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spyderslut · 3 days ago

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Actively fulfilling the social roles wiliingly and otherwise. I get catcalled, I get talked over, i experience sexism in the same way a cis women does. Its unfortunate how much of womanhood is defined as opposition to the institution of sexism, but thats how society is at the moment. I experience the vast majority of what can be considered biological markers of womanhood, also. I live as a woman, with what that means being different to different people. A butch lesbian and a femme housewife are both living as women, but very differently. Its good, i suppose, that these roles that previously were considered so strict are falling to be more down to what the individual wants to do with them. A good friend of mine has elucidated as to this point quite well. She speaks more to the nonsense that is defining "biological womanhood" in particular, but its relevant here, so ill post it.

Anonymous asked:

“As a biologist, the terms biological woman and man don’t make any sense to me” okay then you’re an idiot and a terrible biologist. I swear to god, morons like you only become biologists just so you can hold it over others, when in reality, if biology deniers like you can become biologists, then being one really doesn’t mean much anyway. But this probably just gave an autogynophile like you a boner to read, anyway.

catboybiologist answered:

Oh fun! Haven't gotten one of these in a while. Disregarding the fact that you somehow think the qualification for being a biologist entirely hinges on defining womanhood, I do need to ask some clarification. I know I'm feeding the trolls here, but here we go: does your definition of "biological woman" mean:

Sociological woman? Eh, context dependent, I'm not fully out of the closet, but oftentimes, I am and present femme. So let's call that one 50/50.

Psychological woman? Because I am one.

Neurological woman? Because I am one [1].

Physical woman? My soft tissue redistribution is handling that well.

Hormonal woman? My blood tests are within cis female ranges.

Transcriptional woman? As a signalling molecule, the downstream effects of estrogen have broad transcriptional effects, completely changing the profile of gene expression and functional genomics of my cells. [2]

Genetic woman? I mean, see my above point- as far as my genes that are actually active, I have all of the same transcripts being produced, controlling which genes are expressed.

Karyotypic woman? I actually have a few signs pre-HRT that might point to a non-XY chromosome pair, but I haven't had a karyotype. We'll put that down as unknown. And hell, even if its XY, there's plenty of cis women who are karyotypically XY, with suppressed sry or complete androgen insensitivity. Interestingly enough, a completely androgen insesitive woman can go her whole life without knowing- and functionally, is very similar to a trans woman, actually. Fancy that. [3]

Reproductive woman? I can't produce an egg cell, but neither can significant fractions of cis women. Also, this is all gonna change soon, which is fun. [4]

There's also a lot of understudied aspects to the biology of HRT and even pre-HRT that are emerging, largely demonstrating widespread cellular and genetic remodeling of trans individuals undergoing hormone therapy. The field is a bit behind due to constant political pressure to revoke funding, but a lot of the results are extremely exciting in both testosterone and estrogen hormone therapies. I'm sure that, as a self professed biology As someone who presumably has a lot of expertise in biology, I'm assuming that you're aware of all of this cutting edge research, and are keeping up with modern papers, including but not limited to these cool findings:

Trans men on HRT exhibit significant genetic and transcriptional changes that make them biochemically male. [5][6]. It's a good hypothesis that the same happens with estrogen treatment, but those studies don't exist yet- I'm sure you're reserving judgment until more publications exist, of course.

Trans men on HRT develop male cell types and tissues. [7]

Trans women experience muscular and blood cell changes that align with cis women moreso than cis men [8]

And many, many more! This is an exciting, underserved, and groundbreaking field of research, and I'm sure you're keeping up with the latest in scientific journals about it.

I'm sure, of course, that you understand that it becomes impossible to draw a distinct line anywhere in here, and that words like "woman" are shorthand for the myriad of traits that invisibly synthesize in our mind and in society to represent a concept? I'm sure you understand that science is fundamentally descriptive, not prescriptive? I'm sure that you understand that these findings, while really cool and interesting, actually don't mean jack shit about what the word "woman" means or not?

As someone who is the ultimate decider in what a biologist is, I'm sure you know that bioessentiallism is a childish mindset that completely ignores and disregards the constantly changing, dynamic nature of biological systems, something that extends well beyond biological sex and its relation to gender.

I'm sure that also, that you understand that beyond just this, that the role of science in society is to advise how to achieve our moral principles, not create moral principles in themselves. And I'm sure that understanding means you know that trans affirming healthcare and supportive societal treatment leads to reduced mortality and increased happiness for everyone, right?

So great to talk to someone who is surely a scientist on this. You are a biologist, if you're talking like this, I assume? I assume you're not going to spit complete misreadings of scientific language from the background sections of these papers that only reveal you've never read a scientific paper in your life if you're thinking this way? I assume you have experience interpreting data like this?

Also, imagining my genitalia while writing this? Ew. Please stop projecting your fetishes into my inbox.

Works cited:

Kurth F, Gaser C, Sánchez FJ, Luders E. Brain Sex in Transgender Women Is Shifted towards Gender Identity. J Clin Med. 2022 Mar 13;11(6):1582. doi: 10.3390/jcm11061582. PMID: 35329908; PMCID: PMC8955456.

Fuentes N, Silveyra P. Estrogen receptor signaling mechanisms. Adv Protein Chem Struct Biol. 2019;116:135-170. doi: 10.1016/bs.apcsb.2019.01.001. Epub 2019 Feb 4. PMID: 31036290; PMCID: PMC6533072.

Gottlieb B, Trifiro MA. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. 1999 Mar 24 [Updated 2017 May 11]. In: Adam MP, Feldman J, Mirzaa GM, et al., editors. GeneReviews® [Internet]. Seattle (WA): University of Washington, Seattle; 1993-2024. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK1429/

Murakami, K., Hamazaki, N., Hamada, N. et al. Generation of functional oocytes from male mice in vitro. Nature 615, 900–906 (2023). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-023-05834-x

Pallotti F, Senofonte G, Konstantinidou F, Di Chiano S, Faja F, Rizzo F, Cargnelutti F, Krausz C, Paoli D, Lenzi A, Stuppia L, Gatta V, Lombardo F. Epigenetic Effects of Gender-Affirming Hormone Treatment: A Pilot Study of the ESR2 Promoter's Methylation in AFAB People. Biomedicines. 2022 Feb 16;10(2):459. doi: 10.3390/biomedicines10020459. PMID: 35203670; PMCID: PMC8962414.

Florian Raths, Mehran Karimzadeh, Nathan Ing, Andrew Martinez, Yoona Yang, Ying Qu, Tian-Yu Lee, Brianna Mulligan, Suzanne Devkota, Wayne T. Tilley, Theresa E. Hickey, Bo Wang, Armando E. Giuliano, Shikha Bose, Hani Goodarzi, Edward C. Ray, Xiaojiang Cui, Simon R.V. Knott, The molecular consequences of androgen activity in the human breast, Cell Genomics, Volume 3, Issue 3, 2023, 100272, ISSN 2666-979X, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.xgen.2023.100272. (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2666979X23000320)

Xu R, Diamond DA, Borer JG, Estrada C, Yu R, Anderson WJ, Vargas SO. Prostatic metaplasia of the vagina in transmasculine individuals. World J Urol. 2022 Mar;40(3):849-855. doi: 10.1007/s00345-021-03907-y. Epub 2022 Jan 16. PMID: 35034167.

Harper J, O'Donnell E, Sorouri Khorashad B, McDermott H, Witcomb GL. How does hormone transition in transgender women change body composition, muscle strength and haemoglobin? Systematic review with a focus on the implications for sport participation. Br J Sports Med. 2021 Aug;55(15):865-872. doi: 10.1136/bjsports-2020-103106. Epub 2021 Mar 1. PMID: 33648944; PMCID: PMC8311086.

and one more thing from me, I hope you have a good day, friend.

I'm not really sure why some transwomen/TIM are under the impression that radfems stating that TIM cannot physically be female or women somehow means they have to go back to adhering to what society expects of "a man."

It's quite the opposite actually. I WANT you to wear dresses and skirts and pink and heels and wear makeup and do whatever it is you like to do that makes you feel like you're somehow female, but I also want you to understand that those things DON'T make you female or have any proximity to womanhood. You're allowed to express yourself through fashion and personality without lying and claiming you're female

#trans #politics #feminism

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cece693 · 2 days ago

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He's Cute

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: you're Loki's brother, but actually nice and come in peace, bucky finds you adorable, humor, asking out a prince from another planet is hard, just ask bucky, part 2 can be done

Tony tapped his fingers on the conference table, wearing his best ‘well, here we go again’ scowl. In front of him, the Avengers were assembled, all shooting wary glances at Thor. “So,” Tony drawled, making sure to emphasize his skepticism, “we’re hosting another Asgardian prince. Is your father just collecting them at this point?”

Thor, doing his best not to look offended, cleared his throat. “I know you hold distrust after what Loki did, but (Y/N) is our younger brother. He’s quite the opposite from Loki.”

Clint quirked a brow, exchanging a glance with Sam. “‘Opposite’ how? Less shape-shifting and more interpretive dance, or…?”

Sam snorted. “I’d pay to see that, actually.”

Thor, for his part, stood straight-backed, looking earnest—and maybe just a little bit offended. “I assure you, (Y/N) is not here to conquer anything,” he reiterated. “My brother is gentle. He's nothing like our brother Loki."

Tony drummed his fingers on the table one more time. ��Yeah, we’ll see. Might I suggest we have a ‘No Asgardian Shenanigans’ sign at the front door? We can hang it right under the ‘No Solicitors’ sign.”

“That might be a tad welcoming, don’t you think?” Clint drawled, lips curling in a wry grin.

Sam chuckled. “No illusions allowed, no staff-wielding illusions, no illusions about illusions.”

Bucky glanced around. They were all bantering, but he could sense the undercurrent of nervous energy. Finally, Steve caught his eye and nodded, inviting him to speak up if he wanted. But Bucky just gave a small shrug—he didn’t really have an opinion yet, beyond thinking that maybe it would be nice to have another level-headed god around. He’d heard Loki was a piece of work, but Thor—despite his bombast—had proven a decent ally.

“Well, guess we’ll know soon enough,” Nat said, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. She tapped her phone, checking the time. “Thor? When’s your supposed to show up?”

Thor’s chest swelled with pride, as though merely announcing your name was akin to proclaiming victory over the Nine Realms. “He will arrive today—shortly, in fact. Heimdall has secured him safe passage. I ask for your patience, my friends. He is not…accustomed to Earth.”

“Oh, this ought to be fun,” Tony said, pushing back from the table. “Alright. Everyone, let’s roll out the welcome mat. And by ‘welcome mat,’ I obviously mean ‘a healthy dose of skepticism laced with potential backup plans A through Z.’ Clint, let’s find a vantage point—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, sounding exasperated. “He’s Thor’s brother, not a Hydra spy.”

Tony shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. Or have we collectively forgotten the Chitauri fiasco?”

Thor let out a deep, put-upon sigh, and Bucky caught the flicker of guilt in the god’s eyes. Clearly, Thor was sensitive about all that had happened with Loki. Which in turn made Bucky feel a little guilty for automatically being wary.

About an hour later, the Avengers had dispersed, though most lingered in the main atrium of the Compound. Bucky hung back near a wall, arms folded, scanning his surroundings with a soldier’s vigilance. He had no idea what to expect. A second Loki? Another six-foot-something, muscle-bound, hammer-wielding Asgardian?

The air crackled with energy, and suddenly, a swirl of rainbow light appeared at the center of the room—a mini Bifrost. Out of it stepped you.

Your entrance was about as dramatic as one could expect from a swirling cosmic rainbow, but you looked anything but menacing. Clad in simple Asgardian attire (far less extravagant than Thor’s usual gear), you blinked, adjusting to the Earthly surroundings and then you bowed—actually bowed—deeply and respectfully.

“Good day,” you greeted softly, your voice gentler than any of them expected. “I am (Y/N) of Asgard. It's an honor to meet the team that has accepted my brother Thor with open arms. I know you might be wary of me with all that has transpired with Loki, but know that I deeply apologize for any problems he...” You paused, searching for a polite way to phrase it, eventually settling with, “…might have caused.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “‘Might have caused?’ Yeah, that’s one way to put an alien invasion.” He exchanged a look with Clint, who shrugged.

“(Y/N) is different,” Thor explained, laying a large hand on your shoulder with a brotherly sort of pride. “He will not attempt subterfuge or illusions.”

Bucky, observing quietly from his corner, noticed how you half-cringed at the mention of illusions, as if even the word brought you guilt by association. You glanced around at the assembled heroes: Tony with his pointed skepticism, Nat’s arms folded in careful assessment, Steve’s polite-but-guarded kindness. Even Sam gave you a sidelong look that said he wasn’t entirely sure he believed in second Asgardian princes yet. Only Thor, unwavering in his faith, and Bruce, gently curious, seemed at ease.

Clearing your throat, you continued, “I truly want to learn of your customs and help in any way I can.” Your voice quieted further. “I understand if my presence here makes you uncomfortable. You have already faced so much.”

Natasha eyed you, the corners of her mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. “Well, you’re certainly more polite than your brothers,” she said, glancing at Thor pointedly.

“That’s not difficult,” Clint muttered, earning a huff from Thor.

Bucky only half-listened to the exchange; he was more focused on the shy curve of your posture—how you carried yourself with a subtle humility that was so unlike Thor’s boisterous confidence or Loki’s cunning. He realized then he was staring, so he forced himself to look away, crossing his arms over his chest to maintain some semblance of aloofness.

Steve, ever the one to break awkward silences, stepped forward to shake your hand. “We appreciate your honesty, (Y/N). I’m Steve Rogers. I promise no one here means you harm,” he said in a reassuring tone.

You took his hand carefully, as if unaccustomed to the formality. “Nice to meet you, Captain Rogers.” A flicker of surprise crossed your face as you felt the firmness of his handshake. “Your grip could rival Thor’s,” you murmured, almost impressed. Thor puffed up, beaming that you’d complimented one of his comrades.

Sam spoke up next, his voice colored with curiosity. “So, no illusions, no plans of world domination…I’m guessing you’re the ‘normal’ one in the family?”

You seemed flustered, but your lips quirked in an embarrassed smile. “I—I wouldn’t quite say that. But I have always strived for peace.”

Tony waved a hand. “Alright, Peace Prince, welcome aboard. We’ll see how it goes. Just don’t conjure up any giant space whales or open any more cosmic portals in the middle of Manhattan, deal?”

Thor looked positively mortified that Tony would even imply such a thing, but you only nodded politely. “Yes, sir. No space whales. I can assure you of that.”

At the “sir,” Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I like you. Please continue to address me as ‘sir’ in front of the others.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Thor cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to calmer waters. “(Y/N) will be staying with us for a time—learning Earth’s ways. Please, treat him as you would me.”

“So we haze him with endless pop culture references and toss him in the deep end?” Sam joked.

Bucky saw you swallow hard, and something about your shy, uncertain expression tugged at his chest. Without meaning to, he spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “I’ll help,” he said bluntly.

Everyone turned to look at him, surprise etched on their faces—especially Steve, who arched an eyebrow as if to say, Didn’t know you were volunteering, pal. You brightened, relief shining in your eyes. “That is very kind of you. Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Just…Bucky,” he mumbled, cheeks warming the tiniest bit.

Natasha’s keen eyes flickered between the two of you, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Great,” she said lightly. “Now that we’re all introduced, who wants lunch?”

Over the next few days, you integrated yourself into Avengers life with unexpected ease. You asked Tony endless questions about Earth technology, took great care to help Bruce reorganize his lab (after you discovered you had a knack for meticulously alphabetizing everything from chemicals to coffee mugs), and politely sparred with Natasha, who grudgingly admitted you were surprisingly tough yet considerate.

Meanwhile, Bucky quietly observed you. He watched you cheerfully fix up the lounge furniture after Thor accidentally broke a coffee table. He saw you carefully water the potted plants in the hallway, eager to ensure none of Earth’s “fragile vegetation” withered on your watch. Little by little, Bucky found himself drawn to your presence—drawn to your soft laughter, your bright curiosity.

But one thing stood out above all else: you never once bragged about your title. You never boasted about your Asgardian heritage or demanded special treatment. You even seemed embarrassed whenever anyone called you ‘Prince (Y/N).’ Instead, you were humble—sometimes painfully so. And that humility, combined with that sweet, open-minded wonder, made Bucky’s heart do somersaults he hadn’t felt in years.

Bucky sat in the compound’s lounge one afternoon, pretending to read a newspaper while sneaking glances your way. You were studying a half-eaten bag of potato chips like they were the eighth wonder of the world.

“Steve,” Bucky murmured, beckoning his friend closer.

