do have some unique characteristics. For one thing, you won’t find nativity scenes among decorations in public or in homes. Some people also make their own ornaments out of paper. Or have them be made for you, like what Ningguang does.

But you always managed to get her to make some paper decorations with you, no matter how many times you asked. She doesn't like the idea of the craft, but she makes things like she's the master of said craft.

#[redacted]#gender neutral reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #kujou sara #kujou sara x reader #jean gunnhildr #jean gunnhildr x reader #ningguang #ningguang x reader #raiden ei #raiden ei x reader

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bts-hyperfixation · 11 months

Text

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 22 of 30

2692 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she'd been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

Everyone else has already started their days by the time you can be bothered to crawl from your bed. You open your curtains to find the world has become a glistening white wonderland as snow continues to fall heavily from the sky.

The cold creeps into the house through the window panes, the old joints not capable of handling the severe weather change. You rush to shut the heavy curtains again to keep the chill at bay, even with your fox DNA the cold easily found a home in your bones making you shiver even at the thought of going outside.

You pull on a hoodie that one of the boys must've left behind (Jungkook based on the smell) and shuffle from the room in search of a warm drink to banish away the winter.

You find Yoongi sitting in front of the patio door with a blanket around his shoulders and a coffee in his hands watching the snowfall. He looks remarkably cosy for a breed that should despise the cold. You help yourself to a steaming cup of whatever he has made in the teapot and grab a pillow.

You drop the pillow next to him with a thump, startling him, and make yourself comfortable beside him. He recovers quickly and slides half of his blankets over your shoulders before you have a chance to freeze.

"Good morning," He mumbles groggily into his mug.

"Morning,"

"Did you sleep okay? There can't have been much room with all of you on that futon."

"My necks a bit sore but not too bad." You shrug.

He nods in understanding and turns his attention back to the snow. He watches it with such wonder that you can't help studying his features. His canines poke through his half smile as his eyes go wide each time a particularly big snowflake comes towards the window.

It takes him a moment to realise you are watching him instead of the view. When he does his ears turn red and his nose buries deep inside of his mug, suddenly very shy, it's an endearing side to him you aren't sure you've seen before.

"I'm only sitting here while I think about whether it's worth running to the studio in this weather." He states as if he needs an explanation.

"And? Have you decided?"

"I think it'll be too cold, I'm not good at cold. But I really wanted to work on some stuff while Hobi is at his karaoke job today, to surprise him."

"Ah so that's where he is, i thought it was quiet." You joke, nudging against Yoongi's shoulder.

He chuckles and nudges you back.

"Yeah everyone is out. Jimin took Tae to the shelter, and I believe Namjoon took Jungkookie to Jin's place for a lunch date."

"So it's just us then?".

He nods in confirmation.

"Then maybe we should do something just the two of us?" You suggest.

"As long as it's inside." He agrees, glancing at the snow with trepidation more than wonder this time.

You settle on baking, finding the correct ingredients to make cookies. You cream the butter and sugar as Yoongi searches through the drawers for cookie cutters for you to use. He comes back with a selection of odd animal shapes and hands four to you, keeping four to himself. He brushes up against your back as he moves through the kitchen causing you to lose focus as you pour the flour in, creating a cloud of white powder to spurt up to your face.

You wipe at the flour on your nose, crossing your eyes to try and see where needs to be wiped. Yoongi can't help himself as he giggles before reaching out to help you remove the mess. He uses a damp dish towel to get as much flour as he can. He hovers an inch from your face and studies your features closely. The temptation proves a little too much as you tip forward and peck the tip of his nose, earning yourself another endearing chuckle.

He leans back and kisses your nose in return, then your cheeks, and then your forehead, and just when you think he is going to kiss you properly he shuffles away. He directs his attention back to looking for a rolling pin and you go back to kneading the dough together.

Just as you push the dough flat onto the countertop, his arms circle around your waist, his head coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Is this okay?" He asks, snuggling in.

"Sure." You nod.

His hands disappear from your waist, but his back stays pressed against yours as he brings the rolling pin around. You take it from him and begin to roll out the dough. His hands cover yours and you awkwardly begin to roll out the dough together.

Some parts end up being much thicker than others as you roll unevenly together, but neither of you wants to let go of the other's hands, so you settle for it until you are ready to cut the shapes.

You place each character carefully and Yoongi presses down, cutting them out and transferring each adorable shape onto a baking sheet.

Once the cookies are in the oven, you notice Yoongi staring down at his slippers.

You watch him curiously as his feet shuffle back and forth awkwardly. It reminded you a lot of the coming-of-age movies where a boy was about to ask his crush to prom. It was so opposite to what you had come to expect from Yoongi, the usually outgoing and more forward member of the group.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, moving closer to him.

"Yeah, I just know that everyone has been a bit full-on with you lately, I don't want you to be overwhelmed." he shrugs.

"Is that all?" You ask, dubious.

