#to think there's going to be at least one body standing in some of these crowds....

[woogilicious]

didn't think i'd fall here ꒰ mingi ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ rating: 18+ (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pairing: song mingi x female!reader ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ word count: 6.5k ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ genre: strangers to lovers, comfort, virgin!reader, virgin!mingi, friends-to-lovers energy, soft angst, smut, fluff ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ warnings: emotional manipulation, toxic friendship, crying, anxiety, self-esteem issues, first time sex, consensual sex, safe sex, soft dom!mingi vibes, realistic first time awkwardness, condom run to the convenience store lol, mentions of blood during sex (light), aftercare, mingi being obsessed with you, reader threatening to chop mingi's dick off lovingly ♡ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ author's note: it's been a while y'all. hope you enjoy this smut, and also I've been trying some new layout lol cuz i'm not satisfied with my previous layout.

You didn't even want to come here today.

Lotte World was supposed to be fun—cotton candy, carousel selfies, maybe something gentle like bumper cars. But with Yujin and Hana, it was never about fun. It was about appearances. About pushing you into situations just to get a reaction, to laugh behind their hands at how you squirmed.

"Ugh, you're seriously scared of this?" Yujin groan, snapping a photo of the massive Atlantis roller coaster ahead, the steel tracks twisting like some cruel maze in the sky. "It's not even the scariest ride here."

"Right?" Hana chimes in. "God, you're so boring sometimes, Y/N. No wonder no guy ever looks at you."

You laugh. It's hollow.

It doesn't stop the sting.

The queue is already packed when they drag you towards the entrance. You hesitate, but Yujin latches onto your wrist like you're a toddler about to run into traffic.

"Don't be a baby. It's just a ride."

"But I really don't—"

"Do not make a scene," she hisses, smiling too widely as a group of boys glance over. "You're already embarrassing enough. Come on."

The line inches forward. Every step closer makes your chest tighter, like the straps of an invisible harness locking you in. Your stomach churns, hands tremble. But you don't say a word.

Yujin and Hana are too busy taking selfies to notice. Or care.

You stand behind them, quiet, small, barely existing.

"Swear to god," Yujin mutters at one point, "you're going to die single if you keep acting like this. You gotta be brave. Guys hate weak girls."

Hana laughs way too loud. "She needs a guy to knock some sense into her. Or just knock her up. Either one might fix it."

Your ears burn.

You try to laugh again, just to keep up the illusion. It sounds like you're choking.

And still, the line moves.

You're maybe five people from the platform when the operator suddenly shouts, "Two seat available now! Anyone here riding as a pair?"

Yujin doesn't even ask. Doesn't even glance back.

She and Hana leap forward.

"We're two!"

They disappear up the stairs in a blink. The group in front of you steps forward. And just like that, you're alone.

You don't cry, not yet.

But your body's reacting—shaking hands, clenched jaw, vision blurring at the edges. You're aware that walking backward through the crowded line would be more embarrassing than just riding the damn thing. At least, that's what your brain tells you.

The panic bubbles anyway.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes glued to the track. It creaks and rumbles as the next cart wooshes by in a blur. Someone screams in delight. You're going to throw up. Right here, in front of everyone.

And then—

"Hey."

You jump.

The voice is gentle, low, curious. You turn around.

Three boys stand behind you, next in line. The tallest one—broad shoulders, brown hair—tilts his head at you.

You blink. "...huh?"

He offers a small smile. "You look like you're about to faint."

You open your mouth, then shut it.

The second boy, shorter but muscular with sharp features and a piercing stare, cuts in. "She was with those girls, right? They just ditched her."

The third guy, softer looking with black hair and pretty eyes, nods. "That's messed up."

You look between them, startled that they even noticed.

"I'm—fine," you lie. "I'll just... I was gonna leave."

"Back through that crowd?" The tall one says, gesturing behind.

"...yeah."

He glances at the operator, then back at you. "Well, you don't have to ride alone. I'll go with you."

You blink. "What?"

He smiles again, this time more reassuring. "I mean—if you want. We can ride together. No pressure."

"...why?"

He shrugs. "You look like you need a buddy."

The one with the sharp stare grins now. "This guy's Mingi. He's annoyingly a gentleman sometimes."

"I'm Jongho," he adds, giving you a little nod. "And that's Yeosang."

Yeosang gives you a tiny wave.

"Thanks," you mumble, feeling overwhelmed but... oddly warm. "I'm Y/N."

Jongho snorts. "Yeah, we heard your friends being total assholes. Y/N, you seriously deserve better than that."

You swallow. The words hit harder than they should.

Mingi gently touches your elbow. "You okay riding the roller coaster with me?"

You look at him—his soft gaze, his open posture, the zero judgement in his tone. And for once, someone isn't making you feel like a burden.

"...yeah," you breathe. "Okay."

The staff waves you forward.

Mingi lets you take the seat first, then slips in beside you, pulling the safety bar down. He's close—his knee brushes yours, and his scent is something clean and warm, like citrus and sun.

He glances at you.

"You're brave for doing this."

You almost laugh.

The ride jerks forward with a lurch.

Your fingers grip the bar.

Mingi's hand moves, gently resting on top of yours.

It's warm. Your fingers twitch beneath his at first, unsure, but then the roller coaster jolts forward with a hiss of steam, and you instinctively grip him back like your life depends on it.

He chuckles low under his breath. "That tight already? We haven't gone up yet."

You shoot him a panicked glance, knuckles going pale. "I'm not gonna survive this."

"You will," he says, voice soft. "You've got me now."

The ride starts its slow, agonising climb. Your heart funds like it's trying to launch itself out of your chest.

Mingi doesn't let go. Not even once. His thumb strokes over your knuckles in lazy circles, like he's trying to distract you from the threatening death drop ahead.

"Deep breath," he murmurs. "You've got this, Y/N."

The cart tips.

You scream.

It's not even cute. It's pure terror.

And Mingi just laughs—not at you though, but in joy, throwing his hands up as you fly down the track, wind whipping through your hair, your body tossed left and right.

You never let go of his hand.

By the time it slows and returns to the platform, your voice is gone, and your legs feel like jelly. You stumble forward a little when the bar lifts, but Mingi's hand on your back steadies you.

"You alright?" he asks, eyes scanning your face.

You nod, breathless, dazed.

He smiles, wide and proud. "You did amazing. Seriously! That was brave as hell."

You want to say thank you, but you're still processing the fact that your heart is beating and your limbs are still attached. You let out a small laugh instead, cheeks flushed, the adrenaline not quite fading yet.

Then you hear it.

"Wait, where's Y/N?"

Your stomach sinks.

You turn your head toward the exit ramp and spot them—Yujin and Hana—posing near a churro cart, phone angled high, lips puckered in matching fake smiles.

The voice is unmistakable.

"Probably chickened out and left the roller coaster," Yujin mutters, loud enough that you catch every word.

Hana scoffs, adjusting her hair. "We should find her, I guess. We did come with her car, after all."

"Ugh," Yujin groans. "So annoying. I hate her sometimes."

Hana snorts. "Sometimes?"

They both burst into laughter.

It hits you harder than the drop on the coaster.

You freeze. The sting behind your eyes burns hot, and you blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears win. Not here. Not in front of Mingi, Yeosang and Jongho.

But Mingi heard it too.

You feel the shift in his posture beside you, the way his jaw clenches just slightly. He glances back at Jongho and Yeosang, who both clearly clock the situation. A silent nod happens between them.

Then, without warning, Mingi gently grabs your wrist.

"Come on."

You look up, startled. "Wait—what? Where are we going?"

He's already walking you in the opposite direction.

"I—I need to go to them," you say, stumbling to keep with his pace. "I need to send them home—"

"Are they your close friends?" he asks, cutting you off calmly.

You stop walking. "Huh?"

"Do you hang out with them a lot?"

"…No. We used to be close in high school. But now… not really. We're all in different universities and barely meet up anymore."

Mingi hums like that’s exactly the answer he expected. "Good. So you can cut them off."

You blink. "What?"

He turns to face you properly, his expression serious but not harsh. "Why spend the rest of your day with people who treat you like that? Just hang out with us."

You open your mouth to argue, but then Jongho jogs up beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulder like you've been besties for years.

"You didn't hear what they said? They're literally using you for your car and shitting on you behind your back."

"Yeah," Yeosang says, catching up, a rare frown on his usually passive face. “That's not what friends do. That's just… sad."

"I don't wanna ruin your guys' day though," you say quietly, unsure.

Mingi shakes his head. "You're not. I asked you to stay. You're not an obligation. You're a choice."

That line makes your heart skip.

Jongho smirks. "Besides, Mingi's in his hero mode now. You're stuck with us."

Yeosang chuckles. "He only gets like this when something really pisses him off."

You glance at Mingi, who's pretending not to listen, but the way he nudges your arm with his elbow says otherwise.

And for once… it feels okay to be pulled in a different direction.

You're still holding your tray with half-finished tteokbokki when Mingi takes a seat beside you at the picnic table. Jongho and Yeosang are opposite, poking fun at each other while stealing bits from the fishcake skewer pile.

"You okay?" Mingi asks quietly, sipping from his soda.

You nod. "Actually… yeah. Thanks to you guys."

He hums. "Good."

It feels so normal, sitting here with them. You were smiling. Genuinely smiling. For the first time in weeks, maybe.

The stand nearby is selling fresh corndogs and hotteok. You notice Jongho eyeing them, and your stomach grumbles too.

"I'll grab some more snacks," you say, standing. "My treat."

"Are you sure?" Yeosang asks.

"Yeah," you smile. "You guys saved me today. Least I can do."

You approach the snack cart, debating how many corndogs to grab when—

Shove.

It's not hard enough to knock you down, but enough to make you stumble forward a step. You turn, startled.

"Oh my god, we knew we saw your big back over here," Yujin says with a laugh, like it's the funniest thing in the world.

Hana smirks, standing beside her, arms crossed.

You step back, lips parting. "You guys left me."

Yujin rolls her eyes. "No we didn't? We were waiting for you by the churros stand."

"I was standing alone in line," you reply, your voice still soft, careful not to escalate anything. "You jumped ahead without even checking on me."

"Please," Hana mutters. "You probably didn't see us because you were too much of a pussy to ride."

They both burst into laughter.

You feel it again—that familiar sting in your chest. But this time, before you can say anything, another voice cuts through the air.

"Hey, Y/N. Is there a problem here?"

You look to your side.

Mingi's there, standing tall, eyes dark, jaw clenched. And when he looks at Yujin and Hana, the playful energy around them dies instantly.

Yujin straightens up, adjusting her top. "Oh heyyyy~" she says, her tone suddenly flirty. "And who might you be?"

"Do you know him?" Hana adds, nudging you.

"Yes," you reply clearly. "He offered to ride the roller coaster with me."

Yujin raises an eyebrow. "Really now…"

Then Mingi steps closer, resting a firm hand around your wrist—not hard, just protective.

"If you don’t have anything decent to say to Y/N," he says, voice sharp like a knife, "you can leave. She's hanging out with me and my friends now."

He doesn't wait for them to respond. He gently pulls you away, guiding you back toward the table where Jongho and Yeosang are already watching with narrowed eyes.

You think it's over—until Yujin and Hana follow you.

"Oh my god, Y/N," Yujin says loudly. "Don’t be such a whore and take three guys at once~ At least leave one for us."

You freeze mid-step.

"…Excuse me?" you blink slowly, not even sure you heard her right.

Yujin grins, proud. "Sharing is caring, babe."

You glance at Hana, who won’t meet your eyes.

"…Yujin," you say softly. "You have a boyfriend."

"So?" she scoffs. "You're being a greedy whore with three guys up your ass. You're no better than me."

Your breath catches. You stare at her, shocked. Embarrassed. Ashamed, even though you've done nothing wrong.

Hana still won't look at you.

And that's when Mingi steps forward.

"You know what's actually disgusting?" Mingi says, his voice suddenly cold. "That you think humiliating someone publicly makes you funny. That mocking someone you call a friend is just a joke. That dragging her down is the only way you feel better about yourself."

Yujin's face stiffens.

"And calling her a whore?" Mingi scoffs. "Girl, she's more decent than either of you. If having three people care about her makes her a whore, then maybe you should ask yourself why no one treats you that way."

Hana lets out a tiny breath like she's been slapped.

Mingi turns to them fully now, shielding you with his body.

"Don't talk to her again," he says firmly. "Don't call her. Don't look at her. Don't even think about her. Got it?"

Yujin crosses her arms. "Oh really? But she's our ride. She drove us here."

Jongho suddenly stands from the table. "Then go ask your boyfriend to pick you up."

The silence is loud.

Yujin's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Hana still won't look at you.

You don't say a word. You just follow the boys as they walk away, head high, shoulders squared. Mingi's hand brushes yours. You don't pull away.

Behind you, you hear Yujin groan like a spoiled brat not getting what she wants.

And you don't look back.

You're quiet as you sit back at the table. You feel small again—not because of what they said, but because of how much it still hurts.

Jongho passes you a drink without a word. Yeosang silently offers you the hotteok you didn't get to buy.

Mingi sits beside you again, elbows on the table, glancing sideways at your face.

"You okay?" he asks for the second time today.

You nod, eyes glassy.

"You don't have to be," he adds softly.

"…I don't get it," you murmur. "I never did anything to them. I was always… trying to be nice."

"You were too nice," Yeosang says, voice calm. "Some people take kindness as weakness. That's not on you."

"She was jealous of you," Jongho adds bluntly. "Both of them were. You're quiet and kind and people like you without having to perform for it. That's threatening for girls like them."

You stare at your lap. "…I just hate that it got so ugly in front of everyone."

Mingi leans in closer, dropping his voice low. "If anything, you should be proud of yourself. You stood your ground. And you have three guys now who will never let anyone talk to you like that again."

You look up, eyes wide, lips parting.

Yeosang raises his soda. "To cutting off shitty people."

You laugh, finally.

And Mingi… he just watches you.

Like he's proud.

Like he’s already planning to keep you close all day.

The sun had dipped low by the time you all wandered back to your car, arms full of leftover snacks, plastic bags rustling with street game prizes and bottled drinks. The entire afternoon had gone by in a blur. One that smelled like honey butter corndogs and felt like safe hands holding you up.

"This your car?" Jongho asks, tapping the roof lightly.

You nod, unlocking it. "Yeah. It’s not fancy, but she gets me from A to B."

"It's cute," Yeosang says, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. "Matches you."

You glance at him, surprised. "Matches… me?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, smiling. "Kind of cozy. And a little beat up, but still standing."

You laugh. "Are you calling me emotionally damaged?"

"Absolutely," he says without blinking.

Mingi chuckles, watching you giggle as you swing the backdoor open to stash the snacks.

Jongho leans against the trunk, stretching. "We should hang out again sometime."

"Seconded," Yeosang says.

You smile. "I'd like that."

Mingi steps beside you and pulls out his phone. "Give me your number."

You blink. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," he grins. "No games. Just want to be able to text you."

Your heart skips.

You rattle off your number, and he saves it under Y/N 🎢, making you groan and hit his arm.

"What? You survived that roller coaster like a champ."

"I screamed."

"And held my hand the whole time," he says, low and teasing.

You turn away before your face gives too much away.

They all pile into their own car a few minutes later—Yeosang at the wheel, Jongho arguing over aux cord rights. Mingi rolls his window down just before they drive off.

"Hey, text me when you get home."

You glance up. "You too."

He smiles. "I will."

One week later.

You're sitting under a shady tree, picking at your sandwich while scrolling on your phone. Midterms are creeping up and your brain is half-fried. You barely notice the tall figure walking toward your bench until a shadow falls across your lap.

"Hey."

You look up—and blink.

"…Mingi?"

He grins, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. "Surprised?"

"Uh—yeah?? What are you doing here?"

"Your university's not that far from my dorm. I was in the area… and I was hungry."

You raise a brow. "So you decided to find me?"

"Obviously," he shrugs, plopping down beside you like this is the most normal thing ever.

Your heart does a backflip. "You're really bold, huh?"

He leans back on his palms, tilting his head toward you. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. After all… I haven't heard much from someone."

You flush. "I—I've been busy…"

"I know. I'm just teasing."

There's a pause.

The breeze rustles the leaves above. He's looking at you again, but this time with something softer in his expression.

"You seemed kinda quiet that day when we left," he says. "Was worried."

You glance down at your hands. "I was just… processing everything. It felt weird cutting someone off like that."

"They deserved it," Mingi says, voice firm. "You don't need people who treat you like garbage just because they've known you for a long time."

"…I know," you admit. "It just takes time to process all that."

He nods slowly. "Makes sense. Still. You're stronger than you think."

You smile, small. "You really don't have to keep being this nice to me, you know."

"But I want to."

That makes your breath catch.

He sits up straighter, taking a bite of the snack he brought—some triangle kimbap from the uni convenience store.

"Anyway, what's your major again?" he asks, chewing.

"Communications," you say. "Why?"

"Just wondering what kind of power you'll have in the future. I gotta make sure I stay on your good side now."

You laugh. "What about you?"

"Dance," he says proudly. "But I'm also thinking of minoring in theatre. I like performing."

"That… makes sense. You're kind of a natural."

"At performing?"

"At… pulling attention," you admit, looking away. "You make people feel comfortable."

He hums. "Not everyone. But I guess I try."

There's a comfortable silence again.

Then Mingi glances at your phone screen, noticing the time.

"You have class soon?"

"Yeah. In twenty minutes."

"Damn," he says, standing slowly and stretching his long arms. "Time flew."

"It did," you say. "I didn’t think I'd talk to anyone this long today."

"Lucky you. I'm charming."

You roll your eyes.

He steps a little closer now, towering over you just slightly—but he's not intimidating. He's playful. Easy. Gentle.

"Hey," he says, voice low.

You look up. "Yeah?"

"Do you wanna go out Friday night?"

Your heart skips a beat.

"Like… just us?"

He smiles. "Yeah. Just us."

You swallow, trying not to look too flustered. "Sure. That sounds nice."

He winks. "It's a date then."

And with that, he turns and walks off toward the exit gates, hands still shoved in his pockets like nothing happened.

You just sit there, dumbfounded, heat crawling up your face.

You're pretty sure you don't taste your sandwich after that.

Friday.

When you open the door, the last thing you expect to see is Mingi in all black—loose button-up tucked into slacks, gold necklace glinting faintly under the porch light—and a massive bouquet of pastel flowers in hand.

