#existing together during group hang outs

[zehl0w]

Very messy scribble of a comic because they were on my mind (I doubt I’ll ever clean it up so I’m just posting it now so it doesn’t rot in my procreate files LOL)

[solxamber]

Sync or Sink || Vil Schoenheit

You, an overworked S-Class esper with the survival instincts of a damp sock, catch the eye of SSS-Class guide Vil Schoenheit. He decides you’re his personal fixer-upper project. Shockingly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

The world was already hanging on by a thread — economic collapse, melting ice caps, influencers starting cults via TikTok. It was a mess. You’d think that would be enough. You’d hope that would be enough. But no. Some ancient cosmic being — probably named something dramatic like Thar’zul the Chronovore — looked down at Earth and said, “You know what this needs? Fun.”

And by fun, it meant Gates.

Gates are like if cursed portals, radioactive sinkholes, and a haunted Etsy store had a baby. They pop up anywhere and everywhere: in libraries, parking garages, yoga studios, even in the middle of someone’s wedding ceremony. (“Do you take this—OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”)

These glowing tears in the fabric of reality are basically open invitations to every monster, demon, and unholy abomination in the neighborhood. And if left unchecked, they break, releasing those nightmares into your already-taxed existence like a hellish game of whack-a-mole.

But don't worry! Humanity, against all odds, did not die out immediately.

Because the universe, in its infinite chaos, also gave rise to Espers. Special little guys. Think emotional time bombs with telekinetic temper tantrums and the ability to level buildings if they stub their toe too hard. Espers are the only ones who can suppress Gates and fight back the monsters. They're strong, fast, powerful—and also dangerously dramatic.

Like, “cries during dog food commercials” dramatic. “Blew up a vending machine because it ate their dollar” dramatic. If they don’t have someone helping them regulate their powers (and by extension, their feelings), they’re a walking nuclear disaster waiting to happen.

Which brings us to Guides.

Guides are born with the power to soothe, ground, and stabilize Espers before they turn into emotional IEDs. They go through rigorous training. They meditate. They are the human equivalent of “have you tried deep breathing?”—except instead of calming down toddlers, they’re keeping an Esper from melting the freeway with their grief-powered fireballs.

This entire survival system hinges on compatibility between Espers and Guides. Sounds romantic, right? It’s not. It’s mostly screaming, paperwork, and sometimes unspoken sexual tension.

So, to recap:

Gates = Bad.

Espers = Powerful but emotionally unstable.

Guides = The only thing standing between civilization and utter monster-induced ruin.

Together, Espers and Guides form the first — and only — line of defense between humanity and total monster-induced annihilation.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, this system hinges entirely on two people getting along.

Which, as anyone who's ever been in a group project can tell you, is a complete joke.

The Gate had been rough. You were bleeding, caked in monster goop, and running on exactly one granola bar, four energy drinks, and pure spite. Monsters just kept coming—one after another like it was a clearance sale on eldritch horror—and now your knees were shaking, your head was pounding, and you were 99% sure you were hallucinating the talking goat that told you to “go into the light.”

You stumbled out of the Gate zone, vision blurry. There were Guides waiting beyond the perimeter, crisp in their uniforms, radiant with that “I got 8 hours of sleep and drink water” glow. Unfortunately, most of them had already been snagged by the other Espers, who were quicker, cleaner, and not currently dripping ectoplasm from their sleeve.

You blinked. The only one left was… well, no. That couldn’t be right.

Standing a few feet away, untouched and oddly pristine, was a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a high-end fashion magazine shoot titled "War-Torn But Make It Couture."

Tall, composed, and stunning in a way that made your brain short-circuit, he was clearly someone Important™. The other S-Ranks had actively avoided him, which should’ve been a clue. But your frontal lobe was melting. You didn’t have the bandwidth to care.

You wobbled forward like a dying Roomba, grabbed a handful of his sleek uniform, and mumbled, “Guide. That’s you, right?”

And then you slumped forward and face-planted directly onto his collarbone.

There was a pause.

“…Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, incredulously.

You groaned. “Yeah. You’re a Guide. You’ve got the badge.”

Another pause. Longer, this time.

He sounded… offended. And faintly intrigued.

“…You don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” you mumbled into his neck.

You didn’t see the expression on his face, but if your ears weren’t lying, he audibly gasped. Like someone had just told him dry shampoo was canceled. Like the very idea of not being recognized was a personal attack.

But instead of pushing you off, he slowly brought a hand up, fingers grazing your temple. You felt a wave of warmth radiate through your skull like a breath of fresh air had crawled into your ribcage.

It was… good. Too good.

A jolt of relief punched through your nervous system. Your heart rate settled. The Gate static stopped screaming in your ears. Your whole body sagged, weightless and calm, and you barely had time to mutter “holy shit you’re good at this” before your knees gave out completely.

You passed out in his arms.

And Vil Schoenheit—SSS-Rank Guide, national treasure, and walking perfection—stood there holding your limp, grime-covered, unconscious form with a complicated look on his face.

You came back to consciousness the way a phone boots up after being thrown into a wall. Slow, glitchy, and confused.

Something was warm under you. Something was very firm. You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the strange sensation of not being in pain anymore. The Gate headache was gone. Your soul no longer felt like it had been sandpapered. You were, inexplicably, comfortable.

That’s when you realized: you were still wrapped around the fancy Guide like a human backpack.

Face: mashed against his shoulder. Legs: around his waist. Arms: locked in a desperate hug like a koala going through a rough breakup. And he… was just sitting there. On a recovery bench. Completely calm. Holding you like this was something that happened to him all the time.

“Oh,” you mumbled, sleep-dazed. “My bad.”

He tilted his head, glossy hair catching the light like it had a sponsorship deal with a shampoo brand. “Are you done?” he asked, voice sharp. “Or shall I assume you’ve permanently relocated to my clavicle?”

You peeled yourself off him with all the grace of wet laundry sliding off a countertop. “Thanks for, uh, not letting me die,” you offered, scratching your head.

He stared at you for a long moment. “Do you know who I am?”

You blinked. “…A Guide?”

He inhaled. Visibly. Offended on a spiritual level. The look on his face could’ve soured milk. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Are you actively trying to offend me?”

“What? You’ve got the badge! That’s all I need, right?”

Vil Schoenheit—as he introduced himself—flicked you on the forehead. It was somehow both dismissive and full of judgment. “Recover. Properly.” he snapped, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. “You’re lucky I’m magnanimous.”

He swept out of the room like a disgruntled ballerina.

You blinked after him, rubbing your forehead. “What the hell was that about?”

A nurse walked in and immediately gasped like she'd just witnessed a royal birth. “Oh my Seven—was that Vil?!”

“Vil… who?” you asked, trying not to sound like an idiot.

She turned to you so fast her clipboard flew off the counter. “Vil Schoenheit. SSS Guide. He’s a legend. Do you have any idea how many Espers have tried to bond with him and been turned away in tears?”

You stared at the door where he’d just vanished. “No? He just kinda… guided me.”

The nurse screeched. “YOU JUST KINDA GOT GUIDED—are you INSANE? That man once made a Grade-SS Esper cry because they wore Crocs to an informal debriefing!”

You slowly sat back against the pillow, eyes wide.

“…I told him ‘oops sorry lol.’”

You were still internally combusting about the whole “Oops sorry lol” situation when you finally worked up the nerve to go to Vil’s office. Not to bond—you weren’t delusional—but at the very least, to apologize. Maybe offer him a thank-you fruit basket. Or one of those luxury hair masks. Something.

Espers were better paid than Guides. That wasn’t a flex—it was just how the system worked. You’d always thought it was kind of unfair, but now, standing outside his office, you suddenly felt even worse. Because if Vil was being underpaid to deal with Espers, plural, like you? He deserved hazard pay.

You raised a shaky fist and knocked on the door before pushing it open.

The door opened, and you were hit with the distinct scent of wealth, vintage cologne, and spiritual intimidation. The office looked like it belonged in a magazine titled Power & Passive Aggression: Interiors for the Elite. It had velvet chairs. A chandelier. And on the floor, sobbing, was an SS-ranked Esper.

“Please,” she was whispering, clutching Vil’s coat like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. “Please, just once. I know I’m not SSS, but my compatibility score is so close—”

“I don’t guide based on some arbitrary number,” Vil said coolly, extracting himself with the same disdain you'd use to avoid stepping in gum. “I guide based on worth.”

You were already edging away when his eyes snapped up—and softened.

“…What are you doing here?” he asked, voice shifting so drastically in tone it gave you whiplash.

“I—uh. I just wanted to apologize. For, you know. The slumping. And the drool. And the calling you ‘a Guide’ like you’re not the Guide.” You laughed nervously. “Also. Uh. I can repay you?”

He stared at you like you’d offered to give him pocket lint.

Then, without even glancing at the SS Esper still on the floor, he waved a perfectly manicured hand and said, “Leave.”

She looked up, stunned. “W-what?”

“I said leave.” His voice sharpened like glass under velvet. “Now.”

You watched her scramble out in silence. Then Vil turned to you, posture relaxing like you were an entirely different species of Esper.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the velvet chair.

You obeyed. Of course you did. Your legs moved like they belonged to someone else.

“I didn’t come here to be guided,” you said quickly. “I just thought I’d offer some compensation since you took care of me back at the Gate, and—”

“Hush.”

You blinked.

“I didn’t guide you for compensation,” Vil said, moving closer, “and I certainly don’t require repayment.”

“But I—”

“Do not interrupt me,” he said smoothly, placing his hand just under your jaw and tilting your head with two fingers. “Close your eyes.”

You did.

And just like before, the storm in your chest went still.

He hadn’t even made full contact yet, and already your frayed nerves calmed, your aching muscles relaxed, and that hollow echo left by the Gate quieted.

You opened your mouth to speak again—because, honestly, who wouldn’t panic under that much raw focus—but his voice cut in before a single syllable escaped:

“Did I say you could talk?”

You shut your mouth.

Vil smiled. Like he’d just won something important, and wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.

“Good. You learn quickly.”

You staggered out of the Gate like a soldier crawling back from the front lines of a war no one believed in. Your clothes were singed, your limbs were shaking, your skin was buzzing with leftover energy that had nowhere to go, and your brain was running the Windows 95 shutdown noise on loop. You had fought monsters for the past hour with all the grace of a dying blender.

Everything hurt. Your body felt like it had been used as a battering ram. Your soul felt like it had been microwaved.

So when you saw the sweet, merciful glow of a Guide badge ahead in the crowd, your instincts took over. You staggered forward like a half-dead Roomba on its last cycle, locked onto the nearest beacon of safety.

The Guide in question had orange hair and the smug look of someone who thought they were God’s gift to humanity despite the fact they were clearly holding a vape pen and a clipboard.

You didn’t care.

You lurched toward him, arms outstretched like a cryptid emerging from the woods.

“BRO NO,” he yelped. “DUDE, I’M NOT CERTIFIED FOR THIS LEVEL OF TRAUMA—DON’T PUKE ON ME—”

But before your forehead could connect with his very punchable shoulder, a blur of movement swept in.

You were yanked back by the collar like an untrained dog trying to bolt into traffic.

“Absolutely not,” a cool, smooth voice said with the unmistakable tone of expensive disdain. “You are not grounding with him.”

You turned sluggishly to your new captor and immediately forgot how to breathe.

Vil. Hair perfect despite the apocalyptic weather conditions of a gate zone. Wearing a coat that probably cost more than your entire existence and looking at you like you were a particularly unfortunate stain on said coat.

You blinked at him. “Am I in trouble?” you mumbled.

Vil arched a brow. “You’re seconds away from slumping onto a Guide who once tried to ground an Esper by playing lo-fi beats through his AirPods. Yes, you’re in trouble.”

You were too tired to be offended.

He sighed, took your hand, and suddenly, bliss.

Like every nerve in your body was dunked in lavender oil and told to shut up. Your breathing evened out. Your vision cleared. Your bones climbed back into their sockets like, “Our bad, we’ll behave now.”