"No... I mean it's a lot of it. I don't want to scare you away and have you suggesting you move out again... But I also have never been the best at being the pursuer... I've always been pursued, the only time I'm ever really really forward is when I'm being more of a wingman, like when I dragged Jimin to live here or took you out to tell you about the others and I just..." he looks as if he might ramble on for some time if you don't interject.

"Would it make you feel better if I pursued you?" you say, feeling suddenly bold.

He looks up at you properly, a little shocked at the suggestion. You take that opportunity to close the gap between the two of you. You kiss him gently, not exactly comfortable with being an instigator yourself.

His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him. He backs you into the counter, grinding himself against you as he tries to find a way to get closer to you, naturally deepening the kiss as he presses forward.

Eventually, he breaks the kiss to breathe, leaning his forehead against yours. His smile is all teeth as he pants softly trying to get his breath back.

"Your lips are so soft," He comments, before diving back into peck your lips again.

He litters little kisses on your mouth, revelling in the feeling of you against him.

"I've never kissed a girl before... I was really missing out."

He dips in for another deep kiss, this time his hands begin to roam feeling over your curves as they explore. He pushes up Jungkook's hoodie and digs his fingers into your bare skin. Just as it feels he is about to take his touching a step further, the front door slams open.

Namjoon looks murderous as he carries a clinging Jungkook over the threshold. You and Yoongi jump apart like naughty children caught with your hands in the cookie jar.

"What happened babe? I thought you were only going to Jin's?" Yoongi asks, making his way over to the pair in the doorway.

The jackal takes the shaking rabbit into his arms, allowing Namjoon to shirk off his shoes and jacket.

"That nosey little doctor, inserting himself into things that don't concern him." He huffs.

Jungkook whimpers at Namjoon's loud voice and instant regret appears on Namjoon's face. He reaches out to pet the bunny's ears, but Jungkook just burrows further into Yoongi.

You take Namjoon's hand and lead him into the living room, forcing him to sit down and calm down. Yoongi follows behind sitting in the armchair with Jungkook curled on his lap.

"How did Jin make you this mad?" You ask, perching on the edge of the sofa next to him.

"He had the audacity to tell me I didn't know what was best for Jungkook. He implied we were harming him somehow. I can't believe he would dare accuse us of not looking after our baby." The bear growls.

You and Yoongi share a look across the room, a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"Jin? He doesn't seem the judgemental type... How did that even get brought up in conversation." Yoongi asks.

Namjoon sighs dramatically and starts from the beginning

______________

They pulled into the doctor's apartment complex just after 11 a.m. Jungkook was bouncing his leg nervously at the prospect of going somewhere unfamiliar, but Namjoon had kept a reassuring hand on his leg the entire time, constantly reminding him that he would be happy to go home with him and have someone else drop him off later if that's what Jungkook needed. But the younger man refused, too set on seeing Jin again.

After parking, Namjoon opened Jungkook's door and held his hand tightly, keeping him close all the way to Jin's front door.

The doctor opened the door quickly with a wide smile on his face like he had been standing in the hall waiting for them to knock. He eyed how tightly the pair were holding hands but said nothing, moving out of the way to let them into his apartment.

Namjoon leans in and kisses Jin on the cheek as he walks past, causing the older man to blush and stutter a little.

"Make yourself at home in the living room," he said, gesturing to a door on the left. "Can I get you both a drink?"

"We will just take water please Jin." Namjoon answers for both of them.

He leads Jungkook into the living room and sits down, Jungkook just naturally falling into his lap.

Jin comes back with two glasses, handing them over and then making himself comfortable in an overstuffed armchair.

"I'm so glad you could both make it." He grinned "Lunch is in the oven, should be about 20 more minutes."

"It smells delicious," Namjoon said, and Jungkook nodded in agreement.

"How are you Jungkook? it feels like forever since I've seen you," Jin asks.

Jungkook shuffled uncomfortably on Namjoon's lap, not yet accustomed enough to the environment to come out of his shell. His want to speak to Jin not able to overcome his anxiety. He shrugs and hopes it's enough of an answer but Jin just frowned, making Jungkook feel bad that he couldn't make himself speak.

"Is it always like this when you go somewhere new?" The doctor asked, aiming this question more at Namjoon.

"It can be yeah. You've seen him have a panic attack before." Namjoon replied, trying to sweep the topic away. " We should talk more about you though, he will calm down soon. How has work been?" Namjoon petted Jungkook's back as he leaned in to give Jin more attention.

"Have you ever thought about therapy for Jungkook? or for all of you maybe? Like a family thing? I have a few friends in the field I could get in touch with for you." Jin suggested not letting it drop.

"He is recovering fine, he is much better now than when we met him a year ago, we don't need the outside help" Namjoon responded, his voice turning sharp.

Jungkook whined in protest at the shift in Namjoon's behaviour. He didn't want them to fight, especially with him in the middle.

"I didn't mean anything by it Joon." Jin said putting his hands up in surrender. "I just think it'd be good for all of you."

"And I think you should mind your business." Namjoon retorted.

"I only want to help, I can't help it if I care about you all," Jin defended himself.