Your mouth opens. But nothing comes out.

He smiles. "Too much?"

"I—no, no," you sputter, staring at the bouquet. "These are gorgeous. Are those peonies? Wait… are these imported?"

He glances at them. "I dunno, I just told the florist I wanted something that looked like you."

Your face burns instantly.

"Stop saying stuff like that so casually!"

Mingi laughs, handing you the bouquet as you step aside to let him in briefly. "It's true though. Pretty, soft, and a little expensive-looking."

You glare, trying not to melt.

Once the flowers are safely in a vase, you both head out. He opens the car door for you like a damn drama male lead, and you have to mentally scream at yourself not to act too giddy.

The drive is filled with music, light banter, and the occasional glance that lingers too long at red lights. When he pulls up to a high-rise building with a fancy valet and dim chandelier lighting peeking from the glass walls, you blink twice.

"Wait," you say slowly, reading the restaurant sign. "We're eating here?"

"Yeah," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt casually. "Why?"

"Mingi… this place is expensive. Like, minimum 5-digit bill expensive."

"So?" He laughs, turning to look at you. "It's not every day I take someone out on a date. Plus, I invited you. I can't just take you to the food court."

You stare at him. "You're rich…"

He snorts. "Does that make you look at me differently?"

You shake your head. "Of course not. It's just… I grew up thinking that when people date, it should be fifty-fifty. I feel kinda guilty when someone spends too much on me."

Mingi looks at you for a second, soft but amused. "That's cute."

Your cheeks flush.

He continues, voice warm, "But seriously, Y/N, today's my treat. Maybe in the future you can treat me. But for now… your presence is already more than enough."

You make a face. "You're such a flirt.”

He grins. "You haven't seen the half of it."

Dinner is unreal. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Han River, and your seats are by the glass. The food is plated like art, the conversation flows effortlessly, and the wine Mingi orders (which you swear costs as much as your monthly internet bill) is surprisingly good.

At one point, you both laugh over nothing, and Mingi leans his cheek on his hand.

"You know," he says, "Jongho hasn't shut up about that day."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. For someone who's a year younger than me, he sure loves teasing me like he's older."

You pause. "Wait—Jongho's younger than you?"

Mingi blinks. "Oh, we didn't clarify that, huh?"

"Oh my god, I thought he was the oldest!"

Mingi bursts out laughing. "You're not the first person to say that! Everyone thinks that! He's just too mature for his face."

"Or," you smirk, "maybe you and Yeosang are just too immature."

He gasps. "Hey! I'm mature!"

"I stalked your tagged photos on Instagram," you say nonchalantly. "Your friends call you a big princess."

He chokes on his drink. "You what?"

You grin. "That's right. I did my research."

Mingi leans in closer, voice suddenly low and playful. "Why were you stalking me, hmm? Miss this princess that much?"

Your heart slams in your chest.

"Mingi, stop it," you say, rolling your eyes to hide your very real flustered state.

He chuckles, pleased. "I love teasing you."

"And you're way too good at it."

He shrugs. "Only with people I like."

That line hits harder than it should.

By the time you finish eating, the staff clears your plates and refills your glasses with water. You sit back, full, sipping slowly.

You glance at him. "So… where are we going next?"

Mingi raises a brow. "Someone's excited."

You smirk. "I mean… I haven't been on a real date in a long time. This already beat my expectations."

He leans forward slightly, tilting his head. "Wanna do something more relaxed? We can go for a walk near the river. There's a quiet park close by with lights and benches."

You nod. "That sounds really nice."

"Cool," he says, standing and reaching for your coat. "Let's go. I've got a playlist ready and everything."

"You have a date playlist?"

"I might have made one last night."

You stare at him.

He shrugs. "What? You make me nervous."

Mingi walks you to your door, still chatting about some guy from his dance class who tried to moonwalk in socks and almost dislocated his knee.

You laugh softly, fingers brushing your keys, reluctant for the night to end.

"Y/N?"

You glance up. "Yeah?"

He leans in quickly, and before you can process it, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. Sincere.

He pulls back, eyes wide, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry if that was too sudden. You can tell me if you're not okay with it—seriously."

You blink—then laugh, cheeks warm.

"Thanks. I don't mind."

He exhales, a tiny puff of relief, then smiles as he starts walking back toward his car.

"Wait—Mingi!"

He turns around. "Yes?"

You grin, still standing by your door. "Let's go out next week. My treat."

His smile stretches so wide it almost splits his face.

"Okay, princess. See you next week. Update me always, okay?"

He winks, hops into his car, and drives off—while you stand there, clutching your warm cheek and thinking about nothing but him.

A few months later.

You've gone on more dates than you can count now.

Some were cute and simple—arcades, cafés, late-night convenience store runs. Others were more put-together, gallery dates, dance showcases, even grocery shopping for dinner you'd cook together. There's a comfort between you and Mingi now.

Tonight, it's just a Netflix night.

It's Saturday, you're at your place, and Mingi's stretched out on your couch, arm around you while a movie plays. You're curled beside him, blanket over both of your legs, a half-finished bag of popcorn resting on his thigh.

And then—on screen—an erotic scene plays out. Soft moaning, slow kissing, heavy breathing.

Mingi shifts slightly.

"Are you okay watching this?" he asks, voice low, cautious.

You scoff, barely glancing at him. "Uh, yes? I'm not a child, Song Mingi."

He laughs, head tilting. "Well, excuse me. Just making sure."

There's a beat.

Then he glances down at you again. "What are your thoughts on doing this kind of stuff… y’know, as a couple?"

You pause for a second, then answer honestly.

"Um… I don't mind, honestly. Everyone's different, right? But for me—it's about trust. It doesn't matter whether it's before or after marriage. What matters is… being safe, knowing the risks, and being sure you're with someone who respects you."

Mingi nods slowly. "Yeah. I feel the same way."

You turn your head slightly. "Have you done it before?"

That question slips out faster than you meant.

Mingi blinks.

Your eyes go wide. "Oh my god—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make that weird. You don't have to answer—"

"No, no!" he says quickly. "It's just surprising coming from you. But nah—I haven't. I'm a virgin. And I'm not embarrassed."

You smile. “There's nothing to be ashamed of. Some people just use sex like it's a status thing. Like if you're not doing it, you're behind."

"Exactly!" Mingi grins. "It's such a stupid mindset."

He turns slightly toward you. "What about you?"

"I'm a virgin too," you admit. "But I've always been curious. Just never wanted to give that part of me to someone random. One-night stands never appealed to me."

Mingi nods, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's so weird that we both feel the same."

You squint. "Are you just saying that to get on my good side? Trying to look all respectful and boyfriend-of-the-year?"

Mingi gasps, dramatically offended. "What?! I would never! I swear I mean it!"

You elbow him lightly, both of you laughing.

Then—

"…Do you want to try it together?"

You freeze. Eyes wide. "Wait. What?"

Mingi blinks hard. "In the future!! I meant—in the future! Not now—God, Song Mingi, you're an idiot—"

You laugh. Full-on giggle that makes your shoulders shake.

Then you lean in, gently place your hand on the back of his neck, and pull him into a kiss.

It's deep. Soft. Lingering.

He stiffens slightly at first, surprised, but then relaxes—his hand finding your cheek as his lips move slowly with yours. His eyes shut. The world fades.

When you pull away, your forehead rests lightly against his.

"I trust you."

His eyes flutter open and you can see the blush rising to his ears.

You also can't help noticing the very obvious bulge forming in his pants.

You smirk.

"Are you hard just from kissing?" you tease gently.

"…Yeah," he admits shyly. "And because I love you so much, that's why."

He kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand stroking up your back, careful and slow like he's memorizing the shape of you.

And your fingers start to tighten around his shirt.

You're kissing him.

You don't remember when the shift happened—from sitting side by side, to lying down with your fingers gripping his shirt, his hand on your waist, mouths moving together slowly. But you don't care. Mingi's lips are hot, breath a little shaky, body pressing against yours like he wants to crawl inside your skin.

You moan softly when he licks into your mouth—hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as you whimper and tug at his hair. His hand slides under the back of your shirt, fingers brushing up your spine. It's slow. Careful. Nervous.

He pulls back, panting slightly. "Is… this okay?"

You nod, cheeks flushed. "Yes."

"I mean, we can stop anytime."

"I know."

He hesitates, and you see it in his eyes—nervousness, excitement, a little disbelief. You lean forward, kissing his jaw, then whisper in his ear,

"Let’s keep going."

That makes him groan.

Mingi's hands start to explore more freely—stroking your thighs, up your shirt to caress your sides, then cup your breasts over your bra. He's still tentative, like he's worried he's doing it wrong.

"Touch me," you whisper.

"I am," he says, confused.

"No—touch me for real, Mingi."

You guide his hand under your shirt, placing it over your bare skin. He swallows hard, fingers trembling just a little. When he finally cups your breast fully, brushing your nipple with his thumb over your bra, you arch into his touch with a quiet moan.

He gasps. "Holy shit…"

You laugh breathlessly. "What?"

"You feel… really good."

"You're cute when you're this overwhelmed."

"You're evil," he groans.

You switch positions slightly, tugging your shirt off and tossing it aside. He stares at your chest, clearly enchanted.

"You can touch more, you know," you tease.

"Permission granted?" he raises a brow, smiling.

"Permission granted."

His hands roam—soft kneading, lips kissing between your breasts before he pulls your bra down and takes one nipple into his mouth. You gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, while he moans against your skin.

"You're a quick learner," you mumble, breath hitching.

"Porn and imagination," he replies.

You snort. "Didn't you learn this in school?"

"Yeah," he scoffs. "As if the teacher taught us about sex positions and nipple sucking."

You both burst into laughter—even mid-makeout—and it's oddly comforting how fun this is. Messy, awkward, real.

Your hands slide down his chest, under his shirt, feeling lean muscles flexing under your touch. When you unbutton it, he lets you strip it off—his skin warm, his face flushed, his body trembling just slightly.

You reach between his legs, palm cupping the hard bulge in his pants. He jerks.

"Fuck—Y/N…"

You kiss his throat, voice low. "Wanna keep going?"

He pauses.

Then—his eyes widen. "Shit. I—I don't have a condom."

You blink. "Wait, seriously?"

"I didn't think—fuck—I'll go get one!! There's a 7-Eleven like two streets down—"

"You're gonna run to the convenience store right now??"

He's already scrambling off the couch, grabbing his t-shirt with his chest still bare. "I'll be back in ten minutes! Don't fall asleep!!"

You burst into laughter, watching him panic-shuffle into shoes and sprint out the door like a man on a mission.

12 minutes later.

He returns, slightly out of breath, holding a small plastic bag.

You arch a brow. "How many did you buy?"

"Three boxes."

"…Why?"

"I panicked!"

You're both half-laughing when you strip again, kissing between giggles, settling back into each other's arms. But this time, it's different. Calmer. More focused.

Mingi slowly pulls your shorts down, kissing your thighs, his breath hitching when he sees your panties already damp.

"Y/N…"

"Don’t be shy," you whisper.

He slides them down and tosses them aside. His fingers brush between your legs, and when he finally touches you—fingers stroking through your folds—you whimper and press into his hand.

"You're so wet," he says, awed.

"For you."

He swears softly under his breath.

You moan louder when he finds your clit, gently rubbing, unsure at first—then more confidently as your hips twitch under his touch. You reach down, palm cupping his erection through his boxers.

"You're hard again."

"Yeah. You're kinda ridiculously sexy."

You roll him onto his back and tug his pants off.

And when his boxers come down—you both freeze.

"…Oh," you blink.

"Too big?" he teases nervously.

"Guess we'll find out."

Condom's on.

You lie back, legs spread, heart pounding.

Mingi positions himself between your thighs, hands on either side of your face, eyes locked with yours.

"You sure?" he whispers.

You nod. "I trust you."

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly.

It hurts.

Not unbearable, but a deep stretch, an ache that makes your body tense.

Mingi stops instantly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just go slow."

He pushes in again, carefully, slowly—

And then you both freeze.

"…Is that… blood?" Mingi asks, voice rising slightly.

You look down. Just a bit. But enough.

Mingi freaks. "Oh my god. Are you okay?? Did I hurt you?!"

You put a hand on his cheek, trying not to laugh at his horrified expression. "Mingi—it's normal."

"But—are you sure? Should we stop?"

You smile. "Let’s just take a break. Five minutes. You're overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting! You're bleeding. I've seen horror movies that start like this!"

You burst into laughter, gently shoving his shoulder.

After a short pause (and a lot of overthinking from Mingi), you kiss him again—slow, soft, grounding.

"I still want to keep going," you whisper. "If you're okay."

He nods, exhaling. "Yeah. Just don't die on me."

This time when he slides in—it's easier.

Your body's more relaxed, your hands are tangled in his hair, and Mingi is whispering "so beautiful" and "you feel amazing" into your skin like it's the only language he knows.

The pace is slow, careful. You moan under him, hips rolling together, your bodies finally syncing.

He kisses your neck, your lips, your forehead. You're both sweaty and shaky and a little uncoordinated—but it's perfect.

You're his first. He's yours.

You cling to each other like the world is too small to contain what you're feeling.

And when you come—whimpering his name, shaking underneath him—Mingi follows right after, burying his face in your neck with a moan so sweet it makes your heart throb.

Afterward, you lie tangled on your couch, barely covered by the throw blanket.

Mingi's still red in the face. "I think I panicked like ten times."

You giggle. "It was cute."

"Was it… good?"

You nod, nose brushing his cheek. "It was more than good."

Mingi's breath is still a little shaky as he pulls out of you carefully, rolling the condom off and tying it, tossing it into the little trash bag beside the couch. You hiss faintly at the sudden emptiness and sensitivity.

He notices immediately.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just sore. And… wow."

He lets out a soft laugh, brushing your hair out of your face.

"We should clean you up," he murmurs. "Don't want you to get an infection."

You nod, and he helps you sit up slowly. Your thighs are sticky, a little shaky, and you wince slightly as you stand.

"Shit," Mingi mumbles, catching you. "Are you hurting?"

"Not really. Just sore and, you know… my pussy probably looks like a war zone."

Mingi laughs, even as he scoops you up bridal-style without warning.

"MINGI—!"

"We're washing you properly, princess," he says, grinning as he carries you into your bathroom like some romcom idiot boyfriend. "Gotta take care of my girl."

He helps you sit on the toilet, then kneels in front of you, helping you clean. Every touch is gentle now—damp tissue wiping your thighs, warm water trickling slowly, his hands making sure not to rub too hard.

"Sorry if this feels weird," he mumbles.

"It doesn't," you whisper. "I like this."

He smiles at you, so soft, so genuine it makes your chest ache.

Once you're clean and dry, he carries you again—back to your bed this time, gently laying you down before slipping beside you under the blanket.

Your head rests on his bare chest, legs tangled, fingers tracing random patterns on his stomach.

Mingi shifts a little, looking down at you.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N."

You glance up, smirking. "Took you long enough to say that."

"I was busy panicking."

You both laugh.

But then he kisses your forehead.

"I'm serious," he says quietly. "You're so fucking beautiful. Your body… your heart… your whole existence. I've never felt this way before. Not even close."

You blink slowly, heart beating in your throat.

Then he murmurs—

"We're a thing now."

You grin. "We better be a thing. If not, I'll chop your dick off."

Mingi wheezes out a laugh, pulling you into a kiss. "God, I love you."

"Thank you for coming into my life." His arms tighten around you.

"No, you saved me," you say, brushing your nose against his. "Thank you for coming into mine."

You breathe in deeply, warm and full in his arms.

A few minutes later, while cuddling in silence, you shift a little.

"Mingi?"

"Mm?"

You glance up at him, playful sparkle in your eyes.

"…Should I satisfy you more?"

He blinks. "Huh??"

You smirk. "You’re still a little hard. I can feel it against my leg."

He flushes red instantly.

[carmenlikeme]

The decision to have a second child with Robby isn't an easy one.

You both want to. Your first baby was and still is your biggest blessing; you would never regret them, and there wasn't a moment when you didn't think about having another baby. At least two children. Three, if you felt like you could survive not sleeping for over 12 consecutive years.

But your first pregnancy had been so difficult for you, you had doubts.

Well, Robby had doubts.

During your first trimester, you were barely able to drink water before wanting to throw up. Dana recommended some anti-nausea medication, and Robby decided to pick up the least amount of shifts he could to make sure you were okay, always by your side, and just right behind you as you collapsed on the tiled floor.

Your second trimester was a bliss, full of cute pictures, early maternity shoots, and an intimate gender reveal where Robby cried his eyes out after finding out he was gonna become a girl dad. Endless purchases and moodboards for the nursery. You couldn't ask for anything better.

Then, the third trimester came, and with that, the early-onset preeclampsia.

You spend most of your days in bed now, just standing up to go to the bathroom, and even then, you're being looked after when you walk, even for a few steps. When you are close to 34 weeks, you both decide to admit you to the hospital for monitoring, and Robby feels so much better knowing you're only a few floors away.

That's why he looks so stressed, speaking to Dana about how you both want it, but you might consider adoption to avoid putting you at risk once more. Javadi is close by, and before she can stop herself, she opens her mouth to speak.

"Dr. Robby, did you know that 13% of preeclampsia cases are attributed to paternal factors? There's this study that says that while women's genetics are the most important, if the father was born from a pregnancy with preeclampsia. It's generally attributed to 13% from the father, there's another..."

"Hey, crash! I need your help!" Santos interjects, pulling her by her sweatshirt and dragging her away against her will.

Robby stands still next to Dana, who isn't sure if she should kill Victoria just yet. He pauses, tries to find something to say.

"Is that true?" he asks.

"What's true?" Samira joins the conversation, a tablet in her hand. "Mr. Murphy is ready for discharge."

"Javadi just said preeclampsia can be attributed to paternal factors," he says, his tone is almost sarcastic.

"Oh, yeah. There are a lot of new studies about that, also about how paternal diet, mental health, and exercise habits can have an impact on a pregnancy. There's also a greater risk of a premature birth if the father is over 45, so..."

The rest of the conversation and the day go by in a blink. Robby goes home defeated. And there you are, the TV is on, but you're fast asleep with your baby girl on your chest. He smiles, and for a moment, he forgets about the thing that almost made him spiral.