You let him guide you to a nearby bench, too dazed to do anything but follow the magical angel who had just saved you from the worst decision of your life.

Vil sat gracefully. You slumped next to him like a dying cactus in a thunderstorm.

“Post-gate recovery is non-negotiable,” he said, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly expire in public.

You closed your eyes and focused on the cool, steady rhythm of his guidance, and then—

A crinkle.

You opened one eye to see him pull a juice box from his bag. With a bendy straw.

He inserted the straw and handed it to you like you were a toddler who’d just had a very bad day at daycare.

You stared at the juice. Then at him. “Is this for me?”

“No,” he said dryly. “It’s for the other S-class Esper currently drooling on my coat.”

You blinked, deeply touched. You took a sip.

It was… heavenly.

You made a soft noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

And then—your eyes stung.

“No,” Vil said immediately, without looking at you. “Whatever emotional reaction you’re about to have—don’t.”

You sniffled. “But you brought me juice. Nobody’s brought me juice since I got classified. Everyone just shoves me into Gates and tells me not to die.”

He flicked your forehead. “If you die, I have to find another Esper whose personality doesn’t give me hives. That sounds exhausting.”

“Are you… saying you like me?”

“I’m saying your emotional resilience is marginally less pathetic than average,” he said, adjusting your posture so your head leaned more comfortably on his shoulder. “And I don’t hate your voice.”

You sipped your juice box, trembling like a Victorian child given a warm meal for the first time.

No one had treated you like this since you joined the system. You’d been weaponized, categorized, and told to sit still and kill things on command. You were a tool. A number. A sharp object.

But Vil wasn’t afraid of your sharp edges. He looked you in the eye and said, “That’s a guide badge you’re drooling on, potato. Not a chew toy.”

And then gave you juice.

You sniffled again.

“If you sob, I will end you,” he muttered, but his hand never let go of yours.

And you knew, deep in your wrecked little Esper heart, that you would fight a thousand more gates just to be guided by him again.

Even if he bullied you the entire time.

So apparently, post-gate recovery hadn’t just been juice boxes and emotionally confusing hand-holding.

No. It turned out you had to take something called a Routine Compatibility Check for “guidance efficiency optimization.”

You hadn’t known what any of that meant, but someone had shoved a clipboard at you and told you to “go sit in the glow room and don’t touch anything,” so there you were. Sitting in a sterile white room that smelled like hand sanitizer and despair. Waiting to meet your newly assigned “guidance match.”

A door creaked open.

You turned around—and in walked a guy who looked like he hadn’t seen direct sunlight since the invention of the lightbulb. His shoulders were hunched, hoodie too big, blue glowing hair all mussed like he’d lost a fight with a hairdryer. He had eyebags for days and the posture of a raccoon caught mid-fridge-raid.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

He looked at you harder—and visibly recoiled like you’d just bit him.

“…Uhhh,” he said, voice high and trembling. “You’re the S-class?”

“Yup,” you replied.

“Oh no.”

This man looked like he was seconds from writing “HELP” on the window with a dry erase marker. His hand was already twitching toward the panic button. He was mentally Googling “what to do when assigned a battle demon.”

You opened your mouth to say something reassuring—like, “Hey, I only explode on some guides,” or “I’ve never actually flattened a building during a meltdown”—

—but the door slammed open behind you.

“Absolutely not.”

You turned around.

Vil Schoenheit stood in the doorway like the wrath of God dressed in Gucci. Impeccable coat. Sunglasses indoors. Holding a coffee cup that you knew wasn’t from the office vending machine.

He eyed the situation—your tentative shuffle toward your new guide, the way the poor guy was gripping his ID badge like a rosary—and his lip curled like someone had just handed him expired tofu.

“I’m taking them,” Vil said flatly to the Guidance Office rep standing nearby. “This is non-negotiable.”

The rep blinked. “But, Mr. Schoenheit, the match—”

“—was laughable. They’re mine.”

Your poor assigned guide looked so relieved it was almost insulting.

“Thank the stars,” he mumbled, already gathering his things like you were a bomb that’d just been safely disarmed. “No offense, but I really don’t do well with… uh… physical contact or eye contact or conflict or—”

You were too stunned to reply as Vil grabbed you by the wrist, effortlessly pivoted on his heel, and strode out of the room with you in tow like a high fashion tornado.

You stumbled after him. “Okay, hi, hello? What was that?”

“I saw your assignment,” Vil said coolly. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let that continue.”

“But—I thought you weren’t accepting new matches?”

“I’m not.”

You blinked. “So…?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, slow and deliberate, like you weren’t quite connecting the dots fast enough.

“I didn’t consider you ‘new'.”

You shut your mouth because your brain was full of static. Something about the way he said that made your knees consider filing for divorce from the rest of your body.

He guided you all the way to the elevator, in silence, while you tried to process what had just happened.

You, apparently, had been claimed.

And worst of all?

You thought you might have liked it.

It all started with a noble quest. A simple dream.

You just wanted a hoodie.

Not a fancy one. Not a designer one. Not a limited edition “inspired by the blood of fashion victims” collection. No, no. You wanted one of those oversized, marshmallow-soft hoodies that whispered “lay down and give up, my liege” every time you put it on. The kind of hoodie that could absorb emotional damage.

So there you were. Financially stable (thanks, murder gates), emotionally unstable (thanks, murder gates), and elbows-deep in a display bin labeled “3 for 2: Emotional Support Wear”, when fate struck.

Or rather, sashayed past in four-inch heels and an aura of contempt.

Vil.

You froze. He looked like he’d just walked out of a fashion spread. Every strand of hair in place. Jacket tailored within an inch of its life. Cheekbones that could slice open a space-time rift. And where was he going?

Straight into a boutique so fancy it looked like it would ask you for a résumé just to step inside.

Naturally, you turned the other way. This was not your world. You were not dressed for it. You were wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a questionable graphic of a goose wielding a knife. You were simply a humble raccoon-person in search of softness.

But then—

“You.”

Oh no. Oh god. Oh no god.

You turned around slowly, hoodie clutched to your chest like a shield. Vil stood there with shopping bags and the expression of someone who’d just discovered a stray in his favorite restaurant.

“Come. I need hands.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I left mine at home. Can’t help you.”

He blinked. Then, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t hear nonsense, he handed you his bags and turned around, fully expecting you to follow.

And you did. Because unfortunately, curiosity was stronger than shame.

The next hour? Was… actually kind of amazing.

Vil didn’t shop. He conquered. He moved through stores like a well-dressed storm, flinging judgment at poor fabric choices and muttering dark things about asymmetrical hemlines. Store staff parted for him like he was royalty. Other customers wilted under the weight of his gaze.

You, meanwhile, trailed after him like a high-end goblin, carrying his many, many bags, dressed like a sleep-deprived college student who had just lost a fight with a laundry machine.

It was great.

You watched him try on outfits with the kind of reverence usually reserved for museum pieces. He was graceful. Efficient. Disgustingly photogenic. You felt like you were witnessing a documentary: “The Endangered Fashion Icon in His Natural Habitat.”

And then, miraculously, he let you live.

He suggested a coffee break and even let you pay—probably out of pity. You made a mental note to deduct it as a business expense under “accidental deity encounter.”

Sitting across from him, sipping overpriced lattes, you made a joke. Something dumb. Something about a pair of jeans you'd seen that looked like they'd been personally attacked by a cheese grater.

Vil laughed.

You were not prepared.

It was real. Warm. Shockingly cute. Like, “I’ve been guiding murder monsters all week and now suddenly I believe in joy again” kind of cute.

You stared. He looked at you. You looked away, sipping your drink very intently, trying not to say “please laugh again, it heals my soul.”

You didn't say it out loud.

But you thought it really hard.

You walked into Vil's office like a responsible little murder gremlin, fully prepared for your weekly check-up guidance session.

What you were not prepared for was the sheer atmospheric rage brewing inside.

Vil was pacing like a cat who'd just realized its favorite toy was in the hands of a toddler—absolutely done with life. He was muttering to himself under his breath, phrases like, “Espers with zero gratitude... how dare they ask for guidance without a thank-you,” and, “I swear if one more person thinks my time is free like it's some kind of community resource—

He saw you, exhaled the deepest sigh known to man, and pointed at the couch like he was casting a curse. Not a word of greeting. Just The Finger of Sit.

So you sat. For about three seconds.

Then, something in your little gremlin heart said: No. He is cranky. He is suffering. This is a job for Emotional Support Esper.

You got up, walked behind him, and—without a word—started massaging his shoulders.

Vil tensed like a cat about to fight god. Then slowly—slowly—melted into it.

“This isn’t part of your session,” he grumbled, but it lacked bite. His head tilted forward, giving you better access. “You’re not guiding me, you know.”

“I’m aware,” you said, digging your thumbs in just right. “You’re welcome.”

He didn’t reply. Just… breathed. It was weirdly serene. You, massaging one of the most powerful and terrifying guides in the country. Him, finally looking like he wasn’t five seconds away from incinerating someone with nothing but his glare.

Eventually, you sat back down on the couch. And then—shock of all shocks—Vil slumped down next to you.

No dramatic speech. No biting commentary. Just one very exhausted, very overworked guide leaning on your shoulder like gravity had personally betrayed him.

“…Don’t say a word about this,” he murmured, eyes already closed. He reached for your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and held it tight.

You stayed there for a long time.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

You just sat with him in silence, wondering how the hell you’d gone from emotional demolition expert to comfort pillow. And, weirdly, feeling kind of honored.

You weren’t sure how you got home, but judging by the trail of blood, sludge, and crushed energy drink cans leading up the stairs, you had clearly made the journey using sheer spite and possibly a small miracle. Your legs moved on autopilot, powered by rage, trauma, and about four remaining brain cells—none of which were cooperating.

You’d just come back from a gate that had gone so poorly, it might as well have been cursed by the gods, the devs, and your second-grade math teacher. Breach. Casualties. Screaming.

There was definitely a moment where you almost flung a monster into a building and then screamed louder when you realized it was the emergency response building. Whoops.

It wasn’t even your assigned gate. It was a last-minute scramble. You and a handful of other S-rank espers were yanked in because the gate was behaving badly. Like, “snarling, vomiting monsters that defied physics” badly. And you—foolish, heroic, caffeine-soaked gremlin that you were—ran in first like someone had dared you.

You fought. You fought so hard you forgot your own name for about two hours. And still, people died. People always died. But this time, it felt like too many. You saw a little kid’s shoe and had a breakdown mid-punch. You tried to do everything, and your body just… stopped cooperating.

You didn’t even get guided afterward.

Vil wasn't at this gate. The other guides were all assigned or recovering themselves. Some were crying. A few had fainted from strain.

And you? You looked around, felt your knees give out a little, then just muttered “okay cool” and left like a ghost clocking out after a double shift at a haunted Wendy’s.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were so dissociated you forgot how doors worked. You stood outside yours for a full minute before realizing the knob turned left. You walked in, left your boots and weapon where they fell, and didn’t even consider locking the door behind you.

Let fate come. Let a gate burst into your living room. Let some criminal wander in and steal your furniture. That was Future You’s problem. Current You was Busy.

You peeled yourself out of your battle gear like a sad, oversized fruit roll-up, leaving it in a heap that would absolutely start growing mold by tomorrow. You wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside for three solid minutes, and then closed it again. There was nothing in there but expired yogurt, an empty ketchup bottle, and the overwhelming sense of despair. Just like your soul.

Your eyes landed on the couch. You made eye contact. It made eye contact back.

You didn’t go to your bed. The bed had too much hope. The couch? The couch knew. The couch had seen things. It was your emotional support furniture, and it beckoned you with lumpy cushions and the faint scent of Febreze and failure.

You collapsed into it with the grace of a dying walrus, grabbed the nearest throw blanket like a life raft, and curled up.

Your muscles throbbed. Your eyes were dry, too tired to cry. Your heart was heavy and hollow, a contradiction wrapped in fatigue.

You didn’t call the Guidance Office.

You didn’t reach for your communicator.

You didn’t even consider getting guided.

Because why would you?

You hadn’t earned it.

