#or fun non-alcoholic alternative

[tessa-quayle]

this married mother of two would also like to look and appreciate and KNOCK SOME SENSE into these “idiot dorksicles” 😂

at the risk of weeping again (it’s the onions, I swear, I'm not crying you’re crying), I need to reread and study how you wrote this because it is one of the best - if not the best - examples of POV back-and-forth switches.  So smooth, unlike our favorite dorksicles.  And that interlude where their quotes to their families are side-by-side - fucking virtuoso. it’s ferociously brilliant without being precious.  the fic isn’t even over and the audience is already on their feet. 

just a few more thoughts: 1) love how the families are low-key staging interventions, 2) I spy that Pedro tattoo shout-out ;), 3) so many mentions of holiday movies but have y’all noticed this chapter is like a holiday movie too?!, 4) appreciate the moon landing and Saturn V part - great evocative choice for so many reasons, particularly in capturing Ben and Lydia’s connection, angst, wonder, ache, and hope so overwhelmingly well.  But it begs the question: who’s Michael Collins here? 😎

Visiting - Chapter 8: Sister Winter

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: The morning after brings complicated feelings as Ben and Lydia return to their respective families for the holiday season.

Word Count: 7.7k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia is 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; idiots-to-lovers; references to PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; serious self-esteem issues; references to panic attacks and anxiety disorders; references to the holidays; both Ben and Lydia come from families that mark Christmas; angst central.

A/N: The title of this chapter is inspired by Sufjan Stevens' eponymous song, which is one of my go-to Melancholy Winter Tracks. And yes, it was really weird writing Christmas in July.

I'm so grateful for all the love I've had for this story and for this pair. Every comment and reblog and ask is a little lift to my soul!

This chapter introduces Lydia and Ben's extended families. In addition to their chosen and found families, both in work and in their friendship groups, this pair are from closely-knit families of origin - though of course, that brings with it its own challenges.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Cross-posting to AO3.

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

@lunapascal and @julesonrecord - thank you for cheering me on and offering wise and practical advice with this difficult chapter. @tessa-quayle - I am always so touched by your enthusiasm for these idiot dorksicles (a term I am appropriating from Jules).

Taglist:

@lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro, @rhoorl

Ben is a deep sleeper - or maybe he was just completely worn out after your exploits that night. 

Either way, he doesn’t even move a muscle as you shift towards the edge of the mattress, fumbling your way out of bed and carefully tip-toeing across the floor, gathering your underwear and dress as you come across them on the floor.

The panic hit you when you woke around 5am, eyes flicking open suddenly in the dark stillness of Ben’s bedroom. The only sound was his soft, steady breathing, interspersed with the occasional tiny snore. In slumber, he somehow appeared even more handsome, more beautiful, snugly nestled into his pillow and hair sticking up at all angles. Fragments of light peeked around the edges of the blinds, picking out some of his features.

Whereas a couple of hours before his lovely face had felt like a comfort, in the wee small hours of the morning it triggered doubt. Your brain promptly forgot everything he had said about how beautiful he thought you were, how much he’d wanted you. Instead, it struck up a familiar, repetitive chorus.

He couldn’t really want you. He’s so gorgeous. You don’t deserve him. He’s sexy and kind and good and you’re a mess. Even if he thinks he wants you now, eventually he’ll realise he’s made a mistake. 

In the light of day, you might have been able to muster the little tricks you’d learned in therapy to quiet the voice of your inner bully. In the early hours, vulnerable and anxious in Ben’s bed, the chorus simply grew more insistent. 

So you carefully get out of bed and pick up your clothes. You pad out of the bedroom and find the bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water might reset your thinking. 

Instead, the sight of yourself in the mirror just serves as further evidence for the case against you. Your makeup is smudged, settling into every line and wrinkle. You look jowly and heavy: matronly, even, and certainly not worthy of the handsome, good man whose bed you’d shared. 

You feel the defences around your heart building themselves back up again. 

You shouldn’t have let them down in the first place.

Still, you seem to want to somehow change your own mind. You tip-toe back across the hallway and peer around the door into the bedroom, as if maybe seeing Ben might quell the panic that’s beating a frantic, jolting rhythm in your chest. 

He’s still in the same position, his back to you as you stand at the door. There’s not a lot of him that’s visible, save for the tufts of messy hair and the outline of his broad form under the comforter. 

The panic eases momentarily as you feel a surge of affection and want. For an instant, you allow yourself to remember how good it felt to make love with him, to laugh and kiss and hold and touch and fuck together.

You have to leave in a few months. It would have to end one way or another. You couldn’t face that. You couldn’t go through the pain. And what if you hurt him, too? Better to get out now.

You return to the bathroom to dress quickly and quietly. In the semi-darkness, you pad down the stairs and retrieve your shoes, bag, and coat from the hallway. 

What the fuck are you doing?

“I’m getting out before he has the chance to reject me. Before we get too deep. Before I have to go home. Before it has to end. Before I hurt him.” 

Before I fuck it up, like I always do. I always ruin everything.

You remember from Thanksgiving that there’s a little notepad in the kitchen, for shopping lists and reminders. You think for a few moments before writing a note to Ben, folding it over and affixing it to the front of his fridge with a magnet. 

You know this is going to hurt him.

“Better than really hurting him further down the line, even if I’d never want to. I don’t deserve him.”

You try to block out the memory of the evening before, urgent declarations of want and your bodies pushed together against the hallway wall, as you quietly open the front door and leave. 

His immediate instinct as he blinks awake and stretches his long arms is to reach for you, to find your soft, warm body and pull you to him for another kiss, another cuddle; another chance to feel you, so wet and tight and perfect, as he sinks back into you.

“Mmmmm. Morning, baby.” Nothing.

Ben sits up and realises he’s on his own. He wanders around the upper floor of his home, calling your name, as if he’ll summon you out of the ether by repeating it.

He moves down the stairs and into the hallway, now filled with the crisp morning light of midwinter. Still nothing. 

His final hope is that you’re in the kitchen. Maybe you couldn’t sleep. Maybe you were hungry, or thirsty. 

“Lyddie?”

No you. Just a note.

“What the fuck, Lyddie. What the fuck are you doing?”

He leans back against the countertop, staring at the folded piece of paper - at his name, carefully inscribed in your neat, flowing script.

Dear Ben, 

Thank you for last night - it was great, really. I thought it would be easier if I just headed out. I didn’t want to wake you. Safe travels west. Happy holidays. See you soon. - L.

“Fuck.”

The thing that really drove you out of the safe warmth of Ben Morales’ arms and bed and out into the half-light of a December morning, walking home to your empty apartment alone and afraid, wasn’t your fear of fucking up - at least, not really. It was part of it, true, but what tipped the balance was not just fear, but feelings.

You pack the last of your things for the journey home for the holidays and try to ignore that simple fact. You had kept your defences up so sturdily and so dutifully for a long time, until he came along. Until you had to go catching feelings for a man who lived an entire ocean away from you.

You were frightened of fucking up because what you had - the friendship, whatever situation you entered into when he pressed his lips to yours and took you into his bed - meant the world to you. You were scared of hurting him, and of being hurt, because you cared about him so much. 

It was a strange paradox: you had done something that hurt the two of you now, in order to avoid the potential for greater pain further down the line. You’d always had a natural inclination to run from things that scared or overwhelmed you, after all. In your own, tortured logic, it made sense to run from the sheer force of your feelings for Ben. 

As you checked and double-checked the apartment while waiting for your cab to the airport, you remembered David’s words and felt a little guilty. You’d tried, though. You’d tried to let the light in. You just hadn’t expected it to blind you.

You’ve been avoiding your phone, save for sending a message to your family group chat to let them know you were safely en route to the airport. When your mother’s name pops up, you open the message.

MOM: Good woman, Lyd, you’re there good and early! Time to have a nice coffee and a bite to eat. Can’t wait to see you! 

Your mother was always thrilled when you got to the airport ahead of schedule, knowing your propensity for last-minute panic. You had no idea how to explain to her why you were sitting, red-eyed and heartbroken, in an airside coffee shop three whole hours early. 

You still hadn’t opened the two voice notes from Ben. A missed call on the phone, which you spotted after you got through security, then the two notes. Part of you had hoped that if you just ignored them long enough, they’d go away. Typical Lyd.

You take a deep breath and a sip of your enormous festive coffee, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles and reeking of peppermint syrup. You pop in your earbuds and press play.

The sound of his voice is like a knife to the heart. You’d feared anger, but instead Ben sounds like he’s aching.

“Hi, Lyddie - Lydia. I, uh, I got your note. Um. I guess I thought we were on the same page, about… about last night. Maybe not. Sorry if I got the wrong idea. I… anyway. I guess you’re on your way home now, or about to be. I’ll, um - I’ll talk to you. Happy holidays. Safe travels.”

It’s all you can do not to run out of that airport and hop into a cab back to his place, to hold him, to tell him how sorry you are, to beg him to forgive you for being a fucking idiot.

You’ve fucked it up. Told you you would.

You press play on the second voice note. His voice, still cracking a little, sounds stronger, steadier, more determined.

“Hi, just wanted to say - I don’t regret it. I don’t regret that we spent the night together. I’ll never regret that, no matter what. It meant something to me. I don’t want you to regret it, Lyd. Please.”

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you press ‘call’. He doesn’t answer. 

Ben listens to your voice note again while he’s sitting in the departures lounge, a day after you’d passed through. He hasn’t slept very much in the last day and a half. This morning, when he was washing his face and trimming his beard and moustache, he was sure he’d aged a decade in the space of less than 48 hours. The delay to his flight gives him plenty of time to nurse an enormous black coffee, though he wishes it was something even stronger.

“Hi. I’m at the airport. I tried calling, but - I guess you’re busy. Or maybe you just don’t want to talk. I understand why you - listen, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what - I can explain, it’s just - it’s hard not being able to do that face to face. I promise, I can explain. I can. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ben.”

Your voice catches at that point in the voice note, and he can hear you trying not to completely break down. It breaks his heart every time he listens to the message.

“I guess I will see you in the new year, then? I promise I’ll explain then. Safe travels west. Okay, then. Bye.”

Jet lag is a bitch. But you summon the strength and focus to slip in your earbuds in the privacy of your childhood bedroom at home, and press play on the next voice note he sent you. 

You might be imagining it, but his tone is softer. He still sounds hurt, but calmer, somehow. 

“Hey there. I’m just about to fly out. I got your message and - yeah. Probably best to see how things are in January. Maybe it’ll be good to have some space, clear our heads. Anyway.” He pauses, his voice quieter. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lyd.”

Oh, fuck. He wants space. Fuck. That’s not good. 

You take three attempts at your response before you manage to record a coherent message. 

“Hey. I hope the flights are okay, and that you get there safely. Yeah - um, yeah. Space, clear our heads. So, guess I’ll give you your space, until I see you and can explain. And it’s so good to hear your voice, too.”

You press send, your eyes glancing over the little round picture of Ben at the top of the screen. You say the words you’d left unsaid at the end of your message. 

“God, I miss you, darling.”

TJ Morales waits inside the arrivals hall at San Francisco International with his twelve year old twin sons, Dylan and Carlos. There’s only eighteen months between TJ - Thomas Juan, to give him his full name - and his older brother, and despite living on opposite sides of the country for a decade, they’re very close. It’s become an annual tradition, when Ben returns for the holidays, for TJ and the boys to pick him up.

This year, the three are decked out in an array of Star Wars-themed Christmas shirts to welcome Ben home: Dylan’s printed with a pattern of C3PO in a Santa hat, Carlos wearing a shirt emblazoned with Chewbacca wrapped in fairy lights, and their father wearing a pattern rather sweetly titled ‘We Wish You A Merry Sithmas’.

The running joke in the family was that TJ was the ‘cool brother’, a title he’d given himself when they were in middle school, much to the amusement of their parents. In many ways, that dynamic held fast to the present day. TJ, with his laidback personality, his long dark locks and neat beard, his array of plaid shirts, band T-shirts, and casual hoodies, still seemed to embody West Coast cool in a way that his more serious, anxious brother didn’t. His job certainly helped - a sound engineer for a video game studio, the kind of job both boys could have only dreamed of as they hid their shared Game Boy from their younger sister, Teresa.

Even so, as Ana Morales liked to remind people when she spoke about her sons, when she’d asked a three year old TJ what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was clear: “I wanna be like Ben.”

The sliding doors open and passengers begin to stream out, excitedly greeted by their families and friends. The two boys keep watch at the barrier, their dark curls bobbing up and down as they compete to spot their beloved tío first.

“Tío Ben!!” 

Carlos wins this year, waving frantically to his uncle as he pushes his luggage trolley through the doors.

Ben grins widely as he wraps an arm around each of his nephews, ruffling their hair as they show off their new holiday shirts. TJ throws his arms around his big brother, embracing him tightly. “Welcome home, hermano. We missed you.”

As he pulls away, TJ notices how tired Ben looks. His smile, genuine as it is, doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“You okay, Ben?” he asks in a low voice as they follow the boys out of the terminal and in the direction of the parking lot.

Ben nods, putting his arm around his brother as they walk. “I’m okay. Just tired. It’s been a long semester. I’m so glad to be home with you guys - it’s been forever.”

“Can I ask you something, Lyd?”

Your younger - only - sibling, Kate, is bouncing her one year old daughter Evie on her lap while Cora, her older girl, dances around the room and sings along to Encanto.

“We don’t talk about Bru- sure, of course. What’s up?”

“Are you alright? You’re normally full of energy when you’re home for the holidays and you just seem - I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like someone’s turned down your brightness.”

You haven’t said anything to Kate about Ben - well, nothing more than acknowledging him as part of the wider group of friends you’d established at Barrow. You certainly haven’t told her about your growing closeness, or what had happened, or - god forbid - your feelings for him.

It wasn’t that you two weren’t close enough for sharing that kind of confidence. You’d been brought even closer together since your ex-partner had cheated and left. You just felt like if you actually articulated the words, it would make it too real. Too much. Too fragile, too likely to disappear like every other crush or love affair you’d ever had.

“I’m just tired, I think. It was a lot in a few months - moving there, adjusting to a new environment, meeting all those new people, doing new classes. You know I’m always wrecked at the end of the semester.”

Kate raises an eyebrow sceptically while Evie chews on a giraffe-shaped teething toy. “There’s something off.”

You exhale, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

“Did you meet someone?”

Your eyes widen. How the FUCK does she know?

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about. What gives you that idea?”

“You were happy when we’d talk and FaceTime. You were always so excited going out with your new friends. And now you’re back here you’re tired and gloomy. It just makes me wonder, you know - was there more than intellectual stimulation going on over there. If you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Kate.”

“They’re working you too hard, Benjamin. Doesn’t your poor brother look tired, Thomas?”

TJ exhales and takes a sip of his coffee. He was used to the annual routine - their mother fussing over Ben like he’d been thoroughly neglected since the last time he was home. 

“I asked him earlier and he said he was fine. Didn’t you, B?”

Ben nods. “I’m fine, mom.”

Ana Morales does not seem convinced. “Well, you’ve got a couple of weeks now to rest up. We’ll take care of you.”

TJ shoots a look at the twins, who giggle conspiratorially.

The door into the kitchen opens and Lucy, TJ’s wife, staggers in carrying a precarious stack of lilac-coloured cake boxes printed with the logo for Pun in the Oven, her bakery and coffee shop in the city. Ben and TJ immediately stand up to relieve her of the burden, placing the boxes on the kitchen table as Lucy - or as she’s more usually called, Luce - wipes her brow and grins in the direction of her brother-in-law.

“BENJAMIIIIIIIIN!” She grabs Ben and pulls him in for a hug, smiling widely. “Missed you, man!”

Ben smiles softly at her in turn. “You look great, Luce. Any new tattoos since I saw you last?”

Luce arches an eyebrow and holds out her left hand, revealing a simple outline of a heart in purple ink in the space between her index finger and thumb. 

“Hope you don’t mind, dude. Took some inspiration from your bullseye for this one, just because I always thought the placement was cool.”

Ben spreads the fingers on his left hand, flexing his thumb slightly as he looks at the small bullseye tattoo he had done during his junior year abroad. 

“I’m honoured. Any chance your husband might get a matching one, eh?” 

Luce giggles and wraps an arm around TJ. “You know he hates needles. He got our initials done, that was enough for me. He was so brave.” She plants a kiss to TJ’s cheek, triggering dry-heaving noises from their sons.

Ana surveys the stack of cake boxes on her table. “You didn’t need to, Luce. This is far too much.”

Luce shakes her head and holds up her hands. “Nonsense. Just a couple of the leftovers from today and a few extra batches of the holiday specials I threw in this morning. Plus, for the homecoming…”

She lifts the lid on one of the boxes and pushes it in Ben’s direction.

“Coffee and walnut - your favourite.”

Ben’s eyes light up and he hugs his sister-in-law. “This is the best gift I could ask for. Thanks, Luce.”

“Don’t you think he looks tired, Luce? He needs to rest, poor boy.” Ana tilts her head at Ben, who is already searching for a knife to cut a slice of the cake.

Luce does think Ben looks tired, but there’s something else that’s just not quite right. A sadness, somewhere, or a resurgence of his anxiety. You can see it in his eyes. Maybe her husband knows more.

“We’ll look after him.” 

There’s always been something special about Christmas Eve. As a child it was the anticipation and excitement for the day to come, desperate to go to bed but too excited to sleep. As an adult, drafted in to help prep the food for the next day’s dinner, you peeled potatoes, sliced carrots, and monitored the turkey slowly cooking in the oven while listening to carols and Christmas songs on the radio. 