You wake up 30 minutes later. He's cleaning, and you're sure there's a new load of laundry already in the washer. You want to stand up, but your baby is just so comfortable there, you don't wanna wake her up.

"Good morning, love," he says when he walks back into the room. He leans in, careful enough not to disturb his daughter, and kisses you softly. "I missed you two."

"Thank god you have the weekend off," you whisper. "She didn't take a nap today."

"Well, she's almost one. She wants to conquer the world, but her body isn't letting her. Now that she's walking, she'll be unstoppable."

He sits next to you, and even as careful as he is, your baby wakes up. Her bright eyes open, Robby immediately grabs her from your chest and pulls her onto his.

"Show daddy your new shirt, baby," you say. She's still sleepy, but immediately cries when she is far away from you. She cries and tries to crawl back to you immediately. "This kid, she wouldn't even let me go to pee for two seconds."

She sits up on your lap, and it's only then that Robby pulls down her shirt to see it. His hand stays there, frozen, as he reads the words over and over again. He feels like choking up. It's like you're both back in your old apartment, cramped in the tiny bathroom as you wait for the pregnancy test results.

Best Big Sister.

He doesn't know how long it takes him to turn to you, but there you are, holding a pregnancy test that says "Pregnant. 3-4 weeks". You're crying, and he doesn't know when he started crying with you.

"Surprise!" you whisper, choked up. "I guess it's happening."

He kisses you again, this time he takes his time, despite how much your daughter babbles and screams. Just for a second, he kisses you like the world is about to end in just a moment.

"I guess it is."

Nothing matters, just for a second. It's just him, you and your little family.

© CARMENLIKEME 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[witchyverse]

You're Distracting, Love.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Female!Reader Setting: Hogwarts, post-Quidditch practice Word Count: ~2.4k Warnings: light swearing, shameless flirting, mutual teasing, fluff overload, canon-level tension A/N: It's really short and just a small blurb. Hope you like it! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quidditch practice had run late again.

The Slytherin team had stayed well past curfew, the pitch lit only by enchanted torches flickering in the cold night air, the sound of bludgers cracking against bats echoing into the dark. You’d stayed too, sitting on the stands wrapped in your scarf and watching with a stubborn kind of loyalty as Mattheo flew like he had something to prove.

You weren’t sure if it was to the team, to himself, or to his father’s ghost. Maybe all three.

He landed hard. Fast. Too fast, honestly—but that was Mattheo.

Always dramatic. Always reckless.

Always hot as hell.

You jumped down from the bleachers as he dismounted, pushing his hair back with one gloved hand, sweat gleaming along his temple. His green robes clung to him in all the right places, and you hated how aware you were of it.

He spotted you immediately.

“Still here, sweetheart?” he smirked, tossing his broom over his shoulder.

“Was waiting to see if you'd break your neck,” you said casually. “Disappointed, honestly.”

He gave you a look. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

“Only because I was trying to impress you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “By nearly colliding with the goalpost?”

He shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile tugging at your mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Poor judgment.”

“Admit it,” he said, walking closer, his voice lowering just slightly. “You like watching me fly.”

You tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze. “Maybe.”

He grinned, cocky and gorgeous. “Knew it.”

You reached out, tugged gently at his scarf. “I like the view when you’re on the ground better.”

He blinked.

Then, in a rare moment of genuine softness, he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours, the cold air around you melting with the warmth between your bodies.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

“You’re sweaty,” you shot back, scrunching your nose.

“Should I go roll around in the grass to even it out?”

“Oh, please don’t. The team already thinks you're unhinged.”

“They’re not wrong.”

You laughed, the sound catching in the still night air. He smiled at the sound—something softer than usual in his face.

“Come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. “You waited out here like a devoted girlfriend. You’ve earned some hot chocolate. Or at least a long make-out session behind the greenhouses.”

“You’re so romantic,” you deadpanned.

“I know. I’m a gift.”

You leaned into him as you both started walking back toward the castle, the grass crunching beneath your boots, the stars scattered above like little pieces of magic.

“Mattheo?” you said quietly, after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“I do love watching you fly,” you admitted. “But only because I know you’ll come back to me.”

He looked down at you, his usual bravado fading.

Then he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I always will, love.”

[anon-sect]

Picture source: anonymous

Harvey noticed his two friends hadn't responded to his texts or calls over the last four days. It was unusual for them not to respond at least by the next day. He asked around to see if anyone knew where they could be. After asking so many people, he finally was told that they had been in a wrestling tournament four days ago. They had lost to this one guy and had gone missing since then.

Harvey tracked down the guy who had bested his two friends. His name was Finn. He happened to be the champion in the wrestling tournament. He went to his house to ask where his friends were.

Finn heard a knock on his front door. He opened it to see a guy standing there. "Yes, can I help you?" He asked since he had never seen him before.

"Yes, my name is Harvey. And I was wondering if you could tell me where my two friends Jake and Tom went. I heard you beat them in a tournament four days ago. They have been missing since." Harvey explained, hoping this time he finally knows about the whereabouts of his two best friends.

"Oh, those two fags. They were easy to beat." Finn paused. "As to their location, let's just say they are in a safe location." He added.

"Where are they?" Harvey asked again. He didn't like his previous answer one bit.

"You see, I am a TF Pred and I like taking special trophies from competitions that I win." Finn paused. "You two friends are my trophies. Come in and I will show you." He invited him in.

Harvey followed the guy to his room. Finn placed a pair of blue wrestlting spandex and wrestling shoes on his bed. "I don't know which one is Tom and which is Jake, but here they are." Finn told him.

Harvey didn't know if all he was told was true. He examined both items. He then felt a small twitch coming from both the shoes and spandex, almost like they were alive. "Change them back now." He demanded.

"Sorry, I keep my trophies. I don't have a habit of changing them back." Finn smiled deviously.

"Please, change them back." Harvey pleaded. He hated seeing his friends like that.

Finn decided to show some sort of mercy. "Here's the deal. Wrestle me for their humanity. If you manage to make me tap or submit, I will change them back to normal. But if I make you submit, you join their fate. I turn you into a trophy as well." He gave the offer to Harvey. "Your choice." He added.

Harvey saw the risk if he lost, but he wanted to save his friends from a permanent fate as such. "Okay, I agree to it."

Finn gave Harvey a pair of red wrestling spandex and told him to follow him to his garage. There was a green mat laid out.

Harvey managed to get out of every single hold that Finn tried on him until he got him in the scissors headlock. He held him tightly between his legs and tilted upwards in a position that would not allow him to escape.

"That's right. Just give in and pass out or tap out. It doesn't matter either way. You are mine. I think a nice pair of socks will do nicely for me." Finn remarked as he continued to apply pressure on the hold.

Harvey wasn't going to tap. He tried to break free as oxygen was leaving his body. The hold on his neck was too tight to escape. He soon lost consciousness and passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Harvey woke up sometime later from his nap feeling strange. He couldn't speak. He could manage some form of movement, but it was more like twitching. He smelled a strong odor and tasted something foul. He felt like he was wrapped around what he was tasting. The wiggling motion instantly let him know what he was. He was a pair of socks. The feet must have been Finn's He twitched in protest to being a pair of socks.

Finn felt twitching coming from his pair of socks. "Oh, you are finally awake. Sorry to tell you, but you lost our little bet." He paused with a smile on his face. "Which means you are mine just like your two friends. But don't worry, I will take good care of you just like I have done them." He laughed as he continued to watch this tv show.

Harvey knew the risk he was taking when he agreed. Now he was stuck as Finn's property just like Tom and Jake.

[redandgreyscale]

Evan apologizes one day out of nowhere, and Barty is confused as hell.

"why are you saying sorry?" He asks looking at the boy like he just grew a second head.

"sometimes I feel worse than others for not having sex with you" he explains.

"oh none of that, we've talked about it, I have a hand and plenty of alone time, don't think I'm under attended or something because I promise you I'm fine" Barty says it easily, it's the truth after all, but Evan goes blank for a moment and then he's flushing and looking away and Barty is suddenly more intrigued.

"You— Okay, yeah, I didn't— didn't think of that"

This is fascinating. How the hell did he make Evan stutter? Evan doesn't stutter, doesn't flush. Barty mentions jerking off and that is what happens? This is an amazing discovery and he's going to have a lot of fun with it.

"do you want to know more or know less?" He asks with a grin, Evan might just turn around from how much he's trying not to look at him.

"I... I don't know" Barty's smile grows and he gets closer, his hands coming to Evan's waist, his lips grazing the dark skin of his neck from behind.

"do you want to know how many times a day? How many times a week? What I think about? It's you, it's always you baby"

Evan may not like sex, but he likes a whole lot of other things. He likes kissing and teasing and playing, they established early on the relarionship that none of that would lead to something more. Barty loves everything Evan is willing to give him.

It's Evan who gets Barty all worked up most times, only for him to go find some release in the privacy of a bathroom.

This time it seems to go the other way around, Evan lets out a shuddering breath and even from where he's standing, Barty can see a bulge growing on his pants. It takes a second, and then Evan pulls away completely.

"Enough, I— Stop" he murmurs breathless, so Barty stops, takes a step back.

"Are you okay?" Barty asks just to make sure. They've talked about things, and teasing like this is something Evan feels comfortable with most times.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good" Evan is still trying to even his breathing but at least now he's looking at him "I just don't like the part where my body does... This" he vaguely gestures at his crotch like it's betraying him.

"Did I read the situation wrong?" Barty asks once more, scared of having gone too far without noticing.

"No, no, it was good, we're good" he sounds sincere, and Barty believes him.

"good" he repeats back, Evan still looks mildly uncomfortable, not too sure what to do now "wanna know something?" He grins staring at him. Evan nods confused. "I'm definitely jerking off to this tonight" he wiggles his brows and Evan laughs, soft and sweet and everything is fine again. Yeah, they're good.

"you're a menace"

[fluentmoviequoter]

Say It Plain

Eddie Diaz x fem!firefighter!reader

✰ You make Eddie feel like he belongs in Los Angeles and in the 118, caring for him and his son. The closer you get, the more he realizes that you bring something to his life he didn't know he needed. After you become close friends, he decides to tell you he sees you as more than that.

✰ fluff, banter/humor, friends to lovers, brief angst/fear, confessions, spoilers for 2x02-2x03, 5.7k+ words, requested

✰ pictures from pinterest (Joe's is in NYC, just don't think about it)

✰ A/N: This is my first attempt writing for Eddie, so he's most likely OOC!

“It’s hot,” Chimney complains.

“When did you get a meteorology degree?” you question, lacing your voice with faux shock until your conversation is interrupted by an alert of a car accident.

“If you think it’s hot now,” you murmur, “tell me how the gear feels.”

“It’s gonna be a long day,” Hen sighs as you open the truck door.

You nod, and she taps her hand comfortingly on your back.

When you return to the station, you change and look forward to going home to eat as much ice cream and as many popsicles as you have in your freezer. You drop your phone from your pocket, groaning as you squat to retrieve it. Your fingers brush the concrete, and your eyes widen at the realization that it’s cool – at least twenty degrees cooler than the air. Not caring that you’re in an open area, you shift to sit on the concrete floor, then lay down with your back on its cool surface. Sighing, you close your eyes and hope that you don’t have to get up for a while.

“Are you okay?” someone asks.

“Yep,” you answer, lifting one arm to send them a thumbs up. It’s not a voice you recognize, but you don’t know everyone in the station right now anyway.

“Okay,” the voice drawls. “You’re just lying on the floor because?”

“It’s cool. It feels good.”

The man above you hums, then says, “You know, you can run cold water over your wrists to regulate body temperature.”

He sounds closer, so you pry your eyes open and turn your head, surprised to see him lowered to one knee with his left hand spread on the floor and his right elbow propped on his knee.

“You’re the new recruit,” you realize. “And, yeah, everyone knows the kangaroo method.”

His brows lift as he fails to hide his smile. “Not everyone knows that,” he argues. “Eddie Diaz.”

He offers you his hand, but you lift your index finger to ask for a second. You stand, then offer your hand.

“Wait,” he murmurs as he stands. Only when he’s upright does he shake your hand and murmur your name under his breath.

“Welcome to the 118,” you say. “I assume someone has shown you around already?”

“Yeah, I got the tour. Didn’t include the fun fact about taking naps on the floor to cool off, though,” he jokes.

“Well…” you look around, then lean forward to whisper, “I know all the good tricks around here.”

“Seems like I met the right person, then.”

“I heard you graduated top of your class,” you say as you walk down the hall. “Congratulations, that’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” Eddie replies. “I know it doesn’t really win much in a new station, but I’m committed to this.”

“We’re glad you’re here,” you assure him. “Even if a lot of us are intolerable.”

“You seem alright.”

Your smile grows when you see his, and you pretend to flip your hair over your shoulder despite having it pulled up. “I’m more than alright,” you tease.

He laughs at you, and your belief is confirmed: Eddie is amazing, and he’s going to be a great addition to the station. You can see a great friendship with him.

“Diaz!” Nash calls. “Got some people to introduce you to.”

“The intolerable ones?” he asks through his teeth.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, waving at Nash.

“Eddie, this is Hen,” Nash introduces. “Hen, Eddie. This is Chimney-“

Nash is interrupted by yet another call, and you tap your knuckles against Eddie’s bicep in a silent wish that his first day is memorable for the right reasons.

You’re sandwiched between Buck and Chimney as you drive to the auto shop, where someone is apparently blowing up. Chimney leans over you to talk to Eddie, who presses his lips together when you shove Chimney off of you.

“Nash,” you complain into your headset. “Chimney’s touching me.”

“Whoa, okay, that did not sound good,” he argues. “If HR calls me, I’m going to be very upset.”

Buck interrupts your playful conversation to ask, “Is your full name Eduardo?”

“No,” Eddie answers.

“People ever call you Diaz?”

“Not if they want me to respond.”

You look at Hen and mouth, what is happening? She makes a measuring tape motion, and you shake your head. As Buck continues badgering Eddie about getting an unofficial ‘callsign,’ you let your gaze stray to Eddie. He’s inarguably attractive, but there’s something about his demeanor that makes him immediately likable.

“Look,” Buck begins again.

You smack your hand against his chest, then point at him in warning. When he falls silent, his eyes wide and obviously offended, Nash laughs in the front seat.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Hen yells, slapping her hand down on the table. “Go back?”

“I have a son named Christopher?” Eddie repeats slowly, looking at you for confirmation.

“This isn’t supposed to be an interrogation,” Nash intervenes.

“Yeah, ask a good question,” you encourage. “Like mine was.”

Eddie smiles at you but doesn’t say anything.

“I was asking for clarification on the ex-wife part,” Hen clarifies. “Someone left you? Is she stupid?”

“No,” Eddie answers immediately.

“She fumbled, that’s what she did,” Chimney deadpans.

“Chim,” you gasp, turning toward him.

He lifts his hands over his chest so you can’t hit him the same way you slapped Buck earlier.

“May I ask another question?” you ask.

“Go for it,” Eddie answers.

“Can we go home?”

“I actually do need to get going,” Eddie agrees, standing.

“No,” Hen complains, causing Eddie to stop halfway between sitting and standing.

“You can go,” you tell him. “I’ll walk out with you.”

Away from the rest of the team, you sigh and look up at the sky.

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

“For?”

“You made my first day really great,” he explains, watching you as you draw your eyes back to him. “I was a little nervous about fitting into the team, being the new guy. You made me feel really welcomed, and I appreciate that.”

“Well, you’re great, so it wasn’t hard,” you reply, not realizing that it sounds a little flirty.

“And thanks for Buck, too, of course,” he adds as you begin walking again.

“No one has ever thanked me for him before. I think I’m offended, Eddie.”

He laughs before he clarifies, “I mean, thank you for interceding. He seems…”

“Intolerable?”

“Unlike you,” he agrees with a nod.

“Have a good night, Eddie,” you say. “And enjoy some time with your son.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Eddie ensures you’re safe in your car and it starts properly before he heads home. He met his new team today, but you’re the most memorable member of the 118. You’re sweet, made him feel like he belongs, literally knocked manners into someone for him, and didn’t get in on the jokes about his ex. There’s a mutual respect between you and Eddie, the beginning of a great friendship, he thinks. And while the team is good, you make the transition to Los Angeles and the LAFD seem conquerable.

While you spend the night alone in your apartment, Eddie picks up Christopher from his mom’s house and takes him home.

“How many friends did you make on your first day?” Christopher asks, copying Eddie’s question from after Christopher went to his new school for the first time.

“One,” Eddie answers, chuckling. “I guess I’m not as popular as you.”

Christopher laughs, and Eddie wonders what his son would think of his new friend.

“Mango pineapple or strawberry banana?” you question when Eddie enters the kitchen on his second day.

“Uh, neither?” he replies carefully. “Why?”

You lift two smoothie cups, and he makes an ah sound before pointing to the one in your left hand. As you extend it to him, your fingers brush, bringing a smile to both of your faces. Eddie takes a single sip of the smoothie before his eyes widen appreciatively.

“Did you make this?” he questions.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “My favourite place is three blocks from here and I thought we could use a good start to the day.”

“This is amazing,” he muses. “What do I owe you?”

“An answer to a question.”

“No, I mean-“

“I know what you mean,” you interrupt. “And I can appreciate that you’re a gentleman, there aren’t many of you left. But it’s a gift.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says softly. “What’s the question?”

“Can I see a picture of Christopher?”

Eddie slows, impressed that you cared enough to remember his son’s name. He sets the smoothie cup down and pulls his phone from his pocket. When he finds a picture, he turns his phone toward you, but you move closer, pressing your shoulder to his arm to see.

“He’s adorable,” you gush. “Oh my gosh.”

“He’s a great kid,” Eddie agrees, watching your profile.

“How’s he like LA?” you inquire.

“Pretty well so far,” Eddie replies, pushing his phone into his pocket and briefly wishing you’d stayed against his side. “He loves the museums, all the places to go and see.”

“Have you taken him to the LA Zoo?”

“No, but it’s on the list.”

“There’s a first responder discount when you do go,” you tell him. “Not a huge one, but it helps.”

“What would you recommend we see first?” Eddie asks, leaning on the counter across from you as you share breakfast.

“Ooh… LA County Museum of Art, The Getty, California Science Center, Griffith Observatory, and the zoo and botanical gardens are some of the best,” you list. “And that’s just museum-adjacent locations.”