Guidance was for espers who did good. Who came back whole. Who saved people and feel okay about it.

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Least of all Vil—the most terrifyingly elegant guide in existence, whose soothing voice could calm a charging bull but whose judgmental stare could reduce you to ash on the spot. You could already imagine it:

“Potato, why didn’t you call?” And you’d go, “Because I sucked. And also I was busy eating my weight in sadness on my couch.”

So no. No guidance. No messages. No crying. Just you, your depression blanket, and your ever-growing collection of trauma under a mountain of emotional avoidance.

You passed out like that, too. Face-down, limbs sprawled, snoring gently, still wearing one sock and gripping the couch cushion like it owed you rent.

And in the hallway, your door remained unlocked.

Because honestly?

Let the monsters come.

You’d either sleep through it or invite them in for leftover yogurt and mutual despair.

You woke up feeling like a truck had hit you, reversed, parked on your spine, and left its high beams on just to be petty. Every bone in your body creaked like an abandoned haunted house. Your mouth tasted like regret and half a protein bar. Your blanket was half off the couch, half on the floor, and a mysterious corn chip was stuck to your elbow.

You blinked at the ceiling in confusion. Then your phone screamed.

100 missed calls.

37 texts.

All from: Vil Schoenheit.

Each message angrier than the last.

The final one simply said: “Pick. Up. Now.”

You did.

The moment the line connected, there was a beat of silence—then his voice, sharp and low like the edge of a knife:

“Address. Now.”

You mumbled something barely coherent, possibly your zip code, possibly the ingredients of a burrito. Either way, you texted him your location, dropped the phone on your chest, and passed out again like a Sims character who ignored every need bar until they collapsed.

The next time you woke up, it was to someone violently shaking you like they were trying to exorcise a demon.

“The door was wide open. Wide. Open. Are you out of your mind?! What if someone broke in?! What if something followed you?! What if—”

You cracked one eye open. Vil was kneeling beside your couch in full luxury casuals, flawless hair tied back in a silk ribbon, eyes blazing with a fury usually reserved for war crimes or off-season fashion.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” he snapped, voice wobbling between fury and panic.

You sat up slowly. Your limbs felt like wet noodles. You looked at him—actually looked at him—and saw the edges of worry in his perfect posture. You didn’t think. You just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his surprisingly warm, cologne-scented form like a soggy baby koala.

He froze.

Then he hugged you back, one arm sliding firmly around your waist, the other hand smoothing over your hair with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.

“You didn’t respond,” he murmured, voice much softer now, like he’d deflated the moment you touched him. “I was at a gate, and you—you should’ve called me. You idiot.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” you croaked, still clinging. “I couldn’t save everyone. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t—”

THWACK.

He flicked you so hard on the forehead you saw colors. You yelped and recoiled, holding your skull like he’d smacked you with a frying pan.

“OW—what the hell, Vil?!”

“Use your brain,” he snapped. “You don’t have to earn guidance. You lived. You fought. You made it back. That’s enough.”

You stared at him, stunned and blinking. Your brain, which had been curled in a ball screaming failure failure failure, screeched to a halt. It didn’t know what to do with this information. It flailed.

“...but—”

“No.” He pressed two fingers to your temple. “Quiet.”

And just like that, warmth bloomed across your skin. Calm, grounding, steady. His presence wrapped around your rattled mind like a weighted blanket.

You hadn’t realized how loud your thoughts had been until everything went quiet.

You slumped forward again, forehead on his shoulder.

“…thank you,” you whispered.

He made a soft, exasperated noise and squeezed your hand.

“Next time,” he muttered, “if you don’t call me, I will drag you to a spa against your will and lock you in a bathhouse for six hours.”

Honestly?

That sounded kind of nice.

You nodded into his shoulder and let the warmth pull you under again.

It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment. There was no dramatic gasp, no heart-skipping beat, no rom-com soundtrack swelling in the background.

No. It happened while Vil was in the middle of passionately criticizing your instant ramen consumption.

“You don’t even check the sodium levels, do you? Of course not. Why would you? That would require basic self-preservation instincts, which you clearly lack,—are you even listening to me?”

You were, actually. Kind of. Mostly you were just watching the way his eyes flashed when he got worked up, how his voice lilted, how his hair caught the light like he had a personal filter on at all times. His hands moved a lot when he was mad—elegant, precise little gestures like he was conducting an orchestra of outrage.

And somewhere in the middle of him saying something about how your body was “not a landfill for factory-processed poison,” you thought:

Wow. He’s perfect.

There was a pause.

A silence that felt loud in your own brain.

Not because he noticed—no, he was still going. But you did. You noticed. And you felt your entire emotional infrastructure collapse like a badly built IKEA table.

You sat there, nodding along, eyes wide and empty like a man realizing he’d dropped his phone into lava. Because you knew exactly what this meant.

You were so, so screwed.

You didn’t even try to deny it. You were too tired for that. Too experienced in emotional disasters to think, “maybe it’s just a crush!”

Nah. You liked him. For real. In the "I’d wear sunscreen just to impress him" kind of way. In the "he could tell me I look homeless and I’d say thank you" kind of way.

So, you just accepted your fate.

You nodded solemnly while Vil insulted your meal plan and thought:

Well. I guess this is my life now. Time to emotionally implode in private.

You weren’t going to tell him. Absolutely not. The man had standards higher than Mount Everest. You were a gremlin in sweatpants. He guided you out of what had to be some misplaced sense of moral responsibility, not because he liked you.

So, your plan was simple: keep it quiet. Let the crush rot in your chest. Maybe it would fade. Maybe Vil would never find out. Maybe you’d survive.

…Maybe.

“Are you even paying attention?” Vil snapped, snapping his fingers in your face.

You jolted back to reality. “Yes! Yes. Sodium bad. Body temple. I got it.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“I’m always weird,” you said quickly. “That’s my brand. Very consistent.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hopeless.”

You watched him for a second longer and thought, God, I’m doomed.

And then you smiled and said, “Yeah. But at least I’m charming about it.”

He rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t deny it.

You were just trying to survive. That’s all.

Because being around Vil Schoenheit every other day, breathing the same air as him while he guided you while scolding you, was no longer tenable. Your heart was staging a full-blown coup against your sanity.

Every smirk he threw your way shaved years off your life. Every time he flicked your forehead for being “reckless” or “insufferable” or “a walking cautionary tale,” you internally swooned like a Victorian maiden on a fainting couch.

So, you did what any emotionally fragile raccoon-person would do when faced with unattainable love and regular exposure to flawless cheekbones: you fled.

To the Guidance Office.

You kept your voice steady when you asked for your previous guide’s contact. The poor intern looked like he’d rather explode than question you, especially once he realized who your current guide was.

Still, he handed over the transfer form and you sat down, heart racing, tapping your pen like a death drum. You were halfway through scribbling your tragic little freedom request when—

A shadow loomed.

Perfume wafted.

And the temperature dropped ten degrees.

You didn’t even have time to look up before the form was snatched from your hands with all the grace of a man committing a stylish crime.

“Up. Now.”

Vil’s voice was frost and fury and every hair on your body stood up like soldiers called to war.

You stumbled after him, too stunned to protest, as he marched you through the hallways with terrifying grace. You passed several people who were clearly wondering if they were witnessing a kidnapping, but no one dared interfere.

His office door slammed shut behind you, and he turned on you like a beautifully irate weather phenomenon.

Then—rip.

Your transfer form disintegrated in his hands.

“OUT,” he snapped, voice tight, angry. “If you’re going to be a complete and utter fool, then get out of my sight.”

You blinked. “What—why are you mad? I’m doing you a favor!”

“A favor?” he repeated, like you’d just spat in a glass of Château Margaux.

You held your ground, though you were 97% sure he could kill you with a single sigh. “You didn’t want to guide me in the first place! I’m—look, I’m making it easier for both of us. No more clingy potato energy. No more… emotional spirals. You can guide someone who isn’t a complete mess.”

He stared at you, eyes narrowed, jaw tense, and then he—kissed you.

No warning. No build-up. Just lips crashing against yours like your poor little romantic delusions had summoned it from the abyss. His hands cupped your face, tilting it just right, and you—froze.

You opened your mouth to say something.

He kissed you again.

This time, slower. Angrier. Like he was trying to shove every word you weren’t letting him say directly into your bloodstream.

“I love you,” he hissed when he finally pulled away, chest heaving. “You stupid, overthinking potato.”

You blinked. “I—wait, what?”

“Oh, now you’re speechless?” he snapped, pacing. “You think I guide you because it’s convenient? You think I chose to rip you away from that quivering ball of social anxiety just to be charitable? I don’t have to guide anyone. I chose you.”

You were still stuck on the part where he said “I love you” and hadn’t immediately revoked it.

He pointed at you. “Sit down.”

You sat. Immediately.

He sat next to you, crossed one leg over the other, and glared. “We’re going to talk about this. Then you’re going to delete the idea of transferring from your thick, tragically underutilized brain. Understood?”

“…Yes?”

“Good. And drink some water. You look like you’re about to combust.”

You obeyed. Because frankly? You were.

“You’re serious?” you asked, voice a little cracked around the edges, sitting on his plush office chair like you were squatting in a throne you had absolutely no right to. “You love me?”

Vil stared at you with the exhausted patience of a man who had been in love with a rock for three years. “Yes. I’ve loved you for a while, and you—” he poked you in the forehead again, harder this time, “—have been blissfully, astoundingly oblivious.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, already sweating. “You’re very hard to read!”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “You’re just emotionally illiterate.”

“Give me one example.”

“Oh, one?” He tilted his head and actually laughed, as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Let’s start small, then. Remember the time I brought you a silk-lined weighted blanket because you said you liked ‘being squished by fabric’ and your apartment ‘felt like a haunted fridge?’”

You blinked. “I thought that was just you mocking me with luxury.”

“I custom-ordered it in your favorite color and personally dropped it off.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

“And what about the emergency juice box I carry around exclusively for you, because you tend to spiral into a puddle after difficult gates and refuse to ask for help?”

“…You said that was because I’m ‘emotionally six.’”

“That was a joke.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pointed at you again. “What about when I held your hand during guidance and you told me, ‘This is wildly intimate,’ and I said, ‘That’s the idea, darling,’ and you laughed and said, ‘Ha ha good one,’ and proceeded to talk about raccoons for twenty minutes?”

Your face was hot. Like boiling kettle hot. You were being roasted over the open flames of your own idiocy.

Vil, now fully in his villain origin arc, stood up, arms crossed. “Or the time I made you lunch because you skipped breakfast three days in a row and you cried a little, and I wiped your tears, and you said, ‘You’d make such a good husband, wow,’ and then called me bro.”

“I was tired that day,” you whispered.

He paced. “I took a personal day to guide you after that one breach because you refused post-gate care. I showed up at your house! You were curled up like a soggy blanket and told me you didn’t deserve comfort, and I guided you anyway! I even brought snacks!”

You were holding your head in your hands now, processing. “Oh my god. I’m the clown. I’m the whole circus.”

Vil sighed and came to kneel beside you again, gentler now. He pulled your hands from your face and took them in his, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature. “I assumed you didn't like me. But this?” He smiled a little. “This is honestly worse.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

“I love you,” he repeated, quieter now, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t want you to change guides. I want you to stay.”

You looked down at your joined hands. Then up at his face, soft and real and so, so stupidly beautiful.

“...Can I kiss you again?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

And he did. And this time, when he kissed you, you didn’t freeze or black out or say anything about raccoons. You just held him closer and kissed him back, trying very hard not to think about how many brain cells you’d wasted missing the obvious.

(But you did apologize to him later. After the third kiss. And after asking if he’d consider writing a “Vil Schoenheit’s Guide to Realizing Your Guide is Flirting” manual for future dumbasses like yourself.)

The first time Vil met you was… unfortunate.

You'd collapsed on him like a sandbag flung from the heavens by a god with no taste.

He'd been called in to assist after a gate breach—nothing unusual, really, just a high-stress emergency with far too many untrained espers and not enough functioning brain cells among them. His job was to stabilize, guide, and keep anyone from combusting mentally or emotionally, preferably both. It was clinical, routine, and efficient.