Steve, doing his best to hide an amused smile, leaned in. “What’s up?”

Bucky tilted the newspaper so Steve could see you turning the potato-chip bag upside down, letting crumbs tumble out onto your hand. “He’s cute,” Bucky muttered under his breath, so quietly it nearly dissolved into air.

“…Should I act surprised? It was obvious from the moment you volunteered to show him around the tower,” Steve finished, his voice just as low. He flicked his gaze from Bucky to you and back again, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the hint of pink that dusted his cheeks. “I’m trying to be subtle, all right?”

Steve snorted. “That’s rich coming from the guy who’s sneaking glances every ten seconds.”

Bucky’s gaze drifted again to you—now tapping the bottom of the potato chip bag in an effort to extract the last crumb. The entire display was so earnestly adorable that Bucky had to bite back a smile. “Look,” Bucky sighed, voice dropping lower, “he’s Thor’s brother. A prince. And I’m—well—” He gestured vaguely at himself, as if that summed up a lifetime’s worth of complications. “You really think he’d be interested?”

“Yes,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I do.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest—he’s just curious about Earth, he’s friendly to everyone, it doesn’t mean anything—but then, as if on cue, you turned around in your seat. The instant your eyes met Bucky’s, your face lit with delight. You waved at him so earnestly that you almost spilled the bag of chips.

Bucky swallowed. “Fine,” he muttered, giving Steve a pointed look. “Maybe there’s a small chance.”

Steve suppressed a laugh, nudging Bucky forward. “Then go talk to him. Ask about chips, or Earth cuisine, or literally anything. Just say something.”

Bucky tried to summon that stoic confidence that sometimes worked for him. Instead, he felt like a high school kid with a crush. “Right,” he mumbled. “Be casual. Real casual.”

He stood up, discreetly adjusting his jacket, and made his way over to you. You greeted him with a bright smile—still holding that bag of chips as if you’d discovered gold. “Hello, Bucky!” you said. “I didn’t realize such simple food could taste so addictive.”

Bucky felt his heart do a little flip at the sound of his name on your lips. “Yeah, uh…chips,” he replied brilliantly, jamming his hand in his pocket in a desperate attempt to appear nonchalant. “They’re a big deal around here. We’ve got, uh…like, 70 flavors, I think.”

Your eyes widened. “Seventy?!”

“Maybe more,” Bucky corrected himself. He cleared his throat. “So, you like them?”

“Very much. I fear I might become dependent,” you admitted, glancing a little sheepishly at the half-empty bag. “But enough about me—how’s your day? I noticed you’ve been reading that newspaper for a while.”

Bucky cringed internally. Busted. “Oh, yeah—lots of…uh…interesting articles,” he fibbed, holding up the folded paper. He glanced at the front page, realized it was yesterday’s news, and hastily lowered it again. “Anyway, I was thinking, maybe we could…you know, get out for a while? Go, uh…check out a café nearby.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion creeping across your features. “But the Compound has a coffee machine. It’s in the kitchen, right? I can fetch you coffee, if you like.”

“No, no,” Bucky corrected, trying to keep his composure. “I mean, we could go out. Just you and me. Kind of an…outing.” He struggled with the word date, but it hovered there, unsaid.

Your eyes went wide, as though another revelation had dawned upon you. “Oh! You need supplies? Are we on a mission?”

“No, not a mission,” Bucky explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Just hanging out. Relaxing. Maybe having a nice conversation—away from everyone else.”

You nodded, albeit slowly. “A private conversation…in a place that also serves coffee?”

“Right,” Bucky confirmed, trying not to seem too relieved. “It’s…well, on Earth, we call that a ‘date.’”

He finally said it—date. His palms were sweaty, but he held your gaze, waiting.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, brows shooting up. “I’ve read about dates in one of the Midgardian relationship guidebooks. Something about courting rituals and paying for each other’s drinks to demonstrate affection?”

Bucky’s cheeks felt warmer by the second. “Yeah, that’s…that’s the general idea. You interested?”

“Yes!” you said, then paused, a flicker of doubt crossing your features. “But do we need to bring my father into this? Thor mentioned father-gifts or is that just for official betrothals? I don’t want to be rude.”

Off to the side, half-hidden in the hallway, Steve pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle a laugh. Bucky shot him a quick glare—thanks for the backup, pal. Chuckling nervously, Bucky shook his head. “No father-gifts required. On Earth, it’s usually just between, well…the two people going on the date.”

Your shoulders visibly relaxed. “Ah, excellent. That simplifies things. I wouldn’t know what to buy your father anyway—does he prefer golden chalices or—?��

“No, no,” Bucky interjected quickly, biting his lip to keep from outright laughing. “Seriously, no father involvement. We just go, maybe sit down, order coffee, talk.”

You seemed to take a moment to let that sink in. Then, you grinned wide. “That sounds delightful. When do we depart for this coffee date?”

“How about tomorrow morning? Around ten?” Bucky offered.

You placed a hand over your heart, nodding firmly. “Ten in the morning. I will be ready. Should I wear armor, or is that too formal?”

Bucky glanced at Steve again, who was now silently cracking up. He smothered a grin, turning back to you. “Casual clothes are fine. Maybe just…I dunno…a shirt and jeans, if you have them?”

“Ah, yes! The mortal garb. I’ll do my best not to clash patterns.” You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Though everything on Earth seems to clash with my Asgardian boots.”

Bucky let out a soft laugh, feeling tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding in slip away. “You’ll be fine, trust me.”

Moments later, you excused yourself to research casual Earth attire, leaving Bucky standing in the lounge with a strangely giddy feeling in his chest. That’s when Steve sauntered in, arms folded, his smile practically ear-to-ear. “You see?” Steve teased. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “I almost had to explain father-gifts, so maybe a little complicated.”

Steve chuckled. “Looked like you handled it just fine. And if you need a quick escape route tomorrow, you know I’ve got your back.”

Bucky gave him a playful shove. “Thanks, punk.”

Steve shrugged, still grinning. “Anytime, jerk.”

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zeroseuniverse · 2 days ago

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Please do a part 3 to Never Asked, this is so wholesome 😭😭

More member interactions or something angsty with fluff please 🥹

Thankfully I thought ahead this time!! It's already written!!!

You Never Asked III

Word Count: 585 Summary: You all know the story by now right? Pairing: Jongho X Fem Reader

Part I Part II

Navigation

Jongho should have known.

The moment his members met her, he should have known that they would take it too far.

It started off small. She’d get random texts from Wooyoung asking, “Are you feeding him properly? He gets cranky if he doesn’t eat.”

Then San started sending her videos of Jongho singing with captions like “Your man is talented, you’re welcome”.

But things escalated when Seonghwa personally invited her over for dinner.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jongho muttered as she stood outside their dorm.

“I want to,” she reassured him, grinning. “They’re fun.”

Jongho just sighed, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

The moment she stepped inside, chaos erupted.

“You’re finally here!!”

Wooyoung practically tackled her in a hug. “We missed you!”

“You saw me last week,” she laughed.

“Too long,” Yunho declared dramatically, pulling you into a side hug.

Jongho crossed his arms. “She’s my girlfriend, not yours.”

“Are you sure?” Yeosang deadpanned. “We might like her more.”

Jongho scowled. She just patted his arm.

Dinner was surprisingly peaceful—at first. Seonghwa had cooked, and everyone was on their best behavior… until Mingi leaned forward, setting down his chopsticks.

“So,” he began. “When are you two getting married?”

She nearly choked.

Jongho did choke. “WHAT?!”

San nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. Do you want a spring wedding? Fall is also nice.”

“Guys—”

“You should have a destination wedding,” Wooyoung suggested, already invested. “Hawaii? Greece?”

“STOP,” Jongho begged, face burning.

However, she was thoroughly entertained. “Hmm, I do like Greece.”

The room exploded.

“OH MY GOD, IT’S HAPPENING.”

“LOOK AT RINGS WITH US.”

“I’M GONNA CRY.”

Jongho groaned, dropping his head onto the table as his members fully planned their wedding.

She just smiled at him, squeezing his hand under the table.

If he was stuck with these chaotic men forever, at least he had her to suffer with him.

—-

Jongho was convinced.

His members weren’t just close to her now—they were trying to steal her.

It had been a few weeks since the Great Wedding Debate (which, to his horror, had resulted in a shared Pinterest board Wooyoung had made for their “future venue aesthetic”), and things had only gotten worse.

At first, it was just them texting her for “updates” on Jongho, which was already ridiculous.

Wooyoung: Has he been drinking enough water? He’s stubborn.San: Tell him to stop pretending he doesn’t like hugs.Yunho: Does he smile more with you than with us? Be honest.

But then? Then they started inviting her places—without him.

Jongho scowled as he stood in the dorm, arms crossed, watching her slip on her jacket. “Why are you going out with them?”

She gave him an amused look. “Because they invited me?”

“To lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Without me?”

“Yep.”

Jongho turned toward his members, who were suspiciously avoiding his gaze. “Really?”

“What?” San blinked innocently. “Can’t we just hang out with our friend?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung smirked. “We love her.”

Jongho glared. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“She’s our family,” Yunho corrected.

Seonghwa patted Jongho’s shoulder. “Get used to it, kid. You’re dating one of us now.”

Jongho groaned as she tried (and failed) to hide her laughter.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reassured, pecking his cheek before heading for the door.

The second she was gone, Jongho turned to his members, voice dangerously low.

“I hope you all choke on your food.”

They just cackled.

Because Jongho might have been her boyfriend…

But at this point? You were a part of their chaotic family.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #atz scenarios #atz imagines #atz fluff #atz x reader #atz #atz fanfic #choi jongho x reader #choi jongho imagines #jongho imagines #jongho x reader #choi jongho #jongho

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maplegyu · 1 day ago

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Went into this with no expectations! I just saw the tropes and summary and was like ooohhh i love all of these! I ended up rly loving the story and enjoying my read!!!

Your fingers tightened around the glass. Without thinking, you poured yourself another shot—your third, or was it the fourth? You weren’t keeping track anymore.

Mingyu let out a small chuckle, and that was it—you tipped your head back and downed the drink in one go.

Your chest tightened. Mingyu was your closest friend. Your partner for everything. The one you laughed with, teased, leaned on. Seeing her in that space, acting like she belonged, made your skin crawl. You probably were just overreacting- and yet, you just kept drinking.

Loved loved loved how this was written!!! I could really feel how reader was clinging onto the alcohol like a lifeline! The more it felt like Mingyu would be slipping through her fingers the harder she tried to be grounded by something else!

God, you were so hopelessly in love with him.

I GET U READER I WOULD BE TOO He's such a gentleman and he's sooo in tune with her feelings WHO WOULDNT FALL IN LOVE W KIM MINGYU

Of course, it wasn’t a big deal to him. But to you? It was everything. Every single thing.

GOD I CAN ONLY IMAGINE HOW MUCH THIS HURTS its like ur breaking ur own heart bc the feeling is like!! WHAT RIGHT DO I HAVE TO FEEL THIS WAY???!! i get u reader i rly get uuuu BUT UR FEELINGS ARE REAL AND VALID 😭 the hoping and yearning wow wow wow

I loved the imagery of the writing so much!!! Especially the scene outside the restaurant!!! Felt so immersed in the story and in very few scenes was already familiar with how close reader and Mingyu are and their feelings for each other.

BUT THE MORNING AFTER SCENE OH MY GOD???!?! CHEEKY MINGYU AAAAHHHHHHHHH

ON GOD!!! I AM NOT OVER THE IMAGE OF JUST WOKEN UP MINGYU, RASPY VOICE, REACHING OUT FOR READER... SMIRKING!!!!!! who wouldnt want to wake up next to this man for the rest of their lives?!

"Oh, this is fun," - im sorry. I WANT HIM SO BAD. Mingyu being a tease and being cheeky... I LOVE THIS KIND OF MINGYU GENUINELY LIKE SOME OF MY FAVORITE MINGYU TO READ!!!!!

YES HE DID BECAUSE PERHAPS!!!! HE IS IN LOVE WITH U ALSO DEAR READER?! 💘

“I know you can,” he said with that same, effortless ease, his tall, towering frame moving toward you without hesitation. “But let me.” His voice was softer this time, the teasing gone.

MY KNEES TURNED TO JELLY FR!!!! when he is chivalrous and a gentleman but also hot as fuck 🤩

Mingyu stood at the stove, moving effortlessly like he belonged there, he changed his white shirt. His black t-shirt now clinging just enough to make you notice. The sleeves stretched over his biceps, broad and defined, flexing slightly with each movement.

IMAGINING THIS MINGYU

AND I DONT BLAME READER FOR HAVING A HARD TIME W HER FEELINGS FOR HIM

THE WAY THIS WHOLE SCENE EXCITED ME BECAUSE IT CONFIRMS THAT MINGYU DOES ACTUALLY FEEL FEELINGS FOR READER TOO!!!! ITS NOT ONE-SIDED AAAAHHHHH ✨️

Yeah. He was so screwed.

#MAPLEGYU SCREAMS!!!!!!!!! this is everything. officially down bad. on his way to becoming a certified loverboy!!!!!!

The whole back and forth about stealing and wearing Mingyu's clothes...... THE OBVIOUS FLIRTING PLEASE I WAS RLY EATING IT UP!!!! dont u two realize ur so into each other aaahhhhhh! And then tbh at this point i thought the story (or part 1) would be over but there was more!!!!

Mingyu was still there and reader was wearing his clothes. Excuse me a whole day of domesticity with your favorite person????

The way user taesjpq painted the picture of how their night was going sent me to space actually because ITS THE LITTLE THINGS!!!! together ordinary things feel extraordinary 😭 and im sure thats what reader felt w gyu!!!! And please they never stopped flirting! Him telling her he looks good in his clothes!!?? MY BABY GIRL LET YOUR MIND GO THERE!!!! THINK ABT GYU BEING PART OF UR DAILY LIFE!!!! BELIEVE HE LIKES U BACK COS HE DOES!!!!!

He watches you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. His eyes flicker to your lips, and that’s when it happens—the hesitation. Heswallows hard, fighting the urge to close the distance entirely. He’s trying—really trying—to resist, to keep this from crossing a line neither of you can come back from. But it’s impossible when you’re looking at him like that, when your body is so close, when the scent of you wrapped in his clothes makes his head spin.

THIS MADE ME INSANE I LEGIT WASNT BREATHING

SO IMAGINE MY EXCITEMENT WHEN HE TRIED TO GO IN FOR A KISS!!!!!!! The build-up??!?! The uncertaintainty but also wanting it so bad??!?! CROSS IT CROSS THE LINE!!!! God im rooting for them i am suchhhh a sucker for bff's to lovers!!!!!!!

Thank you for writing this i really reaaally enjoyed it!!! I cant wait for the next part!!!! 💖

Jealousy part. I

genre — suggestive fluff, best friends to lovers, smut (maybe in part II) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — You, Hoshi, Wonwoo, and Mingyu—inseparable. Their apartment feels like your second home. But one of them makes your heart race in ways you wish it wouldn’t. He treats you like you’re special—attentive, caring, almost like a boyfriend. But he’s not your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. He treats you this way—this is just how Mingyu is, right? word count — 4,3k (part l)

Warnings and notes under the line.

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, jealousy/insecurity, unrequited/complicated feelings, emotional distress, avoidance/coping mechanisms, mild possessiveness (towards him), possible hangover, waking up next to someone, suggestive elements/mild sexual tension, light kiss [let me know if I forgot something]

notes: san (ateez) cameo (you will better understand in part II) Hoshi, Wonwoo cameo. This is my first published ff ever, I hope you like it. I‘m actually very nervous about it, so feel free to give your opinion. I just wrote this, when I felt down bad for Mingyu again (he‘s so boyfriend istg). The question is, when i am not exactly down bad for Mingyu? He‘s the standard.

"Any plans for the weekend?"

San held the office door open for you, his gentle smile as familiar as ever.

You sighed quietly, relieved that the exhausting workweek was finally over. It had been chaos—half the staff out sick, leaving you drowning in double the workload.

San had been your lifesaver, stepping in every time you thought you might break under the pressure.

"Actually, I'm meeting my friends at a restaurant," you replied, noticing the faint flicker of something wistful in his eyes.

"Why am I not surprised?" he teased, his grin widening as you stepped through the door.

San had a way of always asking about your plans, like he was hoping, just once, your answer might include him. But it never did. Just: „My friends, my friends, my friends.“

It wasn’t a lie, though. You practically lived at their apartment. Gaming nights with Wonwoo, gym sessions with Mingyu, and endless meals with Hoshi—that was your rhythm, your second home.

"Thanks for the coffee, San. Next time, it’s on me," you said, flashing him a grateful smile.