“Hey,” Buck greets. “Is Nash here?”

“In the office,” you answer. “How are you?”

“My sister made me coffee, things are great.”

Eddie glances at you from the corner of his eyes, and you fight the urge to laugh.

“Wait, why hasn’t Nash cooked yet?” Buck questions.

“It’s not his week to make breakfast,” you say simply. Buck frowns, so you add, “Is it, Buckley?”

“It’s my week?” he asks.

“Ding ding,” you sing-song. “Get crackin’, Buck. Seriously, there are eggs in the fridge.”

Eddie follows you out of the kitchen, looking down at the smoothie cup in his hand. You brought him this knowing that someone else was supposed to cook; you only brought him something. Maybe he was right when he told Christopher you were his friend.

“Hey, I was gonna go to CityWalk for dinner and to hang out for a bit tonight,” you tell Eddie. “Would you want to come? You could bring Christopher if you wanted, of course.”

Eddie had planned to get yet another pizza and try to unpack the last of his boxes tonight. A night out with you, however, sounds a lot more enjoyable. You’ve given him more than one reason to unpack, to make a home here where he can be himself and happy for a long time.

“That would be great, if you’re sure,” Eddie replies. “Christopher would like the break in routine, I’m sure.”

“Great,” you cheer. “If, uh, if you want to ride together, I can pay for parking.”

“Yeah, but I’ll cover it, since we’re crashing your night.”

You prepare to argue again, but Nash steps out of the office and waves to you and Eddie.

“Nonemergency medical call a few blocks from here, can you take it?” he asks.

“Of course,” you answer while Eddie nods.

Eddie leads you to the ambulance, checking that everything is in place before he climbs into the driver’s seat. You radio to dispatch that you’re responding to the call while Eddie pulls out, and only then do you realize this is Eddie’s first ‘real’ call. He was incredibly helpful yesterday, but it wasn’t quite the same.

“Hey, take the lead on this,” you suggest.

“No, no, you’ve been here longer,” Eddie argues.

“LAFD isn’t exactly a hierarchy of seniority,” you point out. “Besides, I’m more inclined to spray water on problems. You’ve got the experience and the knowledge for this. Let me support.”

Eddie nods as he slows to enter the driveway where the 9-1-1 call originated. You follow his lead from the time he greets the caller – the mother of a young girl who’s having difficulty walking – until you leave, after the girl’s pulled tendon is iced, bandaged, and her mom has instructions on what to do.

“Great job,” you applaud as you return to the ambulance.

“Thanks,” he replies. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Never met someone so competent at bandage cutting.”

“I try.”

Your laughter mingles with Eddie’s as you return to the station, and suddenly, neither of you can remember what life was like before you met.

After you knock, you shift the bags in your hands and wait. You’re early, but you know Eddie is home. The door opens, and he smiles at you with a button-down shirt halfway on.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I’m early, but I had something I wanted to bring.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie assures you, welcoming you into his home. “Whatever that is, you shouldn’t have.”

Rolling your eyes, you wait at his side until he closes the door and leads you into his house. When you reach the kitchen, you set the bag on the counter and look around. His home is cute and homey if a little empty and noticeably missing a woman’s touch.

“It’s not much,” you say when you realize Eddie is watching you. “Just some food. You can put them in the freezer, warm them up whenever you want.” You stop, nodding awkwardly as Eddie continues staring. “Or throw them away,” you add, “your choice.”

“Thank you,” he says. “And I won’t be throwing them away, though I appreciate the opportunity to choose.”

“You’re so annoying,” you groan, not meaning it at all.

“Dad?” Christopher calls as he comes down the hall.

Eddie tugs his shirt down, smiling at his son.

“Hey, pal,” Eddie says, kneeling to tidy Christopher’s clothes. “You look nice.”

“Your shirt’s off.”

Eddie smiles as you chuckle, then he looks toward you. “Christopher, this is the friend I was telling you about.”

Your smile falls upon learning that Eddie told his son about you, but when Christopher turns to say hello, you don’t have to think about smiling at him. He’s already the sweetest kid you’ve ever met, and when he makes jokes that remind you of his dad’s somewhat dry sense of humor, he somehow becomes cuter.

“I can put these in the freezer while you finish, if you want,” you offer, pointing over your shoulder toward the food.

Eddie nods as buttons his shirt, directing Christopher to take a seat so he can comb his hair quickly.

“You brought food?” Christopher asks.

“I did,” you reply as you move into their kitchen. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made a few things mine and your dad’s friends at the fire station enjoy.”

“Are you a good cook? Will it taste good?”

“Christopher,” Eddie chides quietly.

“It’s a fair question,” you point out. “I wouldn’t say I’m great, but no one has complained yet.”

“That’s good,” Christopher muses.

“Guess where we’re going,” Eddie encourages.

“Last time you said we were going somewhere fun, it- it was Target,” Christopher replies, squinting up at Eddie as he stands.

“Target is pretty fun,” you interject.

Eddie points at you in agreement and nods before he says, “No, she’s in charge now, so it will actually be fun.”

Christopher and Eddie both look at you, so you press your hands against the counter and murmur, “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“You know, I’ve never been to Universal with my other friends,” you muse as you wait for a car to pass in the parking garage.

“And I’ve never had a friend bring me food or give me first responder discount advice,” Eddie counters. “Or met someone that could give Christopher such a fun experience that he falls asleep in the middle of a sentence.”

You glance in the rearview mirror, smiling at the sleeping boy in your backseat. Eddie had carried him through CityWalk, drawing lots of looks and coos from passing women. He either didn’t notice them or was too interested in your conversation about where you grew up to care. Either way, you’re honoured to be his friend and to be worthy of such attention.

“I know you’ve got a busy week with unpacking and post-academy stuff,” you say as you merge onto the freeway. “So, if you need anything, let me know.”

You’re back at your apartment when you realize there’s a twenty-dollar bill and a sticky note in one of your cupholders. Eddie just couldn’t let you pay for parking.

A week after your impromptu trip to CityWalk, Eddie approaches you with a proposition. The problem, he realizes quickly, is that he isn’t sure what exactly he’s proposing.

“I want to take you to dinner to thank you for all your help, everything you’ve done,” he explains. “But I don’t really want to leave Christopher with a sitter, and he’s gotten so comfortable at the house, so…”

“You don’t have to get me anything to say thanks,” you reply, smiling. “We’re friends, Eddie.”

“I want to.”

“Then,” you pause to think, then finish, “order me a pizza.”

Eddie considers the idea for a moment, then smiles. “I’ll order a pizza, but you have to come share it with me and Christopher. He’s been asking about you.”

“Eddie-“

“I know I don’t have to,” he says for you. “Please?”

It doesn’t take much to convince you, apparently, because his big brown eyes and soft murmur lead you to agree. As if you could tell him no, you think, startled by your own inner voice.

A few hours later, you’re knocking on Eddie’s door. Christopher opens it, smiling up at you as he says hello. Immediately, he pulls you into a hypothetical conversation about how animals communicate with each other. Over pizza, you talk to Christopher about anything and everything he can come up with, laughing and smiling while Eddie sits beside you. He watches you and Christopher, failing to identify the feeling blooming in his chest. When it’s time for you to go home, he has a sudden desire to take your hand and ask you to stay.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say as he walks you to your car. “Maybe we should try to communicate with our eyes only, like giraffes.”

“Nash would love that,” Eddie agrees, though he knows it isn’t hard to tell what you’re thinking by looking at your eyes – which he does often.

You raise your brows, and Eddie smiles at the look in your eyes.

“Already working,” you muse as you open your door.

“Drive safe,” Eddie says. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course. Goodnight, Eddie.”

Days after your shared dinner, you get a chance to have another conversation with Eddie. He’s under a truck, trying to figure out why its wheels aren’t turning properly to the left, but at least you can talk for more than two minutes about something that isn’t call-related.

“And?” you ask when Eddie trails off while telling you about a project Christopher did for school. “How’d he do?”

“He made an A, the kids loved it,” he says before grunting. “Wish I could get that kind of popularity with popsicle sticks.”

“Well, you’ve got the Diaz smile to go with it.”

Eddie moves his leg to kick you, his touch gentle as he laughs. He begins to push himself out from under the truck when the ground shakes. You throw your arms out to catch yourself against the side of the ambulance, but the movement doesn’t stop when you attempt to right yourself.

“Earthquake!” someone yells.

Someone says it must be a six or seven magnitude, but you’re focused on getting out from under the rafters and lights above you. Reaching down, you pull Eddie’s ankle, then take his hands and backpedal to the corner. He stands from the lying board and pushes you farther into the corner, sheltering you with his body until the shaking finally subsides. The station is a wreck, but you know that the city is probably in worse shape, and you have mere seconds until the calls begin.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks. When you don’t answer right away, he steps back and places a large hand behind your neck, tipping your face toward his. “Are you okay?” he repeats urgently.

“I’m okay,” you promise, laying your fingers on his forearm below his tattoo. “Are you?”

Eddie nods, keeping his hands on you until Nash begins yelling about a collapsed hotel.

“Is Christopher at school?” you ask quietly.

“He is. I’ll send his teacher a text to check on him.”

Eddie spreads his hand against your back as you rush to the truck and ambulance, preparing yourself for a long day. You try to text your friends and family, but there’s no service.

“Are you okay?” Buck asks.

You lift your head and realize he’s talking to Eddie. Eddie says he doesn’t have service, shaking his head as he looks at you. Your heart feels like it drops at the news that he can’t check on Christopher.

“Who are you trying to get a hold of?” Buck inquires.

“My son,” Eddie answers.

“Whoa, you have a kid?” Buck exclaims.

“Oh, right, we waited until Buckley left to get to know Eddie,” Hen says into her mic, mostly to mess with Buck.

“Is he at school?” Buck asks Eddie. “They’ve got earthquake procedures, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Eddie nods, and for once, he avoids looking at you.

The hotel becomes visible a moment later, leaning out over the street with its structural components made visible past the broken windows and shattered cement. Your team exits the truck with their eyes up, intimidated by the job but mentally finding routes to get inside and get people out. You think about going inside once, but immediately remember Christopher is at school, probably scared of his first earthquake.

“Have you ever dealt with something like this?” Eddie asks.

“No,” you answer with Nash.

You stay by Eddie while Nash talks to the incident commander, but you don’t listen to what she says, only your racing thoughts and the groaning steel before you.

“Okay, listen up,” Nash says, succeeding in drawing your attention for the first time since you got out of the truck. “Here’s how you make it to the end of the day: you don’t worry about the things that you can’t do anything about, focus on one task at a time. I can’t order you guys to go inside that building, and I’m not gonna judge you if you decide not to.”

“Hen,” Chimney begins, “you got a kid, so…”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “And I’d hope if someone whose job it was to save him had the chance, they’d do it. No matter what.”

You know Hen is right. You also know that Eddie is just as scared as you are but won’t leave.

“Where do you want us?” Eddie asks.

A police officer runs up behind you and beckons your team, but you don’t move. Nash steps toward you and lays his hand on your shoulder.

“I meant it,” he says. “I’m not judging you for leaving.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“I’m not. You’re doing what’s most important to you, and to someone you care about. But roads are going to be mayhem and you’re too far from the station to get your car easily regardless.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan for that.”

Nash smiles and shakes you gently. “Of course you do, kid. We’ll see you on the other side of this.”

He drops his hand and steps around you before you spin and call his name.

“You better see me on the other side,” you demand. “All of you.”

Nash salutes you, and you return to the truck to leave as much gear as you can. Left in your base layers, you slide your phone, your ID, and your keys into your pocket before you push through the crowd gathered around the hotel to start running.

Behind you, Nash joins your team on the street to survey a man in need of saving. Eddie notices he’s alone and looks over his shoulder.

“We’re down a player,” Nash says. “And she’s expecting us to come home, alright?”

Eddie doesn’t get a chance to ask where you went before he and Buck hatch a plan to reach the man above them.

It takes you three times as long as it should to run the few miles from the hotel to Christopher’s school. All of the students are gathered in the gymnasium and on the baseball field, and your heart beats faster as you move through the crowd of kids and scared parents. The elevated heart rate isn’t from the run but from your concern. Christopher is important to you, and his dad grows more special to you each day. When you know Christopher is safe, you’ll shift your worry to his dad, and this day will seem like an eternity, so you have to stay focused on one task at a time, just like Nash said, and only think about what you can do something about. Like finding Christopher, which proves easy when someone yells your name, and his bright smile brings you to your knees before you hug him tightly against your chest.

The first thing Eddie does when he returns to the truck is check his phone. There are three messages from you: the first is an apology for leaving, the second is an assurance that Christopher is okay, and the third lets him know that you took Christopher home. After the pizza night that has become a defining moment in your relationship, Eddie gave you a key. It’s what friends do, he had told himself. Now he’s not so sure that was the real reason.

He pushes that out of his mind and accepts Buck’s invitation for a ride. When he reaches his front door, he unlocks it and steps inside, expecting to be greeted by Christopher’s easy smile and a relieved look in your eyes. Instead, he sees you lying on his couch, your eyes closed peacefully, and Christopher lying comfortably against you, fast asleep.

Eddie places his hands on the back of the couch and leans back, stretching his arms as he sighs. I’m home, he thinks. Then, he realizes that he’s never thought of this place as home before tonight.

“Eddie?” you ask, opening your eyes slowly. “Eddie.”

Your eyes fly open then, and Eddie drops one hand to lay on your shoulder as he leans over the couch.

“We’re all okay,” he promises.

You check your phone, see one new message, and then move carefully, standing as Christopher burrows deeper against the couch cushions in his sleep. Smiling down at him, you don’t regret leaving your team because you trust them, and they’re safe.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” you say.

Eddie pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist and exhaling.

“You’re on his pickup list,” Eddie reminds you, “so no overstepping.”

Nodding against him, you think about how tired you are. You could fall asleep in his arms without much effort, but you force yourself to step back and gather your things.

“I’ll see you later, Eddie,” you say. “Tell Christopher I said goodnight.”

“Wait, how are you getting home?” he asks, stepping toward the door with you.

“Buck’s waiting; he can take me.”

“Oh. Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, and thank you again.”

“Of course.”

Eddie watches the door close behind you, and this house doesn’t feel quite so much like home anymore. Oh, he realizes, I wasn’t thinking about the house. He should have seen it sooner: the piece of himself he thought was missing, what he thought he couldn’t get back after the divorce, or when he left Texas, it’s you. You made him feel like part of the team, like a good friend, but there’s more now. You make Eddie Diaz whole. And he didn’t notice until after you walked out.

“I only need one more chance,” he whispers as he locks the front door. He exhales heavily, then asks himself, “How do I make sure I don’t blow it?”

It takes three days of working together before Eddie has an opportunity that he actually takes. During those three days, he is constantly aware of how he feels. When you’re at his side, when you’re working, when he’s not sure if you’re okay, every situation brings a different thought, a different emotion into his heart and mind. You were separated briefly during a house fire call when the car in the garage exploded while you’d been in the backyard getting the family’s dog. For the next five minutes, your team fought the growing fire with no radio transmission from you. You jogged down the street then, panting and carrying the dog inside your turnout gear. Eddie wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, tell you that he needs you, and never let you go. But the raging fire took precedence.

Today, your 48-hour shift ends at a decent hour, and you go home, shower, and make dinner before the sun sets. While you do that, Eddie paces in his house, wondering how he can tell you that you make him feel whole, that you make life promising and full for him. Eventually, Christopher tells Eddie he’s surpassed his 10,000 steps, and he has an idea.

You’re sitting on your couch watching TV when your phone rings. After you pause the show, you answer Eddie’s call and immediately ask, “Are you okay? Is Christopher?”

On the other end of the line, Eddie laughs. “Can you open your door?” he replies.

“What?” you mumble, still awaiting an answer to your question.

“Open the door, please?”

You walk to your front door and pull it open, your jaw dropping at the sight. Moving without thought, you end the call and step back, letting Eddie step inside. He’s wearing a suit and tie, he has a large bouquet in his hands, and you practically have to force your jaw closed again as you close the door.

When you turn toward him, your back against the front door, he doesn’t give you a chance to speak, though you desperately want to tell him how good he looks. He sets the bouquet on your coffee table before he speaks.

“I need you let me talk and not say anything because if I don’t get all of this out, I’ll never say it,” he explains.

You remain silent, crossing your arms over your waist and chewing your bottom lip.

“Right,” Eddie realizes, shaking his head when he remembers you won’t answer because of what he just asked. “I realized something. When we became friends I thought it was great, because it is, but I also felt like I’d never encountered a friendship like this one. And then we went out to dinner, and you care about Christopher. Moments between us started feeling different…”

Nodding, you try to keep up with him, watching his mouth move as he speaks, rambling between his points about what he realized.

“…it’s because you’re the piece that I didn’t want to admit was missing, you make everything feel right, perfect, whole-“

You’re still nodding along with his speech but grow more concerned about whether he’s actually breathing while talking. Between what he’s saying, the fact that you’ve known you felt the same since he bought you pizza, and your worry about his lung capacity, it’s an easy decision to step forward and kiss him.

Eddie freezes when your lips meet his, your hands clutching the lapel of his blazer. Then, he melts into your touch. His hands rise, one arm circling your waist as he cups the back of your head and steps forward, caging you in against your couch as he moves with you. The kiss meant to slow him down and give him a chance to breathe takes your breath away instead.

When Eddie pulls back, keeping his hands on you like they were shaped to hold you, he looks between your eyes. “Does- does that mean you feel the same?” he wonders softly.

“Did I not say it plain enough?” you tease, bumping your nose against his. “Yes, Eddie, I feel the same.”

Eddie kisses you again, a series of quick pecks interrupted by your question, “Where’s Christopher?”

“On his way over with pizza,” Eddie says. He kisses your jaw, then adds, “Buck’s bringing him.”

“You’re welcome,” you sigh, softening beneath his touch.

Eddie lowers both hands to your waist and steps back to look at you. “We should probably stop referring to each other as friends now.”

“Whatever you say,” you agree, smiling.

Eddie rolls his eyes at your playful tone before he pushes his hands over your hips and then up the length of your back, kissing your neck when you tip your head up. You kiss him again, then step back.

“I got that ice cream Christopher told me about,” you say. “Let me make sure I have enough for all of us.”

Eddie watches you, the lovesickness he felt in his chest before now evident in the smile on his face. Buck pulls up outside and taps the horn, so Eddie leaves your house to go get Christopher.