Until you.

You stumbled out of the smoke and screaming with wild eyes and your uniform half-burnt, looking like you’d just gone twelve rounds with the concept of mortality. You locked eyes with him—briefly, like a bird recognizing glass mid-flight—and then passed out straight into his arms.

Correction: onto him.

He wasn’t sure how you managed to fall with such inconvenient geometry, but one moment he was standing, perfectly composed, and the next he had an unconscious stranger face-planting onto him, limbs sprawled like a freshly felled tree.

His first thought was: Excuse you?

His second: Do they not know who I am?

Honestly, the offense was justified. People didn’t usually touch Vil without permission, let alone treat him like a fainting couch. And yet when the medics arrived to assist, he waved them off with a sigh, brushing soot out of your hair and stabilizing your exhausted psyche with the practiced ease of someone too annoyed to be fazed. You were just another Esper, he told himself. Another mess to be cleaned up.

Then you woke up.

You blinked at him. Groggy. Confused. Soft in the eyes in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Sorry. My bad.”

No recognition. No fawning. No demands for priority guidance.

Just that—thanks—like he was your local neighborhood guide and not one of the most in-demand SSS-ranks in the country.

And that was when it happened: the first crack.

A hairline fracture in his perfectly sculpted composure. Something warm and startlingly gentle wedged itself in his chest. The faint, whispering thought: They’re not like the others.

He'd left soon after and that should've been the end of it.

But the next day, you came to his office. Not to request a partnership. Not to ask for more guidance sessions. Not even to praise his skill, as most did when they finally found out who he was.

No.

You walked in with a slightly bent energy drink and said, “Hi. Just wanted to thank you again. For yesterday. And, like, if you want anything—coffee, or uh, a meal, or maybe a really good nap on my couch—I can return the favor.”

He blinked. “You're offering me compensation?”

“Yeah,” you said, like it was obvious. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. Also, you helped me not die. That deserves at least a smoothie.”

He stared at you. You stared back, unbothered and vaguely hopeful, like someone trying to barter with a raccoon they’d wronged in a past life.

And that’s when the thought struck him:

I wish more Espers were like this.

Earnest. Direct. Not wrapped in ego or desperation. You treated him like a person and not a tool or a celebrity. Like someone who deserved appreciation, not worship.

He didn’t say yes to your offer.

And later that evening, sipping the mango smoothie you left on his desk with a sticky note that said “Thanks again, Your Highness,” Vil caught himself smiling.

Disaster or not, you had… made an impression.

And for better or worse, that impression was starting to stick.

Soon, he found himself buying your favorite juice on the way to work.

He told himself it was to bribe you into being less reckless. That he just “happened” to know your favorite. That it was a coincidence.

He also started carrying headache meds. And bandaids. And snacks. And spare gloves because you kept losing yours and pretending you didn’t need them.

A week later, he spotted you in the hallway again. You were coming out of a gate looking like you’d been mugged by gravity and a brick. But what truly horrified Vil was not your appearance (which was a hate crime against fashion), but the fact that you were about to be guided by someone else.

Some junior Guide with too much gel in his hair and the audacity to step away from you.

Vil's soul left his body.

He didn’t even think. He stomped across the hallway, yanked you away like a cat stealing laundry, and declared, “Absolutely not.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Guiding you. Sit down. Shut up.”

“...Okay?”

He’d never been so professionally compromised. He gave you the most aggressive, possessive, emotionally repressed guiding session in history. It was like channeling affection through gritted teeth.

He was doomed.

Vil Schoenheit was a man of control. Precision. Elegance. He kept his calendar color-coded, his wardrobe steamed, and his guiding sessions timed to the minute.

So when he heard through the grapevine that you were about to be reassigned to another Guide—because of some nonsense about “compatibility tests” and “emotional interference” (rude)—he did not react well.

No, he did not pout.

He did not sulk.

He marched directly to the Guidance Office, pulled rank in that way that only Vil could—part charm, part cold-blooded menace—and made it very clear that you were off the market.

“This Esper is mine,” he said, crisp and cool like a glacier in a fur coat. “Officially. Put it in writing.”

The poor intern at the desk blinked up at him, then at the screen.

“Um… you mean, you want to—?”

“Yes. I want to take full responsibility for their guiding.”

“Sir, do you mean romantically—?”

“Professionally.” A beat. “For now.”

Vil was shopping for seasonal essentials, which of course required strategic planning, multiple fitting rooms, and approximately seventeen judgmental head tilts. He saw you wandering out of a soft-clothes store with a hoodie that looked like a blanket and a dream.

You saw him.

You tried to leave.

He grabbed your wrist.

“I need hands,” he said.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

And then he handed you a bag and moved on like a model on a mission.

You carried his bags for hours. You offered no complaints, just commentary like, “That color makes your cheekbones illegal,” and “If I try that on I’ll look like a deflated beanbag.” You actually enjoyed yourself.

And then—then—when you ended up in a café and he reluctantly allowed you to buy his coffee, you sat there, sipping from your little cup, and made some stupid joke about luxury couture and cheese graters.

He laughed.

He laughed.

And it wasn’t polite or dismissive. It was the kind of laugh that knocked loose something in his ribcage. The kind that made him stare at you over the rim of his drink and realize, with full-body horror:

I’m doomed.

Because he liked you.

He really, really liked you.

Not in the “you’re tolerable and I guess I won’t smite you” way. In the “I want to wring your neck for not wearing gloves but also maybe hold your hand” way. The “I will destroy that junior Guide if he even looks at you again” way. The “please stop getting injured or I will cry and then deny it until the sun explodes” way.

And you had no idea.

You were still out here calling yourself “emotionally bulletproof” and stealing his granola bars like it was normal. Still calling him “Vilbo Baggins” and poking his forehead like you weren’t holding the shreds of his dignity in your little chaos-stained hands.

So yes. Vil was doomed.

And he couldn’t even blame you.

Because of all the Espers in the world, it had to be you—you with your messy hair and shiny eyes and stupid brave heart.

Fast-forward to a Tuesday. Or maybe Thursday. Vil had lost track. It had been a day full of Espers with no manners, no boundaries, and one who tried to touch his hair mid-guiding.

By the time you wandered into his office, he was one broken string away from full violin villainy.

And for once, you didn’t joke.

No "What’s up, Guidezilla?"

No "Did your skincare try to abandon you too?"

You just took one look at him, walked over, and—gently—placed your hands on his shoulders.

Vil froze.

You kneaded the tight muscles there with surprising skill. Still no words. Just the quiet press of your thumbs, the steady warmth of your touch. And when he exhaled—shaky, involuntary—you didn’t tease him for it.

You just said, softly, “You don’t always have to do everything alone, you know.”

And that was when he broke a little.

Not obviously. But his posture slumped just slightly. His head tilted just enough to rest against your shoulder. Not even for a minute—maybe twenty seconds.

But it was enough.

Enough to make him realize: This is the safest I’ve felt all day.

And the fact that it was you—you, with your chaos and your grin and your glitter stickers stuck to your ID badge—that was terrifying. And comforting. And utterly, stupidly addicting.

He didn’t say thank you. Not out loud.

But later, when you weren’t looking, he moved your next few guiding sessions to the prime slot on his calendar. The one reserved for important things.

And in his fridge?

There was already more of your favorite juice.

He told himself it was just being thorough.

He was a liar.

It had started like any other deployment day. You and he had both been assigned to different gates, which wasn’t uncommon anymore. It was annoying—yes, he preferred to keep you in arm’s reach like a chaotic, overly affectionate pet raccoon—but manageable. You hadn’t called, hadn’t messaged, so he assumed it was fine. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you’d just fallen asleep.

But then he heard the reports.

Talk around the guidance center was that your gate had gone bad. A breach. Casualties. They'd barely managed to contain it. The kind of mission that rattled even the seasoned Espers.

Vil had frozen mid-conversation, a pen slipping from his hand and clattering onto his desk.

“Did they get guided after?” he asked, voice sharp.

The other Guide had shrugged. “Apparently not. Took off the moment debrief ended.”

And that was when the spiral started.

He called you. Once. Twice. Ten times. Fifty. A hundred.

Pacing his office like a man possessed, he left increasingly deranged voicemails.

—"Pick up your phone, I swear to the God, if you are ghosting me because you’re feeling ‘emotionally crunchy’ again—"

—“If you're hurt, I need to know. If you're not hurt, I'm going to kill you myself.”

—“Potato, I’m serious. Answer the phone.”

When you finally picked up, sounding groggy and like someone had drop-kicked your soul, all you said was:

“…Vil?”

And that was enough.

“Address. Now.”

You sent him a dropped pin and then promptly passed out again.

He’d never gotten to your place so fast in his life. Nearly crashed into two pedestrians, scared a delivery driver into a full existential crisis, and parked in a tow zone without blinking.

The front door was unlocked.

He burst in like divine judgment, only to find you curled up on your couch like a sad, emotionally fried ferret.

“You left the door open. What if someone had—?! You didn’t even—! I called you a hundred times! Why didn’t you—!?”

You blinked up at him, slow and a little disoriented. “Vil?”

He was kneeling next to the couch before he realized it, shaking you like an overcaffeinated nurse trying to keep a patient conscious. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

Something in Vil's chest cracked with a soundless, incandescent rage. Not at you. Never at you.

At the situation. At himself. At the idiocy of a world where someone like you—who put yourself on the line for people who didn’t know your name—could think for one second you didn’t deserve comfort.

You sat up and hugged him before he could speak. And Vil, for all his pride and poise, let you.

He guided you right there on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around you like he could anchor all your scattered pieces back into place with sheer force of will. His fingers were steady against your temple, his voice low and soothing.

You didn't fight it this time. Not really. You were too tired. Too raw.

But later, when you were dozing against him and he felt the weight of your breathing even out, he looked at you and thought:

If I ever lose them, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

And he realized, with an unflinching kind of horror, that this wasn’t just fondness anymore.

This was love. Stupid, all-consuming, feral love.

Oh, when Vil saw the transfer form in your hands—his potato, his utterly chaotic, absurdly self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated Esper—filling out a request to switch Guides?

He saw red. No, scratch that. He saw every shade of fury on the spectrum. He didn’t even remember walking; one moment he was across the hallway, the next he had the form in his fist and you in his office, the door slammed shut behind you with enough force to rattle the entire floor.

“What. Is. This.”

You blinked at him like a cat caught stealing food, caught between guilt and indifference. “A transfer form? I—uh. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a—” Vil looked genuinely scandalized. If he wore pearls, he would’ve clutched them. “Do you think I’m running a halfway house for wayward Espers?! I have been guiding you, carrying juice boxes for you, putting up with your ridiculous snacks, and you think this isn’t a big deal?!”

You stared at him, flustered and slightly confused. “I—I just thought maybe it’d be easier for both of us if I wasn’t—like—around all the time, you know? I’m not exactly low maintenance—”

Vil’s brain short-circuited.

He kissed you.

No thought. Just lips. Panic. Longing. Rage. Chapstick.

Your sentence died like a bug on a windshield.

Vil pulled back just long enough to snarl, “I love you, you stupid overthinking potato.”

You blinked.

“I—what—”

He kissed you again. You weren’t going to ruin this with words. Not today.

When he finally let you breathe, you looked dizzy. In love. Slightly offended. Vil understood.

“You’ve been in love with me?” you asked, voice very much in the ‘I missed every single sign like a blind NPC in a dating sim’ zone.

“Oh finally,” Vil groaned. “Yes. For ages. Do you think I just carry juice boxes for anyone? I had to go to a wholesaler to find your weird imported apple-lychee thing. I do not do that for strangers.”

You looked like the Earth had tilted sideways. “Oh my god. I thought you were just—like that.”

“‘Like that?!’” he cried. “I forced you to carry my shopping bags through an entire mall and called it a bonding experience! I let you pay for my coffee! I let you touch me when I was emotionally unbalanced! Me!”

“Oh my god,” you said again, very softly. “I am Stupid.”