"We didn't ask for your help."

Namjoon pushed Jungkook up and took his hand pulling him to the front door.

"I think maybe we should do this another day," Namjoons said icily.

"Come on Joon, I really didn't mean anything by it," Jin called after him.

Namjoon either didn't hear him or pretended not to.

"I need to get Jungkook home. We can talk about this later." Namjoon huffed as he exited the apartment.

_______________________________

"So a doctor showed some concern for Jungkook's condition and you freaked out?" You ask.

Yoongi and Namjoon shoot you venomous glares and you put your hands up.

"Look all I'm saying is Jungkook's situation is... a little concerning, especially as an outsider. I really don't think Jin meant anything by it." You explain.

Namjoon sighs in defeat like he knows you are right, but he isn't willing to admit it. Before either predator gets a chance to say their piece Jungkook perks up from Yoongi's lap and reaches out for you.

You hold out your arms in a similar fashion and he unfolds from Yoongi's lap to find his way to you, but instead of sitting down in your lap like you expected him to, he pulls you up to him.

He takes you by the hand a drags you into his bedroom.

It's the first time he has allowed you into his own space. The walls are covered in posters of different movies he enjoys and there are collectables and action figures littering the shelves. The bed is hung from the ceiling with small sides built up around the edges to prevent the mountain of blankets from spilling out in the night.

"How do you even fit everyone in this bed with that many blankets?" you ask, but he doesn't respond.

He fireman lifts you over his shoulder making you squeal and then drops you into the centre of his nest, positioning you like you're a part of it. The bed sways as he clambers in. Once his nose is buried in the crook of your neck he finally speaks.

"I wanted to stay at Jin's." He whispers.

"You'll get another chance when Namjoon calms down." You comfort him, drawing circles onto his back.

"I wanted to talk to him, but the words wouldn't come out."

"It's okay, new places are creepy. It'll be okay after another visit or two."

"I want to be better all the time." He whimpers, on the edge of tears.

"Then we can talk about ways to help you when tempers are a little less high."

You kiss him on the forehead and prepare for him to take another nap on you, but he surprises you. Instead, he rolls on top of you, pinning you to the bed. He holds your wrists out to the sides and leans down to press his lips to yours. The kiss is a little salty from where tears had tracked down his face, but sweet nonetheless. He is more eager than the others, his main desire is to please you more than himself.

You chase his mouth as he pulls up, but the way his hands are holding you down makes it difficult to catch him. He giggles at your attempt, his head dipping in and out of your reach as you try to capture his lips again. He laughs hard as he teases you, enjoying it a little too much. Eventually, he slips up, accidentally sending himself off balance and allowing you to roll on top of him instead.

You straddle his hips and his hands land on your thighs. You contemplate teasing him in the same way but find yourself becoming too impatient. Instead, you bend down and kiss him deeply.

Masterlist

Send me asks - doesn't have to be fic related. Can be smutty, thirsty, fluffy, angsty, whatever you're feeling regarding BTS. Can be literally anything doesn't have to be BTS

AN: How mad do you think Tae is going to be when he figures out he is the last kiss? Not including Jin of course... although I could be that mean...

#bts fic #bts smut #kpop smut #kpop fic #bts imagines #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #seokjin smut #bts hybrids #hybrid bts #poly bts #bts ot7 #bts polyamory

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capturethechaos · 2 years

Text

Jake Kiszka x Reader

Words - 3.8k

Warnings - 18+ONLY, explicit sexual content, NSFW, fingering

a/n - this came to me because of this ask from @tripthelightfandomtastic's wild Wednesday last week, so thank you to that anon for your thoughts, and thank you Max for giving me a go ahead to write this ♡

You could feel the tight grasp of winter trying its hardest to hold on, the cool breeze you had dreaded all season slowly growing warmer as the days passed. Spring would soon arrive, and the neighborhood had already begun to show their gratitude for the season's change. From across the street, you could hear the subtle beat of a drum, followed closely by the low thrum of a bass, and you made your way to your window.

You peeked through the paned glass, your eyes landing on the partially opened garage door on the opposite side of the street. You waited, knowing what came next. No matter how many times you had heard it, the crisp tone of the guitar cutting through the bass and drums sent an all too familiar shiver running up your spine.

It was a conscious decision to leave the bathroom window open as you stepped into the shower, listening as the somewhat incoherent jamming of the boys across the street became quieter. The bass and drums faded, leaving just the guitar to begin an actual song. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your face as they started to play Mary Jane’s Last Dance.

In the time it took you to shower, you heard them play a couple more songs, and a rather colorful conversation, which you were sure was between the twins.

You didn’t take long to get dry and detangle your hair, and as you stepped into the kitchen of your home, freshly showered and dressed in a comfortable sundress, you found that there was already a plate of the cookies you had baked the night before sitting next to a bowl of lemons.

It had been a while since you had last made homemade lemonade, but your mother seemed to deem the opening of the Kiszka’s garage a fitting occasion. You took your time to make sure it was perfect, leaving a small pitcher for your parents before picking up your own and turning to walk out of the house.

