#firehouse records

[myvinylplaylist]

KIϟϟ: Deadly Demos (1995)

Unofficial Canadian Release

Including remixes:

Let's Put The X In Sex Megamix & Sex-A-Pella-Mix.

Dirty Living Remix '79.

Title on the cd is 'Deadly Kisses'.

Firehouse Records

[adventurelandia]

Firehouse Five Plus Two at Disneyland (1962)

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Kiss –Firehouse

[elliotts-personal-property]

[poppadom0912]

🥐 jay halstead fic where reader is kim's or sylvie's younger sister and she meets jay at kim or sylvie birthday party at molly's and takes liking to jay and her sister notices it and makes it her mission to get them together

maybe with some playful cheeky teasing from jay before he makes a move 🤭

A/N: Thank you so much for ordering. I ended up writing much more than I intended and I kinda struggled to put in some teasing but I hope it's okay. Please enjoy!!

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

You were a little tipsy.

Work had been horrible. Today had probably been a record-breaking day in the labour and delivery ward but somehow, all of your patients had faced an ailment and some babies also struggled. You and your team were confident in your abilities but there was still the unease of what could happen overnight.

But today was your sisters birthday and nothing was going to get in your way of celebrating and making tonight all about her.

All the people important to her were in the firehouse and so tonight would be a big celebration with everyone and you’d take her out later in the week.

She hadn’t paid for any of her drinks, the one rule you had placed because obviously, its her birthday.

As the night progressed, Sylvie got more and more drunk but she deserved to have fun. And as the night went on, Molly’s got more and more busy as all the first responders started piling in after their shifts.

You recognised a few of the doctors and nurses from the ED and you heard Matt greeting a few men who you remember being part of ‘Intelligence.’

At one point, you found yourself talking with April and Maggie before you heard Sylvie calling for you across the bar.

Adhering to her calls, you made your way towards your sister who had the giddiest smile on her face, cheeks rosy and hair still somehow perfectly intact.

“Hey hey hey, can you pleeeassse get me some rosé?” She asked nicely, the most innocent expression on her face.

“Sure!” You nodded, feigning agreement as you turned to Hermann. “Can we have some water please. I think we’re done now Hermann.”

You pretended not to hear Sylvie’s ‘cries’ in despair, melodramatically acting as if it was the worst thing in the world you had inflicted on her.

You only received a sound of acknowledgement from Hermann who was swamped in orders.

“Oh hey, happy birthday Sylvie.” A sudden presence at your side appeared out of literal nowhere, smiling at your sister who was slowly getting out of it.

“Aww, thank you so much Jay- Omg Jay this is my sister Y/N, she works at Med.”

You turned to look at this ‘Jay’ and-

Oh wow- what a handsome looking specimen.

“Hi-“

“His brother is Will, they’re brothers Y/N.” Sylvie stressed, as if that idea was unbelievable.

“Oh, hey I’m Y/N. I think Will’s mentioned you a few times, you’re the accident-prone brother right?”

Jay chuckled, rolling his eyes at your words but there was no harm behind it. “Yeah, he’s exaggerating but yep, that’s me, nice to meet you. Sylvie’s mentioned you a few times as well.”

You were not expecting that. When on earth did Sylvie ever have the time to have full on conversations with a detective?

“All nice things I hope.”

“Don’t worry.” Jay assured you, his eyes not leaving yours even as he spoke of your sister. “She’s only said the best things and anyone related to Sylvie is definitely going to be an angel.”

You were speechless. A man who was technically still a stranger was being the nicest any stranger could be. You couldn’t help but feel heat rush up to your cheeks.

You giggled, trying to ignore your reddening cheeks. “That’s so sweet, thank you so much.”

This back-and-forth exchange only continued and the water you ordered went forgotten. Unbeknownst to both of you, Sylvie who was still sat next to you, was watching all of this unfold and despite her drunkenness, she took everything you-related very seriously.

And by the looks of it, she was about to play matchmaker again.

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

You were visiting Sylvie at the firehouse on one of your days off. Everything had been normal, Sylvie was being her usual self until the firehouse received some visitors.

You recognised the three detectives walking into the firehouse, one of which increased your intrigue.

Sylvie didn’t miss your straying eyes as the passed by the bunk rooms.

Sylvie gasped in her usual dramatic style, scaring you to bits.

“Oh my gosh Sylvie!” You slapped her on the arm, shoving her face away when she kept coming towards you. “Sylvie you weirdo!”

“Y/N!” She shook you, probably jostling your brain while she was at it.

“You have a crush~” She said in song, the most stupidest smile on her face.

“You’re such a child.” You tutted, slapping her again on the shoulder. “Stop it you weird child.”

So she listened and stopped… for now at least.

Her smile remained stuck on her face and the blush remained on your cheeks.

Oh, this was getting good. Sylvie knew exactly what to do.

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

Sylvie just so happened to be at Med then next time you saw Jay.

You were taking a break and went outside the emergency department where they had a really expensive coffee cart when you bumped into Jay.

Apparently, he had just finished interviewing a suspect who just had an accident, he caught up with his brother and was now waiting for his partner to finish up inside.

That left the two of you outside alone.

He kept you company in the line and when you went to pay for your coffee, his hand equipped with his card came flying out of nowhere, paying for your coffee.

The audacity of this man.

“Ah- excuse me.” You scoffed, almost frozen in shock as he took the coffee when you didn’t move, gently ushering you away so the line could keep moving. He hand on your waist totally didn’t do anything to you.

Jay hummed, raising an eyebrow with that smirk on his face, imploring you to try it.

You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face for good. This silly man had such a grip of the butterflies in your stomach just with his facial expressions.

You were speechless. You had no words to say to him so instead, you went to go grab the coffee cup out of his hand when he took a sip, eye contact maintained the entire time and gave it to you with a smug smile on his face as that single sip of coffee from your cup had fulfilled him.

You failed to pick up your jaw. You simply took a sip from the coffee that was yours.

Sylvie also failed to pick up her jaw from the ground, stood frozen several feet away from you two.

Maybe she didn’t have to intervene after all.  

🥐🥐🥐🥐🥐

Sylvie had one goal to achieve today and it wasn’t for this party to be perfect. No, Sylvie was going to get you and Jay to finally make a proper move and get you guys to start dating.

She was sick and tired of the endless flirting that went nowhere and she couldn’t look at your lovesick face whenever Jay was in your vicinity.

All would be fixed today, on your birthday.

Sylvie wanted to go all out because you were her sister and an amazing party with friends is the least you deserved. So yes, she still wanted this party to be perfect, but that was on the side for the meantime.

Sylvie had this all planned out so meticulously that even Matt side eyed her warily.

She claimed that she was too busy setting everything up at her apartment and needed someone to go pick you up. It ‘just so happened’ that she invited Jay and incidentally told him to come earlier than when the party was actually meant to start.

She was the perfect actor, gasping in near horror when she saw the time in the living room where she was surrounded by unfinished wrapped presents and decorations that were half done.

It was so easy to get Jay to do exactly what she wanted and deep down, Sylvie knew that he would’ve done so without her even asking.

Just like that, Jay was on his way to pick you up and Sylvie could drop the act and get down to business.

Fast forward two hours later and the party is in full swing. You had been thoroughly surprised and you happiness continued increasing as Sylvie did more and more as the evening unfolded.

Your cheeks were hurting from how much you were laughing and Sylvie couldn’t help but keep an eye on Jay who hadn’t looked away from you for more than a few seconds.

This was perfect.

During dinner, she sneakily got you to sit down besides where Jay was already sat. You had been so distracted talking to her that you didn’t even notice her physically pushing you towards that specific chair.

Sylvie also purposefully put your favourite dish the further away from you so that when you inevitably noticed its presence, you would have to ask if someone could serve you and the first person to take your plate was easily going to be Jay, Sylvie had no doubt about it.

And she was proved correct as said man wasted no time in serving you the perfect portion size.

Your giddiness was practically palpable at this rate.

The rest of the night went equally as smoothly. As everyone was leaving, tidying ensued and Jay was still here.

Everything was still going according to plan.

Elbowing Matt, ignoring his grunt at the sudden motion, Sylvie stood up straight from loading the dishwasher. “We’re all done in here so we’re going to get going.”

Before you could say anything, she went on, “I know I said I’d sleepover but Matt had this thing really early in the morning and he needs my help.”

Matt was caught very off guard, he spluttered as he realised what was happening and didn’t want to be blamed for preventing the two sisters from being together.

Sylvie elbowed him even harder this time, her smile tightening. “I promise, next time I’m staying and we’re doing brunch.”

Your disappointment was quickly eased at her suggestion and in less than five minutes, Sylvie was ushering a very confused Matt out the door, leaving you and Jay alone.

“Love you so much Y/N! Have a good night you two!” Sylvie waved at you two, closing the door behind her with a content smile on her face, sighing in satisfaction and fulfilment.

“Sylvie-“

“Shhh.” She shushed him, her finger at his lips. “Let’s get you home Matt. I’ve got everything under control, trust me.”

Sylvie had no doubt about it. She went to sleep the happiest she had been in a long time.

When she got up the next morning to your text messages with some very unkind words, calling her some very nice names, her smile widened.

Plan to get Jay and Y/N together was officially successful.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Soon You'll Get Better

Evan "Buck" Buckley x fem!reader

summary: you and Buck decide to keep your pregnancy a secret until the time is right, but an accident makes it all come out and everyone comes together to comfort the two of you

word count: 4k

cw: graphic description of a car accident and injuries, hurt/comfort, Buck has panic attack

part one part two part three part five part six

Things with you and Buck had been perfect since you had made amends in your apartment. Your pregnancy was a little secret between the two-well, the two of you and Athena and Scarlett-and you had planned on keeping it that way until you were far along enough to where a miscarriage wouldn’t be an issue. You felt horrible for keeping such big news from your uncle, but you were just trying to take the proper precautions. 

You had been staying at Buck’s more often than Scarlett’s so the two could be in your own little world with your baby. You’d make meals together as you danced around the kitchen to whatever playlist Buck had on and he’d spin you around, pulling you into kiss after kiss, telling you how grateful he had been for you and for the baby. It seemed like he talked to your stomach more than he would to you and that was more than okay with you.

He’d insist on laying on your stomach while the two of you watched tv after a long day of work for the both of you and he’d tell the baby about his day and you’d scratch his head as he did so, always feeling like you were going to cry as you watched him. If he was like that with your unborn child, you knew that he was going to be the best dad once the baby finally came.

Athena had told you that you had to be the one to tell Bobby about your pregnancy, so he was very much still in the dark as far as the topic was concerned. You weren’t showing yet, but every time you were around him, you were paranoid that he somehow knew your secret. So, you resorted to wearing big cardigans or holding a pillow in front of your stomach when you sat down on their couch or one of the chairs. 

After you got settled in, Bobby and Athena insisted on having weekly dinners with you and it was becoming even harder to hide your growing stomach. But you tried your best, knowing that you just had to hold on a bit longer before you could find out the sex of the baby and then you and Buck were going to make an announcement to the rest of the 118. 

It was the night of the week when you went over to Bobby’s for dinner and he had you pick up a dessert on your way there, but you had decided to show up early so you could talk to Athena before Bobby got home for work. 

As soon as you got in the car, you noticed that Buck was calling you that, signaling that he had just gotten to work. It seemed like he was always calling you when they were just sitting at the firehouse and you hardly minded. His coworkers did, though. Always rolling their eyes at him and even going as far as making bets to see how many times he’d call you during one shift. So far, the record was twenty-seven. 

“Hey,” you picked up and Buck let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know why he was always so worried that something was going to happen to you or the baby. Maybe that was why he always called so much. To give himself a peace of mind. 

“Hi,” Buck replied, a bright smile appearing on his face. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too, but you’ll be at Bobby and Athena’s for dinner, right?” Just as you pulled out of the parking garage, you noticed that it was raining hard which was something that you hated to drive in. It was always unpredictable and accidents seemed inevitable so you tried to avoid driving in it as much as possible. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, then let out a sigh, moving over to the kitchen so everyone couldn’t hear him. “When are we going to tell them? Bobby keeps looking at me like he knows something and I’m honestly becoming afraid of him.” He eyed the man who was sipping on his coffee while talking to the other members of the 118 as they all sat at the table. Bobby was getting suspicious and Buck could see it.

“Bobby wouldn’t hurt a fly, you know that,” you told him as you turned into traffic, finding yourself at a red light. The rain was coming down harder and it was getting more difficult to see which was worrying you. “And we will tell them when we find out the sex.”

“Sleeping with you was one thing, but if he knows that I got you pregnant, he’ll have my head.” Buck wasn’t scared that Bobby would hurt him, but more to give him a lengthy lecture and Buck would rather clean the bathrooms of the fire house every single day of his life than get yet another lecture from Bobby. Especially when that lecture centered around his sex life.

“Baby, I think you’re being a bit dramatic,” you let out a chuckle as the light turned green and you pressed on the gas, maybe going a little too fast as you tried to get to Athena’s as quickly as possible to get out of the rain. 

“You realize he’s going to want to talk to the both of us, right? That’s why he invited me over for dinner too.” 

“I don’t know why you’re so scared, Evan. It’s just Bobby. And Athena will be there to back us up. You know that. Just take some deep breaths, okay?” You asked as you got to another light, but quickly passed it as it turned red, not wanting to sit in traffic any longer, especially since LA traffic was a nightmare and rain made it even worse. 

You were going a little faster than you should have and soon enough, you were starting to hydroplane, your car spinning out of control as you tried to take your control back. But the car had a mind of its own as it spun around to face traffic for a split second until it turned off the road and slid down the grass that was to the left of it. 

You were screaming into the phone, telling Buck what was happening, but everything you were saying was unintelligible on the other line. Buck wasn’t sure what was going on, but it definitely wasn’t good and he was becoming scared for you. The last thing he heard was you screaming his name before he heard a loud crash. 

Your car slammed into a tree, crunching the front bumper. The force in which your car hit the tree knocked you unconscious as your head hit the steering wheel hard before the airbags deployed. You laid there as Buck yelled into the phone, trying to get your attention, but it was no use. You were out cold. 

Hearing Buck’s urgency, the other members of the 118 turned to him, wondering what was going on. He hung up the phone and pocketed it before rushing over to Bobby to tell him that he needed to go find you. 

“What’s going on, Buck,” Hen asked  as Buck approached the table. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. 

“It’s y/n,” Buck replied. “I was just on the phone with her and all I heard was screaming and then a loud crash. And she wouldn’t respond when I called her name. I have to see her, Cap.” 

“I’m sure she’s fine, Buck,” Chimney gave Buck’s shoulder a pat. 

“Yeah, you probably just thought you heard something,” Hen agreed. Why was everyone brushing him off? He knew what he heard and clearly it was an emergency. If he didn’t get to you quick, you could have been dead. And Buck would have been damned if he let that happen to you.

“Bobby, you don’t understand. You have to bench me today.” He knew he wouldn’t be able to do his job if he was worrying about you the whole day and being a firefighter, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay and then he’d come back in time to respond to the next call. 

“No can do today, Buck,” Bobby shook his head as he stood up from the table to take his empty coffee mug to the sink. “I let you leave here a couple of weeks ago because of her and I can’t let you again today. You’ll see her at dinner.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the siren went off and he begrudgingly followed Bobby to the engine, worrying about nothing but you the entire way there. What he had heard wasn’t good and your screams along the loud crash replayed in his head on a torturous loop the entire ride to the scene.

It looked like a pretty bad car accident from what he could see. Rain was still pouring down on the city and Buck assumed that was the cause of the accident. There was a huge pile up and police had blocked off the intersection where the big part must have happened. The crew went up and down the line to check on every vehicle that was affected in the accident and thankfully, none of them had been life threatening. 

As Buck helped Eddie remove a man from his car that had been completely crushed in the pile up, he couldn’t help but worry that you were in the accident, but Eddie assured him that you weren’t. That he was just paranoid and he wasn’t making him think rationally. They got the man on a board and carried him to an available gurney where he was rolled to the ambulance. 

While that was happening, Hen and Chimney got to the intersection and noticed that the guard rail had been driven through and looked down in the grass to see a vehicle had hit the tree that was down the hill. They made a beeline for it and Hen was the first to notice you in the driver’s seat. You were still unconscious with your head against the steering wheel and blood was pouring from the large gash on your forehead that was caused by a piece of glass that had swiped across it. 

Hen let out a gasp as she realized who you were and really hoped that Buck wasn’t around to see you. She ripped open the door that was a little bent from the accident and reached up to check your pulse, letting out a sigh of relief when she could feel your heartbeat. 

“I got a pulse!” She told Chimney then turned back to you, shaking your shoulder. 

“Y/n,” she called out to you “Y/n, can you hear me?” When there was no answer, she radioed that they needed a board and a collar and immediately. One of the firefighters from the other department rushed down with one and together, they got you onto the board and the two of them carried the board up the hill  where two paramedics were waiting with a gurney. 

They got you on it just in time for Buck to see you and he raced towards you, falling over his feet as he did so. Eddie was quick to help him up and he blocked Buck from getting to you, knowing that it would have been for his own good. He knew he wasn’t crazy. He knew it. And if he had left when he had wanted to, he would have been able to get to you in time before you had been knocked out. Okay, maybe that wasn’t true, but he was going to tell himself that it was. 

“Eddie, move, I have to get to her,” Buck yelled, trying to push Eddie out of the way as he watched Hen and Chimney push the gurney towards the ambulance. He pushed Eddie out of the way and moved to walk beside you, watching you lay there unconscious. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes and Eddie held him back so they could put you in the back of the ambulance. 

“Eddie, let me go,” he tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “I have to go with her.” He could feel sobs trying to escape his throat and was making an attempt to choke them down. He’d wait to do that at the hospital, not wanting to let his emotions fully take over when he was on the job.

“You’re too hysterical right now, Buck,” Hen told him. “Take some deep breaths and you can go with Bobby to the hospital.” Both her and Chimney got into the ambulance and the door closed behind them. It took off down the road and Buck broke down right there, collapsing onto his hands and knees and Eddie was quick to comfort him, resting his hand on his back as Bobby approached the two of them once he was sure that everyone was accounted for. 

All he could see was Buck on his knees and in all of the chaos, it seemed that everyone neglected to tell him what exactly had happened to his niece. All he knew was that something was wrong. Very wrong. He raced over to the pair and placed a hand on Eddie’s back. The man turned to face him and his face went white as he realized that it was his captain. 

“What’s going on here? Is Buck okay?” Buck had been affected by losing people before, hell, they all had, but something was off. He had never cried like that over a stranger, even when he felt like it was his fault. 

“Cap…it’s y/n…her car hit a tree. She’s stable but unconscious. They’re taking her to Presbyterian.” Without a single word, Bobby pulled Buck to his feet and both he and Eddie took him to the engine where they all piled in, heading straight for the hospital.

 Eddie sat next to Buck, comforting him as well as he could, but all he could think about was what happened to Shannon. He was in Buck’s exact position, just responding to a call when he saw her in the middle of the road. But it wasn’t about him this time. It was about Buck and Bobby and he needed to be there for them in their time of need. He continued to rub Buck’s back and as he let him cry, knowing that anything he said wouldn’t get into his friend’s head, so he kept quiet. 

All Buck felt on the way to the hospital was guilt. If he hadn’t called you then you wouldn’t have gotten into the accident. All of your focus would have been on the road and then you wouldn’t have swerved or whatever happened. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t his fault, he was going to tell himself that it was. He was going to beat himself up about it for the rest of his life. 

As soon as the engine pulled up to the hospital, the three rushed inside just as your gurney was rolled inside. Both Bobby and Buck made a beeline for you, tears welling up in their eyes as they watched your lifeless looking, blood-stained face. They both went to follow you, but a nurse blocked their path, telling them that they weren’t allowed to see you just yet as you needed surgery to have the glass removed from the slice on your forehead. 

So, hours passed as the three men sat in the waiting room, wordlessly waiting to be able to see you and or hear about your condition. It didn’t seem like you had been hurt that badly so what was the hold up? Every second that passed, Buck had been thinking the worst. Were you okay? Was the baby? Oh god, nobody knew about the baby and you weren’t far enough along yet to be showing very much so it wouldn’t have been obvious. 

“Mr. Buckley?” A voice asked and all three men whipped around, quick to stand to their feet as the nurse approached them. 

“It looks like has a slightly sprained neck and received some stitches for the deep cut on her forehead. There is a small break in her left leg from where it slipped from the gas pedal, but it should heal in a few weeks. Y/n and the baby are going to be just fine, Mr. Buckley. You should be able to go and see her in just a few minutes.”

You were okay. You were okay. And so was the baby. Sure, you had some injuries, but they were going to heal and you’d be good as new in no time. At that point, Buck was never going to let you out of his sight again just so nothing like that ever happened again. He didn’t know what he would have done if he lost you. If Bobby lost you. 

