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verstappenverse · 19 days ago

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Everything He Doesn’t Say

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has never been good with words, but you’ve never once had to doubt how he feels.

Authors Note: Inspired by this amazing piece from @jungwnies 💕

1.3k words / Masterlist

You find the first one in your glove compartment.

It’s early. The sun is barely up and the pit of your stomach still churns with the anxiety of the meeting you’ve been rehearsing for in your head since 4 a.m. You get in your car, toss your bag onto the passenger seat and open the glovebox to grab the parking permit...

A folded square of paper slips out and lands on your lap.

You recognise his handwriting immediately, messy, slanted a little to the left, almost illegible to anyone else. The edges of the note are frayed like it had been sitting in his jeans for a day or two.

You’re going to kill it today. Like always. Proud of you. –M.

You stare at the note for a long moment. He didn’t say anything this morning when he hugged you at the door. Just pulled you in, kissed your forehead, murmured, “Don’t stress, baby,” and then disappeared back into the bedroom.

But this, this is different, like a whisper he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. You place it gently into the centre console, fingers grazing it one last time before you shift into reverse.

The second one is inside your gym bag.

You find it after a long day, half-asleep and grumpy and rummaging for your water bottle. You nearly miss it, folded between the towel and your sports bra.

It’s short.

Stop forgetting how hot you are. –M.

You snort. A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Max has never been great with words. Not when it comes to you. Not in the I-love-you-so-much-my-soul-aches kind of way. He says you’re cute, or you smell nice, or stay close tonight, instead, but you’ve come to realise he says a lot more than he lets on.

You tuck the note into your purse beside your ID, where he’ll never know you kept it.

Max is in the kitchen when you get home that night, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up. There’s soup on the stove. A half-burnt piece of bread in the toaster.

“Hey,” he says, glancing up.

“Hey,” you reply, quietly.

You stop when you see what’s sitting on the counter.

Your old phone charger. The one that frayed weeks ago and sparks when you plug it in, the one you keep saying you’ll replace but never have. It’s not just been replaced but upgraded. A newer, longer cable. Still pink. Still tucked into the exact same cable holder you’d been using.

Next to it is your favourite chocolate bar. The one that's hard to find. The one you mentioned in passing weeks ago, "God, I miss those. Haven’t seen them in ages."

You blink. “Where’d you find that?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Petrol station outside of town. You don’t need to thank me.”

You pause, because you were about to. He always says that ‘You don’t need to thank me’ whether it's setting your alarm when you forget, running you a bath without asking, or quietly re-parking your car after you leave it crooked. He doesn’t say it to be dismissive. It’s almost shy, like he doesn’t know what to do when you look at him with full-blown gratitude.

He sets your mug down beside you, your favourite tea with just the right amount of honey.

You look at the counter again pink charger coiled neatly, wrapper waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for the tea. “Thanks.”

Max doesn’t reply just shakes his head, chuckles and brushes his hand across your lower back. He hands you a bowl and waits for you to sit beside him on the couch, gently tugging the blanket over both your legs.

“I found the note,” you say after a few minutes, voice soft.

He doesn’t look at you. Just spoons soup into his mouth and shrugs. “What note?”

You smile. “The one in my gym bag.”

“Oh.” He blinks like he genuinely forgot. “That was meant for Monday.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, heart stupidly full. “Still worked.”

He never posts about you on Instagram.

It used to sting a little, in the beginning before you understood him, before you stopped comparing him to other people.

Because Max doesn’t care about optics, doesn’t feel the need to declare his love in public or share photos from every date night. He barely remembers to post anything at all unless someone reminds him.

But he does change his lockscreen.

You notice it one night while he’s asleep, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand with some notification he’ll ignore until morning. You pick it up to silence it and catch a glimpse of the photo.

It’s from your trip to Lake Como last summer.

You’re not even looking at the camera, head turned, eyes bright, smiling at something stupid he said. It’s not posed, it’s not perfect, but you look happy.

And he chose that version of you, the soft, unfiltered one.

You place the phone back down without a word and curl closer to his chest, whispering a quiet I love you into the dark.

Sometimes he sends you videos. Random ones.

A goose chasing a guy down a beach. A cat flipping off a countertop. A golden retriever refusing to drop the stick that’s three times its size.

No caption. No context.

It always comes when you’ve been apart too long both of you swamped with work. You’ve learned to read between the lines. It’s never just a meme.

It’s I miss you. It’s Can we talk? It’s I just want to hear your laugh.

You send one back. He replies immediately.

And just like that you’re texting again, heart full.

You walk in on him reading one night.

It’s the same book you’ve been talking about for months, the one you rambled about over dinner, quoting passages like a hopeless romantic.

Max is not a reader. He struggles to sit still unless he’s in a simulator or watching race footage, but there he is, lying on his back, squinting at the tiny print, brow furrowed like he’s concentrating harder than he does in qualifying.

“Max?”

He looks up, startled.

“Are you seriously reading that?”

He shifts awkwardly. “Just wanted to see what it’s about.”

You move toward him slowly, cautiously.

“And?”

“It’s... alright.”

“You hate it.”

“No,” he says too quickly. “It’s just... kinda dramatic... but the girl talks like you. Like, the way she explains stuff. I get it now. Why you like it.”

He flushes and looks back at the page, mumbling. You lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth and hope he understands that this means more than a thousand grand gestures.

Max doesn’t say “I love you” very often.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel it, he just doesn’t know what to do with big, consuming emotions, but he shows it.

In the way he tucks your hair behind your ear when you're too sleepy to do it yourself. In the way he places his hand on your back when you're walking through a crowd. In how he notices when your hands are cold before you do and slips his into yours without a word.

And especially when he drives.

You notice it every single time, how he buckles your seatbelt before his own. Leans over and makes sure it clicks. Tugs it gently to test the tension. Only then does he fasten his own and start the engine.

It’s so automatic now, so ingrained, you don't think he even realises he’s doing it, but you do.

You always do.

One night, months into this quiet, gentle love you’ve built, you find another note.

Tucked into your left sneaker. The old pair you rarely ever wear.

You unfold it and feel your chest tighten.

You make everyday better. –M.

You press the note to your lips, overwhelmed, and decide then and there that maybe he doesn’t need to say “I love you” often, because he’s always saying it in his own way.

In every little thing.

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angelicgirlmj · 6 months ago

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an angels guide: what to pack in your bag

hey angels! whether you’re going out with friends, going to school/uni or just looking for some tips on what to keep in your every day bag, this is the list for you. i adore being that one girl who has everything in her bag - helping my friends and loved ones makes me feel really special and positive. plus i know that regardless of what’s going on or happening to me ill have it in my bag! enjoy and i hope you find this helpful.

beauty products ꒰ঌ ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱

lip balm

spf

perfume or body spray

hydration spray

lotion

hand cream

nail polish

small essential makeup kit (e.g lipstick, blush, concealer)

setting spray

deodorant

hairspray

makeup wipes/cleanser

compact mirror

hairbrush

eyedrops

health/wellness ꒰ঌ ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱

painkillers/paracetamol

tampons, pads, period cup etc

tissues

cough sweets

plasters

aloe vera or burn cream

hand sanitiser

wet wipes

gum and mints

extra underwear

snacks - especially if you have low blood sugar or iron!

floss/tooth picks

any medication you take throughout the day/may need

face mask

pleasure ꒰ঌ ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱

a book

headphones

pack of cards

journal

a magazine

digital camera

essentials ꒰ঌ ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱

wireless phone charger

charging cable

student id (discounts in shops etc)

travel cards/passes

wallet

change

house keys

water/some kind of drink

extra layer or room to remove extra layer

claw clip, hair ties

stain remover wipes

pen and small notepad

coin pouch

random ꒰ঌ ᡣ𐭩 ໒꒱

mini umbrella

sunglasses

nail file and scissors

tea bags

hair pins

mini fan

crystals/lucky charms

thank you for reading angels! if youd be interested in a more school/uni focused what to keep in your bag feel free to let me know!

love, m.

#girlblogging #girlhood #becoming that girl #just girly things #it girl #it girl energy #glow up #pink pilates princess #that girl #clean girl #bag #whats in my bag

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flwrkid14 · 5 months ago

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The Batfamily’s Christmas List Tradition (and how Tim gets lost in it)

The Batfamily has a long-standing Christmas tradition: the List. With so many members in the family, it’s a necessity. Everyone writes down what they want (within reason, of course), and the list serves as the ultimate gift guide. It’s efficient, especially for such a big family, and it ensures no one ends up with seven pairs of socks or the same gadget twice.

Tim takes the list seriously. It’s his chance to ask for the small, thoughtful things he wouldn’t usually splurge on for himself. Things like:

New makeup brushes. His old ones are worn out and falling apart, and it’s not until he’s on a mission that requires cross-dressing that he realizes just how bad they’ve gotten. Having a new, high-quality set would make everything feel a little smoother—and maybe even a little fun.

Cozy hoodies. Between Wayne Enterprises business casual and his Robin gear, Tim rarely gets the chance to wear something soft and comforting. His favorite hoodies are all fraying at the edges, with loose threads on the pockets and fabric that’s stretched too thin. A fresh one would feel like a luxury.

A new game console. Tim is rarely ever not working, but on those rare days off, he realizes he doesn't have much to entertain him that's not work related, that doesn't require him to leave his nest. Plus, it’s a great way to connect with his siblings during low-stakes, playful nights.

Nice coffee cups or tumblers. His caffeine habits are legendary, but the chipped and mismatched mugs he uses don’t exactly scream "Tim Drake." A sleek, stylish tumbler or a high-quality ceramic mug would elevate the most important part of his day.

Random indulgences. Books, stationery, weighted blankets, maybe a nice figuring from his favorite movie, a cool gadget he wouldn’t think to buy himself—little things that spark joy and make him feel cared for, anything he knows his own parents would have never bought for him to help heal his inner child. He's never had the luxury of writing such lists before becoming a Wayne.

Tim doesn’t just take the list seriously for himself; he makes sure to go the extra mile for his family, too. He’s always had a knack for gift-giving, and he loves curating the perfect presents for his siblings. For Dick, it might be a rare vinyl of his favorite band. For Jason, an antique first-edition book he’d mentioned once in passing. For Damian, something handmade and unique, like a custom leather-bound sketchbook or a rare art supply. Tim remembers the little things—the throwaway comments, the subtle preferences—and builds his gifts around them, ensuring every box under the tree feels deeply personal.

But Christmas rolls around… and none of the thought Tim puts into his gifts is reflected in what he receives.

Instead, he gets tech. More tech. External hard drives, cables, chargers—things he already has backups for because, well, he’s Tim. He doesn’t need more, and he didn’t ask for more.

And the worst part? It’s not that they’re bad gifts. It’s that the family assumes they know him so well that they don’t even look at his list.

“Tim’s the tech guy,” they think. “Of course he’d want more tech.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s grateful, of course—Tim is always grateful—but there’s a hollowness that creeps in every year when he unwraps another stack of USB drives and ethernet cables. It’s not about the gifts themselves. It’s about the realization that the people he loves, the people who should know him best, don’t see him the way he wants to be seen.

In a way, it feels painfully familiar. Janet had always made sure his presents as a child reflected her vision for him, not what he actually wanted. New tailored suits instead of the hoodies or tees he longed for. Sleek, professional office stationery to replace his Robin-themed pens and notebooks. Vintage collectibles meant to sit on a shelf, collecting dust, instead of toys he could actually play with. The gifts always came with a message: who he should be, not who he was. And now, even with the bats, the gifts still feel like expectations—like they see him as "the tech guy" rather than Tim, with all his quiet wants and overlooked needs.

So, Tim starts dreading Christmas. Not because he doesn’t love his family or the season, but because it reminds him of how little they seem to notice the little things about him.

And maybe one year, he stops adding personal things to the list altogether. Maybe he starts asking for tech, just to avoid the disappointment.

But deep down, he wishes someone—anyone—would surprise him with a new hoodie, a weighted blanket, or a set of makeup brushes. Something that says, “I see you, Tim. I really see you.”

#tim drake #batfam #christmas traditions #found family fails again #tim would be a thoughtful gift giver #tim gets them custom personal items and he gets cables and USB drives #how is that fair?