"Anytime," he replied, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before you parted ways.

You arrived flustered, breathless from rushing. Of course, they were already here.

As you pushed open the door, the warm buzz of conversation and clinking plates enveloped you.

Your eyes scanned the restaurant, locking on them almost immediately: your boys—and a girl. A girl?

She was sitting beside Mingyu, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. Her laugh carried across the table, light and unrestrained, and something about it made your stomach twist. Who was she?

"Finally!" Hoshi greeted you as you approached, his voice brimming with playful exasperation. "We thought you’d ditched us."

You forced a smile, settling into the usual chaos of their teasing welcome.

"This is Hana," Wonwoo explained casually when he caught the question in your eyes.

"And? don’t you think she looks just like me?" Hoshi added, grinning as he gestured dramatically toward her.

You studied her more closely, and the resemblance hit you. It was uncanny—her smile, her energy. She could’ve been his twin.

"I’ve been crashing at their place for a few days," Hana said, extending her hand toward you. "Hoshi insisted."

Your polite smile barely reached your eyes. Why hadn’t anyone told you?

"Nice to meet you," you said, shaking her hand and glancing around. There wasn’t an empty chair for you.

Mingyu noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he stood, grabbing one from a nearby table and setting it beside him.

"Thanks, Gyu," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

He nodded and gave you a gentle smile.

Oh, how you’d missed him. His warmth, his silly jokes—the way his laughter could dissolve the stress of your week. You’d been looking forward to this, to catching up with him. But now, it seemed difficult.

As the group settled into conversation, you tried to focus, tried to join in. But your attention kept drifting—to Hana, to how close she sat to Mingyu, to the way she leaned into him when she laughed. Her fingers grazed his arm casually, like she belonged there.

"So, Hana, how do you like the city so far?" Wonwoo asked, drawing her attention.

"It’s great," she said brightly. "Hoshi’s been showing me around—it’s been so much fun."

Her hand lingered on Mingyu’s shoulder as she spoke, and your stomach knotted uncomfortably.

Just then, the waiter arrived, placing drinks on the table. Four sojus. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise—they’d ordered before you arrived. That wasn’t how things worked. You always waited. It was a small tradition, but it mattered. Or, at least, it used to.

"One soju for me too, please," you said quickly, catching the waiter before he walked away.

But the unease didn’t leave. Hana’s touchiness continued—her laugh too loud, her attention on Mingyu too focused. He didn’t seem to mind, even smiled at her a few times. Yet, every so often, his eyes flicked to you, as if checking for something.

You didn’t know why, but every time Hana’s hand brushed against his arm, you reached for your bottle. Every time she giggled a little too sweetly, your glass met your lips. The warm burn sliding down your throat was easier to deal with than the twist in your chest.

"You should see these two at the gym," Hoshi chimed in suddenly, pointing between you and Mingyu. "They’re like workout aliens or something."

The group laughed, and you managed a small smile, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Hana giggled, leaning closer to Mingyu. "Maybe you can show me some moves sometime," she said, her tone playful.

Your fingers tightened around the glass. Without thinking, you poured yourself another shot—your third, or was it the fourth? You weren’t keeping track anymore.

Mingyu let out a small chuckle, and that was it—you tipped your head back and downed the drink in one go.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you lie, the words tumbling out too quickly, barely convincing even to yourself.

You needed space—air that wasn’t thick with your confusion, your frustration. If you stayed another second, your face would betray you, exposing the childish jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

The cool evening air hit you like a lifeline as you stepped outside, goosebumps forming on your arms from the crisp breeze.

You closed your eyes briefly, letting it kiss your flushed cheeks, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. The dull, relentless throb of longing refused to fade.

“This isn’t the bathroom.”

The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

You glanced back anyway, already masking your shock with a strained smile. Of course, it’s him. It’s always him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, forcing a lightness you didn’t feel. “This looks like a bathroom to me.”

He chuckled, that low, warm laugh that always did things to your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. And despite yourself, you smiled too, because how could you not?

God, you were so hopelessly in love with him.

Without a word, he steps closer, draping your jacket over your shoulders. “You’re probably freezing,” he says, his voice gentle, but with a tenderness that makes your stomach tighten.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he adjusts the jacket, and it sends a shiver through you—not from the cold, but from the barely-there touch.

You look up, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes meet his. His gaze softens, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

The silence that followed stretched taut between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. Neither of you seemed willing to break it. The faint hum of traffic and the muffled buzz of laughter from the bar filled the empty space.

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress. Don’t say it. Don’t bring her up. Just let it go. But the question clawed its way out of you anyway.

“I didn’t know Hana was staying at your place,” you blurted, the words sharper than you intended, laced with something raw and exposed.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “Yeah, I didn’t know either. Trust me.”

You raise an eyebrow, still unsure. “Hoshi didn’t mention it?”

“He forgot,” Mingyu mutters, shaking his head. What a Hoshi thing to happen, you thought.

“I walked into my room, and she was already asleep in my bed. I didn’t have the heart to wake her, so I took the couch for the week.”

Your stomach twisted, the weight of his explanation sitting heavy. Of course, he wouldn’t complain. He’s Mingyu—always generous, always selfless. Always giving more of himself than he should.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice too light, too fake. “It’s just funny to think… if I showed up at your place, I’d find her instead of you.” You tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow, even to your ears.

He shrugged, casual and unaffected. “It wasn’t a big deal for me. I worked overtime all week, so I wasn’t home much anyway.”

Of course, it wasn’t a big deal to him. But to you? It was everything. Every single thing.

You felt the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly. Not here. Not now.

The night had been shallow and hollow, a void you couldn’t seem to escape. All you’d wanted was a quiet evening with your friends, especially Mingyu. Just sitting beside him, leaning against his shoulder—feeling the solid warmth of him—would’ve been enough.

But instead, you’d spent the evening watching Hana, her laughter, her touches, her presence invading spaces you’d always considered yours. Even if you don't have the right to do so.

The ache in your chest sharpened, spreading through you like wildfire. You couldn’t stay here any longer.

“I’m gonna head home,” you said, your voice flat, eyes fixed on the ground. “I think I need some rest after this week.”

You felt his gaze land on you, heavy and searching, and for a moment, you wavered under its weight.

“I’ll take you home,” he said softly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

“No, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, trying to steady your tone. “I have my car.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer, his presence almost overwhelming. His eyes scan your face, tracing every inch of you, as if reading you in ways that make your heart race. “But you shouldn’t drive. You drank too much.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not drunk.”

And then, he speaks again, voice softer, more tender.

“Your cheeks,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your flushed skin. “They’re red. That happens when you drink too much.”

You freeze, his touch lingering. Your heart pounds in your chest, and his proximity feels like a punch to your gut. He looks even more handsome than usual—his messy hair falling over his forehead, the soft fabric of his shirt still loose and unbuttoned just enough to make your breath catch. The way he stands there, effortlessly composed, but so close that you can almost taste the air between you—his scent wrapping around you like a warm, familiar blanket.

God, you feel weak in front of him.

“I can’t let you drive like this,” he adds softly.

You want to protest, but the words catch in your throat. He cares. He always does.

“Unless…” he tilts his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ve got other plans?”

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed through your head as you reached for your phone, your limbs feeling heavy under the weight of sleep.

The sunlight filtering through the curtains was way too bright, making you wince as you blindly swiped to answer the call without checking the caller ID.

“Hello…?” Your voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

“Mingyu, where are you?! I’ve been trying to reach both of you for hours!”

Your brows furrowed, confusion washing over you like a cold wave. Mingyu?

You pulled the phone away from your ear to check the name on the screen. Hoshi Hyung.

Your headache made it hard to process, but one thing was clear—you would never save him like that.

Why the hell was he even calling you about Mingyu?

Just as the pieces of the puzzle refused to click into place, you felt it—a presence beside you.

With a slow, sinking feeling, you turned your head to the right.

And there he was.

Mingyu.

All 187 centimeters of him, sleeping peacefully under your blanket like he belonged there. His hair was tousled, his breathing deep and even, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Your eyes widened, your grip on the phone tightening. You hung up immedietly.

Fuck.

Before you could spiral too much, Mingyu let out a deep sigh, his arm stretching out lazily—almost like he was reaching for you. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, fluttered open but instantly softening the moment they land on you,— The way you were staring at him, as if he'd just appeared out of nowhere —his lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough with sleep.

“It’s 2 p.m., Mingyu.”

He blinked slowly before lazily glancing around the room. “Shit, really?” His voice was raspy, thick. He let out a slow breath before sinking deeper into the pillows. “I slept so fucking good.” A lazy smile tugged at his lips as he let his eyes fall shut again.

You watched him. His dark hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, and yet, somehow, it only made him look softer. His skin looked warm and tan against the white sheets. His lips—full, slightly swollen from sleep—parted just the tiniest bit, and for a moment, you had to fight the urge to reach out, to trace them with your fingertips, just to see if they were as soft as they looked.

You swallowed hard. "I... uh—what happened last night?"

Mingyu let out a soft chuckle, rolling onto his side to face you properly. “You really don’t remember?”

Your silence was answer enough.

“Oh, this is fun,” he mused, resting his cheek against his palm. “You were very affectionate. Like, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t expect you to cling to me like that.”

Your face burned instantly. “Shut up.”

He grinned wider. “You wouldn’t let go. Kept saying I couldn’t leave, that I should sleep next to you.” His voice dropped into something teasing. “Should I start staying over more often?”

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. He laughed, catching it effortlessly before it could hit his face.

“Ohhh, so violent first thing in the morning,” he teased. “Where’s all that love from last night, huh?”

You wanted to escape the awkwardness, so you stepped away from the bed, but as you did, your gaze betrayed you—flicking toward Mingyu. His white shirt hung loosely on his frame, almost completely unbuttoned, exposing a hint of his chest and the silver chain resting just above it. The sight made your breath catch for a moment, your heart skipping.

Mingyu caught your glance. His eyes met yours for a heartbeat, but then they dropped—slowly, unwillingly, lingering on your legs just a moment too long.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fabric of your dress inching up, revealing more of your legs than you'd intended. The air between you both seemed to thicken, heavy with something unspoken.

In an awkward flurry, Mingyu began buttoning his shirt, his movements too quick, too self-conscious, like he was suddenly aware of every inch of space between you.

You cleared your throat, trying to fill the silence, and nervously stammered, “I—I’m making breakfast.”

Mingyu immediately sat up, “I’ll do it.”

You turned to glare at him, a bit sharper than you intended. “I can make it on my own.”

“I know you can,” he said with that same, effortless ease, his tall, towering frame moving toward you without hesitation. “But let me.” His voice was softer this time, the teasing gone.

His eyes flickered over you briefly—the exhaustion, the headache written all over your face, the way your clothes were still crumpled from last night.

“You should take a shower,” he added, voice gentle. “It’ll help with the headache.”

You blinked at him, and looked down on you after.

“Yeah..probably.”

You hesitated for a second before heading towards the bathroom, still feeling like you were stuck in some weird dream.

The moment you stepped in front of the mirror, you almost flinch.

Your makeup was smudged, your hair an absolute mess, strands sticking to your forehead. Your dress from last night was wrinkled and slightly loose on one side.

You looked horrible. Greasy. Disgusting.

Mingyu slept next to this?

You suddenly wanted to cry.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly peeled off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the weird feelings in your chest.

By the time you were done, you felt human again.

There was no way you were putting that dress back on, so you grabbed your bathrobe, tying it tightly around your waist before stepping out.

Your hair was still damp, strands clinging to your skin as you walked barefoot toward the kitchen, following the smell of food.

And then he turned around.

For a moment, it was like time froze.

Mingyu’s breath hitched the second his eyes landed on you.

The damp strands of hair framing your face, the way your robe sat snugly around you, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbone—he was so unprepared for this.

His fingers twitched around the wooden spoon, and for a split second, he forgot what he was even doing. His grip almost faltered.

He was staring.

Hard.

You raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Mingyu swallowed, snapping out of it. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—uh, food’s almost done.”

He forced a smile, turning back to the stove way too quickly—like he needed a second to compose himself.

You didn’t question it, shrugging as you took a seat at the table.

Mingyu, on the other hand, inhaled deeply, gripping the spoon like it was the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind.

Yeah. He was so screwed.

“So.” Mingyu cleared his throat, a little too forcefully. “How’s your headache?”

You barely looked up, scrolling through the endless messages from Hoshi and Wonwoo. “Hm? Oh-It still hurts. But I’m sure I’ll feel better after eating something."

A beat of silence.

Too long. Too heavy.

You, sitting there like that—bare-faced, hair still damp, wrapped up in your robe—he had seen you like this before. And yet, right now, it felt… different. His fingers flexed against the edge of the kitchen counter.

He didn’t want to think about why.

“How’s work been lately?” he asked, voice casual—too casual. “You looked exhausted yesterday. And, well… the number of drinks you had kind of spoke for itself.”

You let out a dry laugh, stretching your legs beneath the table. “Yeah, work… Work has been insane. Feels like half the office is out sick, and I’m the lucky one picking up the slack.”

Mingyu frowned as he turned off the stove, moving with practiced ease. “That’s bullshit.” A pause. “No wonder you were exhausted.”

That wasn’t the reason you drank last night, but he didn’t need to know that.

You shrugged, watching him. The way he knew where everything was. The way he moved through your kitchen like he belonged there. Because he did.

Mingyu set a plate in front of you before settling into the chair across from you. He picked up his fork but didn’t eat right away, just watching you for a beat.

“You really need a break,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, his eyes flickered to yours, and something shifted in his expression. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Or maybe just… new clothes.”

You blinked. “What?”

He gestured vaguely toward you. “I mean, I knew you had a couple of my things, but—” He gave you a pointed look. “At this point, half of your closet is mine. I could practically move in here.”

You almost choked on your food.

That little shit.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “You know, I always wondered where my stuff kept disappearing to.” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “For a while, I actually believed I had a hole in my closet.”

You swallowed your bite. “Weird. Sounds like a you problem.”

He scoffed. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, keeping your face blank. “Mhm. No clue what you’re talking about.”

His gaze flickered over you, his smirk deepening. “So, you’re telling me my hoodies just magically disappeared? Along with my t-shirts? And my beanie? And—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut in, groaning. “Maybe your clothes are just… way too comfortable. Not my fault they’re basically begging to be stolen.”

“Begging,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word.

“Yes.” You met his eyes, feigning innocence. “I don’t see the issue.”

Mingyu let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “And yet, you still let me steal your stuff.”

He exhaled through his nose, picking at his food. “I don’t let you. You just take it.”

“Semantics.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but there was something in his expression—something warm, something familiar.

For a moment, it almost felt normal again. Like the weird tension from before had settled into something softer. Something easier.

But then his eyes lingered on you a second too long.

And suddenly, it was back.

That unspoken thing between you.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

You just kept eating.

And Mingyu?

Mingyu was so, so screwed.

Your phone started ringing. Hoshi was calling.

We were screwed.

By the time evening settled in, you had changed into something comfortable—his clothes, to be exact. He was still here, lingering in your space, and for a few fleeting hours, everything felt right. As if this was how it was always meant to be. As if this was your everyday. But deep down, a small voice whispered, warning you not to get used to it.

After dinner, Mingyu is still here.

You’re in the kitchen, washing dishes side by side like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours when he reaches for a plate, and it’s almost too quick to register. But you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching you as you load the dishes into the dishwasher. His voice breaks the silence, low and casual, but there’s an edge to it, something like hesitation.

“Do you still have a headache?”

Before you can speak, he’s close. His presence fills the space between you. His left hand gently presses against your forehead.. His right hand moves to your neck, fingers brushing lightly over your skin.

You barely notice it at first, but when you shift slightly, you feel it—your back pressing against the counter. Mingyu is so close, standing in front of you, subtly caging you in You can barely breathe. You don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he’s so close, or the fact that you want him closer.

Your voice falters when you answer. "I’m fine now. It’s... better." You watch as Mingyu’s face softens in an instant at your words.

Neither of you moves, standing close, too close.

Mingyu’s lips quirk into a grin, but there’s a hint of something more in his voice. “My clothes look good on you. I should let you steal them more often.”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. You stretch up, reaching for his face, your fingers brushing his skin. You squint your eyes, making a playful face. “I’d do it anyway. Don’t need your permission.”

Mingyu chuckles, but his gaze shifts, sharpening just enough for you to notice. He steps closer. The warmth radiating off his body, the faint brush of his leg against yours, the way his chest is so close that if you just leaned in the smallest bit, you'd be pressed against him. It’s intoxicating. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing for a second until you force yourself to inhale, only to take in the faint scent of him—clean, familiar, utterly Mingyu.