“Thanks,” Buck replied as tried to process all of the information and the nurse turned to leave the waiting room as Bobby and Eddie turned to stand in front of him. Oh, he was definitely in for an earful. 

“Baby?” They asked in unison. Of course, they knew that you and Buck had slept together, but your pregnancy was definitely not something that had been mentioned to either of them.

“Yes,” Buck replied, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He had been carrying that secret for far too long for his liking and now that it was finally out in the open, he felt like he could finally breathe.

“So my niece is having a baby and neither of you thought I should know?” Bobby didn’t look angry, but disappointed and Buck actually thought that was worse. He did feel bad for keeping something like that for him, but ultimately wanted to leave that up to you since you were the one carrying the baby.

“I’m sorry. I just-we didn’t want to tell anyone too soon. We were going to wait until we found out the sex next week.” He was getting choked up. Even though everything was going to be okay, he still couldn’t help but be worried. That just seemed to be what he was feeling no matter what was going on. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Bobby gave Buck’s shoulder a squeeze before pulling him into a hug. Buck held onto him tight and let out the sobs that he had been holding while Bobby felt his own eyes getting misty. 

Eddie just stood there, watching two people that he really cared about share a moment and feeling relief that you were okay even though he didn’t know you very well. He really didn’t know how he would’ve been if something worse had happened to you. To see both Bobby and Buck in shambles would have absolutely broken him and he wasn’t sure he could’ve seen them like that. Just watching Buck break down as the ambulance drove off was enough to break Eddie’s own heart. 

Just as the men pulled away from each other, Hen and Chimney entered the waiting room with Maddie in tow. Buck made a beeline for her and was quick to pull her into a hug, so grateful that his sister could be there for him during this hard time. She said nothing but encouraging words to him as she squeezed him, assuring him that he was going to be okay. 

“How is she?” She asked once she pulled away, grabbing hold of Buck’s hands. 

“She’s stable. Her neck is sprained and she has a broken leg, but other than that she's going to be fine.” He began to pick at the skin around his nails as the anxiety ate at him, all of the horrible possibilities playing in his mind still. He could feel his chest getting tight like he was on the verge of a panic attack, but he couldn’t have everyone worrying about him too. You were the priority at the moment. He sat down in the nearest chair in a way that wouldn’t cause suspicion and Maddie sat next to him.

“Oh, thank god,” Maddie let out a sigh of relief. She knew just how much you had begun to mean to Buck in the short time that you had known each other and knowing that you were going to be okay made her feel so much relief. 

“And the baby’s okay too,” Buck added, watching his sister’s eyebrows shoot up, her hands flying to her mouth. She had her assumptions with the way you had been behaving, but hearing that she was actually right was shocking. 

“A baby!” She exclaimed. “Buck, that’s amazing!” She pulled him into another hug, knowing that he was going to be the best dad. Seeing the way he had been with both Christopher and Jee-Yun, she was sure of it. Once she pulled away, she could see that he was still uneasy and reached over to give his back a rub. 

Not long after, the nurse told Buck that he could go back and see you and despite wanting Bobby to come with him, he knew he had to do it alone. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. You were asleep so it wasn’t like he was going to have to say anything to you. That was the part he was most anxious about. When you woke up, what was he going to say to you? For the most part, the man never knew when to shut up, but now he was rendered absolutely speechless. 

Buck stood in front of the door and let his hand hover, watching it shake as he lowered it to the handle. He slowly pushed the door open and hesitantly entered the room, sticking his shaking hands into his pocket as you came into view. He took everything in a little bit at a time. First, he looked at you, taking in your injuries: the giant scar along your forehead and your bruised cheek, the brace around your neck, and the cast that was on your left leg. Even though you were all banged up, Buck still thought you were the most beautiful he had ever seen. 

His eyes moved to your stomach and it somehow seemed bigger than when he had seen you that morning. You were starting to show a little, but not enough that it was obvious that you were carrying a baby. He was still in shock that you were both okay considering how bad the crash seemed to be, especially the baby. He had taken care of multiple women who hadn’t been as lucky, but you were. So much so that he felt lucky too. 

Buck sat in the chair that was next to your bed and scooted it so that it was almost right up against the bed. He then took your hand that was nearest to him in both of his and pressed a kiss to his before bringing it back down to rest on the bed. He gave it a squeeze then let his gaze fall back on your face. He could feel tears well up in his eyes and he wasn’t going to hold them back. He was allowed to cry and had to remind himself of that. 

“Hey, baby,” he said, reaching up and letting his hands graze over the bandage on your forehead. “It’s me,” he sniffed. “I’m here. I’m always here. And I just want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be right here until you wake up and I’m going to be right here when it’s time for us to go home. You’re so strong and you’re going to get through this. You’re going to be just fine.” One of his tears trickled down onto your gown and he decided that it was time for him to sit back so he just settled for holding your hand, perfectly content with just sitting there and watching you sleep.

He could feel himself drifting from all of the emotions and a long shift and eventually he closed his eyes right in the chair, your steady beat of heart on the monitor being the thing that lulled him to sleep. For once, he was able to sleep soundly and wasn’t having any nightmares about you or the baby. It all just a lot of nothing going on in his head and that was exactly the way he liked it.

Just when Buck was deep in sleep, he was awoken to a loud, consistent beeping from your heart monitor. He sat up and could see that you were flatlining and just when he was about to get someone, nurses and doctors rushed inside and ushered him out of the room. The door was slammed closed in his face before he could process what was happening and he quickly moved to the little window to see them starting compressions, but you still laid there, lifeless. They tried and tried again before pulling out the defibrillator. 

It was as if everything was moving in slow motion as the machine shocked you, but you still weren’t waking up. They all turned in Buck’s direction as they shook their heads and he just backed up from the window, falling to the floor as he lost his footing. A sob raked through his body as he sat there, crying that he had lost the one woman he thought he could keep along with the baby he loved more than anything in the world. You both were gone and this time, there was nothing he could do to save you.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 8

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: Just wanted to say thank you so much for all the amazing feedback on the last chapter! I work hard on all of these, but I agonized over Part 7 in particular lol. Really wanted to get that balance right. 😉

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, fluff, suggestiveness, implied sexual harassment, and a (sort of) cliffhanger.

Part 8: “Likewise, Baby”

You woke feeling delightfully warm. Your eyes cracked open. Though the room was dim, the window behind you had horizontal blinds that were letting in a bit of light.

You cradled the pillow beneath your head, with your hand tucked under your cheek. And you weren’t alone.

Dean was sitting up against the headboard beside you.

He was already dressed in a faded gray Fire Department shirt and sweatpants, with his long legs crossed over the navy comforter. He sipped at a mug of robust-smelling coffee while holding an iPad in the other hand, occasionally scrolling with a finger.

A slow smile cleared some of the sleepiness from your mind. You should’ve known he’d be an early riser, considering his job, but you were pleasantly surprised that he was just sitting with you, waiting for you to wake up in your own time.

Breathing in deep, you stretched out your legs under the sheets. The sound earned Dean glancing away from the screen, and then his smile aimed at you.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted. You hummed sleepily in response.

“Sleep good?” he asked.

You nodded and braved swimming through the sheets to snuggle closer to his side. After setting aside his mug and iPad, Dean welcomed you over with a hand soothing down your back. You curled against him, resting your head against his chest.

He dropped a kiss onto your wild hair. You still wore his shirt from last night and nothing else, but you felt the warmth of his hand through the fabric, rubbing up and down your back. You slipped an arm comfortably around his middle and let out a soft sigh.

“I see you’re not too chatty in the morning,” he teased.

You made a sound of agreement. “You wore me out, Lieutenant.”

And you hadn’t felt this relaxed, this warm and comfortable and safe, in a very long time.

You also felt Dean’s chuckle reverberate through your chest. His hand came up to pet your hair, and he pressed another kiss on the top of your head.

“Likewise, baby,” he replied. Cheekiness colored his tone. “That record’s gonna be hard to beat.”

You smirked and huffed against his chest. After trying some of the cake last night, he’d given you another sample of his talented fingers, right there at the table. Then you’d tried to start cleaning up the kitchen, only for Dean to distract you once again.

That time, he’d settled behind you at the kitchen sink and goaded you with sinful lips along your neck and wandering hands, until you decided that your earlier promise of “next time” was right now.

You’d turned in his arms and finally found out what he tasted like, after you sunk to your knees and dragged down his sweatpants and took his waiting cock into your mouth…

Needless to say, it was a while before you both made it to a shower, and finally to bed for actual sleep.

Remembering it all made you blush, biting your lip. He let out a quiet laugh as you hid your face in his chest. His fingers slipped into your tangled hair and gently massaged the back of your head.

“Want some coffee?” he asked. You nodded.

“Need some,” you replied. “Let me freshen up first though.”

So you slowly got up, reluctance pulling at every muscle in your body. While you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth and fixing your ridiculous hair, Dean cleaned up the rest of the dishes from last night and poured you a steaming cup of coffee from the carafe. He didn’t remember how you liked it, but his intuition said you liked a bit of sugar and creamer.  

He found himself smiling like an idiot, until something Meg said rolled through his head again.

Goddamn. I am twitterpated.

With that thought, he immediately shook his head to rid himself of it.

You padded back into the bedroom to find your dress…and your panties, for that matter. While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps on your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

You knew it was wrong, but your finger scrolled to see last night’s text preview.

From Marissa: Hey, been thinking of you… ❤️ I’m free tonight if you want to come over. You always look so good in my bed. 😉

You were beginning to feel sick to your stomach. You forced deep, even breaths through your nose as you sat down on his side of the bed, and you contemplated doing something you knew you’d probably regret.

You’d seen Dean unlock his phone enough times to remember his passcode. Your thumb hovered over the keypad…

Again, you knew it was wrong. You’d never, ever done this to someone in your life, and if he caught you at this, he’d probably be pissed.

But you couldn’t help yourself. You unlocked his phone, and you found the girl in his text messages. While you saw that he hadn’t even looked at the message, and hadn’t even spoken to her in a couple of months, the previous text messages were a sick siren song that you couldn’t help but fall into.

However, you could only read a few of the old ones before you became disgusted, and you quickly minimized his text messages. You reminded yourself that you didn’t have a right to be reading this, or to be jealous, for that matter.

Those messages were before he even met you. It just didn’t change the fact that reading them, and hearing his voice in your mind while talking explicitly dirty with another girl still stung. 

Another thought whispered in your mind. You’re already here. Might as well…

Biting your lip, your thumb shook as you went into his contacts. You saw familiar names: Benny, Cas, Dad, Eileen, Gordon, Jo…but those were followed by unfamiliar ones. Haley, Jackie, Kat, Lisa, Lauren, Marissa, Nadia, Olivia, Priya, Rachel, Serina…

What the fuck! He’s got the whole damn Kansas Directory of Sluts in here! you thought in both alarm and disgust.

So consumed were you that you didn’t hear Dean coming down the hall, nor did you see him appear in the doorway to his own room with a fresh mug of coffee. 

“Hey, so what do you want for breakfast…” His question died on his tongue the moment he saw you with his phone (and an angry, perturbed look on your face). His brows furrowed as he entered.

You were caught red-handed, and you knew it. Guilt and hurt and anger radiated under your skin in equal measure, though you set his phone down for him on the bed and met his eyes.

“You got a booty call from Marissa,” you said. “She misses you in her bed.”

“So you snooped through my phone?” Dean levied at you. The warmth in his tone was gone, though his still handed you the mug of coffee and grabbed the phone. His contacts were still open on the screen.

“I shouldn’t have,” you testily agreed. “Believe me, I regret it now.”

You stood, set down the mug on the nightstand, and began searching the room for your sandals. You didn’t think you could stick around for breakfast.

Dean’s jaw locked, and he let out a sharp breath as he watched you.

“So you’re leaving?” he asked incredulously.

“Why, don’t you need to check on your side piece?” you shot back.

Dean huffed in irritation. You bent over to put on a sandal and nearly toppled over as you lost your balance. He got up, but you managed to catch yourself and held up a hand against him helping you.

You straightened and looked up with him with steel in your eyes, where last night had been all softness and fire. It reminded him of when he saw you square up against your boss. No nonsense, no inches given. He remembered then that you were a real pistol when you needed to be.

“Okay, Nancy Drew. I’m sure you saw that I haven’t hit up that girl in months!” he said. He wanted to be patient with you, but his temper was already snapping at the invasion of his privacy.

Yours was snapping right back, as your hands went to your hips.

“Dean, you’ve got an entire catalogue of ‘Pussy On-Demand’ in your phone!”

Frowning, Dean held his hands out wide in a what do you want from me gesture.

“Look, I was honest with you about my past,” he tried, but you cut in quick.

“Is it your past?” you asked. Your heart pulsed with pain at the thought, but you had to ask. “Or were you still talking to these girls, even seeing these girls while you were ‘wooing’ me? I mean…I guess I don’t have a right to complain. We never explicitly said we were exclusive—”

“All right, stop. For the love of Christ,” Dean said in sheer frustration. He approached you with caution. You were still frowning and testy, but you allowed him to grasp your upper arms.

“First of all, I didn’t even see that text. Because I was preoccupied with you. Second, no I wasn’t seein’ anyone but you after our first date. And third…” His lips pressed together.

This last one was tough for him to admit, even embarrassing. You were waiting for him though, probably with the last shred of benefit of the doubt you had left for him.

He sighed, brushing your arms with his thumbs. “Before last night, I hadn’t had sex in a couple of months.”

Your brows went high at that one, only because the weight in his voice told you that two months was a big deal for him. (For you, it was child’s play.) Remembering that laundry list of names, though, you had to agree.

You eventually relented, your shoulders relaxing a little.

“I’m sorry I looked through your phone,” you said again, more sincerely this time. “I’ve never done that to anyone, ever, and it’s not who I am. It’s just…you’re making me a bit crazy.”

A smirk pulled at Dean’s lips. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

You reluctantly smiled and pushed at his chest with a half-hearted hand. Sighing, he pulled you in close. You allowed yourself to rest against him, and even slip your arms around his middle and tangle your fingers into the back of his shirt. Dean pressed his lips to your hair.

“I might be playing a lot of this by ear, but I told you. I’m not playing around,” he said. “I want to try being with you. Just you.”

After a moment, you nodded. You looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest.

A smile tugged at your lips.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re my boyfriend.”

Dean’s smile grew as well. “I mean…yeah. If you’re on board.”

You nodded and leaned up for a kiss. “I could be persuaded.”

He met you there with both passion and sincerity as his lips glided over yours. Your fingers dug into the muscles in his back, spurring him to hold you tighter against him. The weight of his hands felt deliciously good against your lower back. 

“Stay for breakfast,” he said between heated kisses and panting breaths. “I’ll cook this time.”

You remembered that you had to check on your grandfather. You’d texted him before going to bed that you were staying over at Dean’s place. George had already been asleep, but he answered you this morning that everything was fine. Still, your instincts warred between wanting to make sure, and staying here a bit longer.

Your curiosity was piqued, however.

You paused against Dean’s lips. “You cook?”

He looked down at you with offense at your surprised tone.

“I’m a damn good cook,” he said, his brow waggling. “What do you want? Pancakes, eggs and bacon, or something more chill, like oatmeal or something?”

Your stomach began to percolate at the mere mention of food.

“Yes,” you replied with a grin.

Dean’s amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Someone’s hungry. Worked up an appetite, huh?”

“Starving,” you admitted. Your hands moved down his back, feeling how some of the muscles there contracted. Looking up at him through your lashes, you added, “But I’ll take whatever you give me.”

Dean laughed and kissed you again. 

“Oh, I’ll give you plenty, naughty girl,” he promised against your lips.

Thank God it’s Saturday, you thought. You inhaled the coffee Dean made for you before taking another sip. It was delicious, and you had to make a mental note to buy the same brand the next time you went to the grocery store.

You peered out the small kitchen window while the smell of food continued to stir your appetite. Really is a cute neighborhood. The building overlooked a nice little park. Already there were people jogging, walking their dogs, parents with their children heading to the playground.

You liked where you lived as well, but the two-story house was a bit much just for you and George. It also needed some work done, of which you hadn’t gotten around to taking care of with how busy you’d been lately. Not to mention your car, which was occasionally starting to shake when you accelerated past 50 miles per hour.

I really should ask Dean to look at it. Bet he’d relish the challenge of reviving an old car.

Then a small ding alerted you to the toast, now ready to be buttered. You were helping with the smaller things while Dean worked on the eggs and bacon.

You also heard the front door unlock. Soon enough a tall man with dark, long hair down to his shoulders entered the kitchen with a workbag on his shoulder and a small overnight bag. He wore a smart-looking, but simple suit, chestnut brown.

“Hey,” he greeted Dean, but his hazel eyes widened a fraction when he saw you. “Oh, hi there.”

Dean turned his head and smiled.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said. “Come meet my uh…my girlfriend.”

Your face heated up at the way he glanced at you with that smile.

Hear that? Official girlfriend status.

You also tried to hide your excitement as you introduced yourself to Sam Winchester. He shook your hand with an amiable look.

Dear God, you thought, noting his height, and his broad shoulders that rivaled Dean’s. Winchesters are massive.

“Finally. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said.

“Same here,” you agreed, matching his smile. “Really good to meet you, Sam.”

“And how is it you always make it right on time for breakfast?” Dean teased. He was pouring the scrambled eggs out of the pan and into a large bowl.

“Just good timing,” Sam replied, smirking as his brother rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, how’s Eileen?” Dean asked.

“Good. She had her students help her decorate the classroom for the fall this week,” Sam said.

He fished out his phone and showed you and Dean the pictures. The two of you had your heads bowed close to the phone. Dean wore a smile at the sight, while you cooed at the adorableness of Eileen with her students.

They seemed to be elementary school age (between seven and ten years old, if you had to guess). They’d done the Thanksgiving turkey hand for arts and crafts, even though the holiday wasn’t for a couple of months. One of the boys had taped it to his forehead.

“They’re so cute!” you gushed. “I remember doing that in elementary school.”

Dean shot you a grin. “You like kids, huh?”

Sam’s brow quirked. Mr. Serial Bachelor was joking like that already? 

Meanwhile, you sent Dean a narrowed look, despite your blushing smile. Never mind that you two had just established the seriousness of your relationship about five minutes ago.

Honestly, you were surprised that having kids was even on his radar…but for the first time, maybe it was starting to be on yours too.

And that alone was a shocking revelation, considering how career-driven you’d been up until now. It was even somewhat scary, just how quickly this man had buried his way into your heart.

“Yeah, and what if I do?” You laughed and carded your fingers through his hair, but you made sure to tug on it a bit. “Clearly I need to be careful with you.”

“That’s probably best, as a general rule,” Sam interjected. He smirked at Dean’s flat look.

“All right, all right,” Dean waved at him. “Help me get the plates.”

The three of you talked and joked and laughed all throughout breakfast. You and Sam had a fair amount in common, speaking of your respective experiences in college, with him following into law school and you with culinary school. He told you more about his work at the District Attorney’s office, and about how he and Eileen had met.

Then you and Dean told the story of how you two met, from each of your perspectives. You recounted how it had been Nick’s fault that you’d been in that elevator to begin with, grabbing his latte, of all things. You remembered how goddamn hot it had been in that elevator, how no one could hear you, how you’d been doing your best not to freak the hell out.

And then you heard his voice. “Fire Department!”

The save was pretty standard, from Dean’s perspective. But he’d noticed you, even in your coffee-stained blouse and skirt. He remembered the way you lost one of your shoes.

“And I mean, ridiculous fucking high heel,” Dean said to Sam. He held his hands apart several inches, making you laugh at his gross exaggeration. “I got no clue how she walks in ‘em.”

Dean also relished retelling the moment you later stood up to Nick with gusto.

“I thought she was gonna chuck it at the guy’s head, Psycho style,” Dean said. He mimicked holding the shoe like a knife stabbing from above.

You laughed and covered your face with your hands. “I wasn’t that bad!”

Dean chuckled, but he rubbed your shoulder.

“Nah, it was awesome. I remember thinkin’, this girl’s a badass.”

You lowered your hands and glanced over at him, letting your smile peek through.

“Oh yeah?” you asked.

“Class and style, baby,” he said, giving you a wink. You shook your head, despite your amusement, and how his words touched you.

“Says the guy who literally rappelled from the roof like Batman,” you said with a smirk.

“Ooh, Batman. Here that? I’m taking it.” Dean’s brows rose, and he shot Sam a grin.

To which his younger brother rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re Batman.”

You giggled into your hands. His brother’s sarcasm was nothing new, but Dean enjoyed seeing you laugh after all the tension this morning. He took one of your hands away from your face so you couldn’t hide anymore.

You looked over at him. When your eyes met his, somehow you were captured again.