Vil sighed like he was asking the universe for strength. “Yes. But you’re mine now. So unless you want to see what a real tantrum looks like, stop trying to fill out transfer forms like we’re in some tragic rom-com and just stay.”

You looked at him for a moment, soft and stunned and still processing the part where he said “I love you” more than once.

Then you reached for him, and he let you pull him into a hug, and despite everything—despite the rage, the confusion, the two destroyed pens on his desk and the emotional whiplash—you smiled into his shoulder like you couldn’t quite believe your luck.

Vil closed his eyes.

And all he could think was:

If I have to live in this ridiculous, broken world... let it be with you.

You didn’t expect it to come up like this.

You were lying on Vil’s fancy designer couch, head on his lap, while he scrolled through his tablet like he wasn’t also playing with your hair and ruining your heart. It was a quiet kind of peace, the kind you didn’t get often, the kind you didn’t want to jinx.

Which is exactly why he jinxed it.

“I want to permanently bond,” he said, tone casual in the way a gun cocking across the room is casual.

You blinked. “What?”

He looked down at you like you were the idiot for not reading his mind faster.

“I don’t want to guide anyone else,” he said. “You’re mine.”

Your heart made a sound like a microwave short-circuiting.

“You’re sure?” you asked, because you had to—because you needed him to say it again, to look you in the eye and confirm this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment emotion, or drama, or guilt, or—

Vil gave you a glare so sharp it could slice through reinforced glass. You didn’t even need to hear him speak. The look alone said: If you ask that again I will end you and then raise you from the ashes just to scold you properly.

So naturally, you pulled him closer.

He kissed you like you’d insulted him and he was trying to forgive you with his entire mouth. And then he pushed you down onto the couch with all the grace and pent-up need of someone who’d waited far too long to do this.

There was nothing dramatic about the bond itself—it was warmth, deep and golden, spreading between your minds like a whispered promise. Familiar, grounding, and so right it made you dizzy. You felt him in a way that no one else could ever match—his feelings humming beneath your skin, threaded through your heartbeat, echoing in your thoughts.

It felt like falling and landing and being caught all at once.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just pressed his forehead against yours and held you close, letting the bond settle between your chests like a vow.

Then, quietly:

“Finally.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah,” you said, hugging him tighter. “Finally.”

Life was still mildly cursed. You weren’t about to tempt fate by saying otherwise. The gates still opened at the worst times, your body still ached in places that didn’t make sense, and someone still managed to microwave metal in the guidance office kitchen every single week.

But—

You had Vil. And that made it survivable.

He had finally, finally reprogrammed you out of your self-destructive nonsense, though it had been a war. You were talking metaphorical trench warfare. It took a thousand forehead flicks, an aggressively color-coded sleep schedule, and a terrifying PowerPoint presentation titled “If You Die, I Will Be Very Upset (And Also Kill You) – A Visual Threat.”

And in return, you had managed to make Vil Schoenheit loosen up. The man who once flinched at the idea of touching door handles with his bare hands now shared hoodies with you and let you kiss him with gate-dust still in your hair.

It was progress.

So when the door to your shared home clicked shut behind you both after another long day, you let out a sigh and slumped like a corpse released from its mortal coil. Vil caught you by the collar before you hit the floor like “absolutely not, we are not breaking furniture today.”

You peeled off your jacket, dropped your bag, and turned to him, still stuck in your boots. “Is it bad I want to sleep on the floor?”

“Yes,” he replied instantly. “Go shower, you reeking gremlin. I’ll order dinner.”

You blinked. “Will it be salad?”

“No. I’m ordering dumplings.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Who are you and what have you done with my overachieving nutrient-balanced microgreens–”

Vil shoved you gently toward the bathroom. “Shoo. I’ll be waiting here with your emotional support carbs when you’re done.”

And that was it.

You went to shower, and he ordered dinner. And maybe life was cursed and weird and exhausting—but it had given you Vil. And now, the worst thing he threatened you with was hydration reminders and forehead kisses.

Honestly?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

[changbunnies]

Hopelessly Devoted To You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Greaser!Bang Chan x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: grease inspired 50s au, some angst and fluff, this was supposed to be a long full length fic but it somehow became just porn with plot lol

♡ Word Count: 11.2k

♡ Summary: You were so excited to see him again– the guy you'd spent your entire summer with, entagled in a fleeting but explosively sweet romance. But the Chris you meet again isn't the one you remember, and now if he wants to win you back he's going to have to prove just how devoted to you he really is.

♡ Warnings: chan is referred to as chris, smoking (cigarettes), some misogyny + toxic masculinity + fuck boy behavior, some 50s references and lingo, 1 instance of reader shoving chan in a fit of anger / sadness, jealous and mildly possessive chan, minor appearances from felix, changbin, minho, and hyunjin (who goes by sam)

♡ Smut Warnings: 1 reference to reader losing their virginity to chan, references / flashbacks to other smut scenes before the main scene, light dom/sub dynamics, switch!chan, pet names (doll, sugar, baby), public sex, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f rec, referenced m rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, daddy kink, panty stealing (kind of), squirting, 1 mention of reader having pubic hair, maybe a lil breeding kink??, protected piv

♡ Notes: i've had this sitting in my drafts since december and finally got around to finishing it gfdhgfh this is incredibly self indulgent as grease is one of my fave movies ever and chan as danny zuko is constantly rattling around in my brain. the build up is pretty short (by my usual standards) as i moved the plot along a lot quicker than i normally would so idk if it's my best work but hopefully you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You remember well the first time you met Chris. Lounging aimlessly at the beach with the sunset on the horizon, his feet in the sand with a silver dog tag necklace hanging low over his bare chest, a cigarette from his previously discarded jeans held between his lips. Fresh from the ocean with beads of water still dripping off his toned body, slicking back his damp hair before fumbling through a different pocket for his lighter.

You watched him bring it up to his face after successfully digging it out, cupping his other hand around it to protect the flame as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. You watched him take a long drag, watched him blow the smoke out from the corners of his mouth, watched him sigh before deciding to towel dry his legs enough to wrangle his jeans back on. 

The beach had been quickly growing sparse by the time you spotted him. Groups of friends clearing out to make it to the local diner before all the tables were filled, parents wanting to get their kids to bed before the moon fully rose in the sky, couples on double dates bunching up in one car as they decide to hit the drive-in together.

You yourself were in no rush to leave– you came alone, tired of your parents bickering during what was supposed to be a fun family vacation. You’d stay as long as you could, you’d decided– really soak in the peace the sea brings before returning to your aunt’s beach house, where you were all staying for the summer.

But safe to say, the sight of him enraptured you. He was handsome, devastatingly so– you never expected to see a man with a visage to rival even that of James Dean himself with your own eyes, but there he was before you; and your heart stuttered when he glanced over in your direction.

He had just finished pulling his jeans up and over his haunches when he noticed you, cocking a brow when your eyes met– and you could tell in an instant that he knew you’d been staring at him. His smile made your breath hitch, pretty dimples peeking out on his cheeks as he acknowledged you with a playful wave.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and waved back, and he grinned, eyes still locked on yours as he pulled up the zipper of his jeans. He turned back to his belongings on the ground, shook the sand out of his white tee before pulling it on. He grabbed his leather jacket, slung it over his shoulder before turning to look at you once more.

You swallowed, face running hot from his gaze alone– you hoped, as he began walking towards you, that you could play it off as having not put on enough sunscreen before coming here. You were sitting on a towel, legs to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, but you lowered them as he approached you.

He tossed his cigarette to the the side once he was close, letting its flame fizzle out in the sand. He looked you up and down when you stood up, introducing himself with a charismatic smile that made your heart race faster. You stuttered when speaking, and his smile widened, one of his hands going to rest in the pocket of his jeans while the other kept his leather jacket in place over his shoulder. 

Chris was the most, to say the least– and when he asked if he’d see you again tomorrow, you promised him he would. You watched him walk over to a beat up, old top down cadillac, throwing his jacket into the car before jumping in– literally jumping in, hand on top of the closed car door as he hopped over it into the driver's seat. 

He gave you another glance after starting the ignition, and you smiled meekly as you offered him another wave. Chris grinned, raising his hand to say goodbye before putting it back on the wheel and burning rubber out of the parking lot.

You spent nearly every summer day with him after that. Days at the beach spent splashing each other in the water while you giggled, hopping in his cadillac to go catch whatever new flick was showing, or sharing a milkshake at his favorite diner. He’d hold your hand as you walked through the sand, giggled with you over silly inside jokes while eating burgers and fries, hugged you tight after you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

Chris gave you dimes to pick tunes on the jukebox, and would sing along to your selections with the prettiest voice you’d ever heard. He took you to the county fair, would shoot you goofy grins after kissing you with lips sticky from cotton candy, got on the ferris wheel with you and squeezed your hand when the height made you dizzy, kissing away your nerves when you reached the very top.

He won you a teddy bear from the soda toss, put his leather jacket over your shoulders when the sun set and the air began to chill, wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you were waiting in line to buy some popcorn. He’d lean down to whisper a joke in your ear, and you’d slap his arm with a giggle while he squeezed you closer.

You watched him soup up the engine of his car, and he’d take your hand after a long day of working on it, pull you in to dance with him while the radio blared the hippest tunes. When he was satisfied with the restoration of his cadillac, he started taking you out on long drives, wind whipping through your hair as he drove fast through the back streets of the city.

He’d drive you to secluded hills overlooking the city, where you’d make out until he had to drive you home in time for curfew. He’d park his car far down the street, away from where your family could see him dropping you off– because Lord knows your mother's heart would give out if she saw you spending your vacation with a guy that looked like him.

And through it all, days spent back at the beach where you first met him were always your favorite. You would let Chris lay you down on a towel in the sand and kiss you over and over, until you were both heaving and hot. You lost your virginity to him like that– alone on the beach, towels laid down and moon high in the sky after having snuck out of the window of your guest bedroom to meet him.

He’d whisper sweet words in your ear, make you fall apart with deft fingers and an equally deft tongue. Sometimes, instead of sneaking out to see him, he’d be the one showing up at your guest room's window, grinning at you as you opened it to let him in. He’d fuck you there, in the bed with his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, lest your family discover what it is you’re really up to while "alone" in your room. 

Chris would crawl over to you in the passenger seat at the drive-in, sink to his knees and dip his head underneath your long poodle skirt, the flick on screen long forgotten as he pulled your panties to the side to kiss and lick your dripping pussy. Sometimes he’d fuck you there too, parked all the way in back with the windows and hood of the car up to hide what you were doing (as if the rocking didn’t give it away to anyone who happened to look.)

Sometimes, when he parked up the street to drop you off after sharing ice cream at the drive thru malt shop, you’d lean over the gear shift, taking his cock out of his jeans and sucking him off right there, with not nearly enough care for who could possibly see you. He’d give you the sweetest kiss before helping you out of the car, promising he’d see you tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that, until eventually your family’s summer vacation had to come to an end.

Chris was a dreamboat that day, as he always was– hair greased back with a few curly strands left over his forehead, loose black tee tucked into his jeans, leather jacket on with its collar ever so slightly popped, his dog tag necklace sparkling when the sun hit it just right. He was leaning against the door of his newly souped up cadillac with a lit cigarette resting between his lips, though he promptly threw it to the ground when he saw you walking over.

“There’s my girl! And ain’t she a doll,” he grinned as he pulled you to his body, kissing you sweetly as you blushed. You weren’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen you in before– just one of your usual white blouses and pretty pink skirts, but he always made sure to tell you that he thought you were the absolute most.

He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door for you and closed it shut behind you when you got in. He hopped into the driver’s seat after, starting the ignition and turning to you with that beaming smile that made your stomach flip. “What’s the plan today, sugar?” he asked, throwing his arm around you while leaving one hand on the steering wheel.

In the end, you spent the day as you had many times before– driving through the city, hitting up the diner to split a strawberry milkshake, and watching the sunset at the beach; the same beach where you met him, and where the house you were staying in lied just a couple hundred yards away. You were sitting on the rocks, his leather jacket off and resting behind you, his arm curled around your waist. 