More than that, there was something in the air - maybe not ‘magic’, contrary to the message pushed in every TV ad since November. But possibility: of transformation, of newness, of togetherness, whether with blood family, found family, or whatever community you chose for yourself.

Or, just maybe, you’d completely internalised A Christmas Carol. Never mind Charles Dickens, that was mostly the Muppets’ fault.

The arrival of your little nieces in recent years has brought back some of the old traditions from your own childhood. You’d been followed around for most of the day by Cora, who had turned three a few months before.

“How does Santa bring all the things, Auntie Lyd?”

You smile and continue peeling potatoes. “I think he has some magic that lets him have a really big sleigh that just carries all the toys for everyone.”

“But then it’s too big and won’t fly.”

“No, it will. Because it’s magic.”

“But then he has’ta come down the chimley.” She gazes up at you, narrowing her eyes. “Should just use the magic to put the presents down.”

You’re stuck there. Thankfully, your brother-in-law Marc arrives in search of another slice of cake, and you palm her off on her daddy. 

With Cora and Evie safely in bed and asleep, you and your parents help your sister and her husband set up the living room, carefully setting out the Santa gifts and filling the little stockings embroidered with each girl’s name. 

Marc takes a careful bite out of the slice of cake and drains the glass of port left at the fireplace. “I don’t know how he isn’t absolutely rat-arsed, with all the port and whiskey and that being left out for him. No wonder he’s falling down chimneys.”

With your parents gone to bed, and Marc watching Die Hard on a random movie channel, you and your sister unwind for a bit with tea and Christmas cookies. She eyes you up, as if steeling herself to make a confession. Or, as it turns out, to encourage you to make one.

“So, who is he?” Kate poses the question at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around her gigantic Christmas mug of tea.

You put down your own mug and sigh.

One of Cora’s favourite questions about Santa Claus is how he does it all in one night. Apart from magic, which even at three she seems sceptical about, you tend to cite time zones as an explanation.

After all, how else could Cora and Evie be already starting to wake up to their gifts on one side of the world, while Santa hasn’t yet visited the extended Morales clan on the other?

With Luce and TJ hosting Christmas this year, they extended an invitation to Ben and Ana to stay with them on Christmas Eve. In truth, they hoped being roped in for an 80s Christmas movie marathon with his nephews would help distract Ben a little. Maybe even get him in the holiday mood. 

By 11pm, Lucy has finished the prep for tomorrow’s meal and is shooing her sons to their beds. Their grandmother retired a couple of hours before to the guest bedroom, carrying a dog-eared copy of A Christmas Carol - she likes to read the last couple of chapters every Christmas Eve, even if Tiny Tim always makes her cry.

“I’m going to head up, babe - don’t stay up too late. You have all the stuff for the sofa bed, Ben?”

Ben turns to acknowledge his sister-in-law, nodding. “All here. Thanks, Luce, it’s really nice spending Christmas Eve with you guys.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s our pleasure. Teej, I’ll see you in a bit? G’night, Ben. Merry Christmas.”

The Morales boys are sitting on TJ’s couch, each drinking a beer while Scrooged plays, quietly, on the TV. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” TJ runs a finger along the condensation on his bottle of beer, sleeves rolled up on his blue flannel. 

Ben fiddles with the cuff of his own, pine-green checked shirt. “As in…?”

His younger brother fixes him with a glare.

“As in what - or should I say, who’s - on your mind?”

“He’s called Ben. He’s a literature professor at Barrow.”

“Her name is Lyddie - I mean, Lydia. She’s a visiting professor. I’m sure I’ve mentioned her?”

“I met him on the very first day. He was my - what did he call himself? - my ‘welcome wagon’.”

“We went to dinner, as we normally do with the visiting people. And we just…man. Clicked. As friends.” 

“I mean, I made a Big Night reference and he got it? Honestly, I hadn’t had such a good time in…I can’t remember. I told him about what happened - the shit hitting the fan, and all that.”

“I guess we just started hanging out. Having coffee, talking - just friendly stuff, you know? She was new, we had a lot in common. I - I liked having her around.”

“He was so sweet to me when I was settling in. Like, I have made some really good friends over there. But sometimes he’d bring me coffee in the afternoon, and - I dunno, I started to look forward to it.”

“She’s unbelievably smart, TJ. Doesn’t think it. Always puts herself down. Same as when you try to tell her she’s pretty. But she’s so fucking bright, I swear to god. And she has the best taste in movies and music. And she is pretty. More than pretty.”

“And he’s so kind and giving. He’s running this whole diversity programme to try to make Barrow less white and wealthy and he’s had so much shit about it from fucking dickheads who think Ben’s not as good as them because he’s Latino and because his parents had to fucking work hard for a living. Assholes. All that and he’s really goddamn handsome.”

“And she’s a bit of a firecracker when she wants to be. You know that culture war idiot Lacroix? She just went for him at the away day because he was giving me shit.”

“He’s so fucking funny. The biggest dork you’ve ever seen. Actually did a ‘reeling you in’ dance at my birthday drinks to get me on the dancefloor. Once, he laughed so hard in my office that his glasses flew off his face. Hanging out with him is - was - so great.”

“She’s got this knack of knowing how to lift my spirits. I said to her one day that I’ve never laughed as much in work before - I meant before her.”

“I was the only person to get who he’d dressed up as for Halloween. That was a fun night - at Evan’s. You know Evan. You’re mutuals with Evan on Instagram, right? We were a little bit merry. Well, a lot merry. It sounds so fucking dumb but we touched and I swear I could feel electricity going off in my brain, and I…I hadn’t experienced that in years. Years.”

“Had her on my lap on the ride home from Evan’s. I put it down to being a bit drunk on Spooky Margs but honestly, I didn’t want to let her go when we got to her place. I’ll explain the Spooky Marg another time, man, you do not want to know.”

“We do - did - a lot of movie nerding out together. Did I show you the gifts he got me for my birthday? And the card? He got me a Hitchhiker’s Guide card. Y’know, because -”

“42. The answer to the ultimate question. She’s 42. I don’t think I said that to you. I guess I should have known there was something there the day I ordered that card, huh.”

“I knew there was something there on my birthday, for sure. And dancing with him, to that song - fuck. For a couple of minutes I just let myself pretend, you know? But he never did anything more, not that night.”

“I wasn’t drinking when we went out for her birthday, but she was. So I didn’t want to make a move, in case she wasn’t interested and felt I was trying to take advantage. But I wish I had.”

“He ended up alone in Barrow for Thanksgiving, so he invited me to come over. I’m sure I told you about this? The parade, the movie? Well, it was - it was really nice. God, that’s such a shit way of explaining it. It was just -”

“Mom did a video call, remember? And she saw her and she was all nice as pie and then she was giving me shit about whether Lydia was my girlfriend, and why wasn’t she my girlfriend because she was so pretty and so funny, and - god. You know what she’s like.”

“And all day I kept thinking ‘I wish I could tell you how I feel’, and then I’d remember I was just fucking visiting. I’m temporary. It’s temporary, by default. And he couldn’t want someone like me. And you know I can’t go through that hurt again. You know, Kate. You saw me at my lowest.”

“I did think about asking her out that evening, TJ. I did. But she’d said some stuff about being ‘good friends’ or something, and I just thought it was safer not to. I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. You know? She probably wasn’t interested, that’s what I thought.”

“I went to give him a kiss on the cheek to say thank you.”

“I turned to meet her. I wanted it, wanted to kiss her.”

“And we kissed, accidentally. For a couple of seconds. At least, I thought it was accidental. Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t long.”

“I wasn’t brave enough to kiss her like she ought to be kissed. She panicked and I thought she didn’t want it.”

“I should have kept kissing him.”

“We didn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, between conferences and travel. And fuck it, I missed her.”

“We messaged all the time and I still missed him. We didn’t talk about Thanksgiving. Not until - well.”

“So I told her I meant it. Meant to kiss her.”

“I don’t know what it is but tying a man’s tie is so intimate and so hot and - yep. We kissed properly.”

“We ended up back at my place the night before she went home.”

“We…we were together, the night before I came back over here.”

“I’m not being ‘coy’, TJ. I - okay, we slept together. Happy now?”

“Yes, okay, yes, we slept together that night, at his place.”

“And I asked her to stay. I wanted her to stay over. I was ready to drive her home and get her stuff. I would have gone to the fucking airport with her. Anything.”

“I woke up in the early hours and I just - fuck. I just lost it. I flipped. All the dark shit just came roaring back up.”

“She left a note. I couldn’t believe it.”

“The sex was not bad, fuck off! I can’t believe I’m about to say these words to my baby sister but - best sex I’ve ever had. Four times. Four fucking times.”

“I know I’m blushing, dude. It was really, really fucking good. Really good.”

“Who am I, Kate? A fucking cliché? I left him a fucking note? All because I couldn’t handle having real fucking feelings, because I knew I’d fuck it up. Like I always do. And oh look - SHE FUCKED IT UP. Again.”

“I really thought we were on the same page, you know?”

“He left me a voice note. Here, listen.”

“I tried calling her, but she was already at the airport.”

“I called him back. No answer.”

“I don’t think I would have been able to speak to her. She left me a voice note, too.”

“It would be easier to explain in person, right? Wouldn’t it?” 

“Maybe we needed the space and time apart, anyway. Especially if she regrets it.”

“He said we could do with the space. He said he hopes I don’t regret it. How could I ever regret that, with him? I’ve fucked it up, Kate. I know it would have been pointless anyway with the temporary visiting stupid situation, but - still. I ruined everything.”

Kate reaches over to pat the back of your hand, her festive, red and green manicure glittering as the light bounces off her nails.

“You probably didn’t, love. You always think you did. Can I - can I see a picture of him, if you have one? Want to see this nerdy sex god for myself.”

You open your phone and swipe through your pictures, finding one you’d taken of Ben on Thanksgiving. He’s holding his plate stacked with blueberry pancakes, smiling and bespectacled on the couch as you watch the Macy’s parade.

“Here he is.”

Kate studies the image carefully, eyebrows raised. She zooms in and out a couple of times.

“Well, hello, gorgeous! He’s handsome. Really handsome. Look at that smile, whew. And those eyes!” She zooms in and out again. 

“May I remind you that you are a married mother of two?”

“I can look and appreciate, can’t I?” She swats the air as if brushing your comment away.  “Fuck, it’s like someone engineered him in a lab for you. He even kinda looks like a mature version of those imaginary boyfriends you used to draw in your diary when you were thirteen.”

“He is fucking handsome, isn’t he? He’s so - wait, what? How did you know about those?”

Your sister rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Bitch, I read that thing cover to cover. You were so dramatic. Still are. You got any of the two of you together?”

You open your photos and pull up the photos Ani took of you and Ben dancing the night of your birthday drinks. “These are probably the best.”

Kate’s expression changes when she swipes through the set of pictures, zooming in every so often to look at your and Ben’s expressions more carefully. She looks up at you, hands you back the phone, and looks like she might cry.

“You okay?”

“Fucking hell, Lyd, you’ve got it bad. Both of you - I mean, look at the two of you! I know they’re just pictures but on top of everything you’ve said? I don’t think he’s just got a ‘thing’ for you, I think he’s really into you.” She chews on a cookie. “Remind me what you said in the note again.”

You recount the contents of the missive. 

“It’s just… you clearly have serious feelings for him. You’ve told me all these things about this wonderful guy. You told me it was the best sex you’ve ever had. And then you say ‘it was great’ to him in a shitty note?! I can understand why he’s pissed off.”

“I screwed this up, didn’t I?”

Kate throws her head back in frustration. “Still dramatic. You screwed it up a bit, but - surely he’s not that much of an asshole that he wouldn’t hear you out?” She drains the last of her tea from the mug. “Admittedly if it wasn’t Christmas, I’d be putting you on a flight to San Fran. However - talk when you get back. Explain face to face. Don’t assume the worst. I don’t think he can turn off his feelings that easily.”

“You don’t know that she regrets it. You don’t even know why she left without saying goodbye. You said she’d had some rough shit in the last couple of years. She said the night together was great in the note, didn’t she? And she’s been in touch, so… I dunno, man. I wouldn’t write her off.”

TJ takes the last swig from his bottle of beer and slaps his brother on the thigh.

“Can I see a photo of this Lydia, then?”

Ben sighs and digs around in his jeans pocket for his phone. He chooses the one he’d taken of you on Thanksgiving, sitting in the diner with your grilled cheese sandwich and basket of fries. You’re still wearing your glasses after the movie, smiling at him in your thick cable-knit sweater.

“That’s Lyddie - I mean, Lydia on Thanksgiving. She made that sweater herself, you know. She’s a talented woman.”

TJ smiles as he studies your features, zooming in a little on your bright, happy face.

“She’s a pretty woman, too. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes - kind-looking, and you just know she’s smart and funny as hell.” He turns to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” 

Ben smiles and huffs a laugh at the reference. “Quoting The Way We Were at me? Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Ana Morales has good taste in movies! Remember the VHS copy she always used to put on and cry at?”

Ben smiles at the memory. He turns to TJ, eyes full of emotion - worry, sadness, and affection. For his little brother, of course - but for you, too.

“I mean it, Ben. She is lovely. She sounds lovely - disappearing act aside, of course. And the way she’s looking at you in that picture - fuck, man. You can just see how much she likes you. You’ve every right to be hurt and angry, but - maybe don’t give up on her. You’re both too fucking old to let a chance like this slide, bro. Don’t let her go.”

Christmas Day is a chaotic whirlwind of overexcited nieces, a family dinner delivered like a military operation, and fighting over what to watch on TV. Same as it ever was. 

It’s nice. It’s comforting. But you’re impossibly lonely, embrace of a loving (if stress-inducing) family unit aside.

Since you’d cut and run a few days before, the steady stream of communication back and forth between you and Ben had essentially ceased, save for the voice notes. It’s become such second nature to you, the constant contact, and the rupture is all the more brutal as a result.

In the early hours of Christmas morning, lying wide awake in your old bed, you remember that during the Apollo missions to the moon they had a thing called LOS, or Loss of Signal. When orbit took the craft to the dark side of the moon, all communication between Mission Control and the astronauts became impossible for a time. 

LOS was nerve-wracking, particularly in the first attempts at lunar orbit. What if they never re-established contact? What if something happened on the dark side, leaving the crew lost forever while the rest of the world carried on? You have heard the recordings, the hiss of static fraying the nerves of those on the ground awaiting the return of the signal, the sound of a voice spinning through the vastness of space.

You’re in extended LOS, you realise. In spite of yourself, you smile, thinking how in any other circumstances Ben - with his Saturn V model and his Apollo 11 sweatshirt - would love the analogy.

“Did you send him a happy Christmas message yet?”

Kate doesn’t even look at you as she says it, all casual. She’s too busy scraping the remains of the Christmas dinner off the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

“The fuck?” Her ability to read your mind is starting to become disturbing. 

She swivels. “Did you send Ben a message wishing him a happy Christmas? If I was you I’d take a nice picture and send it. You look cute in that dress.”

“Do you think he wants a Christmas message from me? I doubt it. He wants space.”

Kate closes the dishwasher and presses the start button.

“I don’t think he knows what he wants, probably. Other than you. I’m sure he wants you, going on the way he looked at you in those pictures.”

You make a whining noise. “That was before.”

“You and your apocalyptic thinking. Unfortunately, Lyd, if you want to fix this you’re going to have to be the one leading the fixing. Start with a message.”

She sidles over to the kitchen counter, where your phone is safely tucked away to avoid doom-scrolling, picking it up and waving it menacingly. 

“If you don’t, I will.”

“FINE. But I’m not sending him a cute selfie, that’s ludicrous.”

You retreat to your room. It takes you a full half-hour to pick a photo and compose a message.

A notification appears at the top of your screen.

KATE: SEND THAT FUCKING MESSAGE

Breathe. Send. Run away.

Ben sneaks another buñuelo from the pile made by his mother earlier that Christmas morning. The sweet, spicy kick of the cinnamon sugar with the fried dough lifts his spirits - as does the sight of his three niblings side by side on the couch, engrossed in a game on Dylan and Carlos’s Nintendo Switch. A twin sits on either side of their youngest cousin, Julia - Jules to all - and helps her manoeuvre the controller and work her way through the game.

Newly-turned seven, and the daughter of Teresa Morales and her Irish husband Pádraig, Jules might be the youngest in the family but is a tiny force of nature. Though he didn’t have favourites among the three, Ben had a special connection with Jules, who routinely mailed him letters and drawings every couple of weeks. He would diligently respond with a hand-written letter, usually enclosing a couple of packs of stickers or a new book for her to read.

“I’M BORED NOW.” Jules hops off the couch and saunters over to her tío Ben, who’s sitting at the table in the dining room off Luce and TJ’s living room. “Can I have a buñuelo?” 

He brushes cinnamon sugar out of his moustache and off his dark red sweater, and looks over at his sister, who rolls her eyes and nods in resignation. “Your mom says yes, so…” He holds out the plate. 

Jules scrunches her nose up in delight as she takes a bite, then cocks her head as she studies her uncle. “I think you might be sad.”

This is a perceptive kid, Ben thinks. 

“I’m okay, Jules. Just a little tired.”

She chews another bite of her snack and shakes her head. “No. I think you’re sad. I can make you happy, though!” She makes a serious face. “Wait here, okay?”

She returns carrying a bundle of brightly-coloured hair clips and what looks suspiciously like a couple of bottles of nail polish. 

“Mama always says she feels happier when she gets her hair done. And has her pretty nails.” 

