#thank you so so much for the asks and the making of the list! (again)

[3igbootyl0ver]

A New Face Pt.2

pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

summary: Tara was devastated you didn't text her. That was until you met her at a party.

word count: 2250

Pt.1

a/n: hey guys, first of all thank you all so much for the overwhelming support 🥹 I didn't expect this much attention at all especially for my first ever pic I've written. Anyways, I'm always open to feedback and requests if you have any. Take note I'm still getting used to this whole Tumblr thing so it may take a while for me to put up master lists and all that stuff (p.s sorry if there's any mistakes, a part of me feels like this lowkey sucks lolz)

It’s been 2 weeks since Tara had last seen you. And during those weeks, Tara’s mind had been fogged by you. Her mind kept repeating your interaction and every time a smile grew on her face. The group of friends had been making fun of her ever since they entered the lift after leaving yours and Chad’s apartment, saying she looked like a kid getting a lollipop for breakfast, all giggly and in a daze, but she didn’t care. 

She wanted to see you again badly. She started plotting and thinking about ways your paths can collide again. Like, she could plan walking in school and “coincidentally” cross paths even though her classroom was nowhere near yours and at least 10 minutes away from your building. But she wouldn’t do that! “I’m not that crazy” Tara thought. But would she? (A teeny tiny part of Tara knows she’s capable of doing so.)

She didn’t have the guts to text you and it’s already been two weeks! A part of her was hoping that you’d text her, but a pang of disappointment hit her when you didn’t. She usually isn’t this hung up on a person like this. Sure, she found some individuals cute from time to time, but she wouldn’t go up to this extend. She wouldn’t chase for someone, but for you, maybe, just a little bit, she would start jogging a little. There was something so.. alluring and appealing about you that Tara couldn’t comprehend. It’s like her mind glitched and was programmed to think about you 24/7.

 Tara was currently lying on her bed occupied by her mind (thinking of you obviously) when there was aggressive knocks on the front door.  “Give me a minute! Jesus..” murmured Tara as she walked towards the threshold. She opened the door which revealed Mindy looking impatient. 

“Dude, are you not dressed yet? We planned to go this party at least a week ago!” 

“Oh shit, I forgot about this Mindy I’m sorry! Give me 15 minutes to get ready” Tara replied apologetically while Mindy rolled her eyes and plopped herself down on the couch, kicking up her feet onto the coffee table and reached for the tv remote. After an excruciatingly long 15 minutes (it was actually 45 minutes), Tara and Mindy were set to leave and make their way to the party that was a few blocks away.

The house reeked of alcohol, weed, and cigarettes. The party-goers were dressed casually, with some wearing revealing and tight clothes to attract attention, no doubt trying to get laid. There was r&b and occasionally hip hop music blaring through the speakers. Mindy met up with Anika, dragging her to get a drink to get the night started which made Tara lose track of them, leaving her all alone. Tara’s stomach churned when she kept seeing couples making out in the hallway as she strolled to the kitchen to get a drink. (She kept this like a dirty secret, but she had imagined as if it was you and her making out)

“Hey Tara!” She turned around and saw Chad, with a random girl with his arm around her waist. 

“Chad? I didn’t know you were coming to this party” Tara explained, ignoring the dirty looks and stink eye given from the girl

“Yeah, I didn’t want to actually, but Y/N asked me out to this party and….” Whatever gibberish Chad spewed out was ignored as you occupied Tara’s mind. You were here? Y/N? Chad’s sexy and hot and super cute roommate? She’s doomed. 

“Why didn’t you tell me they were coming?! Oh god! Oh my god, Do I look good? Do I have anything between my teeth, I knew I should have put on a sexier outfit”

“Tara- Tara calm down. You look good, okay? Don’t worry about it. If it makes you feel any better, they called you cute after you guys left the other day.” Chad commented, putting a stop onto Tara’s word vomit. You called her cute? Tara felt butterflies in her stomach. But why didn’t you text her? All Tara could hope for is that the universe is on her side tonight and let her catch a glimpse of you, and preferably not drunk to make a fool of herself and to earn atleast a decent conversation. 

She chugged down the alcoholic drink she made and decided to make one in an instant, trying to get rid of her blush since just thinking of you made her stomach do somersaults. She sat down on the couch, hoping she could see you soon. After almost half an hour, her patience was wearing thin, she hadn’t seen you yet. How even big is this house? Why couldn’t she see you? It was as if this house was alive and kept shifting its walls purposely to block her view of you. She made her way to the kitchen to make a stronger drink. Mindy was probably making out with Anika in a random room anyways so she doesn’t really bother, which left Tara looking like a real loser all alone weeping in the kitchen. 

She chugged down another shot of her drink, before making a new one. As she lifted her head to swallow her drink in one go, she felt a presence behind her. She smelt a scent of a wood, earthy with a reminiscent of smoke notes, along with a subtle smell of sweat. 

“Hey stranger. What’re you doing here all alone?” Tara choked on her drink when she heard your voice. Damn it, even your voice is hot. How does that even work? Tara had a coughing fit, while trying to cover up her blush and not make a fool out of herself (she already did). You made it even worse by wincing slightly and putting your hand on her lower back, rubbing it up and down her back and trying to at least comfort her while she was having a crisis.

“You alright there? Let me get some water for you,” You softly chuckled before proceeding to the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water, opening the cap and passing it to Tara which gobbled it down. It took her a few moments to settle down and for her blush to subside.

“Thank you, really. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, I can’t debate with you about horror movies if you’re dead, right?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. Anyway, I didn’t know you were coming to this party. I assumed you were too cool and busy for this type of stuff.” Tara  teased. She took this time to take in the sight of you, you were wearing baggy jeans with a fitting t-shirt, revealing your tattoos. There goes the butterflies in her tummy again.

“I didn’t call in a shift today and I had nothing to do. Plus, it was an impromptu thing to come here since, well, I had a feeling you were going to be here and..I wanted to see you.” You softly chuckled, with your voice lowering at the end. Now it was your turn to start blushing, and Tara found it adorable.

“Well, I’m right here in front of you, cutie. What did you want to talk about?” Tara boldly added in the nickname, in hopes of seeing you blush again. You smiled at the term which revealed those dimples AND your blush. Tara gave her a pat on the back for the double victory. You opened your mouth to give a sly reply back, however your response was cut off by someone calling out for you.

“Y/N!! You in to play some beer pong?” You looked at Tara apologetically for the disruption and invited her to play along with you as a pair.

You both were up against another pair, which was obviously experienced beer pong players at that. You were willing to drink the cups that your opponent successfully had thrown the ball in, but Tara insisted on drinking it while you focus on throwing the ball. Understandably, both of you lost and while you thanked them for the round and lost gracefully, Tara stomped off like a little kid while mumbling swear words to herself, evidently affected by the amount of alcohol she had to drink. You chased for her and found her in the kitchen, mixing different liquids to create an abomination of a drink.

“Tara, you had enough for tonight don’t you think? Let me walk you home.” You suggested while taking her cup away as she was right about to sip it, making her whine. Tara turned around and looked at you as if you had said the most ridiculous sentence she had heard in her lifetime.

“NO!!! Please, let’s just stay a lit-little longer. I p-promise I’ll behave. I just want to spend time with you.” Tara begged and slurring her words, while learning against you for your warmth, and looking up at you with those undeniably adorable doe eyes, giving you the best puppy look she could express.

“We can talk on our way to your apartment, okay? I promise I won’t leave you alone” Tara huffed and rolled her eyes, but continued leaning against you for support. You only made it to the threshold of the exit holding her beside you until you couldn’t handle it anymore with how Tara kept moving around and losing her balance. You offered to give her a piggyback ride, which she immediately accepted after nodding her head enthusiastically.

“Why didn’t- didn’t you text me? I was waiting..waiting for you all along, man, fuck” Tara slurred, having hiccups in between her sentences.

“I’m sorry Tara, would you feel better if I said I was too nervous to text you?” You replied smugly, which made her wrap her arms around your neck a little tighter. You could feel a sudden warmth on the side of your neck, indicating that Tara was blushing. “Cute” You thought.

“Whatever..Whatever, dude. I just wanted to ask what horror movie you preferred,” Tara tried to shrug off and tried to act nonchalant as if your silence for the past 2 weeks didn’t bother her.

“I loved watching Terrifier 2. Art the clown really is a masterpiece,” You softly commented. You’ve reached the entrance of Tara’s apartment and entered the lift, softly asking what level she lives at before the lift door closes. You’re surprised you that didn’t feel tired of carrying her at all. Even after walking atleast 2 miles from the party. Most of the time carrying her home was in silence, since Tara was falling in and out of sleep.

“Me too!! I-lloved watching him kill random people” You walked her towards  her door, slowly getting her on her feet and stabilizing her when she was swaying around clumsily.

“Oh yeah? Well, I heard the new Terrifier 3 is coming out. Maybe we could watch it together during the premier? Like, a date?” You suggested, blush slowly creeping up from your neck to your cheeks. You knocked on the door, hoping Sam was awake to bring her in.

“Yes.” Tara simply replied while nodding insistently. You chuckled at her boldness.

“It’s a date then. We’ll talk about it when you’re sober and having a massive hangover tomorrow, okay?” Tara nodded her head, her arms snaking around your neck to pull you closer. Your hands landed at her waist, feeling her being overly warm, probably from drinking too much. You decided to lean in and give her a kiss on her cheek, holding it for a little longer just to tease the shorter girl.

When you pulled back, you could see her blushing, probably not expecting the kiss. However, she decided to lean in this time, and now aiming for your lips. Just as both your lips brushed each other, the door opened, revealing Sam looking upset with wide eyes. You both pull back, with you coughing awkwardly under Sam’s gaze. Tara entered her apartment after saying her goodbyes, leaving you and Sam. You tried to talk to her, but ended up backfiring after she rolled her eyes and slammed the door on you even before you could utter a syllable. You made your way home and tried to ignore the interaction with Sam by occupying your mind with the younger Carpenter. You know talking to Tara won’t be easy due to her overprotective sister and friends, but you’re always up for a challenge, especially for a girl you’re falling in love with.

On the other side of the door, Sam was relentlessly scolding Tara, since she didn’t inform her of the party she was going to attend and that she had been worried sick the whole day. The least she expected was Mindy or Chad sending her home. Not you. Tara ignored Sam and went in her room, and plopped down on her bed with a huff, and fell asleep not even 5 minutes in.

The next day, Tara woke up with the most excruciating throbbing headache, it got worse when Sam continued her nagging about her going to parties without informing her. It took her awhile to adjust herself, with eating breakfast and taking a hot shower. She realized her phone had died since yesterday and decided  to charge it. When it turned on, the first notification she saw was from you.

Y/N: Heyy, hope you’re feeling better.

Sent at 11.33am.

Y/N: And I’m also hoping you didn’t forget the date we planned. Looking forward to seeing you soon :)

Sent at 11.36am.

[fireya-x]

hey! i just wanted to say that i love your writing. you have the most amazing style and idk if youre accepting asks rn but pls ignore if not.

would you ever consider writing a fic about john price/reader where reader is like sick for a couple days or maybe gone for a while and hes been totally deprived and all when you finally are feeling better/home, then he just absolutely loses all of his gentlemanly ways and jumps you the moment he can get it again??

maybe a little inspired by this gif -- https://www.tumblr.com/posseydonn/765988062279909376/lets-not-sleep-without-making-love?source=share

Thank you! That means so much 🥰

And of course! I was so excited when I saw this. You're the first to request, and it made me so happy. I hope this is okay, and again, thanks so much for the ask!

coming home

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

Three weeks apart is three weeks too long for John.

[3,5k words]

cw: smut, piv sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow job, come swallowing, smoking

You entered the meeting room, a soft “Sorry I’m late” escaping your lips, breathless as your eyes met Kate’s. She smiled, and the room, thankfully, seemed less concerned with your tardiness and more captivated by your return.

“There she is!” Gaz called out, a grin splitting his face.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kate said at the same time and gestured for you to sit down.

“Lassie! Good to see ye again!” Soap exclaimed, a gentle slap on your shoulder accompanying his greeting as you sat beside him.

Ghost’s masked face gave nothing away, but you could have sworn you saw a slight nod in your direction when your eyes met. Several other soldiers offered their greetings, but your attention was drawn to the man standing next to Kate. Their voices, addressing the room, held the familiar cadence of teachers instructing a class. His features, however, softened noticeably the moment you entered, and you suspected the newer recruits could thank you for the subtle shift in John's demeanour. Tasks were assigned and mission preparations discussed, a mission you’d been desperately wanted to be back in the field for.

You'd been confined to your home for the past three weeks, battling a nasty flu. Fever, headaches, an upset stomach – the whole miserable package. You'd warned everyone to steer clear, not wanting to share the misery. John, though you suspected he wanted to argue, had obeyed. You knew he was itching to fuss over you, to bring you tea and take your temperature like he’d done countless times before. But his care manifested in other ways. Canned soup and chocolate – clearly a Price-approved selection – appeared mysteriously on your doorstep. A week's worth of groceries materialized thanks to Soap and Ghost. And Gaz's mum, bless her, managed to stock your medicine cabinet better than a pharmacy.

As the meeting for the day was concluded and everyone slowly left the room, Price stopped you in your tracks with a raised hand. “Stay behind a moment, love.”

When the room was empty, he closed the distance between you, his hands settling on your shoulders. “Why didn’t you call? I would have picked you up.” 

You shuffled your feet, avoiding his gaze, suddenly shy under his intense scrutiny. “Doctor cleared me, and I came straight here,” you explained, gesturing vaguely towards the front of the room, where he had been standing moments ago. “Didn’t want to bother you. You were clearly busy.”

“Never a bother,” he murmured, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin. “Next time, call me. Okay?”

You leaned into his touch, a wave of relief washing over you. The simple contact made you acutely aware of how much you’d missed him. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, a small smile playing on your lips as you met his gaze. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture that sent a wave of comforting warmth through you.

“It’s good to have you back.” He exhaled heavily, tension easing from his shoulders. “The boys were driving me insane.”

You chuckled. “You love them.”

 “I do. Not as much as you, though.”

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy line, but a warmth bloomed in your chest. He lifted your chin with a gentle finger. “Promise me if you’re not feeling well, you won’t play tough and tell me immediately, yeah?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Gotta go train the new kids, I suppose,” you sighed theatrically.

“I don’t envy you.” He grimaced.

“I’ll have to put my Price voice on.” You grinned, anticipating his reaction.

He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Price voice?”

You cleared your throat, mimicking his gruff tone. “You muppets! Twenty pushups, now!”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I do not sound like that.”

“You wish you’d sound as sweet as I do.” You winked, and he chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist as you walked together down the corridor. He paused at his office door, leaning in for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yes, Captain.” You smiled, saluting playfully, which earned you another eye roll as he disappeared inside.

The day wore on, the relentless rain and wind a constant, chilling presence on the training grounds. You watched the new recruits struggle through the obstacle course, their movements hampered by the slick mud and the biting wind. You, at least, had the small comforts of proper gear. These poor souls, battling the weather in addition to the gruelling physical demands – it brought back memories of your own training. The endless drills, Price’s watchful gaze, his voice a constant bark of commands, pushing you, testing your limits. No trace of the tenderness he showed you now. Back then, it had been all business, grit, and determination.

But it earned you a place on the 141, and you didn't regret a single moment.

As the last recruit, mud-caked and drenched, stumbled across the finish line, you offered a nod of acknowledgement. “Passable time, soldier,” you stated, pointing towards the last stretch of obstacles, “but that last part needs to be faster. Work on your agility in these conditions. Life or death out in the field.” The recruit saluted, exhaustion etched on their pale face, before joining the rest of the group.

Dismissing them with a sweep of your hand, you advised, “Get yourselves dried off and warmed up.” You could practically feel the welcome relief of hot showers and a decent meal yourself as you watched them disperse, shivering. Heading for the nearest entrance, you discarded your heavy weather gear with a sigh of relief.

A voice called out, “Sergeant?” Turning, you recognized the young recruit from the cafeteria, his waterproof jacket plastered to his thin frame as he hurried towards you. He pointed a finger down the hall. “Captain Price wants to talk to you.”

Your heart quickened, a nervous flutter in your stomach. Smoothing down your damp uniform and clutching the training reports, you made your way toward Price’s office, that nervous flutter intensifying with each step. You knocked lightly, the sound muffled by the heavy door.