Sam watched carefully from his side of the table. He watched his brother, and was hardly able to believe what he saw. He continued to sip his coffee, all the while hiding a certain smile behind his mug.

You left the apartment a short while later, despite offering to help clean up. Dean knew you wanted to get back to your grandfather and didn’t want to hold you up, but he still walked you to the door and made sure you had everything you needed before you left (including a leisurely goodbye in the doorway that had his old neighbor Gladys tsking as she walked by).

He eventually returned to the kitchen to help Sam finish cleaning up, thumping him on the back while Sam was trying to wash the pans in the sink. Sam uttered a grunt, but his lips edged at a smile at Dean’s obvious good mood.

“I take it last night went well?” Sam asked knowingly.

“Yeah, good thinkin’ on staying at Eileen’s,” Dean smirked back. His mind rewound the evening: having you cook for him, the shenanigans that interrupted your baking lesson, and also the baking, and the cleaning up.

His smile only dropped a bit when he remembered the arguing part.

“Well, there was a rough patch,” he admitted. At Sam’s questioning look, Dean explained how you’d looked through his phone…and what you’d seen on it.

“She apologized, but it was a tough go of it for a second,” he said.

Sam had finished the dishes by now. He stood leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. He sighed through his nose.

“You want my advice?” he asked.

Dean quirked a wry smile. “Something tells me I’m gonna get it anyway.”

Sam nodded. “You just need to take the ‘L’ on this one. Don’t hold it against her.”

Dean’s brows knitted together as he frowned.

“Oh yeah?” he said in full sarcasm. “Is that what I need to do?”

He loved when his brother when full Dr. Phil on him.

“Listen,” Sam said. “Yeah, what she did was wrong, but her concerns were understandable.”

Dean took that in, carding his fingers through his hair.

“You can’t assume that she can read your mind, Dean. On your intentions, on how you feel—any of it.” Sam leveled him with a more serious look. “She’s taking this as it comes, just like you are. And she’s taking a chance on getting hurt, just like you are.”

Damn it, Dean thought. He especially hated when his brother made sense.

He was quiet for a moment, until something occurred to him.

“You think Dad would like her?” he asked.

At that, Sam’s smile broke free. Dean’s gaze flattened in annoyance.

“What?” he asked.

“If you’re willing to subject her to Dad, I know you’re serious.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He stole the last leftover piece of bacon from Sam’s plate and headed for his room.

I think he’d like her.

“So how’s it been going?” Andréa asked you.

The two of you were finally getting a chance to have lunch together in the staff breakroom, for the first time in about a month. You blamed it on your busy schedules, but you knew it also had to do with the fact that you both had new men in your lives.

You had been reaching out to your friend a couple of times a week to check in, sometimes even offering to grab dinner or catch a movie after work, but Andréa always seemed to have an excuse. You didn’t think she was pulling away from you intentionally… It did hurt though.

You just supposed you should be grateful that she showed up out of the blue in your office, asking if you had time for lunch.

“Work is…well, the usual,” you replied.

Nick was still an asshole who made your life harder and more stressful with every interaction. He changed his mind on deadlines, or better yet, forgot them entirely. He often got drunk while schmoozing with CEOs and representatives of potential accounts.

He also sucked at paperwork, which meant you often had to redo it, or get his assistant to do it. And he still pitted you and Josh and other teammates against one another (Paul had quit last week due to the pressure).

But all that, you could handle. What bothered you more were the “harmless” comments threaded with innuendo. The lingering looks he gave you, seizing you up from breast to toe.

You’d taken to wearing pants exclusively, instead of skirts, and flat shoes instead of heels, just to try and put him off. You maintained your professionalism and always kept several chairs between you and Nick in meetings. Though you dreaded moments where you had to be alone with him. Those were the times you were on your guard the most.

Thankfully, he hadn’t done anything outrageous since the last time he was drunk before a meeting. As in, you hadn’t had to threaten going to HR again…yet.

And these things you kept to yourself. You didn’t want Andréa to worry. Or worse, for her to try and get involved, and earn Nick’s eye on her next.

“What about with Dean?” Andréa asked, breaking you from your thoughts.

You brightened with a smile. That you would happily share.

“Good. Like really good,” you said. “I mean, we had our moments this weekend, but…I really think this could work.”

Andréa shot you a sly look, though her smile said she was happy for you.

“Oh wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so smiley,” she teased. “What is it with these firefighters at Firehouse 25? God sprinkled them with something special, I swear.”

You eyed her with amusement. “Oh yeah? How are you and Benny doing then?”

And that seemed to be the exact question she was waiting for. She turned to you fully and grabbed your hand.

“Oh, girl. I have so much to catch you up on,” she said.

You smiled at her indulgently. You truly wanted to hear everything she had to say. You wanted to hear about her disastrous first meeting with Benny’s family, especially with his father. You wanted to hear about how she was able to turn it all around with a bit of charm and a few funny stories.

You wanted to hear about their impromptu sailing trip last weekend, and the plans they were already making to go to Greece next summer if all went well. Andréa and Benny were clearly a whirlwind romance in the making, the stuff of good old-fashioned rom-com legend, and you wanted to hear the story unfold.

You just couldn’t help a small thought in the back of your mind…that she wasn’t quite as invested in your life as you were in hers.

A couple of weeks later, you parked your old Camry on the side of the road. You didn’t want to block any part of the driveway at Firehouse 25.

Oh good, they’re not on a call, you thought. The truck was there, along with the Squad truck and the ambulance. A full house.

You smiled and first smoothed down your sweater dress. It was mid-November with a chill on the air, and it also gave you an excuse to break out one of your favorite dresses, made of warm brown wool, but still cute with your knee-high boots. 

You pulled out the large plastic dessert carrier resting on the passenger seat. It held not one, but two large cakes. You wanted this treat to last a little bit longer than a few hours this time.

You walked up the driveway, smiling as you greeted the Squad men playing poker at a square table just outside the building. A couple of them eyed you in curiosity, and maybe even with recognition. Though you had to swallow a bit of nerves as you pushed past the familiar glass doors of the firehouse. 

The first person you saw (that you actually recognized) was Meg. She sat in the common room with her feet crossed and perched on the dining table. She was reading a book, but her head perked up when you came in. She stood and left her book on the table as she waved you inside.

“Hey there,” she said.

Remembering what happened the last time you met the paramedic at the Roadhouse, your smile was a bit thin.

“You must be real special,” she’d remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

Despite the less than stellar memory, you tried to be polite.

“Hey, Meg. How are you?” you asked.

“Sober,” she answered frankly. Her head tilted as she let out a short, self-deprecating sigh. “Uh, sorry about last time. I have a bit of a mouth when I’ve had a few.”

Your smile became a bit more genuine. Before you could say, That's okay—

“Oh no, that’s her resting state,” a familiar voice wryly interjected.

You brightened when you saw Dean striding in from down the hall. He met you with a grin, as well as a kiss that lingered on your lips. Meg’s brow rose.

He eventually pulled away, but his hand stayed on the small of your back. He looked happy to see you, and it secretly warmed you down to your toes.

“To what do I owe this surprise?” he asked, his green eyes gleaming. He noted the dessert carrier hanging from your hand with interest.

“I come bearing gifts.” You raised your offering. Dean took it from you with both hands and boyish glee.

“Mmm, I do love me some cake,” he said, licking his lips.

You had to laugh. Firefighters do love food.

Or maybe it was just Dean.

“Remember, you’re meant to share,” you teased.

“No promises,” he muttered. But he still brought it over to the kitchen. Even Meg followed the two of you, peeking over his shoulder in curiosity.

“What kind is it?” she asked.

You gave her a smile. “Orange, cranberry, and poppyseed, with an orange glaze.”

Her eyes widened, but you could tell she wasn’t sure if she was intrigued or not.

“Trust me. It’s like lemon poppyseed, just more orangey,” you promised. “And even a bit sweeter.”

Dean grinned at his friend. “She went to culinary school.”

He said it proudly, which warmed you. Though you bit your lip in slight embarrassment.

“You don’t have to say that,” you said with a nervous giggle.

“Why not?” he protested. “It’s true.”

Meg surveyed you both with a knowing smirk while Dean set up your cakes with a cutting knife and some paper plates.

“It’s still early, but the droves will come soon enough,” Meg said wryly, and she nodded at Dean. “Have you shown her around yet?”

His brows rose. “Around the house? No, as a matter of fact…”

He turned to you with a smile and offered his hand. “Got time for a quick tour?”

You smiled. It was Saturday, and you had a rare morning where you had nowhere else to be.

“I do now,” you agreed. And you took his hand.

Dean led you past the humble kitchen to the barracks, where there were several rows of cots. They were empty and made up with white sheets and dark green comforters.

“We’re all busy by now, but we stay quiet around here,” he explained. “Especially during night shifts, of course.”

He showed you where the bathrooms and showers were, along with passing by a large, closed office. Through the frosted doors, you could see a man talking firmly into a desk phone.

“Is that the Chief?” you asked.

Dean nodded. “Yep, that’s his office. Good ole’ Bobby.”

A scoff made both of your heads turn. Benny gave his friend a wry brow raise.

“Only this one gets away with callin’ him that,” he said. Though he gave you a kind look and touched your shoulder. “How are ya?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you smiled at him. It was just a bit weird for you, knowing he was dating your best friend.

You felt like you knew him from everything she’d told you, but you hadn’t actually been around him that much in person. Everything you knew about him had been pieced from stories you’d heard from either Andréa or Dean.

“I hear ships are sailing with you and Dre,” you quipped.

Benny chuckled with an imaginary tip of his hat. “Well, you’ve heard right.”

At Dean’s slightly curious look, Benny filled him in about his and Andréa’s sailing trip last weekend.

“Who the hell goes sailing in Kansas?” Dean remarked.

You had to laugh a little. “Andréa’s family owns a yacht club. They go boating on the river, mostly. But she goes to Greece every year…and I hear you’re planning to join her.”

Again, you looked over at Benny with good-natured teasing. He took it with a smile and a nod, even taking Dean’s raised eyebrows. His growing smile told you that his friend would be taking some shit about this later. And Benny knew it too.

“All right, I see you guys were in the middle of somethin’. Let me not get in the way,” Benny graciously bowed out with another chuckle. 

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, Captain, my Captain over here’s gotta find a parrot,” Dean ribbed.

Benny just rolled his eyes and gave a lazy wave as he departed.

You gave your boyfriend a bemused look. “What is he, a pirate?”

Dean shrugged. His grin was contagious.

“I just can’t picture that dusty lumberjack on a yacht,” he said. “God, what’s the world coming to?”

You shook your head and bit your lip against a giggle.

“All right, what’s next on the tour?” you asked.

Dean hummed, but after a moment, he brightened with an idea…and a sly look. He took your hand and led you over to a small side room behind the barracks. He opened the door and led you into what was essentially a cubicle, complete with a desk, chair, desktop, and a document filing unit, except it also had a cot in the far corner.

“Step into my office,” he said, gesturing with a hand. You gave him an impressed brow raise as you ventured inside.

“My man’s got his own office? Complete with a bedroom, I see.”

“Yeah. Benny’s got one too, since he’s Captain of the Rescue Squad,” said Dean.

You made note of this with another impressed hum. You then sat down in his comfy office chair and twirled around, before you began perusing his desk area. It was a bit cluttered for your tastes, but you had a feeling Dean was an “organized chaos” kind of guy.

Dean remained standing with casually crossed arms. He watched you trace a finger around one of the picture frames he had on his desk, though he had a few.

There was one of him and Sam after he graduated from law school, cap and gown and all. Another was one of Sam, Dean, and John on one of the rare camping trips they did when they were kids, for Dean’s 13th birthday.

“That’s my dad,” Dean supplied. He pointed at the man, handsome, salt-and-pepper beard, dark eyes, and broad shoulders. Your brows raised of their own accord as your eyes blinked wider.

“Wow, look at that silver fox. I see where the handsome genes came from,” you teased.

Dean’s lips curved in amusement. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

You gave him a sidelong glance and playfully jabbed at his side. But you returned your attention to the last frame.

The picture inside was of a beautiful blonde woman, holding a newborn baby bundled up in her arms. You could see his small pink face peeking out, as well as a little boy cheese grinning over her shoulder. Your attention lingered on this one.

“Is that…”

“Yeah. That’s my mom,” Dean confirmed.

“She’s beautiful,” you said softly.

“Yeah, she was,” he said with a nod. And a thought filtered through his mind, one he spoke without really thinking about it. “Wish she could’ve met you.”

You turned to him more fully then, with a bit of wonder hidden behind your eyes.

“Yeah?” you asked.

Something in Dean’s chest clenched, but he grazed your cheek with his thumb and nodded, giving you a reserved smile. It hadn’t been that long at all since he met you. Just a couple of months. He couldn’t deny it though. It was true.

“I think she would’ve liked you,” he said with a shrug. Like it wasn’t such a big deal.

You both knew that wasn’t the case.

You stood out of his desk chair and went to him, gripping the front of his gray lieutenant’s shirt. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that almost immediately deepened. Dean cradled your cheek with one hand and pulled you in close by your hip with the other, but you were the one who licked sensuously into his mouth.

He hummed deep in his throat, pleased and a little surprised when you pushed at his chest. He took your cue to step back, leading you along with him when he sat down on the edge of the neatly made cot. He guided you down by your hips, but you didn’t sink down into his lap the way he expected.

Instead, you slotted his right thigh between your legs and took a comfortable seat. You slid up his thigh with slow friction, giving him a small smile as you twined your arms around his neck. A smirk graced his lips as he held your hips.

“Don’t pretend like this wasn’t your plan all along,” you said.

You’d caught the look in his eye before he led you into his office. It made you wonder (with a tremor of unease) just how many women he’d given the “grand tour” of his office…

But you couldn’t let yourself fall down that train of thought. It was a futile thing that would ultimately just upset you, and no doubt would frustrate him. Whatever he did before he started dating you was his business. You just had to focus on the here and now…

And right now, you could already see the half-pitched tent in your boyfriend’s uniform pants as he began to touch you.

“You’re the one who came prepared, Little Miss Easy Access,” Dean remarked. His hands slid up your thighs, bunching up your dress the farther he went. Your lower belly clenched in anticipation when he brushed the edge of your panties. “Maybe I wasn’t the only one with a plan.”

A more amused smile grew across your face, despite the blush warming your cheeks. Something had just occurred to you.

“There’s no way we’re allowed to do this here,” you whispered, but Dean’s grip on your hips was already encouraging you to rock against his thigh.

“No one’s gotta know,” he replied. His voice was deeper, laced with grit. “Just try to stay quiet.”

AN: ...🫣 Sorry for leaving it there lol. But hey! Official girlfriend status! 😂 And how'd you like how they dealt with the Marissa of it all, and the reader meeting Sam for the first time?

Of course, there will be more in Part 9.~

Next Time:

“Where’re you goin’?” he teased.

You let out a quiet laugh. “I think we’ve pressed our luck enough for today.”

Dean leaned in to kiss your cheek. His lips then veered off toward your ear.

“But see, I’m pretty damn sure that pussy’s still on fire,” he said.

The depths in his voice made you shiver. Your spine undoubtedly prickled with arousal again. He smiled.

“You understand, I can’t let you go just yet.”

Keep Reading: PART 9

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[tommykinard217]

(a thanksgiving ficlet that got away from me lol. Happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate, I love you all! )

Holidays were never really all that special to Tommy. When he was a kid, holidays were tense affairs. Thanksgiving dinners made by his mom that his dad would nitpick at. The man didn't even sit at the table with him and his ma, his face turned towards the football game as he shouted that the turkey was too dry, the mashed potatoes too lumpy, the gravy too watery.

Tommy had never really thought there was anything wrong with the food, but his dad was never really happy about anything to begin with.

Tommy never really existed during the holidays. It was like he was a ghost. At first, when he was younger, he tried to decorate and cheer his parents up and help around the house. Anything to make them smile. But it didn't work. So eventually, when he was a teenager, he just stopped trying.

He either stayed in his room or he got out of the house, taking his bike to the river and just sitting on the river bank, looking across the water. By the time he got home, the food would be packed away as leftovers. There wasn't a plate set aside for him.

Then his ma passed and there was no one to make thanksgiving dinner.

Once again, the river was his friend. He contemplated getting a fishing license, so that he could actually do something other than stare at the current of the river as it crashed against the rocks and mini island formations.

By the time he got home, the house was dark, his dad passed out on the couch surrounded by empty beer cans. Tommy had felt the urge to clean up, maybe mitigate whatever possible anger his dad would build up in the morning. But he didn't really care. His dad would be angry regardless, and he'd still feel as alone as ever even with his dad screaming in his face and threatening him with punishments he was too old for at this point.

Eventually he enlisted. Anything to get away from his dad and the metaphorical ghost of his ma haunting the kitchen.

In the army, there was no river to bike alongside. No riverbank where he could sit down, and stare across the water. Just dirt and noise and shitty MRE's. Somehow it didn't feel all that different from the thanksgivings of his childhood.

Then, he was out of the army. He had a choice. Go back to his shitty town on a shitty river, haunted by his dad and his ma. Or go somewhere else. Somewhere different.

Different won out, for once. So he packed up what little shit he had and made his way to LA of all places. Signed up to a firefighting academy. He needed the structure the army gave him, and he'd actually get to help people this time.

Once he was out, he got assigned a firehouse. The 118. Gerrard was just like his father, minus the alcohol. Cruel, exacting, looking for a flaw in everything you did. Tommy knew how to handle Gerrard, and that was to just ride him out. Let him yell, let him get angry and threaten you. Don't react, don't talk back. Just let it happen until he tires himself out.

Thanksgiving with the 118 once again was the same as any other year. Shitty takeout instead of MRE's or leftovers, but other than that, it was all the same. Thankfully the job kept him busy.

Too many people thought they were immune to flame and oil and their own general stupidity, and the amount of turkey induced fires they had to put out was steadily climbing. Each year they seemed to break a new record.

Every year was the same. Tommy was alone or lonely or both, he scarfed down shitty food, and it was just another day to him.

And then Evan came around. Evan with his bright smile and warm demeanor. Evan with his endless facts and his strong hugs. Just...Evan.

And Tommy had been certain that maybe this thanksgiving was going to be different.

And maybe that was his mistake.

He was a coward, after all. All his life he had just run away. To the river, as a kid. The army, as an adult. The West Coast, after he was discharged. All he ever did was run.

And so, here he was. His first thanksgiving off, staring at the takeout he bought, trying to remind himself that this was normal. For him, at least. He was used to this.

Granted, the guilt was eating him up. He'd stared at his phone for what felt like hours, trying to figure out what to say. I'm sorry? I miss you? Take me back, I'm miserable without you? None of those were acceptable. He broke things off. He ran away. Ev-Buck deserved better.

But right as he was about to sit down, maybe watch a movie or two, his doorbell rang.

As he walked to the door, he wondered on who it could be. A neighbor? Someone asking for charity donations? A Mormon?

But it wasn't any of those.

It was Evan.

Hands shoved in his pocket, looking nervous but determined.

"Come on, you're missing out on dinner." Evan pointed to his jeep, waiting for them.

Tommy was, understandably, fucking baffled. "Wait, what?"

Evan sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'm mad at you." Fair. "But I also miss you and I don't want you to be alone on Thanksgiving. So you're coming with me, you're eating Bobby's turkey, and the five different pies I've baked." Evan baked? Since when did Evan bake? Five pies? Tommy was so confused.

Tommy was honestly speechless. Because, what? "I miss you too." Was the only thing he could really get himself to say. And it was true, at least. Tommy had felt Evan's absence like an actual hole in his heart. Heart pumping over time to accommodate the wound and failing.

"Good. Because I'm not letting you go. And I'm not letting you let me go. We're going to actually talk after this, got it?" Evan had grabbed onto Tommy's hand, pulling him towards the jeep as he spoke.

"Got it." Tommy wished he could say more than two syllables at a time, but how could he? What could he even say? I love you? I'm sorry please let me spend the rest of our lives groveling? Nothing would be adequate.

But as they got into the jeep, Tommy blinked and reality settled in. Evan was here. Evan was bringing him to Thanksgiving dinner. Evan. Evan. Evan.

"I'm sorry. For being a coward." He finally let out. "You didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't. But I get it. I came on too strong, I went a little insane and overcorrected. You also went insane, and we both should have talked. But we'll do that later. After we have a perfectly normal Thanksgiving together. Howie is probably gonna punch you a little for not texting him back, by the way."

Yeah, that was all pretty fair, honestly. "I didn't think Howie really wanted to talk to me, after everything."

Evan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you tend to make decisions for othe people without actually considering what they want. We'll work on that though."

We. Evan kept saying we. And it felt good. It felt so good to be a we again.