The little girl perches herself on a chair, sets out her equipment, and gets to work, tongue peeking out as she concentrates on painting Ben’s nails (she adds a glittery topcoat for extra effect) and carefully placing hair clips in his hair. 

“Everyone, tell tío he looks pretty!”

The rest of the extended Morales clan turn to look at Ben. Dylan and Carlos immediately grab their phones to take photos. TJ raises his eyebrows and nods approvingly. 

“That makeover stays put for the rest of the day, Ben.” Teresa is deadly serious, not wanting her little girl to see her handiwork undone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Thank you, Jules. I feel much better.”

You allow yourself a glance at your phone later that evening, a glass of champagne lending you some extra courage.

Still nothing.

You cast a glance at the contents of the little gift box Ben had left for you before leaving Barrow. A beautiful, dark red notebook, subtly personalised with your initials in embossed lettering - and a set of Nouvelle Vague-themed film button badges.

“Stupendous as always, Luce!” 

Ben and TJ carry stacks of empty dinner plates into the kitchen, the family well-fed and content after their Christmas meal of beef and a seemingly endless selection of side dishes. 

Lucy is preparing dessert, which mostly consists of the cakes and cookies left over at Pun in the Oven when they closed for the holiday the day before, served with ice cream and fresh fruit.

“Your mom did a lot of the work, guys. Can’t take all the credit. Hey, TJ, can you carry this cake stand in with you? Thanks, babe.”

She notices that Ben has a somewhat wistful expression on his face as he sorts out the dirty dishes.

“Hey, I just wanted to say - I asked TJ if he knew what was going on with you, and…”

Ben nods and smiles. “He told you.”

“I’m with him, Benjamin. From what you told TJ, I think this is worth fighting for. Or at least, it’s worth giving her a chance to explain properly.” 

He casts his gaze downwards. “You know, when I saw those photos the boys took of my ‘makeover’, the first thing that popped into my mind was ‘I better send these to Lyd’.”

“You miss her.” Luce pats him on the back. “So why don’t you? Send them, I mean.”

Ben turns to her in astonishment. “Seriously? We said we were giving each other space, time… and I’m still not sure what she wants.”

His sister-in-law rolls her eyes. “If you don’t send her a happy holidays message with one of those pictures - I will. And you know I don’t fuck around.”

He stands with one hand on his hip, bringing the other up to cover his face. “I know you don’t. Shit. Okay. I’ll do it. But only so you - or worse, TJ - don’t.”

Luce does a tiny dance for joy as Ben turns to leave. She spots - and recognises - a baby pink no-crease hair clip sticking out of his dark hair at the back of his head.

“JULES, have you been in our room??”

Ben settles himself at the desk in his brother’s home office, where he’d deliberately left his phone all day. He’s still not convinced that Luce is right about sending this, but she’s a woman of her word. 

He holds your gift to him, unopened, in his hands. He unwraps it quickly.

A pair of brightly-coloured socks, patterned with books and pens. And a soft, hand-knitted, merino watchcap in a Prussian blue, with a little tag stitched inside: Hand Knitted by Me.

He didn’t expect your name to be there, waiting for him, when he turned over his phone.

You had chosen a slightly chaotic photo of yourself that your brother-in-law had taken, of Cora bopping you in the face while trying to stick a huge bow on you. It would at least, you hoped, make him smile.

Happy Christmas, Ben. I was injured in a gifting incident earlier today. - L.

He selects a photo of himself showing off his painted nails, his hair festooned with coloured clips, while Jules beams in the background at her handiwork.

Merry Christmas, Lyd. I got a holiday makeover courtesy of Jules. - B.

You each hope that the other will somehow be able to read, in the gaps, the words left invisible:

I’m so sorry.

I don’t know why you did it.

I care so much about you.

I really miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I want you.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: TJ's 'Your girl's lovely, Hubbell' is, of course, a reference to The Way We Were.

[janiehellion]

Falling Deep

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl Dixon was a quiet but curious young man—shy, inexperienced, and way more innocent than you’d expect. It was just you, him, and... a vibrator.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: VIRGIN!DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / ORAL FIXATION / CUNNILINGUS / SEX TOYS / DRUGS & ALCOHOL / NON-CON ELEMENTS

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.925

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: PRE-APOCALYPSE—ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @dixongrimesgirl

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Thank you for your patience! I know it’s been a long wait, and I can only hope it was worth it. This might not be exactly what you had in mind when you sent in the request, but I hope you enjoy it.

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

The Chattahoochee was a whole different level of disgusting, even for a bar so close to the deep woods of Georgia. Low ceilings, broken lights, and the smell of piss and beer were present in every corner. Regulars stumbled in every night and day, a lot of them already drunk or high, but most of them?

Both.

It was the kind of place that was sticky no matter how much bleach you poured on it and where you could smell the bad life decisions coming from a mile away.

You worked behind the bar, pouring shots of moonshine and avoiding the greedy touches of men like it was just another part of the job. Which, in a place like this, it practically was. Located in the heart of the most godforsaken area of Georgia, it was the perfect place for the kind of people you’d rather not run into at any time.

Safe to say, Merle Dixon had been hitting on you since day one, coming at you with even worse pickup lines while high on who knows what. He'd lean over the counter, smirking, smelling like alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. "Hey, sugar tits, gimme 'nother," he’d laugh, putting a half-torn dollar on the bar like it was supposed to impress you.

"Watch the damn language, Dixon, or that’ll be your last drink for tonight," you’d answer, not even looking up as you poured him another shot.

"Hey, c'mon now," he’d answer you, "don't be like that. Ya know ya wanna gimme a shot at somethin’ else, don't ya?" He'd grin further, which seemed more lustful than charming, his eyes staring at your tits like they belonged there at all times.

You'd roll your eyes and shove the glass across the bar with a little more force than necessary. "In your damn dreams, Dixon. And keep your damn eyes up here, or I’m gonna rip ‘em outta your damn skull," you’d warn, but not entirely without sarcasm. It wasn’t the first time he behaved like that, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Then there was Daryl, his little brother, always standing or sitting nearby, almost like a shadow, or rather, like someone who didn't belong in a place like that. He wasn’t the type to come up and throw a pickup line at you; hell, he barely spoke at all. Just stood back while Merle tried to flirt with you, as if he was embarrassed to even be there.

You’d catch Daryl looking at you with these sideways glances, his arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for whatever bullshit his brother might do next. Or maybe he was scared, and he just had no clue what to do with a girl who would throw a bottle at someone's head and talk filthier than any man in the bar.

One night, Merle was high on meth that had his pupils blown wide, and he was drunk as always. "Y'know, darlin'," he slurred, leaning far over the bar, "I could make your night real fuckin' interestin’. Got a little somethin' else with me that’ll loosen ya up for some fun." He took out a tiny baggie—powder—white and unmistakable.

"Fuck off, Merle," you said with a smirk. "Go snort that shit somewhere else, where I don’t have to watch your annoying ass. Ain't your damn babysitter." You were used to it, but he was starting to piss you off more than usual. "And don’t even think about offering it to anyone else inside this hellhole. Last thing I need is you getting the whole damn bar high. Do that outside, with those who are probably shitting all over themselves right now."

Meanwhile, Daryl was sitting on a stool nearby, again, his eyes looking from you to his brother. You couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked, the way he watched Merle and every other person around. There was always something different about him—he was quieter, more... soft. The kind of guy who stood back and kept his head down.

"Leave 'er 'lone, Merle," Daryl mumbled, more to himself than to his brother. But he seemed to be sick of the whole scene. Not that Merle ever listened, or would ever listen to him.

No, Merle just rolled his eyes before shoving the baggie back into his pocket, not even looking in the direction of his brother, keeping his focus only on you... and your tits. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just tryin’ to show ya a good time for once." He grabbed his drink and stumbled off, probably to piss in a bush outside, and you were left with Daryl, who still just sat there.

Some time later, you grabbed a dirty rag and started wiping the bar down, side-eyeing him. "You gonna say somethin’, or just keep sittin' there?" You teased, soon throwing the rag under the counter and pouring him another drink.

He shrugged, looking away, clearly not sure what to do with himself. "Ain’t like I could stop him if he tried anythin’," he mumbled, looking down into his glass.

"If he tried, he'd go home without his dick. Not that it'd make much of a difference for him," you said back, smirking at him and trying to get him to loosen up a bit. "You come here just to watch me shut him down every night?"

It was a half-serious question, but you knew the answer. Daryl wasn’t like the other assholes—he didn’t hit on you, didn’t try to grab your ass or tits when you passed by, and never once called you some stupid nickname like sugar tits.

"I… jus' end up 'ere," he said awkwardly, his fingers tapping down on the counter. "Ain’t got much else to do."

"Well, at least you’re not tryin’ to snort coke off my tits or ass," you answered, making him go red in the face.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words seemed to be stuck in his throat, and you couldn’t help but find it kind of adorable.

"You know, since you come here enough, Dixon 2.0," you continued, "might as well help me close up sometime and throw the rest of these assholes outta here. Would get you a drink on the house."

It was just a passing suggestion, a simple idea, but his eyes looked up, like he was considering it, and for once, he actually looked into yours. Not in that drooling, perverted way his older brother did, but with curiosity. "Maybe," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dunno."

"You know what? Just think about it."

And so, the routine went on. Merle would walk in, and Daryl would sit nearby, quietly sipping his own drink while keeping an eye on his brother. And secretly, on you.

Tonight, though? Tonight was different. Somehow, you’d gotten him here, in your home, alone, without Merle, who was probably stinking of booze and piss all over again somewhere. His brother must have gotten his hands on something strong, or whatever it was, it gave you the perfect excuse.

You’d leaned in close while Daryl was mumbling about his brother and told him he should come over; maybe help you with something, and you told him it was important. You hadn’t even needed to lie all that much—he’d just nodded, eyes wide and nervous, and here he was, following you home like a little boy.

When he got to your place, he just stood there, all tense, and moving from one foot to the other like he didn’t know where to put himself. And you—well, you liked watching him squirm and being nervous, knowing well you were the one making him feel like that.

Daryl wasn’t even in the door for five seconds before you threw your bag on the floor, walking inside without saying anything else. No pretenses, no "make yourself at home." You didn’t bother with shit like that. If he was here, he was here on your terms, and you weren’t about to treat him like a guest.

"C’mon in," you said, standing next to the door to finally close it.

You saw him gulp, eyes looking around like he was searching for a quick exit he could use just in case, but finding nothing but trouble. So he nodded, stepping in, his shoulders hunched as he stood there, awkward as hell. Every inch of him screamed that he was nervous, but he didn’t run, not yet. You liked that about him. Quiet, sure, but still stubborn.

Meanwhile, your place was kind of a mess, clothes lying around, bottles on the tables—some empty, some half-full. A few were left over from last week, but hell, you weren’t cleaning for anybody, especially not for him. Daryl didn’t seem to mind, though; if anything, he looked like he was trying hard not to stare around too much, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his face all red once more, while you kicked off those awful heels that made your feet ache.

"Go on and sit down in my room," you said over your shoulder as you turned around, smirking as you heard his quiet huff. "I'm gonna get outta these damn clothes and put on something more comfortable."

"'Kay," he muttered and nodded again, sounding like he’d swallowed his own tongue.

Once in the bathroom, you pulled off the way too tight top and short skirt in the bathroom, letting yourself breathe for once. That outfit was a real curse; your bra always felt as if it was pushing your tits all the way up to your chin, but it kept the tips flowing, so you kept wearing those clothes.

But tonight? You’d rather die than let Daryl see you in it for too long. Poor boy was already chewing the inside of his mouth and choking on his own words like he might say the wrong thing and die on the spot.

But what you didn't know was that the second you went away to change your clothes, Daryl’s hands started twitching, like his body was on alert between curiosity and unease. A few of your clothes were tossed across the bed, smelling like that bar you worked at—smoke, sweat, and alcohol. It all felt like a place he shouldn’t be at, but here he was, sitting down on your bed and touching your clothes to shove them aside.

He told himself he wasn’t snooping, just trying to figure you out as he sat there nervously. Hell, you were already a mystery to him—a tough girl working in a bar where skirts and shorts barely covered what they ought to and heels high enough to bring any man to his knees.

So here he was, and his mind started running wild, wondering if every woman’s place was like this—half-dirty, with clothes tossed around, magazines piled up, and so much more.

Then his eyes landed on a big box sitting half-shoved under your bed, an open corner poking out like it had been forgotten as his foot bumped against it. He should’ve left it alone, but there was that itch, like he couldn’t look away. Daryl crouched down, sitting down on the floor, his fingers fumbling with the top until it opened up. His eyes went wide, lips parting as he looked inside.

It was filled with... things. Smooth, soft, strange-looking things in different shapes and colors, each one making him more confused than the last.

"What's this stuff?" He whispered, eyes squinting as he picked up a small pink thing with a rounded end. It fit in his hand, smooth but with some weight to it. "This for her... work?" He mumbled, rolling it over in his hand like it might magically turn into something he recognized. Maybe it was a tool, or even one of those weird bar gadgets he didn’t know about.

Another catch of something sparkly and soft shoved down in there made his heart beat faster, and before he knew it, he was pulling out more—the things looking weirder by the second. There was a wand-looking thing, and he held it like it might explode, wondering what the hell you were doing with all this.

"Drugs? Gotta be for drugs," he muttered, frowning as he inspected the box. Could be some kind of injector, maybe? He knew about that stuff—the guys that Merle met sometimes, passing around different things for the good times. But nothing here made sense, and there wasn't any instruction manual in sight.

He looked around like you’d come back any second and catch him, heat burning inside of him as he thought about what this meant. Were you hiding something? Was it… Was it for some kind of secret thing you did when no one was around?

"Damn it, what’re ya up to?" He said, biting his lip, his hand brushing over the surface of the smooth, strange thing, feeling his pulse race at the thought that you did know exactly what these were for.

And yet he didn’t. Not a damn clue.

"Hell’s this?"

He felt a cord between his fingers, pulling it slightly, as if tugging on it might magically make it make sense. Maybe it was for listening to music? But it had no sound, and no little earbuds or anything that he could see.

Setting that one down, he picked up another—an oblong thing with ridges along one side. It looked almost like a flashlight, but there was nowhere for the light to shine from. He pressed his thumb over it, turning it this way and that, but nothing happened.

"What the hell?" It had to be for something specific. You wouldn’t just have random stuff lying around like this for no reason, would you?

Then he found another, rounder one, with a strange little button on the side. He pressed it, flinching a bit when it buzzed all of a sudden. The damn thing nearly jumped out of his hand, and he held it tight to stop the vibrations.

"Damn thing’s possessed," he nearly yelled, feeling his cheeks burn. It felt... weird. Too weird.

And you? You had barely slipped into the bathroom, taking off your work clothes and enjoying the idea of how Daryl would squirm alone for a moment in your bedroom. The way he’d stumbled his way in earlier, not wanting to make eye contact like he didn’t know what to do with his own hands? It was almost way too easy to tease him.

And there he was, practically glowing red, sitting next to the box you kept under the bed. A simple big box—hell, he was behaving so cautiously, like he’d just discovered a bomb or a dead body. But what really caught you was the thing in his hand. A vibrator.

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me," you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. His head moved up, eyes wide as if he’d just been caught robbing a bank.

"Shit!" The vibrator fell out of his hand, hitting the floor, but that was only the start; the thing started buzzing further—vibrating across the floor and right toward your feet. Daryl didn’t move; he didn’t even reach for it. He just sat there, staring at the buzzing vibrator like it was going to bite him.

"Gonna tell me what you’re doin’ with my stuff?" You asked, half-amused, half-teasing, waiting to see what half-assed excuse he’d come up with, as you leaned against the door frame. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out at first.

"I… uh—" he stammered, swallowing loudly, his hands fidgeting like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. "I thought… I mean—thought it was, like, stuff for..." His voice trailed off, eyes looking to the ground, too ashamed to meet yours.

"Yeah? Stuff for what?" You pressed further, stepping forward, taking the vibrator and turning it off, stopping the noise but not the look of pure mortification on his face.

"I… thought it might be, y'know... Maybe it was, uh, y’know, things for... for bar stuff, or somethin’. Yer work." His voice was quiet, like he might get in trouble just for saying it out loud.

"For work?" You laughed and crouched down to sit next to him. "Yeah, Daryl, because every bartender needs a vibrator in her kit. So… You wanna tell me why you’re snooping, or am I just supposed to guess?"

You reached over, brushing a hand along the edge of your toy box, taking in the way his eyes tried to look at each item inside. Poor boy had no clue what half of it was for, but he looked at everything like it might burn him.

"Am sorry! I wasn’t… Jus'… waitin’ on ya an' got curious, I guess," he murmured. "Didn’t mean nothin’ by it."

You leaned in closer, enough that he could probably feel your breath on his face. "Curious, huh?" You asked, eyeing the way his shoulders tensed up. "You don't know what that stuff is?"

"Uh…" He blinked, looking between you and the vibrator like it might suddenly start buzzing again. "Not… really. No."

"Oh, you really don’t?" You pretended to be surprised. "It’s a toy, Dixon. A fun toy. For women. And men sometimes as well."

"That for real?" He asked, voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

"As real as it gets, sweetheart. And judging by that look on your face, I’d bet you don’t have much experience with this sorta things." You raised an eyebrow, daring him to admit it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping back to the floor. "Ain’t never… really..." He trailed off, his whole face full of embarrassment.

"Never what?" You asked, leaning in so close you could smell the cigarettes and sweat on him, and somehow, it drove you wild. "Fucked a woman? Or even fucked yourself, huh?"