“You wanted to talk to me?” you began, pushing it open. “Oh, I already have the reports here –”

“Lock the door.” Price’s command cut you short, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. A freshly lit cigar was clenched between his teeth, a plume of smoke curling upwards.

Your breath hitched, momentarily stunned by his command. The facade of your professionalism crumbled under the weight of his gaze. “What?”

His eyes bored into you. He jerked his chin towards the door, the unspoken command crystal clear. “Do it, and get over here.” A blush warmed your cheeks as you obeyed, the click of the lock echoing in the sudden silence.

You crossed the room, dropping the reports on his desk as you rounded it, coming to a stop before him. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist, pulling you towards him with a force that made you gasp. The movement was almost violent, and he didn’t even waste a breath before your training briefs were bunching around your ankles as he shoved them down. His touch was rough, brutal and yet undeniably possessive.

The heat of him against your sudden bare skin was like an electric shock, making the hairs on your skin stand up, igniting a fire that had been smouldering for past weeks. His mouth was suddenly between your thighs, biting your sensitive flesh through the fabric of your panties, eliciting a moan from your lips. 

“Christ, John, what –” you breathed, the words lost against another nip of his teeth. He forced his tongue against the damp fabric and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your backside as he growled against your skin. “Fuck, I've missed you.”

“We’re at work,” you protested weakly, even as your hands found their way into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.

He pulled back slightly and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Has that ever stopped us before?”

You shook your head, a breathless laugh escaping you. “I guess not.”

With a quick, almost savage tear, your panties were gone. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver. He murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky, “I’m not going to fire you for fucking your boss, sweetheart.” A trail of scorching kisses followed his words, his lips branding your inner thighs.

“Very funny,” you chuckled, hands finding their way back into his hair, and without a warning, his tongue parted your folds. The contact with your clit was an unexpected intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. He pushed you back against the desk, your legs parting instinctively as his fingers joined the fray. He lapped at your slickness, his tongue swirling and circling, his beard scratching the skin, while his fingers teased the entrance of your hole. 

He devoured you, his hunger insatiable, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the brink. You could feel the pressure building, coiling tight in your belly, the pleasure intensifying with each lick, each touch, each stolen breath. “John,” you gasped, and he groaned in response, the sound thick with desire, but then, his own need overriding yours, he pulled back abruptly. The sight, the taste, the feel of you was too much. He needed to be inside you. With a low growl, he lifted you onto the cool surface of the desk, scattering the forgotten reports beneath you like fallen leaves.

“Shouldn’t you be looking at those reports?” you managed, a weak attempt at humour.

He shook his head, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. “The only thing I should be doing is you.”

As he moved above you, your gaze traced the familiar lines of his body. The faint, silvery scars that crisscrossed his skin, a roadmap of his life, each one an etched memory of battles fought and won. The dark hair dusting his chest and narrowing down to the meticulously trimmed line of his pubic hair – a detail that sent a wave of heat through you, the knowledge that he’d been ready for you, waiting for this moment, just as you had been. 

His cock, thick and veined, throbbed before you. The tip, a darker shade of pink, almost crimson with arousal, glistened in the dim light of the office, the precum already beading there like glistening dew. The velvety texture, the subtle ridges and curves of its form – it was a thing of beauty, of raw power. And it belonged to him, to the man who made you feel things no one else could. Safe. Cherished. Desired.

It had been weeks – an eternity – since you’d felt this way. The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and intense, focused solely on you, made you feel seen, loved, like you were the only person in the world.

The initial slow burn of his entry ignited a fire within you, a slow, steady warmth that spread through your body. As he settled fully inside you, a sigh escaped your lips. It was a feeling of homecoming, of finally returning from a long and arduous journey, of finding your way back to the place where you belonged. It was more than just pleasure; it was a sense of rightness, of two halves becoming whole. You revelled in the feeling of fullness, of completion, of finally having him back where he belonged. 

You could feel every inch of him, the subtle ridges and curves of his length pressing against your inner walls, the velvety head brushing against your most sensitive point, sending shivers of anticipation radiating outwards. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss, and the taste of him, of cigar smoke and desire and longing, filled your senses. 

As the kiss deepened, his rhythm intensified, the slow burn giving way to a wildfire. The languid thrusts became more insistent, more demanding. The rhythmic slap of skin against skin echoed in the quiet office, punctuated by the creak of the desk beneath you. His mouth moved to nip and suck at your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your already sensitized nerves. His touch was a brand that marked you as his, a delicious reminder of his possession. His fingers found your clit, rubbing, circling, adding yet another layer of exquisite torture to the inferno already burning within you. 

The pressure built, the pleasure intensifying with each thrust, each touch, each stolen breath. And then, it hit you – an explosion of pure, unadulterated bliss, a blinding white light that obliterated all thought. You threw your arms around his back, your nails digging into his skin. Your body convulsed, pressing against him, clamping down on his cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last. He held you steady, his strong arms a comforting anchor and his voice a low murmur against your ear. “That's my girl,” he whispered, the words a balm to your soul as the tremors subsided, leaving you spent and sated in his embrace. 

Still pleasure-drunk, your mind hazy with the afterglow of your climax, you pushed him off you and breaking the connection. He stumbled back, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but he didn’t intervene, his gaze following your every move as you slid off the desk. He let himself be pushed back into his chair, his chest heaving, his cock still slick and hard.

Reaching for the earlier discarded cigar in the ashtray, you brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply, the familiar taste making your head spin. As you exhaled, your gaze locked with his, a predatory glint in your eyes. With slow, deliberate movements, you began to play with the cigar, rolling it between your fingers, letting it linger at the corner of your mouth, dragging it across your lips as if savouring the taste, the tip tracing the same path his tongue had taken only moments before. The act, a shameless innuendo, was a way of reclaiming your power, of teasing him, of showing him that you weren't done with him yet. You ran your tongue along the length of it, the tip glistening in the dim light of the office.

He watched, transfixed, his breath hitching in his throat, every muscle in his body coiled tight with a tension that bordered on painful. You were putting on a show, a performance designed solely for him, and it was driving him absolutely insane. The way you practically fucked the cigar, deep throating it with a practised ease that made his blood run hot, was both absurd and incredibly erotic. 

His gaze was riveted on your lips, the way they stretched and pulsed around the cigar, the tip disappearing into the depths of your mouth, then reappearing, slick and glistening. Your tongue, darting out to lick the tip, to swirl around the base, made him growl involuntarily. 

Your cheeks hollowed with each deep drag, the sight making his own breath come in short, ragged gasps. It was blatant, mimicking a far more intimate act, a performance designed to tease and torment, and it was working perfectly. He could practically feel your mouth on him, the heat, the pressure, the rhythmic pull – it had been weeks of forced abstinence, and he knew that no one else could make him feel this way; this desperate, this utterly and completely out of control.

His cock, still red and swollen, throbbed and twitched in agonizing response and the pre-come slowly leaked onto his skin. His balls ached with a desperate need for release, a pressure that built with each drag you took on the cigar, each moan that escaped your lips, each flick of your tongue. The need to touch himself, to find some small measure of relief, was almost overwhelming. 

Not being able to bear it any longer, his hand instinctively moved towards his aching hardness, but you stopped him, your fingers gently but firmly closing around his wrist. 

“Not yet, Captain,” you purred, your voice husky with amusement. You held his gaze, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and brought the cigar back to your lips, taking one last, long drag. Letting he smoke fill your lungs before you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. You exhaled slowly, deliberately, the plume of smoke swirling into his mouth, teasing his tongue with the lingering taste of the tobacco, the heat of your breath, and the promise of more. 

He groaned, a low rumble in his chest, and his tongue darted out, attacking your mouth, desperate to taste you, to reclaim the connection that had been broken only moments before. The kiss was fierce, hungry, his tongue probing deep, seeking out yours, tangling with it in a desperate dance of need. He wanted you, all of you, right there, right then, but you pulled back, a teasing smile playing on your lips. With a slow, deliberate movement, you placed the cigar between his lips. 

Then, trailing a line of kisses down his chest, across the hard planes of his stomach, each touch sending shivers through his already aroused body, you reached your destination. He groaned, his hands finding their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as you knelt before him, his hardness pressing against your cheek. 

You took him in your mouth, the taste of him – salty and musky – mingling with the lingering flavour of the cigar and the faint, sweet taste of yourself. You swirled your tongue around him, appreciating the feel of him against your lips, the heat of him radiating against your skin. You sucked hard, the pull creating a friction that made him groan, his hips bucking involuntarily against your mouth. You bobbed your head, setting a slow, steady rhythm, your eyes never leaving his, watching as his expression shifted from desire to pure pleasure. You increased the pressure, the pace, drawing him deeper into your mouth, feeling the throb of his pulse against your tongue and the way his cock pulsed and twitched with each pull of your lips.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his length, before playing a soft kiss to the tip, teasing him, driving him closer to the edge. He groaned again, the sound barely audible, a strangled whimper of pleasure lost somewhere between a sob and a curse.

You continued, relentless, taking him fully into your mouth again with a passion fuelled by the weeks of pent-up longing. You felt him tense, the muscles in his thighs clenching as he reached his peak. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and a shudder ran through his entire body. His grip on your hair tightened, his knuckles white against your scalp. “Fuck… yes,” he groaned, the words barely audible. “So good... love... bloody hell…” 

His voice trailed off into a series of incoherent moans and gasps as he spilled into your mouth, the hot rush of his release coating your throat. You moaned when the taste hit you, salty and musky, and so intoxicatingly him. You could feel the heat, the force of it, as he emptied himself into you – the rhythmic contractions of his cock, the feeling of him throbbing within your mouth, how the ridge of his length pulsated against your tongue with each spurt – it sent shivers down your spine. You continued to suckle gently, even after the initial rush subsided, your tongue swirling around him, cleaning him, wanting to draw every last drop of him, to cherish the intimacy of the moment, to prolong the connection for as long as possible. With a final, loving kiss against the tip, you pulled back, leaving him breathless.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still dark with desire, but now softened with a tenderness reserved only for you. He reached down, his hand gently cupping your chin, tilting your face up to his. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch feather-light. “I missed you,” he murmured. “I was worried sick. So glad you’re alright.” 

You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “Couldn't even wait until we got home?” You teased, still settled between his thighs, reaching up to run a finger along his jawline, feeling the familiar prickle of his beard. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “No chance, love. Not a bloody chance.” You leaned forward, resting your head against the hard muscles of his thigh, your fingertips dancing lightly along his skin. “Want to grab some dinner and stay with me tonight?” you asked, almost hesitant. 

He met your gaze, a warmth spreading through his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. He reached forward then, lifting you up into his lap effortlessly. "Like you even have to ask," he murmured, his hands gently caressing your back, drawing soft circles. 

“Let's go then?” he asked softly after a while. 

You sighed, closing your eyes, letting the peace of the moment wash over you. “Just a minute.” He didn't reply, but his arms tightened around you, holding you close, and in that silent embrace, you found everything you had been missing in the last weeks: the comfort of his presence, the security of his touch, the certainty of his love. You were home.

[ganxiously]

So, it turns out what I needed to get out of my writer's block was soul-wrenching grief and heart-crushing disappointment. And while I am happy about that (to an extent), I also wish my muse wasn't angst because I think I am hurting myself writing this fic and I need to now make it everyone else's problem.

Sitting there in the dark, on Eddie’s sofa, curled in on himself like it’s supposed to do anything to hold him together, one thought pops into his head, bright, neon red and in bold among the constant litany of boorish, black ‘This is all my fault’ — All of this is because I didn’t know what a Kinsey six is. The thought is unexpected enough that Buck unfurls a little, wondering where it came from and then he remembers their anniversary date. The memory leaves him breathless but he is curious enough to push past the newly burgeoning hurt and take out his phone. A quick Google reveals it to be the rating for ‘exclusively homosexual’ on the Kinsey scale so he looks that up next and as he’s debating whether to start from Wikipedia first or dive right into the Kinsey Institute website, his eyes land on the conspicuous ‘test online’ button right below the search bar. A part of him doesn’t want to find out, doesn’t want anyone else telling him what he is but the taunt is too much. If you had known, if you had just taken a moment to figure yourself out, maybe you could have said something. Maybe you could have stopped him before he walked away. He clicks on the first test that pops up, looks at the first question, goes to select option 1 and then stops and stares. ‘To whom are you attracted?’ should be an easy question to answer but the confidence to not think much has left him. He could easily choose ‘Both men and women’ but would that even be correct? He’s been so sure that he has felt attraction towards men a few times in the past but what if that was a mild interest at best? After all, no one had really pinged his radar the way Tommy had. He looks at the next question and that’s when the panic really starts to set in because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he prefers men over women or if he just prefers Tommy over women, over everyone else. What if Tommy is the outlier and he prefers women over men after all? The pressure in his chest becomes more and more painful the longer he stares at it so he closes the test and opens the next one on the list. That one starts off mild. The way the first question is framed makes it easy to answer that yes, while he mostly notices women, the occasional man does turn his eyes. The next one asks what he would be comfortable in calling himself and he thinks he could get away with calling himself bisexual but then there’s an option saying ‘could be bisexual but not sure if that’s correct‘. And again the thought hits, What if it’s just Tommy? He debates it briefly and then gives in and chooses the latter option. He breezes through the next couple of questions because he is at least sure that he would find it desirable to kiss people from both genders but then they hit him with the sexual preference question again. He backs out so fast his phone nearly slips out of his hand and with a sigh of frustration, he clicks on the next test. That turns out worse because the very first question stalls him and so it continues again and again and again until tears start prickling at the corner of his eyes and his breath starts coming in sharp, short bursts pulling his throat tight but not taking any air to his lungs. He keeps at it until there’s one more nameless person behind one more useless test clamouring at him, Tell us, tell us, tell us. Tell us you know what you want. He hurls the phone across the room, thankful when instead of landing on the floor, it silently hits the backrest of Eddie’s armchair and slides down into the crease with a swoosh. He should get up and retrieve it, he should go home really but what he does instead is let his head fall forward onto his raised knees and give in to the caricatured voice of his mind telling him, Of course, he thought you would break his heart. Look at yourself, you idiot.

This is basically just the set-up for the fic but rest assured I am dragging Buck down to the trenches before I let him swim up to Tommy again.

[synthetickitsune]

Full Stomach, Full Heart ✧ w.jh

Pairing: Wen Junhui x reader (gn) Genre: angst, hints of comfort Summary: What was the last thing you ate, actually? Yet better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it. Word count: 2.2k Warnings: food struggles, mentions of reader not eating properly

You feel something’s wrong within the first hour after waking up. Deeply wrong, but you’re equally deep in denial, so you write it off as a side effect of getting up too early and immediately scrolling on your phone, so you go back to sleep. When you wake up again, you’re not really sure you slept at all. Somehow, though, the time has passed too quickly for you to just be spacing out in bed. You need to get up. 

The feeling is still there, a weight on your chest and your mind feels like it’s clouded by a thick fog. Your bones feel heavy. Just standing feels uncomfortable and draining. You get some water and crawl back into bed. A text from your boyfriend is waiting for you, wishing you a good morning and asking if you’ve eaten yet. Your stomach churns at the idea of eating, so you ignore the text in favor of more sleep. 

Only sleep just won’t come. Not for long anyway. It’s all brief flashes of unconsciousness that leave you disoriented and tired once you wake up. Switching between unsuccessful attempts of napping and mindless scrolling on your phone, with some spacing out on the side, time passes. You try to make yourself get up again and do something, try to guilt yourself into being productive, all without result. Nothing works, nothing feels right.

You can’t tell what’s wrong exactly, but somehow it feels like everything is. It makes you upset, most of all with yourself. There is nothing that needs to get done, however you can come up with a list of a hundred things that you could get done if only you dragged yourself out of bed. There’s no reason you should be like this, you tell yourself. It is what it is, you tell yourself next and close your eyes again.

Without your permission, time passes. It slips away from you, then forcefully reminds you of its existence when your phone starts to ring.

It’s Jun.

“Hey,” you whisper. You hope he heard over the commotion around him. Suddenly you realize you really hate people today. Staying in bed seems even more appealing. Nobody is going to bother you here.

“Are you alright?” Jun cuts straight to chase. His voice is kind but laced with worry. “You never responded to my text.”

Oh. Shit.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I am,” you hesitate a little, “Just don’t feel too good.”

You can see the frown on his face when you close your eyes and focus on the brief pause. The background noise, the voices, get distant and quiet. Somewhere on the other end of the line, a door clicks shut.