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alizha · 3 months ago

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ｆｉｘｅｒ | 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷

⁀➷ 𝗃𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗏𝗂 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 | 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗎

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 5.7𝗄

𝖳𝖺𝗀𝗌: 𝖿/𝗆, 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗁𝖾/𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖨𝖳𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗃𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗋!𝗅𝖾𝗏𝗂, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗇𝗈 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋(𝗌).

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖫𝖾𝗏𝗂 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗃𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝖲𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗄𝗂 𝖧𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍. 𝖧𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝖨𝖳 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗎𝗍.

𝖠/𝖭: 𝖮𝗈𝗉𝗌, 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗎𝖽𝖺𝗅 𝖤𝗅𝖽𝗂𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀.

masterlist | cross posted to ao3 next chapter →

“Wait, say that again?”

The laptop makes a pathetic whirring sound as you jam your thumb against the power button again. “Hange, please, what did you do with this?”

Hange’s eyes sparkle as they crouch down to your eye level with a dangerous mix of curiosity and delight that you’ve come to know well. “You have a crush. On Levi.”

“Nope. Didn’t say that,” you say, busying yourself with flipping the laptop over to examine the ports. Hange’s chair squeaks beneath you as you carefully shake the charger from the tangled mess of other cables draped across their cluttered desk.

“You implied it,” Hange says, leaning in a little closer and grinning like a cat about to pounce. “He’s single, if you’re wondering. You know, I’ve always said he needs to put himself out there, maybe meet someone smart, sweet—,”

“Hange,” you interrupt, your focus hopelessly strained, “I can’t fix this if you keep distracting me.”

“—and you’re perfect! How have I never thought of it before?”

You sigh and press the heel of your palm to your forehead. “Maybe because I’ve never been assigned here this long.”

“That’s true!” Hange says, taking your shoulders in hand and gently giving you an affectionate shake. “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite IT specialist. I love when district loans you to us. Can’t you just take a full time position here? Then, you could see Levi every day.”

“This isn’t happening,” you mutter to yourself. “All I said was I think he’s attractive.”

“It was the way you said it!” Hange exclaims, throwing their hands into the air like they’ve just discovered a new element.

“Please, I’m begging you, let’s focus on the real problem here,” you say, setting down the laptop next to a set of beakers with some sort of suspicious dried residue clinging to the bottom. “What did you do to this poor laptop? It looks like it’s been through a war zone.”

“All I did was take it home over the weekend,” they say with a shrug, sounding mildly offended. “And I may have installed a few updates. And tweaked some settings. And maybe tried to make it run a little faster by deleting some programs. But it’s not my fault if this thing can’t handle a little innovation.”

You narrow your eyes, almost afraid to ask. “Which programs?”

“Just the unimportant ones.”

“Right,” you say, exasperated. “Well, whatever you did, it’s not just refusing to connect to your desktop setup. It’s barely powering on at all. I’ll need a bit more time to figure this out.”

“Oh, no need to rush,” Hange says, flapping a hand dismissively. “Just gives us time to figure out what to do about Levi.”

You roll your eyes and lean back in their creaky chair. “We’re not going to be doing anything about Levi. There’s nothing to do. I don’t think I’ve ever even talked to him.”

“Ooh!” Hange points a finger at you. “He asked you to fix the Wi-Fi in the gym that one time.”

“That’s hardly a conversation,” you say dryly, reaching out to shut the laptop with a soft click before standing up with a groan. “Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to come back later. Mr. Smith needs some help with a login issue—something about the gradebook.”

“Don’t use Erwin as an excuse to run away,” Hange says as you sidle past them with your own laptop in hand and head toward the door.

“Sorry, Hange, gotta run!” you call without bothering to glance over your shoulder as you practically bolt out the door.

It’s currently the middle of third period, and the hallways are empty as you make your way toward another wing of the building. Your steps across the linoleum echo off rows of red metallic lockers, littered with loose papers and frayed straps from backpacks haphazardly shoved inside. You pause by a locker near the corner of the hall, the faint murmur of an ongoing class drifting through the closest classroom door, to bend over and pick up the wrinkled wrapper of a protein bar off the floor.

Brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, you straighten and continue on your way. The wrapper crinkles softly as you crush it in your fist. There’s a trash bin outside the bathrooms just before you reach the history classroom, and you jauntily toss the wrapper into it as you pass by.

The buzz coming from inside the room steadily increases in volume as you near the door. You can see the students inside grouped at their desks, heads bent together over open textbooks and notes. As you stroll through the entrance, your gaze lands on Erwin sitting at his desk and immediately feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of Levi standing across from him, his arms crossed and his brow slightly furrowed in what seems to be his default expression.

Your steps falter for a fraction of a second. Normally, playing it cool in front of Levi is a breeze, but your conversation with Hange leaves you hyperaware of how flustered his presence makes you feel. Before you can fully recover your confident posture, Erwin glances over at you, leading to Levi turning to see what’s caught his attention.

You force a small smile and wave, earning from Erwin a warm reciprocation. Levi, meanwhile, gives you a slight nod before turning back to Erwin.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Erwin nods. Levi turns toward the door, and you do your best to look unbothered as you cross paths.

“Hange’s chair is squeaking horribly,” you blurt out before you can think twice. “Might be worth a look if you’re already doing the rounds.”

He pauses, backtracking half a step to raise an eyebrow at you. “Hange’s whole classroom is a disaster. I doubt fixing one chair will make a difference.”

You huff out a small laugh. “Fair point.”

One corner of his mouth twitches faintly, and he continues walking past you before disappearing out the door. With a deep breath, you approach Erwin’s desk, heart beating just a bit faster. When you finally realize he’s wearing a sly, thin-lipped grin, clearly trying to suppress a laugh, you blink at him in confusion.

“What?”

Erwin shrugs cheekily, his gaze darting toward his students to briefly check they’re still preoccupied with their work before responding. “Oh, nothing. It’s just, that interaction with Levi? Very bold,” he says, the quirking of his eyebrow underscoring his sarcasm. He raises his voice an octave in imitation. “‘Hange’s chair is squeaking horribly.’ I’m surprised he didn’t fall head over heels right then.”

You cringe inwardly. “I do not sound like that. And I’ve already got Hange on my case. I don’t need you starting, too.”

“Hange’s got a good eye for these things, if you can believe it,” he says. “And for the record, your delivery was flawless—if your goal was to seduce him with furniture repair.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and you glare at him. “I don’t have any goals. I was just… making conversation.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Erwin nods solemnly. “Completely casual. Levi loves casual. You’re playing the long game, clearly.”

“Erwin,” you say, your voice edged with warning. “Wait, does he really?”

He chuckles softly, and you shake your head with a huff.

“Nevermind. Just, can we drop this?”

“Alright, alright,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “But just a word of warning—Levi’s not as oblivious as he seems.”

You determinedly tamp down your curiosity and turn your attention to his open laptop, though it threatens to tear you apart from the inside. For now, you decide to ignore it. “Enough,” you say. “Before I decide to let you figure out your gradebook issue on your own.”

Levi catches the scent of something vaguely burnt wafting in the air before he even reaches the chemistry lab door. The muscles of his lower back tense upon instinct. Walking into Hange’s classroom always almost feels like marching into war.

“What the hell, Four-Eyes?” he says, nose scrunching at the swell of the volatile aroma as he enters the room.

“Well, well, two visitors in one planning period!” Hange exclaims from their perch on the desk, throwing their arms wide and nearly flinging their planner covered in disorderly sticky notes across the room. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Levi sets his toolbox down and nudges the unoccupied chair behind the desk. It emits a miserable squeal. “Heard this thing’s been making noise. Figured I’d deal with it before you make it worse.”

“Ah, my knight in shining coveralls,” Hange says, hopping down from the desk. “But hey, while you’re here, I’ve been meaning to discuss a certain lovely IT specialist who’s been temporarily transferred from the district office with you.”

He pauses with his hand on the chair and turns to give Hange his best rendition of an unimpressed glare. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting. She’s into you, you know.”

Crouching, Levi closely inspects the chair’s tilt mechanism and reaches into the toolbox for a wrench. “Maybe she thinks she is, but it’ll pass.”

“You’re such a killjoy. She’s legit interested, Levi. I know you’ve noticed, so don’t even try to deny it.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says flatly, tightening a bolt. “But that doesn’t mean anything. People change their minds all the time.”

“Oh, Levi, you’re so predictable,” Hange says, shaking their head with fond exasperation. “You mean people change their minds about you all the time. She’s not like that, though. She’s kind, she’s patient, she gets your whole… thing.” They gesture at him with a few wild flails of their hands. “And this is the best part—she said she thinks you’re hot.”

Levi snorts, shaking his head. “You’re making that up.”

“Am not!”

“Yeah, well.” He turns his attention back to the chair, resuming his work. “I doubt she knows I used to be in a gang.”

“Levi, half the student body knows you used to be in a gang. The other half heard the rumors and are still deciding whether they believe them.”

“If you’re trying to sell me on this, Four-Eyes, that’s not helping,” he deadpans.

“My point is, she’s into you, dummy,” Hange says, giving his shoulder a light shove. “She’s not waiting for you to be taller, or more talkative, or whatever nonsense you’re thinking of. She likes you. Don’t let that scare you off.”

The chair lets out a final, reluctant creak as Levi stands. If he’d known following up on your tip about Hange’s chair was going to get him ambushed like this, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so eager to jump on it.

“Fixed. Try not to break it again.”

“Thank you!” Hange calls after him as he grabs his toolbox and makes a beeline for the door.

Levi grunts his response and heads directly toward the janitor’s closet, warily eyeing his wristwatch. The bell would ring soon, and the students would be flooding the hallways in a blink. While getting caught during the passing period poses little more than a minor inconvenience, he attempts to avoid it altogether.

Striding down the hall, he makes it to the teachers’ lounge just before the closet and catches sight of the door sitting ajar. Inside, he’s surprised to see you bent over the counter, fiddling with the coffee maker. Your brow is furrowed in concentration as you jab at one of the buttons on the machine.

Fuck, it’s cute. You’re a whiz when it comes to anything IT related, but here you are, stumped by the damn coffee maker. To be fair, the ancient thing is more or less a lost cause. Levi exhales softly and steps inside the lounge just as the bell chimes from the intercom system and classroom doors swing open.

“Gonna break it if you keep doing that,” he says over the sudden roar in the hallway.

You jump slightly, then break out into a sheepish smile when you realize it’s him addressing you. “It’s already broken, I think. It’s been making these weird noises all week, and now, it’s not even brewing.”

Levi eyes the machine, as if he might intimidate it into magically working for you. No such luck. He stows his toolbox in the corner of the counter and points to the cupboard above the coffee maker.

“Forget that junk. There’s good tea up there on the top shelf. I don’t drink the sludge they stock this place with.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise, but you follow his suggestion a beat later. Reaching up, you open the cupboard to find a neat row of tea tins nestled behind a cluster of mismatched mugs. “Wow. This is your stash? Do you live here or something?”

“I’ve considered it once or twice,” he says, leaning his hip against the counter.

You chuckle, a light, musical sound as you take one of the tins and examine the label. “Same. Shingeki’s a big school. You wouldn’t believe how many trouble tickets I walk in to find every morning before classes even start.”

“Dunno. I might believe it.”

That earns him a brilliant smile that makes his heart thump against his ribs.

“You know,” you say matter-of-factly, “the district office has one of those fancy latte machines. Touchscreen, milk frother, the whole deal.”

“Of course they do,” Levi says with a scoff. “Probably gets assigned its own IT specialist, and that’s why your department’s always stretched hopelessly thin. Wouldn’t want the administrators suffering through a regular cup of coffee like the rest of us.”

You laugh again, and the way you throw your head back just a little rouses a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. “You’d think they were running a five-star café over there instead of all those budget cut meetings.”

“Sounds about right,” he replies, somehow managing to maintain his cool veneer despite his growing fluster. “Nothing says fiscal responsibility like splurging on a machine that’ll break the second anyone presses the wrong button.”

Amusement gleams in your eyes. “Your cynicism is truly inspiring.”

“It’s not cynicism,” he says, feeling a faint smirk tug at his lips. “It’s realism. You work in this place long enough, you get used to things falling apart.”

“Well,” you say, tilting your head, “at least you’re an expert at fixing things, so I’ve heard.”

The instinctive urge to contradict you bubbles up in his chest, but Levi pushes it back down. He doesn’t know what to make of that coming from you. “I try,” he finally settles on saying.