"I—" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, a sound that told you everything you needed to know. "I don’t… don’t really know… how… t'do any of that."

"Oh, honey." You leaned back a little. "You look like you’re about ready to pass out."

Daryl trembled, trying to look anywhere but at you, his whole face burning. "I—I jus'… I dunno what to do with... all that," he continued, motioning awkwardly toward the box.

You smirked, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. "Guess no one’s shown you how a woman uses one of these before, huh?" You watched his reaction, loving every little deep breath he took and every embarrassed flinch.

"N-no… But what if... maybe they could've been... for, uh, drugs?" His face somehow went even more red, and he looked ready to sink into the floor.

"Drugs? What, you think I’m hiding some kind of dealer setup in my own bedroom? And especially right under my damn bed?" You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Trust me, they’ll get you high, alright—but not the way you’re thinkin’."

The embarrassment on his face was almost painful to watch as he shifted on the ground. "Like I said, I—I don't... Ain’t never done stuff like that before, okay? I—I mean, I done that with myself... sometimes. But not really... okay?"

You smiled, letting your fingers move over his, watching as his breath stopped, his eyes looking up to meet yours for a desperate second. "Well," you murmured, "maybe I could show you a thing or two. If you’re up for it, that is."

Daryl swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he glanced between you and the box again. He indeed looked like he was about to pass out, but he seemed curious—curious in a way that he couldn’t quite hide.

"Oh, c'mon, I know you want to," you whispered, clicking your tongue, standing up, and taking off your shirt slowly. His eyes looked up fast, staring at you, and he shifted on the spot, pressing his thighs together. That’s when you noticed the growing bulge in his pants—it was more than obvious he was already hard as a rock.

"Damn, Dixon," you chuckled, "you’ve got a real problem, don’t you?" You let your shirt fall down to the floor. "Hey, don’t just sit there looking lost—c’mon, no way you're that scared of undressing a woman!"

He stammered something, some half-strangled "n-no," his hands gripping his own thighs like he had to hold himself back from reaching for you. That only spurred you on, raising your brows as you grabbed him to stand up and guiding his trembling hands to the hem of your pants.

"Well, here’s your chance," you smirked, waiting for him to open the button. You watched his fingers fumble with it, shaking as he pulled down the zipper, and then, when he managed to pull your pants down over your hips along with your panties, his eyes widened like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

"Keep goin’, don't be shy," you whispered, guiding his fingers down your thighs until your clothes hit the floor.

He just stood there, staring, mouth opening like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next. You leaned in close, eyes locked on his, before you knelt down again and took the vibrator out of the box once more, pressing the button and letting it hum.

His eyes shot to the toy, watching with pure terror and fascination, and when you pressed it into his hand again, he held it like some foreign, sacred object he was too scared to break.

"Here," you mumbled, laying down onto the bed, legs spread just enough to give him a view he couldn’t tear himself away from even if he tried, before you pulled him next to you and guided his hand between your legs, pressing the vibrator to your thigh and dragging it higher. "Just like that, Daryl. Feels interesting, doesn’t it?"

Daryl could barely breathe, staring down as if hypnotized, the muscles in his whole body tensing up. When you moved his hand to press the vibrator against your pussy, you felt him stiffen, his other hand gripping his thigh to stop himself from trembling. The toy was vibrating against you, and you let out a quiet, satisfied sigh, glancing up just in time to see the way his eyes stayed on you, watching every little twitch and shiver of your body.

"I bet you’re a quick learner," you teased, reaching down to guide his hand again, moving it with the toy so it hit just right, and damn, if it didn’t feel good. His mouth fell open a little, and he sucked in a breath when you suddenly moaned, pressing yourself harder against the vibrator. His hand moved a bit awkwardly, like he didn’t quite know if he was supposed to be touching you this way, but the look in his eyes said he wanted to keep going more than anything.

You let out another moan, a little louder this time, just to see the way he reacted. His grip on the toy tightened, and you didn’t miss the way he was fighting with himself, clearly struggling to keep himself in check as his cock pressed harder against his pants, his breath coming out faster and shorter.

"Poor thing," you whispered, pulling his hand away for a moment, just to watch him struggle. "Bet you’ve never been this hard, huh?" Daryl's eyes looked at you, wide and mortified, like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. But the look he gave you—so desperate, so needy—only made you want to push him further.

"You wanna see what this thing can do to me?" You asked, not giving him time to answer as you pressed the vibrator into his hand again and guided it back between your legs. "Just keep it steady, like that. Right there." You rocked your hips against it, letting out a shaky breath as the lust built itself up inside of you, still watching as he clung to every little sound that left your lips.

Daryl's eyes were glued to you, his mouth open, and you noticed the way he kept moving his hips, trying to get rid of his hard-on. But no matter how much he squirmed, it wasn’t enough. He was near leaking through his pants by now, his cock being so hard he couldn’t think straight, and the sight of you practically coming undone in front of him had him on the edge himself.

"Feels good, doesn’t it, Dixon? But... don't you want to feel that too?" You taunted, moving your fingers along his wrist, pushing him to press harder and the toy just a tiny bit into you, wanting to let him feel every little tremor that wracked your body. He just nodded, lost for words, breathing hard, his eyes moving between your face and the way your hips bucked against his hand.

"Keep going, just like that," you urged, and he obeyed, pressing the vibrator a little harder, his other hand softly brushing against your thigh as if he needed something to hold onto to keep himself from falling apart. His face was so close now, so flushed, eyes wide with need, lips parted as he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

"Y’know, Daryl," you moaned, "you’re doing a hell of a job for someone who’s never touched a woman before, not even with toys." His face burned, but he kept going, kept pressing that toy against your pussy, completely mesmerized by the way you reacted.

"You like watching me, don’t you?" You murmured, letting out another moan that left him swallowing hard. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed... that you can’t keep your eyes off me and how damn hard you are."

He tried to come up with a response, something about "I... I didn’t mean to..." but his words trailed off, and he was just there, helpless, utterly at your mercy, his hand tightening on the toy as you let out one last moan that left him breathless and staring, before you snatched the vibrator from him and clicked it off.

The little tremor it left in his hand was nothing compared to the way he stared at you now, still holding onto that last bit of control.

"Think you can do it without help?" You asked, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to your pussy and to make him feel how wet you were, his fingers twitching as they moved along your folds. Daryl nodded but was holding on for dear life and trying not to slip.

"I... I dunno," he mumbled, eyes glued to your pussy.

"Oh, for the love of... here," you growled, placing your hand over his, guiding his touch lower, rougher, until you dragged his fingers exactly where you wanted them. But Daryl was a mess, barely holding himself together, his other hand still clamped over that hard bulge in his pants as he lay there beside you.

"Now, watch closely," you instructed, pressing his fingers just the way you liked it. "Doesn’t take much, does it?" You smiled, letting your free hand move down his chest, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. "Bet you’d come just feeling me touch you."

He whimpered, the outline of his cock pulsing through his pants, a wet spot already forming itself. It didn’t take much to notice the hesitation in his every move, making him so easy to toy with.

You leaned back a little, pushing your tits forward. "Go on and position yourself over me," you dared, and as soon as he did, you lifted his other hand from his bulge to your tits, watching as he sucked in a breath, his hand shaking as if he were holding something he had no right to touch. "Ever felt these before?"

Daryl shook his head, still wide-eyed, his eyes looking into yours for a second before dropping back down, like he was afraid to look too long.

"Then make the most of it." You reached down, pressing his other hand harder against you. "I want you to use that mouth of yours now," you smirked, pushing him down to press his lips against your nipples. His breath was warm and shaky, and he hesitated, his mouth just an inch away from you. You raised an eyebrow, daring him, and after a long, deep breath, he finally leaned in.

"That's a good boy," you praised, your fingers running through his hair, feeling him shiver under your touch. He was so damn easy to play with, each little whimper and moan only turning you on more, urging him to suck and lick, his tongue slow but eager, desperate for more.

"Gently," you ordered, glancing down to see him lose himself, his hands now touching you like he didn’t want to let go. The poor guy was panting, his eyes squeezed shut as he sucked and kissed your nipple, as if the sight alone would push him over the edge.

You soon moved your hand down, feeling the outline of his cock through his pants, feeling him flinch, his breath stopping as you gave him just a bit of what he wanted. "This what you want, Daryl?" You whispered, teasing him and squeezing his shaft just enough to make him groan, his hips bucking, desperate for more. "You do, don't you? But now, I want you to eat me out."

Daryl couldn’t even get out a response, his mouth still on your nipple, but the look in his eyes told you everything.

"Pathetic, but also really cute," you laughed, unzipping his pants just enough to reach inside, your fingers wrapping around his cock and making him gasp, his whole body tensing as you squeezed him. He was thick, hard, already wet from the pre-cum that leaked from his tip, and the way he moaned, quite high, only made you want to drag it out and tease him until he was begging to come.

As you quickly positioned yourself over his face, you could see how he was a nervous wreck the moment your ass hovered above him. "Oh, please, don’t just lay there. Get to work," you teased, lowering yourself down, your pussy brushing against his lips.

When he finally opened his mouth, it was like you flipped a switch. The moment your folds hit his tongue, he moaned, the sound muffled against you. It sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but grind against his face, pushing him harder against you.

"God, you’re a natural," you gasped, encouraging him with your hips. "Just like that, baby. Don’t be shy; use your tongue."

Daryl’s mouth worked hesitantly at first, but the more you ground down, the more confident he became. His face was buried in your pussy, the taste of you driving him wild as he licked and sucked, trying to figure out what made you feel good, and the way he looked up at you, eyes full of wonder and lust, only made you want to ride his face harder.

"Yeah, keep going," you panted, feeling your legs tremble as he finally got into a rhythm. "Good boy, just like that," you moaned, feeling the tension building inside you. He was so focused, so eager to please, and the way he hungrily licked and sucked made you see stars.

"Don’t stop, Daryl. I’m so close," you urged. "Yeah, that’s it," you moaned, pushing your hips down even harder. "Don’t you dare stop. Just like that—yes!"

The way he held your thighs, trying to hold you against him, and the way he whimpered against you—those sweet little sounds pushed you right over. "I’m cumming! Fuck!"

Your body tensed, and you ground down harder again, shaking and feeling him groan against your dripping pussy as you let go and came, completely lost in the moment.

You felt him drink it all in, and you knew he was just as lost as you were. The second you pushed yourself off his face and watched him, face red and lips parted, you could tell Daryl had no idea what to do with himself. Wide-eyed and panting, he lay there as if you’d just dragged him straight into some fever dream he wasn’t even ready for. He seemed so helpless as he tried to piece together the storm of feelings that’d just hit him.

"Still with me, Daryl?" You asked, letting your weight push him further into the bed. His eyes looked down between your legs, then looked away, like he didn’t have the courage to watch.

"Y-yeah…"

He shuddered, that helpless little whine slipping out as you leaned down, your mouth right over his. He was as stiff as a board beneath you, looking both horrified and desperately curious at the same time.

"Think you can handle more of this?" You whispered, one hand moving down and wrapping around his cock as you took it fully out of his pants.

"W-wait," he stammered, trying to close his legs in a last attempt to get some space, but you only held him tighter, giving his cock a slow, teasing stroke. It twitched in your hand, leaking all over your fingers like he couldn’t stop himself.

"Sweetie, look at you," you smiled, swirling a finger over the tip, just to watch him jerk, hips lifting up like he was begging. "So needy aren't we?"

Daryl let out another whimper, his face going beet-red, those shy eyes looking away once more as though if he didn’t look at you, he’d somehow be less mortified.

"Feels so good, huh?"

His whole body was practically trembling with need, and he was leaking—a lot. His cock throbbed in your hand, pre-cum dripping so much it smeared along your fingers.

"Damn, Daryl," you whispered, smirking as your fingers now teased along the underside of his cock. "Didn’t know you’d be this easy, really."

You soon leaned down, your mouth just over his cock; the slightest lick of your tongue along his tip pushed another bit of pre-cum out, and you couldn’t help but laugh, loving every bit of his need.

"Baby, look at you, leaking everywhere," you teased again, wiping the tip with your thumb before bringing it to your lips, licking off the taste. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, you pulled back slightly before leaning up to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your lips.

It made him moan again, his hands reaching out to grip your body as if needing to ground himself. "P-please…" He whispered, but you didn’t give in just yet.

Instead, you reached down, grabbing your vibrator again. You saw the way his eyes narrowed, with pure nervousness all over his face, as you suddenly pressed the toy to his cock, starting at the lowest setting. The buzzing made him gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily against you as you dragged the vibrator along his shaft, right along that sensitive spot just under the head. Every time it brushed up and down, he leaked more against your hand, only making it messier.

"Oh s-shit…" He whimpered, sounding utterly wrecked.

With a smirk, you leaned back and held up the vibrator for him to see, his eyes following it, dazed, and lips parted. "I think that’s enough; otherwise you might explode on the spot," you said, watching his expression drop just slightly as he looked at you switching it off and tossing it back into your toy box all of a sudden.

Leaning up, you gave his lips a slow, lazy kiss, feeling him melt against you, even more needy when you pulled away and slipped back down. And damn if he didn’t start leaking more, a fresh drop of slick pre-cum glistening right there, just begging to be tasted.

"How sweet you are, Daryl," you murmured, slowly moving your tongue along the underside of his cock, not missing the way his hips jerked up instinctively, even though he didn't seem to understand why. One gentle lick. That’s all it took for him to be close again, and he was helpless against it.

"Just relax and enjoy it," you continued, letting your tongue move along the tip of his cock and the desperate little gasp of his driving you wild as he grabbed the sheets, practically sobbing as he tried to hold back.

You wrapped your lips around just the head, barely enough to count as anything. But to him? It was like fireworks going off.

"N-no, I—oh fuck, I can’t—" He breathed out as his head fell back, his body shivering under you.

And when you took him just that tiny bit deeper, that was it—he lost it. Hard. He tried to hold it, tried to push you back even, one hand weakly pressing against your head, but he was already too far gone. The orgasm tore through Daryl, overpowering him completely.

His whole body stiffened, a helpless cry coming from his throat as he finally lost it, filling your mouth with his cum as he came. Before he even had time to process it, you’d swallowed every last drop from his throbbing cock, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked back up at him.

He was still shaking, his mind clearly blown, and when he finally managed to look at you, it was with that same wide-eyed shock.

Daryl just lay there, still in shock, his body trembling as reality sank in. "D-did ya really jus'—" His voice cracked with disbelief all over his face as he tried to wrap his head around what just happened.

You smirked at him, leaning in close, your lips moving softly against his in a teasing kiss. "What’s the matter, sweet boy? Never had someone swallow your cum before?"

He quickly shook his head. "I—I thought ya might get pregnan' or somethin'!" He stammered in embarrassment, his mind racing with the wildest thoughts.

"Oh, cutie. You really think it’s that easy? I'm sorry, but that's not how it works," you laughed, nudging his arm, enjoying the way his shoulders tensed up like he was trying to hide from you. "What? Can’t even look me in the eye after that?"

He opened his mouth, but whatever words he thought he might stammer out just died right there, and his hand went up to scratch the back of his neck.

"I... I didn’ mean to..." he finally managed to say, his voice cracking in the middle, his face still as red as a tomato.

You raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t mean to what? Coming in record time?" You let out a sarcastic scoff, and he near cried, ducking his head as though it would save him.

"I-I dunno, I thought... I jus', I mean—" he stumbled over each word. "Jus' ain’t never been with... y’know, anyone... like that."

"No kidding," you replied dryly, watching him shrink even smaller, if that was possible. "Anyone coulda guessed that, by the way, you freaked the hell out." He winced at your words, but hell, it just made him look all the more adorable, laying there.

When you placed a hand on his thigh, he went stiff as a board all over. "Easy, Daryl," you murmured. "No one’s laughing at you... much."

"I-I’m... sorry," he mumbled again.

"Sorry?" You scoffed, tilting his chin up to force his eyes to look at you. "For what? That you came too soon, or that you actually loved it?"

He tried to look away, but your fingers held him in place. "Both, I reckon," he answered, his voice shaking. It was like he thought he’d done something wrong, like he needed to apologize for being human.

"Nothing wrong with it, Dixon. Means I sure as hell did it right." You laughed, running a thumb over his jawline as he stared back at you.

"Bet that head of yours is just spinning right now, ain’t it?" You said, half-mocking. "Poor, sweet Daryl, don’t know what to do with himself now."

It was easy to see what he still needed—what he wanted, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it. You didn’t have to guess, though. He was desperate for something more, desperate for you to just tell him what to do. It was obvious that he had no experience with women or anything like this, but it didn’t matter to you. If anything, it just made it better. You wanted him nervous.

"Hey," you said softly. "It’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed. Not at all." You could see that he wanted to apologize again, wanting to make up for how pathetic he felt.

"Tell you what," you said, kissing his cheek. "You’ve got a lot to learn, Daryl Dixon. But I think you’re gonna like it. You just need to stop worrying." His hands moved to your waist, but they were hesitant, unsure. "And me? Well, I’m not here to judge you."

You took his hands and placed them back on your body, guiding him again. This time, he didn’t hesitate much, but it seemed as if he was trying to copy the way you had guided him earlier, trying to find some way to make up for what had happened. But that, for now, was enough.

"Don’t worry," you said, grinning at him, "I’m going to teach you."

Because you would. And he had no choice. Maybe that was what you liked most. The way Daryl needed you now, the way he didn’t even know what he wanted, but he was willing to follow you with your help along the way.