"You're right. I've been an ass. And, I'm going to work on it. For you. Me. Us. Our friends. I mean it, Evan."

A warm, gentle smile. "Good. Now come on. Everyone's waiting for us."

Everyone meaning. Everyone. Bobby and Athena. Maddie and Howie and Jee. Karen and Hen and Denny and Mara. Everyone.

No one was angry, there were no tense silences. Just joy and forgiveness and thankfulness.

And as Evan held Tommy's hand as he lead them through Maddie and Howie's place, Tommy was starting to see how special the holidays really could be.

It wasn't perfect, and like Evan said, they had a lot to talk about afterwards. But as Bobby carved the turkey and placed some on his plate, as Howie grabbed the mashed potatoes and passed it his way with a joke and smile. As Maddie punched his shoulder (fairly hard, he had to give her that) but then hugged him the next second. As Hen gave him a searching look, like she was waiting to see if he was gonna make a run for it again, but then a satisfied nod when she saw the resolution on his face. Tommy realized this was what he had been missing out on, all those years ago.

And he wasn't going to let it slip past him again.

[sidekick-hero]

It's finally here, my entry for the @steddiesummerexchange. This is a gift for my dear friend @starryeyedjanai - I was so delighted when I found out you were my giftee 💜💜💜 Your prompt 'Steve can't get his inheritance until he marries someone' really tested me and took me out of my writing comfort zone. I hope you like it and that I did your prompt justice! Special shout out to the best beta in the whole world, @acasualcrossfade 💜🙏

Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Robin/Chrissy Characters: Steve, Eddie, Robin, Chrissy, Max, Dustin, Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, idiot4idiot, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, Humor and Fluff and a smudge Angst

Summary:

When Steve's grandmother dies, he finds out that he can only get his inheritance - half a million dollars - if he marries someone. It's her way of forcing Steve to live a heterosexual life. Sucks for her that gay marriage has been legalized since she wrote her will. Sucks for Steve that he doesn't have a man or woman in his life to marry. Cue Eddie Munson, roommate and best friend of Robin's girlfriend Chrissy and the guy Steve has had a crush on for years. What could possibly go wrong?

Read on AO3 - the fic is finished and has 4 chapters, the last one will drop June 24

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 1 (5.6k) under the cut

"Rob! Robbie!" Steve yells as he walks into their two-bedroom apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. "Robin Juniper Buckley, where are you?"

He hears the telltale clatter of dishes and sure enough, he finds his roommate and best friend in their tiny kitchen washing the dishes. It's his turn to do them, but his schedule has been hell this week. He's been spending so much time at the firehouse cooking for a crew of five to twelve perpetually hungry firemen and women that the thought of cleaning up their kitchen at home has made him want to cry.

"I'm here doing the dishes, because if I didn't, we could have proven Darwin's theories right here in our kitchen." Despite the scolding words, she doesn't look particularly angry at him, and he figures he'll be forgiven in no time. She knows he's been working himself into the ground lately, pulling double shifts whenever his boss will let him. Living in Chicago is expensive enough, but Steve also has to think about Max's education. There's no way his little sister can't live up to her full potential just because their parents are assholes who stopped caring about their children the second they turned out not to be the perfect son and daughter Richard and Emily Harrington wanted them to be.

He walks up to her and hugs her sideways, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment as he mumbles, "'m sorry, Robs. I'll make it up to you."

She sighs, and he knows he's already forgiven. "I know you will. It's okay. Not like I forgot to do something once or twice."

He leans back to look at her for full effect, waggling his eyebrows. "Oh, like when you started dating Chrissy and were so busy having sex that you barely left your room or her apartment?"

Robin swats at him with the towel slung over her shoulder, but there's a smile on her face at the memory.

"Okay, now that we've established that you're jealous that I have an incredibly sexy and wonderful girlfriend," Robin says, ignoring his indignant Oi!, "do you want to tell me why you stormed in here yelling out my full name, which I've clearly forbidden you to use except in emergencies?"

Her question brings back the excitement that propelled him from the grocery store to her apartment in record time, and reminds him of the news he's been dying to share with her in person, rather than by phone or text message. He needs to see her reaction firsthand.

Taking hold of Robin's shoulders, he locks eyes with her azure gaze, unable to contain the grin that splits his face in two. "She’s gone!"

Robin blinks in confusion, prompting him to clarify. "Grandma Harrington, she's kicked the bucket, bit the dust, you name it."

A puzzled expression lingers on Robin's face momentarily before realization dawns. "No way! She... really?"

Unable to contain his excitement, Steve gives her a gentle shake. "Yes, really. Grandma Harrington finally called it quits."

They look at each other, their grins widening until they both look like madmen. Steve is aware that all of this is probably a highly inappropriate way to react to the death of a human being, but Eleanor Harrington had been the worst human being Steve or Robin had ever had the displeasure of meeting in their lives.

She had visited her son and daughter-in-law infrequently over the years, never giving them much warning when she was coming over and occupying one of their guest rooms for the unforeseeable future. More than once, Steve had come home to find her sitting at the kitchen table or on the sofa, staring at him with her judgmental gaze, disappointed in him before he even crossed the threshold. Any friend who had the misfortune to accompany him was ordered to sit with her and be interrogated, always found wanting as her grandson's companion. Everyone was beneath a Harrington, even Tommy, even though his father was a lawyer. ‘Too many freckles and that awful grin’ was one reason, ‘I don't like the way he looks at you, Steven, too greedy’ was another.

Robin, who had become a permanent fixture in Steve’s life after becoming his project partner in one of their shared classes his junior year, hadn’t fared any better. To this day, Steve has no idea how Grandma Harrington found out that Robin was queer, because at that point Robin hadn't even been out to her parents, only Steve. But when she did, she had spit at Robin. Steve had lost it then, too angry, too hurt to think rationally. He had thrown caution to the wind and come out to her, too, even though the thought of liking boys was still new to him, something he was still trying on to see how it would fit.

He doesn't even know what he expected to get out of it. Certainly not acceptance or even approval, no matter how much a part of him still craved that from his family. The only thing he got was her calling them both horrible names and saying such cruel things that Steve had to hold Robin and wipe away her tears afterwards.

That episode alone was reason enough for Steve to hate the old woman. Never mind that she had raised his father to be a bigoted, heartless man who had never learned what it meant to truly love anyone, not even his own son or daughter.

When their faces begin to ache from smiling, Robin shrugs casually, as though dismissing the significance of the moment. But Steve knows better. He knows the weight of hurt and resentment they both carry because of that woman.

"Rest in peace, I suppose," Robin remarks with an air of detachment, and Steve can only offer a noncommittal hum in response, realizing that any words he might speak would only add to the inappropriate nature of their conversation.

"Alright, so what does this mean for you, Steve?" Robin asks, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Is this going to change how you deal with your family?" She pauses briefly before adding, "And what about your inheritance?"

Steve offers a slight shrug, his expression turning pensive. "I'm not entirely sure yet, Robs," he begins, his tone serious despite the lingering excitement from their earlier celebration. "I mean, I guess it means I don't have to deal with her anymore, which is definitely a relief. But as for the rest of the family, I don't know. They've never been particularly warm or welcoming to me, you know that. I mean, you’ve been there when they wanted to send me to a psychiatrist to help me get over being queer. I doubt they've changed much since then."

Robin nods in understanding, recalling the numerous tales Steve had shared about his family's cold demeanor and their refusal to accept him for who he is. She reaches out, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I mean, you know she was loaded. So yeah, there is an inheritance, but -" Steve continues, his gaze distant as he contemplates the implications. "There's a condition in Grandma Harrington's will. I can only inherit if I marry someone.”

Robin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Marry? Seriously? That seems archaic, unfair, and downright manipulative."

Steve lets out a wry chuckle. "Tell me about it. Grandma always did enjoy her control games. It's probably her way of trying to mold me into the perfect, straight grandson."

"You've got to be kidding me! Seriously? You... what, have to marry some woman so you can be the perfectly acceptable heterosexual son and grandson your family always wanted? Fuck off!" Despite the heavy topic, Steve can't help but smile at Robin's outrage on his behalf. He could always count on her. After all, she was there to pick up the pieces when his parents told him in no uncertain terms to either learn to be straight or leave.

He left and lived with the Buckleys until Robin graduated and they moved to Chicago together. It was the best decision he could have made, even if it still hurts some days.

For a moment, they both fall silent, each lost in their thoughts. Then Robin squeezes his hand again. "We'll figure it out, Steve. We always do. And hey, maybe this is the perfect opportunity to really stick it to them."

"What do you mean?"

A devilish grin spreads across Robin's face. "Tell me, does her will say that you have to marry someone, or that you have to marry a woman to get your inheritance?"

Oh.

Oh.

Steve looks at Robin, his eyes wide with sudden understanding. “You’re a genius, Buckley,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s time for us to pay my attorney a visit.”

Turns out Robin is right. It seems that Grandma Harrington wrote her will at a time when gay marriage was still illegal in most states, and never thought to change it after the courts made it legal in Indiana and Illinois in 2014.

Steve's lawyer, who he honestly couldn't afford if it wasn't for the fact that she was an old family friend, agreed to help him pro bono just to give his bigoted parents the middle finger, as her sister was a lesbian. She said that the requirements of the will would be met if Steve married a woman as well as a man. As long as it was a legally recognized marriage, he would get close to half a million dollars. Enough to pay for Max's education, the rest of Robin's student loans, and maybe even a small house here in Chicago for him and Max once she was done with college and wanted to live with him until she was ready to be on her own.

The only problem was that Steve didn't have anyone to marry, woman or man.

His last serious relationship had been in high school, for crying out loud. Not for lack of trying. Steve loved love, but love apparently didn't love Steve back. Robin insists that's because he's sabotaging himself. She thinks deep down he's afraid of getting hurt again, so he only falls for people who a) he can't have or b) are a terrible match outside the bedroom.

She might have a point, he thinks in his more introspective moments. He has no shortage of options, and he always finds someone to hook up with, but he rarely makes it past the second date.

"Maybe you could hire someone?" Robin suggests, sipping her Dirty Shirley. After seeing John for some legal advice, they had gone straight to their favorite bar to hold a strategic summit over drinks.

So far, they have only made it to the drinking part.

Sighing deeply, Steve considers the idea for a second before shaking his head vehemently. "No way. I'm not paying some stranger to marry me. It's probably illegal anyway, and it sounds a lot like prostitution."

He knows it's the wrong thing to say when Robin raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "And what, Steven, is wrong with prostitution?"

"Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with it. A job like any other job,” he hastily assures her.

His answer seems to satisfy her and he knows she's right. It's just that sometimes the things he's been raised to believe, thanks to his extremely conservative parents, are hard to leave behind. They have a tendency to bubble back to the surface when he least expects it.

"That's what I thought. But I get it, it feels wrong to pay someone to marry you."

"Exactly. And I mean, it's about trust. Who guarantees that they won't double-cross me somehow and run off with all the money? I can't risk that."

He looks over at his best friend, his platonic soul mate, whom he trusts with his life and, more importantly, his little sister's life. Right now, he thinks, there’s only one person he could imagine being married to.

"How about we get married?"

He regrets it as soon as he asks.

Not because he thinks Robin wouldn’t do it, but because of the two of them, she is the one in a loving, stable relationship that could very well end in marriage one day. It's unfair of him to put her in a situation where she feels like she has to choose between Steve and Chrissy.

Worst of all, he knows she still wants to say yes to him. He can see it in the soft, sad way she looks at him. They both know they'll spend the rest of their lives together anyway. The simple truth of both their lives is that they would do anything for each other, walk through fire, face any horror the world could throw at them, just to see each other happy. And it's not like they couldn't get a divorce later, so Robin could still marry Chrissy, sure. But it would take something from her.

"Steve, I -"

"No, wait, don't answer that. It was a stupid idea, I shouldn't -"

"It's not stupid, it's just -"

As they talk over each other, their voices clash until they both instinctively reach over, silencing each other with a hand over their mouths at the same time. Their wide-eyed surprise quickly gives way to laughter as they realize the absurdity of the situation.

Steve is the first to recover from their fit of laughter, quickly sobering up to reassure Robin in a mild voice. "Seriously, Robs, I shouldn't have asked you to do this because it puts you in a shitty position. I know how much you love Chrissy and it wouldn't be fair to either of you. Especially when the two of you could finally get legally married. I don't want to take that away from you and make you agree to a fake heterosexual marriage like it was the 80's."

She looks at him with her big blue eyes, impossibly soft, and takes his hand in hers.

"Steve," she begins, her voice as gentle as her gaze, "thank you. For getting it, I mean. It wouldn't be all fake, though. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But you're right, I'm not in love with you and you're not in love with me. And we both deserve to marry someone we feel that way about. In a perfect world, we would. I mean, I don't even know if Chrissy would ever want to marry me, but," Robin stops here, her eyes widening in sudden realization. "Oh my God, Steve!" Robin cries out in excitement and wonder, her reaction clearly colored by the strong cocktails their favorite bar always provided, before her voice becomes softer again, but no less wondrous. "I really want to marry her. I want to marry Chrissy so badly, Steve, I can't believe I didn't know.”

"And I can't believe you're realizing this after I asked you to marry me. Way to keep a guy's ego in check," Steve jokes with a big grin on his face. It's less news to him than it is to Robin, to be honest. Ever since Robin stumbled into their apartment with a piece of paper in her hand with a number on it, gushing about the gorgeous woman she had just met at the bookstore where she works, Steve knew his best friend was completely smitten with Chrissy Cunningham. That was four years ago, and they are still going strong, obviously madly in love.

She throws her arms around him and says, "I'm sorry," not sounding sorry at all, still giddy with her newfound realization. "I'll make it up to you. I actually might have an idea how we can get you your inheritance and still stick it to Grandma Harrington."

"I sense a but."

"But I can't guarantee it'll work."

"And..."

"And you might not like it at first, but honestly, it's genius, you just have to trust me. And if it really doesn't work out, then we'll get married and you'll pay for my 'I'm-sorry-I-love-you-please-stay-with-me-even-though-I'm-fake-marrying-my-best-friend' vacation with Chrissy. And the divorce."

Maybe it's the three beers he's already had, or maybe it's the fact that Robin would actually marry him just to help him out that makes him agree. He's sure he'll regret it along the way, but maybe he should take a leap of faith. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't. No way to find out but to try.

Drunk Steve is clearly an optimist.

"I feel like I'm going to regret this, but all right. What's your plan?"

Robin grins mischievously, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she leans back, holding Steve at arm's length.

"Steve Harrington, you won't regret this, I promise," she declares, her tone brimming with confidence.

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly, unable to suppress a chuckle at Robin's enthusiasm. "I'll hold you to that, Robin. But seriously, when do I get to know the master plan?"

Robin's grin widens, but then she sobers slightly, a hint of seriousness creeping into her expression. "I need to talk to Chrissy first. It's... complicated. But I'll tell you everything as soon as I can, I promise."

Steve nods, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside him. "Okay, fine. Just... don't keep me waiting too long, okay? I've had enough surprises for one night."

Robin reaches out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I won't, Steve. Trust me, this is going to work out. You'll see."

Despite his lingering doubts, Steve can't help but be swayed by Robin's unwavering confidence. With a nod, he squeezes her hand back, a silent agreement passing between them. Whatever Robin's plan entails, he knows his best friend has his back. And maybe, hopefully, they'll come out on top after all.

Drunk Steve should not be allowed to make any decisions, sober Steve decides.

Because he instantly regrets trusting Robin's secretive plan as soon as he steps into their apartment a week later, only to find not just Robin, but also her girlfriend Chrissy and Chrissy's best friend and roommate Eddie lounging in their living room.

All eyes turn towards him as he enters.

Robin's expression is the most transparent. Though the furrow between her brows is subtle, her lip-chewing and rhythmic tapping betray her worry, likely anticipating his reaction to whatever scheme they've concocted.

Chrissy, on the other hand, wears a radiant smile, her bubbly demeanor suggesting she's delighted about something. Yet, Steve can't shake the feeling that her enthusiasm might spell trouble. While he adores Chrissy and cherishes her friendship almost as much as he does Robin’s, he's well aware of her propensity for stirring up mischief.

Their shared history stretches back almost as far as hers and Robin's. It's a tradition for Robin and him to introduce their second dates to each other, one of their many platonic soulmate privileges. Steve often wonders if this practice inadvertently sabotages any chances of a third date, but he's unwilling to compromise on the importance of his friendship with Robin.

In any case, if someone can't accept his slightly unconventional bond with his best friend, they're probably not the right fit for him anyway.

Eddie's expression proves the most enigmatic. He appears utterly deer-in-the-headlights, his wide brown eyes resembling those of a startled doe. His usually pale complexion now seems even more ghostly. Steve notices how Eddie's fingers have been incessantly tousling his hair, rendering his dark curls resembling more of a chaotic bird's nest. Steve recognizes this as one of Eddie's nervous ticks, alongside fidgeting and rambling. His suspicions of Eddie's unease appear justified as Eddie avoids meeting Steve's gaze, opting instead to stare down at his hands, absently toying with his rings.

Something is going on and Steve has a sinking feeling that he won't like it.

"Um, hi?" He offers tentatively, his gaze flitting between Robin, Chrissy, and the nervously fidgeting Eddie. "Am I missing something here? Is this an early birthday surprise? Because if it is, I hate to break it to you, but my birthday's not for another nine months."

Before Robin can respond, Eddie interjects, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Hey, Steve! Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Nah, no birthday party, man. We definitely know when your birthday is!"

"We do?" Chrissy chimes in with a playful grin, clearly jesting, as Steve knows she's the one who meticulously keeps track of important dates in their circle.

Eddie, caught off guard by Chrissy's banter, stumbles over his words. "Uh, yeah, of course! February 23rd. Remember that baseball-themed cake from last year? I almost dropped it on the icy ground!"

Steve remembers it too, mostly because he was so chuffed to learn that in order to save his cake, Eddie had taken the fall instead, choosing to land on his admittedly not very well padded backside so that the cake could live. He had been unable to sit properly at their little gathering all evening. Steve had felt sorry for him, but also fond in the face of Eddie's sacrifice for him.

"It's so good to see you, Steve. You look great today, that shirt really makes your eyes pop. Doesn't it, Eddie?" Chrissy gushes, nudging Eddie's side as he just stares at Steve in a way that makes Steve worry that he's about to go into cardiac arrest.

Eddie's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Um..."

"Okay, what's going on, Robin?" Steve turns to the only person who doesn't act like she's on drugs or caught red-handed at a crime scene. Or both.

Robin, bless her soul, doesn't beat around the bush. "I told you I had a plan. This," and she points to Eddie of all people, "is my plan."

"That's Eddie," Steve states the obvious, but he feels he can't be blamed. Nothing makes sense, so he's glad for every single thing he knows. Then the rest of her statement sinks in.

Blinking at her, his eyes wide, he says the first thing that comes to mind. "You can't be serious!"

There's no way she's saying what he thinks she's saying. Because right now it looks like her plan to help him get his inheritance involves marrying Eddie. Which, no. No, no, no, no. Not Eddie. Maybe she means some other plan that Steve has forgotten. Like Eddie helping him with Dustin's birthday surprise, which sounded much more likely than -

"I told you he didn't want to marry me," Eddie's voice sounds loud in the stunned silence after Steve's reaction. "This was a stupid idea, I don't even know what I was thinking." Then, addressing Steve with his eyes somewhere to Steve's right, "Listen, man, I'm sorry. I totally get it, no hard feelings, okay? I wouldn't want to marry me either."

The wry chuckle doesn't sit well with Steve, nor does the way Eddie still refuses to meet his eyes, or the fact that he's started walking toward their front door. Before he can think about it, his hand wraps around Eddie's arm as he passes Steve on his way out.

"Eddie, wait." Eddie does, looking at Steve's hand wrapped around his forearm. Steve's grip isn't tight, so Eddie could easily break free, but he doesn't. He just looks, quietly waiting. Still not meeting Steve's eyes.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I was just surprised, okay? A little warning would have been nice." The last part is mostly for Robin, who at least does look contrite at his words.

"It's fine, Steve, really. Don't worry about it. Now, if you'll excuse me. Places to be, things to do, see you when I see you, you know the drill."

Steve could let him go, maybe should let him go, because Eddie is obviously embarrassed and the whole situation has gone south anyway. But Eddie doesn't sound fine, and Steve feels terrible about his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. Something that is usually Robin's specialty.

So instead of letting Eddie walk out of the apartment, Steve steps in front of him to block his way. "Eddie, please wait. I really didn't mean it the way you think I did, you have to believe me. You're a catch, okay? Anybody would be lucky to marry you."

And okay, wow, he didn't mean to say that, but it's the truth.

"You really mean that?" Eddie asks, pulling a strand of hair in front of his mouth. It looks incredibly cute and Steve wants to kill Robin for putting him in this position. She had said that he would not like her plan and that should have been reason enough for him to stop her. Because now he's between a rock and a hard place.