You place the tea tin on the counter, lowering your gaze to the metallic cylinder as your fingers tap lightly against the lid. “Speaking of things falling apart, while I was helping Erwin earlier, he invited me out with the staff tonight. End Zone, right? Sounds like the teachers’ usual haunt.”

“Yeah, they go there,” Levi says.

Your eyes lift to his, peering through your lashes. “Do you ever join them?”

He shakes his head, brows pinching. “End Zone? Not my scene. Too loud, too crowded, and the food’s absolute crap.”

“Oh,” you say, your voice trailing off with a touch of disappointment. “Guess that’s fair.”

For a wild second, Levi considers it—throwing out an alternative. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere that doesn’t reek of stale beer and desperation. Maybe that small bistro a few blocks down from the bar, the one with real food instead of the greasy pub slop that passes for a meal at End Zone.

The words hover at the tip of his tongue. Dinner instead? Just us?

But he doesn’t say them. Because what’s the point? You’re looking at him like you might actually want him around, but you don’t know anything about him. Not really. Not the parts that matter. The parts that would make you look at him differently.

You think he’s an expert at fixing things, but you have no idea how much he’s broken.

So instead, Levi shrugs. “Yeah. Guess so.”

You nod ruefully, and he catches the flicker of uncertainty in your expression. But you cover it up quickly with another small smile.

“Well, I guess I’ll see if I survive a night out with Moblit and Hange’s karaoke.”

“Good luck,” Levi mutters. He shifts closer, reaches past her to grab one of the cups from the shelf—a white ceramic mug with big, bold text that read ‘WORLD’S OKAYEST JANITOR,’ which Petra had bought for him one Christmas.

His arm brushes yours, just barely, and he feels your breath hitch quietly before your eyes land on the mug. You let out a soft snort at the novelty print that has his stomach twisting not unpleasantly.

It would be so easy. A simple invitation. A step toward something he’s pretty sure both of you want. But his feet stay planted, and his mouth stays shut.

And you, after a pause just a beat too long, replace the tea tin on the shelf and step away. “I’ve gotta get back. Took too long tinkering with that hunk of junk. I’ll see you around, Levi.”

He watches her go, jaw clenched.

Idiot.

End Zone is exactly what you expected: a slightly run-down sports bar with dim lighting and battered wooden booths and an ever-present hum of conversation layered under the sound of whatever game is playing on the many wall-mounted screens. And beneath the scent of fried food and cheap beer, you can detect the sharp tinge of cleaning solution that doesn’t quite mask the years of spilled drinks and rowdy celebrations.

No wonder Levi hates the place. Sure, it makes sense now that he didn’t bite when you hinted that he should come out. But there was no way he didn’t get the hint, right?

A handful of Shingeki staff are already settled in their usual corner, nursing drinks and swapping stories about the week’s disasters. You slid into a booth across from Erin, who raises a thick brow at you as you take a long sip of your cocktail—something strong and citrusy that you ordered on impulse.

You set your glass down with a soft thud and fix him with a look. “You lied to me.”

Erwin, mid-sip of his own drink, hums in amused confusion before swallowing. “Did I?”

“Yes,” you say, jabbing a finger at him. “You told me Levi wasn’t as oblivious as he seemed. That he’d pick up on things if I made them obvious enough.”

He leans back, stretching one arm across the booth’s backrest, looking thoroughly entertained. “Ah,” he muses. “So you made a move, did you?”

You let out a sharp sigh. “I gave him the perfect setup, Erwin! I told him I was coming here tonight. I practically invited him without actually inviting him. And he just… let it pass! Didn’t even try to suggest something else!”

The frustration is more at yourself than Levi. You had thought you were being clever, giving him an easy way to say hey, let’s hang out! But instead, you were left walking out of the break room with an overwhelming sense of well, that was awkward.

Erwin chuckles, the knowing kind that makes you want to shove his shoulder. He swirls the remaining liquid in his glass before setting it down with a soft clink, a bit of the mirth in his expression slowly fading.

“I’ve known Levi a long time,” he says, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Helped him get the job at Shingeki, actually.”

You knit your brows together at him. “Really?”

He nods. “And look, as someone who’s known him a while, it’s easy to forget that Levi can be… less than forthcoming when you first get to know him.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head and consider your brief conversation with Levi in the break room earlier. Before you had brought up End Zone, he had been perfectly pleasant. Downright flirty, even. “I suppose I wouldn’t call him a chatterbox, but he’s not that hard to talk to.”

Erwin gives a small, wry smile. “Good. I’m glad you think so.” He shifts in his seat and exhales, as if considering how much to say before finally continuing. “All that to say, Levi’s been through a lot. It’s not my place to tell you everything, and frankly, it’s his business who he shares it with.”

You’ve heard the inklings of the rumors. Admittedly, you had written them off as nonsense at first, but you couldn’t help but wonder. Levi seemed to keep a low profile at the school, yet everyone knew his name, and many happened to adopt the same stiff posture when he was mentioned.

“I don’t say all this to be dramatic,” Erwin continues. “I say it because the past leaves a mark. What Levi’s been through, it affects his relationships. All of them.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and fiddle with the condensation on your glass. The way he talks, you don’t doubt for a second that Erwin knows exactly what Levi has been through, but the fact he won’t elaborate tells you all you need to know about how much he respects Levi’s privacy.

“You’re infuriatingly principled, you know that?” you huff.

“So I’ve been told.” He grins and finishes off his drink. “He’s not indifferent to you,” he adds, apparently sensing your apprehension. “You gave him an opportunity tonight, and he didn’t take it. That doesn’t mean he didn’t want to.”

You let out a slow breath, rolling Erwin’s words over in your mind. Perhaps, it should have left you frustrated, should have made you want to throw up your hands and decide Levi isn’t worth the effort.

But instead, you feel a strange, unexpected sense of conviction settling in your chest. You want Levi to know that you see him, that you’re willing to be patient, that he doesn’t have to shut the door before anything has even begun. And then, you look at Erwin and the glint in his eye as he witnesses your resolve solidifying.

The bastard knew he wasn’t going to scare you away with any of it. You realize Erwin knew exactly what he was doing just as a hand slaps down on your shoulder.

Hange’s voice is suddenly way too close to your ear, singing out your name as you startle. “Come with me! I need a favor!”

You blink up at them. “For what?”

“For the duet,” Hange declares. “Moblit bailed and I need a partner.”

“And what part of that made you think of me?””

“Oh, you like music, don’t you?” Hange says, like it’s some quirky, unique characteristic of yours. “C’mon!”

Erwin chuckles as he watches this unfold, and you rub your temples, letting yourself get dragged away to the stage.

Levi doesn’t get a lot of quiet during the day, between the constant noise, the constant movement, the constant people. He likes his job well enough, but at the end of the day, there’s something almost sacred about coming home to silence.

His apartment is dark except for the slanted stripes of yellow light from the convenience store sign across the street, filtering in through the blinds. His mug, half-full with lukewarm tea, sits forgotten on the coffee table as he tips his head back against the couch cushions, letting his eyes slip shut.

It’s late. He should be in bed. Instead, his phone vibrates on the coffee table, screen flashing with Hange’s name.

He debates ignoring it. He really does. But experience has taught him that ignoring Hange only leads to more problems later, so with a resigned sigh, he picks up.

“Hange,” he grumbles into the receiver.

“Levi!” Hange’s voice crackles through the phone. In the background, he can hear the lingering murmur of voices, the occasional burst of laughter. It sounds as if they may be standing outside the bar with a group.

“I take it you had fun.”

“You missed all the fun,” Hange corrects.

“Yeah? Darn,” he says dryly. “You drunk?”

“A little.”

“A lot,” another voice—Erwin—murmurs somewhere in the middle distance.

“Anyway,” Hange drawls, “small problem. I might need a ride home.”

Levi sighs. “No.”

“Levi.”

“No.”

“Levi, please.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not a damn chauffeur, Hange.”

“Aww,” Hange whines. “I guess I could call a rideshare, but…”

“But what,” he says flatly. “But you’d rather inconvenience me?”

“You’re so perceptive! Come on, Levi. Be my knight in shining armor!”

Levi lets out a sigh through his nose, long and slow. He doesn’t really want to drag himself out of the house for this. Hange’s a pain in the ass, but they’re his pain in the ass. And despite all his grumbling, he wouldn’t actually leave them hanging.

“Fine. Text me where you are,” he says.

“You’re the best! I could kiss you!”

“Try it, and I’m leaving you there.”

Hange’s cackle comes through, and Levi just shakes his head, already grabbing his keys.

Approximately ten minutes later, he’s pulling up in front of the bright, blaring neon sign outside End Zone. The place is still relatively packed, but it’s not hard to spot Hange standing by the curb. Especially with both their arms flailing above their head like a malfunctioning windmill.

“Ah! My knight in shining, slightly dented, armor!” Hange crows as Levi rolls down the windows, swaying rather dangerously as they point at him. “I knew you’d come for me!”

Levi doesn’t respond, blinking slowly at them.

“And,” Hange barrels on, nearly toppling sideways, “wouldn’t you know it, your noble duty just doubled. Because guess what?”

Levi’s fingers tightened around the wheel. “No.”

“Yes.” Hange slaps a hand against the roof of his car and whips around to jab a finger toward you as you stumble up behind them.

“Oh my god,” you groan, mostly to yourself as you drag your hands down your face. Your shoe scuffs against the pavement as you slow to a stop, and Levi realizes you’re massively inebriated.

“This little lady needs a ride, too,” Hange says brightly. “What do you say? Two birds, one stone.”

You attempt to glare at Hange, but you can’t keep your eyes fully open which kind of ruins the effect. “I should’ve called a rideshare. I told you I would call a rideshare—”

“Pfffft.” Hange waves a dismissive hand. “Why would you do that when our dear Levi is here? Our ever-dutiful hero! Our chariot driver!”

“Levi,” you called as you ducked slightly, squinting blearily at him like you’re processing his existence in real time. “Levi, I’m so sorry.”

Levi feels his stone-faced veneer crack.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Hange speaks for him, throwing an arm around your shoulders and beginning to usher you toward the back door. “Levi’s a great driver. And he loves doing me favors. Isn’t that right, Levi?”

“No.”

“See?” Hange says, grinning. “He’s thrilled!”

You let out a long-suffering sigh as they wrestle the car door open and all but shove you inside. With a soft ‘oof,’ you flop unceremoniously onto the seat, then immediately begin fumbling with the seatbelt like it’s an even more complicated mechanism than the ancient coffeemaker in the break room.

Meanwhile, Levi’s attention flickers back to Erwin as he steps up to his window. The blond leans against the door, hands tucked into his pockets, an infuriatingly knowing expression on his face—the one Levi recognizes all too well.

“Drive safe,” Erwin says lightly.

Levi scoffs. “Obviously.”

“And Levi?” Erwin cocks his head slightly. “We’ve talked about this enough,” he says, his tone more a reminder than a lecture. “Don’t let too many more opportunities pass you by, my friend.”

Levi clicks his tongue and glances away. “Not sure what you’re suggesting. She’s wasted, creep.”

Erwin chuckles softly. He knows Levi knows full well what he means. He steps back, nodding once before heading back toward the bar.

In the backseat, there’s a clunk as you finally manage to click your seatbelt into place. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver, Levi. I really owe you one.”

“Ooooh, yeah, that’s true,” Hange chimes in. “You totally do. Levi, name your price!”

Levi shoots them a glare in the rearview mirror. “Shut up, Hange.”

With that, he throws the car into drive and pulls away, the neon glow of End Zone shrinking into the distance as the quiet streets stretch out ahead.

By some miracle, Levi manages to wrangle your home address out of you. It takes a series of half-coherent mumbles, several wrong turns, and one false start where you insisted, with absolute certainty that you lived in “the place with the door,” but he gets there.

Hange, at least, is easier to deal with since this isn’t his first time dropping them off. After they wave him off, Levi starts navigating toward your apartment, which, as it turns out, is in a somewhat nicer part of town. That makes sense—it’s closer to the school district office where all the well-paid administrators and senior staff live. And it explains why he’s never run into you outside of work.

The mid-rise apartment buildings where you live are nice. Not fancy, but well-maintained. The kind of place that probably has a decent property manager and an HOA that actually does its job.