And he was only going to fall deeper.

[ylangelegy]

collision course 🏁 sunwoo x reader.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee. (Full Throttle, diamonddaze01)

or: sunwoo knows a lot of things about cars, but girls? a whole different story.

★ ferrari mechanic!sunwoo x race strategist!reader. ★ word count: 3.1k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: formula one. fluff, feelings realization/denial, confessions, car terms. alcohol consumption, swearing/cussing. sunwoo has a crush and is lame about it. i know nothing about f1/cars and relied heavily on google— so help me, god. (if anything is wrong/off? we ball.) ★ footnotes: this is a self-indulgent, belated christmas gift for @diamonddaze01, because seeing a sunwoo cameo in her ferrari!jeonghan fic was an absolute treat. in her words, "had to bring my other man in here somehow."

At speeds over 150 km/h, the aerodynamic downforce generated by an F1 car is enough to keep it adhered to a ceiling— theoretically allowing it to drive upside down.

It’s a stupid fun fact that Sunwoo likes to keep in his arsenal of pickup lines. He’ll be in a new city, grabbing drinks with the garage technicians and pit crew members, and he’ll pull that little nugget of information out of his sleeve with a winsome smile to boot. 

“Wanna hear something cool?” he’ll ask his victim of the night, gesturing for them to lean in closer so he can be heard over the thumping music. 

His success rate with the fact is at a solid 83%, which isn’t bad. 

Would be nice if it could work on you, though. 

Of course you wouldn’t be impressed with Sunwoo’s technical F1 knowledge. You had your own array of race tactics and data analysis, always knowing just how to make the car’s performance fit within the larger race context. 

You were brilliant, productive, and ruthless. The brain behind the brawn of the indomitable Scuderia Ferrari.

Sunwoo is reminded of it now as he leans over the hood of the SF-23, his brow furrowed with concentration. He catches your eye from across the garage.

“Hey, strategist,” he grunts out, and you approach gingerly to see what he’s griping about. 

Once you’re by his side, he asks, “You sure about this tire strategy? Softs at the start? I don’t know if we’ve got the grip for that, especially in this heat.”

Your expression remains perfectly neutral as you respond. “I’ve run the numbers,” you say. “The tire temps on the softs will be optimal. We can manage the degradation. The first few laps will be crucial, but we’ll have an advantage after that.” 

An advantage. Sunwoo lets out a derisive snort. 

“We’re talking about a five-second difference in lap times, and track conditions are ass,” he argues, wielding the wrench in his hand as he speaks. “One wrong move? We’re out of contention. I’m telling you, we’ll burn through those tires too fast.” 

“And I’m telling you, I know the risk.” Your tone is unwavering as ever, like you’re far too used to your decisions being questioned by hard-headed mechanics like Sunwoo. “I also know the reward. Trust the data.” 

There it was. Your go-to catchphrase. Trust the data. 

In the years that Sunwoo has worked alongside you, he can no longer count on two hands the amount of times you’ve thrown him that line. It was your way of getting him— and everyone else— to shut up, and he’d be damned if he tried to push back on it now. 

“You’re the boss,” he mumbles as he goes back to checking the car. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees the slight twitch in your jaw, as if you’re contemplating saying something more. You seem to decide against it, instead choosing to walk off with your chin held high. Maintaining faith in your own numbers, in your very credo of trusting the data. 

Sunwoo shakes his head to himself. He can feel the pull of his gut, but your confidence is hard to ignore.

It quickly becomes apparent that your conviction— and your blasted data— are not misplaced. The softs perform better than anyone had anticipated. By the time the race is nearly halfway through, your tire strategy is pulling ahead. 

The radio crackles to life with Sangyeon’s voice. “You’re going to need to hold your ground now,” the race engineer says. “Great call on the softs.” 

Sunwoo huffs out an exhale. Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he still tries at this point. 

You materialize at his side wordlessly. At first glance, there’s nothing in your expression that might give away what you’re feeling or thinking. But Sunwoo has known you long enough to recognize the upward arch of your eyebrow, the amused purse of your lips. 

I told you so, you’re saying without saying, and he can’t help the way that it makes him laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, running one hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “You were right. Trust the data.” 

“Trust me,” you amend with a knowing smile.

Sunwoo doesn’t quite know why, but something about your subdued smugness bowls him over. You’re already wandering off to check the timing board before he can grasp one of his witty remarks, leaving him at a rare loss. 

It was the strangest thing to admit, but he found himself wanting to be harmlessly wrong again— if it meant seeing that look on your face once more.

An F1 car can theoretically drive upside down. In the same vein, you’ve not-so theoretically tilted Sunwoo’s world on its axis.

F1 tires can reach temperatures of over 120°C during a race, which is necessary for optimal grip.

Sunwoo is no stranger to heat. His job has taken him all over the world, has put him through the sweltering temperatures of Bahrain and the merciless climate of Brazil. 

He’s learned how to handle those. 

Hot people, however? 

You’re several paces away from Sunwoo, your fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. There’s a lot of celebration in this middle-of-nowhere Austin bar, especially after Jeonghan finished P1. But Sunwoo can’t be bothered to care about his intoxicated fellow crew members. 

Not when you’re dressed like a cowgirl— a fringed vest, a leather hatband, and a goddamn hat. 

Was the bar a cowboy-themed one? Yes. Was Sunwoo prepared to see you in something outside of your usual race-day attire? Not quite.

He’s in the midst of untangling his complicated web of thoughts when you catch him staring. He looks away a second too late, because you’re rounding on him mere minutes later. 

“Never seen a strategist in a hat before?” you drawl, your attempted accent so horrendous that Sunwoo can’t help but bark out a laugh. 

Play it cool, a voice says in the back of his head as he leans on the bar counter. 

“Didn’t think anyone could pull it off. Especially you,” he teases. 

You sip from your beer, your eyes never leaving his face. Something about the action makes Sunwoo’s breath hitch. 

“Yeah? Thought I was all numbers and charts?” you shoot back, the lip of your bottle resting over one corner of your mouth. It’s a sight that’s going to burn itself into Sunwoo’s brain for weeks, he’s sure. 

“I mean, you do spend most of your time with a headset on, looking like you’re about to break down tire strategies. Not…” He gestures vaguely to your get-up. “Whatever this is.”

You laugh, and the sound catches him off guard. It’s low and easy, like you’re genuinely enjoying this. The two of you had always worked in close coordination, but light moments were rare in your high-stakes positions. “I can do both. Multitasking is my specialty,” you say breezily. 

Something about your tone— confident, but with just enough challenge— makes Sunwoo’s heart beat a little faster. “Well, if you can multitask,” he says, trying to keep it light, “I guess you won’t mind helping me figure out how to not make a fool of myself right now.”

There’s the ghost of a smirk on your face. “You’re not making a fool of yourself. Not yet, at least.” 

“So you’re saying there’s still time?”

“Maybe. Depends on how much you want to embarrass yourself.”

It’s a bit dizzying, how fast-paced this conversation is going. As much as Sunwoo would like to blame it on the alcohol, he knows it runs a little deeper than that. 

“You’re drunk,” he says for the lack of a better thing to say. The rest of his sentence goes unspoken: You’re drunk, and that’s the only reason you’re bantering with me like this. 

“Maybe a little buzzed, but I’ve got a clear head,” you answer. When you go on, your voice is pitched just low enough that he has to lean in a bit more to hear you. 

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” you note, and Sunwoo briefly considers making a run for it then and there. 

The air suddenly feels too warm, too thick. He tries to laugh it off, but it comes out a little strangled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Those little glances,” you say, flicking your eyes over him in a way that makes him painfully aware of every inch of his body. “You were checking me out, Kim.” 

“Was not.” 

Crap, Sunwoo thinks as the answer comes out of him a little too fast, a little too defensive. 

He backtracks. “I was just—” 

But then you do that again— sipping your drink while staring directly at him— and the words hitch in his throat. He’s caught. Completely. 

The flirtatious, suave Kim Sunwoo is in over his head, just because his team’s race strategist deigned to toy with him. 

What a joke. 

“You’re just?” you prompt, the slight grin on your face giving away the fact that you know what effect you had on him. 

Sunwoo tongues the inside of his cheek. “I was just trying to get my head on straight,” he finally says.

He’s not used to being on the back foot. He’s always held his own in situations such as these, and yet here you are— subjecting him to a sudden, wild rush of feeling with a few choice words and moves. His mind is reeling over the fact that this is how lethal you are tipsy. How much more if you were sober? 

A corner of your lip curls just enough to be dangerous. “Well,” you say, almost too casually, “looks like your head’s all over the place now, huh?”

There’s an unfamiliar heat blooming in his chest, one that burns far more than any tire blanket. 

“Yeah,” he grumbles in response. “No kidding.” 

An F1 car— including its driver— weighs around 740 kg, with the car itself weighing just over 700 kg.

Remaining lightweight is crucial to any car’s victory. Sunwoo’s job demands that he maintain the steadiness of things, never sacrificing safety for durability and vice versa. 

He keeps his hands steady as he fastens the car’s bolts one more time. The hum of the garage surrounds him, a familiar rhythm that he could work in with his eyes closed. It’s in moments like this that he feels most at peace. When the noise fades into the background, when the weight of everything else in his life feels distant.

Except the weight isn’t distant today; instead, it’s in the same room as him. 

You’d laughed at his joke earlier. Some stupid wisecrack he made about Mingyu of McLaren. He doesn’t even remember what he said anymore, because the sound of your giggle had just emptied out his brain. 

Sunwoo wipes his hands on a rag, shaking his head. Focus, he mentally chides himself. There’s a job to do. There’s always a job to do. You have to—

“Hey, Kim.” 

Well, so much for that. 

His gaze snaps up to where you’re standing by the garage door. You have your arms crossed in front of you, and there’s a slight frown on your expression. 

“What’s got you distracted?” you ask point blank. “You’ve been off all morning.” 

Busted. Sunwoo almost wants to laugh at just how absurd this whole situation is. How did he ever think anything would get past you? 

He tries, still, to brush it off. “I’m fine,” he says as evenly as he can manage. 

You step closer, your gaze narrowing as you look him over. For a second, Sunwoo feels like you can see right through him.

“You’ve been quiet,” you point out. “And usually you never shut up.” 

He raises one hand over his heart, feigning like he’s been wounded. That at least draws a small chuckle from you, but you don’t look like you’re going to back down any time soon. 

“I’m just focused,” he says. “Gotta keep everything in balance, am I right?” 

“Balance,” you repeat with amusement. “That’s your thing, isn’t it?” 

Sunwoo could praise the heavens at the opportunity to veer the topic into safer waters. He snatches up the opportunity, immediately launching into an enthusiastic ramble of, “Yeah. It’s all about maintaining the right weight. The right balance between power, handling, and fuel efficiency. Gotta make sure nothing’s out of place, or else the entire thing could fall apart.” 

Really, he should’ve known better than to think you would let him off easy. 

“And yet, here you are,” you say in a way that makes him feel like you’re playing a different kind of game now. “Completely off-balance yourself.”

Damn it. 

You’re not talking about cars anymore. Hell, you’re probably not even just talking about how preoccupied he’s been. Everything from the glint in your eye to the teasing edge in your voice promises trouble, threatens to read him better than any book. 

“I guess I’m a little bit off-balance,” he admits, the confession escaping him before he can reel it in. “But I’m getting used to it.” 

You give him a long look, something unspoken passing between you. Then, without warning, you smile— something soft, almost shy, and Sunwoo forgets his damn name. 

It’s like a weight he’s been carrying for so long has suddenly lifted, even if just for a moment. A glowing sort of warmth spreads through him, light and freeing.

“You’re not the only one,” you muse, your tone almost thoughtful now. “We all are. Maybe that’s what makes us good at what we do. We’ve learned how to keep our heads straight even when everything else is... a little out of whack.”

What is this ‘we’ business, Sunwoo almost teases you. The undercurrent of your words has him thinking this conversation has nothing to do with the state of the garage, but everything to do with whatever weird tension has been crackling between you two. 

The truth is, he's never felt this light before. The weight of his feelings for you, the tension in the pit of his stomach, feels like something he’s been carrying around for ages— but right now, in this fleeting moment of understanding, it’s like the air has cleared. He doesn’t know what to do with it, but he knows it’s there. This strange, giddy feeling thrumming below his ribs.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “I guess we make it work.”

Surprisingly, he’s not worried about getting things right. He’s not thinking about the balance of power or how much he can handle before breaking. 

All he knows is that in this moment, with you standing in front of him, the weight he’s been carrying feels a little more like something he can handle.

Maybe it’s the start of something. Or maybe it’s just a crush.

Either way, it leaves him feeling light. 

A well-executed pit stop takes less than two seconds, with each mechanic trained to handle their specific role.

Over the years, Sunwoo has steeled himself to the pressures of being precise, of being steadfast and reliable under the world’s most insane time crunch. Every millisecond counts. He knows that better than anybody. 

He’s done this a thousand times, and each movement is like a second nature. The tires are off, the new ones are on. The fuel is topped up. The car is ready to go. 

Soonyoung’s car is on its way again, speeding off into the distance. Flawless, just like always. 

Sunwoo lingers, his eyes drifting to where you’re standing. He lets out a long breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore how he feels whenever you’re near. And for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint, it’s only grown more unbearable.

Every second he spends just working with you is like another fleeting moment, ticking away before he loses the courage to say anything.

You’re reviewing data on your tablet, and so you don’t notice him right away Sunwoo coming up to you. When you look up, there’s the slightest shift in your expression. The smallest softening. 

“Nice work,” you say coolly. There’s something almost fond in the way that you look at him, and it has him feeling like he’s on shaky ground. 

“Thanks,” he says, trying to sound casual. He knows he’s not fooling anyone, least of all you. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that he’s sure makes him look more like a mess than the reliable mechanic he’s supposed to be.

There’s a brief silence between you, the sounds of the garage fading in the background. The team is starting to disperse, moving onto their next tasks, but Sunwoo can’t seem to shake the weight of the moment. The pressure of the milliseconds, the years of perfecting his craft, feel insignificant compared to the one question that’s been gnawing at him for weeks.

If he’s learned anything from his driver friends, it’s that hesitation can cost you everything.

“Listen,” he starts, his throat suddenly dry. He forces the words out before he can second-guess himself. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

You tilt your head to one side. A wordless encouragement of go on. 

Sunwoo takes a deep breath, his hands still clammy despite the cool air of the garage. He’s never been good at this. Not the racing, not the work on the car, but this— this thing that’s been building up between the two of you. 

“I know we’re both busy, but… after the race, I was wondering if you’d want to grab coffee with me. Like, outside of all this.” He gestures vaguely at the cars, the people, the entire race track that’s been your shared world for so long. “I’d, uh, like to spend time with you. Not as part of the team. Just... us.”

You blink up at him, processing the words. For a second, he’s sure he’s just made a fool of himself. Maybe he’s misread every sign. Maybe you’ll just laugh it off.

But then you smile. A slow, genuine smile that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Finally,” you exhale, and Sunwoo doesn’t have the room to press you on what you mean because you hit him with, “I’d like that, Sunwoo.” 

So this is what it feels like, Sunwoo thinks, to finish P1. 

“Great,” he stammers. “I’ll see you later, then.” 

“Later,” you echo, your tone teasing but soft. “Looking forward to it.” 

Sunwoo steps back, nearly knocking into a tool box as he tries to take his leave. You don’t care much for his less-than-gracious exit; in fact, it makes you laugh a little, and it only makes him feel giddier than ever. It’s like a pit stop in the middle of a race— short, but thrilling, and completely worth it.

Every millisecond does count. 

And for once, he feels like he’s made the right choice with the time he’s spent.

🏎️ end notes: fan fiction of fan fiction? likelier than you think. if you love formula one and seventeen, you're bound to enjoy tara's ferrari!jeonghan piece, full throttle (part one & two). and to tara: this is insane. we have to stop exchanging fics like they're christmas gifts. <3 you.

[rememberwren]

CW: perceived noncon? Alcoholism. PIV. Oral Sex. This is my one dark thought a month quota I’m fulfilling

You don’t consider them bad men, per say. They keep their mouths shut about your drinking problem, they charge you a fair portion of the rent, and they clean up after themselves. Johnny can be funny and silly when the mood strikes him, and though Simon is a little too intense most days, he always thinks to bring you home food on his way home from work when he’s grabbing Johnny food too so. It’s not like they’re monsters.

You’d probably want to fuck them even if they were though. They’re both attractive, well-maintained, tall and wide and thick and everything you could have dreamed of in a male specimen. The fact that they’re together puts more horny thoughts into your head than it should, and you’ve touched yourself to the sounds of them fucking in the next room on more than one occasion.

You start small and subtle: wearing less around the apartment. The shorts that barely cover your ass, the thinning tank tops that show off your every curve. You get your hands on their laundry and sometimes walk around in their shirt. And it works—to an extent. You feel their eyes on you. You catch them swapping glances. You spot Johnny adjust his hard on one or twice. You can’t fathom why they won’t take you up on your blatant offer.

Then one night you overhear them talking about it, and Simon says that it’s simply too risky. It would overcomplicate things, put the apartment and the rent at risk. It’s not smart. Definitely not tactical. Fucking you is off limits. If only there were a way to do it without repercussions—without any strings attached. Without you knowing.

So you start coming home drunker than usual. (You have a problem, it’s well known by all parties involved, but as long as you make it to work on time in the morning sober, you consider your life to be put together.) You make drunken passes at them, and you find that your drunken state makes them feel more secure. You steal kisses from Johnny, convince Simon to grope you over your cute little clubbing dress. And in the morning you play dumb, pretending to have blacked out, ignoring the looks that pass between them.