Either he lies and lets Eddie walk away thinking he's not good enough to be married, even if it is a scam to get his grandmother's inheritance. Or he tells the truth and risks getting his heart broken or their friendship ruined.

Because the thing is, Steve means every word. Steve has had a crush on Eddie for years. He's been able to keep those feelings in check because he and Eddie never spend time alone together. It's always group hangouts, or Eddie being there when he and Robin visit Chrissy, or Eddie joining them when they meet at their apartment. It also helps that Eddie keeps his distance from him. Sure, he's nice enough to Steve, but every time Steve tried to get close to the other man, his efforts were rebuked until he got the memo and stopped trying.

Before he can come to a decision, Robin steps in.

“I’m sorry we’re springing this on you, Steve. I could’ve prepared this a little bit better but Chrissy and I were so excited that we found the perfect solution, we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“And this is the perfect solution,” Chrissy jumps in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Tell him Robin!”

Infected by Chrissy's enthusiasm, Robin’s voice carries an equally excited note. “You said it yourself, you’d need someone we can trust. And you trust Eddie, don’t you?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s eyes on him. “Of course I do.” He doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath next to him at his decisive tone. Eddie’s a great guy, him rejecting Steve’s advances doesn’t change that.

Of course he trusts him because Eddie never gave him any reason not to.

But he remembers the stories Chrissy told them to explain why Eddie was a little wary of Steve. Apparently, Eddie didn't have it easy growing up. Chrissy wouldn't go into details because it's Eddie's story to tell, but she did mention that people used to treat Eddie like a criminal, a fuckup, trailer trash. Especially the jocks and rich kids at their high school, so since Steve was kind of both, Eddie had been wary of him.

So much so that Steve had overheard Eddie asking Chrissy once, early in her relationship with Robin, why Robin kept bringing that rich asshole jock over all the time. The words had hurt, but Chrissy's explanation had softened the blow. Still, he'd stopped trying to flirt with Eddie after that because he'd figured that even if Eddie came to accept him, he'd never be interested in going out with someone who reminded him so much of all the bullies in high school who had made his life a living hell.

All of which makes it easy to see how Steve's implicit trust could come as such a surprise to him. Which still kind of stings, because Steve had hoped that the last four years had shown Eddie that Steve was not what Eddie expected him to be just because he grew up rich and popular and into sports.

Before he can get lost in his thoughts about Eddie and what he has to do to earn Eddie's trust the way Eddie has his, Chrissy chimes in again, raising a finger. "So you trust Eddie. That's like the most important thing. Second," she raises another finger, making a playful peace sign in their direction, "Eddie's single. Not like Robin."

Ah, okay, Steve can see why Chrissy is so excited about her and Robin's 'plan'.

"'m sorry, Chrissy, for proposing to your girlfriend," Steve sheepishly apologizes, giving her a crooked smile, which she returns with a sunny one of her own.

"No hard feelings. I get it, believe me. Being with Robin means being stuck with you. Just like Robin is stuck with Eddie. Which is the third reason why this is a great idea," she adds, raising another finger. "We all spend a lot of time together already. Nothing really needs to change."

Aside from the fact that Steve secretly wishes things could change between him and Eddie, he's not so sure that's true. But to argue her point would mean revealing more about his feelings than he's comfortable with, so he lets it slide for now.

Objectively, Steve knows they're right. If he didn't still feel... something for Eddie, he probably wouldn't even hesitate. Because yes, he trusts Eddie not to screw him over, and he's also a close acquaintance who's been teetering on the edge of being a real friend for years. But he's also the reason Steve had to leave last year's Friendsgiving party early because Eddie showed up with some guy who couldn't keep his sleazy hands off of him. It drove Steve crazy to see someone else have what he wanted so badly.

In the end, it is the thought of being able to give Max all the chances she deserves that finally makes him look back at Eddie.

"And you're sure you want to do this? Fake marry me, I mean. Because, Eddie... I can't tell you how much I appreciate you being willing to do this to help me out, but... you don't have to do this, okay? It's not your mess or your fucked up family, it's mine."

Finally, Eddie is looking back at him, meeting his eyes.

"I do. Wanna do this, I mean. I know I don't have to, but -" Here Eddie pauses, apparently searching for the right words. After a few seconds he breathes a sigh and continues. "Look, for once, I love the idea of sticking it to an old homophobic hag, so that's a big incentive. Also, I was actually hoping you could help me out as well. Because there's this amazing record store that's for sale, but the bank refuses to give me a loan unless I have some kind of collateral. So I'm kind of hoping that being married will sway them."

At Steve's surprised look, Eddie hastens to add, "I don't want your money! That's for you and Max. Just the fact that I'm married to someone with money will probably be enough. And we can totally do a prenup or something like that."

Eddie sounds anxious, like he's afraid he's said something wrong, when in fact he's doing Steve a huge favor and asking for something incredibly small in return. Steve thinks he can't be blamed at this point, he just has to touch Eddie. So he does, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Eddie. Really. Of course we can go to your bank and convince them to give you the loan. It's the least I can do to thank you."

It feels good to be holding Eddie like this, even more so when, after a moment's hesitation, Eddie hugs him back. Even though they've known each other for years, Steve can count the times they've done this on one hand. It's never lasted this long either, and Steve can't suppress his disappointment when Robin interrupts the quiet moment by clapping her hands excitedly, causing Eddie to pull away.

"Oh, I'm so glad we worked it out. Go us!"

Chrissy, just as excited, jumps up and down next to Robin. "I'm so happy for you guys! We can totally help you plan the wedding. It's going to be great, I know it."

Steve and Eddie look at each other in growing confusion.

"Chris," Eddie begins, his voice careful. He's clearly more experienced in dealing with an overly excited Chrissy, so Steve lets him take the lead. "You do realize that Steve and I are only getting married on paper, right? I don't think -"

"You can still have a wedding!" Chrissy interrupts, clearly not deterred by anything silly like pragmatism or logic. "It's still a special day, and you deserve to celebrate it with your friends and family."

Before Steve can say anything - what, he has no idea - Robin jumps in on the ‘you should have a real wedding’ party.

"Besides, it has to look real, right? Why wouldn't you have a real wedding if you were getting married? Everyone would wonder. It's just easier to pull out all the stops and make it look as real as possible so no one will question it."

And that... actually made a lot of sense. Goddammit.

Looking at Eddie with an apologetic look on his face, Steve says, "I guess she's right," and shrugs his shoulders in a ‘I wish she wasn't, but what can you do’ kind of way. Eddie, to his credit, just sighs and nods, accepting his fate with as much grace as he can. He glances at Chrissy, who is almost vibrating.

"Fine. Chris, do you want to help us plan a wedding?"

She actually squeals. "Yes, yes, yes!" Then she rushes over and pulls them into a group hug.

Steve, looking over Chrissy's head at Robin, opens his arm. "Come here, Buckley." It's all the invitation Robin needs to join their celebratory hug.

For just this moment, Steve allows himself to feel as if this is all real, him and Eddie announcing their wedding and their two best friends in the whole world sharing in their happiness. It's a nice feeling, and when he leans his head on Robin's shoulder and looks at Eddie, he finds him looking back with the same soft smile on his face as the one Steve thinks must be on his own.

[eddiazx]

frosty - eddie diaz x reader

(I was staring at this gif for an embarrassingly long time. Angry Eddie is my JAM)

You might be cursed.

What other reason could there possibly be for you to be stuck in a cabin with a man that you loathe while there was a record-breaking blizzard happening outside?

Bobby thought that renting a cabin in Big Bear for the weekend would be a nice way to celebrate the holidays and for the team to bond (never mind that you guys already willingly spent every waking moment together). You weren't on shift the Friday, so you had decided to head to the cabin earlier and bake a little something before the rest of the team headed up the Saturday. Little did you know, Eddie Diaz had a similar plan.

To say that Eddie was a thorn on your side was an understatement. He was always critiquing you, disliking your reckless ways and stubbornness. The two of you had never gotten along, and Bobby had understood to never pair the two of you in tasks around the firehouse. Poor Buck got the brunt of it by being best friends with the two of you and never knowing whose side to take.

"You know, I've seen dogs wait for their owners like that." Eddie quips from his position leaning against the staircase railing. You were practically glued to the large window overlooking the cabin's front yard, desperately hoping the snow would slow down. The rest of the 118 would not be able to make their way up if the weather continued like this, and you don't know if you'd be able to make it another second alone with this man.

"Shut up, Edmundo."

"Don't call me that." Eddie seethes.

"Or what, huh?" You walk over to him haughtily, jabbing your index finger right in his chest. "What're you going to do?"

Eddie grips your wrist, preventing you from poking him further. His nose is flared as he stares down at you, his cheeks turning a faint red. You're subconsciously aware that this was the closest the two of you had ever been; always having a buffer in the form of another 118 member. This was the first time you were seeing Eddie up close and personal, and your body was betraying you. Your heart was racing and your whole body was flushing warm. You found Eddie... attractive?

Oh no.

Eddie seems to have some sort of realization himself, because he crashes his lips onto yours, the momentum of it making you stumble back. He places his hands under your butt and lifts you effortlessly, before turning and sitting you on the stairs.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" Eddie breathes, settling his hands on the stairs on either side of you, caging you in.

"Ditto, Diaz. Now, are you gonna fuck me or what?"

Eddie shakes his head. "You're infuriating. I will, but I wanna do something first."

You observe as Eddie settles on his knees between your legs. His fingers deftly unbuttons your pants, pulling it down until they pool at your ankles. He doesn't bother to fully take them off before he moves your underwear to the side, and his lips latch onto your clit.

"Oh my GOD." You moan, intertwining your fingers in Eddie's hair and pulling him closer to you.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back at the firehouse, Buck, Hen, Chim and Bobby are seated at the dinner table.

"Do you really think your plan is going to work, Bobby?" Chim asks, blowing into his cup of hot chocolate.

"Yeah, shouldn't we check that they haven't killed each other yet?" Hen chimes in.

"I have a really good feeling about it, guys." Bobby simply grins.

[cecilyv]

rescue protocol

Chimney records the entire rescue of the husky, but it’s the final thirty seconds as Buck and the dog crest the edge of the cliff that go viral. The dog (“Indigo,” the desperate owner told them, pointing over the cliff where the dog sat, seemingly oblivious to his precarious situation, “but call him Indy or he’ll run away from you” and they all sit for a second trying to figure out where the dog would actually go) hung comfortably from a impromptu harness attached to Buck’s waist, while his forearms visibly strain as he pulls both their weights up the rope, hand over hand. When he gets a foot on solid ground, he grins at Chimney and --

Chimney submits it to the main LAFD account because he knows ratings gold when he sees it. They post it, “Successfully rescued the husky and reunited him with his owner. Dogs, please remind your human friends to stay leashed and on the trails!” 

It does numbers. 

He wasn’t expecting the PR guy to reach out to Buck to do a takeover of their TikTok account, but you reap what you sow, he guesses. Now he lives in a hell where Buck has permission to record anywhere in the firehouse he wants, not even Gerrard can say anything, and he keeps popping up, asking questions like they're up for recertification.  

He doesn’t even follow TikTok (he watches videos when they get to Instagram, like the proper GenXer that he is), but Ravi sends all the videos to the group chat, so he is… gifted with the joy of watching Buck showcase the proper procedure to put on turnout gear (“This is…just a strip show in reverse,” Hen remarks) and demonstrate a firefighter’s carry and drag using Tommy as a victim (“I’m pretty sure they frown on foreplay on company time,” Ravi adds). 

Buck responds to that one with “Aww, you feeling left out? I can use you as a model for the correct way to do CPR?”

And Chimney has to laugh at how fast Ravi backtracks, “Nope, nope, I’m all good, just making a point.” 

In the end, it’s Tommy who has the last laugh, when Donato submits a video of him flying a helicopter that rescues a teenager from the same ocean cliff. 

“I could have done that,” Buck pouts, staring morosely into his beer. 

“Of course you could,” Tommy says as he kisses his frown away, while shaking his head at Chimney. 

[lowkeyrobin]

Platonic Ghostbusters x social media manager! Reader?

oooo hell yeah!! ; thanks for requesting and I hope u enjoy :)

GHOSTBUSTERS ; social media manager

summary ; you run the official ghostbusters social media platforms

warnings ; language

word count ; 746

masterlist

Podcast wanted to run the official Ghostbuster social media's but was quickly turned down at that. They needed someone who could actually be on top of that kind of stuff and whatnot. So, Stanz made a deal with Podcast that they'd get a social media manager, and he could act as their teammate with that, basically. Giving them ideas, giving them video clips and extra details, etcetera.

Most of the others didn't see a real reason for a social media manager, but as long as it wasn't their money.

Trevor offered to just do everything himself, but that was obviously turned down as well. The teens all agreed not to let the adults run the account either. They didn't need millennial - Gen X / Boomer humor flooding the whole account and making them look bad.

And that's where you came in.

surprisingly, Pheobe was the one to find you. she's seriously the most chronically offline person ever so the fact she ever opened Instagram was a miracle in itself

lots of talking back and forth and meeting the original four three ghostbusters to get input, then meeting callie & garry and the teenagers

you actually figured out that you used to be friends with Lucky as well, damn

you had managed social media accounts before, but you'd recently quit a few of those because of labor laws being broken so, yknow

you quickly formed a bond with Lucky, Trevor, and Podcast. you were kind of close in age to all three of them and they were all invested in the public image for the brand

setting the Instagram up was genuinely the funnest thing ever

the four of you were chilling in the living room in the firehouse (since sleepover stuff, pheobe was in her room reading) and you had your laptop in your lap and the three of them over your shoulders

the amount of laughing and cackling got some scolding from callie upstairs

it took everything out of you to not make the first post a video of trevor being soaked in Slimer's slime (which had been recorded by Lucky just by coincidence as they were investigating the attic again)

the first three posts, which were pinned, all lined up to be like a banner kind of logo with the theme song in the back, and they all played the same video, clips of the og ghostbusters and how they grew and then the new ghostbusters

the tiktok is its own thing, you allowed trev, lucky, podcast (and pheobe) to run it, but everything had to be ran by you first because pr shit

but thankfully no boomer humor or slang is ever being put on those accounts

most of those people don't even know wtf the internet is anyways lol

stanz has a personal vendetta against you /hj after you posted a .5 of him for relatable promo. he had no idea what you were doing but it was criminal that you made his forehead look so much more bigger than it already was

Winston gives you a bunch of old pics to post to trending angst sounds as well LOL

let's not talk about that tiktok where you, lucky, and trevor dance to/remake submissive and breedable by smosh ft bbno$, okay?

^podcast and pheobe were behind the camera cackling the whole time

lots of random pic posts on the insta as well because why not (most of them are the teens looking awkward, callie, gary & lars trying to look like cool scientists, or venkman, stanz, zeddemore & melnitz being classic, sassy old people)

the socials are never professional whatsoever, it's fun but it's not heavily controversial or obvious that you're there as a pr manager basically or just to manage the socials

like man they don't have the time to look at all the comments, take all the advice, reply to fans, etc

I mean that wage ain't that bad either LMAO

trevor is always bitching about how you make more money than he does /lh

you're not just a representative to them, you're actually family. you're just cool like that

"bro y/n is such a mc I hate them" and you'll reply on your personal w a "says you, reality shifter" or smthn LMAO idfk

always reposting ghostbuster edits / fanart etc because fandom culture 🙏

also I can't get over the fact the ghostbuster theme song is canon now either. yk damn well that shit is plastered everywhere thanks to you 💀

"do the ghostbusters respond??" "stanz said he loves your dog" "HELP HSEIJDLAKE"

10/10 experience

[mvltisstuff]

hi i have an eddie diaz request!

so eddie and the reader have been dating for a while, she’s also a firefighter with the 118, and after that special about them that taylor did aires, her abusive ex comes to find her. it’s kinda like the maddie and doug situation where he was looking for her since she left and she doesn’t tell eddie until something big happens and he has to save her which causes her to tell him everything.

thank you

all too well - e.d

summary: request

eddie diaz x reader

a/n: sorry for the unnecessary taylor slander in this i’m her biggest hater!!! warning for domestic abuse, very similar to maddie in season 2.

it was an innocent new segment. that’s all it was supposed to be. an informative post about the fire station 118 and how they work. taylor and her team had sauntered their way through the firehouse, gazing at the engines and the shiny structures that surrounded them. she recorded anything she could, despite requests of space and those who didn’t wish to be recorded.

y/n had been one of those, out of her relationship from her ex boyfriend. she was in active hiding, fleeing across the country to get away from such a man. he had been watching her every move, and she’d been meticulous in concealing herself. she’d heard of the situation maddie was in, dealing with the uncertainty of her location and condition. it was nightmare fuel, the thought haunting y/n in her sleep as she lay next to eddie at night.

she wanted to be able to tell him, but the more people who didn’t know, was better. she figured she’d be putting him in danger if eddie knew, especially the people around him. if something happened to eddie, she would never be able to move on from the life she wants to put behind her. the discarded ring of a man who was never truly her fiancé was something she needed to forget about.

the moment she saw the news segment had aired, her heart dropped. she fought to have herself removed, but that was not what happened. taylor removed other details of the day gone-wrong, but didn’t remove her identity. y/n had voiced her concerns very clearly to taylor and eddie, and eddie was pissed that no one would listen. she panicked as her name was splayed across the screen with a clean view of her face, easily recognizable. she knew he was looking for her.

she tried to reassure herself, but the joke was on her. she was now sitting in the familiar car with the disgusting smell of cigarettes and the sick excuse of a man. she was jostled awake in the moving vehicle. she didn’t dare to mumble a single word, her body frozen in fright.

“morning, sleepyhead,” the raspy and evil voice entered her ears.

“what did you do?” she managed to spit out.

he laughs grimly, in a tormenting manner. “you really thought i wasn’t going to find you? i’ll give it to you, it took a while but i finally have you where i want you.”

“why are you doing this, mark? i didn’t do anything to you.”

“you said we were supposed to be together. and you lied, y/n. you know i don’t like lies. like, come on, were you that stupid?”

“you kidnapped me in this car. i’m not the stupid one.”

“whatever you say, princess,” she moves her hand up to brush the hair out of her face when he grips her wrist painfully. “but if you ever say anything like that again, you will never go back.”

her eyes remain dry, feeling completely numb as she continues to stare forward. “you literally left me no choice! i love you! you love me and you just left me? you turned into a monster, a selfish, backstabbing person and it’s not my fault!”

“no, it’s not,” she complies, almost giving up entirely to make herself feel worthy. she plays into his act of the hero, when he’s been the villain in disguise.

he had driven her two hours out of los angeles, taking the backroads to avoid any interaction with people. y/n, in a complete terror, tries to formulate a plan in her head but everything is shut down by her own fears. “i have to use the bathroom, mark.”

“what? why?”

“because i am a human, it’s not like i had the chance before we left.”

“shit, fine. say anything and you’re dead,” he threatens, pulling up to an empty gas station with only a few workers inside. he lurks around, pretending that he’s browsing the selections. she speeds to the bathroom in the back, which looks like it hasn’t been occupied in years.

something in her mind switches, so she grabs a pen out of her pant pocket and searches around for anything she can. her eyes land on the paper towels, madly ripping one off and clicking her pen. she writes a message on it, prepared to hide it in her sleeve as they walk out. idiot she thinks.

“y/n!” mark bangs on the door. “c’mon, we have to go!”

she turns the sink on and off and discards of any evidence. she grabs the door and takes a deep breath, and swings it open to be confronted by the towering figure. she felt like he was feet taller, but he wasn’t. she had been so used to making herself feel smaller that she forgot the feeling.

the workers in the front had noticed the discomfort on y/n’s face. they could make an accusation, or believe that someone else would do something. “would y’all like to buy something?” one asked.

y/n looked at mark, scared for anything he react to. y/n steps closer to the counter, “yeah, can i get a pack of marlboro?”

“sure thing,” the other says and grab the pack of cigarettes from the back. he places it in front of her as y/n fishes for her credit card, swiping the note she’d written under it. somehow, marks obliviousness had missed the piece of white under it. she praised whoever made him this ignorant. after the machine dinged and the payment was made, mark grabbed her hand and moved out of the small store.

“i’m sorry,” she immediately begins to apologize. “it was a distraction to them.”

“whatever, get in the car.”

the workers had found the paper on the counter, all folded up and ink spilling through the back.

call 911, ask for sergeant athena grant.

two hrs out of la, gray toyota, license plate 2R7-983

the first man blanked, not knowing what to do but his suspicions were confirmed. the woman was not safe, so he did what he was told on the paper. he dialed 911.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the soothing voice came through.

“uh, i’m in solvang, and we just had a couple come in and i think the woman needs help.”