You made it all the way to the door before realizing that you had forgotten the plate of cookies. With a groan, you spun on your heels, walking back to the kitchen to grab the plate before finally leaving your house. It took no longer than a minute to walk across the street, and you were thankful that the boys were simply talking to each other as you walked up their driveway.

Your feet were planted a couple feet from the garage door, and you leaned down just enough to look beneath the barrier. “Knock knock.”

The conversation between the boys ceased, and you watched one of them turn around. You straightened up as a hand wrapped around the bottom of the door, slowly beginning to roll it up. “You know, you could have just opened the door, or stepped under it.” You were greeted with the cherry red finish of the gibson, and soon after, the warm smile of Jake Kiszka.

Your smile mirrored his as you lifted your hands to display what you had brought. “My hands were a little full.”

“Oh fuck yeah.” Sam popped up beside you before you had even registered his previous position.

You could smell the weed clinging to the cotton of his worn out tee shirt, and with a chuckle, you moved the plate of cookies toward him so that he could take it from you. He eagerly pulled the plate from your hands, swinging around so fast that the neck of his bass nearly hit you and Jake.

You watched as Josh and Danny stepped toward Sam, helping themselves to a cookie as you looked back at Jake. “I also brought lemonade.”

His smile only seemed to grow as he stared back at you, completely ignoring his brothers. “Of course you did.”

“Please, please, please tell me it’s your homemade lemonade.” Josh’s voice pulled both yours and Jake's attention to him, and you eagerly nodded.

In your peripheral, you could see Jake pull his guitar from over his shoulder. “I’ll go get cups.”

“So… I loved hearing you guys play Mary Jane’s Last Dance, you sounded great.” Your compliment left the remaining three boys with giddy smiles.

Josh finished the bite of cookie that he had in his mouth before responding. “Thanks, Y/n. It was actually Jake’s idea.”

“What was my idea?”

The four of you turned to look as Jake walked back into the garage with five cups cradled in one of his arms. You rolled your eyes at him, walking over to take a couple of the cups to avoid them falling and breaking, handing them to Danny and Sam before turning back to Jake. He had given Josh one of the remaining three, leaving just his own in one hand, and the other outstretched for you to take.

Josh turned away from you and his twin to grab the pitcher of lemonade and pour himself a glass. “Playing Mary Jane’s Last Dance.”

Jake’s eyes darted from his twin to you, and you simply smiled back at him. “I was just telling the others how great you all sounded.”

“Though I was wondering.” Jake lifted an eyebrow at your comment, watching as your face turned to one of curiosity. “Was your dad in here playing with you guys, or have you finally convinced Josh to learn to play the harmonica?”

All four boys seemed to find your question amusing, chuckling as Josh sat on the old couch they kept out in the garage, and the rest of you got lemonade for yourselves. Josh seemed very proud as he leaned toward the small table to pick up the harmonica and play it for a brief moment. “It was, in fact, me.”

“So.” You walked over to the couch, dropping into the spot beside Josh and turning to him. “What made you suddenly want to learn how to play it?”

Before he could answer, Jake lowered himself into the space next to you and answered for him. “He felt left out. Danny learned, then Sam showed interest, so Josh decided had to learn.”

You turned to Josh, catching the less than impressed expression he was aiming at his twin for ratting him out. “Well I think you’re doing great, Josh.”

After a brief break to snack and drink, the boys slowly got back to practicing, switching rather seamlessly between playing songs and simply jamming together as you sat quietly and watched.

The practice seemed to come to a close when Josh checked the time on his phone and let out a defeated sigh. “Well, I’ve got to get ready for work, but I’m going to take one of these for the road.” He made his way over to the plate of cookies, pulling on from the pile before hesitating and taking another. “Thank you for the cookies, and the lemonade. Will we be seeing you at the gig tomorrow?”

You watched as he made his way towards the door back into the house, turning to you as he swung open the door, and you simply nodded. “Of course, I wouldn't miss it.”

Josh’s grin widened, and he gave you a quick nod before disappearing through the door, leaving you with Jake, Sam and Danny. You listened as Danny played a bit on his drum kit before placing his sticks down, standing from the stool and stretching. “I should probably go too, I’m working the night shift, and I know my mom will be on my ass if I don’t eat something before I leave.”

Jake lifted his head from his lap, having picked up his acoustic and began to strum to himself, to say a quick goodbye before disappearing back into his own head. Sam and Danny had a brief talk, saying their own goodbyes before Danny came over to you and leaned down, pulling you into a brief hug. “Thanks again for the snacks, Y/n.”

You gave him a quick squeeze, a smile on each of your faces as he straightened himself up. “No problem, Danny. Have a good shift at work.”

Sam was still quietly plucking away on his bass when he made a comment about needing to smoke before his date, the nerves clearly getting to him as he stared blankly at the floor.

You stood from the couch, making your way over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to roll you a joint? Maybe a smoke and a walk would be a good way to get out of this head of yours.”