Until your big performance: coming home barely tipsy but playing at blackout drunk. You’re sloppy, dropping your keys outside the apartment door and knocking to make them let you in. You’re tripping to get your shoes off in the entry way, flashing them the cute lacy scrap between your legs.

You collapse on the couch and let yourself go limp. Out. “Gone.” Then they start to argue—they shouldn’t. But they want to. But you want it. But it’s wrong. On and on until they’ve talked themselves into it, and then they are slipping up the hem of your dress and peeling the lady underwear down your thighs. They take turns spreading you open and eating you out, messy and sometimes mean, and you sometimes tremble and shake, lashes fluttering, but you are limp enough to convince them that you’re still unconscious.

They pull down the straps of your dress and each toy with a breast until you are soaked between the legs, Simon continually having to snap at Johnny and warn him not to leave any marks that might make you suspicious in the morning.

They use condoms to make sure no evidence is left behind, twisting and turning your body like a doll, Johnny taking the time to gently stroke your hair back from your face before he slips his cock inside you. Every orgasm rewires your brain, wipes it clean of what you thought you knew about pleasure and fills in the gaps with what they teach you of it, and all you can do is try to keep still and cum quietly, listening to the sound of their moans and shared kisses.

Afterwards they carry you to bed. You never do get your panties back. In the morning you wake with an ache between your legs that rivals the throbbing in your skull, but it’s alright because Johnny has made pancakes.

What good guys.

Having very dark thoughts about fem!reader pretending to be sloppy drunk/passed out so that ghoap will “take advantage” of her. 😵‍💫

[lizardsfromspace]

The Claim: they've erased Discovery from canon. It's not longer canon! CONFIRMED! They announced Star Trek Discovery was WIPED from canon, even though it has one ongoing spin-off, has a spin-off movie set to debut, another spin-off series filming, and has been referenced extensively in every other modern Star Trek show, and the producers and writers of it are still in charge of modern Star Trek, they definitely made it non-canon just to appease internet people who are mad at if for reasons that are definitely not just racism and misogyny

The Article: not linked in this tweet! Odd! Why would you not want to link your source?

The Evidence: Lower Decks featured a cameo by the alternate Klingon makeup

This brief cameo PROVES Discovery is in an alternate universe.

Which wouldn't make it non-canon. After all the Kelvin timeline movies are set in an alternate universe, and they're unambiguously canon to mainline Trek.

On a Watsonian level, they could've become a Disco Klingon from another universe while they still exist in the main one. Or maybe in another universe that's what that Klingon looks like. It's canon that Klingons have multiple appearances due to the virus from Enterprise's final season, so why not?

But confirmed! The show they definitely didn't just hate for having a woman of color as its star is no longer canon because of a brief Easter egg in a cartoon! Multiple sites are reporting this!

Discovery is no longer canon! Thanks, one second long joke, for giving shouty man nerds a chance to Make Trek Great Again

One fun aspect of this is that you can tell the first article I capped was written by someone not really familiar with the show himself who was just copying this other article; because the earlier one - linked & paraphrased frequently in the article the alcoholic film screamer shared - says the show was retooled after season two, and the quote-filled article mangles this as "the show was sent to the future for the last two seasons". Which isn't true - they spend three seasons in the future, not two. The rabid internet nerds aren't even watching the shows they're quaking with rage about, they're just copying from each other. "Why don't these networks not care about pleasing people who provably don't watch their shows? HIRE NON-FANS PLAGIARIZING OTHER NON-FANS!!!!"

The wild part is, these pieces present it as if the only flaw in Discovery is that they changed the Klingon's makeup design. This alone is enough to exile it from canon. You may think "wait, but the show already addressed it, first by having them grow hair in season 2 of Disco & explaining why they hadn't, and then by restoring the original makeup in SNW", and they have an explanation: SNW is still canon bc it's not canon to Disco, the show it references many times, because it's actually about a slightly different Enterprise in an alternate timeline, since establishing two parallel Enterprises that are 90% the same but in different universes, and never directly stating this except via buried clues in a different spinoff, makes a lot more sense than saying a popular TV show you don't personally like exists

It's funny how they harp on about how the Klingons look and ignore other changes. SNW has turned the Gorn from an allegory - seeming aggressors who turn out to be the ones who were invaded, and whose Captain is clearly set up as an analogue for Kirk - into pure evil slaving xenomorph knock-offs who not only have zero depth or meaning, but who are proudly Just Evil. Seems like a much more important change than the Klingons having somewhat different heads, but I've seen basically none of that crowd comment on the Gorn except to say they're Totally Badass Now, while they're still so enraged by a change in Klingon makeup design that happened seven years ago & that was retconned five years ago & abandoned fully since over a year ago they're writing long articles analyzing how a throwaway gag in a cartoon is a secret sign a show they dislike for totally not racist reasons is non-canon. After years of speculation that Kurtzman was secretly fired, they've now just evolved into full on Trekanon. Incredible

[itspheenixbaby]

some alternate things i scripted about the world in my kpop dr

i originally kept my dr the same as my cr. but when i grew out of that my obsession with world building and social science kicked in full force.

now playing...prism / m-flo

the world is futuristic. think love and deepspace esque. we have holograms, high speed travel and advanced energy production. everywhere is equally very developed, but all in a way that suits the culture & environment instead of working against it. the world is modern, beautiful & clean. everywhere is colorful. the world is vibrant, sleek, efficient, full of personality and perfectly balanced.

painting is a highly respected and popular profession since 2020. maximalist, unique, topical and expressive art. with lots of color and varying art styles. artists are able to reach the same levels of success as they couldve in the pre-modern times.

acoris. a spanish brand that sells non alcoholic beverages in various flavors. everyone uses it, its sold everywhere, and has an incomprehensibly large "fanbase". the drink itself gives people a restless high, and insane boosts of energy. though not addictive or classified as a drug (frequently debated).

in person shopping is more popular. high quality, dirt cheap, and somehow ethically sourced trendy clothing are sold in "mall brands". there are thousands of different "mall brands" across the world in every country. they have differing styles per region/brand image reflecting the trends, culture and local materials of the area.

im addicted to my phone and so is the majority of gen z. i want to script phones out entirely, but a modern idols lifestyle is heavy on social media. i settled for ambiguously saying theres little to no technology addiction.

the entire population has a elemental manipulation abilities tied directly to zodiac. for example scorpios have water powers & aries have fire. this has just always been a thing, but for years scientists have been stumped by why. on their own these abilities are weak, but can be stronger with training and teamwork. because of this, humanity as a whole is more connected to nature.

contemplating scripting antartica is fully populated and not frozen. itd be hyper futuristic and very diverse. possibly considered every countries property or something so you can just go in and out? thatd be such a mess but it seems fun.