And then, he inches closer, almost without thinking, and his lips brush against yours—just the lightest touch, so soft that it could almost be a breath. Your body tenses, and for a second, everything stills.

But fuck, it’s enough to send heat coursing through his veins.

His lips are soft, teasing, brushing lightly against yours. The kiss is slow, barely there, but enough to leave you gasping for more.

You inhale sharply, your breath mixing with his. You don’t move away. If anything, you shift closer, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His lips linger, hovering, teasing. Testing.

His self-control is hanging by a thread.

He tells himself to stop. You were loosing yourself in it. You-

- Ding Dong

The sound of the doorbell rings, slicing through the tension. You both freeze. The world shifts back into focus. The heat, the closeness, everything evaporates in an instant.

You step back, your breath coming in uneven gasps. Mingyu looks away, running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure.

#maplegyu reads #maplegyu faves #mingyu romcom leading man au

383 notes · View notes

mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

Text

PETERS SECRET— peter parker x stark! reader

WARNINGS: implied sex

Tony Stark prided himself on being an intelligent man. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist—he had a lot of titles. But clairvoyant? Yeah, not one of them.

So when he found a box of condoms in Peter Parker’s backpack while rummaging for a piece of Stark tech the kid had borrowed, he did what any reasonable father figure would do.

He sighed, put them back, and pretended he didn’t see a thing.

Peter was a good kid. He had a life outside of the Avengers, and Tony wasn’t about to metal in his dating life. The kid was responsible, respectful, and, more importantly, not some playboy running around breaking hearts.

So Tony let it go.

That was his first mistake.

His second mistake?

Not checking who, exactly, Peter was dating.

Which led to his third and worst mistake—walking into his daughter’s room one afternoon, completely unannounced, only to find her tangled under the sheets with none other than Peter freaking Parker.

For a full three seconds, there was nothing but dead silence.

Then—“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” Tony’s voice boomed, making both of you jolt.

“OH MY GOD—DAD!” You frantically scrambled for the blanket, yanking it higher over yourself while Peter nearly fell off the bed in his attempt to escape.

“Mr. Stark—SIR—this isn’t what it looks like!” Peter blurted, eyes wide in terror.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Oh? Because it looks like you were about two seconds away from defiling my daughter in my own house!”

“No, no, no, sir, I would never defile her!” Peter waved his hands frantically before realizing how bad that sounded. “I mean—I would—I mean, not in a bad way—I mean—”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Peter, stop talking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply through his nostrils like he was physically holding back an aneurysm. “Parker.”

“Sir?” Peter swallowed hard.

Tony pointed a deadly finger at him. “I let it slide when I found condoms in your backpack. I told myself, ‘You know what? The kid’s growing up, he’s responsible, I don’t need to know who he’s seeing.’ But now—” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Now I know. And I do need to know. Because I am two seconds away from throwing you out the damn window.”

Peter paled. “I—um—I can survive that, but I’d really rather not.”

You groaned again. “Dad, please—”

“Please what? Let you two get back to whatever this is? Hell no!” Tony crossed his arms. “I trusted you, Parker.”

Peter looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole. “I—um—I still want to be trusted?”

Tony scoffed. “Yeah? Well, I trusted Steve too, and you know what happened? He ran off with my murderous ex-friend and hid my parents’ killer from me.”

Peter blinked. “That… that seems like a separate issue, sir.”

“Oh, so now you’re giving me therapy, Spider-Boy?”

“Okay—both of you, stop,” you cut in, grabbing the blanket more securely around yourself. “Dad, I get it. You’re mad. But we’re both adults.”

“You’re nineteen.”

“And legally an adult!”

“Not in my damn house!”

Peter slowly raised a hand. “Mr. Stark, sir, if it helps, I love her.”

Tony snapped his head toward Peter so fast that Peter actually flinched.

“Love?” Tony repeated, like the word offended him on a personal level. “Kid, if you really love her, you wouldn’t be rolling around under the sheets while I’m in the house!”

You groaned. “We weren’t even—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Peter frantically nodded. “I won’t! Sir, I swear, I respect her! More than anything!”

Tony exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before muttering, “You know what? I need a drink.” He turned, making his way toward the door before pausing.

Then, without looking back, he said, “Peter.”

Peter stiffened. “Sir?”

Tony glanced over his shoulder, his expression as serious as a heart attack. “If I ever catch you in her bed again, I will build a suit specifically designed to kill you.”

Peter audibly gulped. “Understood, sir.”

With that, Tony left, slamming the door behind him.

Silence fell over the room.

Then, Peter slowly turned to you. “So… do you think I should start writing my will?”

You sighed, collapsing back onto the pillows. “I’ll help you draft it tomorrow.”

#avengers #x reader #reader insert #x female reader #the avengers #spider man #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x female reader #spider man x you #spider man x reader #spiderman

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hitlikehammers · 8 hours ago

Text

(not your average) seven minutes ⏰ ♥️

or: what if Steve had been ‘playfully’ locked into a room by his drunken not-friends at that infamous Halloween party in 1984, for 💕Seven Minutes in Heaven💞!

…and no one realized Eddie Munson was already hiding inside 🫥

Steve just wants to get the fuck out of this place, this party, this fucking…bullshit life he’s found himself in. He’s not at his best, under-fucking-standadably, so when the drunk-ass Halloween masses push and shove and giggle as they lock him in an upstairs bedroom for—oh god, Seven Minutes In Heaven, what are they, goddamn twelve—he’s going to fucking scream, he— “Not quite what you were expecting behind Door Number One?” Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which sounds familiar and then also, not, because Steve thinks he should know��a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s— It’s a good voice, basically. And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak. Half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes and it…it does something. To Steve. It does something to Steve.

rating: t ♥️ tags: s2 era, alternate meeting, that ONE HALLOWEEN PARTY (you know which one), steve meets eddie immediately after nancy does her drunken bullshit thing, seven minutes in heaven meets truth or dare, (weirdly more effective than you’d think), first kiss(es), fluff, humor, boys being boys, climbing out of windows (like a ninja🥷), getting together (?) ♥️

again: originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo forever ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because it’s going to have a sequel show up soon for @steddielovemonth—which I thank profusely for giving me the kick in the ass required to revisit and actually try to finish this series!

“Oh my fucking god.”

Steve honestly doesn’t know if he’s going to start crying or throwing up quicker, like which one’s closest to the surface; keeping his balance as the shock, the jagged parts that draw blood when your heart gets crushed to shards leaving him susceptible—pathetic, fucking pathetic— to the pushing and pulling and grabbing of the throngs of trashed partygoers shoving him away from the front door, pushing harder every time he tripped up the stairs, laughing and yelling and chanting and fuck, fuck he doesn’t need this, he doesn’t want this, and he doesn’t even know what the fuck it is, just that it’s not his car, and then his house, and then his bed where he can…let it all come crashing down and not have a fucking audience, just: goddamn.

As soon as a door’s thrown open and she’s shoved to stumble hard, catch his nails to bending, bleeding against the light switch as the lock clicks behind him—well fuck.

He gets it now.

Fuck.

“Not what you were expecting behind Door Number One?”

Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which is familiar and then, not, because Steve thinks he should know a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s—

It’s a good voice, basically.

And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak, half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes but…it does something.

It does something Steve doesn’t want to dwell on, the kind of thing he’s kinda been working really hard and doing pretty fucking well and not dwelling on but then…maybe like, any other night, any other hour of any other night? Steve maybe would have turned, and at least tried to force the door open; maybe he’d have pushed it down like he’s been getting real good at, almost to the point where he doesn’t even have to think about it, the thing itself or the pushing it down: in fact he’s absolutely sure he’d have done just that. Any other night. After any other fucking night.

But it’s all bullshit anyway, so like, why even bother, what does any of it even matter, Barb’s dead, blood’s on his hands apparently for a pool he doesn’t even fucking pay for, his love’s fucking nothing and the voice from the corner, hell, even the jawline the flame’s casting sharp every other second, every flip open then stealing away with every flip closed: that’s something and so, like.

Any other night. It’d be different.

But it’s this night.

“I wasn’t expecting any door except the one on the front driver’s side of my goddamn car, man,” Steve sighs and throws his weight against a dresser—plain. Really plain—kid’s room. Not too young. Boy’s room. Little brother of…fuck, Steve can’t even remember whose house they’re in.

“I can see where this would definitely count as,” Munson’s tongue runs almost contemplatively over his lips as he tips his head; “a deviation from the plan.”

Steve snorts; he means it to sound amused, because he is that. Honestly he is.

But it sounds like it get halfway there, before it nosedives a little into a half-stifled sob.

Goddamnit.

“You okay, Harrington?”

Oh. So not only is he recognizable, he’s also recognizably not fucking okay.

That’s just great.

“My girlfriend says I’m bullshit,” Steve has no fucking idea what makes him just say it, to basically a stranger at that, and fuck, no, not a stranger: this stranger, who Steve knows enough of but who Steve’s pretty sure knows too many things about him for comfort, just—he doesn’t know what makes him say it. “That loving her is bullshit.”

Actually: probably that’s it. Bullshit, versus something. Munson’s eyes stay fixed on him the whole time, even as he keeps flicking the lighter.

“Does,” Munson starts, and in his good-voice, he sounds almost, like, hesitant. Which isn’t a way Steve really associates with the guy, if he associates anything with him at all but apparently yeah, he does, because he’s absolutely certain this shit’s out of the norm: “like, not to be a dick, seriously,” yeah, yeah: this is like a gentle voice. Careful. Care…caring?

And, like…why?

“But does that mean she’s still your girlfriend?”

Oh. Pity might be why. That’s fun.

“Shit,” Steve rubs his hands over his face, fucks his hair up even more than it’s been which is possibly not even possible. “Probably not.”

Munson lets out a breath that’s almost a whistle, and looks genuinely regretful—again, why, most of the people he hangs out with would probably celebrate Steve’s suffering, so like, what the fuck—

“That sucks man,” Munson says, honest, like, really honest as he para down his…surprisingly tight jeans until he extracts a pre-roll from the front picked and holds it out in offering: “on the house.”

Steve needs that shit bad enough for it to be maybe the only thing he doesn’t question in all of this.

“Thanks,” he says as Munson holds out a light and Steve leans in; the guy smells of party sweat and too many bodies, of Kate autumn air and cheap cologne. He smells…

It’s a good smell. It matches his good voice.

“You wanna?” Steve offers on impulse after he takes a lungful and maybe a little more, maybe a little too much—greedy, needy, bullshit—and holds it back to Eddie as he breathes out slow, tries to keep it all in as long as he can but not…not in a pushing-it-down kind of way. More a making-the-most kind of way.

“Do you wanna?” Munson asks, eyes so wide, like a baby animal or something. Like a cartoon character. Steve just keeps holding the joint out to him, close enough that his lips will touch Steve’s fingers if he wants them to, and in Steve’s head he feels like he’ll call him Eddie, in his head, if his mouth brushes his skin.

It does.

Eddie it is, then.

And Steve’s real good at shoving down things like the way his heart skips and fucking jumps, runs a little—he’s good at it.

But not tonight.

“They always double the time, ‘specially when they think they’re being funny,” Steve licks his fingers where Eddie’s mouth had touched because why the fuck not, and he slides down the simple preteen dresser and leans back on the palms of his hands as he sighs out the words and the remaining smoke in his lungs, but let’s go of none of the taste he’d lapped off the skin around his knuckles. Not that. “Probably longer than that if they’re as drunk as they looked.”

“Ah,” Eddie kinda, almost, hums through the purse of his lips before he offers the smoke back Steve’s way, and if Steve makes sure his lips drag over Eddie’s fingers, what fucking of it. It does make the space between his inhale and Eddie’s willingness to say any more words out loud a long quiet pause where Steve’s pulse runs high between his collarbones but it’s…it’s not bad. And Steve kinda wants to keep that in his back pocket, for later: the thing he’s gotten so good and pushing down might not feel so goddamn bad, up near the surface where it’s still able to breathe.

Huh.

“So you’re up here on a mission,” Eddie finally says, a little choked but not like you choke on a weird drag, y’know? Different choking. Steve feels the urge to smirk and while he doesn’t give into it?

It’s definitely there.

“As far as they’re concerned,” Steve says with…Steve doesn’t know what he says it with. How he says it. How he means it.

“You don’t look drunk,” Eddie saves him from dwelling on that particular unknown, lets him course correct with a little scoff.

It also distracts him from how Eddie sits next to him. Not too close, but still pretty fucking close.

“I know my limits.” Which is why he takes back the joint without a single thought and does the maybe-too-much thing, because it feels good, and lets himself look for the taste of Eddie on the paper: salt and a tang of something and then sweetness, like fucking candy.

It’s a good taste.

“I’m probably a little drunk,” Eddie declares without sounding it at all, and taking to the eeed again without a secondly hesitation; “more like tipsy, really, if that, but still, totally not my style,” he frowns, like it really isn’t, like he’s disappointed in himself. It’s kinda…cute.

Fuck.

“I don’t touch shit at these parties but I was thirsty as fuck,” Eddie gestures with his free hand, and it’s the first time Steve’s notices how his run at glint: good hands; “haven’t eaten all day and thought I’d beat the punch spiking.”

“Aww, man,” Steve moans on Eddie’s behalf, sympathetic; “the punch is always pre-spiked.”

“Duly noted,” Eddie nods, holding the joint to Steve’s lips straight on this time, and Steve thinks nothing of breathing in without touching it himself, letting Eddie decide when to pull it back. “Point being, on an empty stomach, even one such as myself,” Eddie gestures broadly at his person with the nearly-spent smoke: “is not immune.”

Steve huffs a little laugh; he kinda wants it to be bigger but he’s feeling…soft. Nice.

Good.

“So we’ve got somewhere between seven and…” Eddie glances at his wrist as if he’s expecting a watch there; Steve wants to know if he forgot one he normally wears or if it’s all for show: “thirty minutes, by your estimation?”

“Thereabouts,” Steve shrugs. You can never really know for sure.

“You umm,” Eddie ventures after a few seconds; “you want to talk about, umm,” and he trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Not,” Steve’s saying before really thinking;“not really.” It’s actually kind of weird how much he means it, too. “I was trying to get home.”

“Drown your sorrows?” Eddie surmises, but Steve shakes his head.

“Wasn’t even gonna bother,” and his asshole father’s got the good shit, too; Steve probably could have managed a decent bit of wallowing with minimal hangover. “Just wanted to get out, clear my,” he clears his throat, though he’s not sure why, doesn’t really thing he needs it: “head.”

Then Steve turns to look at Eddie only to find Eddie already looking straight at him.

That’s…that’s something.

“Then they shoved me in here because they’re all fucking assholes,” Steve chuckles a little, does his damn best to make it clear he’s only calling the dickheads downstairs assholes; not…not Eddie.

Like it was an asshole move to shove him in here but, not because of Eddie.

Like, at all.

“And drunk off their asses,” Eddie grins, a very good grin, and Steve matches it as best he’s able because it means his comments landed okay, the right way; “swear I didn’t sell anything hard enough to be the culprit.” Steve snorts, and Eddie matches that and all the matching feels…it feels.

“It’s funny though,” Eddie comments, a little idly once the laughter’s echoed out. Steve tilts his head, all question.

“No one knew I was in here,” Eddie gestures to the whole of the not-very-big room. “It’d be one thing to prank you and shove you in here with me, ha ha,” he tosses his head back and forth and sticks out his tongue like Steve knows he’s done on the tables in the cafeteria more than once but it’s softer, here, it’s almost warm or playful and maybe a little self…deprecating? Steve thinks that’s the word but whatever the word is, Steve doesn’t love that it’s there alongside everything else.

“I mean, insulting as shit to you, so they probably wouldn’t have done that to you,” and Steve frowns because yeah, these parts are thinks he loves at all; “you’re still royalty,” and Eddie pops on an accent and bows his head and it’s not mocking like it would be in school, but.

Steve doesn’t fucking love that either.

“Fuck that,” Steve’s quick to kind of…bite out. Like, hard. “And hell, if I am fucking royalty,” he air-quotes the word because fuck it, fuck it all; “it’s not for much longer.”

Eddie settles, and watches Steve almost…careful. Like maybe he’s looking for something. Or else, he’s taking the time to really get something from whatever he does see.

It’s weird. Steve doesn’t know what to do with being looked at to be seen.

“Think I’ll be glad to be rid of it, to be honest,” Steve says, picks at the beds of his nails a little, something he’s learned from all the girls he’s dated for a few days here and there—distraction.

But he means it, he realizes that for absolute certain as soon as he says it.

“Huh,” Eddie finally says, and it’s said…like it means something.