He looked up from the floor with a crooked smile, giving you a little nod. “Please.”

Sam eagerly placed his bass on its stand, grabbing his supplies for you and dragging you over to the couch. You couldn’t help but giggle at his nervous energy, watching as you rolled him a couple joints and dropped them in a plastic bag for him. “There, now go for a walk and clear your head. You’ll be great tonight, just don’t say anything too stupid.”

He rolled his eyes at you, taking the bag from between your fingers and nudging your shoulder with his own. “Thanks.”

He stood up from the couch, putting his supplies back in their little box and hiding them away once again before slipping under the garage door and pulling it shut behind him, knowing Jake would probably forget to do it, even after you eventually left.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, simply watching as Jake played the same chord over and over, trying desperately to pluck the inspiration out of thin air. You knew he was stuck, so in an effort to pull him from his trance, you slid from the couch, shuffling across the worn out rug until you were planted at his feet, looking up at him.

His hair was falling in his face, clearly frustrating him even more as he tried to blow the strands away from his eyes. You slowly lifted your hand, brushing the soft chestnut strands behind his ear. The movement seemed to work sufficiently to pull his attention away from his guitar, his warm eyes lifting to lock with your own as your hand brushed along his jawline.

His expression quickly turned from one of frustration, to one of admiration as he stared down at you, and he carefully moved to lift the guitar from his lap. He placed it on the couch and offered a hand to help you off of the floor. His hands pulled you closer until you had no choice but to crawl onto his lap.

He waited until he was sure you were settled on his thighs to place one of his hands on the side of your neck, his fingertips gently tangling in the strands of hair at the nape of your neck as his thumb traced over the curve of your jaw.

“You know. You don’t always have to bring baked goods over as an excuse to come see me.” His words were playful, yet quiet as his fingers tightened slightly, pulling your face closer and closer to his.

“I know.” Your lips were so close, and he tilted his head to brush his nose against your own. “But I know that they’ll appease the others, and it makes it seem a little less strange for me to simply show up during your band practice.”

He hummed, the warm breath from his lips fanning across yours as his lips turned up into a smile. “I don’t think any of them would complain about having you around, snacks or not. Though I still prefer having you all to myself.”

Jake pressed his lips against yours, finally slicing through the tension the two of you had settled in. “Especially when you come over in a cute little dress, making me think about all the places I could bend you over in this little garage.”

You giggled, wriggling a bit in his grasp to roll hips against his. “Is that so? And what did you come up with?”

He chuckled. “My personal favorite, over my amp.”

You leaned away from him, turning to look at the new amp his parents had gifted him for his birthday, before turning back to him with a raised brow. Your hands found his, slowly pulling them away from your body as you slid off of his lap.

A giggle bubbled out of you at the sound of his disapproving groan, but you watched the look on his face as you slowly backed away from him until your ass came in contact with a solid object. Your hand quickly found the edge of the box, running along until it rested beside your hip. “This amp?”

All you could do was watch as he slowly stood from the chair, stalking over to you as his eyes travelled the length of your body. The hand not already on the amp was quickly planted on your opposite side, aiding you as you lifted yourself onto the box.

He reached you not long after your ass was firmly planted on his amp, his hands coming to rest on your knees and pulling them apart enough for him to stand between them. His eyes traced the features of your face, committing each small detail to memory as his hands inches slowly up your thighs. “You drive me insane, did you know that?”

You tried your hardest to hold back the grin on your lips as you nodded your head, feeling the way his fingertips dug into the plush skin of your thighs.

His lips turned up in a wicked smirk as he leaned forward, ghosting his lips over your collarbone, his hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps as his mouth swept along the skin of your throat. “You come over here, dressed all cute.” His tongue touched you first, his lips following close behind as he pressed a wet kiss to the spot he knew made your knees weak. “Making my whole family think you’re this innocent girl next door. Bringing homemade cookies and lemonade.” You could feel the teasing of his teeth against your skin as a low growl rumbled from his throat. “Rolling joints for my little brother.”

His fingertips danced along the skin of your thighs, slipping beneath your dress and continuing until they found the delicate lace of your panties. “But you must know.”

You were putty in his hands, leaning into his touch as his thumb played along the hem of your panties. “What do I know, Jake?”

“You know that no matter what you do-” His thumb was quickly replaced by his index and middle finger, tracing along the hem until they were ghosting over your clit, the only thing keeping him from you being the black lace. “No matter what you wear, or what you say.” Slowly, the lace was pulled to the side, his calloused fingers brushing over the spot where you so desperately needed his touch. “That the second we’re alone together, I will do anything and everything in my power to make you feel good.”

The hand not ghosting over the arousal pooling between your thighs lifted to your face, his palm resting on your cheek with just enough pressure to hold your head steady as he locked his gaze with your own. “You know that, don’t you, doll?”

Your meager nod seemed to be a less than adequate answer as Jake clicked his tongue in disapproval, the hand he had on your face moved just enough for him to swipe his thumb along your bottom lip as he watched you with a wicked grin. “Words, doll. I know you can use them. Let me hear your pretty voice.”