His jeans were filthy with sand, as was your skirt, but neither of you cared– you just stayed there together, watching the sun sink lower and the waves crash against the shore. Chris kissed you when you looked up at him with watery eyes, agonized over the idea of never seeing him again. He’d given you the best summer of your entire life, and all you wanted was to stay– but you couldn’t. And though he comforted you the best he could, you both knew it was the end.

Chris held your hand to help you off the rocks, gave you a kiss before you turned away to make the walk to your aunt’s beach house. And you both knew it was the end– but not just yet. He came to your window later that night, and you let him in, bringing your hands to his face and eagerly pressing your lips to his.

He walked you back to the bed as you kissed him, laid you back gently and crawled between your legs. He made you cum on his fingers before reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it easily down his cock, his jeans having fallen down his legs just enough to let him fuck you.

You reached your hands underneath his shirt, hungrily tracing your hands over every inch of his skin. Your nightgown was bunched above your thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eventually pulled the top of it down too, exposing your chest to him and leaving your stomach as the only covered part of your body.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his normally perfectly slicked hair tousled from your fingers sliding through it– and you didn't care that the pomade in his hair dirtied your fingers; in fact, it made it feel nicer when you brought your hand to one of your breasts, and rolled your nipples between them. Your stomach flipped when he grinned and called you a dirty girl, running a hand through his hair to grease up his fingers too and tweak the other nipple not being played with by your own.

He kissed you to muffle your moans and desperate whines, and it was nowhere near as effective as when it was his hand clamped over your mouth, but it was better. He had to slow down when fucking you fast unintentionally made your bedframe slam against the wall, and you gasped, praying no one woke up from the sound.

Thankfully, no one came knocking on your door– and though you were both desperate, clinging to one another hard and sliding your tongues around each other’s with fervor, he fucked you slow and deep after that. "Chris, daddy, please– 'm gonna cum," you moaned when he brought his slicked up fingers to your clit. 

Chris groaned before kissing you again, and you came with a muffled cry, your nails digging desperately into his biceps. He kept rolling his hips into you through it, your body trembling with sensitivity until he eventually came too, all his cum spilling into the condom. 

He stayed for a while after that, holding you close and wiping tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He snuck out in the middle of the night, promised you despite it all that it wasn’t the end– you’d see each other again someday, he just knew it; he wanted you to believe it too.

You got a couple of hours of sleep before morning, and gave your family the best smile you could manage as you tossed your luggage in the trunk of your dad's chevy bel air. You slouched in the back seat, trying not to cry and wishing more than anything you were in Chris’ old cadillac instead.

The Chris you reunited with wasn’t yours, and if it was, then fate was cruel for bringing you back to him.

The Chris you knew wouldn’t have looked at you like that– like you’re a desperate and fast girl, or an overly smitten near stranger hoping to get her kicks from him one last time while his friends snickered behind him. The Chris you knew wouldn’t join in on their snickering, tilting his head with an amused expression, tongue poking his cheek as he combs his fingers through his slicked back hair.

The Chris you reunited with wasn't yours, and the realization that you didn't really know him the way you thought you did utterly broke your heart.

You were back in the city– your parents, after having settled whatever marital disputes they were having, decided to settle down here. They loved their time together in the city when all their little tiffs were said and done, and they could tell you loved it here too.

They thought it’d benefit everyone to set up shop somewhere new, where everyone could reset. Plus, your mom wanted to be close to her sister again– and you certainly wouldn’t complain about spending more time at your aunt’s beach house.

You desperately wanted to see Chris again, and you knew it’d only be a matter of time before you did– unlike you, he grew up in the city, lived here his entire life. And while it’d been months since you parted at the end of summer considering your parents had to do a lot of work to shift the family business to a new location while also looking for a decent house up for sale, it would happen eventually– you were certain of it.

And soon enough you did see him, knew in an instant it was him even at a distance– because you’d recognize his restored cadillac anywhere. He was leaning against the car door like usual, cigarette in his mouth and leather jacket on his back, with a circle of friends around him. You never met his friends– he told you they were pigs, said that you wouldn’t like them much.

Besides, you were only going to be in town a few short months– why waste your precious few days hanging around with other people when you could be alone? That’s what he always told you– and as you tentatively began to walk up the street closer to them, you could tell they certainly did talk more vulgarly than you were used to hearing.

“C’mon man, you gotta let me borrow her,” one of his friends begged in reference to his car, “she’s a real pussy wagon. My chick’ll cream if I pick her up in it.” “Get your own wheels, bozo,” Chris shoved him with a laugh, “I ain’t lettin’ you take my girl on any joyrides.”

“What if you come too? Make it a double date, you know– and nobody’s got bigger tits than Annette. I got dibs, but she’ll be real nice eye candy for you,” his friend persuaded and Chris hummed, as if seriously considering it. Would he really go?

“Mm, maybe,” he grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground and digging it into the gravel with his foot, “You do got a point. Tell her to bring a pretty friend, and I’ll think about it.” You blinked, stopped walking and simply stared at him. Had he moved on already? It’d only been a few months, but maybe you fell for him harder than he fell for you; the thought of it made your heart sink to your stomach.

His friend cheered and hugged him tight, and Chris pushed him away with another laugh, running a hand through his hair to fix it up as he characteristically did whenever it got even the slightest bit out of shape. In that same moment is when he glanced over in your direction, catching sight of you by pure coincidence.

His eyes widened when he saw you, mouth gaping open for a split second before he called your name in a mix of utter shock and joy. That was more like the Chris you knew– and it gave you hope. You ran up to him, and he to you, bringing his hands to your shoulders and touching you up and down your arms– truly, he couldn’t believe you were here, and he had to touch you to be certain it was real. 

“What– what are you doing here? I-I thought you went back home with your folks, I thought–” he was smiling, entirely giddy as he looked you up and down. “We moved! I’m here to stay,” you told him excitedly, bouncing on your heels as you stared up at him.

It made you so, so happy; to the point that the contents of his prior conversation entirely lifted from your mind. It pains you thinking back to how naive and lovesick for him you were– you wish you'd have known better. 

“I can’t believe it! I–” he started to exclaim, but then realized his friends followed him, crowding around his back while shooting him inquisitive looks, and he quickly took his hands off you.

He cleared his throat, tucked his hands in his pockets in a gesture meant to bring him back to his aloof state of being, and he grinned– not that pretty grin that made your heart flutter, but a wicked one. “I mean– that’s cool, baby.”

You didn’t like it, your brows furrowing at the change in his demeanor. “Christopher–” you started, but one of his friends spoke up before you could talk much more. “Who’s the chick?” he asked as he looked you up and down, and Chris hesitated. “Oh, uh–”

“Oh, I know!” the friend suddenly exclaimed, hit by an epiphany, “the one from the beach you wouldn’t let us meet– the one who puts out. This her? It is, isn’t it?”

Your face burned red, unpleasant heat crawling over your body as the rest of his friends snickered. He told them you put out? Why would he do that? Your expression crumbled, body trembling with embarrassment and grief, but Chris kept his own cool.

“Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t tell them all the horny details,” he smirked, and his friends' snickers erupted into full on laughs as they slapped his back in amusement. Your body burned hot with indignation, eyes welling with tears as your frustration and anguish boiled over. You shoved him as hard as you could, though it hardly even caused him to take a step back.

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, you– you creep!” you cried before turning away, ready to run back home to throw the teddy bear he won you in the trash and sob into your pillows. “That’s not all she laid on him,” one of his friends commented under his breath, the rest laughing and hooting as you sprinted away from them, back down the street.

Chris just watched, body tense and face sullen, heart twisting in his chest. He watched you turn the corner, wiping tears from your eyes before you disappeared entirely out of view, his friends still laughing and giving him pats on the back.

But when he turned to them, he put the smirk back on, and they all hopped into his car to hit the drive-in as if he didn't care about what just happened with you, as if the guilt wasn't going to eat away at him every night.

The next time Chris sees you is weeks later, at a new mom-and-pop shop freshly opened on the edge of the city. He’s there with his friends, all of them jumping out his cadillac before he’s even fully parked, rushing inside to grab a good table.

And when he walks in, it’s not his friends that he sees first but you– sitting at a booth with another guy across from you. There's an empty plate with tiny remnants of ketchup still left behind that he just knows you used for your french fries, and a milkshake between you with two straws stuck in it.

Part of him is relieved you aren’t sharing a single straw with the man like you would’ve done with him, but his gut still twists from the sight regardless. And when you giggle at something indiscernible the guy says, Chris feels liquid hot envy boil in his blood, jaw tightening and fists clenching as he cracks his neck. 

“Chris, over here!” his best pal, Felix, calls from across the shop, and that’s when you see him too. You can’t help but look when you hear his name called, eyes widening when they land on him. He tenses, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he inevitably joins his friends at the table they scouted out in the middle of the room.

He can't focus on anything his friends are saying– the only thing he vaguely hears through the fog in his brain is Changbin begging the others for spare nickels so he can afford the dog-sled delight. It all becomes tuned out noise, because all he can think about is how much he missed you, and how much it pisses him off that you're here with someone else.

It's Chris' own fault, he knows that, and that makes the feeling even worse– like bile in his throat that he can't swallow down. It doesn’t take Minho, the most perceptive of his friend group, to notice that he’s staring at you and to comment on it.

“What, you still hung up on that chick?” he questions, and Chris scoffs as he snaps out of his fog, leaning back in his chair and acting as aloof as he can bring himself to. “What? No, of course not,” he says, but his eyes still linger on you, fingers twitching with irritation when he hears you laugh again, and watches you playfully slap the man’s arm like you would do to his.

Eventually, you hold out your palm to your date, and he watches the guy dig through his pockets to give you something. Chris knows immediately what's happening– you’re waiting to be given a dime or two, and you’ll saunter off to the jukebox to pick a new tune once they’re in hand.

He watches you rise from the booth, waits until you’ve made the walk over to rise from his table, muttering to his friends that he needs to hit the can real quick. He takes a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, and then immediately turns, going straight to you instead.

He props an arm on the jukebox after he approaches, leans against it and looks down at you as you cycle through the record choices. “Hey baby,” he tries, but you ignore him, don’t even spare him a glance as you continue to give the jukebox your full attention.

“Listen– I’m sorry,” he tries again, and you just hum in acknowledgement, still not turning your gaze to look at him. He swallows, glances back at his friends who are perfectly oblivious to what he’s doing, and then back to you. “I just– you know how it is, right? The guys, they expect me to act a certain way, and–”

“That’s why I’m so glad I met Sam,” you interrupt, turning around to look at your date and offer him a sweet wave. Chris hates it, but at least you’re talking to him now– he’ll take what he can get. He still ends up scowling however when your date waves back, and you turn back to the jukebox, still without glancing up at Chris himself.

“What, you like that square?” he scoffs as he looks your date up and down. He’s smartly dressed; pristine khaki slacks and a brown sweater vest pulled over his white button up, his hair in a neatly styled, respectable crew cut– but that’s not your type.

At least, he hopes it's not; because that would make Chris the outlier, and that’s not what he wants to be. He’ll also be damned if he ends up losing you to a goody two shoes like that.

“He’s sweet to me. And I don’t have to question what his intentions are, unlike with you,” you reply, and the emphasis put on 'you' makes his heart sink. While he certainly deserves to hear it, it doesn’t make him any less upset– not with you, but with himself. He really let his pride and reputation get in the way, and he knows he fucked up. But he wants you, and surely you know that, right?

You finally settle on a tune; Those Magic Changes– the one he knows is your absolute favorite. The one he even used to serenade you with once whilst dancing, you giggling away with a cute blush on your cheeks whilst he twirled you around. He sang it more exaggeratedly towards the end, purposely putting on a goofy voice to make you laugh harder as he dipped you down.

He kissed you before lifting you back up, and then again when you were completely upright, your hand on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, your other free hands intertwined. The way you looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss made his heart pound, but he played it cool– shot you that grin that always made your legs feel like jelly, kissing your cheeks when it made your blush deepen.