“About time, man,” Buck sighs when Eddie pulls the back door open.

“You didn’t even like me when we met,” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, but I saw how she looked at you. Do her right, man.”

“I will. Thanks for everything, Buck.”

“Your son tips better than you.”

Buck smiles at Christopher, who laughs. Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t want to know what they talked about on the way over.

“Can I help?” you ask, standing on the sidewalk behind Eddie. You don’t wait for an answer before you lift the pizza boxes from Buck’s passenger seat and thank him softly.

“Be careful, kids!” Buck calls before he drives away.

Eddie shows Christopher around your house, then tells him to sit on the couch while he helps you. Alone in the kitchen, you steal one more kiss. Eddie was a great friend and continues to be a great teammate, but this is even better than the life you thought you wanted.

[n3ptoonz]

'All That Jazz'

Pairing: Professor!Bucky/Professor!F!Reader

Fandom: MCU

Warnings/tags: Smut; Explicit, reader is older - as in like "same age" as him (like mid to late thirties), reader is a foreign theatre teacher; speaks a different language (unspecified), reader is like the complete opposite of bucky, guys i had so much fun writing this, plot, subtle tension, technically public sx, HEELS, freaked out lover boy, body worship, yes he's wearing the suit like in the picture above, light masochism- DAMN - not proofreading allat.

Word count: 3.7k+ ... hahaha 😅

i'm trying out aesthetics/decorated posts, don't mind me🙂‍↕️

italicize text in quotations means a different language is being spoken - pictures used are not depictions

did i get this idea when i saw that quote from sebastian saying when he saw women wear heels sometimes he'd think about what she looks like only wearing heels...? don't even worry bout that bruh-

Bucky has been teaching AP US History at NYU for about five years now and has never worked up the courage to talk to you for more than just a conversation about grades or the occasional gossip about students or staff. You were extroverted and smiley. It's taken a while to get used to people calling him James instead of Bucky, but he kind of looked forward to hearing you say it in your sweet, honey-like voice. Everyday since he's gotten the job and seen you in the halls, you've worn a different color/patterned hat and stylish outfit that hugged your form just right, often tied together with a scarf around the neck. It drove him a little crazy to say the least.

Sometimes his students would tease him and tell him to just go for it already, to which he just brushes off and playfully glares at them. And there was that one time he saw you strutting towards the elevator in a blazer and pencil skirt brought together by a pair of red pumps. For the rest of that day he could only think about how you looked with only those heels on...But anyway!

Today was a slow day of grading essays before the midterm. He was knee deep in assignments and just wanted to get it over with.

You are former broadway show runner that hailed from a different country and took up teaching a decade ago in New York City. You were always so sweet and kind to everyone you've met. Theatrical and eccentric in a good way. Your hair was always uniquely styled, a few gray strands that you wore proudly. Your accent was rich as the fabrics you wore and your smile was to die for. You took particular interest in the introverted James Bucky Barnes, as you had never met someone like him before. But you found that to be a good thing.

It wasn't abnormal for you to frequently visit his classroom whether he was teaching or not. Your students often teased you too about how often you went out of your way to go to a whole floor below yours just to see him.

Three light knocks came to the door of his classroom before you popped your head in. You beamed your typical smile at him with a small wave.

"Hello, James," you chimed. "I hope I am not intruding on your grading process?" you asked, still standing at the door.

Bucky looked up from the stack of essays he had been grading, slightly startled but pleased to see you standing at the doorway. He set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, offering you a small smile in return. "Hey, ah, no, not at all. I could use a break from these essays," he replied, gesturing to the pile on his desk. "What brings you in?"

"I was just thinking about the upcoming midterm and wanted to bounce some ideas off you," you explained, stepping further into the classroom. "But now that I said it out loud, it sounds...boring." you added and turned to him. "Perhaps an evening at the jazz bar down the road isn't too big of an ask?"

You looked at him with those bright, expressive eyes, your smile still playing at the corners of your lips. It was clear you had taken a liking to the reserved history professor, appreciating his quiet intensity and sharp mind. The students' teasing remarks about your frequent visits to his classroom only served to encourage you, showing you that your interest in him was not unnoticed or unwelcome.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, a hint of surprise flickering across his face before a slow, genuine smile spread across his lips. "An evening at the bar, huh? That does sound more interesting than grading these essays," he mused, glancing back at the stack of papers on his desk.

He folded his arms across his chest, leaning casually against the edge of his desk as he considered your offer. "I suppose I could stand to take a break from the academic world for a little while. There are a few things I've been wanting to discuss with you as well," he admitted, his blue eyes meeting yours.

Bucky knew he should probably keep things professional, but there was something about your open mindedness for life and eccentric charm that made him want to let his guard down, even if only a little.

"Tell you what, why don't we meet there around 7? I can finish up here and then join you for a drink and a chat," he proposed, already looking forward to spending more time in your company.

"Sounds perfect! I should be able to get a good amount of grading done in an hour and a half. Good call." you nodded and sauntered over to the door. "Goodbye for now. And don't even be a minute late." you playfully narrowed your eyes and pointed at him before you chuckled and left out the door; the sound of your heels receding down the hallway.

Bucky watched as you sauntered out of his classroom, your playful warning and the sound of her heels echoing in his ears. He couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself but also mutter something not-so-appropriate under his breath. He ran his hands over his face and scratched his beard in thought. Thoughts of you and wondering if he just completely missed that you essentially asked him out on a date after work. Huh.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the clock was at 6:50. Bucky gathered up the graded essays and put them away in a drawer, straightening his tie and grabbing his coat--burnt orange, like his suit--before heading out of the classroom. After the short elevator ride to the ground floor, he exited the building and spotted the bar just a short distance away.

You were already at the bar with a glass of wine and swaying to the music when he walked in and spotted you. You glanced in his direction as he approached, that familiar smile flashing at him again.

"James!" you chimed and gestured for him to sit down. "Thought you might stand me up." you added in a teasing way given that he was definitely a minute late.

"Wouldn't dream of it." he said as he sat down, ordering for himself before looking back at you. "So, what did you want to discuss about the upcoming midterm?" he asked in a genuinely curious tone. He figured he play it safe, but he couldn't help but notice now that you look a little different than earlier. You weren't wearing a hat or scarf, your dress shirt was three buttons loose at the top and your lipstick was touched up. You appeared more...laidback; inviting.

You hummed and swirled the wine in the glass after taking a sip. "This is a little embarrassing," you said with a small chuckle. "I was really just finding an excuse to come talk to you. My midterms are very different from other curricula as it pertains to materials and...well, I guess I didn't want to sound too forward inviting you out for drinks on a school night." you added as you took another sip of wine.

Bucky nodded and laughed to himself. So he was correct in assuming this was like a date. Noted.

He took a sip of his whiskey as it arrived, the smooth burn familiar and welcome. "Well, I'm glad you found an excuse to invite me out for drinks," he replied, his voice deep and sincere. "Doesn't bother me at all."

Bucky allowed his gaze to linger on you for a moment, taking in the sight of you with the top few buttons of your shirt undone and your lips touched with a fresh coat of lipstick. The look was inviting, alluring, and he found himself clouded once again. All the possibilities laid bare in his mind with you sitting right in front of him. Seldom an ounce of shame.

"We could make this like a regular thing." he continued. The words left his lips before he could process the proposition but you didn't look put off by it. Not even a little bit. Instead, you gave a considering look.

"Sounds like a plan." you said, cheers-ing with his glass and finishing your drink. You leaned on the counter and just looked at him, admiring his features.

"So what does free time usually look like for Professor Barnes?" you asked as you tapped the rim of the glass in idle rhythm. Bucky took another swig of liquid courage before answering.

"Well, as you can probably imagine, my free time is usually spent in the pursuit of knowledge and learning," he began, a hint of playful weariness in his voice. "But I enjoy just sitting in the quiet sometimes. Going for walks to clear the mess that is my mind for a while, some reading, all that jazz."

He paused before continuing, realizing his answer might've been dry or a downer. "Though I must admit, lately my free time has been taken over by thoughts of a certain charming professor from upstairs," he added, his pretty blue eyes locked with yours as a slow smile spread across his face.

Good save, Barnes.

You gave him a look of 'Oh, really?' written all over your face, no words needed as you finished the last of your wine before standing up and holding out your hand.

"Would you like to dance?" you proposed. Your tone was one of why the hell not? What do we have to lose? Bucky stared for a moment, chuckling to himself. He hasn't danced since 1943, it feels like. He wasn't one for the activity, let alone has he ever had the chance to share it like this with a beautiful, talented woman such as yourself. He followed suit and finished his glass before standing up and taking your hand, a small embarrassed smirk on his face. Your heart fluttered at the sight of his eyes crinkling with joy.

"Why the hell not?" he said, letting you lead the way to the floor littered with people dancing together to the song You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To sung live. In a strange way, it brought Bucky back. To a time he thought long forgotten. A time he wanted to forget. Yet being here with you was game changer for sure.

"I have to warn you, though. It's been a while and I'm not as light on my feet as I used to be." he continued with a sheepish laugh under his breath. You waved it off and held both of his hands.

"Not a problem. Let's start steady, just follow me." you said, moving with every other beat so it wasn't too fast for him. He caught on faster than he thought. He matched your moves and rhythm in record time. This was the first time in a while he genuinely smiled. His grin was so wide and his grip on your hands was grounding.

"Someone's a fast learner!" you chirped. "'Been a while' my ass."

Bucky laughed and twirled you in his hand, taking your hands again and letting the song take him over.

"What can I say? I finally have a proper partner." he said, spinning you again. His heart stopped for a second at his own words. Did he just say that?

This time you ended up pulled flush to his chest. Bucky looked down at you with light pink cheeks as he cleared his throat. Just realizing his palm was resting comfortably on the small of your back.

"I didn't- I meant like-"

"I know what you meant." you said with a head tilt and lightly patted his chest in reassurance. You were both panting from the surge of energy that suddenly hit you both during the song. His lips pulled into a short knowing smile. As the song was coming to an end, something clicked in his brain, like he was teleported back to 1942. He held you tighter and dipped you, his face hovering over yours as if it was just you two in the room. Your gasp wasn't missed when you clutched onto his shoulders. You looked up at him like he was crazy, but not in a bad way.

When he slowly brought you back up, he saw a bright young woman in her twenties. A girl he wanted to impress, maybe get some ice cream with later. A girl he just wanted to walk around the city and hold hands with. He would be in uniform and try to sound as cool as possible with soldier talk.

Nobody else dancing around them mattered. And he knew it couldn't be the one glass of whiskey he ordered because he can't get drunk. It was you.

Maybe it was always you.

Neither one of you has uttered a word in the last sixty seconds. Just staring and holding each other. He wanted to say something first but his mouth had gone dry. He blinked and he was brought back to the present. A woman that looked around his age giving him the same look he was probably giving her.

"We should head back." you said. You saw him blink a few more times, as if to snap out of his own thoughts before he reluctantly let you go. He rubbed the back of his neck and gestured towards the exit. He didn't have anything else to say, really. This kind of thing--all of it--was lost on him. It's not like he's never been in love before, but damn it he truly thought he forgot what that felt like. What it was. What it meant to him and what it would mean for anyone he might fall for again.

Perhaps he's being a little dramatic, right? That was your job!

It was a quiet walk back to school. The university building in immediate distance yet it felt a mile away. Bucky felt awkward. Like maybe he messed up somehow with his lover boy bullshit. He had hoped he didn't. And if he did, he'd do anything in his power to fix it.

You, on the other hand, were trying to compose yourself. The attraction you felt towards him was suffocating. The tension between you two given any time you were together could be sliced in half. Now? You couldn't breathe. And the faint cologne on his collar was never a help.

The elevator ride was no better. Close yet so far. You two could barely make eye contact.

Once at his classroom, you haven't a clue why you walked in. You stopped at the door, gripping the knob for dear life. Your muscles contracted with something you haven't felt in years. That familiar sensation in your chest that spread to the rest of your body. You watched him awkwardly walk over to his desk and move some papers around like he was reading something. You could tell now that he thought he did something wrong.

Bucky ran his hand over his beard and sighed before turning to you. "I, uh," he started, taking a few steps towards you with his hand in his pocket. "If I came on too strong..."

He was still talking when you closed the door behind you and walked over to him, a finger to his lips as you pushed him backwards to the whiteboard. He looked at you with a bit of surprise. Shocked at your boldness but also that you made it clear he didn't mistake anything.

You slid your finger from his lips to his jaw, urging him to lean forward to meet your lips. You gave him a simple kiss. You wanted to pull back and maybe make a witty remark about how nervous he was, but he was activated now. You only invited him in and he's moving like he owns the place.

His hands slid around your back to hold you closer than ever. His strong arms unyielding but safe. He even made sure his metal arm wasn't using as much pressure as his flesh one.

It didn't take long for the kiss to get heated. The wine on your tongue nearly as sweet as you. The whiskey on his almost just as intoxicating. You could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh through your skirt, practically screaming to be released from its confines. The serum running through his veins allowed him hold his breath longer than the average person. However, Earth to Bucky, she can't breathe!

He backed away with a soft pant. His eyes half-lidded while the sound of you catching your breath filled this corner of the classroom. He could only think about how you looked with only those heels on...

"You're beautiful." he said, the back of his hand caressing your cheekbone. His gaze by itself was consuming you whole. Part of your focus was your smeared lipstick on his lips and his arms holding you like you were married for years in every timeline.

Bucky kissed you again as he lifted you by your hips to carry you to his desk. Once you were sat down he started to undo your buttons with fervor. There went your shirt in three seconds tops. Then your skirt, which took longer because he loved how it looked sliding down those thighs along with your panties. He sucked marks onto your neck as the skirt hit the floor, leaving you completely bare after he unclipped your bra without missing a beat.

He didn't bother with your shoes and you wondered why. So, when you went to remove them he stopped you, looking you dead in the eyes.

"These stay on." he said, pressing a kiss to your knuckle. He crouched down before you and started to tail kisses up your legs--tip of the shoe first. "Tell me about your favorite play." he whispered against your foot and kept kissing. You shuddered and gripped his desk. The sight before you almost too much to bear.

You started on about your favorite play, when you saw it, where you saw it, how it made you feel. Occasionally pausing in between thoughts so you didn't lose them due to this man worshipping every inch of your body. Bucky gave a longer kiss to a birthmark, smiling to himself when you softly gasped.

Once he reached your thighs, he slowly pried them open but his eyes were on your face. Watching what he's doing right. The most bizarre thing was that he was still fully clothed. His bulge the most obvious thing in the room against those tight ass pants--that did wonders for his ass, by the way.

In the blink of in eye, your lips meet again, your legs wrap around him, and he's inside of you. He groaned and cursed like he took a bite from his favorite food of all time.

You could get lost in the pools of his irises. They were just so blue. James Barnes, akin to a siren without uttering a word.

He wanted to set a slow pace, he really did, but damn it girl he nearly slipped out several times because of how wet you were from him just admiring your legs and you looked butt ass naked in only heels. This wasn't some shit you'd get back home so definitely weren't going back anytime soon.

When your heel scraped his back a little bit, he moaned into your shoulder. Your eyes widened just a tad. Bucky was tucked securely inside of you, thrusting and humping you like he'd die if he stopped. You were half hazy, trying to keep down your own sounds of pleasure but you were aware enough to lift your leg and drag your heel on his clothed back again. He moaned louder, gripping your hips tighter.

"Please," he whispered desperately. "Oh, baby, I'm not ready to be a father."

You twitched underneath him and ran your fingers through his hair, the other hand scratching his back to hold yourself back. That unraveling feeling was rapidly approaching you were seeing stars. Your breaths irregular and your walls clamping down on him. Almost like you were telling him it was okay.

"Shit-" he hissed in response as his hand slid up your waist so he wouldn't lose his grip. The pace increased in an instant and his climax was drawing near too. You felt so good against him. Your skin. Your lips. Your silky walls. The messy, squelching sound that echoed off the walls was a song he'd have on repeat. He made love to you with everything he had. Everything that was mildly irritating him today went into every stroke.

Your heel scraped against him one more time, just a little harder by accident and he was gone. His limbs weakened but he pulled out in time. Quiet, weak whimpers coming from him. Something...Something about that alone got him so excited. Maybe it really felt like he was in the 40s again. It was like sneaking into somewhere he wasn't supposed to be and fucking where he wasn't supposed to with a dame he wasn't sure he was taking home.

Your climax hit you two seconds after; an array of praises and filthy words flying out of your mouth under your breath and in your native tongue. Your back arched upwards and your feet pointed, making the heel dig into his side for a second. You clenched your jaw so a string of moans didn't wake up the entire social studies department.

Bucky huffed a heavy breath and stood up straight. His hand taking yours and pulling you up to meet him chest to chest. Holding you once again so you wouldn't fall over. He kissed you on the forehead and rubbed your back in the places that the desk definitely left marks, but you didn't look tired though. You carefully pried him off of you and pushed him backwards towards his desk chair with just your index finger, sitting him down before crawling into his lap.

"The suit stays on."

[buckevantommy]

it's WIP Wednesday here atm so have an excerpt from a little ficlet i stumbled on in my drafts. cue domestic fluffy boys.. 😌🫶

Buck drops his bag like a sack of rocks inside the door. Who carries around a sack filled with rocks? Wasn’t there an old nursery rhyme about that? Some guy on a road to somewhere met another guy with seven sacks filled with seven rocks..

Gerrard seems like the type to mandate rock-sack hauls for training. Maybe not rocks exactly, but full gear and dummies and– actually, yeah, he’d totally add rocks to the load and spin some crap about how they need to be prepared to haul rubble away from an incident site. 

[insert scene bridge here]

Tommy's here. He’s here.

Buck didn't really have time to text while on shift and he’d been so exhausted when he climbed into his jeep that he didn’t even think to check his phone. Now, as he drinks in the sight of Tommy standing at his kitchen island, he feels a thirst quenched. He hadn't realised how bad he needed this until he was presented with it and now his brain is catching up to his body reminding him how essential hydration is to one's health and Tommy is a tall goregous glass of water.

He remembers Tommy saying he’d come over tonight so they could have dinner together and he could stay over, even though he has a shift in the morning and Harbor is a longer commute from the loft. 