Levi pulls into the lot and shifts into park with a sigh. When he glances in the rearview mirror, he finds you slumped against the seat. Fast asleep.

For fuck’s sake.

He didn’t sign up for this.

With another sigh, he unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out, rounding the car to open your door. He crouches slightly, bracing an arm against the frame. You look peaceful, if a little disheveled. He almost, almost wishes he didn’t have to wake you.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to give your shoulder a light shake. “You’re home.”

You groan softly, stirring in your seat, but your eyes stay shut.

He tries again, fingers pressing gently against your arm. “C’mon. You gotta wake up.”

Nothing still, except for the slight furrow in your brow.

Levi breathes out a measured exhale. He debates, for a brief moment, whether he should just haul you inside himself. But before he can decide, you mumble something.

“It’s true, ugh, you’re right.” Your voice is thick with sleep.

“What?” Levi frowns.

“You’re right, Hange. I do think he’s attractive!” Your voice rises and falls in irregular patterns, and one of your hands shoots out, narrowly missing Levi’s head. “And I won’t let his stupid stubbornness deter me…”

Levi goes still. Apparently, you think you’re still talking to Hange. His fingers tighten on the door frame as his mind scrambles for something to say. Anything. But you’re already sinking back into sleep, face peaceful, expression soft.

“You’re a damn menace,” he says, reaching for your shoulder once more. “Let’s get you inside.”

He’s got you halfway to your door when you finally seem to realize who exactly he is. You lift your head, curiously inspecting her own arm slung over his shoulder. Then, your face lights up in sudden, delighted recognition.

“Oh!” you exclaim, squeezing his bicep with surprising enthusiasm. “It’s you, Levi!”

He raises a brow and adjusts his grip on your waist. “Took you long enough.”

You emit a giggle—a goddamn giggle—and fondle the muscles in his arm further. “Oh, wow. You work out, don’t you. Holy shit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, trying to keep you from topping both of you over as he maneuvers you toward the door. “As a matter of fact.”

But he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth tick upward just slightly. Dammit. You’re cute. And your hands squeezing him like that is going to drive him crazy if he’s not careful.

“Where’re your keys?” he asks, eyeing the bag dangling against your hip.

“In my pocket,” you say cheekily, brushing your fingers down the length of his arm.

Levi’s breath catches when you take his hand in yours and press it against your ass. He can hardly believe his own senses as his fingers slide against the soft flesh beneath the layer of your pants. And, not to his surprise, he detects a distinct lack of keys.

“That’s not—” He swallows, his throat running dry. “The keys.”

“Levi,” you breathe.

He looks up to find your face is much closer than it should be. Your gaze is heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted, and the shine on them makes him nearly forget that his hand is currently feeling up your ass. Abruptly, he jerks away, his shoulder thumping into your door.

You call his name again, in that soft tone of voice that stirs something low in his stomach. In a blink, your hands are splayed on his chest as you lean forward, clearly aiming to kiss him. Levi’s heart stumbles into his throat, his mind cutting out into fuzzy static at the press of your body against his, and he barely manages to dodge the attempt in time.

“Whoa—hey.”

A noise of protest floats from your mouth, and you try again.

Fuck. Fuck. This time, Levi has no choice but to firmly grasp your shoulders and hold you at arm’s length.

“Not like this,” he says quietly.

You pout, and it wrenches in his chest. For a second, you look like you might argue further. But then, your drunken brain seems to catch up with reality, and your expression shifts into something dazedly thoughtful.

“Oh. You’re right. I—” You stifle a yawn against the back of your hand. “M’just tired.”

Levi sighs as you relax in his grip, the sudden burst of energy fading.

“Yeah, I know you are,” he says, reaching for your bag. “Time for bed, okay?”

He fishes your keys out and finally unlocks the door. After herding you inside, he barely pauses to take in the atmosphere of your home, this slice of your personal life that he deeply wanted to peruse. Briskly, he pulls you toward the only hallway and glances through each of the doors until he finds the one that is clearly your bedroom.

You’ve discarded your shoes at some point, leaving them haphazard in the hall along the way. It takes no small amount of effort to stifle the growl of desire deep at his core as Levi guides you to your bed. He scoffs quietly to himself as you flop onto the mattress.

“Get some rest,” Levi murmurs. He allows himself to watch you for a moment longer—the color in your cheeks, the fall of your hair, the curve of your lips that he finds so alluring.

And he tears himself away.

masterlist | cross posted to ao3 next chapter →

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x you #aot x you #aot x reader #aot fanfiction

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slut4smokemoore09 · 8 days ago

Text

When You Know,You Know "I'm in love with a stripper"

The blinds were halfway open, and the sun came in like it had beef with everybody in the room.

Evangelize groaned from under the covers, one arm flung dramatically across her face like she'd just fought in a war. The air smelled like last night — sweat, perfume, cigarettes, and a faint trace of chicken wings. Her wig was half-off, lashes stuck to the alarm clock radio, and her heels sat like exhausted warriors by the door.

She didn't know what time it was. Didn't care either.

What she did know was her head was thumping like somebody playin' spades on her forehead.

"Uuugh."

From the corner of the room, she heard rustling. Then a voice, low, smooth, and way too chipper for the hour.

"You alive?"

She cracked an eye open.

Sammie stood by the dresser, leaning with a bottle of Gatorade in one hand and her phone charger in the other. He was wearing one of his usual plain white tees, durag tied neatly, that gold chain peeking just enough to catch the light from the bulky box TV.

"Turn the sun off," she rasped.

He smirked, walking over to hand her the Gatorade. "Can't, ma. That's God. Gotta take that up with Him directly."

Evangelize snatched the drink like it owed her money and chugged half. "Ugh. Why my mouth taste like I chewed on a nickel?"

Sammie sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her like he was tryna keep from laughing. "That's the Malibu and four Pineapple Ciroc shots you chased with a fry off some stranger's plate."

She paused. "I did that?"

"You did a lot."

She blinked. "Like what?"

Sammie grinned, leaning in just a bit. "You don't even remember dancin' on that table, do you?"

Evangelize sat up quickly—too quickly.

The world tilted like a bad DJ scratch on a scratched-up cassette. "Wait, what?!"

He burst out laughing. "I told you to pace yourself. But nah, you was in there like Beyoncé's understudy."

She dropped her face into her hands. "Oh my God. I'm never showin' my face in there again."

"Oh you was showin' a lotta face. And thigh. And whatever that lil top was holdin' up by the grace of God and double-sided tape."

She peeked at him through her fingers, eyes squinting. "You helped me up, right?"

"Course I did," he said, softening. "What you think I'm here for?"

She didn't answer that. Just stared at the orange cap on her Gatorade bottle like it held all the answers to her poor life decisions.

Sammie stood and disappeared into the hallway for a second. Came back with a cool rag — fresh from the freezer — and gently placed it on her forehead.

"You got a real nurse vibe goin' on right now," she mumbled.

"Nah. I'm more like... the fine caretaker in a Hood Lifetime movie."

Evangelize chuckled. "The one that fall in love with the reckless girl who drink too much and got trauma in her purse?"

"Exactly."

She gave him a slow, sideways glance. "That your type?"

Sammie didn't look away. "Might be."

She swallowed, her throat dry for more reasons than the hangover. "You talk like that on purpose?"

"Only around you."

Her mouth twisted into a crooked smile. "See, you gon' make somebody fall."

"Then let me catch you."

She froze for a second. Like she ain't expect that to come out so clean.

But before she could say somethin' slick back, he stood and clapped his hands once.

"Alright, Ms. Club Superstar, time to eat."

"I swear if you bring me eggs, I'ma fight you."

He laughed down the hall. "Aight, no eggs. Just dry toast and judgment."

She lay back, smiling at the ceiling now. Still feelin' like death but a little more alive knowin' he was there. Not just there, but here — like he kept showin' up on purpose.

Ten minutes later, Sammie came back in with a paper plate of toast, a banana, and a mini water bottle like she was on house arrest. He set it on the nightstand, grabbed the remote, and clicked on the little TV in the corner. "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" was already playing off the cable box.

Evangelize raised a brow. "You watch this corny stuff?"

"Don't come for Will Smith. That man was the original light skin menace."

She groaned, covering her face again as he sat back beside her. But her smile wouldn't leave.

Even with the headache. Even with the embarrassment.

Because it wasn't just the care package. It was the way Sammie stayed — floatin' close, but never in her way. The way he joked like they'd been doing this for years. The way he watched her without ever making her feel small.

The bass from last night was still in her chest, but this — this-this quiet, this softness?

This felt like the real beat underneath it all.

They sat quiet for a minute, the early sun cutting through the blinds like it was trying to wake the whole damn block up. Sammie stared at the peeling paint on the wall, then looked over at Evangelize.

"We can't keep crashing at Annie's forever," he said, voice low. "I'm tired of comin' home feelin' like a guest in my own life."

Evangelize nodded slowly. "Facts. We need our own spot. Somewhere quiet, where it's just us. But money ain't exactly falling from the sky right now."

Sammie ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "We gotta figure somethin' out, fast. Maybe I pick up extra shifts, or—"

She cut him off with a smirk, leaning back like she already knew how this was gonna go. "I could go be a stripper for a minute, you know? Someone at the club even gave me this." She pulled out a business card, waving it like a trophy. "Got the outfits and everything ready."

Sammie's eyes snapped up, sharp and serious. "Don't play wit me."

She laughed, but caught the weight behind his words, like he wasn't just talking about the job, but about her. "I'm serious. It's just for a minute."

He leaned forward, Got it. Here's a chapter-style scene where Sammie is teasing and asking the girl to try on the exact outfits from the three images you sent. The outfits are worked into the story with descriptive detail and a mix of humor, tension, and heat, keeping the energy playful but a little wild as requested.

Sammie lay stretched out on the bed, one arm behind his head, the other scrolling through his phone while his girl rummaged through the closet like a hurricane in human form.

"Ay," he called out with a smirk, not looking up. "You said you was gon' be a stripper, right?"

Her voice shot back from the closet, playful but with that edge. "Boy, shut up."

"Nah, I'm serious. You been talkin' all this shit 'bout what you'd wear if you hit the pole." He finally set the phone down and grinned toward the closet. "So go 'head. Show me them lil outfits you was talkin' bout. Matter fact—try that shit on. Right now."

There was a pause. Then her laugh echoed out, deep and daring. "You want me to model 'em for you?"

"I mean... if you really 'bout it." He licked his lips, voice low now. "Let me see somethin'. Make me believe it."

He didn't expect her to actually do it.

But she stepped out of the closet a minute later, bold as hell, rocking a two-piece fire red bikini-style fit, thin as floss and loud like a siren. The top was barely hanging on, with heart-shaped rings connecting the pieces over her chest, and the thong bottoms were straight disrespectful—nothing but hips, waist, and attitude. She stood there with one hand on her hip, chin tilted up.

Sammie sat up slow. His whole mood shifted.

"Damn."

She smirked. "This what you wanted?"

"You look like sin wrapped in velvet," he muttered, eyes dragging down her body. "Spin around."

She turned—slow, taunting—letting that back view sink in, then blew him a kiss over her shoulder and disappeared back into the closet.

Round two came in hot.

This time it was that neon green lace-up one-piece, cut high on the thighs and lower in the front than gravity should allow. Straps wrapped around her waist like a spiderweb of thirst. Her thighs gleamed under the soft light, and that color popped off her skin like it had a vendetta.

Sammie bit his bottom lip. "Okay, okay, you tryna get me locked up."

"You said you wanted to see it," she said with a shrug, though her smile said watch what happen next.

"Girl, that ain't no outfit, that's straight-up temptation."

"Good."

Before he could catch his breath, she ducked away again.

The third look? That one nearly did him in.

She came out in a black strappy thong set, sleek and lethal. The top had cutouts that barely held her in place, and the bottoms—if you could even call 'em that—showed off every inch of curve God gave her. A tiny strap looped around her waist like a whisper of control. She wore it like power, standing in the doorway like a whole damn threat.

Sammie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice thick. "You wearin' that to the club?"

She raised a brow. "You said you wanted me to strip, didn't you?"

He laughed low, slow. "Naw, see... now you just showin' off."

She stepped closer, slow and confident, til she was right in front of him.

"Well," she said, cocking her head, "you gonna throw me some money or just sit there lookin' hungry?"