Chris liked feeling the heat of your blush against his lips, liked having your hands on him even when it was in the purest of ways, liked the way you giggled and smiled at him when he playfully winked at you. The memory strikes him hard when you press the play button to start the song, and he takes a step back from the jukebox, fists clenched at his side.

You look at him then– really look at him. Instantly he feels small, your gaze that once held so much love for him now meeting him with the utmost scrutiny. He fucked up, he knows he did– but what does he do now? He can’t even trust himself to say something without fucking it up even worse. 

And the pain of it all hits you too– he can see it in your eyes just before you steel your expression, and do your best to act unaffected. "See you around, Christopher," you mutter as you turn away from him and the jukebox.

You walk back to the booth where Sam awaits your return with a smile, while Chris just stands there, your favorite song blaring painfully loud in his ears as he stares at your back. "..begs you please, come back to me, please return to me, don't go away again," the lyrics mock him harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he has to do something, anything, to show you he’s sincerely sorry. He needs to show you he still wants you, needs you to give him another chance– more than he’s ever needed anything.

The next time Chris sees you is once again by coincidence, while he’s sitting alone in the parking lot of the sock hop his little sister just begged him to take her to. He was trying to decide what to do with his time– if he left, he’d have to come back in a couple hours to pick her up, but surely it was better than sitting around outside, bored out of his mind while he waited for her.

He could go in, but sock hops aren’t really his thing– the only time he ever danced was with you, and he didn’t plan on changing that. All he’d do inside is stand on the edge of the room and watch his sister dance, and he didn’t much feel like doing that either. Besides, his little sister was a good girl, and she didn’t need, nor want, his constant supervision.

And he’s just about to turn the key in his ignition and burn rubber when he sees you, arm linked with stupid fucking Sam as he opens the door for you with his free hand. And fuck, he doesn't even care that he's about to crash your date– he just needs to talk you. He jumps out of his car in a rush, pulling open the door to the building and heading straight to the line leading to the dance floor.

Chris’ jaw tenses when he sees you– Sam is leaning down to whisper something in your ear while you wait in the line, and you cover your mouth as you giggle. He hates how similar it is to the days he spent with you at the fair, waiting in line for rides and popcorn. The envy bubbling in his gut makes him feel sick, and he has to take a breath to calm himself down before he approaches you.

He steps to where you are in the line when he feels mellowed out enough, you and your date turning around curiously when they hear his voice call your name. Your eyes widen when you see it's him, but you’re quick to correct your expression before your date notices anything off about you. “Can I talk to you?” Chris asks, not at all acknowledging Sam’s presence beside you.

Even when you divert your gaze to glance at your date’s reaction, Chris’ eyes stay firmly on you, awaiting your answer. “Please?” he follows up, and it makes you swallow. It’s the first time he’s ever taken a pleading, desperate tone with you, and he can tell rejecting him isn’t going to come easily to you– it gives him hope that you'll finally hear him out, maybe even take him back.

“I–” you hesitate a moment, and just as Chris’ new, shiny hope begins to dim, you unlink your arm from your date. “I’ll be right back, just stay in the line,” you tell Sam before shooting Chris a look and walking past him. He follows you back outside, and you cross your arms as you stand against the cold brick of the exterior.

“What do you want?” you cut straight to the point. There’s a million things he wants to say, but his built up jealousy causes him to ask the stupid, burning question first and foremost. “Since when do you go to sock hops?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh– he’s unbelievable, breaking your heart like that and then pulling stunts like this. 

“Since nice boys ask me to go with them. Why, you jealous?” you accuse him and he scoffs, trying once again to play off what he feels. “Me? Jealous? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, unable to help the instinctive reaction to being called out. And he instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go back inside then?” you ask as you step away from the wall, starting to walk past Chris and back to the doors. He grabs your arm to stop you, and you look up at him expectantly. “Don’t, I–” he grits his teeth, hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to be honest, “I am, okay? So don’t.”

He lets your arm go, and his admission thankfully proves enough to make you stay. You settle back against the brick wall, but you don’t look at him after– instead you look down at the ground, staring at your sleek, black and white saddle shoes instead of meeting his gaze.

It’s silent for a moment, with Chris wracking his brain as he tries to figure out the right thing to say to you. “What you did was terrible, you know,” you end up breaking the silence first, your voice soft.

“I know, I– I meant it when I said I was sorry,” Chris says while moving a step closer to you, and still you hesitate to look at him. “I didn’t believe you. Still don’t,” you reply, and honestly, he can’t blame you– he should’ve been more sincere when he approached you.

But he was being a fucking idiot, still trying to play it cool even though it was just the two of you standing there by the jukebox. And who gave a fuck if his friends happened to look over and saw him talking to you? Why should he care? Is it really so wrong for him to be whipped for you?

Even the first time he saw you again, he should've done all the things he really wanted to do. He should've kissed you and hugged you tight, should've told you how happy he was to know you’re here to stay, should’ve flipped his friends the bird and told them to fuck off if they questioned him. But he didn’t– he cracked under the expectations, and you suffered for it.

There’s a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it– he’s never been vulnerable about his feelings before you, but he wants to try. Even if he screws up over and over again, he’ll keep trying– because you deserve it. And he should apologize again, sincerely, but there’s another question burning in his blood that he has to ask.

“Do you really like that guy? You’re not, like– going steady, are you?” Chris questions and you shrug, finally looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. “That depends,” you tell him, peeling your back away from the wall to stand directly in front of him, holding your hands behind your back.

“On what?” he follows up, and you smile– a small one, but it’s enough for him. “On you,” you answer, and the hope flares back up, drowning out the envy and shame in veins and replacing it with pure, unfiltered glee.

“Yeah?” he grins as he tilts his head, and your smile grows the tiniest bit more as you nod. You may still have your doubts about his sincerity, but the fact that you’re willing to give him a chance is all he needs– he’ll use the time you give him to prove it to you, to make sure you’re left with no doubts that you’re the one that he wants, to promise that he'll never break your heart again.

“Come with me then, back inside– you’re gonna be my date,” he says as he holds out his hand to you. Sock hops may not have been his style before, but they can be for you. “What about Sam?” you question, but still take his hand regardless.

“He can stag it the rest of the night for all I care. You’re mine, sugar,” Chris replies, and it sends butterflies sweeping through your stomach as you giggle in delight. “And your friends?” you ask next, knowing it’s very well possible he’ll crack under the expectations of his rep with them again if they see you together.

“Fuck ‘em,” he replies easily; and you’re both sure it’ll be easier said than done for him to not give a shit what they think, but he’ll do his best. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you regret giving him another chance. “Let’s dance, baby,” he grins at you, pulling you along with him as he steps back inside the building with you in tow.

There’s a thought in Chris’ head that he never before thought he’d ever have– the sock hop was perfect. And well, maybe it’s not the sock hop itself necessarily that he enjoyed, but you– yes, it was most certainly you. The time spent with you was everything he’d been missing, everything he could’ve ever hoped for following your departure from the city and his subsequent abysmal fuck up. 

He knew he didn’t deserve any of it– and he was certain you were going to share a more serious talk about it all later, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt walking back into the building and seeing Sam utterly bewildered that his date was now clinging to his own arm instead.

And he won’t shirk his responsibility to do better by you– he’ll own up to his mistakes, he’ll change, be someone deserving of you. It may take a lot of time and effort to unlearn all the dumb shit he’s taken in over the years, but he swears he’ll try– tonight is just the start of a lifetime of proving to you that he’ll do anything to keep you.

All night, you’ve been positively radiant– and truly, Chris has never felt luckier in all his life. He delighted in the way you smiled at him while dancing, enjoyed the way you squealed in excitement and bounced on your heels when the live band decided to play a cover of your favorite tune, couldn’t help the way a goofy grin spread over his face when you pecked him on the cheek following a slow dance.

You’re the only one in the world who’s ever seen it, you know– the only one who gets to see his dimples, or to hear him giggle. The only one he’s ever sung to and danced with, the only one he’s ever wanted to stay up all night talking on the phone with, the only one he’s ever taken out for more than a quick and simple joyride in his car.

He could feel the inquisitive, disbelieving stares too– Chris has lived here his entire life, and everyone knows the kind of guy he is. And maybe he’s simply lucky– he knows he’s nothing but a delinquent, knows his reputation precedes him, knows he doesn’t deserve the affection of a good girl like you. 

Regardless of it all, you love him– enough to give him another chance even when he hasn’t yet done enough to earn it. And effortlessly, you unlock the soft part of him– the part of him that desires and yearns and wants. He burns for you, the only girl in the world his heart has ever raced for, the only who knew who he was beyond the rough surface he projected to the rest of the world.

Now you’re outside tentatively standing next to Chris’ car, waiting for him to come back from confirming with his sister that she’ll hitch a ride home from her friends instead of him. It embarrasses him how she grills him with questions about you– and he answers in the vaguest of terms, having to promise that he’ll fill her in on it all in more detail later, but to please just let him go be alone with his girl.

He’s certain that no one else would believe it if he told them, but his intentions to be alone with you are entirely pure. Now that he’s close to having you as his again, he wants to do right by you– take it slow, kiss you soft and tender, touch you light and chaste, respectfully, sweetly. He wants to take you on dates again, wants to save up all his quarters to buy you something special, wants to devote his every moment to showing you how sincerely he loves you.

He wants you to meet his friends properly (after he gives them a stern warning to be gentlemen in front of you), wants you to meet his parents, and he wants to meet yours in turn. He wants to stop playing it cool and aloof and confident when he feels something– doesn’t want to keep pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t drive him wild, not just with lust but with adoration.

And certainly, you know that Chris is softer than he outwardly appears– you’re not blind to the way his cheeks and ears burn when you kiss him sweet and call him that name that makes his heart skip a beat. And unlike you, Chris knew what he was doing– so it was natural for him to always be the one leading your little song and dance, even when on the inside he felt like he was going to positively combust from the way your eyes sparkled at him.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to try– something that you couldn’t before, because your summer together passed by in a blink, and there was so much you didn’t know when your relationship first began. And Chris has taught you a lot in your time together– maybe more than he even realizes.

He may not know it, but he’s made you into a real insatiable minx. And now that you know he’s willing to beg and plead and grovel for you to take him back, oh how it makes your heart race with the possibilities. How far can you take it? How far is he willing to go for you, to prove that he’s devoted to you entirely? Would he really do anything to keep you?

Chris told you, just a few moments ago as the sock hop was coming to an end, that he’ll do anything and everything to make sure you don’t regret giving him another chance with him. He looked you straight in the eyes, vulnerable and entirely sincere, squeezed your hands in his as countless promises left his lips. 

Could he be manipulating you? Is he nothing but a dirty liar? It’s certainly possible– but you’d like to believe the Chris you knew last summer is the truest version of himself. You’d like to believe that the Chris you saw tonight isn’t an act to keep stringing you along. So you want to try something– something bold, something the you of last summer would’ve never thought to do.

You don’t think your shyness will ever entirely evaporate given that Chris is such an utter dreamboat, but he does well enough at playing it cool, so who's to say you can’t do it too? You can be playful and enticing, can play it coy and innocent while you flutter your lashes at him, can smile and pout at him in a way that makes desire spread through his veins like explosive, hot fireworks.

When Chris walks back out of the building you have to make a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in your stomach– you’ve decided you’re a woman on a mission tonight, after all. The parking lot is sparse now, and the last stragglers from the sock hop all shuffle to their cars, his sister and her group of friends being among them.

Though you only met her briefly, you offer her a pleasant wave goodbye, and she smiles at you as she returns it– though you don’t miss the way she shoots her older brother a look after. A look that says “don’t fuck this up for yourself.” It almost makes you giggle– you like having his sister on your side; you get the impression she’ll chew him out if he doesn’t shape up the way he’s promised to. 

Chris doesn’t turn to you until after his sister and her friends have peeled out of the parking lot– you’re not sure if it’s because he wanted to make sure she was going to be safe, or if it’s because he felt like she’d gotten enough of an eyeful of him being affection with you, and he’d be embarrassed if she saw anymore. You like either answer.