Something maybe…good. Or like it could be. Can be.

Huh.

“Anyway, they would have thought the room was empty,” Eddie picks back up, stretches a little and oh. Oh wow, he’s got a long neck when it’s all stretched out. It’s…it looks good.

Then Eddie cuts his gaze sly toward Steve and smirks: “Who were you supposed to fucking have your seven heavenly minutes with?”

Steve rolls his eyes and smirks lazily back in Eddie’s direction.

“My hand?”

Eddie’s eyes widen a little, and they’re…they’re really close, like, either Steve didn’t notice before or they’ve gotten closer.

Eddie’s lips are…really close.

“Oh, well,” those close lips are saying, but that good voice is kinda too-soft for the tease: “don’t let me interrupt.”

Steve blinks a couple times, to make sure he heard right.

“Sorry, that was—“ Eddie starts to walk it back but once Steve’s done with his blinking?

He fucking busts out laughing. Like…the embarrassing, snorting, pitchy kind of laughter.

“Funny,” he gasps a little, waving Eddie’s concern away because it was, it was: “That was funny, man.”

Maybe Steve thinks it’s too funny. But once Eddie shifts from shocked to something more like pleasantly surprised?

It feels like it was the perfect level of funny.

“Okay,” Eddie says as his grin grows but gets ducked into his chin, as his hand fumbles for a stand of his hair like he can hide behind it, which is silly, and weird.

And…endearing. Steve wants to see what that strand of hair feels like.

Also weird. Maybe silly. Maybe too much, maybe bullshit—

“Hey,” Eddie’s leaning toward him, and if Steve thought they were close before, that was a fucking lie in comparison because holy fucking wow, is Eddie close. He’s got freckles on his nose. Steve never would have guessed. “Want me to be funny some more?” He asks, a little loud, a little too bout any and bouncy and…like he means it, like he wants to be this thing but not so much for himself, or else not just for himself, but for Steve.

No one does shit like that for Steve.

“Your eyes are too pretty to be sad.”

Steve’s eyes aren’t too fucking pretty to nearly pop out their goddamn sockets when those words register in his ears, in his brain, make his chest tight in a kinda fucking terrifying way but such a good way and Eddie looks so scared, and Eddie’s eyes are too pretty to be scared and, oh shit.

“Truth or dare?”

The question kinda just pops out, which is…not ideal but better than his eyes doing that, so: win. And Eddie’s eyes shift from scared to stunned, confused—both better options. Double win.

“What?”

Steve clears his throat this time because you genuinely fucking needs it. “Gotta do something to pass however many minutes they leave us here, don’t we?”

Because it was definitely a seven-minutes-in-heaven set up. And Steve doesn’t know how long they’ve passed so far but he wants it to be a while longer that they’ve got left and distractions, distractions to keep from dwelling—

“Truth.”

Oh. Alright.

“Just my eyes?”

That, Steve clocks right after saying it, is the exact opposite of not fucking dwelling. He feels a little sick.

But his heart’s leaping like it’s never been free of a fucking cage until this moment, so it’s confusing.

Eddie looks confused too, so on top of it: Steve’s not even alone. In being confused.

And Steve’s alone so much. This is…kinda nice.

Kinda good.

“Is it just my eyes that are too pretty?” Steve says, for clarity. And Eddie swallows so hard Steve can hear it; fuck, he swallows hard enough it has to hurt.

“No,” Eddie says, tiny and faint before he straights his spine and looks Steve straight on: intentional.

Bracing for impact.

“Truth or dare.”

Steve’s kinda tired of being daring on principle. Generally. He’s terrified of the truth but…shit.

“Truth.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Eddie doesn’t say it mean. But he does say it in a way Steve couldn’t have lied to him about if he wanted to even try.

He doesn’t though. Want to try.

“Literally or, like, figuratively?”

The implications of that answer hit a little belatedly and Steve feels his cheeks go read as Eddie’s breath punches straight out of his lungs:

“Jesus H. Christ—“

“No, to both,” Steve answers quick before he loses his nerve, because maybe the truth was as daring, more daring even, than anything else. “Not even a little bit. For either.”

Eddie’s throat works around words he doesn’t say for a long stretch of seconds. Steve’s heart’s in his throat so, he thinks he kinda gets the feeling.

“Truth or Dare,” he forces out. Because it’s his turn.

“Dare,” Eddie barely breathes. Steve wasn’t expecting that, but the ready response makes it clear that deep down, he was hoping.

“Give me my seven minutes.”

Eddie freezes. Coughs. Pales a little before he stumbles over words less like he’s avoiding anything and more like he’s really that unbalanced. Shocked out of sync.

“With your hand?” he asks, a little squeak in the pitch of his voice. “Like, turns my back, cover my ears?”

Steve huffs a nervous little laugh. Nervous but…undeniably fond.

“No, dipshit.” The implication is…pretty fucking clear.

“You’re heartbroken,” Eddie points out.

“Maybe less that I thought I’d be,” Steve answers honestly, surprises himself; and maybe that’s for a damn good reason, too. “You’re ‘tipsy’.”

“Increasingly less so by the goddamn second,” Eddie confesses, his eyes fixed to Steve’s lips before flickering back up, so so wide:

“Harrington,” he whispers, sounding kinda lost; “I don’t—“

“It’s fine, if you,” Steve’s quick to regroup, even though his pulse is trying to choke him—stupid, needy, idiot, too much, greedy, dumbass, fucking bullshit; “you can forget it.”

Steve would like to forget it, kinda immediately; letting himself want. Letting himself try.

“I don’t,” Eddie starts again, but Steve can’t stand it, can’t beat it: that good good voice trying to make this anything but a goddamn catastrophe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t like, mean to,” and fuck, Steve’s not only clearly suggested some very dangerous things about himself he’s only starting to even be willing to think about coming to grips with but what about what he’s assumed, implied about Eddie, guys don’t take lightly to that shit, oh fucking hell; “I don’t, you know, like, do this,” he tries to salvage, and even he knows it’s a pathetic attempt; “like this—“

“I don’t fuck around with straight boys as a rule, see,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, color high on his cheeks; “keeps my poor squishy gay heart from bruising.”

And Eddie; oh, oh—

Those eyes are too damn pretty to look so scared.

And maybe it’s less about truth being safer than a dare, maybe both are a risk in their own way and maybe…maybe both just require that you’re brave.

Steve can try to be brave, maybe. Just this once. This one night that’s different, where he’s not pushing it all down.

“If I told you,” he says slowly, so slowly because it’s hard to fight what he knows so we’ll; “if I said I didn’t know, yet, how much of a bend there might be in my kind of…straight?” Steve frowns, brow furrowed; that came out so goddamn weird, but he makes himself look at Eddie when he asks:

“Would that change anything?”

Eddie gapes at him, a little like a fish, and Steve goes back to the beginning: he’s equally likely to start sobbing as he is likely to throw the fuck up—but Eddie blinks, and his head tilts and he reaches slow, tentative, like he doesn’t know if he’s really allowed but also like he wants to make sure Steve can cut and run before his hand meets Steve’s cheek.

He is allowed, though. He’s…Steve is pretty sure he’s fucking welcome.

“Would,” Eddie murmurs incredulously, thumbing Steve’s lower lip before he does the slow thing, leaning while leaving an out but Steve doesn’t want a goddamn out.

He moves forward in a blink and kisses Eddie with all the skill and know-how he’s woven together into making the people he kisses feel good, and he puts his whole self in, all the concentration and focus and investment he’s got to make it…great, if he can.

But then something kind of wild happens.

Because it kinda feels like Eddie is…doing the same thing. Like Eddie wants Steve to feel all those things just as big and sure.

Steve doesn’t…Steve’s never been kissed like this. Like that. Like his half of the deal isn’t just a given.

Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, though: Steve has to run on pure instinct; his partner never does that shit first.

It’s fucking amazing. And given the moans he gets, the wet sucking sounds and the panting before they reconnect again, then again: Steve’s willing to bet his instincts are pretty solid.

They finally break for more than a second and Eddie’s hands come to Steve’s chest for balance as he gasps, as his hair falls in a curtain between them and Steve’s barely got the breath in him to speak yet when he covers one of Eddie’s hands with his own and half-whispers.

“Come on,” and he’s tugging Eddie to standing, both of them a little wobbly on their feet for a second or two before Eddie stills.

“We’re locked in,” he seems to remember in real time, like the whole kissing thing—not quite seven minutes; maybe more than seven minutes; not e-fucking-nough either way—knocked reasonable thought out of him for a second, there.

“The window,” Steve’s prepared for it, leads him over with their hands still kinda just covering each other, kinda holding one another, kinda a lot of things. “I’ve been here before, we can get out,” because yeah, he knows the house even if he still doesn’t remember who it belongs to; “and you haven’t eaten,” Steve remembers that clear as day, frowning at Eddie, almost scolding him.

Eddie lights up, though. Like maybe there are things no one’s really ever thought of for Eddie, too. Like, maybe Steve wasn’t the only one finding out someone could…pay attention.

Like he was worth paying attention to.

And like…Eddie? Steve doesn’t know exactly what to do with all the things that are tied up in everything he pushes down, where they’re bubbling up and seeping from his pore or some shit, but what he does know, without a doubt?

Eddie Munson is very much worth paying attention to.

“What the hell’s even open,” Eddie says, and Steve takes a second to add it up—food, he needs food—and he grins, and like…he kinda can’t help it? He definitely doesn’t think about it before he kisses Eddie, hard and quick and more smile in it than…he kinda remembers having, or giving, like…

More than he remembers. At all.

Huh.

“Benny’s if we’re quick,” Steve breaks off and pushes the window open; “otherwise the kitchen at Casa Harrington makes a hell of a TV dinner this time of night,” he tosses a grin Eddie’s way that’s nothing like he uses on the girls, he can tell, can feel it: it’s goofy and sincere and…yeah. “Probably got like a Salisbury steak one.”

It’s Eddie who leans, quicker and more like he’s stealing it, like he’s sneaking it and jumping back quick just in case he gets caught and it’s in doing that exactly that Steve has the incredibly clear sense, amidst all the unclear shit in his chest and his brain and his everything, that he…wants to catch Eddie.

“Fancy,” Eddie grins, and oh fuck.

Oh fuck, those dimples.

“Only the best for my honored guests,” Steve pokes one of those heavenly fucking dimples and oh.

Oh.

Steve’s making sure the window won’t fall on them as them climb down when Eddie leans close, looks down, and talks really close to Steve’s ear:

“They’re a reason we didn’t bail from the get-go?”

Steve wouldn’t hide the way he shivers if he tried.

“Honestly?” Steve chuckles, light with it, maybe…and he’s not sure okay, he could be making shit up and talking out his ass but, like, maybe he’s…

Free with it. Free with it?

He looks at Eddie who’s still grinning, dimples and all.

Free’s close enough.

“I don’t know, wasn’t really thinking,” Steve admits, and then tries the brave thing one more time: “truth or dare?”

Eddie’s answer is immediate, leaned close again against Steve’s shoulder, close at his ear:

“Truth.”

“Will you be angry if I said I wasn’t mad,” Steve turns, and their lips are so close: “that I didn’t think of leaving from the start?”

“Oddly enough?” Eddie grins so near that just the motion brushes their mouths. “Not even a little bit.” Then Eddie leans closer, means to, and doesn’t run like he’s stealing anything this time when he kisses Steve like he means it.

Then he’s speaking straight against Steve’s lips: “Truth or dare?”

And fuck it; everything’s been mixed up, shattered, rebuilt, turned inside out tonight. So far it’s turning out way better than Steve could have guessed. Definitely so much better than it started.

Might as well keep running with it.

“Dare.”

Eddie grins but there’s a heat to it, but then alongside, there’s something…mischievous. And then Eddie’s bumping his head into Steve’s and murmuring close:

“You climb down first and catch my ass when I inevitably fall halfway,” he issues his challenger; “I’m uncoordinated as shit.”

And Steve was wrong before.

The kiss he gives Eddie has more smile in it than he’s ever had, or shown, or shared before; not once in his whole goddamn life.

He could get used to it.

🧡

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midnight-bay-if · 3 days ago

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Saw an ask where what would the ROs react to a possessed MC. But what if the role were reversed, what would the ROs react if they were the one possessed and only managed to break out of it after they badly hurt the MC..

(I know you said 'badly hurt', but I didn't have the heart to write the ROs badly hurting MC, even if by accident. Umbra, for one, would never recover from such a mistake. But I had fun writing what the ROs see during possession. Hopefully, it will provide some useful insights.)

S: Their mind had been ticking like a clock; predictable, dependable, fast but organised. Then, a flash of light, and suddenly, they are unable to linger on a single cohesive thought. They tunnel vision on what lies ahead, on what they see... Rain, Taj, MC... all of them lying broken and bloodied. A howl of agony forces its way through their lungs as their legs push them forward.

How?! How could they have missed this? They should have prepared better - planned more thoroughly; what is the point in them if they cannot even protect the people they love?! They do not possess Rain's magic, Umbra and Taj's agility, nor N's strength; their brain is all they have.

"S! I'm right here! Whatever you're seeing; it's not real!"

The words sound muffled, distant, as if screamed through a pillow. But it sounds like MC. How? I see them... standing right in front of me... oh, god, no. They are so bloodied, so broken... I have to get closer, I have to reach them.

They feel a force pulling them back, ripping at their clothes to keep them away from their friends. The only explanation is that the evil that broke their friends has come to finish the job. So, they lash out and swing around with their fist to dislodge the menace from their person.

But now they hear it clearer. "Ouch! For goodness sake, S, it's me!"

MC.

They blink, and the black shutters that had separated reality from dream separate. They see you upright, alive and wonderful... holding a bloodied nose. "Darling!" They no longer care for propriety and immediately encase you in the tightest hug the left of their strength can manage. "I thought you dead." They pull away long enough to assess the damage. "I am so sorry, my love... I--"

"I'm fine. We're all fine."

They are. They are alive. All of them, alive. And S finally feels as if they can breathe.

Rain: They see home. More than that, they see it whole. How long has it been since they saw the river flowing through lines of crystal or heard the deafening waterfall glinting in the sun's rays? They kneel down beside the flowerbeds, desperate to inhale the familiar scent.

In the blink of an eye, the pleasant sun rays morph into a molten inferno. Fire rages around them, and the pleasant rain turns into a blood-red storm. Rain feels their porcelain heart, already cracked, shatter inside their chest. They want it to stop; they need it to stop.

"No! Stop! Ma! Pa! Where are you?!"

Their lungs with the intensity of their screams, but there's no answer amongst the black smoke.

"Rain! I'm here! It's okay!"

The voice sounds like a lie; they dare not listen. They shove their hands over their ears as they fall to their knees. It's only when arms reach out to them that they lash out. "No!"

"Ouch! Rain! It's me!"

The vision shatters, and Rain falls limply, the fire no longer blazing. All that is left is... you. "MC?" They wretch on your name, hardly able to believe their eyes. You're bleeding, and it's their fault. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I didn't--"

You pull them into the tightest hug, and it's all they ever needed. Home is gone, but you are here, and that is more than enough.

Taj: This is what they have been reduced to. A species of parasites in dark caverns no better than the rats we live with. They swore they would never return to this; Selby promised they would never have to. They lied. How could they lie to them?! Where are they? Why aren't they here?

It's too dark. They don't want to come back here, back to this cage. They have to find a way forward, find their way back... find the sun.

They force their legs forward through the darkness, their eyes already well-adjusted to navigate it. The cavern echoes with each step, and their ears twitch, listening for any signs of other life.

Nothing. They are entirely alone.

They need to find a way through, out of the gloom, out of the cage.

Then, hope. "Taj! I'm here! I'm right here!"

MC? Of course! MC! Are they trapped down here with them? No, that can't be allowed to stand. Their legs push harder through the murk, but your voice is echoing from every direction, and Taj begins to panic.

"Koel! I'm coming! I will find you!"

Then, something reaches out through the darkness to grab their wrist, and Taj's fight-or-flight demands action. They duck low while kicking up in the direction of their attacker. The cry that follows sends their blood running cold.

"MC?"

The dark cavern crumbles to the light, and no longer are they trapped deep beneath the ground. Taj blinks, once, twice, before their eyes adjust to the scene around them. Then, they see you.

You're slightly hunched, cradling your face, brows furrowed. It hits them. It wasn't real. "MC, I... Fuck, I didn't--"

As impatient as ever, you do not wait for them to find the right words, instead pulling them into a tight embrace. They stiffen, then curl their fingers into your back, clinging on for dear life.