“‘Not good’ as in…?” he asks and you sigh. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you regret being honest in the first place. Just a little. But then again if you haven’t told him, he’d drive himself crazy with worry and that’s the last thing he needs during practice.

“I just don’t feel much of anything,” you admit, “I’m just really tired. I don’t want to do anything, don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

He hums in sympathy. It makes something warm flicker in your chest. You can imagine the hug he’d give you if he was here - enveloping, like the world doesn’t exist, his hand cradling your head, the other on the small of your back pulling you close with just the perfect amount of force. He’d hold you until something made him let go, and then still kiss you and promise to be right back.

“I’m sorry I called,” he whispers, “I just got worried.”

“No, I don’t mind you,” you reassure him even as every word drains more energy out of your already exhausted body, “You don’t count.”

“Why thank you,” you hear the smile in his voice. It’s natural for you to smile as well without thinking, if only you had the energy too. Regret wells up in your chest, even though Jun won’t know about this little turmoil. “Have you eaten?”

Your heart pauses for a beat. The answer is clear, but what was the last thing you ate, actually? Probably just instant noodles or something like that. Better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it.

“...no,” you admit quietly. You curl under the blanket. He might get disappointed and worried but he won’t yell at you, you know that, yet it still feels uncomfortable. The silence drags on and leaves you suspended in anxiety. You beg him to talk inside your head, to say anything - to snap at you, anything will do. Just not the silence.

“y/n, it’s so late…” he says and you know he’s not scolding you, that he’s as gentle as he can be, but it still sounds like you’re getting scolded.

“I know,” you murmur, “I’m not hungry though.”

It’s an understatement. The idea of eating itself makes your stomach churn. And maybe it’s hunger in disguise, maybe. Most likely. You know you should eat. Food feels repulsive, though.

“You need to eat,” he insists, quietly, still gentle. You can hear the change in his voice when he adds: “I’ve been busy a lot, huh?”

“Jun…” you shake your head, “It’s not your fault. I need to take care of myself.”

“I want to be there for you when you’re not feeling well,” there’s a moment where his voice gets higher. You can imagine the lightbulb appearing above his head and it makes you slightly concerned. “I’m gonna help.”

“Wait, no-”

“Shh, no arguing,” he shushes you. You can hear his voice get more distant. “I’ll order you some food. A lot of it. So you can choose.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna see anyone. Please. I promise I’ll eat later, just not now,” you try to change his mind. It’s pointless, you’re well aware that Jun is the most stubborn when your wellbeing is concerned. The silence on the other end of the line, occasionally broken by tapping noises as your boyfriend’s fingers dance across the screen, tells you resistance is hopeless. Still you try.

“I don’t want to go anywhere to pick up the food. I won’t even go downstairs,” you warn him,

“I won’t pick up the phone if anyone calls. I won’t talk to anyone,” you sulk.

“Jun, please forget about it-”

“Will you cook?” he interrupts you, a slight edge to his voice. You shrivel under the blanket.

“No but-”

“Are there any leftovers you can heat up?”

“No, Jun-”

“Don’t ‘no Jun’ me,” he sighs, “I’m gonna figure this out, okay? Don’t worry.”

Before you can ask for an explanation, beg him to let it go, anything, he hangs up. You groan and pull at your hair. It’s pointless to argue with Jun, however, and although you’re frustrated you know you can trust him. So you return to numbly lying on bed.

It’s some time later that you’re woken up - from sleep or daydreaming, you have no idea - by a text. You frown and pick up the phone, already annoyed. Who dares to bother you now?

Joshua: hey i’m downstairs so don’t get creeped out when i come in with the food

Joshua: if you're awake

Joshua: if not - sorry! ><

…what?

You don’t have much time to process what’s happening before you hear the code being put in and the doors opening. You’re tempted to pretend you’re not home but also what the fuck is he doing here? Taking a quick look at Jun’s messy hoodie and sweats you’re wearing, you ultimately decide that it’s not your fault Joshua’s going to see you like this. He came in uninvited. So much for not talking to anyone. You get up and groggily walk out of the room and look for the intruder.

You find him in the kitchen… putting food containers on the table?

“Hey,” he greets you softly with a friendly smile without pausing his actions.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, confusion written all over your face. Your arms are wrapped around your body protectively. Joshua doesn’t even look at you as he meticulously takes everything out of the bag.

“That’s my line. You should be in bed” he chuckles. Finally he looks up and upon seeing you don’t get the situation at all, he shakes his head with a small laugh.

“Jun said you’re not feeling well,” he explains, “So he asked if anyone could bring you food while you rest. Are you okay to eat now or should I put it in the fridge?”

You stop yourself from screaming aloud. And sighing. And hitting your head against the wall.

“Thank you,” you say instead, “It really wasn’t necessary.”

“No problem,” Joshua smiles at you again, “So?”

“I’ll eat in a bit,” you decide, relaxing slightly. You don’t feel like eating if you’re being honest but you also think the nausea starting to kick in is caused by hunger at this point. You should make yourself eat. Somehow.

“Okay. Do you need anything else? Medicine, dessert?” he jokes and you roll your eyes at him even though the target should really be Junhui.  

“I’m fine, thank you,” you try to smile at him despite your irritated mood. You make a mental note to thank Joshua again and apologize later because he leaves as quickly as he came. You should also talk to your boyfriend about using his friends as couriers.

Speaking of which…

Your phone rings again the moment you sit down and angrily stab the utensil into the closest container. You really can’t be bothered to use dishes that you’d have to wash later.

You accept the call and put your boyfriend on speaker.

“Hi… Joshua texted me he dropped off the food?” Jun sounds timid, careful almost.

“Yeah, he did,” you play with the food without raising any to your lips, “I hope you paid him.”

“No, but I owe him one,” he chuckles, still tense, “You know how he is.”

You hum. You do. But that still doesn’t mean your boyfriend should take advantage of his friend’s kindness to bring you food when he’s too busy. It’s not like any of them ever have too much time on their hands to be doing this.

“I… I just thought it would be okay this way,” his voice softens, “That you could avoid social interaction but still get the food delivered. I told Shua to leave you alone.”

You hum again. Not that you mind talking to Jun, he’s always the only exception, but you’re tired. And hungry, yet the idea of picking up the food, chewing, swallowing just seems so exhausting.

“I’m sorry,” Jun’s voice drops into a whisper, “But you need to eat.”

“I know,” you murmur, “And thank you. It’s just I really don’t feel like it even though I’m so hungry right now.”

It’s quiet on the other side for a moment, and then you hear him talking away from the phone - asking Soonyoung for a short break. You can’t hear what the response is but the next thing you hear is the door closing and Jun’s fast steps.

“What happened?” you ask, smiling a little as you imagine your boyfriend speeding through the corridors.

“I’ll facetime you in a bit, yeah? We can eat together,” his voice is full of determination and confidence that you don’t share.

“You’re going to eat in the middle of practice?” your eyebrow raises on its own.

“...Yes.”

There’s another slight pause.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” you chuckle. You still haven’t found the will to take a bite. Sharing a meal with Jun sounds nice, though. It’s highly unlikely it’s actually going to help with the predicament you’re in but the idea really is nice.

“You don’t have to eat much, I won’t either,” he coaxes you softly. You hear more doors opening and closing. Then something that sounds like a fridge and him rummaging around. “Just eat something, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” you promise.

“I’ll turn on the camera now,” Jun warns while he, at least judging by the sound, puts the food in the microwave. 

You just admire his pretty face while he waits for the food to warm up and try to push down the nausea. It’s hunger, it must be. But it does nothing to help you feel like eating. Your boyfriend yaps on about his day so far, about the practice, whines a little about how hard the new choreo is. It’s soothing, comforting. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t help much.

New wave of guilt washes over you when he sits down with his food and looks at you hopefully. You need to eat. You really need to. If for no other reason, then at least so that he doesn’t worry and can fully focus on the practice.

Finally you force your hands to move, your lips to open and your jaws to chew the first bite. Jun’s bright smile feels much better than the food you swallow.

“There we go,” he whispers to himself, trying to bite back the smile as he digs into his own lunch. You hear it anyway.

You smile a little too as you fight against your head to share a meal with him.

[act-nat-ural]

g’day! i saw that you're receiving requests: so is it OK to request osamu with his significant other who calls him "ochamu" instead of "osamu" just to get a reaction out of him? sort of like baby talking his name if that makes sense??? i think it's super funny that he might look at you like you're crazy at first then get used to it overtime (atsumu gives him the side eye every single time) 😭

but ofc, this is more of a suggestion if anything ^^ feel free to delete/ignore if it doesn't spark any inspo or you don't have any thoughts on it! ++ i know you wrote abt samu recently so maybe he should wait a little longer to get his turn PFFT. thanks for your time btw! i love your workssss ���

Baby Talk

note: I love your brain omg- this was so fun to write lol. Hope you like it!!!

“Ochamuuu, pay attention to me.”

The moment the word ‘Ochamu’ was uttered from your lips, Osamu did not react positively. Sitting on the other side of the sofa, you see his lip curl in disgust. The side eye directed towards you was lethal.

 “What. Was. That.” 

 It was hard, but you managed to hold your giggles in. You pull the most innocent face you can and say, “What do you mean, Ochamu?”

He immediately gags and puts his hand out at you. “Oh my god. No. Babe, what the fuck.” He's looking at you like you grew a second head. You laugh and punch his arm. 

“What? What did I do?” He raises his brows and laughs, perplexed.

 “What did ya do? Ya sound stupid. Don't do that again, it was creepy.” 

You giggle again and respond, “I love you, ‘chamu.” His frown gets even deeper as he stands up from the couch and walks away shaking his head.

 “I love you too, but no. Just no.”

–

“Ochamu, pass the salt please.” You ask sweetly. He stops mid bite and turns to you unimpressed.

 “Really? This again?” You hum and shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea what you are referring to, my dear husband.” He gives a small smile and resumes eating. 

“Now that's a nickname I can get behind. The other one, not so much. How the hell did ya come up with that anyway?” He questions, finally handing you what you asked for. 

“I honestly don’t know. I think it came to me in a dream or something.” You gasp. “It was a message from a higher power. Ochamu is your destined nickname, I'm sure of it.” He lets out a little chuckle at that and places a kiss on your cheek.

 “Sure, whatever. If it keeps you entertained, I'll allow it.”

–

“Ochamu, have you seen my brush?” You inquire as you pop your head out of the bathroom. He's sitting on your bed, scrolling through his phone. 

Without looking up, he answers, “It's on the dresser, baby.” You bite back a smile. 

“Not a single comment this time, huh?” He blinks and glances up at you. 

“What do ya mean?”

You let out a shocked laugh. “Wha- you didn’t even notice?! I used that nickname you hate.” He groans and throws a pillow at you. “Yer usin’ it too damn much! Messin’ with my head!” He huffs and crosses his arms. You roll your eyes and move to sit down next to him. 

“Admit you like the baby talk.” He gives you another dose of side eye.

 “I’d rather not.”

–

You, Osamu, and Atsumu had all decided to go grocery shopping for dinner ingredients. Rather, you and Osamu were, and Atsumu tagged along because he was bored. Osamu was in charge of the list, Atsumu was pushing the cart, and you were the one grabbing the ingredients. You were walking aisle to aisle, taking your time, while Atsumu was grumbling like a bored child.

“Ochamu, what's next on the list?” He opens his mouth to respond but gets cut off.

“Ew, what the hell?” Atsumu makes a grossed out face and does a barfing motion. “Yer such a weirdo! ‘Samu, ya let her call ya that?!” Osamu scoffs and takes your hand, leaving Atsumu behind. 

“Yer just jealous yer single. Scrub.” You can still hear Atsumu squawking when you get to the next aisle.

[noodle-is-unstable]

I'll be real honest here, having my Asks spammed with things like

"More Group Chats"

"Write more Group Chats"

"I liked the Group Chats, write more"

Etc, actually feels a lot like saying "Dance monkey dance" for your entertainment

I mainly feel that way because my pinned post and the Group Chat Master List and on the only Group Chat SMAU I've posted so far that I'll drop them every Monday. I make it very obvious that yes, more group chats will come...on Monday's. Demanding them or spamming my asks isn't a great way to make more come out. In fact my spite wants to overwrite everything and just not do it

I will, because I like the group chats, but this is a friendly reminder that content creators aren't here to just write on command. Most of us do it because we like it, we aren't paid for it, this is something we do in our free time

Spamming things like this will often have the opposite effect that you want. Please just read. I do my best to make things clear and concise. Or simply ask if more will come out. This is just unnecessary. Even this post is mostly unnecessary but this is like the 5th time it's happened. This obviously goes for other things too like asking for part 2 of things I've stated will not have a part 2 or blatently ignoring my rules and requesting something I state I won't do, this is just the most recent

Again, I am so thankful you like my work enough to make Requests or ask for more of things but this isn't the way to go about it

This isn't directed at 95% of you, but it still needs to be said. Respect the creators you enjoy and they'll keep making content you enjoy

Thanks for coming to my Noodle Talk, back to regularly scheduled shenanigans and chaos, much love to you guys 💖

[rootedinrevisions]

Five Years

SUMMARY: Five years of friendship. Years of silent longing. One night that changes everything. When Tyler Owens, a charming, rugged man with a penchant for keeping things casual, finds himself at a crossroads with the woman he's secretly loved for years, he realizes he might have waited too long. After one too many moments where you've been left wanting more, you find yourself torn between the comfort of their deep connection and the pain of being stuck in the friend zone. Tyler has one last shot to show you that he’s not just the man you turn to in the hard moments—but the man who can make you believe in love, again.

A/N: Sorry for all the angsty Tyler lately! It's just been the mood/vibe lately so I've been rolling with it! Thanks to the person who sent this request in! I hope you like it!

PROMPT: "What was he doing back there? Flirting with you like he has a fucking chance?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It’s late, the kind of quiet that comes when the night has softened everything into shadows. You and Tyler are back in the motel room, tangled together in bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm drapes over you, and you’re curled into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of whiskey lingers between you, mingling with the warmth of his skin, and you can still taste him faintly on your lips. Another night, another round of kisses exchanged under the dim motel lights, like something fragile and fleeting.

He stirs, his hand brushing along your back, and you wonder if he’s on the edge of sleep or just drifting in that space in between like you are. For a moment, you’re tempted to ask him the question that’s always on the tip of your tongue: What are we doing?

Instead, you stay silent, breathing in sync with him, wondering if he can feel the way your heart skips each time he holds you like this. He shifts, drawing you a little closer, and you catch a glimpse of something in his expression—something soft, maybe even vulnerable. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly slurred. “You’re comfortable, right?” His hand rests at the curve of your hip, fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You nod, managing a quiet, “Yeah. Always.” You know he’ll pretend he doesn’t remember this in the morning, brush it off like it’s nothing, and you’ll let him because it’s easier that way. But tonight, you can pretend a little too—that these quiet moments mean the same to him as they do to you.

You close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending before you’re forced to admit the truth—to yourself, if not to him.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, “So… I just found out I’m being inducted into the PBR Hall of Fame.”

You blink, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. A smile lights up your face. “Tyler, that’s amazing! I mean, I knew you were a big deal, but… Hall of Fame?”

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head with that familiar modesty. “Yeah, kinda crazy, huh? Guess all those years getting tossed around finally paid off.”

You laugh, knowing he’s downplaying it. You’ve seen some of those old videos, clips of him taking on bulls with more force and heart than anyone you’d ever met. 

“No one deserves it more than you,” you say softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away, and then, clearing his throat, he glances back at you. 

“Thanks, means a lot,” he says, his voice softer. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Actually… I get a plus one to the induction ceremony. I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me?”

Your heart skips at that. He doesn’t even pause to consider anyone else; he’s asking you. For a moment, you feel a surge of excitement that maybe this is more than just a friendly invite. But just as quickly, doubt seeps in. If he had a girlfriend, he’d take her, wouldn’t he? A familiar ache settles in your chest, the quiet reminder that maybe this is just about convenience for him.

“Are you sure?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, and casual. “I mean, you could take anyone.”

He glances at you with a soft smile, his eyes sincere. “Nah. Can’t think of anyone better. You’d come, right?”

The words are on the tip of your tongue—Of course, I’ll go. 