“did you get the name of the woman?”

“the name on the card was y/n, i didn’t remember any last name. she had y/c/h, about y/h tall, and she left a note asking for athena… grant?” this man was properly trained for emergencies, giving all the important details and steps they’d need.

“and what’s your name?”

“tyler,”

“ok, tyler, did she mention anything else?”

“yes! she mentioned a grey toyota and the license plate.”

“perfect, can i have the plate number?”

“it says… 2R7-983.”

“did she seem distressed?”

“yeah, she was scared and she looked tired and, i don’t know she just looked like something was really wrong.”

athena had taken the information, instantly realizing the name. she knew y/n very well, from bobby, eddie, and just being in the system she had been around her. she loved her, y/n was a great person and was good at her job. she was a gracious human, never leaving an ounce of disrespect in her tracks.

“grant!” her chief called. “we got a call from dispatch requesting you on a case, we’ve got a woman named y/n, domestic abuse concerns and she left a note with your name on it?”

“y/n? as in y/l/n? with the 118?”

“i didn’t want to assume, but i believe it is. i looked at her files and she’s had some past calls with a man named mark peterson, believed to have taken her.”

“son of a bitch,” she curses. “do we have an idea of where they might have gotten?”

“they were seen in solvang, two hours out.”

“so we get personnel out there asap?”

“exactly. we get out there and get this guy.”

y/n and he had stopped at a small inn, getting a room and a hideout for the night. he used a fake name for the both of them, lying through his teeth to the receptionist at the front desk. y/n was forced to put on a fake smile and a thrilled appearance, which she thought she should win an oscar for. they settled in the room, and she slowly started to accept her fate.

back at the home, eddie was in a slight rush. she hadn’t responded to any texts or calls. she claimed they would meet up the next day, but there were no traces left of her. externally, he put on a cool front for his son, but internally, his heart was sprinting. she could be anywhere. she could have a dead phone, or she could be dead herself. he tried not to think of the former, but he couldn’t stop himself.

eddie had loved y/n the moment she stepped into the station on her first day. he didn’t think he had any more love left to give. but, she shined her radiant smile and her adorable personality and eddie was head over heels. he’s been through hell with shannon and everything, and he wanted to never take anyone else again. y/n showed him a new side, making him realize that he needed affection, and she was more thankful to give that to him. he felt like the best version of himself when she had been with him the past few years, and that’s all he needs. he couldn’t let himself breathe until he found her, calling anyone who might know. until, he finally resorted to the police, calling athena.

“hey, athena,” he rushes out. “y/n, i- i don’t know where she is and that’s really unlike her, so-“

“diaz…” she says, making anxiety rise in eddie’s body.

“what? what happened? is she ok?”

“we believe she was taken,” eddie’s heart sinks to the floor, immediately turning his blood cold. “do you know a mark peterson?”

“no, never heard of him. i’m going to find her,”

“absolutely not, eddie. we are finding her now,” athena tries her best to ease his terror, but it fails.

“then i’m coming with you, i’ll be at the station in 10.”

eddie sits shotgun in athena’s police car after he got carla to watch christopher. he couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing up and down and his fingers to quit fidgeting. athena takes note of this.

“she’s going to be alright, we’ve got a lot of evidence for this.”

“we don’t know where the hell she is, we have no answers.”

“you’re right, we don’t. but you think she’d want you to lose hope on her?” eddie looks at her, staring at her eyes on the road before turning his phone on. he’s confronted with a picture of y/n and christopher together, pure smiles on their face as his world is out of touch. it’s only on a screen, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

y/n sat, frozen on the bed of the hotel room. she was completely burnt out, thinking that she was stuck with him forever. that news segment. if only she wasn’t shown on the fucking news segment, he wouldn’t have reappeared in her life.

his fake smiles and taunting words had become nothing but useless ones. she was living in her nightmare of having to deal with him, but she thought back to eddie.

every single memory they’d made over the past few years came flooding through her head. from her teaching him how to cook, to their first kiss, to last night where she was in his arms. it was beyond her comprehension that this much could happen in 24-hours. the time of her shifts, her normal routines that she longed for right now.

it wasn’t until mark heard knocks on doors, asking how many people were staying there until she was snapped out of her thoughts. she noticed the red and blue lights from outside the window as mark swore to himself. “fuck! get in the bathroom, y/n.”

“n-no, i wanna stay here-“ she argued as he complained back.

“get in there now! i’m not asking you again, or i swear to god, y/n…”

the darkness in his eyes was what forced her to stand up, but leaving her jacket on the bed and taking her shoes off, leaving them in clear sight. the knocks got closer, before the own piece of wood separating them was banged. mark opened the door casually, like nothing was going on. it always scared y/n the most. the way he could put up this front and act like some innocent man.

“hello, officer!” he said politely. “can i do anything?”

“hello, sir,” athena said, knowing he was the one to be holding y/n. “may i just ask, how many people are in this hotel?”

“just me, miss.”

“alright, i see. i saw this room was booked for two, and i’m assuming those articles of clothing aren’t yours?”

mark stops right in his tracks, wanting to pull y/n out of that bathroom and reprimand her for leaving her stuff. his face dropping, he didn’t know what to say. athena knew it too.

“mind if i take a look around? missing person warning, we have to be sure.”

his expression did not change, but he panicked on the inside. he was a quick man, but not quick enough to prevent athena’s abrupt hand against the closing door. she pulled him out, pressing him against the wall as she called for backup. “better luck next time, mark. let’s have a few words, you have the right to remain silent…”

y/n’s fingers were pressed in her ears, trying to block out any of the commotion or yelling that might’ve commenced. she’d already heard too much tonight, scared to traumatize herself any further. the noise concealed by her hands made her not even notice the opening of the door, and fearful to turn around and see his face again. she had been crying violently on the cold tiles of the bathroom, praying she’d be out of this mess. y/n’s instinct was to flinch at the hand pressed against her shoulder. eventually, she realized it was a humane one. she slowly turned herself around, locking eyes with athena. “we’ve got him, y/n.”

she sighed out in relief, but also in preparation for the storm of tears pouring out of her eyes. her hand went to cover her mouth in disbelief. she’d been hiding from this man for years, and she finally didn’t have to. she knew for a while that she wasn’t really free, she was just away from him. at last, the game of hide and seek ended, and it’s all going to be different.

her hand connected with athena’s, pulling her off the ground and out of the room. she was brought outside, lurking around the parking lot in desperate hopes for someone she loves. someone who’s touch can heal any wound. her dreams came true, when she saw eddie walking toward her.

“eddie,” she gasps out.

“y/n!” he runs closer, scooping her up into his arms and kissing her face frantically. “oh my god, i’m so sorry, mi vida, i’m so, so sorry.”

“i should’ve told you, i should’ve said something.”

“no, no, it’s not your fault. it never has been and it never will be.”

“i was so scared my life was over again. that i’d never see you or christopher, or hen or chim and buck or bobby and-“

“hey, calm down, ok? it’s all going to be ok, i’m here,” eddie doesn’t let go or let her release herself from his arms. she looks him dead in the eye, making sure he’s real and that she isn’t just searching for an answer. “they’ve got him, you never have to see him again. you won, baby.”

she won. she won? y/n didn’t feel like she won. the whole scenario still felt like a twisted prank, but it wasn’t. it was real, and she ended it. the years of making herself smaller and degrading herself because of one man were over. the time where she was continuously proven as less than had stopped.

she has eddie forever now, so if anyone had won, it was her.

[sunlightmurdock]

AETERNA | Two

ONE | MASTERLIST

SNYOPSIS: the show begins.

WARNINGS: smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; mentions of minor character death; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff. word count: 7.2k

…

On days that Billy works late at the shop, or just can’t find time to entertain your whims, you walk home from the Pines. It’s not too bad of a journey, you’re lucky that Fred and Joan didn’t pick a place too far out.

If you were to cross the creek at the bend, right outside of work, it would shave a good twenty minutes off of your journey. In the interest of keeping your Keds white and your socks dry, you take the longer route and walk down West Avenue.

Past the laundromat and Miss Jessie’s hair salon. Along the grass verge, sticking to the side of the road where there’s no footpath. People drive safer this close to town. Usually.

Early afternoon and you’re thinking about that evening.

Olive was supposed to come along with you tonight, but she blew you off to go fool around behind the old firehouse with this older guy she’s seeing. Twenty-eight, a father-to-be, and he still gets his kicks in the bushes like a teenager. Gnarly.

It’s for the best, though; your mom doesn’t like Olive too much. Joan wasn’t ever too strict with you — she let you scrape your knees and muddy your Sunday Bests, a couple minutes after curfew here and there never hurt. But to her, someone like Olive is someone treading water and bound to go under.

In Olive, you have found the big sister you had always wanted, but you wouldn’t go under with her. You’re too smart for that, your father says.

Without Olive, it’ll just be you and Georgie tonight. You just hope that he doesn’t get the willies and make you leave before it’s over. Fred would probably be pretty upset if you did wind up coming home without his only surviving son.

Wesley’s pictures are still up around the house, and his room remains untouched down the hall from yours, but he’ll have been gone five years in July. He doesn’t come up in conversation much anymore.

In another life, he would be driving tonight. You’d get shotgun and radio privileges, Georgie would get to be a real little brother and be banished to the backseat. You’d get your kicks chasing after gold-skinned West-Coasters and Wes would do what he always had and man the fort.

“You’re back!” Georgie greets you — half scaring you to death — by leaping down from the second stair and onto the runner by the door. You wobble in the direction you had come, the screen door clapping against your backside and deciding for you that you’re staying inside. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

“Yeah? Forever?” You drop your bag by the door and point a finger between the stripes on his t-shirt, right into that ticklish spot against his ribs. When he grins, he looks like your big brother had. He’s not much like Wes, though. It’s better that way.

“Man, and now I have to wait for you to get dressed!” Georgie realises, throwing his head back in complaint. “What time are we leaving?”

“Little after five,” You say and step around him as he spirals to keep with you, glancing down at the chunky brown wristwatch you use primarily to time Mr. Wheelan’s phone conversations with his mother against your smoke breaks. “Hour and a half. If that’s alright with you.”

He lingers at the bottom of the stairs while you hasten for your room. An uncertain frown works its way onto his freckled face as his stomach rumbles under the confines of his Sears’ Best t-shirt. “… Before supper?”

“Fred gave me money — we’ll get something on the way.”

From the downstairs hall, he curls his fist into a ball and celebrates under his breath. You wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway, your fingers already dropping the needle onto your still inky, sexy new Fleetwood Mac record.

After a month and a bit of trying, you had nabbed it at a store a town over. Atwood’s excuse for a record store rarely had the new stuff.

Sharp, fast-guitar strums and Lindsay Buckingham’s wicked vocals. There’s nothing better. Well, not yet. Someday soon, Lindsay Buckingham will be on the guest list to one of the lavish parties you’ll throw. By then, you won’t sing as embarrassingly as you do in your childhood bedroom.

Making your way through buttons and fastenings and stockings and Keds, you hop and dance to lyrics you haven’t quite memorized yet while shedding the candy-striped version of yourself for someone far superior.

Wiggling your hips and nodding your head as you pick through your closet, you’re searching for a safe middle ground in a sea of far from between. You’ll need something that Georgie won’t snake to Joan about, and something California at the same time. That’s where they’re from, you figure. With tans and smiles like that, it just seems like the reasonable guess.

Your skin-tight bell-bottoms are the obvious choice. Georgie can’t nark on you for jeans, but then again, these are so much more than jeans. They’re heaven sent. You’d spent your first Pines paycheck on them, and they were worth every penny.

The record plays on through tracks two, three, four and into “Go Your Own Way” while you’re still making up your mind on how to decorate your top half. Red would be your usual pick to stand out, but you’re going to be surrounded by a sea of red so that’s out. Green would make you stick out like a Christmas tree. Yellow works, you guess, in a McDonalds kind of way.

There’s no need for an alarm clock. By track six, Georgie is trying your doorknob and reminding you promptly that it’s a little after five. Fred installed that bolt lock on your door a little over a year ago. It keeps your brother out in the hallway. Your wristwatch, discarded, confirms that it’s exactly six minutes after five. That means time for make-up is over and you really need to find a shirt.

“We still have time for burgers, right?” Georgie bounds down the stairs ahead of you with reckless abandon and lacking coordination, slipping on the rug and catching himself on the stair rail.

“If you tie your laces in less than ten minutes.” Your answer is purely to tease him. You’re uncertain about the denim waistcoat you were forced to pick, but the jeans save it. Your new leather boots will make it.

As you zip them up your calves, Georgie races past you, almost banging into the front door as he wrestles it open. As he tears outside, you notice his feet halfway jammed into his sneakers, wobbling with each step. “I’ll tie ‘em in the car!”

Joan stops, wincing through her view from the dining room window as her overconfident little boy steps onto his own lace and tumbles into the door of the family station wagon.

“Nice going, Airhead!” You call out, turning your head mid-jibe to find your mother watching you. Her face flattens sternly, but she decides her priorities lie with making sure her airhead son picks himself out of the dirt okay.

The screen door rattles behind you as you jog down the steps and Georgie scrambles to his feet, brushing off his blue jeans.

“Wave bye to Mom.” You remind him, waving sweetly at the dining room window as you unlock the car and slink into the driver’s seat.

He stands straight and grins, cheeks dimpled as he waves toward the window.

The old radio system crackles to a start, and Joan watches from the dining room window as you reverse it down the driveway and pull out onto the main road.

The sky sits between purple and blue, darkening like a bruise as the station wagon follows the winding country roads that stretch out towards the O’Malley farm. It sits between mountain foothills, on the verge of Cole County, almost in Martock County — country club central.

In the late afternoon, your brother is buzzing. He can barely contain his excitement, or his singing voice despite you making him promise to stop exactly six miles back. He shoots a gleaming look up at you, grinning as he holds onto his vanilla shake like it’s a Pulitzer Prize. Fast food, his favorite flavor shake, and a trip to the realm of the unknown all in one night.

He’s going to have a lot to talk about come Miss Lindsay’s class Monday morning.

You plan to have plenty to talk about Monday morning, too. I.e. the dirt on those guys you spotted out by airport road; you saw ‘em first, and Olive is, in some regards, spoken for — so they’re all yours for now. At least one of them must be single. The guy with the mustache had a girl in his passenger seat, after all. But she didn’t seem to want to hit you for drooling all over him, so either she’s a Martian or she says he’s fair game.

“There it is, I see it!” Georgie declares, spotting the glowing Ferris wheel through a break in the trees. Your stomach twists, a giddy excitement toying at your nerve endings. You play it cool, shooting him a knowing smile, tugging the wheel to a slow left.

The O’Malley farm is the biggest in the area, threatening to be the oldest thing around too. Of its acres and acres of land, the circus has been allotted a four acre space at the forefront, just off the road.

You were here once for a Fourth of July fireworks show. You’d spilled mustard on your new white jeans. Your older brother had put you up on his shoulders and you’d forgotten how sad you were, lost in a sea of red, white and blue sparks.

Georgie lights up with the foreground, his jaw going slack as he stares out at the sea of sounds and colours ahead of him. Sure, it’s Saturday night but this place is packed. The designated span of grass is filled with Atwood’s car and truck collection; you do as Fred would want, and leave the station wagon at the end of the row. It’ll be easier to get out later.

It’s all neon around here. Purple lingers in the darkening sky, the dirt and the grass dry and the air brisk. Lights and screams overpower the song playing over the radio. The same one you’d heard out on Airport Road. Electricity fizzles in your stomach the way static feels on your fingertips when you reach for the television screen.

“Can we get cotton candy?”

Your head turns. Your gaze flickers downward. You eyeball the emptied cup, the now missing vanilla shake, and then look back at your brother’s ecstatic face. His feet kick uncontrollably in the footwell. Your lips purse, as if to consider the proposal. Guitar plays on around you, all electric like the feeling in your stomach.

“Yeah… we’ll see,” You cut the ignition and grab your purse from the passenger side footwell. With the engine, the radio dies too, and the song stops abruptly. The familiar guitar riff cuts out before you even remember where you’ve heard it before. “Let’s get our tickets first.”

Though, it might be kind of a fun joke to get him all hopped up on sugar and take him back home to kill Fred’s Saturday Night Movie Marathon. His VHS collection is unrivaled amongst the dads of Atwood.

Georgie is absolutely not, under any circumstances, allowed to get his grubby little paws on a single one of those tapes. Not because they’re dirty, or scary — but because Georgie likes to understand the mechanics of how things come apart and Fred prefers his belongings intact.

Your eyes are drawn to every corner of your peripheral, your boots tracking through dry dirt path. One hand on Georgie’s shoulder, you keep note that he’s still with you as your eyes explore. Dirt spills into grassland and you’re off the path; you just aim for the centre.

The fairground roars around you, hitting the peak of Saturday night excitement, carnival games singing and rattling around you and the carousel singing out dead ahead. Lights and games whir wildly around you, it feels like you’re still hearing that electric riff even now it’s gone.

“Can we go on the Ferris wheel?” Georgie tugs at your forearm, barely audible over the thrum of the whirring generator beside you. A shrieking scream tears your attention from him. To your far right, there’s a Rotor ride — a giant, spinning green cage that sticks you to the wall with one of Newton’s laws. If your eighth grade teacher was hotter, you’d know which one.

“If you’ll ride that one with me.” You point a gel-polished fingertip toward the spinning ride. Georgie shifts a bit, and fiddles with his hands. He’s eleven this year, getting too old to be chickening out of fairground rides.

“Alright.” He agrees without nodding, or really even moving. Your wristwatch is still on your bed at home, but with all the crowds out here, you know you must have time. Your hand presses between his shoulder blades, carrying him with you as you start towards the spinning ride.

Fifty cents later and you’re looking across at him, each of your backs pressed flat against the flimsy, green-painted metal. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes his eyes shut. You turn your head towards the lilac hue and inhale; buttered popcorn and sugar-sweet candy floss filling your senses.

“Smell that?” You ask him, squeezing your fingers around his. He peeks one eye open, his nose wrinkling. He smells it too, the sweet scent in the air. The sky’s coloured like it’s full of it, lighter than usual because of all the sugar. “No one’s ever been afraid while eating candy floss.”

And he stumbles off, feeling like he’s still spinning in circles and regretting that big vanilla shake a little bit, but grinning. The safety of being with a big sister isn’t something you ever grow out of. He looks up at you, your hand on his shoulder.

Your hair whips around you as you follow him off of the ride, still laughing at the way he’d shrieked. Your eyes crinkle at the edges and your knees angle towards each other like you’re laughing so hard you might pee, your laugh is far reaching.

The eyes on you, though amused, turn away as quickly as they’d found you. The feeling lingers anyway and you turn, looking through the crowds, searching for the attention you feel. Your instincts are good, but your eyes catch on the wrong thing. Your admirer has already turned in the other direction.

The sky has darkened sometime since you stepped onto the ride. It verges; safe, summer lilac bloom and tinged toward the color of a fresh bruise. The lights around are so bright that the O’Malley farmland looks like it’s being consumed, fading into the dark around it.

To the right side of the Big Top is a rectangular booth with a helpfully illuminated TICKETS sign hanging above, and a man inside shouting the same word on repeat with different varying offers.

His sights land on you. Something sudden, mechanical, almost. His gaze is stiff and unwavering, eyelids peeled back, irises black. Immediately, you feel watched. Not like before, not something instinctual that had made you turn to look.

It feels like even the sky up above notices, the sky skulking towards that kind of blue named after the darkest point of the night.

Wearing a black button-up shirt with a red waistcoat, he’s the only person around that you can see in a uniform. His face is a grease-paint white and there’s a red smile painted across his lips. They stretch back to reveal straight, white teeth, bared like an animal. Then, they curl at the edges and become something more natural — something closer to a smile.

“Show’s about to start! Sales close in the next five minutes, folks! Get your tickets!” He calls out like he’s looking right through you, even though you’re walking right for him now.

Steadied, no longer spinning, Georgie stares in awe, his neck craned all the way back as he watches the Ferris Wheel carriages rock and wobble. Safe with his big sister, he’s not looking. You curl your fingers into the back of his shirt, losing the sinister, greased-red smile in the crowd for a second as you reach for your purse with your other hand.

The bodies pass by and there he is again, watching you once again, but up closer he’s not so scary at all. You can see the way the paint is brushed onto his skin, and his eyes aren’t really black but more of a deep brown. His lips stretch into a goofy, friendly grin.

His rigid fingers relax against the wooden podium he’s posted behind, nail marks in the wood hidden behind his glove-covered palms.

“Hi, kids,” He’s got the goofy clown voice nailed, too. He almost makes you smile as he looks towards Georgie and plants his hands on his hips from inside the booth. “Are you excited for the show, young man?”