“Yes, Jake. Yes I kno-” The words got caught in your throat as he slid a finger into you, his hand quickly covering your mouth as you choked out a moan.

He looked far to entertained, slowly pumping his middle finger into you a few times before adding his ring finger. The grin on his lips only widened as he watched your eyes flutter closed, each moan and whimper falling from your lips directly into the palm of his hand. “God I wish I could hear you baby, but I know you can’t be quiet, and I have family members in the house.”

You lifted a hand to the one he had pressed against your lips, pulling it down until it rested against your throat. “You know, you should really- fuck”

The sound of your voice, faint as it was, prompted Jake to brush his thumb over your clit, watching with a satisfied look as you tripped over your words. “I should really, what, gorgeous? Spit it out.”

You huffed, pouting at him for a moment before finally speaking. “You should get your own place, that way we can do this as much as we want without worrying about one of your siblings, or god forbid… your parents, hearing us.”

“You know.” He leaned in, brushing his lips across your own as he slowed the rhythm of his fingers. “I think you’re right.”

A groan rumbled out of you at his slowed pace, but as you slumped forward, and your head came in contact with his shoulder, your mind was filled with a slew of sinful mental images. You felt the way Jake straightened himself a bit to hold the weight you were leaning against him, and you turned your head just enough for your lips to reach the collar of his tee shirt.

“Just think.” You pressed a kiss to his warm skin, feeling the small blooming of goosebumps beneath your touch. “Of all the places you could fuck me in an apartment, compared to this little garage.”

His fingers slowly increased their pace, and you could feel the hum of approval as it buzzed through him. “Clearly you’re thinking about it, you’re so wet, doll.”

It was a conscious effort on your part to keep quiet as you teetered on the edge of an orgasm, keeping your head tucked in the curve of his neck. “I’m so close, Jake.”

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers, baby.” He kept his rhythm steady, coaxing you further. His head drooped forward just enough to press his lips to your ear as you held onto his shirt for dear life. “Cum for me, baby, please.”

His fingers slowed as your orgasm rolled through you. Your brain was locked in a daze, freefalling into the pleasure he was so desperate to provide you. It wasn’t until your breathing had steadied, and you were able to lift your head from his shoulder, that he carefully pulled his fingers from inside of you.

It was an all too smug expression that he had painted across his features as he lifted his hand to the space between you, as if to display the lude image of his fingers dripping in your arousal before providing an even more sinful display. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, a pleased hum sounding from him as he cleansed his fingers with his tongue.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him as close as you could as he released his fingers from his mouth. He was hard beneath the worn denim of his jeans, pressed against the warmth of your thighs as he simply watched the way you studied his features. One of your hands lifted to his face, tracing over the little details, from the chickenpox scar on his cheek, to the curve of his lips as they turned up into a small smile beneath your gentle touch.

“You know, I’m not the only one that could look for an apartment, doll.”

He was waiting for you to meet his gaze, but you simply kept examining every millimeter of his face as he spoke. You watched the way his lip dipped beneath your thumb as he spoke, and smiled when he punctuated his sentence with a small kiss to the pad of it, praying to himself that your fingerprint left a permanent mark on his skin. “I know, I’ve been looking for a place. I just know that my parents are going to wonder why I want to stay here.”

“Why’s that, baby?”

“Because my sister left when she was eighteen… I’m twenty-one, and I’m still here.” Your movements had come to a halt, leaving one hand on his chest, and the other on his cheek.

Jake covered the hand on his chest with his own, using his other to rub small circles over the bare skin of your thigh. “Hey, look at me, Y/n.” Your eyes lifted from his lips to his eyes, feeling the comfort of his hickory irises wash through you. “There’s my beautiful girl. You know no one else gets a say in whether or not you stay, right?”

You nodded, and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I sure am glad that you’re still here.”

You simply hummed a response, chasing the feeling of his lips against your own. “Why would I leave? I’m a little busy here, falling in love with the local rockstar.”

You wished you could have recorded the sound of his laugh to save for a rainy day, if not just to feel the way it brought a flourish of butterflies within you. He pressed another kiss to your lips as his hands travelled to your thighs, wrapping around the plush skin. “Oh yeah?”

Your weight was lifted from the amp, and your hands quickly found their way over his shoulders as he pulled you from your seated position. His focus turned to keeping the two of you up as he made his way to the couch, and you took advantage of the shift, lowering your face to press a kiss beneath his ear. “Yeah. Speaking of which, we should probably tell everyone we’re dating, it has been a few months.”

Jake chuckled again as he lowered the two of you onto the couch. He leaned against the cushions behind him as you made yourself comfortable on his lap, feeling the way your soaked panties rubbed against his still covered erection. “I agree… but for now I’d just really like to fuck you.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips as a giggle passed through them. “Alright, what are you waiting for then, Jacob?”

His eyebrows lifted, and a smirk formed on his lips as he moved to stretch his arms across the back of the couch. “Jacob, huh.”