Instead, you hesitate, just for a second, wondering if this is just a placeholder invitation until he finds someone to fill the spot he’s never openly said he wants to be filled. But you can’t bear the thought of missing the moment, so you nod, managing a smile. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He grins, pulling you back into his chest, and you settle against him, feeling the warmth of his arm around you. But even as you breathe him in, letting the steady beat of his heart calm you, a question begins to take root in your mind. Where do we really stand, Tyler?

It’s a question you keep to yourself, swallowing it down as you close your eyes and listen to the silence settle around you once again.

* * * * *

The ballroom buzzed with energy and anticipation, and you could sense the excitement radiating from Tyler beside you. The event space was elegantly decorated, with every table set with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. But you hardly noticed any of it; all your focus was on Tyler. This was his night. And you were honored to be here with him, even if you didn’t quite know what that meant for the two of you.

You eventually found your way to your seats near the front of the room, and Tyler’s hand brushed against yours as you sat down. His fingers lingered just a moment, a subtle contact that sent a rush of warmth up your arm. 

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed as the emcee took to the stage, announcing the start of the ceremony. The audience fell quiet, and Tyler’s hand was warm on your knee, a comforting weight that made your heart race. You glanced down at his hand, then back up to his face, wondering if he even realized the effect he had on you.

A part of you wanted to reach for his hand again, to close the gap between you both once and for all, but you stayed still, holding your breath as the ceremony began.

As the awards were announced one by one, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Tyler. He seemed to sit straighter with each name called, his eyes never leaving the stage. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the emcee announced Tyler’s name, and the room burst into applause. You clapped the loudest, your heart swelling with pride.

You watched as Tyler walked to the stage, his stride steady and confident, shoulders back with that natural charisma he carried wherever he went. When he accepted his award, he stood there with his plaque, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed on you. The spotlight hit his face, highlighting the small, crooked smile you knew so well. And his eyes—dark, intense, focused on you—seemed to say something unspoken.

You felt your breath catch, frozen under his gaze, and for a second, it was like you were the only two people in the room.

His acceptance speech was simple and heartfelt. He thanked the people who had been there with him through the highs and lows. He spoke of long, hard days, the sacrifices he’d made, and the passion that drove him. But you could’ve sworn that when he mentioned his gratitude for “the people who kept him grounded,” his eyes found you once again.

As Tyler wrapped up his speech and made his way back to his seat, you barely had a chance to process the pride you felt for him, for everything he’d accomplished. But that brief moment when he’d looked at you on stage lingered in your mind, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Could it have meant something more?

He sat back down next to you, and you leaned over, unable to keep the smile from your face. “That was incredible, Ty. I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you, a soft chuckle escaping as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. I think I might’ve fumbled a little bit up there.”

“Not even close,” you replied, squeezing his arm. “You were perfect.”

The atmosphere at the afterparty was more relaxed, a contrast to the formality of the ceremony.

The room buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone here to celebrate the achievements of legends, past and present. You’re standing beside Tyler, trying to blend into the background of the room’s energy. But then, without warning, Tyler reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before intertwining them completely. It’s such a small gesture, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. He glances at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment, almost as if he’s silently asking if this is okay, if you’re okay. You squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll understand that, yes, this is more than okay.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, his voice low and soft. He leads you through the crowd toward a man with a broad smile and lines etched deep around his eyes—Tyler’s old mentor. Tyler introduces you with a genuine warmth that makes you feel like you belong here, like you’re not just an accessory to his big night but someone he wants by his side.

As they begin chatting, Tyler’s hand drifts to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your hip as he pulls you closer, fitting you against his side. You feel a warmth blossom in your chest, and for a moment, the nagging doubts you’d been harboring vanish. His mentor jokes about old times, and Tyler laughs, giving your waist a small squeeze as if to share the moment with you. You let yourself lean into him, letting his warmth melt away the walls you’d tried to build around your heart.

But then, as the conversation comes to a close, he lets go. Just like that, his hand falls from your waist, and he takes a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets, a casual smile on his face. He glances around the room, no longer focused on you, and the sudden distance sends a chill down your spine. You’re standing side by side, but the connection feels fractured, like a missed beat. He begins walking next to you, his attention now elsewhere, no hand-holding, no gentle touches to keep you close.

Half an hour later you’re standing next to Tyler, trying to stay engaged with the conversation he’s having with an old friend he used to ride with, someone who knows a side of him you’ve only heard about in stories. Tyler’s posture is easy, his laugh warm and unguarded in a way that you rarely get to see. You watch him as he reminisces, letting yourself get lost in the sound of his laughter, in the way his eyes light up with a spark of the past. But as they continue to talk, it becomes clear that he’s in his own world, like you’re not even there.

The laughter between them grows, each memory shared drawing them further back into the years before you knew him. You shift your weight, feeling a slight ache in your chest as you realize just how separate you feel from this part of his life. A sense of loneliness creeps in, one you can’t shake, and you find yourself glancing toward the bar. Maybe a drink will help dull the sting.

You start to turn, your heart heavy, but just then, you feel Tyler’s hand reach out, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. The touch is so familiar, so comforting, and for a brief second, that hopeful warmth flickers back to life. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching his eye, a hint of something unreadable there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter, as if trying to break through to you despite the noise around.

You swallow, forcing a smile to cover the twinge of sadness that’s growing in your chest. “Yeah,” you say softly, nodding toward the bar. “Just thirsty. Thought I’d grab a drink.”

He nods, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go, turning back to his friend with that easy laugh that now feels like a barrier you can’t quite cross. You turn away, your heart sinking as you walk toward the bar, feeling the absence of his hand like a chill creeping over your skin. You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that settles heavy and cold. Just moments ago, he was intertwining your fingers, holding you close with his hand on your waist, like you were more than just a companion for the night.

How did it change so quickly? How did he go from holding you, grounding you with those intimate touches, to leaving you in this limbo of almost but not quite? You realize that, despite how much he means to you, there’s a line between you that he doesn’t seem ready to cross. And that thought hurts more than you want to admit.

You’re leaning against the bar, lost in thought, when a voice breaks through the noise, smooth and warm. “Hey there. You look like you could use some company.”

You glance up to find a guy with a charming grin and a relaxed confidence that’s instantly disarming. He extends a hand. “Eli Vastbinder,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

For a moment, you’re taken off guard, but you shake his hand and introduce yourself, motioning to where Tyler’s standing in the distance. “I’m here with Tyler Owens.”

At the mention of Tyler’s name, a flicker of something—maybe disappointment, maybe surprise—crosses Eli’s face before he recovers his smile. “Owens, huh? How do you know the Tornado Wrangler?”

You can’t help but laugh at the nickname, feeling some of the tension ease as you explain. “We work together. I help him run his YouTube channel.”

Eli’s gaze shifts from Tyler back to you, a curious glint in his eye as if he’s sizing up the situation. He doesn’t linger on it for long, though, before flashing you a daring smile. “So, just coworkers, huh? In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I bought you a drink?”

The question lingers, sparking a twist of hesitation in your chest. You glance over at Tyler, hoping for some kind of sign, some acknowledgment of what you’re feeling. Your eyes meet his, and he offers you a casual smile before turning his attention back to his friend. The moment leaves you cold—another reminder of all the times he’s pulled you close, only to leave you feeling as if you’re just out of reach.

You turn back to Eli, a decision settling in your mind. Tyler isn’t claiming you. He never has. And he’s had five years to do so.

You give Eli a small smile. “Sure, why not?”

Eli’s grin widens as he orders your drink, leaning in just slightly as he asks about your work with Tyler. He’s charming, effortlessly making you feel seen and appreciated. There’s a warm intensity in his gaze, like he’s genuinely interested in hearing about your life, in learning the pieces of you that Tyler seems to take for granted. You laugh at his jokes, leaning in as he tells stories about the crazy things he’s seen on the road. Every so often, his hand brushes yours, sending a little thrill through you—like something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in far too long.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. There’s no ambiguity with Eli; his attention is clear, unburdened by mixed signals or unspoken boundaries. It’s refreshing, exciting, even, to be the center of someone’s focus without second-guessing their intentions.

You glance over at Tyler once more, but he’s still wrapped up in conversation, seemingly unaware of the ache you’ve carried alone. A part of you wants him to notice, to see what’s happening, to finally feel the urgency you’ve held onto for years. But there’s another part of you that’s finished waiting.

As you turn back to Eli, you find yourself smiling, the kind of smile that feels like letting go.

You’re laughing at something Eli just said, a relaxed warmth in your chest that’s been missing around Tyler lately, when you feel a familiar presence behind you. You glance back, and there he is—Tyler, wearing that easy smile that’s disarmed you a hundred times before. He leans close, his hand slipping around your waist, fingers warm and possessive against your hip. “Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, the pet name rolling off his tongue as naturally as the smirk tugging at his lips.

But Tyler doesn’t stop there. His gaze shifts to Eli, assessing him for a beat, and then extends a hand. “I see you’ve met my date,” he says, voice casual but with a certain edge, like a claim staked.

You freeze, glancing up at him, surprised and confused by his sudden assertiveness. Eli’s expression mirrors your own—slightly perplexed, eyebrows lifting as he takes Tyler’s hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes flicker back to you, questioning. “Date? I thought you two were just coworkers,” he remarks, eyes shifting meaningfully to Tyler’s hand, still resting on your hip.

Before you can answer, Tyler lets out a dismissive scoff, as if the notion of you two being “just coworkers” is absurd. “Coworkers?” he echoes, his hand tightening just a fraction. “Yeah, we’re a little closer than that.” He shoots a look at you that’s both playful and possessive.

You feel your blood simmer, heat rising in your chest at the presumption in his tone. As if you’re some claim he can lay when it’s convenient, without any real commitment. You step out of his grip, your voice firm as you say, “We are just coworkers.” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t soften them.

Tyler’s smile falters, his brow furrowing, but you’ve already turned away, excusing yourself quickly to Eli before slipping out toward the exit.

Humiliation washes over you, prickling your skin as you push through the crowd, needing fresh air, needing space. You had been enjoying a perfectly nice conversation with Eli, feeling appreciated and even flattered, until Tyler decided to swoop in and turn the moment into something possessive and confusing.

As you reach the hallway, you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. Tears blur your vision, and you blink them back, furious with yourself for letting Tyler get to you like this. You’re tired—tired of being in his orbit only when he wants you to be, of being treated as something more only when it suits him. Because heaven forbid another guy notices you.

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft murmur of voices drifting from the ballroom as you stand there, waiting for the elevator. The moment stretches, tense and thick, when you hear his footsteps behind you, his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around. “Tyler… don’t.” The plea is barely above a whisper, but he ignores it, closing the distance between you, his face etched with frustration.

“What was he doing back there?” he asks, motioning down the hall toward the ballroom, his tone hard, possessive. “Flirting with you like he has a chance?”

Your heart twists painfully at his words. His tone says it all—like he assumes you’re his, like it’s obvious. Like you should know.

But you’re done with the assumptions. The words spill out before you can stop them, thick with months, years, of unspoken hurt. “And why would you care, Tyler?” Your voice cracks, and you feel the first tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. “It’s not like we’re together, right? You said it yourself—we’ll never be anything more than friends. We’re just…” You falter, searching for the right words, but the truth tumbles out, raw and painful. “We’re just really close, and we make out sometimes. Nothing more.”

The weight of it hangs in the air, and you can see the impact of your words in the way his face falls, his expression softening, regretful. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out, but you shake your head, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling to the surface.

“No, Tyler.” You step back, keeping the space between you. “I’m done. I’m done with this… with you.” Your voice shakes, but the conviction is there, clear and sharp. “I’m done not being good enough. Done being yours only when you want someone on your arm or in your bed. I can’t keep doing this.” You wipe a tear from your cheek, gathering whatever strength you have left. “I’m done with everything. Our friendship. The channel. All of it.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open with a quiet chime. You glance back at him one last time, taking in the hurt and confusion in his eyes. 

“Go back to the party, Tyler. It’s your night. You deserve it.”

You step into the elevator, pressing the button as the doors start to close. The last thing you see before they shut is him standing there, looking lost and completely, utterly alone.

Back in the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you feel the emotions from the hallway encounter with Tyler crash over you. It’s almost overwhelming, but you shake your head, determined to focus on the immediate task. You kick off your heels and reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it slide down as the gown falls in a pool around your feet. You step out of it, scooping it up to drape over the chair, and head to your bag, ready to change and leave before you can overthink it.

Digging through your clothes, you pull out the first shirt, but frustration prickles at you when you realize it’s one of Tyler’s. With an annoyed huff, you toss it on the bed. You dig deeper, pulling out another… his again. Why didn’t I pack more of my own clothes? you think bitterly, remembering that his shirts have been your usual comfort, your routine.

Finally, you find one of your own t-shirts and pull it on, then slide into a pair of jeans. You run a hand over your face, taking a deep breath to keep yourself from falling apart, and open your suitcase, methodically folding the rest of your things and stowing them away. As you pack, a plan begins to form, each step sounding clearer in your mind. You’ll finish packing, get a car downstairs to a nearby hotel for the night, and fly back tomorrow. It might be an awkward plane ride home, but you’ll put in headphones, turn away, and then… you’ll walk away from Tyler James Owens for good.

With your bag nearly ready, you look around the room one last time, eyes falling on the small pile of his things on the bed. His shirts, the ones you’ve wrapped yourself in so many times, now just reminders of all the blurred lines that never became anything real. You turn away, inhaling deeply to steady yourself, willing the resolve to carry you through whatever comes next.

You reach for the handle of your suitcase, ready to walk out of Tyler’s life for good, when the hotel room door opens behind you. Your heart races, and for a second you want to pretend you don’t notice him there, but when you turn, his expression says he’s already figured out exactly what’s happening. His eyes drop to the half-packed suitcase, then back to your face. His look of confusion shifts into something desperate.

“Please,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, almost raw. “Please, stay. We can talk about this. Just… don’t leave. Not like this.”

You shake your head, fighting the tears that are already building again. “Tyler, I’m done,” you say, your voice trembling. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You keep me close enough to feel like there’s something between us, but it’s never anything more. It’s just not fair anymore.”

You curse under your breath, blinking hard as the tears spill over. You don’t want him to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, hurt. Swallowing back a sob, you start to walk past him, head held high even as you feel yourself shattering. Just as your hand reaches for the door, he says it. Those three words you’ve been waiting for, holding onto, for what feels like forever.

“I love you.”

It stops you cold, and you stand there, hand frozen on the doorknob, not sure if you actually heard him or if it’s just some desperate wish in your mind. But then he speaks again.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steady, almost pleading. “And if you love me—if you can still love me—then I’m asking you to stay and just… hear me out. But if you’re done with me, really done, and I’ve already lost you… then go.”

The silence hangs between you, thick and charged. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, and there’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Vulnerability, sincerity, something real and unguarded. He’s finally opened himself up, given you the one thing you’ve been longing to hear, but the choice to stay or leave is yours.

Your chest tightens as you search his face, feeling the weight of all the years, the almosts, the near-misses, the longing. He stands there, his hands clenched at his sides, waiting, as if he’s holding his breath.

“You… really love me?” you whisper, the words barely audible.

“Yes,” he breathes, stepping toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I just… didn’t know how to show it, and I was afraid if I did, you’d walk away. But losing you… that’s the one thing I’m really afraid of.”

You take a shaky breath, looking into his eyes, feeling every bit of his honesty, and for the first time, he’s offering you everything, without conditions, without holding back. The pain and hurt are still there, but as he waits, the tears in his own eyes now, you feel something else rising to the surface—a glimmer of hope.

The words are out before you can stop them.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Tyler steps forward, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand the storm inside you. He reaches up, hesitantly at first, as though unsure if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, his hands gently cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. His thumbs swipe at the tears still streaking down your cheeks, wiping them away as if he can erase all the pain he’s caused with one simple gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For not telling you sooner, for not making a move sooner… for making you feel like you don’t matter. For making you cry. You deserve so much more than that.”

You’re frozen, his words sinking deep into the cracks of your heart that you didn’t even know were there. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a silent apology that speaks louder than anything else could.

He takes a deep breath, his voice low but sincere. “I know I’ve messed up, but I’m asking… can you give me another chance? To do it right this time? To take you on a real date, to buy you flowers, to tell the world that you’re mine… to be proud to have you by my side. I want to do this right, with you. Will you give me one more chance?”

The weight of his words hangs between you, and you feel the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack. He’s standing there, fully exposed, offering you everything he’s held back for so long. The room feels smaller, the air thicker as you look into his eyes, where you see nothing but vulnerability and hope.