“Yes, sir.” Georgie answers back, suddenly bashful as he hangs off of your forearm.

“Two tickets, please.” You tell him, that awful, cold feeling ebbing away as you dip into your purse and pull five dollars from your wallet. Two dollars for kids, three for adults. Steeper than the movie theater, that’s for sure.

“Here you go! You kids enjoy the show now.” The clown slides the two pink stubs under the plastic for you, tipping his head to the side and grinning real wide once again.

“Thanks.” You turn and plant your hand on Georgie’s back again. Those folks who stick reins on their kids might be onto something. “It’s about to start. We’ll do the wheel later, okay?”

People have already started to filter in ahead and behind you. The tent is quieter, and darker than outside, the screams of excitement seem so much further away. Following the flickering string lights, you venture deeper under the shade of thick, red and white canvas.

Ahead of you is a circle marked by red borders, a round, dirt-bottomed arena for the performers. Rows and rows of bleachers surrounding the space, pushing at the walls of the tent for the audience. It looks bigger inside. They were expecting a big crowd, and they got it.

“Here.” You pat softly at his shoulder and point to the second row of bleachers. Front row might be better for someone his size, but you would just about die of embarrassment if you got called as a volunteer.

“Uh-huh. Do you want a soda?” Georgie asks, planting his butt onto the wooden bench beside you, rocking the soles of his Chucks into the wooden slat below. He’s been waiting to ask, these dimes have been burning a hole in his pocket since Fred handed them over this afternoon.

A gentleman always pays, and that’s what Georgie’ll be someday soon.

You chortle, shaking your head. “I’m alright. Do you need some money?”

People filter in around you with hushed pardons and thank-yous. You set your bag down under the bench and that’s where it remains, forgotten, for the rest of the evening..

“No. I brought mine! — I’ve gotta get you something,” He explains, the freckles on his face disappearing as the lights above you flicker on and off purposefully. He fishes a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a handful of coins, presenting them to you urgently. “Popcorn?”

Instantly, you recognise this as the workings of your father. Wesley, too. A smile ticks at the corner of your mouth, then catches.

The last person standing takes their seat. The circus tent stirs, buzzing to life with hushed whispers of what’s to come. There’s a constant whir in the background, the sound of generators keeping this place going.

Craning your neck back, you study the support beams. The podiums so far up that you can no longer see the wires, the hooks for silks, the point at the very top of the tent where all of the lights stem from.

A reminder that summer grows nearer by the minute, the tent is already thick with the warm evening air.

Your gaze flickers back to the tall podiums and the bowed ceiling of the canvas as the stage lights flicker and then dim. A thud rings out like a stack of books dropping as a spotlight hits dead center on the red curtain that hangs. Everything settles into an abrupt quiet.

“After. It’s starting.”

Anticipation settles under the canvas, weighing heavier than the early May air. Popcorn crunching and shoes fidgeting against the wooden bleachers, a cough from somewhere to your far left.

Then, with another thud, the tent falls pitch black. Georgie squeezes your wrist. He’s still scared of the dark.

With a rush, a spotlight beams on the center of the arena, revealing at once a man in black slacks and an elaborate red tailcoat. From beneath the brim of his top hat, his mouth twists into a smile, the rest of his face hidden under the cast of a shadow.

His white, gloved hands stretch out from behind his back and lift from his sides in an almost greeting gesture. He spreads his wingspan, addressing the audience as he steps forward and looks swiftly up, his gaze piercing and blue.

It tracks that he’s the one in charge around here. Older, but young in the way his eyes glint with trouble. He looks left to right, following the curve of the audience, captivating his spectators with knife-life sharpness.

The crowd has fallen resoundingly still. Popcorn goops with the threat of cooling, congealing butter. Shoes are unwavering, suddenly stuck. Georgie’s eyes bulge, blinking back at the unblinking Ringmaster.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” With a chilling air of calm, his lips peel back into a toothy smile. It’s friendly by nature, but cold to the eye. His head twists slowly, bending thirty degrees to the left, his smile spreading the way water does when puddled. “To the greatest show in the world.”

Ambitious, you think. Some hot guys and some speeding fines and suddenly the rest of the world are out of the running.

You recognise the self-assured leader of it all. He’s the guy from the first van, the big one, with the girl in the passenger seat. Hell on wheels, coming over that hill. Brown hair feathers from under the hat and sits around his jaw, the only part of him that’s not immaculately kept.

The tailed coat he wears is effectively tailored, showing off the gold watch on his right hand and the glimpse of a tattoo from under the sleeve of his left arm. The jacket is especially extravagant, threaded with gold buttons and woven thread down the lapels. He’s a lot more polished-looking than the guy at the ticket booth.

There’s something similar in the way his eyes land on you though. His gaze is gone again as soon as it touches you. His smile keeps on spreading, a puddle seeping through the sand floor at his feet, reaching, tendrilous, for the bleachers.

Music starts behind him, light and bouncy like the kind of sounds a carousel plays. He peeks backwards, and returns his gaze to the audience with a knowing grin.

“Sounds like my friends are excited to meet you all,” He says quietly. Then, he smiles and waves the idea off. The music stops with a beat. “They’ll have their turn. First, I have something to share with you all.”

He’s a hell of a magician. Captivating, really, the way he manages to keep track of the packed room. He’s everywhere, and aware of everything at once. During a trick in which he made a rabbit disappear, not into a hat, but into the very back of the crowd — someone near you began to whisper their theories. You don’t know how he heard what they said, but you know that it wasn’t an accident when that rabbit peed in their lap.

Beneath the awe and wonder of his run-of-the-mill magic routine, there’s something inexplicable. Something in the way he maneuvers; the way he smiles like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. All magicians are, you guess, but this is different.

The show flows on beyond him, performers emerging from the shadows with knowing looks on their faces. All of them hold onto that punchline through their tricks and trials, their mind-bending illusions and death-defying stunts.

It doesn’t stop with the appearance of the face you had been hoping to see. As he takes the stage, twisting a flaming staff expertly to a drumbeat so loud that it feels like it rattles your brain itself, he too is in on the joke. He throws the burning stick into the air. As it flips and spins, he takes a moment to look out across the crowd.

With the thundering drum beat, the orange glow of the flame, the sweat beading down his chest, the crowd hangs in anticipation as the object hurtles back down towards him. Searching through the sea of faces, a calm smile settles onto his face. He leans back, opens his palm, and catches the burning staff before it strikes him.

As much as his performance strikes an interest in you, you’re concerned that it might spark an interest in Georgie for a different reason.

Once he has returned into the same shadow behind the curtain that they all come from, there’s something that lingers with you. A delusional sense of hope, maybe, that because he looked at you once, he would do it again.

The evening’s entertainment draws to an end with another visit from the Ringmaster. With his unnaturally blue eyes and his stretching, tendriled smile, he bids Atwood goodnight. The last ones in are the first ones out, the Big Top becomes more shadow than human as the sea of faces filter out into the fairground.

“That was awesome!” Your little brother declares, throwing his hands up into the air in balled fists. “Could we come again?”

Oh, you’re planning on it. Golden Boy’s act alone is enough to guarantee you a return spot. Later tonight, when you’re alone and in bed, you’ll be thinking of the way his aptly golden biceps flex as he curls back to nail the tip of the blade into the center of the target from a distance.

Come Monday morning, Olive will be hearing all about how she missed the way sweat beads at his chest when he’s doing that fire show.

“Yeah, maybe,” You shrug. “If Fred’s okay with it.”

Fred’s okay with everything. Georgie grins, and then remembers the condition of him being allowed to go tonight.

“Oh, wait. I have to buy you something.” He remembers, shoving his hand deep into his pocket to confirm he still has his sweaty handful of change.

Fred will check to make sure, otherwise you’d tell him to keep his money for another day. You smile, and shrug once more, looking around.

“I’ll take a Coke.” You tell him. The stand is right in front of you. It’s not that far away and even with the crowds, you shouldn’t have any issues spotting the red and orange stripes on Georgie’s shirt. You were younger than him and venturing further by yourself. You don’t think twice before letting him rush off ahead of you.

He knows exactly where you’ll be waiting for him. Just to the left of the shadowy entrance to the Big Top, you push your fingers into the tight front pockets of your jeans, looking towards the inky-indigo evening sky.

It’s getting colder, now. You’re too old for your mother to remind you to take a jacket these days. Your boots trail in the mud, starting up an even and uniformed route to pace along for warmth. Georgie waits patiently at the back of the concessions line.

An evening breeze bristles at your exposed arms and carries the smell of burning tobacco. You turn your head sharply to the left, and crane your neck. The fields around the fairground are pitch black, like this pasture is the only thing around.

The smell has you wandering just a little further, around the wide bend of the Big Top, you squint through the shadows and light up just like the Ferris Wheel behind you.

Illuminated by the orange glow at the end of his cigarette, lurking in the shadows, he’s already looking at you by the time you spot him. Wearing the same black slacks he had worn for the show, the string lights behind you catch on the gold of his necklace. Your lips twitch as he smiles across at you.

The cigarette sticks between his lips like it just wants to be there as his lips stretch wide. His cheeks hollow a bit as he puffs at it, sweat drying on his skin and prickling the blonde hairs on his arms.

Watching you wander his way, he can’t help but smile back at you. Friendly is kind of his thing when it comes to this place. After all, you came all the way out here to see him, it’s the least he could do.

“Evenin’,” He drawls, Western in more than just the way he’s dressed, as he pushes up from where he was hiding to smoke against the Zoltar machine. He saunters towards you, the light catching his skin and making it glisten like real gold as he steps into the light.

“Evening.” You greet right back, lips catching on a grin. You straighten up like he’s somebody important and that makes him smile right back at you, the bridge of his straight nose wrinkling with enjoyment.

Taking his cigarette from his lips, it settles between his index and middle fingers, then lowers to hang around his waist. His inky-black, dress-pant adorned waist. The same as he was wearing during the show. Those things don’t fit like the kind of suits you usually see — the ones you’re familiar with end just above the belly button. His sit so slow on his waist that you can see the black band of his underwear.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can.

He hasn’t changed yet, he always sneaks out back for a smoke before he heads out to make himself known around the fair. Tips come rolling in if he makes himself friendly. That’s not why he’s here, hiding in the shadows, with you.

“So, how’d you like the show?” He asks. His cigarette wobbles between his lips in a real Clint Eastwood kind of way. The gold crucifix on his necklace slips on the chain as he moves, revealing a dark ink etched into his skin below. A cross, tattooed onto his skin, just between his collarbones at the base of his throat. The same as is on his necklace.

You tear your eyes away from his chest and look him in the eye. Georgie would pitch a fit if you asked to bum a cigarette. Really, you only smoke with Olive, anyway. “It was cool. My brother loved it.”

“And you?” He prompts, placing the cigarette back between his lips and inhaling deeply. Like he finds oxygen in the smoke, as if he’d been holding his breath since the last hit. He quirks an eyebrow at you as he lets the breath sit on his chest.

He knows he’s good looking, clearly — you can see that in the way he juts his hips out before he walks like a cowboy does. But, you can play too. You shrug at him, suddenly coy.

“It was alright.”

A breathy chuckle slips his lips.

“Yeah?” He beams at you, all intrigue and amusement, green eyes glinting as the neon lights of the fairground rides illuminate his face. “You’ve seen better?”

Oh, you like the way he plays. You trail towards him, slipping into the shadows of the Big Top. Close enough now that you can smell him; sweat, smoke and an equally smoky cologne. It smells expensive, for a carnie.

Your shrug is a balance between ditsy and daring that particularly seems to strike a chord of interest within him. “Still holdin’ out for the best, is all.”

Smirking around the growingly short cigarette, he puffs at it once more and plucks it from his lips again. Tall, broad and muscled all over — he must have served before. A bit older than you, he’d probably be the right age for it. He carries himself calmer than the other Vets you’ve seen. He doesn’t have that look in his eyes.

He’s what they should all look like, if they’d gotten to age like normal.

“Smart girl.” He decides, rolling it between his fingertips for a second. You watch as he drops it into the dirt and stubs it out with his boot. Green eyes on you once again, a flash of neon crosses his face as the ride roars into action once more. “I’ll see you.”

He says it like he knows it to be a certainty, taking a step back. His usual after- show ritual will continue with or without you. Next comes an outfit change and a spritz of cologne, then some Front of House showboating.

“Don’t you have a name?” You prompt him, brows drawing together as he wanders backwards.

He grins. “Jake.”

Jake. He even says his own name like he likes the sound of it. Like he thinks you’ll like the sound of it. Backwards, his boots fall into line behind each other; you don’t even realise you’re following him until his footprints are the only ones in the mud anymore.

Jake’ll be seeing you. You’ll be seeing Jake. It seems set already.

“Excuse me.” You turn and look over your shoulder, a muscle in your neck catching as you do a wide-eyed double take and spin.

One hand on a red and orange striped t-shirt, is the man of mystery himself. Standing tall, especially tall, taller than he had looked driving along the road that day, is Mr. Movie Star, stone-faced. Wearing a white vest with an unbuttoned blue overshirt and rolled blue jeans, he looks even better than before.

When he hadn’t turned up in the show, you’d started to think that you had imagined him. Speeding along that country-road with his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose and the prettiest smile you’d ever seen.

Well, here he is. He doesn’t look half as happy to see you.

Your brows furrow as your gaze falls down to where his hand sits. Georgie’s shoulders heave with a shuddering, relieved sigh, tears burning in his eyes as he stares back at you with a glass Coke bottle trembling in his hand.

“I think you lost something.” The man of your dreams tells you, stone-faced, cold.

“Shit.” You whisper, and Georgie doesn’t even consider scolding you. He looks up at the man who had helped him find you, and heads for you instantly. “You okay? What happened?”

“I turned around and I couldn’t see you.” Even though he’s older now, right on the verge of being grown, his voice trembles and you remember he’s not like you were. He’s scared of the dark and he sleeps with a stuffed tiger and night; he’s sweeter than you’ve ever been.

He goes to wrap his arms around your middle and you welcome him with a one-armed embrace.

The guy from the road is still watching you. His hair is tousled and his shoulders are stretching out that overshirt, his cheeks are warm and pink. Eyes dark, he eyeballs you from boots to earrings.

“Thanks,” You can’t help but take a look behind you. Jake is long gone already. You smile softly in polite gratitude. “Sorry, I just — took my eye off him for a second.”

His eyes linger on your face, a silent second too long. The wait almost makes you squirm on the spot, wondering if he recognises you, if he’s mad at you. Finally, he meets Georgie’s gaze and shoots him a cool shrug. “It’s all gravy.”

Georgie unravels himself from you and pushes the Coke bottle into your hand, and you hold off on pushing him away by his face to get to know his knight in shining armour.

“Have a good night, little buddy.” With another nod of acknowledgement, the handsome man makes no effort to sugarcoat the bluntness of his tone. He drops one boot backwards and moves to turn away.

Now, you haven’t been jealous of Georgie too many times in his life so far, and not many older siblings can say that. But on this occasion, you’ve barely been graced with two sentences and Georgie’s all of a sudden been awarded a nickname? — Not gravy.

“Thanks, again.” You call out in a moment of panic. It happens before you have a chance to develop something as cool as your exchange with Jake. Then again, Jake had seemed to want to speak to you. The Movie Star turns and looks at you over his shoulder, barely giving you a second of eye contact as acknowledgement as he plucks his cigarettes from his pocket.

They sure do smoke a lot for people surrounded by canvas and gas-guzzling generators.

“I really appreciate it.” You continue, cursing yourself, curling one hand into Georgie’s shirt as you follow after him. He closes his eyes, rolling them into the back of his skull as he hears you hurrying behind him. “He’s always wandering off.”

“No, I—“ Georgie struggles as your arm wraps around his scrawny shoulders, hugging him to your side and covering his mouth.

“Really, it was no sweat.” His lighter clicks open and ignites, then flips shut and disappears back into his pocket. Not so much as a look in your direction at this point.

You really should cut your losses and take Jake as your win — you can’t have them both anyway. The Movie Star’s lips almost twitch. Cut your losses and take Jake— he likes that.

“I didn’t see you in the show,” You continue anyway, something unnatural in the way you’re itching for him to so much as look in your direction. It’s been a while since you last saw action. “So, you like… work here?”

Idiot. You cringe, and even Georgie looks up at you in unimpressed wonder.

“You could call me security.” Smoke curls around him, leaving you five paces of dirt road behind. You make a face at him from behind. He’s not as friendly as the others, who have now emerged from the shadows to greet their fans. Instead, he walks ahead, skulking under the string lights like he’s silently hating them for illuminating him at all.

You cut your losses at once, stopping in his tracks, pursing your lips. Jerk.

Georgie struggles at your side and you’re reminded to let him go from the pseudo-headlock you’ve squeezed him into. The man of your dreams, the perfect movie star to fit into your Napa Valley retirement plans, disappears into the crowds of people.

You’re stuck on that day by the road. He had seemed into you then, grinning across at you like you were the bee’s knees, shooting you that easy-breezy peace sign. Maybe it was the halter top he liked.

“Can we go on the Ferris Wheel now?” Your younger brother reminds you of the real reason you’re supposed to be there, standing in the O’Malley’s south pasture past his bedtime. Flattening out your frown and sticking your fingers into his hair, you nod your head.

“Yeah. Come on, just don’t pee your pants.”

So, your Saturday night didn’t go exactly how you had pictured it. You’re not too sure what you were really expecting of the two guys you’d seen just once. But, your little brother is still grinning and talking a hundred miles a minute when you get back home that night, and that counts for something.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, kicking your legs and snacking on a slice of sugar-sweet clementine. The waning light overhead almost makes you forget how dark it had been beside that Big Top — how you’d found Jake all alone.

“The I-75 thing didn’t work out?” Fred whispers to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair as he pats your shoulder and passes by to drop his last beer bottle for the night into the recycling. You look back at him and smile while Georgie whittles on and on and on.

“Alright, alright,” Joan hushes, tucking her reading glasses into her hairline and giving up on her magazine to devote her attention to her youngest. “You can tell us all about it in the morning. I think you’d better head on up to bed for now.”

He closes his mouth and looks around the lemon yellow kitchen. Fred’s no help, and neither are you. He huffs and gives in to the idea of bedtime.

Dutifully, he hugs both of your parents tonight and heads for the hallway. He doesn’t head to bed before he has peered back around the doorframe and smiled back, thanking you for taking him.

The stairs groan, the hallway creeks and Georgie’s door wheezes shut. Everything about this house talks.

“Oh, I’m going to need my bag back for work on Monday, sweetheart.” Joan remembers, packing up her Cosmopolitan and dirty Martini set up from the kitchen table. Rollers in and green, mint-smelling face-mask smeared around her features, your mother has Saturday night rituals of her own.

And, you don’t have a bag.

You had one. You had taken your mother’s brown shoulder bag that she takes to work even though it fits a little more than a wallet and some keys on a good day. Shit, your wallet too.

“Sure.” You answer tightly. “Let me clear my stuff, you can have it tomorrow.”

The curiosities of a mother cross her mind, but a girl’s gotta have her secrets. She smiles and gives your bicep an affectionate squeeze as she heads for the stairs. “Okie dokie. Don’t be up too late.”

You wince at the thought of her bag being somewhere in that South pasture unattended, or gone by now. Probably rifled through. You hope there weren’t any receipts in there — she gets awfully protective about her receipts.

“Tell me the bag’s in the car.” Fred says from behind you as the groan of the stairs grows faint and the creeks of the hallway ready to start. You pivot cautiously towards him, still grimacing. He presses his lips into a line and shakes his head. “You’d best get out there and find it before she finds out, kiddo.”

“Mhm. Planning on it.” You answer with a sigh.

Really, it’s not such a bad thing, you think to yourself. You could go back there tomorrow without all those crowds, without Georgie. Maybe do the whole damsel in distress thing and see which one of them comes running with your misplaced bag.

Closing your eyes and twisting onto your side, you spot the pointed, red canvas top of the tent from your window. All of the neons are gone now, powered down for the night. They’re over there, just beyond the stretch of those woods. Jake, and the one who hates you.

…

NEXT CHAPTER

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tags: @sunflowercharlie13 @spinning-away @eloquentdreamer-blog1 @a-reader-and-a-writer @breezyweazybeezy @mel119g @hersuitisbanana @one-sweet-gubler @atarmychick007 @ximehs @nnatel @topherwrites @seitmai @yepyeahuhhuh @cherrycola27 @ohtobeleah @roosterbruiser

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 5

Ao3 | 3.7k Words | Darlin's POV

Dr. McDreamy is on the case. X-rays, bone fragments, and late night confessions.