You wore a similar smirk to him as you slowly pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and nodded your head. He chuckled, lifting himself off of the couch a bit and catching you off guard as he repositioned the two of you so that you were laying across the cushions with him hovering above you. “Alright, you’re in for it now, doll.”

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chaotic-on-main · 11 months

Note

So glad you reblogged this because I did not see your post about this event before. And I almost missed it! 😱 But now I'm here… hi, Sky! Congrats on your milestone, dear! ❤️

I would be interested in one matcha green tea ice cream with cookie crumbles on top. If it's okay, could it be something like Levi comforting the reader while they're anxious and stressed? Something with nice calming domestic vibes maybe?

Order up!! One matcha green tea with cookie crumbles for Rose!!

Sky's Summer Fall and 250 Follower Event!

☾ Pairing ➼ Levi Ackerman x cisfem!Reader

☾ Content/Warning ➼ modernAU, pregnancy, anxiety, established relationship, pregnancy reveal

☾ A/N ➼ hi rose!! again, sorry it's taken me so long to get to this. this wasn't the initial path i had planned, but i think it went better than expected!! also i know i said i wouldn't write a pregnant reader, but i was inspired and i love the idea of dadvi even though i don't see myself wanting kids. there's something to unexpectedly soft about dad levi, and i love to imagine it. i mean, he's already so dad coded considering how many kids he adopts lol. also for anyone seeing this, the rest of my requests are no longer summer themed LMAO. i'm gonna have to do something simple for my next event a;lsdkfjalj

☾ Word Count ➼ ~1.9k

The pattering of raindrops on window panes is a sound that brings comfort to you, doubly so during this time of year. Orange and red leaves lie dormant on the wet pavement only to be run over by various cars going home for the evening. With the end of the year holidays looming around the corner, excitement fills the air. But not for you. Instead, it's overwhelming anxiety, and the rain does not bring the comfort you seek.

You're so in your head that you don't hear the keys in the door and the light footsteps of your husband coming home from work. As you toss some chocolate chips into the red bowl full of light brown dough, your mind bounces from one thought to another. Some thoughts hurt worse than others and you find yourself almost choking up until you force yourself to think of something else.

Long, cold fingers wrap around your wrist as you go to pick up a silicone spatula, holding your arm up midair. You're so startled at the sudden touch that you drop it straight into the bowl – thank god it was mixed enough to not splatter. When your eyes snap to the source, the automatic relief that normally comes with seeing those beautiful gray eyes doesn't wash over you. You’ve underestimated the anxiety that courses through your veins like ice.

“What's wrong?” Your husband's low voice comes out careful.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about right now. Welcome home!” You force out, your lips pulling back on your teeth in a reassuring smile. Levi Ackerman has known you for far too long, and he wasn't stupid. His eyes scan the messy kitchen counters with furrowed brows.

“I count at least 4 mixing bowls, most half filled and only a few finished products. Either you've signed up for a bake sale, or something is wrong. You only get like this when something is bothering you.” Levi's eyes go back to yours.

“I- uh. It's nothing, really.” You check the clock on the stove and gasp. “I didn't realize the time, and I haven't even started on dinner yet. I'm so sorry.” You quickly push aside your mess to make room for some space.

“Go sit down.” Levi says as he puts his keys and phone in the little wicker basket that sits on the far end of the counter.

“No, it's okay! I can do this.” You don't even know what to make for dinner. You've been in a downward spiral all day and haven't thought that far ahead. The sound of glass bottles rattle as you open the fridge doors to peek at your options - only to find them extremely limited. You should have gone to the grocery store earlier today.

The fridge closes in front of you as Levi pushes his way in front of you. Suddenly his hands are cupping your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks in a way he knows is comforting to you. You just now notice his hair slicked back, stuck in place from the rain outside. Black eyebrows scrunch together in concern as he stares at you.

“Levi, I don't need help. I can do this myself.” You mutter.

“Go sit down.” He repeats, softer this time. You stare back, trying to find the energy to argue. But you have none, so you make your way over to the plush navy couch in the living room. In a means to help comfort you, you pull your knees to your chest and stare out the window. Night time has made its way home, the yellow streetlights hazily glowing through the cold rain. It takes everything within you to focus on what you see and hear, and not what races through your mind.

Either you dozed off or fell into a trance because before you know it, Levi comes over and taps your shoulder. You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to what he's holding out to you – a bowl and a glass of water.

“I bet you haven't hydrated once today, have you?” He raises a brow.

“I've been busy?” You give him a small smile, but take the glass anyway. He sets the bowl down in front of you on the coffee table. You didn't even need to see it to know what it was as the smell of it wafts from the kitchen to your nose. Spaghetti, and Levi's spaghetti at that. Well, technically Kuchel’s - Levi's mom – recipe. From the moment he had made it for you when you both first started dating, you knew this was the best recipe you have or will ever taste.

Not only was it delicious, though, it was comforting. It was home.