[bee-the-loser-recs]

~~~☼ My Joshua One-shot Fic Recs ☼~~~

𖤓 Amortentia; Honeydukes lover By @http-mianhae 16.7k, Hogwarts au, Slytherin reader, Hufflepuff Joshua, reader has trauma, cold reader, lovesick Joshua, themes of sexual assault

𖤓 Boyfriends By @milfgyuu 2.7k, reader is in a toxic relationship, domestic abuse, Joshua is their safe space, fluff, angst, pining, friends to lovers, comfort

𖤓 New By @luvidzy 2.1k, slice of life au, fluff, slight angst, long term mutual pining, stargazing, Joshua is moving away

𖤓 Winning team By @viastro 1.4k, slice of life au, capture the flag game with nerf guns, hidden relationship, fluff, kisses, competitive nature, cute

𖤓 In a span of three months By @viastro 20.3k, terminally ill reader, mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts, Joshua finds joy in life again, falling in love, only 3 months left to live, sobbing, major character death, it's so sad

𖤓 Wildest dreams By @viastro 6.7k, getting married for 24hours, best friends to lovers, fluff, getting free benefits, cute relationship, fake dating kind of

𖤓 Birds of a feather By @onlymingyus 14.3k, college au, smut, fluff, reader going around with a petition, strangers to lovers, crack, hot tub scene, talks of further dates, alcohol and drug use, simp!Joshua, cuties, very fun

𖤓 To you By @onlymingyus 15k, Joshua x reader x DK, college au, art students DK & reader, med-student Joshua, monogamy to polyamory, fluff, smut, angst, cute relationship, going on holiday together, relationship discussions, mild jealousy

𖤓 Love they neighbour By @onlyhuis 5.1k, college au, friends with benefits situation, fwb to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, smut, idiots in love, happy ending

𖤓 Cranberry concoctions By @onlyhuis 4.6k, 1920s au, bartender Joshua, smut, fluff, slight angst, mentions of bartender Vernon, jealousy, speakeasy au

𖤓 Mr Nice guy By @toruro 5.3k, neighbours au, moving into a new apartment, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

𖤓 Isohel By @toruro 26.2k, modern royalty au, prince Joshua, florist/botanist reader, slow burn, developing feelings, slut shaming, fluff, angst, references to Greek mythology, literally so stunning to read [alternate ending if you want to read it as well 00:00]

𖤓 Fighting for your love By @rubyreduji 5.5k, Jeonghan x reader x Joshua, boxer au, competing for reader's attention, physical fight for love, threesome, smut, fluff, poly situation

𖤓 Thinking Joshua is just nice but he has a crush on you By @kimbappykidding Idol au kind of, friends to lovers, pining, noticing secret looks, best friends Vernon & Seungkwan, entire group ships them, fluff, love confessions

𖤓 Shipped By @suhnshinehaos SMAU, university au, teacher Joshua & reader, students shipping them, revelation of feelings, fluffy and cute

𖤓 Oceans & Engines By @renjunphile 15.2k, ex lovers to lovers au, idol Joshua, music producer reader, based on songs from Niki, fluff, slight angst, literally so good omg

𖤓 Splashed By @smileysuh 5.5k, Joshua x reader x Jeonghan, idol au, references to the 13 shadows going seventeen episode, smut, poly relationship, fluff, established relationship

𖤓 Beautiful day, Sunday morning By @sluttywoozi 7k, non-specified au, mutual pining, friends to lovers, being in love, smut, fluff, pasta and puzzle dates, hopelessly in love

𖤓 Under the rose By @just-come-baek 6k, historical au like 1950s?, childhood frenemies to lovers, reader calls him Jisoo to piss him off, smut, fluff

𖤓 Hoax By @lovelyhan 18.6k, gangster/mafia Joshua, strangers to lovers, falling in love, hostess reader, loan sharks mentioned, reader is in trouble & debt, angst, smut, slight fluff, reader is left behind

𖤓 Eyes meeting, hearts apart By @lovelyhan 30.2k, fantasy au, prince Joshua with plant magic, bartender reader with ice magic, fluff, angst, royalty, requited unrequited love, part of a series of one-shots

𖤓 An interview with an angel By @hannyoontify 2.5k, reporter Joshua, nationalist fencer reader, being late to important events, meet cutes, fluff, slight panic attack, flirting

𖤓 So beautiful By @blue-jisungs 3.8k, Atla au, water bender Joshua, Prince Joshua, army general reader, assassination attempt, fluff, angst, mentions of war and killings

𖤓 Envy By @berriesandjunnie 1.9k, idol au, idol Joshua & reader, jealousy surrounding his members, comebacks, fluff, slight angst, some insecurity

𖤓 Prove it you won't By @leejungchans 19k, tattoo artist Joshua, nurse reader with tattoos, fluff, angst, miscommunication, past breakups, humour, slowburn, flirty behaviour, adorableness

𖤓 Cast me in a better light By @seungkwansphd 5.9k, musical au, band member reader x cast member Joshua, fluff, karaoke, coffee dates, becoming closer

𖤓 Fade into you By @writingmingyu 4.8k, childhood friends to online friends to lovers, fluff, meeting again after years, autumn fair dates

𖤓 Curse the stars By @shuadotcom 8.4k, 70s au, Hollywood, actor reader, washing machine salesman Joshua, strangers to lovers, fwb to lovers, mentions of dynamics, fluff, smut

𖤓 Stay till sunrise By @shuadotcom 9.1k, Joshua x reader x Mingyu, unspecified au, non-idol au, confessions, pining, poly situation, fluff, smut, bets on when they would date

[nyoomfruits]

How long until wag AU fest is unveiled?? I cannot wait for a new Landoscar fic from you! Can you share anything new??

ONE MORE WEEK. anyway you know how i said no more snippets??? eeghghgh it's been so long i barely remember saying that. anyway here's a snippet

It doesn’t get much better, because the boys decide that obviously they have to go clubbing now, and for some ridiculously insane reason both Lando and Oscar say yes. In Lando’s defense, at the time it had seemed like a good idea. Go out, let off some steam, have fun. Relax.

He doesn’t realize his mistake until he’s already in the club, diet coke in hand, wedged between a sweaty, clearly buzzed Max, and a slightly flushed, bashful Oscar.

Oscar clearly isn’t the going out type. Lando’s pretty sure Oscar’s told him he isn’t the going out type. And yet, there’s something about Oscar, in the strobing lights of the club, with a healthy red flush from the alcohol, hair sticking to his forehead a bit from salt water and sweat, that makes Lando feel. So many things.

Oscar turns to him then, a small private smile on his face, leans forward to yell in Lando’s ear about the music selection, and Lando laughs, can’t help but think about those stupid alternate versions of them again. The non famous ones, who actually did have a dumb little meet cute in a supermarket. They probably do stuff like this all the time, go to clubs together, party together. Maybe they don’t, maybe they stay home and have friends over or just watch TV-shows together.

Maybe they fall asleep in front of the TV every Saturday, Alternate Lando’s head tucked onto Alternate Oscar’s shoulder, Oscar drooling in his sleep a little, until eventually one of them wakes up and urges them to go to bed, all half awake and drowsy. They curl around each other in bed, fall back asleep in minutes.

Or if they do go to the club, maybe they both get a little drunk, lean on each other as they make their way back home, giggling as Oscar fails time and time again to stick the key into the lock of the door, sloppily and drunkenly make out against that same door when they finally make it inside.

And that’s. It would be so easy, right now, to lean over and kiss Oscar. Make a part of that fantasy reality. And he could. Everyone thinks they’re dating anyway. It would make sense. But it feels wrong, somehow. He doesn’t want it, if it’s not the real thing.

And so he turns away from Oscar’s smiling face, takes another sip of his coke, starts jumping along to the music with Max, and tries to forget about all the what if’s that keep haunting him in the back of his head.

[loviejohnnydovie]

Johnny x Reader

mdni !!

I wrote this at work so there are most likely spelling mistakes and inconsistencies.

Is this anything ? Idk

cw: NSFW but no smut (yet?), fem reader, mentions of past injuries, light mention of Johnny beating someone up bc of harassment but nothing explicit, slightly insecure!Johnny, slightly shy!reader, embarrassment, talk abt erectile disfunction

I’m all for a Johnny who is hypersexual (any form of Johnny really), but what about Johnny who has been through so much with his head injury and the ghosts of other injuries he has accumulated over the years that he just can’t get it up sometimes, if at all. The pain meds are tough on him and make him lethargic, but the alternative is so much pain that he wouldn’t be able to get horny anyway, even if he has been known to like a bit of masochism on occasion.

At first Johnny doesn’t notice. He’s so preoccupied with healing his head, mentally and physically, that it almost slips his mind. Eventually he notices something is missing, his libido. It used to be so high that he wondered if he had an addiction, but it didn’t interfere with anything important so he decided not to worry about it. He misses the release, the stress relief, how good another body feels. Only now Johnny has a shadow of insecurity about his bumps and scars, and those shadows turn into an overwhelming feeling of shame when he can’t get it up even with a bonnie lass in his lap. He tries everything, everyone, and nothing works. He’s frustrated sexually and physically, but he can’t even rub one out.

Now it’s been almost a year and Johnny has all but given up. There’s a pretty bird who he sees regularly at his favorite pub when he goes out with lads. She looks his way, but never approaches him. The boys encourage him to talk to her, to take her home. Christ, even Ghost tells him he should at least send a drink her way. But Johnny shrugs them off and drowns his sorrows in his non-alcoholic beer (he can’t have alcohol with his meds and all). If only she knew that he can’t be a fun night, then she wouldn’t be interested. He would love to take her home, to talk to her, to get lost in those pretty eyes, but he can’t put himself through the shame. Not now at least. And maybe it’s time to tell the lads, he thinks. Maybe that would get them to quiet down so at least the poor lass wouldn’t hear him turning down the idea of even talking to her.

But Johnny doesn’t tell them. He craves normalcy more than anything, even more than finally getting off. He was put on desk duty after he recovered, and that was only because he fought tooth and nail to not be honorably discharged. He misses the lads, he misses being in the field fighting bad guys and blowing shit up. Now he pops his meds and uses a cane to help him get to the classroom where he teaches new recruits basic chemistry. He only diverges a bit from the premade lesson plans. After all, the poor kids need to know how to use commonly found items to make explosives in case of an emergency.

The next morning after his night at the pub, Johnny heads down to the grocery store to grab some fresh fruit for his smoothie. He’s after blueberries today, they’re good for your memory. He grabs a pack of the fruit and stops to watch the produce mister, but his trance is broken by a hand reaching out near his side. He looks down to find the bird from the pub. She won’t meet his eyes, and her cheeks are red as she grabs a bundle of kale from the shelf and retreats to look at the fruit section, still avoiding his gaze. Johnny hates kale.

She must have seen his cane and changed her mind, he thinks. He avoids bringing it out to the pub with him, not because he’s embarrassed, but because he once used it to beat a man for getting too handsy with the bartender. The bouncer makes him leave the cane behind the counter now, so Johnny just leaves it at home and holds on to Gaz’s shoulders when he needs to.

In reality, the woman is embarrassed. Not only did she hear his protests about approaching her last night, but this morning she’s in her pajamas. A baggy shirt, no bra, and a pair of sweats she threw on to combat the morning chill. She’s wearing socks with sandals for Christ's sake. She didn’t expect to run into the man she’s been pining after from afar for the past few months. She was going to go over to him last night. She had finally worked up the courage and she was going to walk right over to their friend group and ask Johnny if he wanted a drink, a dance, a chat, anything really. His laugh had brightened so many of her nights, even though she had no idea what he was laughing at. She was walking by them with her friend to scope out the situation before she made her move, but she immediately regretted it. His friends noticed her looking and jostled his shoulders, telling him to go for it. Only he didn’t want to go for it. He simply shook his head, pulled a face, and took another drink. Not only was she humiliated last night because the long term receiver of her feelings of limerence didn’t want to even look at her for the rest of the night, but now he can see her smudged mascara, messy hair, and holey socks. He would never want her now.

Johnny watches as she reaches up to grab a fresh cucumber. He watches as her hand wraps around the thick fruit. He watches as her nipples press against her shirt. He watches and sees the way a band of skin near her waistband is revealed for a split second. He watches the way her body moves as she puts the fruit in her basket. He watches, nearly salivating, and he startles when he feels an all too familiar twitch in his shorts, like an old friend coming back home. The feeling he has craved for months snaps him out of his reverie. He realizes he’s in a grocery store and the bonnie woman who just rocked his world is now scurrying away. Great. Now, not only is he an impotent asshole, but he’s also a pervert. The activity in his shorts stops when he realizes the situation he’s in. Johnny picks up a bundle of kale to put in his smoothie. He has to see her again.

[modernidolater]

🎃Wheel of Halloween🎃

There's a post of a tweet saying that every 31st of the month should be a Halloween, and you know what? I'm a Halloween Witch. I'm an Idolater. I'm an urban techno witch who lives an air conditioned life, can't stand nature bigger than a park or local landscaping, and hates leaving the city except to drive to another damn city.

I have been struggling to connect to the Wheel of the Year or the Solstices/Equinoxes for freaking years.

But a cycle of Halloweens?

That.

That I can fucking do.

So, without further ado, I present the shit I will be actually celebrating. Ya don't have to join me, but I will be posting about it for those that wanna follow along, with options and cutouts for those who don't want to or can't do the more party elements.

With luck, I'll pick up on August 31st and go from there, if not, I'll start with actual Halloween.

Halloween

October 31st

It's muthafucking Halloween. I have ideas and will post about them more as we get closer, but you know what this one is.

New Year's Eve

December 31st

This one actually also exists, but I have plans for tying it to the January 31st one to bookend the year. The primary purpose of this Eve is gratitude and sharing the good things from the year before, casting off the trappings of the old year, and to bring the new one in with luck and prosperity.

Candle's Eve

January 31st

One month from the casting out of the old year, it's time to set things for the new. Cleansing and cleaning, setting intentions (not resolutions) for the year to come, making the Mask of the Year to call on who I aspire to be, burning the intentions set last year with last years candle, and blessing a candle to burn this years intentions next year are all features. Food and drink suggestions available when I actually post this up.

Hallow Ides

March 31st

Couple of these have fun names, and this is one of them. It's a party holiday, involving a picnic and a special cake/cupcakes/muffins.

The costume element is that I'll swap clothes or looks with someone I'm celebrating with (or dress up as someone else if celebrating solo).

There's a drinking element (non-alcoholic is fine) that results in a stack o' good luck charms.

And for my trick, I can and will sing the filthiest songs, tell the dirtiest jokes, read a romance novel or erotica, just go ham on the bawdy shit.

Alternatives for ace and non-sexing folk will be forthcoming in the relevant post, but it's my damn Wheel and I'm doing bawdy shit for myself.

Blessed Eve

May 31st

Not a bonfire person, but I'm definitely gonna have a cookout and grill up some burgers! Also a neat drink and cookies that both double as offerings!

Flower masks and crowns are involved to hide from the spring spirits that might fux me upa.

There's a Blessing Bouquet that goes up early, is used to exorcise and re-bless my property/house, and then is ceremonially burned.

An ash blessing to seal the prosperity into my house ties the whole thing off.

Fortune's Eve

July 31st

This one pretty heavily revolves around a ritual game of betting and chance that I came up with based on a cool concept tied into the holiday I'm aiming at. Game generates lucky candy and a good luck charm.

Hella apples involved including a ceremonial apple and cider. Veils worn for the blindness of luck, and a strong theme of having a game day.

Neewollah

August 31st

I'm actually pretty stoked for this one, and will do a more expansive post on it later this week. I really hope I can pull this together in time this year.

Idea is a bit Opposite Day, a bit of LiarWeen vibe.

Trick the cosmos into taking away the bad shit and giving me good shit through a ritual lying ceremony, wearing a mask of duality to further confuse the issue. Ritual ash anointing to lock things down and ensure I get the stuff I want and ward off the shit I got rid of.

Candy (obvs) but I (and anyone celebrating with me) has to ask, and the person giving it has to make a point of saying no...while forking over.

And of course, games like Never Have I Ever or Two Truths & A Lie, drinking optional. (I will...probably...drink. Just saying.)

Where's the Eighth One?

Wheel has eight Sabbats, yeah?

In the grand tradition of the Satanist/Luciferian practices I stuck with for so long, Number 8 is my Birthday.

Or yours, if you decide to try this.

I'll decide what I wanna do about Birthday when I get there. You do you, tho.

And That's The Wheel of Halloween!

So yes, some of those are closer to recognizable Sabbats. Some of them are so far off that they're not in the same neighborhood. Spoiler: the ones you don't recognize are based (very, very loosely) on Roman festivals that occur in the corresponding month.

Why Roman?

Cause they had a religious festival for everything, there's records I can squint at, and they had a strong mystery tradition that plays well with my schtick.

I am not a dedicated Rome fanby, to be clear, the empire is just very much gone, very well attested, and I can most likely swipe the shape of their shit without worrying about stepping on anyone.

And even then, I'm mixing time periods, even up to hijacking Medieval Xtian shit where and when I see fit. Cause I was baptized Catholic, and that shit is my culture to use.

Neewollah Posting Hopefully Soon! Stay Tuned!

And of course, feel free to reach out for asks, questions, and readings if ya want 'em.

[mydetheturk]

Hi! My name is Myde, and for @trigunfanfic’s rare pair day, I’m going to rec a bunch of my own fics, because I’ve written an amount of rare pair fics. These are in no particular order, just kind of how I’ve found them in my AO3:

Zazie/Knives:

put your mind in my brain and you'll see (everything is better when you're everything)

Rating: E

Word Count: 2,582

No Archive Warnings, but the warning that it is both Knives and Zazie. My favorite way to describe this fic is “a comically biblical plague worth of bugs brings a (fallen) angel of the lord to climax.” Knives explodes! Semi-Literally, even! Some fun Plant and Worm lore/shenanigans, mostly me going “how weird can I get with this?”

Elendira/Razlo//Elendira/Livio

All my Elendira/LR Fics are post-Trimax currently, in an AU where Elendira lives and goes through some serious recovery from her fight with LR. They all get Attached

give in to this holy terrible mess

Rating: E

Word Count: 1,235

No Archive Warnings, but Elendira is elbow deep in LR’s guts after the boys have a run-in with a Worm Cult. Tender Organ Touching. We love it. (keep in mind this fic in particular was written for body horror week)

Tags Include: Bugs & Insects, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Organ Touching, Declarations Of Love, Body Horror, Mild Dissociation, emergency surgery, Blood and Gore, Intense Emotional Realizations, Elendira having A Moment(tm)

in over my head and she's a high tide (that keeps pushing me away)

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,942

No Archive Warnings, but Elendira’s going through it. The trials of recovering from getting a yard long nail going through you sometimes include setbacks. Sickfic! With that fun aspect of Elendira’s where she can project horrible ways for someone to die. LivRaz are Sweet on Elendira tho.

(also written for body horror week, though the body horror is not the main focus)

Tags Include: Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Telepathic Projection, Flaying, Sickfic

Hand Grenades and Razor Blades

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,143

No Archive Warnings.

The Official AO3 edition of my Kissies For Razlo Agenda. I should write more they’re silly and cute and we take the Razlo and we KISS the Razlo!

Features: Razlo being shy and blushy and angy about it because Elendira’s kick ass and he wants to smooch her and for her to kiss him again. I compare Razlo to a sunflower at one point.

Millions Knives/Domina

-leans very close into the microphone- I am unwell about these two. I want her to Wreck Knives. I accidentally created the tag on AO3, and please please please enjoy the fics I write about them. My mainline fics for them have them sharing a body but I do currently have something in the works that’s a little different.

Generally, fics for dominaknives include some fun and sometimes weird, exploratory Plant Stuff.

They’re all post-Trimax, by default, really, and Domina lives, with some caveats of course. The grief is baked in, it’s Trigun.

They have an emotional support alien terrorbird. I gotta include that bird more

Here on a Less-Travelled Road

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,927

No Archive Warnings.

Domina and Knives are having breakfast in some quiet, half-forgotten little town when Vash the Stampede slides into their booth.

Domina’s protective of Knives, Knives is afraid, and Vash is Tired. Minor allusions to Vash’s canonical alcoholism.

Six A.M., Mulholland Drive, Moonlight Sonata and I

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,336

No Archive Warnings

My first actually posted fic about the two of them, I think.

Chronica meets that which is KnivesandDomina. It goes about as well as you’d expect, honestly. Lots of tears. Some explorative Plant stuff in this one! It’s got some fun wording that I really enjoyed writing.

Millywood

Haystack Boy and Dust-Cake Girl

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,815

No Archive Warnings

An alternate first meeting, for an AU of mine.

A heat exhausted Nicholas D. Wolfwood collapses at the gate of the Thompson Ranch. Milly nurses him back to health.

They’re cute. I loved writing this. It’s more proto-Millywood than Millywood proper, but shh

[ahumblenipple]

I got to take place in this year's Reverse Big Bang @dbh-bb with the lovely @pichuxcreatesthings ! They did some gorgeous work and came up with the concept, and yours truly has been writing it down. There's a lot of other really great pieces coming out for the collection, so definitely keep your eyes open if you want to see more : )

Hank Anderson has endured much in his life, and the years after the Android revolution haven't been any different. So when a new case leads him to the far coastlines of Maine, he half expected the town to offer him a bit of respite from the chaos of Detroit. He could not have been more wrong. He's partnered with the strangest android he's ever met. A man by the name of Connor who leaves his hair on end, and makes him question more than just the events of the sleepy town. But they have a job to do, and no matter how pretty or strange the Android is, Hank knows his time here is temporary. There's no way he could ever get attached. Never again. A story of mourning, loss, and finding something decent in the cold waters of reality.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Relationship: Hank Anderson/Connor

Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Upgraded Connor | RK900, Sumo (Detroit: Become Human)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Mer-Connor, canon typical alcoholism in Hank, Trans Male Character, Trans Hank Anderson, Top Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bottom Hank Anderson, It's gonna be rough for a bit before it gets tender, Case Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and for the FUN tags...., Tentacle Dick, Connor has two dicks, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex

Language: English

Collections: Detroit: Become Human Reverse Big Bang 2024

[starvels]

starvels’ Cap-IronMan Event Recs for @cap-ironman Steve/Tony Fic Rec Week 2024

For Cap-Iron Man Event Recs, jump yourself into these varied bananza ball pits filled with hurt, comfort, fluff, angst, tropes, comic science and more! Please remember to leave a comment, add a kudos, hit a reblog on a fic post in order to show your gleeful appreciation of such nice balls.

Check out all of starvels’ Cap-IM 2024 Rec Lists [here].

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Apply Pressure by dirigibleplumbing @dirigibleplumbing

Tags: Established Relationship, Bondage, Rope Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Top Tony Stark, Sub Steve Rogers, Fluff, Nicknames, Curtain Fic Summary: Steve has trouble concentrating and clearing his mind. Tony and some rope are there to help out. Notes: Playful kink that draws you into the warmth of Steve and Tony's relationship like chocolate chips sinking into a gently churning ice cream.

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respiraro, si te videro by starvels

Tags: Canon Divergence, Secret Invasion, Post-Civil War, Fix-It, Director of SHIELD, Commander Rogers, Enemies to Friends, Skrull(s), Extremis, Savage Land, Temporary Amnesia, Sex Pollen, Trans Tony Stark, Rough Sex, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, Transhumanism, Comic Book Science, Team Dynamics, Superhero Realism, Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, holy shit what's happened to Tony? Summary: Tony spins around and comes face to face with Natasha Romanova with a gun trained on him, Logan Howlett with one clawed arm out towards him and - worst, worst of all Steve Rogers. Tony stares at him, at this Skrull in full Commander of SHIELD regalia, looking at him with his deep blue eyes all wide and sincere and knows for sure that the Skrulls have found the way to beat him, because there’s no way he can look this Steve in his eyes and kill him. “Steve,” Tony breathes and then he cusses. Way to reveal your own weakness, numbnuts, Tony thinks furiously and that’s all the time he has before the Skrull raises its gun at him. Notes: A story as lush, dramatic, and CRASH-BANG-BOOM filled as the Savage Land itself. Complete with jokes at Steve expense and a canon-typical loss of clothing for Tony.

-↘↘↘-

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a four-dimensional object by veslarkinson @vicarioussleep

Tags: Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Civil War, Transhumanism, Identity, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Hurt/Comfort, Philosophy, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Attitudes, Injury, Carol Danvers & Tony Stark Friendship, Trans Carol Danvers, Computer Programming, format: computer code, Mental Instability, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angry Steve Rogers, Christianity, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, self-destructive behaviour, Artificial Intelligence, Steve "why have you abandoned (me) your humanity" Rogers, very brief csa mention, Superhero Registration Act, Politics, Brain Damage, Sharing a Brain, Temporary Amnesia, Dark Reign, Tony Stark Whump, Heavy Angst, Mild Gore, Extremis, Homophobic Slurs semi-reclaimed Summary: The year is 1975: the stonewall riots were only six years ago, the CD has yet to be invented, and Tony Stark is taking his first steps into trans-humanism. >>initializing(extremis-setup)… Notes: Utterly compelling and delightfully unique. You WILL be dragged head first into this intricately coded maze and you WILL love it and live for it.

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two's company by welcoming_disaster @welcomingdisaster

Tags: Mentions of Laura Bush, Oral Sex, Idiots in Love, Affection, Sneaking Around, Closet Sex, Closeted Character, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Dirty Talk, Bad Dirty Talk Summary: Steve and Tony sneak a moment. The time and place are a little inopportune. Notes: ULTS WHITE HOUSE SEX. WITH FUN TWIST. SEND TEXT.

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Glass Gardens (The Witching Hour Remix) by Woad @tinctoriawoad

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Alternate Universe - Victorian, sanitarium, Psychological Horror, Possession, Supernatural Elements, Muteness, Semi-involuntary Detention, Abuse of Authority, Water Torture, ghost story, Victorian Norms Summary: The year is 1883. Spiritualism is at an all-time high, "taking the waters" is a popular cure-for-what-ails-you, and sanitariums offer retreats to restore the health. When Tony is shipped off to one, he is convinced his stay will be an utter waste of time. That is, until things take a disastrous turn, and Tony begins to doubt everything about himself. Notes: Exceptionally fascinating premise here, with a considered take and some ripping one liners that will linger like good cologne.

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[Art] Gift of Consequence by oluka (lomku) @oluka

Tags: Steve Rogers/Tony StarkSteve Rogers Tony StarkDragon Tony Stark Alternate Universe - Medieval Alternate Universe - Fantasy Summary: Art for the stevetony RBB 2024, paired with Kandisheek's Gift of Consequence Notes: A beautiful grand piece showcasing the best of a fantasy AU, with some fabulously golden nuggets of character details for both Steve and Tony!

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As Luck May Have It by CaughtAGhost (ghosthan) @ghosthan

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Tony Stark, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Sheriff Steve Rogers, Christmas, Fluff, Happy Ending, First Kiss, Canon-Typical Violence, One Shot, Human Disaster Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Feels, Getting Together, unestablished relationship, Blood and Injury Summary: T.S. MURDERED BY ASSHOLES CRSMS EVE 1872 Local drunk Tony Stark spends his Christmas Eve getting his ass kicked, and things look bleak. Will Sheriff Rogers be able to save the day in time for the Christmas celebration? Notes: A vibrant, immersive adaptation of the 1872 comics which includes all the great details from the pages you could want, but now with a hopeful, tender ending! What's better than this!

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[Art] Small Universe Stony Bingo by sheepl @somekindofsheepl

Tags: Venomverse, Earth-17084, Earth-11326, Tentacles, Body Horror Summary: Two small universes where Steve and Tony's lives are entangled. Notes: Stop! You will be arrested by these compositions and this gorey universe! Oof! Wow! More please!

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stop bath by starvels

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blackmail, Friends With Benefits, Internalized Homophobia, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Anal Sex, Light Masochism, Complicated Consent, Power Dynamics, Team Bonding, Gender Related, Queer Themes, honeypot mission, Rescue, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Homophobic Language, Body Dysphoria, Gun Kink, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Mentions of Cancer, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Developing Relationship, Anxiety Summary: It’s not complicated. One piece of paper. Short, to the point. Times New Roman. Repulsive. "Continue engagements with Tony Stark until further instructions." ‘Engagements.’ Such a pretty, innocuous term. ‘Until further instructions.’ Such a sweet, auguring threat. They don’t even have to say, or else. Steve gets the message: keep his private life private and his employment gainful by continuing to suck dick. Notes: Oh gay Ultimates Steve, we're really in it now. Tune into the Blackmail Channel to watch this one little paper unspiral Steve's reticent life.

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Give Up The Ghost by foldingcranes @foldingcranes

Tags: Post-Civil War, Canonical Character Death, Director Stark, Kink Meme Summary: Director Stark gets a late night visit. Notes: Oh what yonder yearnings does out guilt best brew? Every inch the frothy, wrenching sadness we want from Director Stark.

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Recursion by Missy_dee811 @laexploradoraaa

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extremis, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Male-Female Friendship, Body Modification, Interviews, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues, POV Alternating, Hurt Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark Friendship, Suicidal Thoughts Summary: Tony finds himself at a crossroads when he receives a call from a long-time friend — Maya Hansen. Then, things take a sudden turn for the worse. Will Tony ever be the same? And more importantly, will Steve come to his aid? Tags: A keen take on Execute Program and all the mess that entails, that pulls you deep into the whirlpool of Tony's transhumanist transformation.

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All Good Things by snowynight

Tags: Character Study, 5 Things, Fluff, Geeky Summary: Five cult classics Tony introduces to Steve, or, the geeky indoctrination of Steve. Notes: Sweet and easy as a twirling cotton candy; let it melt on the tongue.

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Reconnection by Penumbren

Tags: Friendship, Angst, Challenge: Cap_Ironman Fic Exchange Summary: Sometimes it's the quiet moments that a friendship needs the most. Notes: Peeking through a small stained glass window and recognizing the tune you hear faintly on the wind, that's what we're doing here.

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the consonant i forget by starvels

Tags: Major Character Injury, Civil War, Amnesia, Character Study, Horrible Agonizing Betrayal, Canon Divergence, Extremis, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending Summary: The man who comes to see him in on the 9th day in the hospital is gaunt. Greasy. Less clean than everyone else who's trundled in, asking if Steve knows them and then lied about being disappointed when he’s said no. This man is a spindle. A man spun around too many times. Wind chapped full lips and scratchy threads of his haphazard beard peak over a strange metallic, full-bodied suit of armor that makes something behind Steve’s eyes hurt. He blinks them slowly at the man, just to see if that helps. It doesn’t. Notes: Like an emergency alarm in a hospital, this piece proffers things that should be and things that are worrying and things that require immediate and aggressive attention. Look closer to figure out which is which.

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Sky by resurrectedhippo @resurrectedhippo

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Dark Abuse, Violence, Hydra Steve Rogers Summary: For the prompt: “Hydra Cap/Tony non-con.” Notes: WYSIWYG for fics and what we see and get is horribly, precise, and wrenchingly clear here. Peep into the delicious dark!

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We'll Make Our Own Tradition (The Cap and Gown Remix) by wynnesome

Tags: Established Relationship, Identity Porn, but not the typical kind of ID porn, Roleplay, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Rimming, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Tony Stark's Red Thong of Justice, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, No Side Pairings, no infidelity Summary: It’s Steve’s and Tony’s anniversary. They have a date for dinner, but the workday comes first. Steve’s includes a very important business lunch. But the person who makes a beeline for him as he waits at the bar is not who he thought he'd be meeting… Notes: What fabulous fun, like hopping on a rollercoaster you've only heard described in the vaguest sense, you will swoop and whoop and grin in delight at the turns.

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trophy hunter by Red (S_Hylor) @s-hylor

Tags: Ultimates, Shameless Smut, Anonymous Sex, Hook-Up, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Hand Jobs, Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Mentioned/Discussed Anal Fisting, Mentioned/Discussed Anal Sex, Face-Fucking Summary: If he had nothing to live for, he had nothing to lose. That was the excuse Steve gave himself when he made eye contact with the man he’d felt watching him for the past few minutes. There was no denying that the man was attractive, sitting at the adjacent side of the bar to Steve. Dark hair and bright blue eyes, mischievous smile framed by carefully trimmed facial hair. He eyed Steve with such blatant interest that Steve knew all he had to do was reflect some of that back at him, and then they could just go from there. Notes: Oh what a delicious premise we DO want to see played out in 20 different ways. This way is particularly fun in its grit and glam.

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It's Because I Need to, Not Because I Want To by Anon1Adult @anon1adult

Tags: First Time, Getting Together, Stripping, Crossdressing, Misuse of Science, Mutual Pining, Sex Pollen Summary: “So I’m learning forty-five minutes is about my max.” Tony said casually. Steve smirked, “Is this you asking to hold my hand?” “No this is me admitting I have a medical condition.” Tony replied reclined on the couch, kicking his now bare feet up on the coffee table. “Now get over here so I can hold your hand.” Or the one where the Avengers are going to leave street crime to Spider-Man because rolling around in the mud apparently makes you dirty. Notes: A great pace and enthusiastic superhero realism will have you hopscotching through this fun tale of needy, situationship comic shenanigans.

That’s all folks!

Thanks for reading and make sure to kudos and comments fics you explore! Fandom is a circle and we are all passing it forward.

[thesquid06]

I have been thinking non stop about what would fix the final season of umbrella academy. I think I found the easiest solution.

That being said, (HOT TAKE WARNING) I didn’t care for the third season and believe it changed the vibe of the show. (This is coming from someone who has not indulged in any previous umbrella academy media. I just watch the show)

The easiest fix is to make the alternate reality they’re in the perfect reality. That way, when they sacrifice themselves at the end, it actually hurts.

One: LOVED the fact that he was a stripper. It shows confidence in his new body while being extremely hilarious.

I don’t think bringing back Sloan would be reasonable, her powers would change the dynamics. However, giving him a daughter who resembles her would bring him joy. It would fix his need for a family and give him a reason to keep going.

He still lives in the old rundown mansion. Except it’s a little more livable. While it’s very clear that he’s struggling to let go of his past, he’s still trying to provide for his kid. They go antiquing on the weekends to find fun things for the house.

Two: Him and Lila are happily married and completely crazy. The kind of couple that says the freakiest things and is always all over each other.

The kid from the third season (I don’t remember his name) is actually theirs this time. He’s always stuck babysitting his younger siblings and is absolutely pissed about it. Diego is teaching him how to throw knives.

While his job still isn’t the best, he gets to come home to the perfect family. While maybe hacking into the police radio and suspiciously arriving on the crime scenes. Just to see if they need him.

Three: She’s acting in one of those sitcoms that everyone hates but knows the name of. Probably has never been on another show but her sitcom just got renewed for another season.

Her and her daughter get along just as well as every other teenage girl and their mom. They scream at each other across the room but she will get a hug and an ‘I love you’ before the day is over.

She’s still married, they’re happy enough. Maybe he has a job where he travels a lot so he doesn’t have to affect the season.

Four: Still a recovering alcoholic germaphobe living in his sister basement. He spends time gossiping with Claire and watching movies with the family. Him and Allison don’t fight.

He’s got a date next weekend.

When he’s offered the drug in the middle of the season, he does take it. Holds it in his hand on sobs. Except he doesn’t swallow it, throws it as hard as he can and focuses on escaping.

The story isn’t much but for the first time ever, he has hope. He finally believes there is a future where he can be better.

Five: Works his shitty FBI job and spends his free time with conspiracy theorists. He’s finally in a stable job and hates it.

Except his family is okay and happy. Thats all he ever wanted.

Also, there is this really annoying girl he’s forced into working with. She goes to the conspiracy meetings with him and he hates it. Something happens and he grabs her to jump her to safety. They end up in the subway. They get stuck.

It parallels the first time he was stuck in time, away from family. When he was a kid, he found solace in the idea of having someone to fall in love with. This time it’s for real. Without the need to protect his siblings, he falls in love the only way he knows how: in an apocalyptic setting.

Until, HE has to decide to go back for his siblings. He has dedicated his entire life the rescuing them, this time will be no different.

Six: I kinda like where his story went. Not sure if it needs to be changed.

Seven: All he’s ever wanted was to be included by his family. Sometimes they call him, he’s always invited to events and is excited to go.

Has his bar, it’s closer to home. Also, he gets some goddamn therapy.

That way, the sacrifice means something because, in the first time in their entire life, they have something to stay for.

Also, huge fan of Victor successfully draining the evil stuff from Ben, saving his life, and the audience gets gaslit into believing everything is okay.

Until it starts affecting Victor. Then they’re screwed and have to pull the self sacrifice move.

[victorsandvanquishers]

The Red House (and all who live in its walls) - Chapter 4

Fandom: DC Comics

Ships: Slowburn Eventual Bart Allen/Kon El; past Kon El/Tana Moon, past Kon El/Cassie Sandsmark, past Kon El/Knockout, past Kon El/Cassandra Cain

Ratings: M+

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers; Southern Gothic Horror; Suicide Ideation; Mentions of Alcohol & Drug Abuse; Intrusive Thoughts; Depictions of Child Grooming and Repeated Sexual Abuse, People Be Vomiting, Big Sadz, Dead Dove Do Not Eat Unless Iron Stomach

Story Synopsis: When former child star and Metropolis sweetheart Kon 'Superboy' El loses the last vestiges of his career to rampant partying and a budding alcohol addiction, he's forced to move into an old house in the Georgian woods because he can't afford his apartment or his bills anymore. Never the quitter, Kon embraces the crumbling antebellum house and all of its possibilities.

[Bart Allen/Kon El, No Powers AU, gothic horror romance]

Chapter Summary: Kon had been an industry plant, and like all failed plants, he was dumped immediately.