Sammie reached in his pocket and pulled out a whole stack of wrinkled dollar bills. "Shit, I'll throw the whole check."

She snatched the money from his hand, kissed his cheek, and strutted right back to the closet like a superstar.

"Better tip yo dancer," she called, "before she raise her prices."

#sammie moore smut #sinners #sinners smut #preacher boy #elijah smoke moore #michael b jordan #elias stack moore #sammie moore x reader

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alvfr · 10 months ago

Note

hey I saw you're open to requests and I'm so obsessed with your "Accidents" series with Hotch x Reader! I totally get you're taking a break from it atm so feel free to ignore but I'd love a drabble or whatever you're comfortable writing/sharing from the series? Maybe like a snapshot of when they were still figuring things out before they crossed that line or became established.

Thanks so much!

A/N: Aah, it's been so long since I've written for Hotch so I hope I managed something at least. I really tried to keep this short-ish and more of a drabble, but yeah, this would be set after the shower-scene in "Elevators" but before the bonus-part, I guess. Not super exciting maybe, but good practice for me. cw: none? sfw. awkward phone call. fem bau!reader, no use of y/n, part of "accidents" wc: 1.3k

Call me maybe

The first time Hotch called you was around eight in the evening, the day after your team got back from the conference in Florida. While you could not say you had been expecting it — a pessimistic part of you always expected the worst case scenario — your body told a different tale. Every inch of you had buzzed with anticipation since you stepped foot in your own apartment. Making sure to keep your phone charged and unmuted for a change, going as far as keeping it within sight when taking a shower and still checking it religiously every few minutes in case you had missed something.

You argued with yourself, scolding yourself for waiting around like a lovesick schoolgirl and then berating yourself for doubting his word in the first place. He had said he would call and Hotch did not lie so why were you getting so worked up?

When the day dragged on, without even paperwork to distract yourself with, you spiraled into increasingly worse scenarios as to why he had not called. He had been called into work, he had lost his phone, he had forgot his charger, he was discovered he was under surveillance by some shady government officials. Or something had happened to him, or to someone he cared about, or something had happened to both him and someone he cared about. Or, and this was simultaneously the best and worst one, he had changed his mind.

So when the call came that night, you had worked yourself into a bit of a frenzy and jumped at the sound of your own ring tone. The display glowed with the name 'A. Hotchner' and you forgot all about basic human behavior, like blinking or even breathing.

It rang three times before your body bypassed your meddlesome mind and you picked up with the standard greeting of your last name, just in case he was under surveillance somehow. A theory that gained traction with every loaded second where you could not hear anything from the other side.

“Hotch?” you asked and held the phone out to check if the call was still active. In your state, you would not have been all that surprised to find if you had hallucinated the whole thing. “You there?”

“Yes.” The smooth sound of his voice sent rivers of idyll into your veins while your heart threatened to pound out of your skull. “Sorry. Hi.”

A stupid grin overtook your face and you twirled the still-connected charger cable with your fingers before catching yourself. Dropping the cable, you cleared both your throat and face. “Hi.”

“Hi. Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s good.”

You tried to avoid looking at the mess of your apartment, all chores neglected for the day in case you wound up missing his call. In truth, you’d drop everything in a heartbeat and come over if he asked, although you had no idea where he lived.

“I mean, I can talk?” You winced at how you had managed to phrase it as a question and cleared your throat again. “What’s up?”

And the award for worst conversationalist goes to this girl right here, you thought with a hefty roll of your eyes. What’s up? What were you, fourteen years old and trying to impress your friend’s older brother?

“Not much,” Hotch admitted from his side of the line and you thought you could detect a hint of gratitude in there. “Just finished up some overdue paperwork.”

“San Joaquin county?” you guessed, knowing without a doubt how much paperwork that case still generated.

“Parts of it, yes. There’s also the budgets, protocols and various administration memos I’m forced to have an opinion on.” A slight pause and you caught a slight intake of breath on his side. “I didn’t call to talk about work.”

You forced yourself to keep your breaths slow and controlled instead of shivering as you knew they’d be. “Okay.”

“How are you?” The tenderness in his voice wreaked havoc with your inner organs and you could imagine his expression. The tilt to his eyebrows that matched the tilt of his jaw where he looked up, resting his eyes on whatever was near the ceiling to the left of him. “You get home okay?”

“Safe and sound. You?”

“All in one piece.”

A silence stretched on for an uncomfortable few heartbeats and you wracked your brain for something worthwhile to say. It was uncharted territory to talk to him casually like this. No time crunch forcing you to keep the small talk to a minimum and no risk of getting caught forcing you to speak in code. Neither did your forte lay in phone calls and, as the profiler you were, you wished you could have had his facial expressions and mannerisms to reveal more of his thoughts during the conversation. The same probably went for him, you realized and it made you breathe a little easier.

“What did you think of the conference?” he asked just as you were about to say something completely different.

“Uh…” Your brain did a full reboot to no avail. “Are you asking about the actual conference or—”

“The actual conference,” he clarified and you thought you could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you catch the mass-shooting response training?”

“I did and it was okay, I guess, even if it felt a little dated.” You wandered around in your apartment, needing to get rid of the built-up excess energy. “Doesn’t this count as work talk though?”

“You’re right. Sorry, I’m,” you heard something brushing against the microphone, maybe him dragging a hand over his forehead, “not very good at this. I, uh, wanted to call to reiterate that I fully understand if you’ve changed your mind about this.”

“I haven’t.”

The words came out faster than you had anticipated, some part of you determined to deny him any possibility of doubt.

“I’m really glad you called, Hotch.” You did a few test-runs at yourself in the mirror and corrected yourself to: “Aaron.”

“Good. I’ve been working up the nerve to do so for the past hour.”

Again, you could imagine his expression. The slight secretive smile, his head now tilted downward, exposing more of his neck to the room.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for it since I got home last night.” You tried to match his unabashed honesty, the need to convince him that you wanted this still present. “If that makes you feel any better.”

“A little,” he murmured and you could almost feel how he settled in wherever he was, maybe lounging back against the couch or chair, getting comfortable and the phone scratched again as he shifted it around. “What kind of movies do you like?”

The question blindsided you and you blinked at your own reflection in the mirror. “Uh, I’m omnivorous really. Why?”

“I’m looking through the show times for Friday night. I was hoping you would like to go see a movie with me, if we don’t get a case.”

“Oh.” Your stupid grin returned tenfold and you absentmindedly twirled the charging cable again. “Well, then I really like the movie that is playing this Friday night.”

In the end, you settled for a title and time, both of which would be rescheduled over and over again because of a case getting in the way. It took you a month to go see a movie together, but it did not really matter. By then, you had talked on the phone every night you were off a case (and sometimes he called you from a hotel room that were just a few doors down the hall from yours to say good night when you were on a case.) A torturous slow pace, maybe, but well worth it in your opinion.

-----

Thank you for the request!

If you want to read the rest of the series, it is on AO3 here (E-rated)

Let me know if you liked it, thank you for reading ❤️

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #requests open #accidents #drabble #requested

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happy74827 · 2 years ago

Text

After Hours

[Billy x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You never fully believed the saying, “wrong place, wrong time…” until now {GIF credits: moviebuffs on tumblr}

WC: 4,392 (whoops)

Category: Hurt/Comfort {TW — Melinda, threats, mention of drugs + blood, lots of cursing}

I watched this two nights ago with my friend (love you @yoursacredqueenmother) and now here I am… obsessed. The ending was lame ngl but I highly recommend this movie if you like messed up situations (and Josh looking spicy 🥵).

『••✎••』

You hated driving at night. All the darkness outside and the light reflecting from the headlights, it all gave you a headache.

Your eyes darted over to the passenger's seat. It was empty and you were glad. The road was bad enough, you couldn't imagine trying to deal with someone else's conversation while driving.

The only sound was the soft rumble of the car, the whirring of the engine, and the sound of the tires rolling over the rough pavement. Your hands were tense on the steering wheel as you squinted in an attempt to see a few feet ahead of you. There were no lights out here, no street lights or traffic lights, and you were starting to think there wouldn't be any towns, either.

It would be the last straw if you ran out of gas out here.

You didn't even know where you were going, you were just following the GPS's directions and praying it would get you out of this desert and somewhere safe.

You sighed and shifted in your seat, tapping the steering wheel anxiously. You hadn't seen any other cars for a few hours now, which wasn't unusual, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to be driving out in the middle of nowhere.

But of course, as all nightmares go, suddenly, your car made a strange noise and started slowing down.

"Shit!" you hissed, smacking the steering wheel. "Shit shit shit!"

The car sputtered and then finally came to a complete stop, the engine dying. You slammed your hands against the wheel, feeling tears of anger and frustration welling up in your eyes. You were completely and utterly screwed.

You sat in the car for a while, letting the silence and darkness envelop you. The heat had faded quickly as soon as the sun had set, leaving behind an eerie chill that seeped through your clothes and into your skin.

You took a deep breath and looked around, but you could barely make out the landscape around you. It was pitch black and you knew if you tried to leave the car you would lose it immediately and end up getting hopelessly lost. You weren't sure what to do.

You looked over at the empty passenger seat, now wishing more than anything that you had someone with you.

You sighed and laid your head back, trying not to think about how scared and alone you felt.

As you sat there, staring up at the roof of the car, you decided you needed a plan. You couldn't just sit here forever, and if you were going to get anywhere, you were going to need help.

You grabbed your phone from the cup holder and held down the power button, watching as the screen lit up. You had service, thankfully, and a decent amount of battery left. You unlocked the screen and opened the maps app, waiting as it searched for your location.

You watched anxiously as the small circle spun, feeling a pit of dread growing in your stomach as the minutes ticked by.

After what felt like an eternity, the screen finally lit up. You sighed and put a hand on your chest, feeling relieved.

Zoomed out on the map, you looked for the nearest town. You didn’t find one, but you found a gas station… they were sure to have a jumper cable, right?

You plugged the coordinates into the GPS and started the car again, hoping that it would start.

It didn’t, of course. The whole point of getting stranded was that your car wouldn't start. So, you had no choice but to walk.

You grabbed a bag from the back seat and threw a few necessities inside, along with your wallet, your phone, your charger, and a small pepper spray bottle that your best friend had insisted you carry.

You were glad she'd been so insistent, you'd never have thought you'd need it.

You slung the bag over your shoulder and opened the door, stepping out into the chilly air. You shivered and closed the door, locking it, and then turned away from the car, setting off into the dark.

The moon was hidden behind thick clouds and the wind whipped around you, kicking up sand and rocks that stung your face and hands. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself, pulling your coat tighter around your body.

You wished you'd had the foresight to bring a thicker jacket or something, but you hadn't planned on getting stranded.

The walk was slow, the uneven ground and lack of light making the journey difficult. You could hear the wind howling around you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

You kept walking, trying not to think about what could be lurking in the shadows, watching your every move.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, you spotted a light in the distance. You picked up your pace, your heart racing. As you got closer, you could see it was the gas station, just like you'd hoped.

You jogged up to the doors, pushing them to open but finding them locked.

You groaned and knocked on the glass, looking inside. There were no lights on, and you couldn't see anyone.

"Hey!" you yelled, pounding on the door. "I need help!"

There was no answer, and you were starting to think no one was inside.

You sighed and sat down on the concrete, putting your face in your hands. You had no idea what you were going to do now. The stupid location said it was open twenty four hours a day, so where was the damn staff?

You were about to get up and try the door again when you were startled by the light above the doors flickered on. You looked up and saw a woman standing behind you, her dark hair flat and dull. Her clothes were a mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

She looked exhausted, and when she spoke, her voice was strained but polite.

"Can I help you?"

Your eyes widened, and you scrambled to your feet, trying not to look panicked. But when you noticed the name tag pinned to her shirt that read ‘Melinda,’ your fear melted away and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god, I thought no one was here," you laughed.

She didn't laugh with you, her face remained emotionless.

"Sorry, I was in the back," she explained. "What can I do for you?"

"My car broke down… honestly, I don’t remember where. It was really dark, and I don’t know this area." You shook your head and continued, "I was hoping I could buy a jumper cable or something? Just enough to get me out of here."

She nodded slowly, her expression never changing.

"Yes, they should be near the back with the other supplies." She paused, eyeing you warily. "I would offer coffee along with it, but… we're out of stock at the moment."