"Idiot." N: One moment, they are lounging on a chaise in a room of rich red and gold; the next, they are surrounded by hellish fires in razed villages and bloodied battlefields. They grimace as they burn the flesh off another soldier, and they count the number 212 before it is drowned out by the words 'failure', 'waste of space', and 'sycophant' repeating inside their head, goading them to further destruction. Power. What is left but that? They need more. Hesitating demonstrates weakness; they cannot afford to be weak. It will spell ruin for them all.

So, they will continue to count.

Then, they hear it; a different voice, serving as a liferaft in the darkness. "N! Stop! It's not real!"

It's not real? Ludicrous. The blood splatters on their face are more than real. Keep going; stopping now will only mean punishment.

Then, they feel it. A soft hand daring to touch their blazing skin amongst the carnage. Then, the screams; so loud, as if coming from inside their very head.

Wait. It is.

MC.

The fire burns out, and only you remain. You hold out your hands in front of you, skin already blistering.

N gasps. "My dear... I didn't mean--"

You shake your head. "I know. I'm just glad you are okay."

Umbra: Darkness; the abyss; the endless nothing. No pain, no touch, no freedom... They always guessed they would end up back here, but not yet. They still have a purpose... but more than that... they feel desire. Desire? No, no, no, no... that is not right. If they still have desire, they still have feelings.

MC? Where is MC? They can't move, they can't breathe... yet they yearn for them. Everything is wrong. It's all mixed up inside them. Take it all away. If they can't be with MC, they do not want it. Any of it. Let them forget. They will disappear into the shadows forever, only being pulled by the strings of their handler.

"Umbra! Look at me!"

They would recognise that voice amidst any darkness. "MC?!" Fear (they still fear) grips their heart. Why are you here? Where are you? They need to find you before you are swallowed whole.

Then, a hand. It grips their arm, and Umbra thinks their strings are being pulled. Away. Away. Away from you. Umbra turns, teeth tearing at the strings, desperately attempting to cut themselves loose.

You scream.

The light dispels the darkness instantaneously. Umbra's lip wobbles with the fear, but then they see you, grimacing down at a bite mark in your hand.

Umbra's hands shake. "I'm terrible... a monster... I can't-- I shouldn't--"You ignore the pain you feel, reaching out to pull Umbra into an embrace, but they pull away. "No, I can't... I don't deserve--"

"Enough, Umbra," you chastise gently, "you are enough."

#ask answer #taj #umbra knight #nazu raumon #naera raumon #simon selby #rain #simone selby #interactive fiction

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belliexpog · 1 day ago

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heyy i was wondering if you Could do Sae byeok x fem reader and reader is pregnant. Like Maybe headcanons on the things she would do While you are pregnant like making sure you ate Well (you two would go to her moms house a lot and her mom would say to you, to eat more While Sae byeok is just adoring you) makes sure that you are comfortable when cuddleing, never lets you lift a finger, is there when you are feeling really sick in the morning, tries the thing Where she is behind you and she gently lifts your tummy releaving All the pain in your back and tailbone. (She adores the way you dip your head back on her shoulder and close your eyes, humming How Good it feels as she lift your tummy) and more.

thank you and have a wonderful Day or Night.

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Two babies in one- Sae-Byeok

(headcanons in points + writing)

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The discovery:

Her jaw would drop in shock that the insemination actually worked

"BABY, WE'RE PREGNET!"

She would certainly cry with joy.

Headcanons:

With confusion on her face, she holds up the small, light wooden box, opening it slightly. You shift your position on the bed, sitting up better to see her reaction, with an anxious smile. And She gives you a suspicious look and opens the box. The box was lined with gray crepe paper, but she didn't pay any attention to it, seeing a gray baby bodysuit and the pregnancy test on top. "Baby...Is this...?" She asks, looking at you fearfully with a gleam of hope in her eyes. Your smile widened, and you placed your hand on your stomach, nodding. The girl opens her mouth in shock and puts the box aside, throwing herself on top of you on the bed, kissing you all over. "Baby, we're pregnant! Oh my god..." You let out a laugh, nodding and wrapping your arms around the girl's neck. Her expression suddenly changes, becoming worried. She rolls over, now lying next to you, and places her hand on your belly. "I can't crush the baby..." She murmurs, worried. You He let out a loud laugh and pushed her hand away. "The child is still a seed. There is nothing to crush here."

Telling the mother-in-law and Cheol:

Her mother was super happy, as it was her dream to be a grandmother.

Cheol smiled and said, "A new friend!"

Sae's mother gave you several tips on what to do, what not to do, what you can eat and what you can't eat, everything you needed to know, and Sae listened very carefully, taking mental notes.

Your mother-in-law was the most helpful person ever, often coming to your house to help with things while Sae worked, taking Cheol with her so he could distract you.

Her mother-in-law also makes a point of filling your plate with food, now with less fat and more nutrients, because "it's a mother and her baby who were eating"

First Trimester (Weeks 1-12):

Even though the girl (Sae) HATES reading, she bought pregnancy books to help her to better understand your mood changes or physical disposition.

She bought a new mattress just so you could sleep better, since, according to her, "the book said that in the first trimester of pregnancy, pregnant women could spend a lot of time sleeping."

She doesn't get irritated by your mood swings, just confused. But she takes a deep breath, nods her head and just goes with the flow, not wanting to disagree with you.

Headcanons:

You were exchanging kisses lying in bed, when suddenly, you get up and run to the bathroom. The girl quickly got up, sitting on the bed, seeing you going to the bathroom. As soon as she heard vomiting sounds, she quickly He got up and went to the bathroom, kneeling beside her and grabbing her hair, pulling it away from her face. "Oh baby..." she murmurs, mostly to herself, looking at you with concern. She didn't get up from the floor until you were completely okay. She helped you getting up and washing your face. She made you lie down while she went to get you food.

Second Trimester (Weeks 13-26)

She is SO happy to see your belly growing.

Believe me, she started to become a thousand times more affectionate. Kissing your belly, talking to the baby and helping you to sit.

She drools when she sees you in maternity dresses, or just in your underwear. She simply thinks you look magnificent with your huge belly.

She massages your feet every night, and this gave her the opportunity to buy several body creams thanks to your influence.

Headcanons:

You walked around the store, actually you walked and Sae carried the cart with the groceries, eventually asking you what else was on the list. She didn't really like the idea of you going out and making some kind of effort, but since she knew that it wasn't healthy to spend all your time sitting or lying down every day, she made an exception. Sae crouched down, looking at the section of shower creams and gels. "You like vanilla, don't you?" She asked, picking up a vanilla shower gel and looking at the label. The older woman gave you a quick glance, as you stood with your legs slightly apart, one hand on your back and the other on your belly, lightly patting your face as you looked at a moisturizing cream. "Mhm...Vanilla is perfect" You mumbled, picking up the moisturizer and opening it to smell it. Sae nodded and smiled, standing up and putting it in the cart, seeing the cream you had put on She raised an eyebrow and looked at you. "Me and the baby have to have our skin moisturized... And smelling good." You say, running your hand over your belly and smiling slightly. Sae shrugged, turning to walk again. “That makes sense.”

Third Trimester (Weeks 27-40):

She started to be more careful with you, as she knew that the birth was near.

She would always go with you to the bathroom and help you if you needed it.

At night she would NOT sleep until she was sure you were asleep, because she knew you were having trouble falling asleep.

Every time you woke up to go to the bathroom, she would sit on the bed, watching, and only go back to sleep if you were also asleep.

She started to prepare the delivery bag: With the baby's clothes, your clothes, some hygiene items, diapers for you and the baby, a blanket for you and another for the baby.

You also decorated the baby's room, but it was Sae who did everything, you just gave orders and opinions.

She always got scared when you had contractions.

Headcanons:

"But why paint the colors pink or blue? Use a light gray. When the child is born, the kid will decide. We don't even know if the child will like pink or blue!" You said, leaning against the doorframe, with Sae in the middle of the room, with her hands on her hips, looking at the walls. She nodded, and then looked at you "You're right, princess. Gray it will be!" She said, and smiled looking at you. "And put an armchair or small sofa on that wall, it will look nice. Now I'm going to the bathroom, I'm worried." You said and turned around, walking quickly with difficulty,with her legs spread and her hands behind her back. Sae held back her laughter and followed you to the bathroom.

Labor & Delivery:

Headcanons:

As usual, at 9:30 pm you were already asleep - or trying to -. It was then that one night in January, at 11:00 pm, some strong contractions woke you up. You woke up, moaning in pain.It stopped for a few seconds, but not even a minute later the contractions started again, moving up your back and into your belly too. Sae woke up to the groaning, and immediately said, "You wet the bed..." She mumbled, sitting up in bed, but when she saw that it was too much to be pee, all her senses awakened. "Oh, fuck!" She stood up and walked over to your side of the bed, helping you up. "Shower... Let me take a shower..." You moaned, leaning against her. "No fucking way, honey! You're going straight from the car to the hospital!" Luckily, the delivery bag was already in the car. She reached into her bag, put your cell phones in there, and grabbed the car keys. "Can you walk?" You looked at her, leaning on the bedroom vanity, with your hand on your belly and shook your head. She nodded and walked over to you, picking you up. "I'm training for the future," she jokes, leaving the room, making you laugh in the midst of so much pain. You chose to have a natural birth, aware of the pain, but wanting to feel it. The birth, besides being painful, was at the same time wonderful, because as soon as your little figure arrived in your arms, you immediately stopped crying, you felt as if you were falling in love again, cause you really were. You looked at the face of that tiny being, seeing your features in it. How did such a thing come out of you? Was that cutie less than 50cm tall that would one day come out of your wings? Tears rolled down your face, Sae's hand brushed away the hair stuck to your forehead and smiled. "Hold on, you're the mother too." You said, lightly lifting the baby in your arms. Sae shook her head and smiled. "Let the doctors take the baby and take care of him/her. I have to take care of another baby." You smiled, and the doctor came closer, wanting to take the baby. With a little pity you handed the child into the doctor's arms, and watched him leave. You turned your head to Sae and smiled. "It's so tiny..." The girl let out a laugh and pulled the chair behind her to sit closer to you. She sighed, sitting down and took your hand, stroking it, while the other stroked your forehead. "It's true, princess... It's very tiny..."

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taglist: @vigilxntesht @wtvlmaosstuff

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MAN THIS IS SOSOSOSOSO CUTE

I love you anon for this idea 🙌🏽

Hope you liked it babies!

Xoxo!

#kang sae byeok #sae byeok #sapphic #sapphism #067 x reader #squid game 067 #player 067 #067 #pregnancy #wlw post #squid game #cute

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foreignjaykay · 1 day ago

Text

company (a jungkook fic)

part one - "you wish i'd miss you,"

company - a jungkook fic

can we keep each other company?

their workplace was chaos, but jungkook made it fun. their camaraderie was effortless—until he decided to leave. no big deal. people quit all the time. so why does it feel like everything is about to change?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: r18+ (angst, fluff) minors do not interact!

chapter warnings/misc: workplace!au, coworkers!au, event planner!jk, event planner!oc, jk is not famous, angst, fluff, sad, crack, event planner!mingyu, bts in event planning company, unserious friend group, they are so silly and unserious, mean boss - yeah no she sucks, flirty!jk, dense af!jk, shy!oc, ANGST, IDIOTS both of them, yeah i guess thats it...for now hehe

notes: hello everyone!!! hehe its my first fic on tumblr and my first ever jk fic so i really hope you guys like it. im writing after so mant years so please ignore some mistakes. its kinda based on my experiences so yeah. its intentional whatever you are reading hauahahah, things will only get interesting as well progress.. lots of characters will come in the next chapter, this is just the base. It picks up from the second chapter!! anywho lets get into it!! <3

moodboard • playlist • series masterlist

The first thing you saw when you unlocked your phone this morning was a text from Jungkook. That in itself was weird—he wasn’t the type to be up this early, let alone texting people.

jaykay (work) [8:50am]: hi :)

you [8:50am]: oh my god. what did you forget?

jaykay (work) [8:51am]: have some faith in me. i was texting for something entirely different. 😒

you[8:51am]: are you sick? held hostage? blink twice if you need help.

jaykay (work) [8:52am]: how da hell are u so dramatic in the morning

you [8:52am]: come to the point jungkook

jaykay [8:52am]: fine. 🙄 don’t bring lunch today

you [8:53am]: why?

jaykay (work) [8:53am]: lunch is on me. taking you, shane and mingyu out for ramen

you [8:53am]: 🤨🤨🤨

jaykay (work) [8:54am]: see you in office🥰

You squinted at the screen, trying to process the words through your morning haze. This man barely made it to work before noon on most days, always breezing in with an iced americano and a sheepish grin. And yet here he was, awake and making lunch plans at 9 AM? Suspicious. Very suspicious.

It’s fixed, you know? Him being late to work, getting sarcastic remarks from the bosses - Natasha, the reporting manager (god did she love micromanaging the team) and Kim Song, the director of your company.

But whatever, free ramen was free ramen and, on that note, you finally woke up and went to get ready for the weird day that was ahead of you.

By the time you got to the office, the usual chaos had already begun. Natasha, wasn’t physically present today, thank the lord for that, you thought, but her presence loomed over Zoom calls like a dark cloud. You had barely set down her bag before her laptop screen lit up with an incoming call. Does this woman ever chill?

“Good morning, team,” Natasha’s clipped voice rang out as the screen loaded. “Let’s go over the deliverables for today.” Her screen was hidden and she was on a holiday like she had very explicitly mentioned the week before she left.

You suppressed a groan as you saw Jungkook and Mingyu joining the call too. Shane, their CS intern, looked half-asleep. Jungkook, though, was oddly quiet, his usual playful banter nowhere to be seen. His leg bounced under the desk, fingers drumming against the tabletop.

You shot him a look, but he didn’t meet your eyes.

Okay that was weird, wasn’t it?

You looked towards Mingyu and Shane to see if they noticed Jungkook being a little off today but to your surprise they were engrossed on what Natasha was instructing on the upcoming event which was the luxurious Cartier dinner.

Classic Natasha, putting her work on us while she sips on pina coladas on the beach after this 10-minute meeting. You wanted to be as carefree as her sometimes, how easily she just threw her tasks on others.

Throughout the meeting, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Jungkook which thankfully he didn’t notice.

Or at least that’s what you thought.

Jungkook knew you. He knew how curious you got sometimes and he also knew currently the wheels were turning in your head wondering why he was being so awkward. He smiled internally, thinking how much you knew him and how much he was going to miss you.

If you kept looking at him like that, he was going to crack. He just hoped you wouldn’t figure it out before he told you himself.

Once the meeting was over, you quickly went towards the design studio in the office, greeting Yuna and So-hee who seemed like had just come to office with the way they were switching on their systems for the day.

“I really need the final design renders for the stage setup and the seating plan for Cartier, Yuna,” You said worried knowing that if you don’t get these renders in next half an hour then the costing would delay and then Natasha…yeah no.

Its as if Jungkook got a sign, he entered the design studio greeting Yuna, So-hee, and Dae and standing next to you as if to ease the tension you had going on.

“Babe, give me 10 minutes, the renders are ready. I’ll email it to you, Natasha and Namjoon,” Yuna said as she started working on her system. You nodded your head and gave her a worried smile.

“Mark me in the email too,” Jungkook said instantly and you gave him a pointed look. Yuna seemed to mirror your thoughts and raised her eyebrows towards him.

Seeing that you both were confused, Jungkook chuckles and says, “__, you should be happy that I am willingly asking to be marked on emails,” which makes you roll your eyes playfully and smirk.

“Also, I don’t have nothing big going on currently, project wise, so I’ll follow up for the costings and Natasha will stay away from my ass,” Jungkook continues and laughs with Yuna, So-hee and Dae.

You looked at him as he was sort of back in his carefree self but something still felt off. You just couldn’t put your finger on what this feeling was.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough. The second Natasha’s second call for the day wrapped up the call, you shut your laptop and turned towards Jungkook who along with Mingyu and Shane was joking and was waiting for you to get done.

“Okay, spill. What’s with the mystery since today morning?” You immediately asked him and he couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

Mingyu slung an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, grinning. “Yeah, dude. You’re making me nervous.”

Shane, ever the observer, just raised a brow. “Is this about work? God I can’t wait to dig into some good ramen after hearing Natasha ramble since past 15 mins. 15 mins with her feel like 2 hours,” Shane continued rambling earning laughs from the three of you.

Jungkook let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get to lunch first.”

That didn’t help your growing suspicion, but you let it slide—at least until the 4 of you reached the ramen place.

The aroma of rich broth and sizzling garlic filled the tiny ramen shop. Shane and Mingyu were already practically vibrating with hunger, menus discarded, ready to order. You, however, were still scanning the options, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. Just as you were about to decide, you and Jungkook spoke in unison: “Japchae.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up. “You wanna have japchae too?” you asked, a little thrill of connection sparking despite the weirdness of the morning. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, and ordered for both of you.