~~~

I decided 15k into this story that if Kon was gonna suffer, I should probably commit to the bit for the time being. I am also tagging this book as a slowburn now because it will be a while before the BartKon becomes real. It will, but it will take some time. Having much fun just remixing Kon lore for the non-powered Southern Gothic vibes.

Hope the house and its many intricacies are enjoyable to y'all. If I wasn't a loser in corporate America, I might have one day designed pretty houses.

Thank you for reading, and don't forget to leave a review! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

[scottxlogan]

StonyAUniverse Bingo Master List

It's that time of year again for another round up and this is my master list for the Stony AUniverse bingo up at @stonyauniverse that I had a blast participating in and helping out with. For anyone who loves these two I would highly recommend you heading on over and checking it out as there is a lot of fun to be had. Under the cut is my personal master list for my fills this round. Thanks to all that were part of the bingo! It was a lot of fun!!!!

Title: One Step Closer Author(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Peggy Carter Friendly, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artist Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Popstar, rock star Tony Stark, Rancher Steve Rogers, Second Chances, Sexual Content, Divorced Steve Rogers, Divorced Tony Stark, Rehabilitation, References to Depression, Angst and Romance, Not Howard Stark Friendly, Drug Addiction, Swearing Summary: Tony Stark was pushed into popstar fame by his ambitious father early on, but over the span of more than two decades Tony has seen the highs and lows of stardom hitting rock bottom in more ways than one. Through it all there was always one person that Tony felt was his saving grace. Steve Rogers was always the one that got away and no matter how many times they tried to cross that line into love they couldn't quite get there. As Tony's once close friend and brief roommate, Steve turned Tony's world around in all the right ways until fate intervened, and they were pulled in separate directions. Now fresh out of rehab on his 45th birthday and looking to keep from making the same mistakes, Tony reflects on his past and follows his heart to new beginnings hoping that it's not too late to find his way back to Steve in his hopes for a second chance. Square Filled: T1: Multiple Orgasms, T2: AU: Popstar, T3: Unresolved Sexual Tension, T4: Car Sex, T5: Au: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48437332

Title: The Quest Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week: 1 Profession Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe, Treasure Hunting, Archaeologist Steve, Swearing, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Implied/Referenced Sex Summary: Archaeologist Steve Rogers finds himself in the thick of danger and adventure after teaming up with his former mentor's son and current sidekick Tony Stark to chase down a rare treasure set to unlock all of humanity's mysteries along the way. Square Filled: N2: AU: Archaeologist Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49077973

Title: Out with the Old... Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Week Two: Time Period, Bingo Square Y1: AU Cashier Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Non-serum Steve, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, New Year's Eve, New York City, Dirty Talking Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Swearing, Sexual Content, Alcohol, Hook-Up, Hopeful Ending   Summary: AU: Alone on New Year's Eve in 1989 in New York City, Tony decides to go all out in throwing a solo party for himself until sexy cashier Steve offers him a better alternative to a night of drunken loneliness. Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49199674

Title: The Journey Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Explicit Pairing: Bucky/Steve/Tony Tags: Esta https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082 Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Anniversary, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Spanking, Sub Bucky Barnes, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom Tony Stark, Light BDSM, Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Restraints, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Role Playing, Dirty Talk, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Pole Dancing Summary: Steve and Tony decide to take a special trip for their anniversary together. To spice things up they decide to gift each other a vacation with Bucky who is ready and willing to be what they need to make their anniversary even more memorable. Will it prove to be exactly what they needed to strengthen their marriage or will they find something more in their playtime with Bucky? Square Filled: N5: AU Dancer Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49272082

Title: Just Like That...Back to Love Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Idiots in Love, Feelings Realization, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Swearing, Light Angst Summary: Super spy Steve Rogers reflects on the mission he and his work partner/on and off lover Tony Stark put behind him and what it means to their future moving forward where matters of the heart are concerned.   Square Filled: Week Three: No Powers, N3: Wrapping him up in a blanket  Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49366717

Title: What If We...? Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, AvX Fix-It Fic, Mention of the X-Men, Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Implied Sexual Content Summary: Caught up in deciding what to do about the problem of the Phoenix returning to the world again and causing chaos, Tony offers Steve a suggestion to prevent a war between the Avengers and the X-Men from happening. It sounds like the perfect plan, but along the way Tony finds that perhaps there's something more beyond saving the world with Steve that he's looking to find in their conversation. Square Filled: AUgust Stony AUniverse: Week 4: Nice Try, Canon, Stony AUniverse Bingo N1: Friends to Lovers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/49535506

Title: Lazy Weekend Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Domestic Fluff, Tony's POV, Threesome - M/M/M, Polyamory, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff, Morning Cuddles, Sleepy Cuddles, Established Relationship, contemplations, Reflection Summary: Snuggled in bed with his lovers, Tony contemplates how far they've come together from their sexy beginnings. Square Filled: O5: Domestic Fluff Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/51525229

Title: Only In New York Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Meet-Cute, First Meetings, Mild Sexual Content, Awkward Flirting, Blind Date, Flirting, Miscommunication, Threesome - M/M/M, Shy Bucky Barnes, reclusive Tony Stark, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Summary: Tony grudgingly agrees to go out on a blind date in the city that Pepper has set up for him. In doing so Tony meets devastatingly handsome artist Steve Rogers who is catching Tony's eye in all the right ways. When a series of mishaps and misunderstandings brings Steve and Tony closer to one another, will it prove to be the spark they need to fuel the fire between them or will fate have other plans with Steve's sexy roommate Bucky in the picture?   Square Filled: S2: Meet Cute, Stony AUniverse JAnUary Week 1: No Powers Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/52923937

Title: Sweet Dreams Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Romantic Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Kissing, Anxiety Attacks, Insomnia Summary: For years Tony abandoned the idea of ever finding his soulmate, yet somehow after he's hit with a panic attack at one of the worst possible times and Steve comes around to comfort him, Tony discovers that perhaps his soulmate is closer than he thinks. Square Filled: O3: Free space Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53104438

Title: A Journey Through Time Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Endgame, Post-Canon Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship Summary: Post endgame after Tony's death Steve makes the decision to go back in time to travel to the past to see Tony in the hopes of changing what's ahead for them. Together Tony and Steve share a touching reunion as Steve's journey leads him closer to fixing the mistakes of the past and being close to where he's always wanted to be. Square Filled: Y4: AU: Time Travel Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53155555

Title: After The War Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Mature Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sexual Content, References to Depression, Aftermath of war, survivor Tony Stark, Dirty Talk, Swearing Summary: Weeks after the battle with Thanos, Tony finds himself in a place where he's left feeling uncertain about himself and what remains of the man he once was. Lost in his struggles, Tony tries to sort his thoughts out, but struggles with his new life until Steve offers him a reason to get lost in a welcome distraction. Square Filled: Y2: Steve’s blush Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53443666

Title: The Gift Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Short One Shot, Established Relationship, Amputee Tony Stark, Tattoos, Artist Steve Rogers, Bonding, Romance, Short & Sweet Summary: Steve and Tony share a moment together after Steve puts his new artistry skills to the test in bringing to life a tattoo design he created for Tony. Square Filled: O2: Body Modification Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53486125

Title: Jealousy Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Miscommunication, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Idiots in Love, Reunions, Feelings Summary: For some reason even though it's been a while since Steve and Tony have been together, Steve can't shake the sudden burst of jealousy he feels in seeing Bucky and Tony getting along with one another. Steve knows it's for the best that his best friend and former lover are at peace with one another, yet Steve can't shake the unsettling ways it feels to be on the outside of things with Tony knowing that Tony's still the only one in his heart. Square Filled: Y5: Jealousy Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53830381

Title: Wrong Turn Author(s)/Artist(s): scottxlogan Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Tattoos, 5 Times, Romance, Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers Summary: Tony reflects on the five times that Steve made a mark on his life while Steve takes a moment to consider the one time Tony made a mark on his Square Filled: O4: AU: Tattoo Artist Steve Link(s): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53831182