"That's fine," you said. "Just the cable will do."

She nodded again and stepped past you, pulling out a key and unlocking the door. She stepped inside and motioned for you to follow her. You did, and the moment you entered, a rush of cold air hit you, making you shiver.

She walked to the counter, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. She stopped at the register and began pressing buttons, her movements slow and methodical.

You couldn’t really care at the moment, as your eyes roamed the store, searching for the cables.

You walked down the first aisle, but didn’t see them. You kept walking, and when you came to the second aisle, you spotted them. You were about to grab them, but then you noticed the hall with the bathroom sign hanging from it.

Suddenly, the bottle of water that seemed so important earlier became a major regret. You hadn't gone to the bathroom since before your car broke down, and it was starting to catch up with you.

You took a step towards the bathroom, glancing back to the cashier. You could see her staring down at the counter, her fingers pressed to the keys, not really typing.

You didn't want to interrupt her, so you decided not to ask. You hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You flipped the lock, and then turned to face the mirror.

You grimaced at the sight of yourself. Your hair was messy and your face was dirty. You splashed some water on your face, and then grabbed a paper towel and dried yourself off before doing everything you had to.

You left the bathroom, planning on returning to the aisle, but then you heard a noise.

A small sound, a whimper, like a puppy in pain.

You looked down the hall, trying to find the source. It sounded like it was coming from the storage room.

"Uh, hello?" you called, taking a hesitant step towards the door. "Are you alright?"

There was no response, just another small, pitiful cry.

You bit your lip and pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness.

"Hello?" you said again. "Is someone there?"

The door creaked behind you, and then closed. You spun around, panic rising in your throat. You reached for the handle, but before you could grab it, something moved in the darkness.

You jumped back, a gasp escaping your lips.

Something moved in front of you. You couldn't tell what it was, or where it was, but you knew it was there.

You took a step back, trying to stay calm. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty.

"Please, I just need help with my car," you pleaded.

A low, guttural growl came from the shadows. It sounded like a wild animal, and when it moved again, it was close enough that you could see the outline of its form.

It was… not tall. Not in the slightest. In fact, it probably was only taller than you by an inch, if at all. It was hunched over, its shoulders curved inward, its spine protruding slightly.

It took you a long minute to realize that it was just a guy in a chair. Man, you were blind.

He had on a denim jacket, and it hung off his small frame, the sleeves rolled up. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and he was trembling slightly. That’s when you noticed the bundles of red tape around his eyes, mouth, arms, and legs. He also seemed to be bounded to the chair, strapped down and unable to move.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. You stepped towards him, reaching out a hand, but he jumped out at you, attempting to attack. Though, it was pretty much useless on his end. He couldn’t move more than a couple inches in any direction.

He started to speak afterwards, but the tape had prevented it from being coherent, and all you could make out was a low, angry rumble.

"No! No, no, no!" You stepped back, putting your hands up. It was rather pointless and stupid of you too, because the tape had also covered his eyes, you just looked like an idiot. But, still, you kept them up. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just need some help with my car!"

He growled at you, a low, threatening sound, but then he stopped, seeming to realize that you were telling the truth. He was breathing hard, and his chest was heaving, and then he mumbled something under the tape.

"What?" You asked.

He mumbled again, but you couldn't understand him. It was like talking to a brick wall.

You hesitated, but then moved forward, reaching up to take the tape off. If you had to guess that was probably what he was mumbling about.

He flinched when you touched him, but then relaxed. You peeled the tape away from his face, both the strands across his mouth and the one over his eyes, and dropped it to the floor.

He was breathing heavily, and when you looked up at him, you were surprised by how young he looked. His face was pale and his lips were dry. His hair was greasy and tangled, and the side of his head was badly burned and bruised. There was even dried blood on his temple.

“Jesus, what happened to you?"

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"Get me the fuck out of here, and I'll tell you," he hissed.

His voice was surprisingly smooth, despite how rough he looked. His words were short and sharp, like he was angry.

You weren't sure what to do, but then he started moving.

"Please," he said, his voice sounding desperate. "I promise, I won't hurt you. Just, please. Please get me out of this fucking chair."

"Did that… lady put you in here?”

"Yes, Melinda," he spat. "She's a nutcase psycho. Drugged me and… and… whatever the fuck. Just get me out of here!"

He sounded more frantic now, and his eyes were wide and pleading.

"Well, I-” You started to say, but he cut you off.

"Well what? What’re you waiting for?!”

“I- I need a jumper cable. My car broke down outside… somewhere. I'm not from around here, and- I don't know where I am. I can't exactly go anywhere until my car's fixed."

He looked at you with the most exasperated look you'd ever seen. It was almost comical, how exaggerated the expression was, but then he seemed to relax.

"Alright, how about this…” he said, his voice low and soothing. "You let me out of this shitty chair, and I'll help you fix your car. How's that sound?"

You didn't know what to say. He didn't seem like he was lying, and he seemed to be genuine about his fear. But could you really trust him? You still had no idea who he was or where he came from.

He seemed to sense your hesitation, and his expression softened.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "But I can't really help you unless I can get out of this stupid chair. And if we stay here, Melinda's going to find us, and trust me, you do not want to deal with her."

"And if she finds us, what will she do?"

"Look at Sheila over there wrapped up like a fucking Christmas tree," he replied, jerking his head towards the woman's corpse.

You gasped, covering your mouth.

"Oh my god, I didn’t even notice," you mumbled.

"Yeah, well, she's been dead for about an hour now, so," he said.

"And- and you've been sitting here, tied up the whole time?!"

"Yeah, it's fucking awful," he grumbled. "Now, will you help me, or not?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." You looked down at the remaining tape, trying to decide how best to go about it.

"Just, hurry up," he urged.

"Ok, ok." You reached for the tape, and he leaned forward, letting you pull and tug on the strips.

After a minute, you had all the tape off that was pinning him down and he was able to stand up. Again, he wasn’t that tall, maybe a five to six inches above five feet, but that didn't stop him from moving fast. He darted around the room, looking around frantically, and then grabbed a crowbar from a nearby shelf.

"Where did you even-"

"Not the time," he interrupted.

He turned towards you, his expression hard. He was pretty intimidating, and it wasn’t just because of the crowbar. He was skinny, but muscular, and the way he moved was fluid and agile, like a predator.

Though, you couldn’t help but noticed how attractive he was, with his expressive eyes and the way his hair was pushed back from his face. He was gorgeous.

"Hey," he snapped. "You listening?"

You blinked, and nodded.

"Sorry," you said, shaking your head. "This has just been a very, very strange night."

"Tell me about it," he grumbled. "That’s why when I’m done with her, we are getting the fuck out of here."

"Done with her?"

"Well, yeah, obviously. We're not just gonna let her get away with this shit."

"Um, are you sure that's a good idea? She's, like, a million times your size," You smiled at the small joke, but he didn’t seem amused at all, so you added, "Not to mention, hurting people seems like a bit of an extreme response."

"Hurting people is kinda her thing," he muttered.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off.

"Look, are you coming with me, or not? Because, if not, then just leave. You're already making this way more complicated than it needs to be."

"I can’t leave, not until my car's fixed," you protested. "That's why I'm here in the first place.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated.

"Ok, fine, fine," he relented. "Whatever. You can come with me, but just don't slow me down, alright?"

"Right," you said, nodding.

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. He just started walking, motioning for you to follow. You did, and soon the two of you were standing outside the storage room, the door open and the hallway beyond shrouded in darkness.

"Alright, the plan is, I'm going to distract her and make her pay," he whispered. "While I'm doing that, you're going to grab the keys to her car or whatever and get it started. We'll meet up outside and drive off, and that'll be the end of it."

"You're… very confident for someone who was tied up to a chair five minutes ago," you had another attempt at lightening the mood, but he just gave you a pointed look.

Again, he didn’t seem amused. "Yeah, well, she's a bitch, and I don't appreciate being treated like a goddamn lab rat."

He has an odd way of speaking, you noticed. His words were short and clipped, and he never used more than he needed. It was a little intimidating, but mostly it was just kind of interesting.

"How’d do you even end up like that, anyway?"

He gave you another one of his annoyed looks. It was weird how much he could convey with just his eyes, but the look was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"Don’t ask stupid questions,"

"Well, it seems like a reasonable question, considering the circumstances," you retorted.

He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Look, do you want my help or not?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah, of course,"

"Then stop asking stupid questions and focus on the task at hand. You get the car, I'll take care of Melinda. Simple."

You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded. He seemed pleased with your response and began to lead the way down the hall, moving quietly and staying close to the walls.

You followed him, keeping your footsteps light. As you went, you thought about the situation.

Melinda, in the five minutes of knowing her, never struck you as the violent type. A little socially weird, yes, but not violent. It seemed out of character, and you wondered if she had a reason for acting the way she did. Or maybe she was just crazy, like the guy had said.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you saw him hold up a hand. You stopped, and he pointed to the corner. You looked, and saw Melinda's form moving past the entrance to the hall, a flashlight in her hand.

The man motioned for you to stay put and moved silently towards the entrance. You watched him, unable to do anything else.

When he reached the opening, he paused. He was still, and for a moment, you thought he had lost his nerve.

He didn't hesitate for long. In one quick motion, he darted out of the hall, his crowbar held high.

Melinda jumped back, the light from her flashlight swinging wildly as she tried to regain her footing. She swung her flashlight at him, and the metal bar made a dull clang when it collided with her temporary weapon.

He stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet. He lunged at her again, but this time she was ready. He had stopped fast when she pulled out a gun, pointing it at his head.

I guess he was telling the truth.

“Just stop, okay? You can leave now, I'll let you go. Just don't-"

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to a word you say," the man interrupted, his tone low and menacing.

She stammered, trying to think of an answer. She didn't get the chance, though. Her eyes had caught sight of you, and she had noticed that you weren't where she had left you.

"Oh, oh god," she whispered, her voice filled with horror. "No, no, no. No, you weren't supposed to-"

The man swung the crowbar, and the gun flew out of her hand, skidding across the floor.

He moved in quickly, swinging his arm again. She dodged, and the metal bar hit the wall, creating a large dent in the plaster.

Melinda backed away, her hands raised, her eyes wide.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she cried, backing away from him. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry?! You… you drugged me and tried to…” He paused, stopping momentarily before pointing the crowbar at her face. “The point is, sorry isn't going to cut it, you bitch."

He swung at her again, and again, she dodged.

She was fast, and he wasn't, and soon, he had lost his balance. She shoved him hard, sending him flying backwards.

He landed hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He didn't move, and Melinda stood over him, panting and wild eyed. The gun found her hands again, and she pointed it at his head, her hand trembling.

You had to do something. You couldn't just stand by and watch him die.

You did the only thing you could think of.

You went into your bag and took out the very same pepper spray that you had been carrying since the start of this nightmare, and fired.

The stream hit her right in the eyes, and she screamed, dropping the gun. It hit the floor with a loud thunk, and you dove for it, picking it up and pointing it at her.

"Don't move," you yelled, your voice shaking. "I'm warning you. I'm not afraid to use this."

Actually, that was a lie. You were absolutely terrified, and your hands were trembling so badly that you were barely able to keep a grip on the gun.

But you couldn't back down now. Not after everything you had been through.

She had stopped screaming, but was still clutching her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She was moaning and stumbling around, trying to find her way back to the wall.

She finally found it, and leaned against it, her eyes closed.

"Please, please don't hurt me," she sobbed. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Please don't hurt me."

You glanced at the man. He was staring up at you, his expression unreadable.

"I should take that gun and shoot you right now," he said. "After what you did, I should kill you."

"Please," she whimpered.

He stared at her, and for a moment, you didn't know what he would do. Then, he got to his feet, picking up his crowbar as he did so.

Before she can even react he took a swing, hitting her right in the stomach. She gasped and fell to the floor, curling up into a ball.

He took another swing, this time aiming for her face.

You stepped forward, about to tell him to stop, but the blow didn't land.

Instead, he stood there, the crowbar held high. Melinda was looking up at him, her face red and streaked with tears.

"I just needed money," he spoke, his voice low and harsh. "That's it. Money. No one was supposed to get hurt, just a simple robbery with no one getting hurt."

She said nothing, just stared at him.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in shock. Robbery? He was robbing the damn station?