You swallow hard, emotions warring inside you. You’ve wanted this—wanted him—to say it, to fight for you. And now that he is, you’re not sure whether to run or to stay. But as you stand there, feeling the sincerity in his touch and his words, something shifts. The hurt, the confusion, the loneliness—it all starts to unravel, replaced by a flicker of something new: hope.

You take a breath, your voice barely more than a whisper, but clear enough for him to hear. “Last chance, Owens.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s softer, more relieved than triumphant. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Instead, he just pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a hug that’s full of promise, the kind that says he’s never letting you go. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe him.

You stand there, still in his arms, the weight of his words sinking in. The tension that had built up over the last few days—hell, the last few years—seems to fade away in that moment. Tyler’s hands are warm on your back, his arms strong around you as if he’s holding on, not just to you, but to everything that was between you two. His breath is steady, the pulse in his chest calming yours. He doesn’t let go, not yet. You don’t want him to.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Words were said, the hurt was aired out, and now, the only thing left is the silence between you—a silence that feels like the promise of something better, something real.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft, full of regret and hope. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears. "I meant every word," he says quietly, his voice steady but raw. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

You nod, feeling something inside you shift, finally able to let go of the heaviness that had been pulling at you for far too long. You offer him a small smile, your fingers brushing his lightly as you give him a gentle squeeze.

He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Hey…” His voice is quieter now, almost like he's considering his next words carefully. "How about we skip the rest of the party downstairs? We can grab some pizza, put on a movie, just... relax in here."

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion, but something about the simplicity of it feels perfect. You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

Tyler’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face. “Good. Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll order the pizza. Whatever you want.”

You feel a sudden sense of relief wash over you. It’s not just the break from the chaos of the night, but the quiet, intimate comfort of knowing that it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. 

Tyler watches you for a moment, his smile softening as he watches you dig through your suitcase for something comfortable. You pull out a pair of sweatpants, replacing your jeans, and as you move to crawl onto the bed, he’s already a step ahead of you.

Before you can sit down, he reaches for the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it up over your head. You freeze, giving him a confused look, about to protest. "Tyler, I’m really not in the mood—"

He cuts you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Not like that," he says, his voice teasing but warm. "Trust me, I’m not asking for anything like that."

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but Tyler doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. Instead, he reaches down into your suitcase and pulls out one of the t-shirts you had tossed aside earlier—one of his shirts. He holds it out to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Here,” he says, “put this one on instead.”

You take the shirt from him, still a little baffled. “What’s wrong with my other shirt?”

Tyler grins, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer, leaning down slightly as if he’s about to let you in on a secret. 

“Because it’s not your boyfriend’s,” he says, his voice low and almost teasing. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you wear my shirt to bed.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. It’s the little things like this—the small gestures, the inside jokes, the way he’s already making you feel like you belong—that make the tension from earlier seem a little less heavy.

You slip the shirt on, and Tyler's eyes soften when he sees you in it, the way it fits just right, the way it looks like it belongs on you. You glance up at him as you finish adjusting it, your voice quieter now, full of warmth. “This better for you, boyfriend?”

"Yes." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "I think you look pretty damn perfect in it."

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened earlier melts away, leaving you with nothing but the quiet comfort of his presence. You sit down on the bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the spot beside you. "So, pizza and movies?"

Tyler nods, settling in beside you, having traded his tuxedo for sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hand finds its way to yours as he lets out a contented sigh. "Sounds like the perfect way to spend the night."

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things are exactly where they need to be.

[anna-hawk]

Pardon my French

Michael “Mikey” Berzatto x Reader

Summary: You should never assume that the person you're talking about in another language doesn't happen to speak that same language. Rating: T | WC: 5.8k CW: none except my sense of humor, French-speaking reader, French, crack, fluff, meet-cute

Read it on AO3

The happiest of birthdays to my favorite person on here, @darlingshane. Amaya, I don't even know what I could say that I haven't already said 100 times. All I will say is that I love you from the bottom of my heart and that having you as a close friend has been a wonderful experience these past 4 years 🧡🧡🧡

This time, as a gift, I decided to go for Mikey, considering how much you've grown to love him. Your fics for him are some of your best, with “Salt of the Earth”, so I thought I could do a little homage. I was reading through a list of prompts for meet-cutes last month and this really spoke to me. Your Spanish reader fics were extremely fun, which was what inspired me and made me decide to make this into your gift. While I obviously can't write a Spanish reader, I thought you would enjoy something with a French reader instead.

✨Have fun and again, happy birthday!✨

Taking a left at the next street corner, you quickly hurried across the road when you saw the green traffic light for pedestrians. 

“You really suck, Caroline,” you grumbled into your phone, as the chill of November blasted a cold gust of wind into your face. 

Your cousin laughed before sighing deeply. “I know… Trust me, this was not what I had in mind for today either.” 

You sighed in turn as you glanced around for a place to head inside and warm up a bit. “How’s the fever?”

“It’s a bit lower. She’s sleeping for now.” 

“Good,” you smiled at the relief in your cousin’s voice. 

You had intended to spend the day together, but her daughter had come down with a nasty cold that had held both parents up for most of the night. 

“What’s the plan now?” Caroline asked right as you entered the nearest shop to get out of the cold wind. 

As soon as you were inside, you were met with the sound of shouting from the register as someone called out orders, while the delicious smell of homemade food hit your nose. 

“Getting something to eat,” you replied distractedly while taking in your surroundings. 

You hadn’t noticed what kind of establishment you’d entered, but since you hadn’t had breakfast that morning, and with the scents all around you, you figured that you could grab a bite. 

“Oh, where?”

“Dunno.” You looked around until you saw a white sign with green lettering. “The Beef… some small place selling Italian beef, apparently… Smells really good,” you added, as you walked up towards the small line at the register. 

“Yo, cuz, what’cha doin’ back there?” the man at the register bellowed to the back of the shop. “People fuckin’ waitin’ here. Get a fuckin’ move on.”

“Fuck you, Richie. You come back here if-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Will you calm the fuck down, yeah?” said another man, who was straightening from where he’d been looking for something under the counter next to the shouting one. 

Your eyes instantly slid to that man, taking note of the thick, dark hair on top of his head, the sharp jaw and the broad shoulders stretching out the shirt. 

“Ah, ben maintenant je sais pourquoi ça s’appelle The Beef, (Well, now I know why it's called The Beef),” you uttered into the phone, automatically switching to French to talk to your cousin, while giving the man a slow once over as you reached the front of the line. 

She laughed heartily and made a curious sound. “Pourquoi? (Why?)” 

“Hey, what can I get for you today, sweetheart?” asked the guy called Richie as he shot you a smile. 

You unfortunately had to look away from the other man and smiled as you looked at the sandwich list. 

“Hold on a sec,” you addressed Caroline. “Hey, hi… um… an Original would be good, thanks… and a soda, please.”

“Sure thing… want it to go or you stayin’?” 

“Not going back into that wind for a while if possible,” you stated fervently, which had Richie chuckling, while the dark-haired man snorted and nodded his head as he finished another order. 

“Right, that’ll be $8.50… Go have a seat. We’ll send someone out in a sec.” 

Nodding and quickly paying while Richie bellowed your order towards the back, you made your way to the two-person table that had the best vantage point on the register. 

“We’ll definitely have to come back here,” you stated to your cousin, as you sat down and removed your coat while you watched the dark-haired man smiling or shouting his way through the orders. 

“I think I’ve actually heard of the place. The name sounds familiar anyway. Family run business, I think.”

“Sure looks like it. From the way they keep freaking yelling at each other, it probably is.” 

“So… tell me more about this Mr. Beef,” she snickered. 

Switching over to your earphones to make eating easier while talking to Caroline, you made a more detailed description of the man’s features. 

A few minutes later, you sat up straight when you noticed him coming into your direction with your order. “He’s coming over, hold on.”

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he smiled, placing the sandwich and soda in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you grinned, hearing him calling you sweetheart having a wholly different effect on you than when Richie had said it. 

“Lemme know if you need anything else,” he requested, while pulling a rag out of his apron and walking backwards to the table next to yours. 

“Thanks. I’m good for now.” 

He nodded and turned around, which revealed his denim clad backside to you.

“Tu sais quoi? Je ne t’en veux même plus de ne pas être venue, (You know what? I'm not even mad you couldn't come anymore.),” you told your cousin, as your eyes fixed on the moving ass before you while the man cleaned the table-top.  

She snorted at your tone. “Et qu’est-ce qui te fait dire ça? (And what’s making you say this?)”

“Et bien… Il est en train de nettoyer la table juste à côté de la mienne… Et je peux te dire qu’il a une belle paire de miches**. C’est sur elles que j’aimerais manger cet Italian beef. (Well… He's cleaning the table right next to mine… And let me tell you that he has a gorgeous ass. I'd rather eat that Italian beef on that.)”

She burst out laughing this time. “T’es pas possible. (You're the worst.) ” 

You grinned at her laughter, while continuing to watch the man, who'd stopped for a second before resuming cleaning the table.

“Je les pétrirais volontiers celles-là. (I'd love to knead that.)” 

“Toi et tes blagues de bouffe. (You and your food jokes),” she wheezed, and you could easily imagine her shaking her head. 

You chuckled lightly and bit into your sandwich, which turned out to be delicious. You moaned your appreciation. 

“We're so coming back here,” you said with enthusiasm and took another bite. 

The man turned around and shot you an amused smirk, before walking up to your table and leaning slightly into your space.

“Et comme mes miches, tout est fait maison ici. (And like my ass, everything here's homemade.)”

Your mouth fell open and only reflexes kept the sandwich from slipping through your fingers as you stared at him in utter shock. He winked at you and began walking to the next room where other tables stood. 

“Oublie ce que je viens de dire… Je dois quitter la ville, (Forget what I said… I need to leave town.),” you said feebly, while staring after him and hearing him laughing at your words. 

“Hein? Pourquoi? Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? (Huh? Why? What happened?)”

“Caro…” you whispered, still in shock. “Il parle français. (Caro… He speaks French.)” 

There was a second of silence, soon followed by your cousin's loud, screaming laughter coming through the earphones. 

“Qu'est-ce qu'il a dit? (What did he say?)” she gasped out in between peels of laughter. 

“Que, comme ses miches, tout est fait maison ici. (That, like his ass, everything here's homemade.),” you mumbled, while putting the sandwich down and hiding your face in your hands. 

She laughed even more, cackling through wheezing breaths. 

“I can't show my face here anymore,” you groaned, looking forlornly at your sandwich. 

“Was he angry? From what he told you, he didn't seem to be.”

“No… he looked amused. But that's not the point… I talked about kneading that man's ass right in front of him,” you moaned and shook your head. 

Caroline chuckled lightly. “At least you weren't badmouthing him.” 

You only hummed and folded up the sandwich. There was no way that you could eat this now. About to bemoan going back into the wind to escape your embarrassment, you heard your niece’s tiny voice calling for her mother. 

“Sorry, gotta go,” Caroline said hurriedly before speaking softly to her daughter. 

“No problem. Give her a big hug from me.”

“Will do… Keep me posted on the hot stranger situation.”

You snorted. “There's no situation at all. I'm gonna slink out of here and never come back.”

Caroline laughed softly. “Whatever… talk later.”

“Yeah, later.” 

You removed the earphones and placed them back into their case before checking your surroundings. How could you have been so stupid and run your mouth like that? Caroline was right, he didn’t look angry at all, but you’d rarely felt this embarrassed in your life. You quickly put everything into your bag and left a large tip on the table before getting up. As you put on your coat, you noticed the man standing in front of a wall as he checked the light fixture. Glad that he couldn’t see you, you were about to run out when something held you back. You bit over your bottom lip as you contemplated him and sighed deeply. 

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” you asked tentatively as you reached him. 

His head turned to you in surprise, before a large smirk appeared on his handsome face as he moved his whole body toward you. Damn, he really did look incredibly good. 

“What can I do for you?”

“Uh… well, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything. I’m always the first one to tell people to be careful with speaking another language in front of others and not assume they don’t understand you, but here I was doing it anyway,” you said in a rush, glancing at him in between words while mostly avoiding direct eye contact. 

“Eh, don't worry, it's not like you were talking shit about me so…” he trailed off with a light shrug, while his grin never left his face. 

“Maybe, but still… I'm sorry.”

“Don't be…” He leaned in closer as he lowered his voice. “Ça ne me gêne pas. Surtout quand ça vient d'une aussi belle bouche que la tienne. (I don't mind. Especially when it comes from a pretty mouth like yours.)” 

Your eyes widened, while you felt your whole face warming again when his gaze dropped to your parted lips. That’s not what you had expected him to say. 

“Well,” you breathed, your eyes locking with his as he looked up again. “Good to know.”

You stood there, watching each other for a few seconds, before Richie’s voice boomed through the snack. 

“Hey, Cuz, Fak’s on the line ‘bout the fridge.” 

The man in front of you didn’t react except to briefly lift his eyes toward where the voice was coming from before looking at you again. 

“Mikey!” 

“For fuck’s sake. I heard you. Tell him I’ll call him back in a sec,” he called out irritably. 

You laughed to yourself at his annoyance at being interrupted, which had his attention returning to you. Shaking his head with a small grin and a sigh, he put his hands in the pockets of the blue apron.

“You leaving already?” he asked after a beat, as he noticed that you had your coat on and your table was cleaned off. 

You grinned inwardly at the word already, as if he was regretting seeing you leave sooner than he had expected. 

“Yeah… think I’ll just head home for the day. No weather for nice walks outside.”

Mikey only hummed in agreement and looked down with a small crease between his brows. 

“But I’ll be back,” you blurted out, which had him staring back at you with raised eyebrows. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm… best Italian sandwich I’ve had… Need to have another taste and all.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he smiled, inclining his head to one side as he stared at you intently. 

You suddenly didn’t feel like leaving at all anymore, but sitting back down would seem weird now, right? He was obviously flirting with you, much to your surprised delight, yet you didn’t feel like coming across as too eager either. 

“‘Kay, then… I — uh — I’ll see you next time, I guess.” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he smiled softly, while his gaze remained focused on you. 

“Right… bye, Mikey,” you babbled, finally taking a step back just when you saw him grinning at you using his name. 

“A la prochaine. (Until next time),” he replied, following you towards the front of the shop. 

Your name came through your lips like a reflex, and you would have felt embarrassed about that too had Mikey not smiled at learning it. When he repeated the goodbyes with your name this time, you left with a wide smile and barely felt the wind across your skin as you headed home. 

**The word ‘ miche’ stands for a loaf of bread, but it’s often used to refer to someone’s butt because, as you can guess, of its rounded form. Reader wants to "knead that dough". 

After that day, you had returned as promised. 

On the first time, they’d had a busy day, with the line far longer than the last time you’d been there. Mikey hadn’t been at the register, which had disappointed you, but you’d still ordered the same thing as last time. You hadn’t lied when you’d said that it was the best Italian beef you’d had. As you’d been about to walk to a free table, Mikey had come out of the kitchen with a large tray filled with orders. He’d stopped in his tracks as he noticed you and smiled brightly in recognition. Unfortunately, this had been the only interaction that day, since he’d had to return to the kitchen immediately. 

On your third visit, Caroline insisted on coming along. She told you that she wanted to taste the infamous Italian beef that people raved about at her job, but you knew that it also was to get a look at Mikey. However, like last time, he wasn’t at the register. She looked at Richie and then back at you with a raised eyebrow, but you only rolled your eyes at her. 

“Il a les yeux bleus, celui-là (This one has blue eyes.).”

“De très beaux yeux bleus (Very pretty blue eyes.),” she commented with a smile directed at Richie, as he asked for your order.

Caroline ordered a few different things to bring home a little later, while you went with the original as both other times. Richie yelled the order to the back as always, while he invited you to take a seat. 

“Maybe he isn’t in,” Caroline said as she looked around herself. 

You shrugged as you took a napkin and folded it in half. “Maybe.” 

You wanted to sound nonchalant, but you seriously hoped that he’d be around. 

A little while later, the kitchen door opened, with Mikey stepping through it while talking to the person behind him. With your direct view of the register, you noticed him immediately. At your sudden silence, Caroline turned to look as well, which had you hissing at her to not be so obvious. 

“What? I’m just checking where my order is,” she waved her hand around at you, and you huffed. 