TW: Medical jargon, discussion of broken bones, trauma, and abuse, Alexis Solaire (just ya know... general warning for her)

It had been two weeks since you’d made your prodigal return to the 10-19, and in that time, you’d managed to avoid having any conversation that delved past surface platitudes and small talk with David. You weren’t sure if you’d consider your conversation in the office to be an argument, but that’s what it felt like. You thought about apologizing. But then, you didn’t really think you were wrong. 

David drove you to the firehouse every day. You hung around the house while he was on shift, napped across the bunkroom and lounge, ate the seemingly endless snacks that spawned in the kitchen every day. He drove you back to his place at night. You chatted with his spouse while he cooked dinner. You watched reruns of Grey’s Anatomy and The X-Files in the living room late into the morning hours, too restless to sleep. You could see the front door from your spot on the leather sectional. You guarded the two of them while they slept. 

You bothered Sam, mostly to avoid talking to the rest of the fire crew. Asher followed you around when he wasn’t on a call, his pathetic puppy dog eyes wide and terribly effective. Milo had attempted to talk to you a few times. He would call out to you, the familiar cadence of bickering and teasing coloring his tone as he shouted down fleeting hallways; “Tanker!” Even after so many years of living in Dahlia, his heavy, North Eastern accent hadn’t settled into the more neutral, South Western tones of those around you. You supposed that you couldn’t shake Washington out of your mouth, even after being here for over a decade. 

You were faster than him, always had been, and you escaped into the relative safety of the ambulance bay. Neither of them followed you there, in Sam’s domain, where they couldn’t trap you in the context of your past with them. 

Sam was a fresh start. Sam and Vincent and their nervous probie didn’t know you, didn’t know how reckless and stupid and stubborn you were. You didn’t have to sit with the heaviness of it all, with the betrayal you’d levied against them, the abandonment. 

David needed you. They all did. And you’d left. They hated you. They had to hate you. 

Eventually, Dr. Collins (and he was a doctor, his gossiping little probie ratted him out) convinced you to accompany him to an off-the record appointment at Dahlia General late at night. 

“Your name won’t end up on any paperwork.” He assured, huddled in the back of the ambulance as he ran paperwork between calls. He looked so fucking good in his uniform shirt. Navy and fitted, the short sleeves curled around his biceps as tight as skin. You wanted him to lock his arm around your throat and squeeze. 

There was something wrong with you. 

“I don’t have any money.” You said.

“That don’t matter.” Sam shook his head, that little crease deepening in his brow. Perpetual worry. Continuous stress. Your finger twitched to reach across the miniscule space between you, him crouched over his clipboard on the ride-along bench, you sat criss-cross on the gurney he’d just disinfected. You wanted to ease the tension from the lines on his face, spread your grubby fingers across his skin until it went slack. “Officially, we’re providing medical treatment to no one, so there’s no one to charge for it.” 

“Clever thing.” You grinned. Sam didn’t strike you as the sort of man who blushed, but if he did,  you imagined it would look something like this. His head ducked, his mouth quirked into something resembling a smile. You could spend a lot of time chasing that expression on his face. 

 David didn’t ask questions as you walked to Sam’s truck instead of his that night. They must have conspired about this. Petulant frustration bubbled in your gut. You swallowed around complaints, huddled into Sam and didn’t meet David’s eyes as he called out the same thing he did every time someone he cared about got into a vehicle he wasn’t driving:

“Be careful.” 

Sam’s truck was smaller than David’s and older too. You ran your fingers across the leather seats and dashboard, shifting to better accommodate your still-sore ribs. He huffed as he plopped himself down into the driver’s seat. His keys jingled with the tremor of his right hand. You’d been watching Sam’s hands for two weeks now, too weak to watch his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. You could map that shake like a stretch of familiar road, curving and rough and so known to you you didn’t have to think as you drove it. 

Dahlia General was a big hospital. It was Dahlia’s only Level One trauma center, so it was where the 10-19 dropped off most of its critically injured patients. You’d crossed the threshold of the ER countless times since you were a probie, often for yourself. You had the record for the most on-the-job injuries in the house’s history. Gabe had a plaque made and everything.  

Sam didn’t pull into the ER bay, but instead into a covered parking garage that led to an employee entrance. He leaned over you to pull out a red decal that he hung from the rear view mirror. His name was inscribed in white text across the surface; Dr. Samuel Collins. 

“Not a word.” He hissed as your mouth started to fit around a smart comment. You pressed your teeth into your tongue as he cut the engine. 

You passed a series of locker rooms with a handful of exhausted looking doctors in green scrubs and rumpled white coats. They seemed not to see you, but a few of them stopped their hurried paths to shout a greeting to Sam. Some of them called him by name. Some, the younger, nervous-looking ones, scurried past him without making eye contact. If they did address him, it was always with his title instead of his name. Sam’s face darkened each time, slipping into a waxy, distant mask. 

Sam dismissed the x-ray tech handily. He had no white coat, no badge with his name, no credentials, but everybody still treated him like a doctor. He stepped into the darkened room, took a deep breath, and turned to you. His face was blank and slack. 

“Right.” He nodded. “Hands and ribs.” 

Sam ran the x-ray like it was the most familiar thing in the world to him. He laid out your hands, palm down, marked them left and right, laid a heavy, protective apron over your chest before stepping behind a wall and running the machine. He had you stretch out on a cold, metal table and took images of your ribs. He led you from the x-ray room down a secluded hallway to a small exam room, the lights still off. 

“You’re a doctor.” You said into the pin-drop quiet between you. Sam sighed out through his nose. 

“That I am.” He replied. 

“If I were a doctor,” you cocked your head to the side, let the unnatural curl of your top lip pull your mouth into a vicious sort of smile, “I wouldn’t take the pay cut to be a paramedic captain.” 

“Yeah well…” Sam’s face darkened, the joke slipping past him and landing as an insult. You swallowed around the apology that beat at the back of your throat. “We aren't the same person.” 

There was a rap of knuckles against the door of your exam room. You jumped, a jolt of pain running up your ribcage and catching your breath. Sam’s bright eyes caught yours for a moment before he reached for the door handle. 

The prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life stepped through the darkened doorway, x-ray films in his thin, long hands. He was wearing the same sort of white coat that all of the interns and residents in the locker rooms were wearing, but his was stark and pressed and perfect. Underneath it he wore a set of maroon scrubs, separate, it seemed, from the rest of the hospital. His hair was so blonde it was nearly white, his skin pale and flawless, his gray eyes shining even in the darkness of your exam room. He smiled, his teeth straight and white and sharp. He extended one of those long hands to you, and his touch was cold as fuck when you met it. He looked nothing like Patrick Dempsey, but your mind supplied the moniker McDreamy anyway. 

“Hello, there,” he smirked, his voice tinged with a smarmy British accent. You flinched at the sound of it, your face curling in disgust. His eyes flicked across your features, but seemed to find no offense among them. “You must be-”

“Porter.” Sam warned from his spot in the corner. “Please, just tell ‘em what’s going on. No flirting.” Dr. McDreamy turned on the heel of his fancy shoes, held a hand up in the scout’s solute. 

“No flirting.” McDreamy repeated. “Now, if you don’t mind, Samuel, I have a patient to attend to. Don’t forget that I’m doing you a favor.” 

“Yeah,” Sam rolled his eyes and made for the door, “add it to my tab. Just come get me when y’all are done.” 

Some childish, stupid part of you wanted to ask him to stay. Part of you wanted to reach out, fold his hand in yours, and let this whole stupid appointment pass over you like water, knowing that Sam would take it all in for you. You tightened your shaking fists and swallowed down that need like bile. 

McDreamy set your x-rays in the light box and flicked it on. He studied them for a moment before casting his eyes over his shoulder to you. 

“You’re a friend of Sammy’s?” He asked. You snorted at the endearment. 

“I’m a firefighter.” You lied. Porter hummed and turned back to his images. 

“Your hands are fine,” Dr. McDreamy said after a moment, his canines glinting as he pointed out your intact knuckles, “just bruising. Your ribs…” he shook his head and clicked his tongue, one long finger trailing over the x-ray of your shattered bones before stepping towards you and lifting your shirt to examine the swelling. “You’ll need surgery.” You pressed your lips together and recoiled from his touch. 

“Nah.” You shook your head. 

McDreamy blinked up at you. You’d finally caught him off guard, thrown him off his rhythm. 

“The bone fragments-” you liked the way his posh accent curled around the word. You shivered at that particular thought. 

“I don’t care.” You managed to cross your arms. “I’ve survived plenty of bone fragments.” Dr. McDreamy held your eye for a moment longer before sighing and nodding. 

“Sam will have wandered off by now. He can’t help himself.” He made for the door, collecting your images and handing them over as he did. You folded them until you could stuff them into your back pocket. McDreamy cringed at the sight. 

He led you through the near abandoned halls of Dahlia Gen. You’d always thought that this place would have stayed as bright and loud and alive at night as it did during the day. At least, that’s what the ER was like. The emergency room was like a living creature, teeming with movement and noise. Marie Greer was the charge nurse down there, and she ran most night shifts with an iron fist. Every time you’d ended up in her care, she’d reamed you out within an inch of your life only to bring you back again with her excellent medical skills. You wondered if she was down there tonight, running her ER like a conductor before an orchestra. You wondered what she would say if she saw you. If she would be the one who could convince you to lay down, get treated, get surgery, get better. 

You wouldn’t risk it. You’d slip out the back and hope she didn’t catch sight of you. 

“You know,” McDreamy said as he led you past a door with big bold letters stating NO ENTRY BEYOND THIS POINT, “pretty face like yours… I could work out that scar tissue faster than you can say ‘please.’” You stared up at him, that smug smile on his face. 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

Porter laughed. After a moment, you joined him, ribs be damned. 

You came upon a door that was marked GALLERY. Porter swiped his keycard and opened it, poking his head in before leaning back and motioning you in. 

Sam was sat in what looked to be a stiff, uncomfortable chair, alone in a gallery space facing a glass panel. His back was bent, elbows on his knees, his posture that of intense focus. You chanced a glance down and caught sight of a vast, brightly lit operating room. A sea of doctors and nurses were moving around a patient on a table like ants. Movements were synched and smooth, flowing between each other as naturally as breathing. Standing over the patient’s left side, at the epicenter of all of the movement, was a woman draped in surgical gowns and gloves. You could see fire red curls escaping the bun and scrub cap at the base of her neck. Her face was pinched in concentration, her hands, painted red, were tying knot after every knot into the flesh of the patient’s still-beating heart. Sam’s shaking hands tried in vain to copy her movements.

“Christ,” you breathed. Sam jolted and looked up at you. His face was strange and open in a way you hadn’t seen before. Something like grief was clear across his features. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, sitting back in his chair, “that’s um…” he swallowed, “that’s Alexis Solaire. She’s a cardiothoracic surgeon. She’s the best of the best.” 

“She’s not human.” Porter chimed from the doorway. “But then, are any of us?”

Sam stood, shook out his shaking hand, and turned away from the OR. As he did, Alexis Solaire looked up from her work very suddenly. It was like she had known Sam was watching, and she knew now that he had turned away. Her work faltered for only a moment before those careful knots were continued. 

He was quiet as he walked you out, hands firmly in his pockets. He waved McDreamy off impatiently, too quiet and withdrawn now to bother with his flirting and teasing. Porter slipped away into the guts of the hospital as you and Sam slipped out of them, into the dingy, dark parking garage. 

Sam sat in the driver’s seat, both hands shaking, his face drawn and pale. He had history in that hospital. He had people there. And it was too much for him. 

“Gimme your keys,” you said. Sam’s eyes snapped to you. 

“What?” He asked softly. 

“You look like you’re gonna pass out.” You smiled. “Let me drive.” He hesitated for a moment, only a moment, before relenting. 

Halfway through the drive, your fancy new phone propped on your knee shining directions up at you through the dark, Sam’s voice rose through the silence in the passenger seat. 

“Your ex,” he said, “the one you’re afraid of-” 

“I’m not afraid of him.” You snapped. Sam was only quiet for a breath before continuing. 

“Did he do this to you?” 

It was the question that had been hanging over you for two weeks, since you’d given Sam just a glimpse of Quinn in that ambulance. You wouldn’t be surprised if Sam had told David. That’s why you couldn’t bear to talk to him about anything serious, why you couldn’t let Milo and Asher chase you down and pull the answer out of you. It felt as though everybody was staring you down all of the time, that question sitting in the back of their throats, beating at their teeth to jump out at you. 

You gnashed your teeth against the instinct to snap at him, to tell him to fuck off, to remind him exactly how little he was entitled to when it came to your history.

But then again, he’d snuck you into a hospital, his hospital, got you looked at for nothing, got one of his fancy doctor friends to see you. You owed him. 

“No.” You gritted out. You flexed your hands on the wheel. You were speeding, just a bit, and purposefully slowed down. “He… it was some friends of his. One hook up and a guy she was seeing. I was… asking her some questions. She didn’t like that.” 

“What, you faced down two grown folks on your own?” Sam huffed. “No wonder you got your ass kicked.” 

“Hey, I walked away from that fight.” You grunted. “They did not.” Sam laughed, and then seemed to realize you were serious. 

“Lord have mercy,” he breathed, “you’re gonna give me an ulcer. You won?” 

“I did.” You grinned. 

“You’re good.” 

“I’m good.” 

Sam turned on the radio, flipping to a pre-saved channel that played shitty, rock-adjacent music that old men liked. He sang along to a few songs, off-key and rasping, his voice so unsure even though he knew the words. 

Sam’s house was deep in the woods just outside of Dahlia, surrounded by tall trees and overgrown grasses. It wasn’t big, but you knew it was expensive just by the look of it. Intentionally aged wood siding on a brick foundation, windows with curtains drawn. A wrap around porch with matching rocking chairs and a string of industrial looking lights. A coffee mug still sat on the wooden planks of the porch next to the plain welcome mat, empty and dark-rimmed. Sam bent to snag it as he passed, unlocking the door with his good hand. 

It was dark inside, still and cold. Sam flicked on a lamp beside the door. A sprawling living room emerged from the dark. A large, worn leather sectional filled up most of the space. Somebody else had decorated it. You couldn’t imagine Sam carefully matching the accents in the rug to the curtains. One wall was lined with floor to ceiling bookcases, stacked haphazardly with sterile-white medical texts. Knowing the costs of textbooks, that shelf alone must have cost more than the rest of the house combined. 

Your fancy new phone buzzed in your pocket. You snagged it out, hands still numb from the cold outside. David’s name lit up on the still-generic wallpaper. 

ETA??

You shot back a quick reply. 

My hand is fine. Ribs are broken, but fine. Crashing at Sam’s. Too late to drive. 

David wouldn’t argue with the ‘too tired to drive’ excuse. 

“Do you… um…” Sam was standing too close to you when you turned. You jumped, twinging your ribs as you did. You winced and stepped back, grasping at your side. “Shit,” Sam’s hands hovered over your shoulders, as though he wanted to steady you but he was afraid to touch, “I’m sorry, Darlin’. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you replied instinctively, “I’m fine. Jumpy. Always… I’m always just a little jumpy.” 

Sam’s dark eyes flicked over your face. His full lips quirked up at the corners in that ghost of a smile you wanted to chase. 

“Do you want my bed?” 

“Nah,” you shook your head, “unless you’re joining. I won’t kick you out on the street.” 

“Nonsense.” Sam grinned outright, straight, sharp teeth. You wanted to run your tongue along them to see if they could cut. “It’s no trouble. And you’re injured. I’m not letting you bum it on the couch.” 

“Rich boy don’t have a guest room?” The anxious shake in your chest eased a bit as the banter broke out between you. Sam shook his head and stepped forward into your space again, his hands hovered over your shirt, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. Fuck, you were a sucker for brown eyes. 

“Can I?’ He asked. You nodded once. He lifted your shirt gingerly, his hands carefully avoiding actually touching your skin. He first assessed your stab wound, poking and prodding at the gauze before sliding one cold hand up, pressing painfully into your ribs. You gasped, grabbed his shoulder to steady yourself, and threaded your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “I know, Darlin’, I know. Just lemme…” He ran his fingers along the line of your ribcage one more time before receding. His hand fell to your hip and held on, keeping you upright as you caught your breath. 

“How much longer are you gonna be doing that, exactly?” You gasped. 

“Well, seeing as you’re not getting surgery,” his tone betrayed his disapproval, “a while longer. I wanna make sure your chest wall maintains its integrity. One bone fragment in the wrong place can lead to a collapsed lung. I’m not lookin’ to pull you back from that particular precipice.” 

“Everybody’s so worried about my bone fragments.” You grinned. 

Sam produced an oversized t-shirt bearing the name of a medical college that you didn’t recognize and a pair of fleece pajama pants. He tried again, gentleman that he was, to put himself on the couch, but you wouldn’t have it. The two of you ended up on opposite sides of Sam’s insanely large bed. His blankets were plush and worn, well loved. Sam’s things were nice, nicer than you had expected from his appearance, but it was clear he used things about as far as he could. It was a habit you saw in yourself sometimes. You didn’t think you’d find it in some richy rich doctor with a giant house. 

Sam fell asleep quickly, his quiet puffs of breath evening out. You were so tired. You laid awake, watching out of the second story window as the trees moved in silent conversation. 

“His name is Quinn,” you whispered into the quiet of the room, “and I was in love with him. Was. Maybe I still am. He um… he was rough. But I like that. I thought I did.” You turned your head against Sam’s plush pillow. “He hurt me. Did… um… all of this shit to me.” Your fingers trailed over your face. “I gave as good as I got but… I am… I am scared of him. Really scared.” 

Silence filled the room in the wake of your rasping voice, nothing but the pounding of your heart and Sam’s quiet breaths to reply to you.

[ask-sister-solaris]

Can I request a short fic of Egon Spengler x Fem reader who is also a doctor but works at a hospital as a surgeon or something similar. She could go to the ghostbusters reporting a patient that she got close with prior to their death had become attached to her and stays in her apartment, but this is extremely bothersome and uncomfortable for (reader). Egon could be fascinated by her intellect and he doesn’t want to lose contact with her after their work is done.

Oh hoho ofc you can!

“Call me?”

You were a doctor and the long hours and needy patients truly did test your patience sometimes. You took comfort in the fact you could get home and collapse while listening to your records and read Tolbins Spirit Guide.

Recently you had a patient you were close with pass away. At the time you didn’t realize his spirit had connected itself to you. There was no signs of any attachment. That night you were home alone when you heard noises in the kitchen. You opened your head in but nothing was wrong,you conclude you’re just tired and head to bed.

But even then you feel like someone slips under the covers with you. You eventually fall asleep, and when you wake up your apartment is a complete mess. Confusion crosses your mind until you find ectoplasmic residue on your kitchen counters. A quick flip through Tolbins tells you it’s a spirit that’s moved on, just by the colour of said residue.

Course you just assume that it’s a one off. That was until it became a daily thing. You felt uncomfortable showering, or even changing in your own bathroom or bedroom. You felt constantly watched, unless you were at work. And it went on for about two months before you caved and called them. The Ghostbusters. It was an interesting call to say the least, a deadpan secretary who was not helpful whatsoever, saying she should have called sooner and the ghostbusters would be there soon.

Back at the firehouse Janine pressed the alarm button, and as Ray rushed by she passed him the paper with the address on. 55 Central West. Again? The Shandor Building kept popping up in most of their ventures out. Ray didn’t say anything and hopped into the Ecto 1 with Egon. They didn’t need the whole team to investigate something that sounded so small.

You were pacing your living room when a knock at the door startled you. You calmed yourself before you opened the door and let them in.

“Thank you for coming. And not thinking I’m crazy.”

Ray nodded and gave a comforting smile as he looked around. You left them to it and sat in the living room, tired from all the activity this ghost seemed to cause. Egon followed suit and sat with you, he could see the mental effects said apparition was giving you, he pulled out his PKE meter and its little antennae shot up. It was pointed directly at you, and you were still in your nurses uniform.

“I think I found the object it’s anchored to..we will have to draw it out, You don’t mind taking it off do you?”

You shook your head and took your white coat off, throwing it to him. The beeping lowered when the device was pointed to you, so it was your doctors jacket! Now the pieces were falling together

“I think I know what’s going on. I had a patient die a few months ago, he was very attached to me. I think it’s his spirit that’s attached to that coat”

If there was one thing Egon wasn’t expecting was you to know how paranormal things worked or how they happened..and yet…you did? Egon hummed and motioned for her to stand clear of the coat as he and Ray blasted it. A bluey blobby apparition shot out and Ray managed to contain it as Egon rolled out the trap. An easy job for today..but even as you paid them for their service Egon couldn’t stop thinking about how smart you were, and how easy you read people like a book.

“Are you okay Dr Spengler? You looked lost in thought”

Egon looked at you and hummed before pulling something out of his pocket. It had his personal number on it, or that’s what you assumed…it certainly wasn’t the ghostbuster headquarters number. You looked back up at him and he had a little dumb grin on his face

“Call me?”