I want to, he’d said on the phone before Buck started his 48. I don’t want to go almost a week without seeing my boyfriend. In fact, I don’t think I can. It’s a survival issue, really. My doctor should prescribe me Evan Time at least twice a week, make it official. Maybe then we could twist some arms and finally get our shifts to align.

Riiiiiight.. for health purposes.

Heart health.

tagging some folks who might want a nudge (no presh) 💕 @spicycinnabun @firehose118 @alchemistc @rcmclachlan @leashybebes @ladyeyrewrites @beefcakekinard @seen-the-stars @trombonechurchill @ambernotember

[3wisellamas]

Tenna the Lightner

So I just did a replay of chapter 3, finding all the little things I missed the first time (like Tenna's Pipis Room embarrassingly enough), but there's a thread I've noticed throughout this whole playthrough:  Tenna is one WEIRD Darkner.  Like, weirder than most.  I'd even go as far as to suggest he might not even fully be a Darkner at all, at least not in his own mind.

Something to note is that while a lot of Darkners seem to know their own histories, and to be at least aware of the Light World and their object forms, it's not until TV World that we really see how deep that knowledge goes.  King tells us how he was betrayed by the Lightners and of his desire for revenge, but doesn't say much about them beyond that -- as if he's only aware of Lightners as a concept, unknowable gods whose presence can no longer be felt.  Queen, also, explicitly sees Lightners solely as their search history, and as a computer she doesn't really...interpret those searches correctly, to say the least.  Even Spamton and the other Addisons, whose entire existence revolves around advertising specifically to Lightners, don't seem to be too aware of them beyond their job.

But Tenna.  Oh boy.  Tenna LIVES more in the Light World than the Dark World.  Let's begin with the biggest piece of evidence:  This image.

This stopped me in my tracks when I first played chapter 3, because of how out of place it is.  Even with TV Worlders in general being slightly more aware of Kris and the rest of the Dreemurr family than other Darkners, this image and Tenna's accompanying comment stand out as the first time ANY Darkner has proven they can perceive the Light World directly.  Spamton had a blue sky and a sun painted in his shop, things that don't exist at all in the Dark World, but not an actual photo like this.  How in the world did Tenna even get this picture of himself, I wonder?  Did he have a Shuttah snap it while someone was carrying a mirror nearby?  However it happened, the important part is TENNA CAN SEE THE LIGHT WORLD.  And in particular, HE CAN SHOW IMAGES OF IT TO OTHER DARKNERS.  Note that, at the beginning of all three boards, he shows (or has Mike show) photos including blue skies and sun, more than likely where Spamton got his own idea of "Heaven" to paint.

More rambling under the cut; I'm just getting warmed up here.

There's also the fact that, while other Darkners will acknowledge their Light World forms and even where they're located -- Queen straight-up saying she's a computer, Pippins mentioning they've been lost in the couch, that one Zapper that knew he was from Catti's house, Lancer and Rouxls hopping into your inventory as playing cards -- Tenna is also the first Darkner to identify and talk about his Light World form as if it's his own body, right down to saying he'd join in adventures if he wasn't plugged into the wall and that he'd look better with a tan -- his LIGHT WORLD form specifically would look better with one, that is.  He also isn't just limited to knowing about and identifying as his Light World form, either, if he really switched on that music video himself after you give him to Mettaton -- aside from...whatever was going on with Spamton and that glitch egg Noelle encountered in her game, we haven't seen any evidence at all that other Darkners are able to take any physical action on their own, outside of the Dark World. If Tenna can change his own channels, which would necessate physically turning his own dial, and possibly even use this ability to communicate with Lightners in some sapient way as I've seen LOTS of fanartists suggest, it's an ability unique to him!

There's also another moment where he shows more extensive knowledge of the Light World than any other Darkner we've yet encountered, one I think is even more damning:

If you get S-rank on either board and access the special dressing room, Ramb reveals to you that Tenna reprogrammed the video games he has you play himself, using an existing video game as a base.  It looks like that wasn't all he was able to do with this skill, though -- while the above effort is clearly unfinished given that you can easily glitch it out with the camera, it's still scarily accurate for someone who's stuck plugged into the wall in the living room, and stuck as a Darkner unable to explore the Dreemurr house on his own.  Again, I wonder how he got this knowledge -- did Kris share their house layout with Tenna at some point?  Did Shuttah snap photos of the rest of the house?  Did Tenna, as my friend suggested, send a bunch of Pippins on an expedition to roll across the floor into the kitchen?  Regardless of how he got the knowledge from his limited vantage point, Tenna knows his own house very well, in a surprising amount of detail at that, and he specifically reprogrammed a game to be able to explore it himself.

I think that's the key to my theory:  Tenna wants to know about and explore the house he inhabits, and not the Dark World created from it.  Hell, he barely has ANYTHING to do with his own Dark World -- at certain points in the chapter, a Shuttah will describe what things were like before Tenna came, and what lies beyond his studio.  At one point they describe a "great wilderness" that's clearly supposed to be the kitchen -- "frozen waste" (the refrigerator), "watery basin" (the sink), and "metal desert" (stove or oven), as well as the "purple cliffs" that are definitely supposed to be either the couch or stairs.  At another point towards the end they mention others who left for "the far land", and that a "legend old hermit" knows the way; as far as I can tell at this point, this has to be referring to the toys and books Toriel took from home to her classroom, with fellow teacher Gerson possibly being the hermit?  

But all of this is outside of Tenna's studio, where he's in control -- literally, the guy can and does do whatever the heck he wants in there, laws of physics be damned.  The STUDIO is TV World, but it lies within a much, much larger Dark World taking up the rest of the Dreemurr house.  A Dark World Tenna clearly wants absolutely nothing to do with, and why would he?  He's not in control.  The Darkners there don't cater to his whims, aren't bound to his contracts.  He's built his own world, whose entire purpose is to be whatever he wants it to be...

And he builds it to resemble the Light World.  Or, to encapsulate his family's Light World.

Literally everything in Tenna's studio is a memory of the Dreemurr family, HIS family.  The cowboy shows Asgore used to enjoy, he has a set for that.  The cooking shows Toriel used to watch, and the kids used to make fun of, he has a set for that.  All of his prizes, from the floral cowboy shower curtains to the chocolate candy to the sink fur traps to the talker-backer(?) are geared toward an individual member of the family, save for two -- the Ralsei plush (either for Ralsei, assuming Tenna thinks he's a relative, or for us, the player, as others have pointed out), and the family car (which Tenna admits he drives every day himself if you visit his bonus room!  In other words, HE INCLUDED A PRIZE MEANT FOR HIMSELF AS A MEMBER OF THE DREEMURR FAMILY).  And it also extends to his memories of the Holidays as well with Dess' music video channel, and even a song she herself enjoyed and shared with her younger sister.

(Yes, Raise Up Your Bat is a real song in-universe.  And Tenna must've enjoyed it himself too, if he kept it around!)

All of this is not just a cry for his family's attention, to go back to watching him, but to be included in their lives beyond that.  His fondest memory is of being watched by everyone during the holidays, with an area just outside the walls of his studio even modeled after that, with snow and Christmas trees scaled up to Tenna-size.  But, more importantly, I feel like he enjoyed being a part of the family in those moments, not just being watched by them.  He watched his family shrink from that point, until no one tuned in anymore, and he doesn't seem to be aware of where they all went -- Tenna's shocked when Kris tells him Asriel went away to college, like he didn't even notice the kid who'd enjoyed video games with Tenna grew up.  He suggests Asgore return to watch the cowboy show he liked, and DESS return as well, as if he's unaware of what happened with her (Maybe.  Tenna does backpedal a bit on that one -- I'm guessing he HAD to have at least seen the news reports of her disappearance.)  Notably, he doesn't actually mention Toriel's and Asgore's divorce, only them arguing, claiming it's a normal thing for couples to do -- COUPLES, as in still together, not former partners.  In general, for someone so obsessed with his family's attention, he either pays very little attention to them in turn, or he's locked out of the loop, and given he frequently asks Kris about specific people I'm guessing it's actually the latter.  Tenna is not aloof, he's driven by loneliness and desperately WANTS to know about his favorite viewers!  He misses them dearly, in more ways than just as an audience, and that might be a big motivation for why he modeled his game after the house, a subconcious desire to escape from his own reality and find out for himself.

We also have someone we can look at for another side to this:  Ramb.  The guy's a Plugboy explicitly stated to be from Cyber World, even fondly recounting his own memories of Queen, Swatch, and Spamton.  But while he now lives in TV World, he doesn't belong there -- that one Pippins mentions that, despite themself being from Card Kingdom they didn't turn to stone because they fit in with the other inhabitants, but Ramb never did, and so he became a statue in the end.  Like Tenna, Ramb also has a very close attachment to Kris, someone who played with him as a toy and broke him out of his normal role -- I feel like this makes him a nice foil for Tenna, who might also feel as though he doesn't belong, as attached to the Light World as he is.  Tenna breaks a LOT of the rules Ralsei sets forth for Darkners like himself, even if he still wants to fulfill his purpose of entertaining the Lightners above all else.  He's understandably devastated by the idea that he's due to be thrown away, for being old and obsolete -- and rather than accepting it as Ralsei suggests, the idea that he's gotten old breaks Tenna completely and he does what he can to ENSURE he won't be tossed onto the curb.  He captures Toriel and is willing to hand her over to the Knight, and also captures and tortures Kris and Susie for even suggesting that they're tired of playing his games.  And most interestingly, with them trapped in prize balls, he takes it upon himself to play the game for them -- Tenna gladly becomes Player 1, something Ralsei has to be FORCED into, stating it's something he's not supposed to be!  I also find it interesting that, despite not even having a chair for himself nor even a reason to be there (having an in-game avatar to give hints instead), Tenna absolutely insists on joining the Fun Gang for the video game rounds, with his absences to take calls only being temporary, rushing back in to rejoin afterward.  It could be Tenna wanting to keep an eye on them, making sure they don't try to leave and/or see their reaction to the games he created, but more than that, I get the feeling he just wants to be included, since these are the moments he gets especially chatty and friendly and un-host-like, letting his antennae down so to speak, like he's just playing video games with his friends and/or sibling!  

There's also a couple very subtle hints that, like Ramb, Tenna doesn't really feel like he belongs in TV World, at least not anymore, and his desperation to maintain control of his former employees during the latter part of the chapter could partially stem from that.  His shame over keeping a Pipis being one, and the other...well.  It seems pretty benign to a Lightner, but from a Darkner's point of view Tenna playing a "TV Statue" in the Suziezilla game has to give one pause:

Finally, there's the specific, loaded words Tenna uses in Castle Town for being given to another Lightner to enjoy:  "Adopt."  "Forever home."

Tenna doesn't just want new viewers, he wants a new FAMILY.  And specifically, he doesn't want a Darkner family, he wants to become part of another LIGHTNER family!  Because he saw himself as a Dreemurr, until Toriel wanted to get rid of him.  A lot of people like to point out Tenna's mental health issues coming from being a child of divorce, but I'd say there's a little child abandonment and social isolation going on in that TV head of his too.  Maybe that's why he and Susie get along so well, given her own implied neglect, and is one of many reasons why Tenna so urgently wants to impress Kris, another non-goat monster welcomed into the family.  

In a lot of ways, Tenna turns the formula established in the first two chapters of Deltarune on its head.  In those, we had a main boss character, a cruel ruler whose presence dominates their particular Dark World and whose plans involve destroying or expanding into the Light World.  And then, a secret boss hidden somewhere in the chapter, requiring effort to find / battle but always with certain themes behind them:  Freedom.  Reaching beyond the Dark World's confines into "Heaven."  If you look at Tenna, he's the latter type of boss rather than the former:  He cruelly rules his studio, sure, but it's just a small part of the larger Dark World, his sphere of influence basically limited to those he suckers into signing his contracts.  He isn't even the final boss for his chapter, with the Knight taking that role.  He has zero ambitions at all for the Light World, but he knows of it far more extensively than other Darkners, with its entertainment literally beamed into his antennae at all times, and in his own way Tenna yearns to reach out to it in turn, to gain his freedom from obsolescence.  To break the rules, and be more than just an old, obsolete Darkner.

[marigold-hills]

Your hands; mine (Stalker Remus AU) part 7

PART 1 | | PREVIOUS PART

It’s past three in the morning when Sirius falls asleep again. Not a conscious choice - he drifts off half way through telling Remus about the dataset he’s been working on at the office. It’s about marketing correlations, he said. Might as well use you as a sound board. Since you’re here.

When Remus asked who his typical listening stand-in was, Sirius said a pink rubber duck. Remus still isn’t sure if it was a joke or not.

Remus doesn’t feel the need to keep track of Sirius’ pulse this time. The worst of it seems to be behind them. Watching the steady rise-fall of Sirius’ chest where it moves with each breath is enough. Instead, he makes another cup of tea and doesn’t drink it, getting distracted instead by looking for the Wi-Fi password. He’s running very low on data. Needs to conserve it. He finds the router neatly tucked away inside of the telly cabinet. The password is written on a little laminated card next to it. The wires are all organised and secured with cable ties. It makes something inside Remus’ brain itch with pleasure.

He’s forcing himself away from Bing. Away from looking up things like

How long for a body to decompose?

When to file a missing persons report?

How to find filed missing persons reports?

He knows, despite how little sense this technology makes to him, that that’s the first step of being discovered. He’s seen Law and Order.

The local news has nothing on it about stocky men, missing or otherwise deceased. Remus refreshes the page and checks multiple websites. Then BBC, but that’s all big news about the world. He closes that quick. There’s nothing good ever to be read on BBC. The New York Times at least has crosswords, and Sudoku, and other things to occupy the mind. The BBC has death and suffering, and increasingly bad grammar.

He raids the telly cabinet again and finds a pen and some papers. He might as well work, he reasons. He can do that while counting the number of breaths per minute.

Remus has rendered countless dogs in glass, of countless breeds, but none of them does he dislike working on as much as he does pugs. It’s almost impossible not to make them look cartoonishly disfigured, with their bulging eyes and sticky-outy tongues. There’s always something so vacant in the reference photos he gets. No thoughts happening in the little brains.

He tries anyway, yet again. Sketches the dog's strange flat face over and over, until the page is filled with its likeness. Until he understands a little bit more - this is how its ear bends, this is the spot of different colour on its fur. This eye is a little more slanted than the other but it makes the dog look unnatural in the drawing.

Most of the time, owners don’t notice the peculiar uglinesses of their own dogs. They see only their cute little family-completing pet. So Remus takes liberties. Fixes up the uneven eyes and the snaggletooth.

On the sofa, Sirius sleeps easily. He turns around once to lay down on his stomach, the movement clumsy with sleep but somehow still the most graceful thing Remus has ever been granted the privilege of witnessing. That stab of want curses through him again, sharp as a new razor blade. He tells himself it’s just hunger, and grabs the sandwich he made for lunch.

It's gotten a bit squished in the pocket of his coat. The strawberry jam ripples out the side when Remus unwraps the cling film. It dribbles right onto the orange wool of his sweater vest. He likes this sweater vest - likes normal sweaters more, but it’s too warm to wear one this time of the year. He hopes the stain will come off and goes to the kitchen to dab at it with some tap water.

That seems to make it worse. The stain spreads, the wicking of the material makes the discolouration spread.

Might be a job for Remus’ Tide To Go stain remover pen. He loves his stain remover pen. It gets ample use. He’s regretting not having an emergency one to carry on his person and thinks of adding a second one to the shopping list, before he remembers he spent his allotted grocery money on a couple milkshakes and a kebab.

He doesn’t regret it. He got to feed Sirius. Maybe not by cooking, but he did provide. Sirius said he was hungry and Remus made food appear, and it was good enough to relieve the discomfort.

Remus eats half of his sandwich. The other half he puts away, wraps it back up in clingfilm and sticks it into his coat pocket. He tells himself he’ll have it for breakfast. By then, it might no longer grow in his mouth with each mastication.

On the sofa, Sirius stirs. It’s six in the morning. He opens his eyes slowly, like a cat blinking out its love at its favourite owner. Cat comparisons don’t work with Sirius, Remus thinks. There’s more of a canine to him. Brash and loyal and fierce.

On the sofa, Sirius stirs. Opens his eyes slowly, like a dog content at its favourite spot, blinking out into the world, stretching into a spot of warmth.

He looks at Remus. “Good morning,” he says. “You’re still here,” he says.

He doesn’t seem mad about it.

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

Notes

yes, he uses Bing. Yes, he's wearing a sweater vest. I don't know what to tell you.

@tealeavesandtrash you know what you did

Tags!

@hoje--aqui

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

@father-imperator

@brighterthanthou

@a-pine-cone

@annaliza999

@apcqlypse

@thabindery

[boyswillbebuggsorsomething]

Moving in Place

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wiskayok wasn’t the place for people who were different. Especially not poor, queer freaks like yourself, or girls haunted by ghosts like Natalie. But at least you had each other, and you’d make it out someday. Just a little blurb of Nat and a girlfriend from a similar background.

Warnings: pre-crash, a lot of fluff, inspired by Moving in Place by SDC, reader has an older brother who they live with, reader is coded to be the same sort of burnout-alt kind of person as Nat & her friends from episode one, original male character but he’s really just mentioned in the background, canon typical drug use, underage drinking, underage smoking, Nat’s probably out of character, kinda black cat x golden retriever, crossposted on ao3

A/N: Just a short blurb inspired by one of my favourite songs. Honestly I might continue making fics with these characters, and maybe I’ll even go on to make an extension involving the crash, who knows? Let me know if you’d be interested in that. This was all written in like an hour a week ago and I don’t proofread so this might be written horribly but I think it was done enough that I wanted to post it, so here it is.

Word Count: 1731

…

Tangled in the warmth of your bedsheets, body pressed against your girlfriend, you felt a calm unlike any other. Nat slept better with you, you knew that well, and so despite being an early riser yourself, you let her sleep, content to watch her in her few moments of true relaxation. Gently, you smoothed her hair back from her face as you watched the soft rise and fall of her chest, each breath precious to you. 

You wished she would just stay here forever, never return to the trailer haunted with ghosts of the past and tensions born of mistakes she had no hand in, but logically you knew she’d always go back. It was like she was drawn by some invisible string, tangling her in a web of awful memories and worse treatment, even when escape was less than a two minute walk from that damn cage.

Slowly, you felt her shift as she woke up, blinking sleep from her eyes as she looked up at you.