Mikey was still talking while he lifted his eyes to stare around the shop distractedly, only to notice you and smile as he spoke. Your face heated, and you bit your bottom lip at the way he smiled at you. You saw him say something to Richie, who looked towards your table before pointing at an order. 

“So?” You heard Caroline ask, but you were too busy watching as Mikey picked up the order and walked towards you.

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “So, these two for now” — he placed a sandwich in front of each of you along with your drinks. — “and this to-go, right?” He put a packed order in the center of the table. 

“Yes, thank you,” you smiled. 

“Alors c’est lui, pas vrai? (So, that’s him, right?)” Caroline asked while staring at him, which had you making wide eyes at her and groaning softly. 

“Caro…”

Mikey looked at her with a lifted eyebrow, before glancing at you with a smirk. 

“Oui, c’est moi (Yes, it’s me.),” he replied easily. 

Caroline grinned and nodded her head. “Alors, tout est fait maison ici, c’est bien ça? (So, everything’s homemade here, correct?)”

“Oh my God,” you whispered, and kicked your cousin under the table. 

Mikey laughed heartily and nodded. “Oui, absolument tout. (Yes, absolutely everything.)”

“Great. Good to know,” Caroline shrugged and sat back casually, like she was just a satisfied customer. 

Mikey chuckled and looked back at you with a sly smile. 

“Anything else I can get you guys?” 

“Nope, we’re good, thank you,” you quickly replied before Caroline could jump in and embarrass you more. 

Mikey nodded with another small laugh and walked off with a “Bon appétit. (Enjoy.)” 

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed at your cousin, who had the gall to snort and roll her eyes. 

“I had to see if the man can take a joke, and he does.” She took a bite from her sandwich and groaned in satisfaction as she chewed. “Besides, the man already knows you find him hot… Which, you were right about, he’s a good-looking dude… But, I’ll take the yelling, blue-eyed one,” she added matter-of-factly after taking another bite. 

You snorted at her words. Caroline was married to one of the chillest men on this planet, and she loved the hell out of him. But she’d always had a thing for the loud ones. Except that it never worked out with them because of her fiery personality. She and her husband balanced each other out perfectly, though. 

“Still, you didn’t have to remind him of what I said,” you grumbled, biting into your own sandwich. “I was more hoping he’d forget about it.” 

Caroline snorted softly. “That first impression is gonna be unforgettable. But I really don’t think he minds that at all… The opposite, really.”

“Right…” You rolled your eyes and sipped from your drink this time. “He might have flirted with me last time, but it doesn’t mean anything. He was just being nice.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said, while swallowing another bite and glancing at you with a smirk. “The attraction clearly does go both ways with how he can’t stop looking at you.” 

“What?” you asked in surprise and sat up straight in your chair. 

“He’s talking to customers a few tables over, and he’s looked at you at least ten times already.” 

You blinked at her at the revelation and ducked your head with a shrug. 

“Maybe he’s just looking at our table in general.”

“Yeah, right. I could be dancing around naked that he wouldn’t even notice it.”

This had you uttering a loud laugh of amusement, which turned into a small, pleased smile as you took in her words. 

“He’s coming back,” she whispered suddenly, having you jerking in your seat. 

“Ça vous plait? (Do you like it?)” he asked Caroline, although he glanced at you. 

“Aussi bon qu’on me l’avait dit. (As good as I was told.)” She nodded with a hum of approval. 

“Content de l’entendre… Et toi? (Glad to hear it… What about you?)” he glanced your way with a lifted eyebrow. 

“Délicieux (Delicious.),” you smiled, feeling your face warming as you saw your cousin watching the two of you with a smirk. 

Mikey nodded with a pleased smile and was about to say something when Richie called for him. He sighed. 

“Enjoy the rest of your meal,” he said and shot you a smile that was obviously only for you before he headed back. 

You followed him with your eyes until he vanished in the kitchen, which had you noticing Caroline’s lifted eyebrow that clearly said ‘told you so’.

“Could be dancing naked,” she repeated meaningfully with a smirk. 

Shaking your head at her with a small laugh, you went on eating the sandwich. 

An hour later, you left The Beef, but Mikey never came back from the kitchen. 

In the following weeks, The Beef became one of your regular places. It had everything to do with Mikey, obviously, however, as the weeks went on, you got into talking to the other people working there. The place was chaotic, with everyone running around and shouting obscenities at each other, but you quickly realized how deeply everyone cared about each other. Caroline, and even her husband, came along a couple more times. However, you mostly went by yourself. For the simple reason that Mikey would often come to your table and strike up a conversation whenever you went alone. 

You seriously enjoyed talking to him. He could be as loud and all over the place as the rest of the Beef’s staff, and flirt with you in a very obvious way, while he could also give off this more introverted and thoughtful persona. It was during the later moments that you talked the most, with Mikey sometimes sitting down at your table and talking about the most mundane stuff. You shared stories about your jobs and families, which told you that he also had a younger brother along with the younger sister you’d seen a couple of times. Watching her interact with the loud men in the restaurant, looking so sweet and calm, only to see her biting back if needed, had been an incredibly funny moment. 

Caroline was getting more and more frustrated with the two of you for not moving things along, though. However, you really didn’t care. Did you want there to be more? Yes, but you also genuinely enjoyed spending the time with Mikey the way that you currently were, despite how much you wanted to kiss him when he stared at you from under his eyebrows like he often did. Only time would tell, and you weren’t in any particular hurry. 

“Hey, Basic Beef. How’s it goin’ today?” Richie hollered as soon as he saw you. 

You chuckled at the nickname and walked up to him. Richie had taken to calling you that a few visits back after you’d been talking about your choice of order. He’d teased you about always taking the same thing and not being adventurous enough. To which you’d laughed and shrugged, telling him that you were okay with being a basic bitch. Richie had almost keeled over with laughter at your words, wheezing out the word Basic Beef. To no one’s surprise, Caroline had almost lost it after you’d told her the following day. These two got along far too well.

“Hey, Ducon. (Hey, Asshole),” you snorted and leaned against the counter. 

He grinned and turned towards the list of sandwiches with a hum of faked curiosity. 

“What will it be today?” he singsonged. 

“You’re such a dick,” you laughed. 

“Hey, Mikey,” Richie smirked, as he shouted to the back while maintaining eye contact with you. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

You groaned and shook your head, while you heard Mikey’s voice from the kitchen. 

“Hope you ain’t being a dick about her order again.”

Richie grinned at you, which had you fighting down the warmth rushing into your face at the fact that Mikey knew exactly who Richie was talking about. 

“Yes, he is,” you called out with a laugh to hide your embarrassment, knowing that the other customers could hear everything too. 

“She insulted me in French,” Richie threw back with mock outrage. 

“Serves you right,” Mikey said, stepping out of the kitchen with a wide grin directed at you. “Hey, Sweetheart.” 

“Hey,” you smiled. 

You saw Richie sighing and rolling his eyes at the two of you before moving towards the kitchen. “Guess I’ll be making that sandwich myself.” 

“God, you’re such a fucking drama queen,” Mikey snorted, while you laughed at Richie’s theatrics. “Can’t I just say hi?”

“That’s not sayin’ hi, cuz, that’s undressin’ her with your eyes.”

You almost choked on your spit, while Mikey closed his eyes as if praying for patience and sighed. “Why do I even let you work here?”

“Cause this place would come crashin’ down without me, asshole.” 

Mikey shoved him hard with a huff of a laugh and took a step back before looking at you and then back at Richie. 

“I’ll have that order out in two,” he finally said after looking at you again. 

“Uh, thanks,” you nodded, while Richie watched him with a raised eyebrow as Mikey made his way back to the kitchen.

Richie sighed again while you took out your wallet, and nodded at the customer who had just entered the place and was waiting behind you. Handing over the cash, your money was met by Richie waving it away. 

“Go have a seat, Love. It’s on the house tonight,” he said with a much softer tone. 

“Oh… Um, okay, thanks, Richie.”

“No problem,” he winked with a genuine smile. A smile that you returned easily. 

One thing had to be said about Richie; he might be loud and obnoxious most of the time, he was also a nice guy who you actually really liked. Putting everything back into your bag, you made your way to your usual table. 

As promised, Mikey was out with your order barely two minutes later. 

“There you go.” He placed everything neatly in front of you. 

“Thanks,” you smiled brightly, looking into his face. 

Mikey nodded and looked back towards the register and the kitchen with a tiny frown. 

“I — uh — I’m kinda stuck back there with preparing stuff for the weekend and-”

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. I know you can’t chat every time,” you cut in, nodding your head in understanding. You didn’t want him to feel bad about not coming out to talk if he was busy. 

“Yeah, no, I know, but I was kinda thinking…” he trailed off and looked down for a beat, sucking on his bottom lip. “Will you stay after we close?” he finally asked, looking at you from under his lashes. 

You blinked a couple of times at the unexpected question. “Oh… um, yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Yeah?” he smiled softly. “It’s gonna be” — he looked around the place — “another hour at least, though.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind waiting. I can go pester Richie if I get too bored.”

Mikey barked out a laugh at that and nodded his head a few times. 

“‘Kay… See you later.”

You smiled in acknowledgment and watched him walk back, stopping next to Richie, whose eyes shot to you after a moment, but you quickly averted your gaze. Picking up your sandwich, you took a bite to stop yourself from looking up again. Your face felt warm as you thought about Mikey’s request to stay. That had never happened, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what was going to happen. In any case, you could only imagine Richie grinning like a lunatic at Mikey informing him that you’d be staying. To distract yourself, you pulled out your phone and went through your various social media platforms while you ate and then sat out to wait. 

A little while later, you were reading through an article about a show you were looking forward to when Richie appeared at your side. 

“You can already go through to the back. Everyone’s left there, and I’m gonna finish with the couple customers left and close the front.”

“Oh, okay.” You got up and looked towards the kitchen. 

“Okay, listen,” Richie started, looking suddenly serious. “I know I’ve been givin’ you shit and all that about him, but truth is, Mikey’s been… kinda all over the place lately. But since you showed up, speaking French and all that… I’ve seen more glimpses of my best friend than I have in a while.”

You stared at him in surprise. That’s not what you had expected to hear. 

“Shit… I don’t wanna scare you off or anything. But… shit… Mikey, when he falls, he falls hard, yeah? And I can tell that you’re not some bitch out to hurt him or nothin’.”

You chuckled at his agitation. 

“Nah… I’m just some Basic Beef, remember?” you said softly. 

Richie snorted and nodded his head. 

“But seriously, thank you, Richie. I’m glad that he has someone looking out for him… But yeah…” You looked towards the door leading to the kitchen. “Mikey, he… I just really, really like him”, you stated with a smile that you knew revealed how smitten you were by the man. 

Richie nodded again with a small smile.

“Yeah…” He finally cleared his throat and waved towards the kitchen. “Right… Go ahead… And please, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yeah? Remember, kitchen, sanitary measures.” 

You groaned and shoved at his arm. Now, that was what you had expected. “Don’t be gross, Jerimovich.” 

You heard him laughing as you walked towards the kitchen. 

Stepping through the door, you looked around at the rows of appliances, pots, and pans, while you hung your coat and bag on a hook near the staff door. As you moved to the deepest part, you found Mikey in front of the stove, with three large pots bubbling away on it. 

“Hey,” you said softly, coming to stand next to him with your hip against the counter as you faced his profile. 

Mikey lifted his head from one of the pots he’d been leaning over and stirring, his hair curling at the top from the steam. He beamed as he saw you. 

“Hey. Richie gone yet?”

“No, not yet. There was still a table left. He said he’d close the front and leave from there.”

Mikey looked towards where the front of the shop was, as if he could see Richie, and smiled.  

“Smells delicious in here,” you said after a second, staring at the insides of the pots. 

Mikey grinned. “Making the last batch of pulled pork and beef.” 

You made a long hum of appreciation at that, which had Mikey uttering a pleased chuckle. 

“Can I help you with anything?” you wondered, looking around yourself.

“Nah, I’m good. There ain’t much left to do except wait a bit, but…” he trailed off like earlier. 

You tilted your head in question. He was being incredibly tentative tonight, which was kind of cute. “But?” 

Mikey shot you a small glance and cleared his throat. 

“Just wanted to see you for a bit longer.” 

You ducked your head and smiled. While Mikey had flirted with you intensely over the last weeks, it had all been done in a lighthearted fashion. The interest had been genuine, but it had never been this open. This confession was raw and hit you straight in the heart. 

“Yeah? Well… While I love the food you guys make here, you know that’s not really what has me coming back every time.”

Mikey smiled warmly, before he smirked. “C’est mon cul, pas vrai? (It’s my ass, right?)”

“Ah non mais t’es pas possible, arrête. (Oh come on, you’re the worst, stop it),” you half groaned, half laughed while pushing at his shoulder. 

Mikey laughed heartily and caught your hand as he turned to face you fully. You looked into his eyes, filled with mirth, but also something so tender that it took your breath away. 

“Wanna know something embarrassing about me?” he asked in a soft tone. 

You nodded lightly, your heart in your throat and unable to speak with the way he was looking at you.

“J’avais déjà envie de t’embrasser le jour où on s’est rencontré. (I already wanted to kiss you on the day we met.)”

Your heart missed a beat before it started to beat faster. 

“Alors pourquoi tu ne l’as pas encore fait? (Then why haven’t you done it yet?)” you breathed. 

Mikey smiled and cupped one side of your face with a large and warm palm. “Bonne question. (Good question.),” he whispered, before slowly leaning in. 

Your eyes automatically fell shut when his lips met yours. It was a soft kiss, just his lips pressing onto yours, as if testing the waters. You lifted your hands to his waist, your fingers gripping at his t-shirt as you slanted your head in request for more. Mikey huffed out a small breath against your lips, and moved in closer, giving you what you wanted. His hand went to the back of your head, with the fingers sliding into your hair as he parted your lips with his. You moaned at the first, soft stroke of his tongue against your bottom lip, just grazing the skin teasingly before he delved in further. Your fingers tightened in his shirt as the kiss turned into something more. More intense. Hungrier. Leaning against the stove, Mikey’s other hand went to the middle of your back, pulling you as close together as possible. In turn, you wrapped your arms around his chest and clung to his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You suddenly felt ridiculous about ever thinking that you didn’t have any issues with just seeing where this thing with Mikey was going, since you had clearly underestimated how much you actually wanted this. Wanted him. And from how he was kissing you, holding you so tightly against him, the feeling was unmistakably mutual. 

You couldn’t say how long you stood there, locked together, with no signs of letting up, but you were pulled out of the moment by the pots suddenly bubbling wildly. Mikey cursed while you gasped, the two of you springing apart to see the contents of the pots sputtering around and almost starting to overflow. Jumping into action instantly, Mikey turned the heat down and stirred the pots while muttering under his breath. 

Once everything was under control again, Mikey held himself up with his hands on the counter and exhaled deeply as he turned his head towards you. 

“I think my ass is responsible for this too… I turned the heat back on high when I leaned against the stove,” he explained sheepishly. 

You stared at him for a second, before you burst into laughter, while he watched you with an amused smile. 

“You know,” you said lightly and stepped into his space again, wrapping your arms around his neck while he circled your waist with his. “I think I need to take some responsibility for this too.”

“Hm… you did distract me,” Mikey agreed with a chuckle, and leaned in to kiss you.

You grinned against his mouth, the kiss about to continue like you’d never been interrupted, when Mikey forcefully leaned his head away with a grunt and kissed your forehead instead. 

“Okay… let’s just…”

“Am I distracting you again,” you laughed softly, looking into his warm, brown eyes. 

“You have no idea,” he confessed, pulling you into a hug this time. 

You smiled into the embrace and took in a deep breath, staying in this position for a few long minutes.

“Rentre avec moi? (Come home with me?)” you finally asked, although you kept your face against his shoulder. 

Mikey cupped your face and tilted your head until he could look into your eyes, revealing his warm gaze. 

“Avec plaisir. (It would be my pleasure.)”

[foodtruckery]

I left a comment on Combat Baby because that fic is so awesome, but I’m here because I’m thinking about Stan in short short again. Ford would go insane, especially if Stan was wearing them *in public* where everyone can see what’s *his*. I think it’s even funnier if they’re both aware of their feelings but think the other isn’t into them/aware, so Ford is gripping his hands trying to act like normal brother and like he doesn’t want to rail Stan 10 ways to Sunday so everyone knows he’s taken. Meanwhile Stan is like “God I’m such a freak for wanting Ford to think I’m hot-“

I REMEMBER YOU GUEST ANON! and omg thank you so much for the kind words again, truly!! and this is. lol. maybe not exactly what you asked for, and i'm sorry for that, but i HAVE been thinking about the damn short shorts since you first commented and this is what we ended up with hahaha! i wrote this with either 30's stan & ford in mind or 30's stan and 60's ford, but hey, y'all read whatever you wanna read!