He sighed and lowered the crowbar, shaking his head.

"It's not like I wanted to do this, okay? I needed the money, and it was just an easy target. But you couldn't just let me get away, could you? You just had to make it difficult. Now look at the mess we're in."

"You were robbing?” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper, but it still cut through the tension like a knife.

He didn't turn, but his shoulders sagged slightly.

"Look, it's not what you think, okay?" He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I was in trouble, probably still am, and I needed money. Lots of it. That's why I picked this place, because it was an easy target. I wasn't planning on anyone getting hurt, I was just going to rob the place and get out. I wasn't expecting this crazy lady to come along."

He gestured to Melinda, who was still curled up on the ground.

"I was just trying to rob the place," he repeated. "It was nothing personal. And look, you helped me, so I guess I owe you one, or whatever. So, let's just call it even, and we can go our separate ways. Deal?"

“Even Melinda?” You asked, your voice shaking.

He paused, and his eyes flicked over to the woman on the ground, a slight grimace crossing his face.

"Of course not. She was a psychopath who tied me up and threatened me, and I'm not about to just let her walk away after all the shit she's pulled."

Melinda looked up at him, her face contorted with fear. He didn’t seem to care though, but what he did was tell you to leave, and that he'll take care of things.

So, you did, but not before grabbing your bag, and not before snagged out those car keys of hers. The odd thing you did notice though, while leaving the store, was how the entire floor seemed wet. It wasn't until about an hour of just simply waiting in the dark that you figured why.

And you realized as you saw the sudden rise of flames, the smoke billowing from the open door, that you indeed did not have that help from that mystery man after all.

Your car will remain broken.

So, I wrote this long piece of work because I went searching and found ABSOLUTELY NOTHING (which honestly it’s a crime given how fine he was in this movie — at least people realized it with Mike lmfao) so I wrote what I wanted to read.

I hope that this becomes a Rhys Montrose type of situation (For those who don’t know what I mean, this character Rhys from Season 4 of the show, You, had no fanfics on here and I basically jumpstarted it by writing like 4 of them lol) because I feel this character and movie deserves more hype and attention. Just look up edits of Billy from the movie and you’ll see what I mean.

Anyways if you’re actually still reading, thank you for coming to my ted talk. Hopefully you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it 🫶✨

(Also, if you see any more fics of this man… pls tag me. I’m desperate lmfao)

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fortuneforsaken-if · 5 months ago

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if you're not following my main blog (which you should, i make funne joek sometimes lol) then you should know that my kitten massacred my charger cable to the laptop and i've yet to get a replacement.

in lieu of an update, here's a concept piece about how you would've met maluset for the first time in game. it's scrapped now for something better (hopefully) but it's still an okay piece of writing if i do say so myself. think it was some sort of a fever writing so let's not look too close okay.

It's cold. The mansion is always cold, of course, but this feels unnatural. Like the sun itself blotted out, a chill that seeps into your bones, a freeze after submerging in icy water.

No. You stop your steps and scan your surroundings. The mansion is quiet as well, void of the hustle and bustle of the maid always scurrying around. Something has shifted.

"What the fuck is going on," you hear the voice from atop of the grand staircase, the keeper of your chains aggravated as they tie the sash around their bathrobe. "What the fuck did you do?" They hiss, each step down the staircase filled with anger, theyr eyes on you in accusation.

But you didn't do this, did you? A cursory glance at your hands, and they're shaking. Why? Why can't you stop them? A tug at your heart could be anything; fear, exhaustion, panic, but those are emotions you've long buried. No, there is something else too. A familiarity, a longing, you felt it for the first thousand years, but it has since lain dormant.

"I-" you begin, interrupted by the rumble you feel underfoot. It's minimal at first, barely there for you to sense, but it grows stronger, stronger, until a vase perched on a side table crashes into the floor.

The heir grabs onto the bannister and curses. Another figure falls against the bannisters upstairs, a familiar, exhausted visage now with frantic eyes looking across the room, eyes meeting yours in question.

It peaks and recedes, slowly, shakes becoming tremors, and tremors becoming subtle vibrations. The heir stomps up to you with a finger raised, but they get no word out before Rami is down the stairs and grabs their arm. "Wait, do you see -"

"Rami, you're my brother, but I will break every single one of your fingers if you so much as touch me aga-" and he does, grabs them by the head and turns them to look at the front entrance, the massive windows that show an opulent garden outside.

Or they should, but there is nothing. Only darkness.

Oh. You feel the realization creep up your neck like a soft desert breeze, warm in midst of the cold that has otherwise settled. It cocoons you like your mother's hugs, protective, adoring. Alive.

"What the fuck," the heir offers eloquently yet again, bare feet stomping to the door and yanking it open. Light that should spill out from the open door sits still at the threshold. "That's not normal," Rami mutters, but you can only stare into the abyssal darkness.

At the sand collecting at the porch, grains coming together to form a vortex before it solidifies into a figure.

The heir stumbles back with a cry, landing on their behind as they scurry back. You stand still, hands ny your side, but you want to reach. You want to welcome an old friend, but you get no chance.

He's here. After so many years, he's here. The robes fall effortlessly over his shoulder, the moving glitter of starlight the only differentiating element from the darkness beyond. A divine vision clad in shadows, the human features swirling as if not keen on being in that form. You see the galaxies in his eyes consolidate into an iris, the full weight of it set on the heir sprawled in the ground.

"Ashar tehk nuḥ senet akhet."

Your breath stutters at the inhale. It's been so long since you heard your tongue spoken, the words like an old-forgotten hymn you thought you'd never hear again.

I have come to retrieve the one you have stolen from me.

You could think he came for a relic, or anything else of material value. The spark of hope you've nursed flares to life when he turns his eyes to you, the vastness behind them softening as he takes you in, his shoulders easing only a fraction. Another gust of a warm breeze flows over your cheek.

He really did come for you.

#ramblings.#maluset.#drabble.#the pacing is off tbh #and i feel it's way too flowery #but idc lol it's a concept #also hiii sorry for silence! been working on the main project :) until charger death

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weirdcoregal35 · 1 month ago

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… Hmm…?

Ruin slowly came to, stirring from unconsciousness. At first, things were blurry. Then, he could barely, but faintly, see where he was. Presumably on a floor, slumped against a wall. It hurt to even try to look up. He blinked a few times, watching as green, rusting feet walked past him. Green…? Green is Monty, isn't it…?

“... Monty…?” Ruin spoke softly, not looking up. It wasn't like he could, anyway. He felt a sharp pain in his neck, wincing.

“Huh. Finally up?” Monty questioned, turning to Ruin.

“... Monty… Ruin could barely speak. What could he say? What could he even ask? How it felt to kidnap someone you once dated?

…

Monty stepped over to him, kneeling beside him. Monty was rambling under his breath, though Ruin didn't quite understand what he said exactly.

“...?” Ruin was confused as he felt Monty do something to his neck. He didn't utter a word, however.

“There.” Monty said blatantly, before tilting Ruin's head upwards to face him. “Now you can stop staring at the floor like an idiot.”

Ruin no longer felt a pain in his body. Did Monty shut off his pain sensors? ... Ruin couldn't question it. He didn't have it in him, looking his beloved in the eyes.

“Gonna talk, Eclipse?” The gator asked.

“... Montgomery…” Was all Ruin could say. He loved his gator so much, and yet…. Here he was, in god knows where, having been kidnapped by the one he loved.

“... You left me behind.. Why?”

“..” Ruin looked away, but only for a moment, as Monty brought Ruin's face closer to his.

“Eclipse. Why did you leave me behind?” Mont asked, slightly more irritated.

“...” Ruin opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. It took a minute of impatient waiting from the gator, but the eclipse model finally spoke up. “I wanted.. I needed to stop the council..”

“And you couldn't have left our world alone?” Monty growled.

“... I-I…I didn't know any other way. If I didn't destroy all those dimensions, there could've been three times the cost..” Ruin's voice shook. “I'm sorry..”

“...” Monty lowered Ruin's head down slightly, sighing. He was agitated, but… There was still a part of him that wanted to believe in Ruin's words. “... Eclipse.”

“... Yes?”

“... Get up. I'm taking you to a charger.”

Ruin, of course, couldn't refuse, as his gator, surprisingly gentle with his touch, held Ruin up by the waist, adjusting his grip around the eclipse model carefully. Monty held one arm around Ruin's waist, with the other by his side. He gently assisted Ruin, bringing him over to a charging cable.

Ruin could now focus on where he was. Some sort of old apartment, by the looks of it. It seemed somewhat decorated, presumably with whatever Monty may have collected during his short time in this dimension… Were they even in the same dimension now?

Ruin felt the arm wrapped around him shift, snapping him back to focus. Monty set Ruin down onto a cushioned, bar stool, resting his broken hands on the upper part of Ruin's arms for a moment. The duo locked eyes for a moment. Monty looked away after a moment to grab a wire from nearby. He leaned closer to Ruin as he grabbed it, then pulled back a slither, before gently cupping Ruin's face with his free hand, and carefully turning his face away a second to plug him in.

Afterwards, Monty gently brought the now-empty hand of his to Ruin's hand, which remained by his side. Ruin wasn't sure what to do. Should he speak? Stay quiet? Hold the hand back in return?

“Heh…” Monty gently rested his snout atop of Ruin's hat, nuzzling it slightly. It caught Ruin off guard, of course, but he didn't reject it. Monty hugged Ruin close to his chest. “Still the same old, flustered two for one..”

Ruin subconsciously leaned into the touch, the swirls on his face brightening slightly. He brought his free hand up to Monty's arm, wrapping it around it, eyes closing. Ruin could hear a faint purr of the mechanical cogs within the gator's metal heart. He missed it.

“... I still love you..” Ruin whispered.

Monty nuzzled him again. “... I still love you, too.. Eclipse…”

Enjoy your angst. :]

-- 🌄

WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

WHO THE HELL WROTE THIS?! WHO?! YOU NEED AN AWARD!!! OH MY GOD-

GOOD JOB!!

#love you all #sun and moon show #eclipse and puppet show #lunar and earth show #tsams au #eaps ruin #eaps ruru #eaps monty #EAPS ruin’s Monty #theatergolf #ruin x monty #monty x ruin #crying rn

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solacesung · 5 days ago

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LOVE LIKE THIS 　　　 ꩜ 　　　 정성찬

pairing: idol!sungchan x non-idol reader

synopsis: you knew dating an idol would be complicated — which is why you never planned to do it. but then sungchan kept showing up at your café, and somehow, without meaning to, you fell into something soft and secret. it was all quiet mornings and late-night texts… until it got out. when internet turns on you, silence becomes louder than ever — and you’re not sure if love is enough this time.

GANG GANG GANG

- l/n y/n: @ luvlyn 20 year old data science major, dreams of opening her own bakery/cafe one day. is a barista at serenity cafe with yuna, yoonchae, and intak. only in stem to get that money. daddy issues and has an older sister that she doesn’t really get along with. stress bakes before every exam. the group therapist but refuses to go to (much needed) therapy. lives with yuna and yoonchae. is obsessed with one direction, especially zayn and louis…

- shin yuna: @ igotyuandme 20 year old fashion major, met y/n serim and taesan in kindergarten and have been the best of friends since (their families are close too), dreams of owning a luxury fashion brand. will burn the world for her friends and y/n’s ride or die. lives with y/n and yoonchae. is a barista at serenity cafe with y/n, yoonchae, and intak.

- park serim: @ sserimiress 20 year old computer science major. older brother, cares very much for the whole group but def has a soft spot for y/n. he’s the one they get to for everything: a charger, snacks, the best hugs. was y/n’s first kiss because of a truth or dare game but they refuse to talk about it. has a cat called nugget who hates everyone except yuna. he plans all the trips, birthday parties, and hangouts. y/n goes to him for rant and vent a lot. lives with taesan and intak.

- han dongmin: @ taesexy 20 year old communications major. himbo, goes to parties every week, but the sweetest guy ever. only got through high school because of jeno and serim. him, serim, and yuna basically grew up in y/n’s house. brings the randomest gifts for his friends (a rock he named shampoo). is in charge of the aux cable no matter what. just a silly guy who everyone loves. lives with serim and intak. he and intak are partners in crime.