“G’morning,” You murmured.

“Morning,” Her voice was rough and thick with sleep, and so very beautiful.

“Now that you’re up, I’m gonna go make us some coffee, okay? I’ve been awake for, like, two hours now, and staying this still for any longer might kill me,” You grinned before shoving her off of you, standing with a quick peck to the top of her head. Nat flipped you off, grumbling as she sat up, before pushing her mussed up hair from her eyes. 

“Mhm, love you too,” you hummed before leaving your bedroom.

Your trailer wasn’t big nor well put together in any of the sense of the idea, however, the strange little tin can was nothing if not a truly comfortable home. Wall to wall was decked out in photos and trinkets collected over the years, and while the space was small and cluttered, it didn’t feel hostile. One wrong move wouldn’t set off a chain reaction of rage like you knew so many had grown to expect in their own homes. 

You wove through the cluttered kitchen, grumbling as you pushed your brother’s dirty dishes out of the way of the coffee maker. You loved him, he kept the whole damn place running, but god, James was a fucking disaster when it came to any form of organisation or basic cleanliness. The old coffee machine rattled and groaned each time you used it, begging for a well deserved death that you denied each time you slapped it back to life when it began to give out. It filled the little trailer with the smell of stale coffee - almost enough to cover the constant faint stench of weed, beer, and cigarettes lingering in the trailer - which was sure to draw Nat from her abode in your room, and despite his late shifts, your fiendish brother would demand coffee be made for him too, even if he didn’t wake up until three hours later once it was cold in the fridge. As the coffee maker whirred on in the background, you grabbed mugs from your cabinet, an old stained white one your brother used for everything, one that you think used to be red but had since faded to a strange brownish-orangey-pink that was questionable to look at, and your favourite mug, a chipped up old thing with blue flowers that you got for at a garage sale when you were 12 and had used religiously since.

Once the machine stopped its screaming, alerting you the coffee was done, you poured it out for each person, making it exactly as they liked. You loved days like these, peaceful domesticity where you didn’t have school or work or practice and only had to worry about making food or coffee, or what music to play. It made you feel halfway normal, not like the freak or burnout known at school, or the town queer, but instead as just a girl in love, and in these four walls you didn’t have to hide it, just like any other girl your age, with a family and a life and a future outside of this hellhole. You knew you were far from normal, at least by the standards of a place like fucking Wiskayok, but at least on days like this you felt like you were.

You were drawn from your thoughts as Nat emerged from your room, hair mussed and eyeliner from days of reapplying without ever removing any smudging her eyes. 

“I really oughtta get you some makeup remover of some kind. Or even just a fuckin’ cloth. You’re looking more like a raccoon everyday,” You muttered affectionately, smiling as you handed her the once-red mug.

She grumbled slightly, rolling her eyes as she sipped at the coffee, but she slowly shifted towards you, gravitating towards your body. A goddamn cat, James had called her when he first saw her act like this. You had to agree. There was an old black cat that used to live under your porch when you were a kid, long before ever moving here or meeting Nat, who would slink around and hiss at anyone who got too close, but once you’d offered it food and care, it would stay as close to your side as possible. She reminded you of that cat almost daily, but you’d never tell her that.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm as you drank your coffees, with you preparing breakfast with the remainder of last week's groceries as Nat helped wash last night’s dishes, music blaring from your little old radio propped up on the counter. After you’d eaten and cleaned, you made it back to your room to get ready. You dressed in an old tank top and a ratty pair of jeans you stole from James, Nat in the same black jeans and striped shirt she wore constantly at your place, rings adorning her fingers and silver chains layered around her neck. She always looked more put together than you, even with choppy hair and day old makeup, and today was no different.

The day passed by slowly, baking in the heat of late spring since the damn A/C broke two months ago and you never got around to fixing it. Not like you had the money to spare, but it was still hell on earth. The trailer didn’t have a TV, never did. Ever since you moved to Wiskayok when you were 11, you had never had anything of the sort in your home. James said it was to keep you creative, force you to do something other than rot your brain, but you’d known even then that TV was expensive in a way you’d never be able to afford, especially with a 16 year old high school dropout as the only source of income. He was right though, it did keep you creative, and thank god for that fact.

You’d practiced on your guitar - one you found on garbage day walking around in a rich area, thrown out just for a couple scuffs and broken strings - until your fingers ached and you’d messed up enough chords that you and Nat were both laughing. James woke up well after lunch, somehow having slept through your playing. He still looked exhausted even after sleeping most of the day away, but a night shift would do that to you. You knew well, having spent most nights over the summer working until ungodly hours at the gas station or the corner store, depending on the day of the week. He left you a pack of cigarettes on the counter before he left for work, grumbling something about how they’d kill you, even though he smoked twice as much as you ever did. He’d do things like that every so often, a pack of cigarettes, some beer or vodka, or weed, thanks for what you did around the house while he was at work. You’d pay him back though, with random trinkets he collected or a book once your paycheck came through.

You let Nat have full control over what music played, knowing her mother was always screaming at her for being too loud if she ever played her music above a whisper pitch. As you cleaned or cooked, the low hum of whatever grunge or punk she’d put on provided some lovely background noise. In the spirit of domesticity, you found yourself prattling on about any nonsense you could think of, and eventually so was Nat, detailing stories from the soccer practices you’d had to miss or parties you’d never gone to. 

Once the hottest part of the day had passed, she dragged you outside to practice some passes or… something. You were never the greatest at sports but you loved her so you went along with it. She was dedicated in a way that her team never seemed to give her credit for, not that they ever thought she was anything but a dedicated player, but Nat had a reputation as a burnout that had a tendency to precede her, worming its way through the crevices in the brain of anyone who met her, leaving them to assume she didn’t care as much as the others. 

By the time the sun was going down, you were sitting out on the steps to the trailer door, passing a cigarette between the two of you. There was a beer balanced between your legs, one sat beside Nat as well, hot air causing the chilled bottles to weep condensation like tears.

“Do you think this is it?” She asked, voice hoarse.

“Hm?”

“This. Wiskayok. Doesn’t it ever feel like we’re just going to be here forever? Like it doesn’t get any better?”

“Fuckin’ existential, huh?” You huffed, taking a sip of your beer, “Nah, it’ll get better. The world just isn’t ready for us yet, so we’re stuck until then, y’know? Then, I don’t know, you’ll go pro, and I’ll get a job that isn’t at a damn gas station, or I’ll start selling crap to those rich fucks who pay premium to live the life of us burnouts they hate so much, and we’ll get outta here.”

“Yeah?” She laughed slightly, a short, hoarse, breathy sound, taking a drag off the cigarette, “Y’think?”

“Mhm,” You leaned your head on her shoulder, sighing softly, “And until then, we’ve always got each other.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! Any and all interactions are appreciated, please let me know if y'all want more of these characters or more similar fics!

[alicesluciddreams]

I Don't Gotta Tell Him; I Think He Knows

Summary: You never thought your 'When Harry met Sally' moment would be with a famous hockey player. You meet Cam when you get caught in the rain only to find out he's a Hockey player at a Flyers game. You have a plan on how to make him yours but he may already know. Inspired by 'I Think He Knows' by Taylor Swift.

Author's Note: I wrote this for a friend and repurposed it to flex my writing muscles. I'm not a Cam girly but I've written a lot for him because of my friend so... expect more. Also I wrote this before we knew that Jamie had a GF and I still don't know Tara's day job so I gave her a tiny back story here to fit the character I made up prior. Oops.

Warnings: Language, use of Y/N, mentions of Morgan Frost (I miss you bud), written in 3rd person Photos from Pinterest. Dividers by @uzmacchiato

Y/N never thought her ‘When Harry Met Sally’ moment would be in the rain. 

She had hoped to be wearing a nice dress, maybe even heels, not sweatpants, a cropped tank top, and a cardigan. Maybe they would meet at a fancy dinner, or on a night out with friends, hell, even a PTA meeting would do, anything but the present; soaked to the bone, shivering, with a harness leash wrapped around her wrist under the awning of a bus stop on the east side of Philly. 

Alas, here she was on what was supposed to be a sunny Saturday morning in the park with her dog, Bella, going on a nice walk. Since moving to the big city, she liked taking the forty-pound red heeler to the park five minutes from her shared townhouse to get not only her own steps in, but also her hyper dog’s energy out. But the weather channel lied, and halfway through her walk, the sky had bottomed out, leaving her hair stringy and her dog smelly. 

The only upside to this was the tall red head standing next to her under the bus stop. 

He had obviously been on a run, wearing a white athletic t-shirt and black Nike pants, headphones in his ears as he had dashed under the cover of the glass awning. The black baseball cap was the only reason his red hair hadn’t been totally ruined by the rain, but the shirt and pants most definitely were. Y/N was having a hard time keeping her eyes to the front and not on the way the man’s shirt had become see-through from the water. 

Bella pulled forward on her harness, fidgety from being in one place too long outside. She gave a bark out to the rain. Somehow, she hadn’t gone ballistic on the man standing next to them. Normally, any new face would be subject to the dog screaming at them for at least five minutes, if not for the whole visit. But this guy was getting off easy, as if Bella was just as interested in him as her mother was. 

“Cute dog.” The voice was softer, not as deep as Y/N would have thought it would be. 

She turned her head to him, “Oh, yeah, she’s… a lot.” 

Shit.  

She was being awkward. She wanted to pull out her phone, scroll on Instagram, or text her roommate with an SOS text, anything to get out some of this nervous energy, but Bella pulled again, trying hard to go out into the pouring rain. 

“No, Bella.” 

“A handful I see.” The guy smiled widely at her, stepping over a bit to look at Bella. The dog just turned her head to look at him with her big puppy eyes, ‘save me’ they seemed to say. He leaned down and stuck a hand down to let her sniff, and Y/N watched in awe. However, she felt her jaw give out when Bella sniffed the man’s hand and then began licking it, turning her whole body to face him, tail wagging. 

Y/N felt her heart beat pick up like a hummingbird’s wings in her chest as the man let out a laugh. 

“Ah you’re not that bad are you. Nah you’re a good,” he looked up at her, “girl?” 

“Yeah, Bella.” 

He gave a short, breathy laugh, “Yeah, caught that.” 

Her face heated up, and she picked a bit at her sweater with a grin. He stood back up with a sigh, and Bella whined at the loss of pets. 

“I’m Cam by the way.” 

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” 

“It sucks about the weather,” he continued, “it was such a pretty morning.” 

Y/N blew out a frustrated breath, “Yeah, well, the weather hates us all, I guess.” Cam just laughed. 

Bella butted her nose into Cam’s leg. “Come on now, let me give your mom some attention too, yeah?” 

“Sorry about her, I can pull her off-“ 

“No no its fine. I don’t mind. Just hate that I’m not getting to know you a little better with such a cute distraction here.” He ended his sentence with a cutesy voice obviously saved for pets and babies, getting down to Bella’s level to scratch at her head, which the dog ate up. 

Y/N didn’t know if her face could get any hotter than what it already was, and she just hoped the man didn’t find it too weird, because there was absolutely no way to hide it. 

“Oh, I think the rain’s letting up.” Y/N looked out onto the wet streets and noticed that the rain had finally slowed down to a faint drizzle. 

“Sorry to cut this short, but I, uh, have a thing to do in about an hour.” Cam stood up and gave Y/N a look she couldn’t decipher. 

“Oh yeah of course.” He flashed her a grin and a wave to Bella before jogging off, his footsteps leaving splashes in the rain that she wished she could follow. 

“I’m back,” Y/N called as she walked into the townhouse in downtown Philly. She kicked off her wet shoes and bemoaned the state of her soaking wet socks. 

“Oh, you poor thing! You’re all wet, let me grab you a towel.” Y/N’s roommate, Alice, called from the living room. She heard Alice’s footsteps as she ran back and forth from the bathroom to the front door. 

She slid on her own sock-clad feet, and as Y/N reached for the towel in her hand, a thank you on her lips, Alice sank to her knees and began towel drying Bella off. 

“You poor wet baby, you got all rained on. Your mom and I will have to take the hairdryer to you, won’t we?”

“Hey! What about me? The bestie?” Y/N gestured to her own water logged clothes. 

“The bestie has two legs and hands with opposable thumbs; she’ll be fine.” Alice said before going back to doting on Bella, who, once again, was eating up the attention, waiting for her moment to begin jumping on top of Alice to play ball. 

Y/N grumbled as she squished her way to the bathroom, grabbing a towel for herself and ripping off the wet socks.

“By the way. Tara called me today and asked if we’d be willing to go to the Flyers game with her tomorrow night.” Alice leaned on the bathroom doorframe, messing with her bangs as she looked in the mirror. 

“Flyers? Hockey?” 

“Yeah, Jamie’s playing and she said she doesn’t really know the other girls yet, wants me to go with her and keep her company. You need to get out of the house, and I know you like football, so…” Y/N stopped brushing through her wet hair to look at Alice in the mirror. 

“But what if I want to just sit in bed and rot all day?” 

“You can! The game isn’t until 7, and I mean there is the party after, but it’ll be ok!” 

“A party?!” Y/N turned to Alice then, who was looking off to the side with a guilty smile on her face. 

“Yeah… did I not mention that?” 

“No, you did not. Since when do you like parties?” Y/N asked, crossing her arms. 

“Since never, but Tara really wants me to go, and I won’t feel comfortable if you’re not there, and I don’t want to not go because Tara feels like some of the other girls hate her and-“ 

“Why the hell would the other girls hate Tara? She’s sweet.” Y/N had only met Tara a handful of times, but she had liked her from day one.

Alice and Tara had met and hit it off like crazy, working together at Alice’s first job after moving to Philadelphia. She hadn’t gotten her big girl museum gig yet, but Y/N had managed to find a job as a second-grade teacher rather easily, so to pay her part of the bills, Alice picked up a part-time retail job while she job-hunted around the area. Tara had been the one to help train Alice, and the rest was history. Until Alice got her big girl job and Tara found her big time influencing gig and the two both left that shit hole of a job. 

Alice rolled her eyes, “They can’t, she just thinks they do, and is paranoid. But if we go, I’ll have someone there to keep me company when she finally sees that they do not, in fact, hate her, and they all become wag friends.” 

“And what do I get out of this?” Y/N smirked a little bit, knowing she would go but wanting to see Alice squirm a bit. 

“Girl’s night with free food and drinks?” 

“Deal.” 

This is how Y/N found herself sitting in a section of seats closer to the ice than she ever thought she would be. 

She had only ever been to one singular Nashville Predators game when she lived in Tennessee, and hadn’t really had the time to see a Flyers game since moving to the city. Alice had been dragged to a couple with Tara, but they had been during the week when Y/N couldn’t go.

So here she was now, a woman, sitting a few rows up from the players' bench and watching as the lights went down, an orange glow filling up the space, and the intro started. 

Y/N was intrigued by the whole thing really watching as it went through people and names she had never seen before, a Nick, Tyson, and some guy with the nickname Frosty according to Tara, but when she saw a familiar face pop up on the screen her heart skipped a beat like she was jogging down 16th avenue. 

He looked so boyishly handsome on the screen, even with such a stoic look on his face. His hair curling up and out of the back of his helmet, blue eyes shining like sapphires through the 4k camera lens. He looked so stern up there, but she just couldn’t unsee the childlike gleam in his eyes as he had been petting her dog the day before. 

When the game started, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the number 8 jersey. Watching as he skated along the ice like he had been born on it, as he shoved a guy in a red, white, and blue jersey into the wall and then smirked about it later.

He kept to the puck like a dog to a bone, batting away any opposing player like it was a threat to the lives of everyone around them. But she started planning her strategy to win his heart when she saw his fist fly after some guy (According to Alice, his name was something Fox) went after Bobby (Name courtesy of Tara) after he blocked a goal. 

According to Tara, the 4-2 win against New York was a huge victory for the group. “No one likes the Rags,” Alice said, pulling Y/N by her hand through the crowds towards her car.

Tara had given the girls the address of where to meet and bid them goodbye to go congratulate Jamie, leaving them to fend for themselves in the waves of orange and black filing out of the Wells Fargo Center. 

“If you drink more than me, I’m letting Bella sleep in my room tonight.” Alice threatened as they piled into her car.

Y/N knew the girl was lying, Bella would end up licking her face in the middle of the night like she had before, and Alice wouldn’t want that. So all she gave was a knowing laugh.

The music was quieter than Y/N had thought it would be at an afterparty for a win against a rival team. Some Kendrick Lamar song was playing over the loudspeakers, and she took another long sip of her drink to try and drown it out. 

“Jamie says you look like you’re sulking.” Tara’s head of brown hair bounced as she seemed to skip over to her. 

“Sulking? Me? Never.” 

“Come on, he wants to introduce you and Alice to a few of the guys.” Tara held out her hand for Y/N to take, and she did so with a slight hesitation, dropping her now-empty glass on the table.

Tara pulled her along to a small group of men over by the wall. Alice was already there, standing awkwardly by Jamie and his hat-covered dark hair.  She was looking a bit confused, a tight smile on her lips, she looked around and visibly deflated in relief when she noticed Y/N and Tara. Alice pulled Y/N into the circle as soon as she got close enough. 

“There she is! Guys, this is my best friend Y/N.” Alice introduced. 

Y/N took the time to look around at the small group gathered. She already knew Jamie Drysdale; Tara had brought him around once or twice. Another man in the group was large with a baby face, he introduced himself as Tyson, another Bobby, smaller than the others but with a bright smile, and lastly… him. 

Cam York. 

The Harry to her Sally, or maybe something a bit more stable than that. He was standing tall in a tight-fitting black t-shirt that Y/N couldn’t help but notice was hugging his biceps a little too tightly for her comfort, and black jeans that ended just above his white sneakers. And yes, Y/N had to tear her eyes from his thighs before anyone caught her staring, no shame in that. 

“Hey, you’re the dog mom!” Cam said with a grin. He looked cocky but not mocking. 

Y/N smiled back, “Yeah, good to see you.” 

“Oh so you guys have met?” Tyson’s grin was a knowing one. 

“Just yesterday on my run, both got caught in the rain. How’s Bella?” Y/N was caught off guard by his memory of her dog’s name. 

“She’s good, a crackhead, but good.” Cam laughed at this. 

Y/N felt a jab at her side and looked over to see Alice’s Cheshire grin, now she looked mocking. Y/N gave her a look back that said ‘Keep your damn mouth shut.’ Alice only smirked, bringing her straw to her mouth. 