"Oh, hey, I couldn't find the exact coffee you mentioned on the list, but I grabbed something that seemed close? Got a small bag, so if it's shitty, we won't have too much of it to get through, but I figured somethin' was better than nothin' on the coffee front."

Ford was certain that in any other circumstances, he would be annoyed by that. There were complaints swimming up in the back of his mind - Did you even look? Did you bother to ask an associate? - but they slid away before he'd even tried to form any words. That was probably for the best. His tongue felt leaden and too thick in his mouth, and he wasn't sure he would be able to make it cooperate enough to speak if he'd tried. Even getting a short sound of acknowledgement out was more difficult than it should have been. 

When Ford didn't throw a fit over the coffee, Stan continued on, describing some additional adjustments he'd made to the shopping list and what he was planning to cook for dinner. Ford didn't really hear any of it. Hell, he couldn't even remember why he'd come upstairs in the first place. A question, probably, considering the sound of Stan coming back to the cabin and putting away groceries had drawn him to the kitchen in the first place. 

But he'd walked in, caught sight of his brother stashing jars and cans in an overhead cabinet, and his brain had started slowly filling with static. 

The crop top was bad enough. He'd seen it several times at this point –  enough times that he should be well used to the damn thing by now. But it was hard not to be distracted by the soft, exposed stretch of Stan's midsection or the way the hair on his stomach tapered down into the band of his pants. 

Jeans usually. It was usually jeans. Stan  had a tendency to spend the evenings around the cabin in his boxers, but Ford had only ever seen him pair the too-short t-shirt with jeans. 

He was not wearing jeans today. He was wearing a pair of shorts. 

A pair of shorts that pinched around his full waist and made his stomach spill over the elastic. 

A pair of shorts that stopped alarmingly high on Stan's thighs, exposing nearly every inch of hair and skin on his legs. 

A pair of shorts that fit just a shade too tight around Stan's ass, and were borderline indecent when he bent over to put something in the fridge. 

A pair of shorts that belonged to Ford. 

The realization hit him with all the subtlety of a taser, burning across his skin and threatening the stability of his knees. 

"Do you already have a place where you're keepin' shit like–"

"Where did you find those?" 

Ford wasn't sure if it was the fact that he hadn't spoken at all since he'd come into the kitchen, or if it was the raggedness of his voice, but Stan jerked his head up from the bag he'd been pulling non-perishables from. 

"What?" 

"Your–" Ford's voice stuck on the back of his tongue, and he worked his throat until he managed to swallow, curling his fingers over the back of the nearest chair to make sure he stayed upright. "Those shorts. Are those mine?" 

Stan frowned at him, confused, before glancing down at himself. "Oh! Yeah, I think so? I mean, I found 'em in the back of a drawer upstairs. It's like a hundred goddamn degrees out there, and all I got on me is denim right now."

Ford felt like someone was holding a livewire to his hypothalamus. 

"You– You wore those, my shorts, out? In public?" 

Stan squinted at him. "Yeah. Isn't that what I said?" and then, when Ford didn't respond right away, Stan shifted uncomfortably. "Uhh....shit. I'm sorry? I hadn't seen you wearing 'em or anything, so I didn't think you'd care if I borrowed them."

Ford could feel where his nails were digging impressions into the chair's finish, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the shadow of Stan's bulge, entirely too apparent in those little green shorts. He'd been outside in those. In town, even. He'd gone grocery shopping in half of a shirt and shorts that had been snug on Ford before he'd even gotten his second PhD. 

Who had he run into? Even if the store had been completely empty otherwise, there would at least have been a cashier to see his brother parading around like an exhibitionist. And the odds were entirely too high that other patrons would have been present. 

Since Stan had arrived in Gravity Falls, he had better inundated himself with the townsfolk over several weeks than Ford had ever managed (or tried to manage) over several years. It made sense, Stan had always been the "people person" between them. But Ford also noticed the way Susan Wentworth always found a reason to nudge Stan's arm or pat his shoulder when they stopped by the diner. He saw the way Greg Valentino stole too many lingering glances when he thought he wasn't being observed in turn. 

Had either of them been there? Would Greg have seen him crouching down to puruse a lower shelf? If so, it would be impossible not to see the full shape of Stan's ass and the impression of his sack squeezed into so little material. Had Susan been shopping at the same time? Would she have devised a reason to put her hand against the exposed skin on Stan's waist to shuffle past him?

"Jesus Christ, are you havin' a stroke over there or what, Sixer?" 

Stan's voice snapped Ford out of the lurid green hypotheticals, and he cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You sure about that?" Stan said, sounding unconvinced and unimpressed. "Look, I said I was sorry about wearing your dumb shorts. Can I at least finish putting the damn groceries away, or are you gonna stand there scowling until I change?"

"No!" Ford said, entirely too quickly if the single eyebrow creeping up Stan's forehead was anything to go by. "I mean, you don't have to change. I was just...surprised."

"Yeah, I'll say," Stan snorted, turning back to the last bag of groceries. "Dinner plans all right at least?"

Ford ran his tongue out over his lips when Stan turned to the cupboard. He watched the green material shift with his stretching, the white piped hem hiking up just a hair too close to the curve of his ass. 

"Yes, sure." 

"And ya don't care about the coffee?" Stan asked, and Ford swallowed down hard on whatever noise tried to crawl up his throat when Stan adjusted the waistband of the shorts, pulling the material briefly higher and tighter.

"Hmm? No, I don't believe so..."

Ford very nearly had to reach down and adjust himself in the confines of his own pants when Stan leaned over and reached for something on the kitchen counter, giving Ford almost enough room to peek under the hem of those god forsaken shorts. It was a miracle he hadn't pulled up curls of varnish with his nails already. 

"You gettin' a good look back there?" Stan asked, shifting his weight between his feet in a way that made the shorts creep up between his thighs. 

"Yes, of course I– Stan!" Ford choked when the question caught up to him, and he could feel heat burning up his throat and across his face. 

Stan was smirking at him from over his shoulder now, giving his ass a much more deliberate wiggle. "Christ, Sixer, you are not subtle at all." 

Ford stammered, trying to think beyond the curl of Stan's lips and the crease at the top of his thighs that he could just make out. 

"...Jesus, you're also thick," Stan muttered to himself before reaching back and plucking pointedly at the waistband of the shorts. "You gonna come over here and see what's under them, or what?" 

"Oh..oh!" Ford realized, clearing his throat, though it did little to help how rough his voice felt when he finally rounded the chair. "God, yes." 

[nadas-dirthalen]

A Veilguard Achievement Icon Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore... but Was I Right?

PART TWO: What Veilguard Did Narratively, and What That Tells Us Going Forward

Hello again, friends and travellers. Now that I've beaten Dragon Age: the Veilguard, I wanted to go through all those 30,000 words of predictions that I wrote in the ~11 days leading up to its release. I'd seen an achievement icon that pieced together a lot of Dragon Age lore for me.

But, I hadn't played Veilguard. All I had was the footage from September 19, the achievement list, and anything else BioWare had released.

So... was I right? And if so, how much was I right about?

This is your warning:This post will contain spoilers for the entirety of Dragon Age: the Veilguard, and all Dragon Age content made before Veilguard.

(my davrinmance is going great as i try and collect every codex, thanks for asking!)

Today's Discussion: to Understand Dragon Age, We Must Understand Its Writing.

Before I can go any further on why I think the way that I think, or why I imagine the story might take us in certain directions, it's essential that you all understand where I'm coming from. Veilguard, like any game, is a piece of art. Its bones are built with similar narrative structures to novels (though not identical, and that's important!). To make sense of what's to come, we must examine Veilguard's bones the same way.

I've seen a lot of people wondering why, for instance, the Inquisitor is not Veilguard's protagonist. I've seen people lamenting the fact that there were not on-screen clarifications of popular lore theories. Before this series goes any further, I need to say my piece about why I believe that it was essential that Veilguard was written as it was, and why its writing does in fact help us better predict Dragon Age's path forward moreso than even Inquisition.

That said, today I hope to cover:

What Veilguard Demanded of BioWare's Writing Team, and Why

The Protagonist: Why Rook's Perspective Matters

The 3 Act Structure: Our Lens

The Companions: Paths to Our Answers — and Future Games

What Veilguard Demanded of BioWare's Writing Team, and Why

Let's get this out of the way right away: it has been 10 years since Inquisition. And, like it or not, that means one gigantic thing for BioWare: if they wanted to have any hope of making more Dragon Age, they needed to bring in new players and resuscitate the interest of many old players who did not stay in the fandom the whole time. They didn't—and couldn't—write Veilguard specifically for you or I, people of Tumblr. If they did, it would've pleased us... and then cost them so much money that we'd never get any more Dragon Age.

That doesn't just mean modernizing the game's aesthetics, or providing a glossary in its Codex. It means they would have to balance all of the following (just at a glance):

Managing the learning curve in general. Not even I looked in the glossary as I played. Me, supreme enjoyer of all codices ever. It's just not something most players are ever going to do, as much as it the lore is such a fundamental part of the game in general. That means simplifying terms where possible — elven gods in place of Evanuris, for example — but also trimming down what would have to necessarily reference past games. Only a tiny fraction of the fanbase has played Inquisition in the last 3 years, nevermind this year.

Recontextualizing the lore. That does not mean rebooting it, it means situating all we have learned so far in a framework that fits all we have learned so far. Much of what we learned about the Evanuris seemed, for so long, to be totally separate for the things we knew about the blight and Blights. Veilguard needed to show us how those things relate, and to do so in a fresh context that would allow everyone to develop new understanding.

Pushing us one step past Inquisition's knowledge. Veilguard, after reframing the lore, had to leave us a path for new lore, and increased understanding. I think the devs put it really well when they say that their aim is to give us some answers, but leave us with even more questions. More on that later, and in future posts.

Updating Thedas' ethos. Let's face it. It has been 15 years since Origins came out. The things that were more typical of scifi/fantasy (SFF) then are just not the same now, and would not be perceived by 2024 players in the same way as by those who started Origins in 2009. The world has changed; our cultural understandings are broadening and need to continue broadening. BioWare is doing a good thing by incorporating things like nonbinary identities into Veilguard, and it is good that Veilguard is progressing the world of gaming in that way, especially considering its success. (This is also, I wager, why we choose an Archon out of two choices who want the same thing, rather than leaving that open to a more "evil" option).

Dislodge older fans from their Solas headcanons to get everyone old and new to the same confusion and potential distrust. Hear me out. Everyone who's stayed since Inquisition has beliefs about Solas. Even me, who got here in March of this year, whose fic reads overly soft now because I just didn't know Solas' grander plan until 48 hours before Veilguard came out. Everyone has had headcanons for so long that everyone has had time for their opinions of Solas to cement themselves. In order for Veilguard to work as a story, they had to debunk what everyone thought they knew: both lovers and haters of the famously controversial egg. By breaking down our existing beliefs, the devs open up essential curiosity from the players as to who—and what—Solas really is, which propels us through the narrative and has us absorbing information.

And this curiosity? It is why Veilguard could not have the Inquisitor as its protagonist. To keep us curious as players (and "readers" of the lore), BioWare needed a new protagonist.

Specifically, they needed Rook.

The Protagonist: Why Rook's Perspective Matters

Here's the thing. The protagonist is not just the face of the game. They are our vehicle to understanding that game. The plot follows their wants and responds to their understanding. What they don't know, what they want to know, is what makes up our every objective. Their emotional journey through the game is our emotional journey through the game. Following it, going after the things that matter to our protagonist, is how the entire game (including its lore) takes shape in our minds.

That's why it's essential that they don't know everything—especially after a ten year interim between games.

Veilguard's plot and twists proved that the Inquisitor did not know everything. They, in fact, knew less than half of everything. If we had kept them as the protagonist, all of our knowledge and curiosity would be shaped by the Inquisitor's understanding: a wrong understanding. We could constantly be fighting with what we think the Inquisitor should know, what should be true because we had seen it through the Inquisitor. We would be set up to be at odds with the very events of the game. Rook is a blank slate, barring a few key tonal indicators, and that blank slate allows for us to fit all previous lore into its new, recontextualized shape that I mentioned above. (Again, note that I am not saying rebooted.)

That, and Rook has multiple motivations. The Inquisitor is focused largely on stopping or saving Solas; Rook is charged with figuring everything out as it is happening to them in real time with almost no context or experience, AND stopping or saving Solas. The Inquisitor has existing allies and resources; Rook does not. Rook must build their own campaign from the ground up, and that means the player is building their own experience from the ground up. Their allies, abilities, and home base, yes, but also their knowledge. Discovering things at the same pace as Rook, with a similarly urgent drive to do so, keeps the game from infodumping at us. It keeps the reveals evenly spaced, but also immediately interesting to the player.

And best of all? Rook allows the writers to do what they want to Solas without breaking his dynamic with the endless sea of Inquisitors (or, at least, with way less risk of doing so). We needed to have our theories about him broken down and rebuilt as players; to do that to the Inquisitor would damage an entire sea of headcanons. We'd never get the Solavellan ending we wanted, for instance, if Solas had played mind games with Lavellan for that many months. And if Solas didn't do those things, if he'd been wholly defanged, he would have lost his appeal and importance in the narrative. He wouldn't be the Dread Wolf in the ways that matter to Veilguard.

It's important, then, that Rook has just the slightest bit of backstory. They care about their allies. They are not a potential political force like the Inquisitor. They have many options to be impulsive. Every single Rook has rebelled against authority. Every single one has a stubborn streak. BioWare put all those qualities there on purpose, because Solas uses every single one, in every single Rook, as a tool. That was all essential for his character development in this game! At the same time, they couldn't do that with the Inquisitor as protagonist, because after 10 years, no two Inquisitors are similar enough to predict/script their actions and responses in that way.

Those twists are perhaps the most important tool for forward momentum in the game. The more they keep us guessing, the more we'll play and seek new information, the more we'll learn. Which brings me to...

The 3 Act Structure: Our Lens

Like I said: BioWare couldn't just infodump at us in Veilguard. It wouldn't be interesting to even half the fans that stayed, these ten years. To keep us engaged as players, they had to string the lore through a series of engaging events. Keep the momentum up, so we would not be lazily looking over codices, but chasing new knowledge and understanding. It all had to be emotionally relevant and resonant to keep us caring, because very few people play games they don't care about.

Veilguard, like a lot of written art, follows the three act structure. Though there are a lot of variants on the more precise beats, they all broadly follow the same-ish path.

Hook: The opening image. In Disney movies, this is the song where the character sings about all the things they want in their journey, and what they truly need is only implied. It gives an opening note for the theme by showing what the character lacks, and what they might need to gain before defeating the final villain. In Veilguard, this is our prologue, centered entirely around Varric: the big red herring where we see that Rook is out of their depth, opting to push over a support beam rather than take on the Dread Wolf. Off-screen, it is also the background information about Rook, showing us who they are and what they want before we play.

Inciting Incident: The event that kicks off the main plot. In DA:tV, there's a big collection of these (because every companion needs one; we'll get to that). The first big one is, of course, the failed ritual. The death Rook doesn't see. The Evanuris are freed, but Rook has only half the information.

First Plot Point: "Plot Point" means "big/defining decision" in writer-speak. This is the moment the protagonist decides to go forth on their adventure. In video games, this is more or less determined for you, but you have the option to flavour this moment in Veilguard. You can choose how to tell Solas that you'll do what he wants: either by appeasing him or angering him. You do the same for Neve and Harding afterward, and then again in Arlathan and D'Meta's Crossing. You state that you're doing this, no matter what it takes.

First Pinch Point / "The Setback": "Pinch" means "twist" in writer-speak. It's the first time the narrative is shaken up, and is also usually the first time we see the true scope of the villain. In Veilguard, the first big twist has been called "the Setback" by some of the devs (notably, I heard it at a panel in September). For Veilguard, this is Weisshaupt. We see the true scope of Ghilan'nain's horrors, but we also see the first BIG hints (outside of Varric) that Solas is manipulating us—because he really doesn't seem to hate the Wardens as much as Inquisition enjoyers like myself expected. This event concludes act 1.