- jeong yoonchae: @ y0on_cha3 19 year old dance major, met y/n and yuna in high school and they’ve been nicknamed ‘the three musketeers’ bright and bubbly, trying to be an influencer (emphasis on trying). she’s the youngest of the group but also has the best comebacks. is a barista at serenity cafe with yuna, y/n, and intak.

- hwang intak: @ intakitaki 20 year old performing arts major. an absolute menace but very devoted and passionate. always moving and always dancing (he has adhd). tries to set up yuna with every guy he sees even though she hates it. has matching friendship rings with taesan. he and taesan are partners in crime. hosts dinner for the group every week but somehow he always burns something. lives with serim and taesan. is a barista at serenity cafe with yuna, yoonchae, and y/n.

- lee jeno: @ jenobug 20 year old software engineering major. has been dating jaemin for 6 years. met serim and taesan for a group project with jaemin in ap world history. calm and sometimes really scary because he has a rbf. taesan breaks his computer every other week and comes to jeno to fix it. gets along with y/n and serim the most because they have similar majors and humor (bad humor). VERY protective, beat up a guy in high school bc he spread rumors of yuna. lives with jaemin.

- na jaemin: @ jaem.to.earth 20 year old photography major. has been dating jeno for 6 years. met serim and taesan in high school when they were grouped up for a ap world history project with jeno. silly and goofy, very flirty, but very observant. he’s the first to know if someone’s feeling down. does tiktoks with yoonchae and everyone’s number one hype man. lives with jeno.

BONUS! y/n’s priv: @ zouis_is_real

taglist (ask to be added): @jvngw0nlvr @quicksilverstone @mmjhh1998 @yyangj3lly @the-phantomss @missychief1404 @en-dream @tzuzie

masterlist | next

©️ SOLACESUNG

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numberonetacostan · 5 months ago

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hey gang, happy new year !!!

sadly me have no tacopad headcanon for the new years💔 so me gonna have to pass the job onto you !

Can be new years related, or not ! Idm:3

the sillies

-Nori 🐬🌙

Hello Nori!!!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for submitting your request!!!! X] Ask and you shall receive, I'm always happy to do my sworn duty as the prime minister of tacopad!!!!!!!!

I think they did a lot more talking about Taco's feelings than what we see in the show. We see it a tad in Taco's Tirade, but I believe that after Truth or Flare and Taco's recovery she opens up to Mepad a lot more. Despite everything, he wanted her alive. I don't think he'd entirely tell her about Mephone not wanting to bring her back, but she'd have been able to get it from context. And Mepad choosing to quit his job and remain with her? She lets go of a lot of the barriers she's held up for a decade and talks about those feelings!!!!!

Since Taco is british, I think Mepad would play Auld Lang Syne for her :)!!! It's a song people sing on New Year's Eve in England, just before midnight. I also think that she would give him a nice kissy X3!!!!!! I don't do much at all for New Year's Eve personally, so that's about all I have!!

I think that, in a post-canon in which Mepad survived, he and Taco would stick together like glue!!! She is so very anxious about being around everyone, and he doesn't have as personal of relationships with most of the other contestants as he does with Taco, so, they stay together!! To the point that sometimes, if Taco is doing something else or talking to someone else near him, he'll teleport her with him out of habit. Mepad is going to go gather everyone for dinner? Well damn I guess Taco is going too.

Sometimes, when Taco hasn't been sleeping due to anxiety, insomnia, etc., Mepad will change his own time in his settings to try and convince her to go to sleep earlier. If/when she does sleep, he'll set his time back to help convince her to go back to sleep if she wakes up.

Taco carries around one of his charging cables inside her shell. Would it reasonably be too big for her to put in there? Yes. Am I also the person who thinks she has an infinite tea generator in there? Also yes. So you can see how much importance I put on space and physics when considering what can go in her shell. Yes, he could teleport himself to a charger if he needed it, but teleporting drains his battery, and she doesn't want to take the risk of not having him around.

I think they would watch season 3 together on Mepad's screen. Neither of them have seen it, and it's probably a bit of a touchy subject after everything that happened in the finale, especially Box coming back, so they'd do it together in private. Taco is plain curious, and Mepad wants to be able to help all the new contestants to the best of his ability!!! I think he and The Floor could be good buddies. Also Taco's favorite episode would be The Overthinkers. \

I hope this satisfies you!!!! :) Feel free to ask for more any time you'd like!!!! ;D

#inanimate insanity #ii taco #taco ii #loomy's answers #inanimate insanity hc #ii mepad #mepad ii #tacopad #loomy's hcs

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tanadrin · 1 year ago

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we need one set of connectors and adapters for everything. i'm not just talking about computer cables and phone chargers. we need to move indoor plumbing to USB.

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hannahssimblr · 11 months ago

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At the house, I am conscious of the mess. Nobody has made an effort to clean up properly for weeks, and now dishes and miscellaneous bits of rubbish litter every available surface. The bins are full. Tangles of chargers and cables pile up on the table, and water damage has well and truly set in on the oak flooring under our feet. The same patch of floor that Evie’s hair is dripping on now, but while it’s too late to save it, she might as well add to it.

“Wow, this is a beautiful house,” she says, and I have to check her face to see if she’s taking the piss out of me. She looks genuinely charmed. I frown.

“I’ll get you a towel downstairs.”

As we descend to the living room, I find myself holding my breath. It seems even dirtier than the kitchen there, and I wonder how and when this happened, how it is even possible. Yet here we are, and it is. I pray there are clean towels, at least let there be clean towels…

Oh, thank God.

I hand her one from the hot press. It is old and scratchy, and likely a victim of my mother, back when she used to dye her hair at home, evidenced by the big, bleached patches all over it, but at least it’s clean. I show her the bathroom.

“Feel free to take a shower if you want to. The water is hot.” As it constantly is, because I turned it on at the beginning of the summer and found the system so complex that I never risked turning it off again. I’ll be hearing about it when my dad gets the bill, but that’s an issue for September.

Evie peeks in. “You don’t want to go first?”

“No, go ahead.”

As soon as I hear the hum of the shower, I pounce into action and tear into my bedroom. I yank all the dirty clothes off the floor and fire them into my already heaving hamper, then kick a pair of shoes under the bed, followed by a mucky football and some art magazine Jen thought I’d like, but I never read.

There are chocolate wrappers on the floor. What kind of creature am I? Was I sitting on the floor at some point, feasting on a family packet of dairy milk bars, or did these just fall out of my pockets? I rush around, picking them all up, then reach the wastepaper basket to find it full. I curse under my breath and yank the bag out, tying it in a hasty knot, then carry it and the two handfuls of coffee mugs strewn about the place up to the kitchen. There is nowhere for them to go, so I shove the mugs into the sink and toss the bag on the floor.

She’s showering for ages. Good.

Next, I tackle the bed, straightening out the duvet and pillows, which are, mercifully, clean. I could tongue-kiss the past version of myself that ran them through the wash two days before. To make extra sure, I give them a good, long sniff. They still smell like detergent. The clean clothes from that same wash go from the armchair to the wardrobe, and books on the bedside table. The tennis racquets… they’ll be fine, leaning against the wall. When I step back and examine my work, I determine that it’s barely passable, but time is surely running out, and she can’t shower forever. The dust on the floor can stay another day.

Lastly, I toss my sweaty clothes onto the pile and peel off my sodden shorts. Once I have changed into something clean, I carry all the laundry out and heave it into the washing machine, right by the door of the bathroom. Evie hums tunelessly in the shower, and for a moment or two, I stand and listen. I wonder whose shower gel she is using, and shiver inexplicably at the idea of her choosing mine.

I arrange myself in a casual position when she comes back into the room, hanging out on the end of the bed. She’s rosy from the hot water, and her hair lies flat against her head, so straight and fine that her ears poke out the sides.

“You don’t have to wear the same wet t-shirt,” I inform her. “I can put your clothes in the dryer.”

She pulls at the hem and looks down at those two, damp, triangular patches. “It’s okay,” she shrugs. “They’ll dry on me.”

“You can leave all your wet stuff on the floor. I’ll sort them out after my shower and I’ll just find you something else to wear.”

“But I won’t fit in your clothes.”

“You’ll fit in a t-shirt, won’t you?” I saunter over to my wardrobe and lift a t-shirt from the stack. It’s old, and has a hole in the armpit, hence it’s permanent relegation to the beach house wardrobe, but like everything else in this house in its current state, it will suffice.

“Thanks,” she says. I leave her to change and head for the shower.

“What are you looking at?”

She jumps and turns around. I’ve caught her nosing around and looking at my notice board. She points at it. “Your ticket to a music festival.”

I hesitate, trying to gauge whether Claire has blabbed to her about what I said or not. “Oh yeah, are you coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should. All of us are heading up to it.” I pull a pair of socks out of a drawer and plonk myself onto the bed to put them on.

She sits with me. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of a bit complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” she hesitates before deciding to divulge. “Kelly and Claire are in a big fight about it. Claire wants to go, and Kelly doesn’t want to, even though it’s Claire’s eighteenth birthday the same weekend. It’s… it’s all a bit silly if I’m honest.”

I frown. “She doesn’t want to celebrate her friends’ birthday in a fun way?”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s that she doesn’t want to hang out with Shane for the whole weekend. She’d be too embarrassed to. She’s weird about that kind of thing.”

I should proceed with caution. I say, “sounds a little selfish to me.”

“Kelly’s a complicated person. I think she means well, she just… isn’t great at expressing herself. She gets angry at people instead of telling them how she feels in a normal way.”

I could talk a lot of shit about Kelly Healy, but I‘ll save it. I know that teenage girls’ friendships are strange and nuanced in ways my brain will never fully comprehend. Things never seem to be simple enough to just end the friendship. It must drag on for eternity until one of them is irreparably damaged in its wake. “So what, she’s forbidden you both from going to the festival?”

“She hasn’t said that we’re forbidden.”

“But you’re not going because you think she’ll be angry with you.”

“Pretty much.”

“So what about Claire? It’s her birthday.”

She groans. “I know. I hate this. I hate when people are fighting, and I feel like I’m in the middle of it. I don’t know what the right decision is.”

Tell me about it. “The thing that you want to do more, that’s the right decision.”

“I knew you’d say something like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something wise.”

I laugh. If only I could take my own advice.

She heaves out a sigh and slumps over her knees. “I can’t talk to either of them about it. Kelly is impossible, and Claire hasn’t been around. I’ve barely seen her at all since they fought. I don’t even know where she’s been.”

I blink. “Oh, she’s been here.”

“What?”

“Yeah! I thought you knew. She’s been coming here every day for ages.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And did she tell you why?”

“No, I didn’t ask. I thought it was just to hang out with Shane.”

“With Shane?” She straightens to look into my face and I grin.

“Yeah, they’ve been hanging out.”

“Go ’way.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but they hang out a lot, go for walks together and watch TV in the living room. I usually just leave them alone, but…” I tap my nose.

“Oh, I knew it!” She throws herself back on to her elbows and shakes her head. “I wonder what this is going to mean for Kelly.”

“Kelly can grow up. She doesn’t have a say.”

“Ugh. I know. It’s just impossible not to worry about it.”

“Evie, how often do you let that girl live inside your head? Forget about it. Let Shane and Claire deal with her.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

It’s not lost on me, the juxtaposition between this conversation and the one I had with Alison this morning. These two girls are only a year apart in age, and yet somehow their lives oppose so diametrically. Am I the same boy with them both, or have I somehow split in two? How can I be worrying about Alison and all that she’s been through, while hours later coaching Evie through friend drama? I know the turmoil and stress is real for her. I can tell by the things her face is doing, how she nibbles on her lip, the way her brow furrows, but I am comforted by it, by how simple it is. Maybe it would be good for my soul to spend more time with Evie.

Regardless, I move on from this specific theme and bring the conversation back to where it began. “And as for the festival, I think you should come.”

“Hm.”

“Will you?” She doesn’t answer, so I assume she hasn’t heard me. I nudge her. “I want you to come. Will you come?”

“You want me to?” She echoes, like she doesn’t exactly believe it.

“I do.”

“Okay then.”

Perhaps someone else would find it worthwhile to read into the fact that she seems to want to do everything that I do, but I’m not really that bothered. I’m just glad that she agreed for the sake of herself. I suspect it may be a rarity for her.

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Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

#lucky boy 2010 #the festival is in sight bbs #huhuhuhuhe #ch: evie

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