“You want something to drink?” Cam nodded her way, and Y/N nodded in response, “Come on, I’ll get you something.” He took a couple of steps towards the bars, turning his head to make sure she was following him; when he knew she was, he smiled, a real one, she could tell. 

She pulled herself up onto a barstool and felt Cam as he leaned his large body next to hers against the bar. He was so tall he didn’t need to sit to be comfortable; he could lean just fine on the bar top. 

“What are you thinking? Mojito? Mai Tai?” He looked at her pushing around the beer glass in front of him with twitching fingers. 

“Whiskey Sour, actually.” 

“Oh she’s a whiskey girl?” He grinned. 

“You know it.” She responded. 

He flagged down the bartender, giving Y/N a show of his large biceps up close and personal. “Yeah, I’ll take another Busch Light and my girl here will take a Whiskey Sour.” He said the last part so casually that Y/N had to do a double-take. And then her face began burning.

She both wished that Alice was with her in that moment and also wished for the other redhead to stay as far away as possible. Wished that she was there so that she could have her best friend there to give facial reactions to, but also wanted her nowhere near so that she could have this man and his attention all to herself. Even if she knew that her best friend’s type and her own were almost polar opposites of each other. 

But the words ‘my girl’ sounded a little too good coming from this man’s mouth for her not to want to squeal and kick her feet. Maybe her plan wouldn’t be too hard to go through with after all. 

“So, first a dog owner and now a whiskey drinker. Anything else shocking I should know about?” Cam asked, turning his body to face her. His words had been a bit on the flirty side, but his face showed a genuine interest. 

“I know basically nothing about hockey.” That sentence really caught his attention. 

“Are you kidding? But- You just- You were just at a hockey game. Y/N, you have to be kidding me.” He leaned in closer, any closer, and she would be able to feel his breath on her cheeks. 

“Nope, I went to one game back home, but that’s about it, my family are more football people.” She leaned on the bar top in front of her, head in her hand, as she faced Cam. 

The red head just shook his head, his curls swinging a bit with the movement. “Well, I guess we’re going to have to change that, aren’t we.” It wasn’t a question. 

Y/N smiled at him, “I guess we will.” 

“Here you go.” The bartender interrupted and slid over two glasses of golden liquid their way. Cam took them both and slid one her way, his own already in his hand. 

Y/N watched as she picked up her own drink, as Cam’s hand gripped the glass in front of him. His long fingers reached around the whole thing to meet up with his thumb, exaggerating the large size of his hands. He brought the drink up to his mouth, and her mind went blank as the cold glass dripped water from its side and on to his throat. She watched the crystal bead make its way down his stubbled neck and down to the neck of his shirt, where it then disappeared, but Y/N’s mind filled in the blanks as it fell farther and farther down his chest…

Y/N coughed and took a sip of her own drink, looking away to chase the thoughts from her mind. This was not the time or place to be having these thoughts. She barely knew this man, but God did she want to. She could already see past the cocky attitude he tried to put on for her and those around him. His sweet demeanor with her dog had shown her everything that she needed to know about him. 

He brought the glass down to the counter and brought up the front of his shirt to wipe his face and neck. 

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Cam said after clearing his throat. 

“Please do.” Y/N said messing with her hair. 

“I know you’re too good to wait on me to do this, so I’ll just come out and say it.” 

Y/N’s heart dropped into her stomach. 

“What is it?” She asked. 

He grinned, “Go out with me?” 

“Huh?” 

“I want to go on a date with you, and I’m going to be honest, I can tell you do too.” He avoided her eyes, “I, uh, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the day we met. You’re hair was all wet but you looked like something out of a movie, its why I ran to that bus stop instead of just going back to my apartment. Sure you’re dog was cute but,” his shoulders shrugged and a sheepish sort of grin replaced the cockier one,

“You just looked too good to be true, and then when you talked to me… You had such a soft voice, it was… nice. I’m around a bunch of guys all day, and it becomes so loud and grating. But you were… soft and I liked that, still do, I, uh, yeah. I just knew that, I wanted to stay with you that day, but I had a stupid practice to go to. But now I know I want you to stick around.” 

She was right, he really was more than just a cocky hockey guy.

“You know, I actually started making this whole plan when I saw you again on that screen at the game. I had wanted to see you again after the park, but after the game… I know you had something I wanted to know more about, but I think you know that. But I knew that I wanted you.” She smiled at him, “So yes, I’ll go out with you.” 

Cam grinned at her, “Great, I know a great place down the street for Pizza, you ready to go?” He placed his hand on her thigh, thick fingers splayed as he gave a slight squeeze to the meat of it, the smile on his lips like something out of a Taylor Swift song. 

“Right now?” 

“Yeah, I’m starving, and you don’t look like you really want to be sticking around this place.” Cam offered. 

“Ok, just let me tell Alice.” Y/N looked around the room for a moment before giving up looking for the shorter girl. She pulled out her phone to see a message from Alice already waiting for her. 

‘Follow the sparks girlie, I’ve already got an Uber home, have fun ;)’ 

“Never mind. I’ll drive.” 

[lunabrothersblogs]

to the brothers, Are you guys still emotionally attached to the Prototype?

There's a startling silence. In truth, none of them know what to say to such a question at first. Each of the three would look at each other at first, before moving to give an answer. Their expressions were quite mixed.. with Gemini being the calmest.

However, both Lavender and Plush looked visibly distraught. In spite of this, answers were to be given regardless.

Gemini would begin, wanting to give the others a bit of time to prepare their response. Putting a clawed hand underneath his chin, he looks away. He's pondering.. as if a bit reminiscent, but unsure. Sure, you could tell there's some less than... enthusiastic feelings.. have things calmed down where he's from? He says..

Wait, hold on. Twins? Did you hear that right? Never mind that, but he was fine with the idea of dying altogether. Was he truly the calm one here.. or had he already accepted everything from the start.

He looks at Lavender, who looks like they were going to have a panic attack. The other large cat was trying to hug himself for comfort, their eyes watered as they stared away from the camera. This.. this was deeply troubling for him.

You can almost hear it in his words.. the words of regret and denial that seeped through every expression of his voice. The cat's answer is..

".. I shouldn't have foolishly believed in his idea of "freedom".. to him, saving means to kill," he added. His body was shaking like a rustling bush, being blown by the wind as harshly as possible. And those demons? He may just be talking about himself and his former god.

There is no mercy for the wicked, of course. If there were, he wouldn't be feeling like he was such a mess.

But then? Plush. Plush is the only one looking at the camera. They're staring at you, their pupils shrunken, almost as if there were daggers piercing your body through those tear soaked eyes. And those tears? They're black.. how strange.

But there isn't a time for you to think about the semantics.. while short, their answer is as thought provoking as the others.

You can feel how tense they are. The simple idea of the angel defeating his lord sounds impossible. Improbable, even.. if they could, they'd perhaps try and prevent that from happening again.. and yet they know it's too late for that.

Yet, it would perhaps hurt the others to know of such a lingering attachment. The angel CANNOT win.. that is at least what they wish to believe.

Though, despite all of this, one person had something to say. Through all of the important speaking, Violet would be standing there.. extremely confused. It was as if he heard something that sounded.. admittedly a little too unbelievably to consider being real.

All he had to ask was..

And the room went. Dead. Silent.

A sour subject for each respective "toy" involved. A topic none of them wish to go into, no matter their views. Perhaps, it would take a while for them to get over their respective gods..

Or never at all.

[beannoss]

SxF read along volume 2! (part 4)

Specifically on the moral and ethical worldbuilding in SxF.

I wanted to bundle these flashbacks of Anya's about Yor's lesson to her with fighting:

Both Yor and Twilight operate knowing the impacts and boundaries of the power they wield, one day I’ll write all my thoughts about this being fundamental to the wholesomeness of SxF, but it’s so nice to see it plainly articulated so early on too

👀👀👀 I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Yor and smiling and wondering how often maybe her smiles aren’t… entirely true… and anyway I’m 👀👀👀

… not me feeling like a dummy for trying to puzzle out Yor’s guiding principles from her actions throughout SxF when she just fuckin’ states them from the beginning 😂🫣

In all seriousness, Yor does practice these throughout as regards her contract killing... Endo does this very carefully threaded weave of SxF's internal ethics, how he keeps Yor and Twilight on the 'good' side of grey, where the lines in the sand are regarding antagonists, villains and cruelty. A fair bit of that threading is done with Yor and Twilight specifically, in how they do the morally dubious (at best) things they both do. It's also a careful balance, philosophically, because the only reason there is any sort of moral argument for Garden and WISE is because Ostania is implicitly facing a moral crisis, which is most especially demonstrated through the SSS...:

(I should have highlighted 'surveilling the public' above too; oversight!) This is also such a chilling panel:

Back more directly to the topic at hand, there is a marked difference between the work Yor and Twilight are shown doing, and this introduction of Yuri:

I think potentially one of the trickiest things with navigating SxF is that the internal ethics need be judged by the internal matrices we're shown. Twilight isn't really akin to a real world spy: he can change his face, body shape and voice within seconds, and it's clear that he and WISE are invested in some level of protection of innocent people who get caught up in their missions (or at least mitigation of harms, if Twilight's comment that WISE would look after Yor and Anya post-Strix is indicative). Yor isn't really akin to a real world contract killer: never mind running faster than cars, she can just stand in the middle of the road on one leg and kick a car hard enough it veers into a streetlamp, and otherwise her targets, at least, are consistently shown to be individuals or groups that would, by rights, be brought to criminal trial and that they are not indicates a clear failing in Ostania's criminal justice system. Which makes sense, when we see the explanation of the SSS above.

WISE and Garden are only an ethical option when the SSS is the main arbiter of justice: the SSS's fundamental model is flawed, because it is demanding its citizens see one another as inherently suspect, to surveil one another and ultimately to turn on one another. If the metrics for traitor-of-the-state are things like being a single woman and having extramarital affairs, then what makes for the truly traitorous is diluted to such an extent as to essentially be meaningless. The SSS aren't looking to implement justice; their goal is clearly control under the spurious declaration of order. Control and order are not justice; they are reiterations of power and oppression masquerading as justice and safety, leaving instead a void. And into that void of justice and safety step groups like Garden and WISE, and, jumping ahead for a moment, even the way Olka Gretcher's crime family was described demonstrates them stepping in where the government failed (and the Gretcher successor reneging on that role).

I wish I'd snapped some of the statements from/about WISE in the first volume, but I also tend to think SxF's primary exploration of the intersection of morality and justice is going to be in the contrast between the choices made by the Briar siblings and the potential inevitable clash between Garden and the SSS. And the intersection of morality and safety may well play out between Twilight and Donovan Desmond, and the choices they each make. To that, choice overlays everything, and the contrast of the exercise of power.

[jenanigans1207]

1/11/25: debate

It’s sometime in the middle of the night and it’s cold as hell outside. Dean left his jacket inside, not intending to stay out to the point that he was numb, but then he’d sat down on the knoll across from the entrance to the bunker and he just… hadn’t moved.

The moon had moved higher in the sky as he’d sat and shivered and stared steadfastly at the trunks of the trees surrounding him, their shadows like monsters lurking in the dark and cornering him. He couldn’t say how long he’d been here, wasn’t well versed in reading time by the moon’s position, but he knew at some point he stopped shivering, stopped feeling the aching sting of cold in his fingertips.

He didn’t look up when he heard the door to the bunker open, or when he heard footsteps approaching him. Even if he didn’t recognize Cas’s footsteps, he would’ve known who was coming for him. Cas was the only one who would be awake at this time of night to notice that Dean was gone, and he was the only one who would bother to come after him. Sam would wait until the sun was high in the sky before daring to approach Dean when he was clearly in some sort of state.

But Cas doesn’t say anything as he approaches, he just comes and stands at Dean’s side. For a long moment, Cas melds himself into the silence, his presence surrounding Dean is a completely opposite way of the forest. Cas was warm, comforting, accepting. And just having him at Dean’s side counteracted every cold, aching sadness that had blanketed Dean in the hours he’d been sitting out here.

He hears Cas move again, and then there’s a trench coat being draped over his shoulders, warm from Cas’s body, as Cas drops to a seat next to him. Dean is so cold that the warmth of the coat burns, but he hunches his shoulders and pulls it closer anyway. If Dean’s going to burn, this is the best way to do it.

Cas doesn’t ask Dean what he’s doing out here, and the truth is that he likely knows. Dean has been trying to cut back on his drinking, trying to replace his unhealthy coping mechanisms with something else. And maybe letting himself freeze to death without a coat isn’t exact healthy, but he figures it’s a step up from alcohol poisoning. At least this way, he’s not an asshole to everyone around him.

Finally, when the warmth of Cas had stopped singing Dean’s skin and instead turned into the comforting warmth of an embrace, Cas turns to look at him.

“Do you feel better?” He asks.

He looks defenseless without his trench coat. Dean knows that he isn’t, but he just looks so soft and exposed without the his outer layer. The fact that he gave it to Dean, a physical representation of opening himself up to Dean makes Dean pause and think about his answer, makes him want to return the honesty and vulnerability.

“No.” He says, and Cas hums quietly in acknowledgement. “I’m probably never going to.”

“Dean,” Cas says with a quiet firmness. “We are not going to debate whether or not you deserve to find peace. You do. It’s as simple as that.”

Dean is tired, he’s so tired. He doesn’t want to debate with Cas, doesn’t want to rehash everything they both know he’s done. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Maybe.” He says, and it’s probably as close as he’s ever going to get. But Cas smiles at him, pleased, and the knot that permanently exists in Dean’s chest lessens a little bit.

Cas reaches across the small space between them and Dean doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but he finds that he doesn’t care, and he craves for whatever touch is going to come. Cas has always been the only one who could touch him without breaking him in moments like this, who could push him and tolerate it if he snapped. Cas has always been the only one.

The hand that Cas extends towards him reaches around him, settling on his opposite shoulder. Dean gets all of two heartbeats to process this before Cas is pulling him in, tipping him so he falls into Cas’s side. Dean allows himself to fall, allows himself to be caught, allows Cas to gently drop his head on top of Dean’s once they’re settled.

“You are the greatest person I have ever known.” Cas remarks, the words fragile in the stillness of the cold morning. “And nothing will ever change how deserving you are of good things. You understand that, don’t you, Dean? Your worthiness is not based on your perception of yourself. It exists outside of you, untouchable by your own feelings. It is inherent and unchangeable. You are worthy— of good things, of love, and of peace, and nothing you can do will ever change that.”

Dean stills against Cas’s side and tries to really let the words sink in. “You once told me I’m worthy of being saved.”

“You are.” Cas answers easily.

But Dean corrects him. “Was.”

Cas sighs. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

“I was worthy of being saved.” Dean repeats instead, a little more earnestly this time. “And you did that, Cas. You saved me.”

Cas is silent for a moment as he likely takes in the magnitude of Dean’s words and reads all the meanings hidden in the breaths in between. He’s always been good at parsing what Dean is trying to say, at hearing the hidden messages that Dean doesn’t speak.

Cas’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “I’d do it again.”

“I know.” Dean answers.

He lets his own arm drift out from the warmth of the trench coat still settled around his shoulders, lets it drift around Cas’s back, his hand finding purchase on Cas’s hip as he returns the warm embrace.

[linnetagain]

WIP Wursday

@badmarilynart thank you for the tag and the delicious bookshop boys snippet (if you haven't read Late Dawns and Early Sunsets - well, you should. Idk what else to tell you. Treat yourself.)

No pressure tags @baldurs-gape @nyxueaurelia @vannral

Season's a bit subject and spoiler heavy for snippets at the moment soooo

Have some On My Cue shenanigans!!

~

They could probably stop.

Gale, however, does not stop. And neither does Astarion. He nudges Gale’s chin back up to be kissed again, properly. And Gale, of course, obliges him.

Gale kisses Astarion in this cold, wet alleyway that smells of the worst of the dock ward, with his back pressed into the raw stone bruising and grating at his back and catching in his hair, and it doesn't occur to him for even a moment to do anything other than enjoy this unexpected opportunity as thoroughly as he possibly can. Gale kisses Astarion like every second of it might be the last. As far as he knows, it will be. He kisses with the intention of searing the memory of this as sharply into Astarion's mind as it has been in his since the ball.

And Astarion, despite the fact that the danger of being discovered has likely long, long passed, meets him with just as much fervency, pressing into Gale like he's trying to merge their bodies together. Kisses him with so much passion that Gale only even thinks to pull away when he really, truly, cannot last another moment without taking a proper breath.

Only then does he put a hand on Astarion's chest, and push him backwards. Not far; just far enough that Astarion's eyes flutter open as they part. At some point, either the spell had slipped or expired.

The man he is facing now is, undeniably, the Astarion he knows and- The Astarion he knows. Lips currently pink and wet from their… activities.

Gale's skin is flushed hot, his trousers uncomfortably tight, and he's still got a hand on Astarion's shoulder from where he'd been holding him close, demanding his mouth. He's breathing deep and fast, his chest rising against Astarion's where he's still got Gale pinned up against the wall.

Astarion is no better; their thighs are locked together like puzzle pieces, and Gale can feel the heat and the hardness of Astarion's arousal pressing into him. His pupils are blown wide and dark, the stark red of his irises reduced to the tiniest sliver of colour.

For a moment, they just stare at one another.

“Are they gone?” Gale asks, at last, in what is probably the least convincing attempt to regain his dignity that he's ever managed. Thankfully Astarion doesn't seem to be paying attention. He blinks, ears twitching.

“What do you hear?” Gale presses, again, when it seems no answer is forthcoming. “Are they still-”

“Will you shut up?” Astarion slams a hand over his mouth. Gale is so shocked that all he can do is stand there and allow it.

Astarion's brow is furrowed as he leans out of their little alcove. To Gale's ears - and indeed all his other senses - the street is as empty as it's ever going to get. For a very long moment, however, Astarion keeps him pressed there. Back against the wall, hand over his mouth. Waiting. Watching. Pressing his weight and his scent into Gale as if laying his body over him, holding him down, with Gale’s manic heartbeat no doubt thudding through his skin and Gale closes his eyes and wonders if Astarion can tell that–

“Clear.” Astarion lets go of him like Gale had bitten him. Where they had been pressed together, warm and close, there is a sudden shock of cold air.

“Quickly, Gale, come on!”