Minutes later, steaming bowls of ramen and the shared plate of japchae arrived. The savory scent made your mouth water. You took a tentative bite of the japchae, the noodles perfectly chewy, the vegetables crisp and flavorful. It was delicious. But Jungkook just sat there, chopsticks hovering over his bowl. He had a strange expression—not quite annoyed, but… something. You knew that look. It was his tell when food was exceptionally good. That’s just his weird trait.

You took the second bite yourself to see if it was and it was really good.

“I got another job.”

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

Then, Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook shifted in his seat, avoiding their gazes. “I got an offer from an event company. They handle production for A-list musicians—concerts, world tours, all of it.” But you could see how proud he was. This was his dream.

“Oh, shit, that’s huge,” Shane said, eyes wide and dramatically keeping his chopsticks on the side.

Jungkook looked at you trying to gauge for your reaction.

You swallowed, gripping your chopsticks a little tighter. “Wow. That’s… incredible, Jungkook.” You said genuinely but why did it feel so off? Why did it feel like you were losing everything? People leave jobs all the time and this is no different, so why was it feeling all to different suddenly?

When you congratulated him, you meant it. You really did. He deserved this. But there was a weird, hollow feeling in your chest. Something tight that you couldn’t quite name.

Jungkook was watching you and asked, “You okay?”

You forced a smile but to everyone it looked genuine. “Of course. This is a big deal. I am so happy for you, Jungkook!” Mingyu and Shane mirrored your smile and congratulated him to which Jungkook threw an honest smile.

His eyes still lingered for a second longer before he nodded, turning his attention back to his food. But you could tell he didn’t fully believe you.

Mingyu and Shane immediately started asking him the questions about his new company and the new job and Jungkook excitedly answered them all and you were interested too to know all the details.

Once the 4 of you were done with the lunch, you asked him, “So when are you telling Natasha?”

“Next week, and then 2 weeks’ notice,” He said looking at you as if he was trying to find an emotion out of you.

“Damn bro, you are leaving us so soon.” Shane said and you looked at Jungkook.

“Now at least I will have some proper desk space at the office,” You tried to joke which earned you a playful eye roll from Jungkook.

“Oh my god, I have to plan a farewell party for you now,” Mingyu joked and you laughed. For the whole lunch, this is the first time Jungkook noticed you genuinely smiling and it was all thanks to Mingyu’s dramatic nature.

The rest of the workday felt strangely off-balance. Even though nothing had technically changed yet, you felt the weight of the upcoming shift pressing down on you. The knowledge that soon, Jungkook wouldn’t be here anymore—wouldn’t be there to roll his eyes at Natasha’s ridiculous demands, wouldn’t be crashing at her desk with an iced coffee and a new piece of gossip, wouldn’t be around to share those unspoken glances when things got too absurd.

You had started hating how much that realization unsettled you.

It was Jungkook who got you out of your dazed thoughts when he said, “___, I have asked Namjoon hyung for the Cartier costing and he is working on it,”

You threw a sincere smile towards him and nodded while he went back on his desk and worked on some small projects he had going on.

gyu (work) [3pm]: are you okay?

Once you read the text, you immediately looked at him but he acted to be so engrossed in his work and you couldn’t help but look back into your phone and text back

you [3:01pm]: yeah, why?

gyu (work) [3:01pm]: you sure about that? ever since jk dropped that bomb, you have been quiet and so has he.

That got your attention. Were you that obvious?

you [3:02pm]: no nothing like that. im happy that he got this. he deserves it!! also when is the blue label bottle engraving costing going to the client? natasha has been on my ass about it since morning. send it asap please <33

gyu [3:03pm]: girl i gotta give it to you, nice attempt to change the convo but we aren’t done yet. ugh why are you my senior? im sending it in 5

By the time the day ended and finally the costings for Cartier had gone out (thanks to Jungkook and Joon), you had convinced yourself you were just being dramatic. People left jobs all the time. This wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

Mingyu and Shane had already left for the day and the design studio was also empty leaving only you and Jungkook in the client servicing department. For a Monday, people had left earlier than usual, you thought to yourself.

You looked at the clock and saw it was 7pm already.

While you packed your bags, like routine, Jungkook waited for you. He dropped you home everyday given that you both lived nearby and your apartment came on the way to his.

However, the silence between the two of you felt heavier than usual.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said as the two of you entered the elevator.

You forced a laugh and adjusted your purse, trying to look anywhere but at him. “So are you.”

The two of you exited the elevator and sat in his car, he started the engine. For the first time ever, the silence between the two of you was uncomfortable.

Jungkook sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he took the familiar route and said, “Are you really happy for me?”

You immediately turned to look at him, meeting his gaze in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Yes, I am. Why would you think I am not?”

His smile was small, a little sad. “Alright. You and I haven’t spoken much since lunch,”

You didn’t know why, but something in your chest ached at that. But you ignored it, and looking towards and giving him a smile and said, “Jungkook, I am so happy for you. I am. I know you wanted this and now you have it,”

For the first time in the whole day, he smiled genuinely at you.

“Will you miss me?,” He asked as he stopped the car right out of your apartment and looked at you with his doe eyes that carry the sta-

Wait what?!

You ignored whatever that thought was and quickly composed yourself and laughed at him. “You wish I would miss you,” You joked playfully and he rolled his eyes.

“On a serious note, yes I will. Who will I tolerate Natasha with?” You continued and he let out a small chuckle.

“Anyway I have to go. See you tomorrow boss,” you finally said, and then you were gone, disappearing into the building.

Jungkook sat there for a moment, staring after you.

He knew you better than you thought. He knew when you were genuinely happy, when you were just pretending, when you were holding back something you didn’t want to say. And tonight, you were definitely holding back.

Jungkook sighed, leaning his head back against the car seat. Leaving this job was supposed to be exciting, a step up, an opportunity of a lifetime. And it was.

But why did it feel like he was losing something, too?

#jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts hobi #jin bts #mingyu #bts namjoon #bts jimin #bts taehyung #fic: company #workplace au #office au

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kimoralov3 · 1 day ago

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click cute - 16

<- previous next -> | masterlist

your suitcase rolls behind you as you step into the air bnb, taking in your surroundings. being friends with sarah definitely had it’s perks.

“y/n, you’re here!” you hear a voice call from the top of the stairs. you remove your glasses with a smile, bracing yourself as sarah runs up and hugs you.

“sarah! oh my god, you look so good! fresh highlights?” you ask as you pull away, taking in your friend’s new look.

“of course. you know i had to look good for vacation.” she says as she does a little shoulder shimmy. you snort at that. she was really something else. “how was your flight? sorry i couldn’t go with you, i had to get here early to make sure everything was all good.”

“girl, you flew us first class. even if i did have complaints, you would not be hearing anything from me.” you say as you loop your arms together. she throws her head back in laughter, bumping her hip with yours.

“glad you enjoyed it. only the best for my girls.” she says teasingly before turning her head towards the stairs. “john b! come down here really quick!”

the sound of quick footsteps follow sarah’s call, along with the visual of a brown haired boy taking the steps two at a time. “oh hey, you must be y/n.” he says as he holds his arm out for a handshake.

“yeah, i am! it’s nice to meet the guy sarah won’t shut up about.” you say, causing sarah to playfully elbow you in the side. john b laughs at that, pulling sarah closer to him and slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“all good things, i’d hope.” he says as he presses a kiss to her head. as much as you hated to admit it in an attempt of solidarity with lex, the two of them were cute together. really cute together.

“so, is anyone else here? or are we the first ones?” you ask as you grab hold of your suitcase once more.

“oh no, jess and jj are upstairs ‘blessing’ their room.” sarah says with barely contained laughter. you make a face of disgust, a hand coming up to your chest.

“ew, gross. please tell me my room isn’t right next to theirs?” you ask with a laugh.

sarah quickly shakes her head. “oh no, i could never do that to you. me, john b, and lex’s room is right next to theirs.” she explains. oh, thank god. you could not handle sleeping next to an overly “touchy” couple and— wait a minute.

“wait, you guys are sharing with lex? why?” you ask as you look between the two of them. god, let’s put those facial muscles to use to hide your shock at how bad of an idea this was.

“there’s only four rooms. we figured jess and jj would need their own rooms, and pope and rafe can’t share for some reason—” sarah starts.

“rafe complains about pope staying up all night to play his games, pope complains about rafe waking up at ungodly hours to do his in room workout routines or whatever.” john b intercepts as he scratches his eyebrow. there was definitely a story there.

“so i’m rooming with pope?” you ask for clarification. judging by the look on sarah’s face, that was not quite the case.

“no, actually. you’re uh, you’re rooming with rafe.” she says, looking anywhere but your eyes.

this was fine. it wasn’t a big deal. the two of you had made up or whatever, so you weren’t really mad at him anymore. but there was that whole thing about you possibly hearing him call you cute, so it was still awkward, as some people would say.

“that’s fine!” you say, pretending not to notice how high your voice had gotten. you clear your throat before speaking again. “so, does that mean pope is rooming with cleo and aubs?”

“oh, yeah. there really wasn’t anywhere else to put him. plus you know how aubs is, she goes to sleep pretty late anyways.” sarah says. she had a point; you had woken up to one too many 2 am text messages from aubree about any and everything that was on her mind.

“well good luck to pope.” you say with a chuckle, ignoring that pesky feeling in the pit of your stomach. you were overreacting, really. it wouldn’t be that bad, or awkward, or weird or whatever to room with rafe.

right?

taglist: @arkofblake @ivysprophecy @murdockcastleslut @lmaowhatt @fruitcakerafe @ayy1234567 @freyawhitexxx1 @my-name-is-baby @baocean @yesshewrites1 @gxuxhdjdu @cyberkitty1 @hypnotizedstarkey @eddxemxnson @amterasuu @bee-43 @dreamybabbyy @hello-therree @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @starsval @cali-888 @chalametlover444 @uarmyhopeworldwide

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron imagine #kimoralov3

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utilitycaster · 2 days ago

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After that final scene I was just like oh so C3 was just the Keyleth story then. We were just with the background characters to her story. It is just something to me that BH didn't even get the final scene in their own campaign. Like Godkiller was just B story to Keyleth's A story that we didn't see. Just some parts of the BH story Keyleth sends Orym on a mission, call Keyleth to heal Launda, Keyleth back up at the key to save the day, Keyleth's former lover comes and becomes a ball, gotta heal Keyleth from her poison, Keyleth has a friend at the shattered teeth etc. This is not meant as a Keyleth hate ask or anything I hope it isn't coming off as that.

I disagree, or rather, at times that did happen but I do not think it was the intent going in.

I think that Keyleth getting involved with Laudna's death was really the point where this campaign took a downturn from which it never recovered, and I will admit as someone who enjoyed Orym I remain kind of like "Liam, this was the idea that stuck in your head for 4 years?" but I think a lot of this was like...Bells Hells not really having anything they wanted or cared about enough to pursue so you did have to lean on the past characters, who were intentionally brought in. I think the reason you might feel this way is that like...again, there weren't really consequences or strong connections from Bells Hells, whereas Keyleth as a character from C1 was awash in those consequences and connections. So, for example, the mission to get the flowers actually was in my opinion a good fetch quest...but Otohan mysteriously never used that poison on the PCs despite killing four of them on separate occasions, so it felt like Keyleth was real and they were shadows in their own narrative, moving through it but largely unaffected. The Shattered Teeth was a fun peek at a new part of the world but the only real outcome was them getting the shards; they didn't like, connect with this location or think about it meaningfully, so again, Keyleth feels more real as someone with actual memories and connection to it.

As for Vax coming back: I think it's truly one of the weakest choices made in the history of actual play and I listen and watch a LOT of actual play but (and I could be wrong, and if this was an intended endgame my opinion will dip further) it feels like the option where Bells Hells leaves Predathos sealed or the one where the gods are eaten would not end in this result. I think if the Raven Queen is destroyed Vax simply dies; one could argue he rejoins a cycle of death and rebirth now but without him being consecuted I think that means he has no knowledge of who he was in his next life, as in most real-world reincarnation beliefs; and if the gods never have to flee and Predathos remains sealed then the situation continues as it always has. We happened to get that ending, but, at least I hope, it was not an inevitability.

#cr spoilers #answered #anonymous

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sillysturns · 1 day ago

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⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒃 ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

The spotlight hit me like a confession, a blinding truth as you walked onstage. I scan the crowd, the realization hitting me like the ton of bricks. Tonight was different. Tonight I was opening for Madison Beer at the Spinnin Tour. Tonight, I was laying out my soul, pink and glitter-dusted.

I grabbed the glittery microphone, its cold metal a familiar comfort against my already sweating palm. A ripple went through the crowd. Some knew. Some were about to.

"Alright, guys," I murmured into the mic, my voice a little shaky at first. "Tonight, we're doing something a little different. Normally I open with Hot To Go, but I'm singing a song most of you probably know, " A nervous laugh bubbled up, and I forced it down. "This one's for anyone who's ever felt like they belonged in a place that didn't exist."

The opening chords of "Pink Pony Club" started, raw and unapologetically feminine. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over you, letting it possess me. This wasn't just singing; this was a fucking exorcism, a declaration, a homecoming. Because the Pink Pony Club wasn't just a place; it was a state of mind, a rebellion, a celebration of being unapologetically yourself.

The soft opening chords blared through the speakers, an explosion that vibrated in my chest. Spotlights hit me, bathing me in a warm, almost tangible light. I gripped the microphone, took a deep breath, and launched into "Pink Pony Club."

"I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't ignore the crazy visions of me in LA..."

The crowd roared. I saw them instantly in the sea of faces. Matt, my boyfriend, standing tall and handsome, a smile plastered across his face that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Beside him, Nick and Chris, my other two best friends, practically bouncing with excitement. They knew this song, knew the story behind it. Leaving Tennessee, the whispers, the raised eyebrows - they knew it all.

"And I heard that there's a special place, where boys and girls can all be queens every single day,"

My voice soared and tears of happiness filled my eyes, fueled by the energy of the music and the love radiating from the front row. I winked at Matt as I sang "I'm having wicked dreams of leaving Tennessee," and he waved goofily, his eyes sparkling with pride. He understood, even if mom and dad back home never would.

The chorus hit, a tidal wave of sound.

"God, what have you done? You're a pink pony girl, and you dance at the club! Oh mama, I'm just having fun! On the stage in my heels, it's where I belong down at the Pink Pony Club!"

The crowd sang along, every single word. They were my people, they understood this beautiful, slightly chaotic world of West Hollywood. Tears sprung to my eyes as I pointed the microphone towards the crowd during the refrain, and they screamed the lyrics back at me, their faces flushed with joy.

The song pulsed with a raw energy. I strutted across the stage, my shimmering pink dress swaying with every move. I was lost in the music, in the lights, in the collective joy of everyone in the room.

During the second verse, I let my eyes sweep across the audience. There were girls with bows, cowgirl hats, beautiful dresses, and people dressed completely normal, all united by their love for music, (and Madison Beer). This was the "special place" I'd been singing about.

"I thank my wicked dreams a year from Tennessee, oh, Santa Monica, you've been too good to me." I belted out, feeling a surge of gratitude.

As the song neared its climax, I saw a couple making out passionately near the bar, bathed in the glow of the disco ball. I saw a group of friends taking selfies, their faces lit up with laughter. I saw someone crying, tears streaming down their face, lost in the emotion of the moment. Their stories are all different, but it brought them here nonetheless.

And then came the bridge, my favorite part of the song, the part that always brought a lump to my throat.

"Don't think I've left you all behind, still love you and Tennessee, you're always on my mind. And mama, every Saturday, I can hear your southern drawl a thousand miles away, saying..."

I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. The entire stadium held its breath.

"...God, what have you done?"

The chorus exploded again, even louder than before. I threw my head back and let the music wash over me, the feeling of belonging so strong it brought tears to my own eyes.

As the final notes faded, and the lights dimmed, the crowd erupted in applause. I bowed, breathless and exhilarated. I looked back at the front row. Matt was so amazed, clapping wildly. Nick and Chris were jumping up and down, beaming proudly.

This was it. This was my dream come true. This was where I belonged. And as I walked off stage, the echoes of "Pink Pony Club" still ringing in my ears, I knew, with every fucking fiber of my being, that I was going to keep on dancing.

authors note: this is from the pov of content creator and singer reader!!!

im at rock bottom writing wise, so the only place to go is up (Matt's ass)(jk jk)!!!

also ever since I watched Chappells grammy performance this song has had me in a chokehold

divider creds to the icon: @bernardsbendystraws

love ya, from maya [happy]

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew bernard sturniolo #sturniolo fandom

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louiseolivier · 10 hours ago

Text

Fluffebruary: Moving in Together

Written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

AO3 link

It was dark out and late, probably close to 10PM. All their friends and family had gone, leaving Buck and Tommy alone in their new home—a 90’s built split-level in a truly sickening shade of yellow. Unfortunately, painting the siding was low on the list of maintenance the house needed.