"New World" / "Fun and Games": The devs have remarked that they wanted to see the tone of their setback (Weisshaupt) threaded through the rest of the game, and we do: through Davrin and Lucanis' banter, through the reflections on the consequences of Weisshaupt, through every character struggling with their confidence and identity after that point, through the blight getting worse and worse and worse. That's what the New World is: the characters getting used to new circumstances after that first big twist. The Fun and Games are the slow and steady recovery from the twist, warming and solidifying formerly tenuous relationships. This is where we do a lot of companion and faction quests.

Midpoint: In a narrative that ends in a victory (so most games ever), the midpoint is a false victory. We think we've nailed something, only for something else to happen that begins to seed doubt in the protagonist's capability and/or ability to solve the plot. For Veilguard, this is the blighted dragon fight: we think we've got Ghilan'nain, but then Elgar'nan shows up and demonstrates that Rook is in so, so over their head.

Second Pinch Point: The second twist. The villain's identity is crystal-clear, and by now we've definitely interacted with the villain more directly. This is Arlathan, Elgar'nan's mind-trap—and Solas' "rescue" of Rook, showing his duplicity in full. Elgar'nan notably says a line about not falling for Fen'Harel's tricks again, and it foreshadows what we will see of Solas.

Disaster / Crisis: This is the event that triggers the protagonist's downward spiral. Not a twist (necessarily), but a catastrophe. In Veilguard's case, it's both: the Ghilan'nain fight leaves one companion dead-dead and another presumed dead. Then, the twist: Solas using Rook's sharply felt regret to pull his gambit and swap places with them. A series of events that literally had me gasping so frequently I got dizzy. Thanks, BioWare :) Many people say that this event, or something between this event and the "All is Lost" beat, conclude act 2. For games, the pacing is sometimes different, as is the cutoff mark, because otherwise the third act has the potential to be very short.

"All is Lost" / The Dark Night of the Soul: It's exactly as the name suggests: all has been lost. The protagonist doubts themself completely. It seems like nothing more can go wrong, and like nothing might ever go right again. The protagonist is at a loss for how to move forward. In Veilguard? Varric is dead. Davrin/Harding is dead. Bellara/Neve is dead. Rook is literally trapped not only in their regret, but in a reflection of Solas' regret. And to get out, they'll need...

"The Epiphany" / Second Plot Point: "Plot point" means "big/defining decision" in writer-speak, as stated above. Only this one contains more layers than the first. This is where the thematic statement of the piece comes out: the lesson that the protagonist must learn is stated, clearly, for all of us to see. It is the thing that picks them up off the ground, giving them strength to face the climax and the danger it promises. In Veilguard, this is Varric saying to Rook, "Have you learned nothing here?" and reminding both Rook and player that he chose this; Rook's companions chose this; we cannot blame ourselves for the actions of others. We cannot carry grief for other people, or we'll drown in it. Sound like any other character we know?

Climax: The big fight! But also, the big moment where the theme is shown to be the narrative key. In every ending of Veilguard, Rook being Solas' perfect mirror is the key to winning the day against the Dread Wolf. It just depends on what facet of Solas Rook chooses to mirror: the trickster, the nasty combatant, or the person who was haunted by their own failings and lost companions.

Resolution: Narrative threads are tied up, or a promise is made to tie up those loose ends in future installations. Veilguard's credits do both of those things. :)

Why am I telling you all of this? Because the lore must follow that skeleton. Every reveal we get must fit into both the timing and the feeling of those events. It would not fit to suddenly drop everything about the Titans right after Rook gets to the Lighthouse, which is why those enemies you need to kill to get the last memories are level 30-40. It would not fit to uncover everything about the blight's origin before Weisshaupt. If they forced us into that as players, all the casual fans and new players would duck out, feeling overwhelmed.

Even for us older fans, narrative structure shapes significance. You can tell a lot about a codex's overall importance and tone just by understanding where you find it, and when. That's why the Trespasser codices carry so much weight, even the ones about the Evanuris' actions that we don't see on screen at all: they are at the bitter end, and so they carry all the bitterness, longing, and mourning of that ending. Without the context of Trespasser, they mean less.

This is also why Veilguard paces its companion quests this way, not allowing you to complete them until later in the game. Every companion has something to teach us, and BioWare wanted to give each companion's narrative the weight it deserved.

The Companions: Paths to Our Answers — and Future Games

Anyone who's played Inquisition knows that companion quests shape entire facets of the lore in individual games, as well as set us up for the trajectory of the next games. Just look at Solas and Cole: together, they shaped our whole understanding of spirits in Veilguard. They set us up to ask all the right questions about not only spirits being bound as demons (Solas' quest), but about spirits being able to manifest in physical shape (Cole's quest). Together, their narrative conclusions foreshadowed much of the Evanuris' reveals in Veilguard: that they were spirits who could manifest into corporeal shape, and that they had the ability to ask others to manifest—and then bind them.

Again, these quests are paced throughout Inquisition's main plot. You cannot do their before Skyhold, and you cannot do them after the cutoff of (I believe) the Temple of Mythal. Inquisition forces you to see those quests' endings in the exact right spot: sometime around the midpoint (Adamant/WEWH), but before the disaster/dark night (the Temple of Mythal). They do that so you will feel that those things are significant.

Veilguard does the same thing. Every companion has a facet of the lore attached to it, but you cannot follow those threads to their conclusions at the beginning of the game. The game won't let you, because the moments need to be spaced out properly and carry the necessary emotional weight. Not all of their quests promise speculative material for future games in the same way, because some explain the context of the current game (Varric, in DAI, accomplished both with the red lyrium content, for instance; Leliana, meanwhile, dealt with the theme of faith in DAI and did not promise future speculation).

These concepts will all get far more attention in due time, but in short, here's what I think is associated with each companion:

Harding: Titans! But also, angry titans, and the difference between "angry titan" and "source of blight." In the same vein, what the dwarves should do going forward, and where they should place the titans in their culture.

Neve: The soul of Veilguard; her narrative is very current to DA:tV, in my early understanding. But she brings forth a lot of nuance to the themes of regret, and what that regret looks like on a smaller scale (a city, rather than a world). She does a lot of work in showing us that regret is regret, no matter the scale, and that the work we do to do better matters, no matter the scale. Additionally, her personal quest foreshadows Solas' use of blood magic against us being more than we thought by showing off Aelia's puppets, suggesting to us (tonally) that Rook may be Solas' puppet.

Bellara: The Forgotten Ones!! Anaris! Also, the place of ancient elvhenan in the future of Thedas, and what the elves should do/feel going forward.

Lucanis: I think they were going for some Forgotten One/Forbidden One hints, judging by some notes from the Ossuary and some banter between Lucanis and the others. This needs more dissection. Lucanis sort of does both what Bellara and Neve do: the Forgotten Ones, and also the heart of Veilguard's theme, with a lot of found family vibes thrown in.

Davrin: The blight itself, and the future of the blight without any archdemons left to cause capital-B Blights. Thedas' path to healing its nature.

Emmrich: The nature of what spirits are. I need to go screencap more specifics, but I swear this necromancer has referenced the difference between spirit and human soul and has stumbled upon saying that the two might not be so different at least once. Also, the Formless One centers around the Necropolis, and I'm thinking "spirits seeking bodies" and this whole idea of unlife/undeath is going to be explored later.

Taash: Remember how I said BioWare needed an ethos update? I think we see that most predominantly in Taash, whose entire personal quest is an examination of the values and priorities of different cultures, as well as the place of gender and gender ideology in Thedas. We saw this with Dorian and Krem in DA:I, but Taash modernizes that conversation (10 years has changed a lot!) and brings it front-and-center. At the same time, their existence is referencing (potentially) the Scaled Ones, and showing us that the kossith (Qunari) might have far more ties to Evanuris shenaniganry than we thought—and that those shenanigans did not happen on Thedas, but potentially far across the sea. (Neve and Lucanis accomplish this, also, with the Shadow Dragons and Crows, but not to the degree that Taash does).

This is why the companion quests MATTER, and (at least partially) why the game asks you to complete these quests or suffer consequences in the finale.

You know what else happens, upon completion of these companion quests?

You get codices. In Dragon Age, they are the threads that tie the seemingly disconnected pieces of the plot together, and that's on purpose. This time, they automatically unlock upon completing different stages of companion quests—and as far as I can tell right now, days after completing the game for the first time, the ones revealed later DO contain spicier hints about future lore than those revealed earlier.

And between ALL of these things—the demands Veilguard's timing placed on Bioware, the need for Rook as a protagonist, and the structure for every companion's quests—I think BioWare did an amazing, genius job with their narrative. Yes, I have seen some of the art book content, and yes, it would have been so cool to have those things, but... I truly do not think BioWare needed them, as close as I would have held cameos like Cole to my heart.

From a lore perspective? They knocked it out of the gods-damned park with Veilguard. They did an amazing job with each of their quests, and I promise: there is no shortage of juicy lore to be found in Veilguard. Now that I've inflicted an outline of what I know about stories upon you, I promise: all of this serves as context for everything I look forward to saying in future posts.

_____

If you got this far, thank you, as always!

This series is going to take a turn toward what I noticed in Veilguard, how I feel that Veilguard adds to my theories (or perhaps debunks some of them), and where I think the series is going to go from here. But in order to write all that properly and miss as little as possible (even though, in November 2024, with no wiki or transcripts, I am guaranteed to miss things), I need to keep playing the game and keep reading the codices I find.

Stay tuned for the next instalments, though I cannot say how quickly they will come after this. <3

[ash-muses]

(OOC - Update #16)

Just in advance, my replies are coming out slower right now as I've had a really rough week. Please know that I'm not ignoring anyone, I'm just having a hard time right now and I'm sending out replies (DMs & RPs) when I can. ♡

Hi, everyone - I'm back! Thank you so much for your continued patience and support ♡

I'm really glad that I have so many people that enjoy writing with me and my version of Loki (and, hopefully going forward, my other muses as well!). I hope that you're all doing well; I've been trying to get back to the messages I had just before I went on hiatus, so if I missed anyone, I'm really sorry about that. >w<

I'm checking on the threads I have going, so please feel free to let me know if you're no longer interested in our thread or want to start new ones. I'll be going through my thread tracker again soon and posting that back up; the only reason it was taken down was so that I could redo my blog, which means I also have to change the thread links and such for the thread tracker. Hopefully, that will be added again soon and I'll make another update when I've rearranged some other things.

Below is a to-do list and changes that were already made (in case anyone is interested).

To-Do List, Daily:

* = main priority

* Respond to Tumblr messages (in progress; slow due to getting RP replies out & personal life at the moment)

To-Do List, General:

* Set up reminders for replies (in progress; looking for a good system that works for me)

* Redo tag directory, including new tags & hopefully reducing some of the tags I use (not started)

* Add muse info to Carrd (in progress, but slow; already completed Loki & my OC Adrian, and Tony Stark needs a few more adjustments before he's added; the goal is to add at least one muse for each fandom, that way I have a playable character in each one until I can finish all of their files)

Add FAQ to Carrd (not started; hopefully easy to do)

Create graphics for muses, including icon borders for replies, starter calls, etc. (in progress, but slow)

Create separate header promo (not started)

Work on GIFs project (in progress, but slow; need to rework some of the GIFs I posted using my previous watermark)

Already Done:

Checked in on old threads with partners

New promo has been added to my pinned posted

New reply icon borders for Loki & Adrian (OC)

Pinned post has been revamped (new information, cut and re-organized info, etc.)

Navigation has been fixed (links were still set for my previous blog name)

Carrd was designed & published

Pulled old threads from Drafts to get replies out

Scheduled out several responses to starters/asks || update was posted after they were already published

[demonslayedher]

I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

[robinniko]

Have you done a follow forever? If not can you make a list? I am totally curious now after your tags. Also love that your blog is a mix of everything.

I have not done a follow forever!!! I am so excited you sent this bc I really wanted to do one!!!!!

@h-isforhome @coffeeisaritual @28cum @cantchangemypast @lamefights @bloodonthedrums @amsterdamlouie @louisarmpits @tommos @kieumy @officialghost @tryhoney @stoned-styles @ashleyyroses @munsonsuccubus @anchorandrope @crimsonfated @goldplated-disaster @stripesysheaven @dahliaaz @graveyarrdshift @srldesigns6277 @theeliampayne @nouies @enigmaticpink @enchantedlandcoffee @muppet4muppett @loverrrrrr17 @superscut @goodriddancegracie @maryoliveoil @taylorswiftaylor @aintmyjewelry @columbusswift @verdantsecretgardens @auswiftic @runwayblues @louisthiccsexyglitteryass @frolencewelch @whenyouvequitefinished @matrixrry @the-girl-almighty @abba-enthusiast @nicogayngelo @hazlouquitefinished @notsomeholylight @slutdick @sunflowerwemadeit @cuzimablogger @bloodmoonlich

i'm very sorry because I definitely forgot people but i love all my mutuals very much!!!! <3

[babsvibes]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

You’re so sweet, and I hope you’ve had the ask sent to you too! If not, I’m on my way. Thank you to @gemgirl28 and @cozyrosykay who also sent the chain to me!

1. Won’t Roux Be My Neighbor | louigan | rated T

If you want a classic romcom, then the Neighbors AU is for you. Louise and Logan are neighbors in a rundown apartment complex full of characters who don’t make their lives any easier. It’s not told in chronological order, and each piece can be read on its own. My favorites are Turn Down Corn-Nut and but it’s (yukon) golden ……. because there’s kissing.

2. Logan’s Run (-ning away) | louigan | rated T

Is accidental road trip a trope? That’s what LR is. An accidental road trip where the road’s not so straight and narrow. This romantic dramedy follows Louise as she hitches a ride to New York with her old arch nemesis. Or so she thinks.

3. Old Cape Bob | boblin | rated G

This fic celebrates a decades-old love and all the quirks that come along with that during a simple walk to the beach. I’m kind of in love with the descriptions in this one. It’s everything I want for Bob and Linda—relaxing on a beach and enjoying each other’s company with a bit of heavy-handed nostalgia.

4. Honey Pie Sugar Pumpkin | boblin | rated G

Pre-canon boblin fluff where first-time parents fuss over baby Tina and her new word. This one is short, sweet, and supposed to make you go awwww. It was written in a trance before Caroline could write it, so I can’t tell you a thing about the fic besides I blinked and it was there all of a sudden.

5. It’s My Party (and I’ll fry if I want to) | louigan | rated E

This one’s the angst fic. The “yes I would like to feel something but not in a good way” fic. It looks at the subject of infidelity and asks what brings someone to that point, what’s deserved, what’s right and wrong. And then there’s smut.

[catliker49]

sprend this towards you

List 5 things that make you happy, and put this in the ask box of 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! :3

(u dont have to answer me but i got picked on this lol)

OOH!! Hmm... I think the top 10 things that make me Happy are..

Welcome Home!

Music (I like Will Wood, Lemon Demon, Mitski and Tyler the Creator a lot!)

Painting or doodling :o)

Oooh!!! Birds, butterflies, anything along those lines! It makes me smile a lot!!

Most likely my ACNH island haha, I need to get back on it! I haven't had time recently..

(I couldn't find a space for it, but Jerma live streams!!!! Jerma is so Awesome.. RAH!)

[skunkes]

Did or does anything inspire your art? It’s so fun and unique

I do have artists (both Established and like Peers/Mutuals) I enjoy and I do pluck traits from art I like as I see fit to mold my own but I don't have any conscious inspiration ykwim...ive had ppl tell me my art looks like or reminds them of things i like, whether "vibe based" (stuffed animals) or a specific media (care bears) but i dont consciously draw inspiration from care bears ykwim... I could tell u i loved archie comics as a kid and i love the art style but thats not a good answer to the question bc it doesnt present itself in my work (and if it does its not on purpose) ykwim...i hope dis makes sense.

I always bring up Urasawa when this question comes up, like I love urasawa's art and often save lots of it for inspiration but my work doesnt really ever come out as an emulation of his as a result, it's more osmosed as I try to figure out how I want to draw, bc I haven't seen anyone who draws the way I'd like to yet. (Also using him as an example, as this is how I feel about all my other "inspirations").

Theres tons of different ways to draw every possible trait of a face or body etc, so I just do that, taking shapes and such from other artists i observe along the way without really picking up the influence (and if i do its never for very long), since I've yet to find anything im very happy with