“Oh, Levi.” You sigh as you reach over to place your glass down so you can pick up the warm bowl in two hands. The smell of herbs and tomatoes dance in your nostrils as you breathe in deeply. You don't hesitate to poke your fork into the red pasta and slurp up the saucy noodles.

The sofa shifts as Levi sits next to you, leg crossed as he leans back with his own bowl in hand. He doesn't say anything as he digs in, eyes looking out to the darkened window. It stays silent save for the quiet smacking and the metal clinking on porcelain. For a while, you're distracted yet again as you fill your tummy but eventually your bowl is empty and the dread starts creeping back in.

“Did you want more or…?” Levi breaks you out of your thoughts and your eyes focus back to what you were looking at – the red-streaked bottom of the bowl.

“Oh, no I'm good. Thank you for making dinner. I'm sorry I couldn't have it done by the time you got home.” You smile softly at him as you hand him your bowl. His lips twitch as he regards you. He takes the bowl from you and you think he's about to get up but instead, he sets it on the coffee table and shifts so that he's facing you fully.

“There's nothing to apologize for, dummy. What's going on in that head of yours?” He reaches over and taps your forehead gently with a forefinger.

“I don't know if this is the right time.” You whisper, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I'm home for the night, we have plenty of time before bed.” His hand trails down your face and cups your jaw as he holds your gaze. “What's going on?”

Reaching up, you rest your hand over his and lean into his touch. Then with a shuddering breath, you gently pry his hand off and stand up. Without another word, you make your way to the master bathroom and retrieve what you're looking for. Before exiting, you bend over the sink to take a few deep breaths. You just need to rip this off like a bandaid, you keep repeating to yourself.

Making your way down the hallway back to the living room, your fingers shake. The room grows silent as you hold the little white stick up to eye level the moment you step in front of your extremely confused husband.

Levi has to squint to see the little pink plus sign. There's a range of emotions that flood his face past the initial shock. You know when the realization hits him because his wide eyes flit over to yours as he checks to see if you're kidding. You only nod your head back. There's a moment of excitement that lights up in his eyes before the same look of anxiety that no doubt mirrors your own stares back at you.

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach at that.

“I-" Levi chokes on his words.

“It's real.”

You hear Levi inhale loudly as he runs his fingers through his hair and step back as he processes. You’ve been with Levi for so long but even you didn't know how he would react. Children weren't off the table, but you both had agreed to start a family when the time was right. To you, this was the worst possible time with Levi starting a new job and your writing career finally taking off. His reaction is enough to confirm those thoughts. Or, at least that’s what you thought.

“I know this is awful timing. And I’m sure we're not ready. I'm so-" Your last words are cut short into a squeak as a pair of strong arms pull you into a warm chest, the sudden movement causing the pregnancy test to fall and bounce onto the rug. You can feel Levi's heart beating a mile a minute against your own.

“Don't apologize.”

“But you’re not excited.” You’ve started crying and you can feel your tears seeping into Levi's shirt. He pushes you away from him and holds you there. His dark eyes bounce between yours as he regards you.

“Who said I wasn't?"

“I- just your face-"

“I won't pretend to say I'm not nervous. You know, Kenny was the only father figure I had and he wasn't around, not when it mattered, at least. I'm scared, actually.” His eyebrows furrow to match the concern that laces his tone.

“Levi-"

“But this is exciting, and I'm thrilled. And we'll navigate through this like we always do. But, how do you feel about it?”

“Well, I guess I'm scared too. Anxious. Our jobs are just taking off, and while I'm excited for a family with you, I'm just not sure how to take this.” You pull a hand up to wipe away the salty tears that streams down your face.

“We have 9 months, give or take. That's plenty of time for us to figure things out. But is this what you want?” Levi let's go of your arms to cup your face again. That moment of hesitance that graced his features is no longer there, only replaced by love.

“Do you think we'll be ready by then?”

“Who knows. But we can try. We'll figure it out together.” Levi pulls you back in and holds you in his tight embrace. You bury your face in his shirt, once again letting it soak up any leftover tears.

“If it's any consolation, I think you'll be a great dad. I watch the way you interact with your little cousin during get-togethers.”

“Tch. If our child is anything like Mikasa, I'm sure we'll be fine. But if they're like her friend Eren, we're starting over.” You laugh at that and slap his chest playfully.

“Levi, you can't say shit like that.”

“I'm just kidding. Mostly. That Eren kid has something wrong with him, I swear.”

You hold on to him in silence for a bit, taking note of the slowing heart beat between the two of you as the news finally sinks in. You were going to be a mom. You were going to be a parent with Levi.

“Someone needs to eat this. This is way too much for just the two of us.” You hear Levi chuckle. You can't see it, but you know he's staring at the mess you've made all day. You'll be up until 3am making sure everything gets baked so it doesn't go to waste.

“Three of us.” You lean back to look at your husband, smiling at that comment.

“You're right, the three of us.” You feel as Levi gently rests the palm of his hand on your stomach and leans down to kiss you softly. Your anxiety still lingers, but now it's tinged with relief because no matter what life throws at you, Levi is here.

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