Buck had his stint in construction, and Tommy painstakingly renovated the Craftsman he recently sold for a small fortune, so a lot of it they could do themselves. What they wouldn’t fuck with was electrical, and the house needed a new A/C unit. Of course, it was the middle of July, and their choices were to wait a week for a crew to come out or pay what Buck considered grand larceny to bump their job up to priority. They stupidly chose the former.

Buck sat on the floor in front of the couch, keying in streaming passwords, and, WOW, was that a conversation he never thought he’d have.

“So, do we keep my Nexflix?”

“No. I’ve been with them since they were disc only.”

“Bu-but my recommendations.”

“Too bad.”

Tommy came in with the fan from their bedroom. “Oh, thank God!” Buck groaned and threw his head back, reveling in the blast of air as soon as Tommy turned it on. The doorbell rang, and he gave a punch of joy. The pizza had arrived. The first delivery to their home. Just in time, too, because Buck was ready to gnaw his arm off.

Tommy returned with the pies and unceremoniously plopped them onto Buck’s lap. He swung his leg over Buck’s shoulder and sat behind him on the couch. Buck handed Tommy the top pie, opened the one on his lap, and then they both closed their respective boxes and switched.

Buck hated onions, and Tommy hated green peppers, and both were sick of abstaining for the sake of the other. They could, and did once, order half and half, but it was impossible to not find a stray onion on Buck’s side or for the green peppers not to permeate the entire pie. Now, they each order their own. Which was no hardship, honestly.

They didn't keep their own Netflix accounts. Not at over $17 a month, they weren’t. They canceled and kept Tommy’s Hulu bundle and Buck’s Max account, but if they decided to resubscribe in the future, they would sign up with their email. The joint email their joint bills were sent, like the mortgage, gas, electric, and garbage. All the things Buck hadn’t had to deal with being a lifelong renter. It was freaking exhilarating!

Buck turned his head and kissed Tommy’s knee. He rubbed his stubble against it and then dug into his onionless pizza. “How’s your back?” he asked around a mouthful.

Tommy’s blunt nails scratched against his scalp, and Buck moved into it. “I’ll live. I thought about digging through the bathroom boxes for the heating pad, but it’s so hot, I’m sure you putting your hand against it would be just as good.” Buck snorted and then groaned, throwing his slice back into the box. “What’s wrong?” Tommy asked.

“This one wants the password. No QR code. And it’s one of yours, so it’s, like 20 characters,” Buck groused.

“Poor, baby,” Tommy cooed.

Buck gave a soft grin. He couldn’t see him, but just from his tone, Buck knew Tommy had his head tipped back, eyes closed, chewing absentmindedly. They were both exhausted, and all Buck wanted to do was start a movie and eat pizza with his partner. In their home.

“Hey, remember cable?” Buck asked. He pulled his phone close and tried to figure out if the next letter was an uppercase I or a lowercase l. “It was kind of amazing, right? Maybe we should cancel all of this and get cable instead.”

The hand in hair gripped and gave a light tug. “I do remember, and I remember how hellish it was trying to get out of it. No dice.” Tommy went back to scratching, and Buck grunted, dissatisfied with his answer but understanding Tommy’s point of view. “You know what else I remember?” Tommy asked. “Antennas. Our father refused to get cable until 1997. Not only that, but the TV we used the most was black and white.”

Buck twisted around to see Tommy's face. He was right. Tommy's head rested against the couch, and his eyes were barely open. Buck grinned uncertainly, not sure if Tommy was kidding. “Really? You only had black and white?”

“I didn’t say that. We had a huge—well, huge at the time—36” color TV that did picture-in-picture and had the option to add surround sound. But after 5PM on weekdays, and forget about the weekends, that TV became my father’s. That left the 12” black and white that still used a rotary tuner for my brother and I to fight over.”

“And since he was three years older...”

“Got his way, yeah.”

Buck gave Tommy’s knee another kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling bad for little Tommy.

Tommy shrugged. “That’s life, right? Anyway, it worked out on Fridays. TGIF was pretty much the only thing CJ and I agreed on.”

“Was that a TV show?”

Tommy froze, slice halfway to his mouth, and then he frowned. “I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not?”

Buck smirked. “I am. Sorta. Like, I’ve heard of it I’m just not 100% sure what the line-up was.”

“Most of the time, I forget there’s an age gap, and then you’ll say something...”

“In my defense, I was popculturally sheltered. Mom and Dad wanted us to read...”

“Which you hated.”

“...which I hated,” Buck agreed. “When I did get to watch, I was mostly relegated to PBS.”

“Mostly?”

“I caught a rerun of Mystery Science Theater 3000 one Sunday morning and was hooked. They didn’t object for whatever reason, so most of my movie knowledge comes from bad B movies from the 60s and 70s.”

Tommy chuckled and said affectionately, “Nerd.” He pulled himself down with a hand around Buck’s neck, and they shared a greasy, pizza-y kiss. Tommy tasted like pepperoni, sauce, and onions. Gross, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for love. Buck pushed Tommy’s pizza box out of the way and straddled his lap, logging into their streaming services forgotten. They kissed again, and Buck knew Tommy was suffering just as much with his green pepper breath.

When the kiss broke, Tommy nuzzled into Buck’s neck, and Buck stroked the sweat-damp hair at the back of Tommy’s head. It was too hot to be this close, but Buck couldn’t bring himself to care, and he was pleased to know Tommy felt the same. “You know, going forward, TV, movies, music, technology, all of it, we’ll get to experience together. The gaps between us are going to narrow.”

“They barely exist now,” Tommy said. He pulled back, staring at Buck intensely. His fingertips followed the line of Buck’s jaw, and with just a touch of pressure to his chin, Tommy tilted Buck’s face. Their lips brush together two and then three times. “I think we’re going to be happy here,” Tommy confessed.

In the house they bought, in the relationship they built, and with the love they made, Buck agreed. "I know we will.

#bucktommyfluffebruary #tevan #bucktommy #tommy kinard #kinley #buck x tommy #evan buckley #tevan fanfiction #bucktommy fanfic

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charmwasjess · 12 hours ago

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AHEM. Dooku for 2/3 and 18, 25? Or dealer's choice? Anything you like 👀👀👀👀👀

OH HEY FRIEND :D Thank you so much!!! I answered the first two here <3 <3 but I kind of went wide with 25 so I pulled in some dealer's choice. :D Couldn't resist.

18 How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

It was so tempting to write you a Sifo-Dyas essay here. Please accept this coupon for one unhinged Sifo-Dyas manifesto, to be redeemed at a time of your choosing. <3

But today, I’m thinking about Mace and Dooku. God, there’s a part in that Shatterpoint novel where Mace obsesses over the fact that he could have killed Dooku on Geonosis - he could have gone for Dooku’s head instead of Jango’s, and how much death and suffering would he have saved? And the fact that he didn’t, he went after Jango, not because he didn’t realize the importance of that decision, but for the plain fact that he didn’t want to kill Dooku.

I think two things are so interesting here - of course, I love the way that Mace vouches so hard for Dooku in AotC, and I love all that implies about the personal relationship and respect as colleagues between them. All that it hints about Dooku's post-exit relationship with the Jedi Order.

I also think it’s interesting that the questions doesn't seem to be if Mace could kill Dooku.

Here’s the part where I just pornographically imagine the duel between Mace’s Vaapad and Dooku’s Makashi and make uncomfortable noises. Arguably the two most aggressive forms, I think that fight would be insane. Mace is 6’2/1.88m, while Dooku has a few inches on him, Mace is younger and very powerfully built, so Dooku isn’t going to get his usual default “I can just reach further than you” advantages. Also, the way Mace dominates the terrain - I’m thinking of his duel in Sidious’s office - is going to be a big problem for our Count, who thrives on space in a fight and carefully balancing Makashi’s more delicate aspects with his ability to control the environment via the Force - ie, drop pieces of the architecture on his opponents heads. Cool fucking fight, cooler what-if.

What does the Separatist movement he just started look like if Dooku is captive or martyred?

25? What was your first impression of [Dooku]? How about now?

Well, my VERY first impression of this character was quite negative. Like many fans, I was enraged to find that we were getting this character and not Sith lady concept art (who would turn out to be future Asajj). Old man Sith?! Who used to be a Jedi? NO WE HAVE OLD MAN SITH WHO USED TO BE A JEDI AT HOME.

But when I first became a Dooku maniac, I spent a lot of time working backwards trying to find the actual good person the monster used to be. What was the dramatic tipping point, how much was Qui-Gon’s death a factor, how could Dooku’s fall have been stopped or redeemed?

Now the more fascinating part to me is how an actually good person becomes a monster. To me, that’s actually started to be more interesting than my old fascination with finding some big reason. I love the almost ordinary factors in his slide toward darkness - loneliness, depression, helplessness, the unwanted child compulsive urge to impress the wrong people, plain old sunk cost fallacy. He can be a surprisingly uncommitted Sith. He chains himself to Sidious.

Someone once summed up my one true fix-it fic, “Five Days to Murder Sifo-Dyas,” as “Sifo-Dyas saves Dooku using only the power of his dick,” and while that's funny, they’re right. I really think any very simple change in Dooku’s story could have got him back on track. The fascinating fact is, it didn’t. Dooku's missed connection with his own humanity and goodness.

Talking further about impressions of the character, although maybe this gets into 6. What's something you have in common with this character? territory, is that I’ve grown up with Dooku. Getting into Dooku when I was a kid and now liking the character as an adult, I realize I relate to him fundamentally differently now vs then.

Dooku and I don’t share a lot of personality traits, and I’m nowhere near his age in the films, but now I’ve been a teacher, I know how that rewires your brain. I know what it’s like to be a whole ass adult, but still meaningfully reckoning with your own ugly origin story. And god, am I fucking worried about the end of the world. His problems feel so much more real to me now.

I think both he and Sifo-Dyas have a core trait of “oh my god, what’s happening, why doesn’t everyone else SEE this, I have to do SOMETHING” driving their characters’ actions. And while I obviously don’t agree with either of their actions, I think that’s never been more relatable to me than now in 2025.

#THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME YAP <3 <3 YOU ARE THE BEST KING #god I love this bad old man #dooku #ask game

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 2 days ago

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OOOOOOOOO NEW EMOJI❣️❣️❣️❣️

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

HEY! <3

As you know, TWATK is complete, but here are the rest <3

45 for 🗻:

---

The thought is pretty exciting, actually. He finds himself excited to see little pieces of Buck in another human. Hell, he’s seen them start to develop in Chris, over the years. So a kid with fifty percent Buck DNA? That’s gotta come with some considerable personality quirks. Meant adoringly, of course.

“Mm,” Maddie shakes her head as she finishes chewing a bite of food. ‘Buck’s thing at that age was jokes. He’d memorize joke books from the library and try them on everyone he encountered.”

Eddie snorts. “Why am I not surprised?”

“So what you’re saying is,” Buck points a fork at her playfully. “I am now, and have always been, a naturally gifted comedian?”

Maddie frowns. “I don’t think I said that.”

“I don’t think anyone would say that,” Chim adds.

Christopher laughs brightly. He’s at the age where he doesn’t always engage in conversations; preferring his phone and his friends. Eddie is happy to see him involved, even a little bit. They’ve been sort of isolated from their family since Eddie brought Chris back to Los Angeles. It’s been confusing Chris, for sure. He loves his grandparents. He doesn’t understand why they were so angry about Eddie and Chris reconnecting, or Chris going home. They’ve been sort of cold to him since - a lesson Eddie never wanted Chris to learn.

Thankfully, Maddie and Chim heard the situation, and immediately started treating Christopher like he’d been their nephew all along. Birthday gifts, open invitations to whatever family things they do, genuine interest when they ask him questions. Eddie is really fucking grateful for them.

It is in the middle of Eddie appreciating Christopher’s burst of laughter, that Buck reaches for his phone in his pocket. He reads it, and his face goes pale.

“Oh, come on,” Chim teases him. “Don’t look so sad. If you try standup, we’ll only heckle you a little.”

“Uh, no…” Buck mumbles. “I-I have to go.”

Eddie straightens in his chair. “Baby?”

Buck nods. “Yeah. Text just says I should probably come to the hospital now.”

“Oh my god, go!” Maddie insists. “Go, go, go. Don’t worry, we’ll drive Eddie and Chris home.”

---

111 for 🦮:

---

“Alright,” Eddie laughs. “Alright, enough. You’ll rip it. Out. Drop it.”

Out is when you’re going to give it back to her, drop it is when she’s never going to get it back again, Buck’s voice runs through his head.

“Drop it,” Eddie repeats.

Cranberry stills and opens her jaw reluctantly, spitting out the band. She looks rather put out to stop her mischief.

“Menace,” he says to her, examining the band.

Eddie examines the band. There is a tooth puncture.

“You owe me,” he tells her. “Gonna have to take it out of your kibble allowance.”

She wags her tail again, a little slower.

Eddie crumples up the band and sits on the floor beside her. She crawls onto his lap and lays down flat. Eddie pets her in long, gentle strokes, from the top of her skull, down her spine, to her tail.

He’s spent the past few therapy sessions around one central discussion. That it has taken him a month to feel any sort of relief. Any sort of appreciation or gratitude for his life. It’s not that he was disappointed that he didn’t die. Obviously not that. But he spent weeks waiting to feel glad he didn’t, and he couldn’t summon that. His therapist said that that’s normal. That lots of people who go through trauma experience this sort of thing. That it doesn’t make him ungrateful or a bad partner or father. That as long as he keeps working on it, slowly, it’ll come back to him. Even if some of this experience will always be with him.

And here he is now. On the floor with Cranberry, exhausted and sore and feeling like he’s been put on a stretching rack, but happy. Glad. Amused, even.

Cranberry takes a big breath. He can feel her heartbeat on his legs.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t die,” he whispers to the dog.

🦮🦮🦮

Later that afternoon, Eddie picks Chris up from school. Buck gets home not long after the two of them. Eddie has already started getting stuff ready for dinner. He’s experiencing a weird and unexpected burst of energy.

“Hey,” Buck says cautiously, walking into the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“Good,” Eddie smiles, crossing the space to kiss him hello. “You?”

Buck just sort of stares at him. “Uh…”

“Not good?” Eddie frowns. “Something happen?”

“No, no,” Buck shakes his head. “Uh, work was fine. Your day was good?”

“Yeah!” Eddie confirms. “But your dog put a hole in my resistance band, and I don’t go back to physio for four more days, so if I have permanent shoulder issues, we’re blaming the golden retriever.”

“Wow, uh. Sorry about that, but-”

“It’ll be fine,” Eddie dismisses it. “Do you know my shoulder is doing well enough to play a quick game of tug with physiotherapy equipment?”

Buck laughs a little breathlessly. “I’m so glad you had a good day.”

And Eddie just… He sees it. He sees it all in Buck’s eyes. The weeks and weeks of worrying. Of wondering. Of feeling powerless but being a stalwart caregiver nonetheless. A new little spark of hope, that things are getting better.

Eddie steps forward and hugs him. Both arms. As tight as his injured shoulder can handle.

“I love you,” he says. “And I don’t say thank you enough.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says, squeezing him back. “You don’t have to thank me, though. We have each other’s backs. Always, right?”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hear how much I appreciate it,” Eddie says.

Buck takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

vi.

If you charted Eddie’s good day to bad day ratio after that, it wouldn’t look very impressive. At least not at first. He doesn’t just hit a corner and cheer up. But it does go from every day being bad, to sometimes, he has a good day to punctuate the streak. A few more weeks and it begins to feel more even. And then, slow and agonizingly, Eddie is baseline okay to good more often than not.

He goes back to work. Light duty. Boring stuff, but not nothing. He feels useful again. He feels like he can spend his brain’s still incomplete tank of mental energy on something other than himself and his shit. Which is good. He feels clearer. Less bogged down.

By the time he’s getting ready to recertify, and get back to his work, he’s decided. No more waiting for a nebulous better. No more waiting for what feels like an appropriate amount of time post-Shannon to pass. Eddie is ready now. He wants to ask Buck to marry him. He’s going to do it. Because life is fucking short and unpredictable and Eddie is happy to be here to get the chance to do something he almost missed out on.

#daisies and briars writes #upward over the mountain fic #buck service dog fic

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