“Hi baby,” he says, soft and sweet as he smiles, and it makes your heart once again skip a beat. Even after hours of dancing, he still looks utterly perfect– not a single piece of his greased up hair out of place. You hope you’re faring the same– you didn’t really get a chance to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the night to know for certain, but you want Chris to think you look divine.

“Am I taking you straight home?” he asks; it’s dark out now, but you still have a fair amount of time before you’re expected back home. And while he’d love to spend more time with you, he isn’t going to assume– this is a trial period, after all; he still has to earn that, he’s sure.

Calling you his earlier was more hope on his end than confidence– he wants you to be his, but he knows he has to earn your trust back first. And he’s going to be a gentleman– any boundary you have, he’ll adhere to, no matter what. He refuses to fuck up with you again.

“No,” you answer short and simple, smiling up at him as you do. But before he can ask you what you want to do until curfew, you’re speaking again. “My shoe's untied,” you pout, leaning back against his car while gently lifting your foot from the ground to show him, “can you fix it for me, please?”

“You want me to tie it for you, baby?” he laughs a little as he tilts his head to the side, thinking you’re just oh so cute when you keep up the pout as you nod. He gets down on one knee easily, and you put your foot right on his knee, watching as he ties your laces back together. When he’s finished, you don’t put your foot back on the ground– you press it right to the middle of his chest.

“Baby?” Chris looks up at you curiously– and there’s a twinkle in your eye he’s never seen before. He almost thinks you’re going to kick him back on his behind, but you don’t– you take your skirt into your hands, and start to pull it up. Slowly, it rises above your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he can see your pretty white panties, with its precious little pink bow in the center.

“S-Sugar, what– what are you–” he stammers, struggling to form words in a way he never has before. You’ve never exposed yourself to him like this– just out in the open, with no barrier between you and the rest of the world. You aren’t in your bedroom, you aren’t inside the car with the windows and hood up– you’re out, in the middle of the fucking parking lot where anyone could see. 

Fuck, even the times at the beach, when he made love to you in the sand, were much, much more secluded than this– because those excursions were isolated, close to your aunt’s beach house and happening in the dead of night. And this is very much not– it’s barely even 9 o’clock, and you’re at a public venue; anyone could come by, and for any reason.

“I need your help with something else too, daddy,” you say as you pout some more, clearly acting coy, and he swallows as he stares up at you. “Can you do it, daddy? Can you help me?” You take as much of your skirt's fabric into one hand as you can, keeping it lifted above your thigh while you move your other hand between your legs, pulling your panties to the side to show him your pussy.

The action sends all of Chris’ blood careening to his cock– he can’t believe you’re really doing this right now. “Right– right here? N-Now?” he gulps, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. You’re alone now, but still– he never thought you’d do something so bold. Even just fooling around in the back seat of the cadillac with as much privacy as he could give you made you impossibly shy.

“Yes, here, now,” you tell him, keeping your panties hooked to the side with two fingers, while using the other two to spread your folds apart for him the best you can. You’re trying to entice him, and fuck, is it working. He never thought he’d see you this way, and it’s making him feel so utterly electric– he’s a fucking live wire, and he’ll pour his current straight into you.

Anything you want from him, it’s yours– he doesn’t need any convincing, he’s already impossibly ensnared by the rope that is your desire for him. And fuck, he said he wouldn't do this, said he'd be a gentleman, take things slow and build back up to intimacy with you– but if you're practically begging him for it, how can he resist?

Chris takes your foot into his hand, carefully lifts it from his chest and throws your leg over his shoulder before he crawls closer to you. The concrete of the parking lot ground is brutal against his knees, but he doesn’t give a shit– you need him, and that’s all that matters.

He replaces your hand, keeps your panties shoved aside with his own. Now that your hand is free you use it to hold onto the car door and give yourself some extra support as he starts placing kisses to your clit. His lips always feel so perfect– especially when he licks them first, gets them nice and wet for you; the sensation draws out a pleasant sigh, but you both know it isn’t really enough.

Chris likes to tease you, make you wait until you’re squirming and trembling from all his repeated kisses, gets you so worked up you could beg and cry before he finally gives you his tongue. But tonight is about getting what you want, when you want it– so as much as you enjoy his soft little kisses, you’re not going to let him work you up.

He’ll be the one fraying at the edges, the one desperate and pleading, the one who feels like his brain is filled with cotton, looking up at you from down on his knees with glassy eyes full of need. You let go of the car door, bring your hand to his head and thread your fingers through his hair. You pull back just enough to have his head tilting away from your pussy, making his eyes land straight up at you.

“Baby–” he gasps, and again you meet his gaze with that sinfully deceitful pout. “You said you’d do anything for me, daddy,” you say as you shoot him your best doe eyed look, “Did you mean it? Will you do anything for me?” Fuck, you’ve got him throbbing– you can see his erection straining against his jeans, and it nearly makes you grin in delight.

Still, you don’t crack– Chris always does well at only showing you the version of himself he wants you to see, and you will too. You won’t give him your meek looks or timid declarations of desire for more of his touch– he’ll only see a new you; a confident you who knows exactly what she wants. You’ve learned from the best, after all.

“Well?” you demand when he doesn’t immediately answer, and you watch him swallow, swearing you can see the shiver that spreads down his spine and throughout the rest of his body. “Y-Yeah baby, I meant it. I’d do anything for you,” he tells you, hoping you can’t see how red his face and ears are getting in the low light.

“Prove it– prove you want me, prove you’re good for something,” you say, and again he shivers, breath catching in his throat. “Eat it, make me cum.” Fuck, Chris is reeling– he still can’t even believe it’s really you talking to him this way. His brain feels like a faulty circuit board, all his synapses sparking dangerously as they fire off, ready to ignite his blood and engulf him in an uncontrollable flame of desire.

When you let go of his hair, he wastes no time diving right into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved. He brings his free hand to your ass, squeezes and holds you in place while he shakes his head to get more of you on his tongue, his nose bumping your clit and making your legs quiver.

You bite your lip, doing your best to suppress the loud moan he brings out of you by sucking on your clit. His plush lips wrapped around it, the flicks of his tongue, how expertly he sucks– it’s already so overwhelming, in the best way possible. Chris does his best to sink lower, tries to lick at your hole and get his tongue inside, but it’s hard like this– he’s not sure if he can.

“B-Baby, doll, let me lay you down, in the car, let me–” he pulls away from your dripping center to look up at you, and fuck, he looks ruined in the prettiest way imaginable. His eyes are hazy and pleading, glistening with your arousal from the tip of his nose all the way down to his chin, sweat dripping down his brow. “Need to spread you out, I– please? Gotta taste more of you.” 

Shit, you can’t deny you want it– especially not when he’s begging like this. You nod, and he smiles at you in appreciation, a smile that makes your knees even weaker than they already are. You take your leg off his shoulder, and he quickly rises to his feet, giving you a messy kiss before he ushers you away from the car door to open it for you.

You crawl into the back seat, and he follows, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits until you get comfortable, not acting until you're lying propped against the opposite door of the car. Chris hooks your panties in his fingers, pulls them down your legs and tosses them aside into the footwell; it'll be a sweet treat for him when he finds them again later.

He'll keep them, he thinks– stuff ‘em in his pocket and take them back to his room, where they'll lie safe and protected under his pillow. It's a dirty thought, one that'd otherwise fill his gut with shame, but right now all he feels is need– need for you to cum on his tongue, need to give you everything you want and more.

He settles on his stomach between your legs, and it’s certainly not easy, but he manages well enough. One of your legs ends up over his shoulder again while the other stays spread out with the help of his hand holding you under the knee. And finally, his tongue dips into your hole, and it’s pure bliss– maybe even more so for him than you. He’s hungry, utterly ravenous; all he can think, breath, and taste is you, you, you.

“Chris– your fingers, need your fingers,” you whine more shamelessly than you would've otherwise liked, but you know he enjoys it. He separates from you long enough to run his fingers between your folds, making sure they’re nice and slick for you before he presses them to your hole. 

He slides one finger in first, bringing his mouth back to your clit while you adjust to the feeling. Your legs are already trembling by the time he adds another finger, and when he starts curling his fingers to hit your most sensitive spot while flicking his tongue against your clit you can hardly even breathe– it’s just so, so good.

Your stomach is clenching, thighs and legs shaking hard, your release building up with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Oh, fuck, Chris–” you cry when he presses the tips of his fingers into your spot harder. You’re certain that if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re still wearing your shoes, your toes would be curling from the pleasure.

Your pussy sounds so sloppy and messy, and Chris himself isn’t making it any better– he’s drooling so much, his saliva drenching you just as much as your own dripping arousal. You’re breathing hard, and even your hands are shaking as they continue to hold up your skirt to watch him devour you.

“Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna– fuck, gonna cum for you daddy, please don’t stop,” you’re crying loud– and you know you should at least try to be quieter considering how out in the open you are, but you’re too far gone to care. With your head thrown back, you whimper and moan, high pitched and loud, eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

It feels like it’s endless, the waves of pleasure ceaselessly jolting your body as your vision blurs white; and you feel wet; so, so wet. It’s only when you finally come down from the high and lift your head back up from where it thunked against the car door to look at Chris that you realize why you feel so drenched.

It’s not just your thighs that are dampened– it’s your skirt, Chris’ face and shirt, the leather of his seats; all of it is soaked with your cum. Your face starts to burn hot, and you swallow as Chris stares at you, almost bewildered. “Baby– did you just..?” You squirted for him, because of him– he doesn’t even fucking care how much of a nightmare it’s going to be to clean his car, all he can think about is how fucking sexy it is.

You simply nod, because it’s all you can think to do– you really weren’t expecting this to happen. “Oh my god, baby, you have to do it again, please, you have to,” he practically whines, and his enthusiasm over it makes you giggle. You honestly feel more than a little shy about it, but Chris’s apparent elation makes it worth the tinge of embarrassment.

You reach out for him, take the necklace dangling from his neck into your hands and pull, urging him to come closer to you. He crawls up your body, and you kiss him, sliping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself all over him. “Fuck, you’re so dirty baby,” he groans when you pull away, “what are we going to do, huh?”

It makes you giggle again, a soft thing full of mischievous delight. He basks in it, giggles with you before he kisses you again. “Need your cock now,” you tell him when he pulls away, and shit, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking hard he is whilst wrapped up in pleasuring you. He can feel it straining against his jeans, desperate for stimulation of its own.

“Yeah? Want my cock baby?” he asks, grinning at you the way he always had before; you tug on his silver chain again in response. “Don’t forget, you’re giving me everything I want. Everything, okay?” you say once his face is mere inches from yours again, making him look you closely in the eyes. Chris swallows as he nods, the smile you offer him once again making his brain feel fuzzy and floaty.

He looks you over once more, really takes it all in before he scrambles over the front seat, reaching for the glove box where he still has some spares from your time together over the summer. Condom in hand, he settles back over you, and you help him with his jeans while he tears the package open. He spreads it quickly down his length, and you take your legs in hand, holding them under your knees to keep yourself open for him. 

The sight of you like that is dizzying– legs open, skirt bunched up all the way to your stomach, pussy wet and glistening, with the hair there matting from how wet you are; you’re perfect. So fucking perfect. He moans as he pushes into you, so slick that you take him with ease. You take his face in one of your hands and pull him down to kiss you, a desperate one that makes pleasure lick over every inch of his skin.

Chris rolls his hips into you slowly to start, while you let go of the leg you're still holding to wrap your limbs around him, keeping him pressed close. He grabs onto the car door, uses it to keep himself steady when he starts to pick up the pace of his hips, harsh breaths and low moans leaving him freely. Neither of you are trying to be quiet, the street lights are burning bright, the hood of his car and the windows are down, anyone could hear you or see you– and the excitement of it all makes the pleasure he feels all the more intense.

“Baby, your tits– let me see ‘em, please, can I see ‘em?” he asks between labored breaths– he needs to see them, has missed them more than is probably allowed. You quickly do as he asks, fumbling with the top few buttons of your blouse to expose yourself to him. You tug down your bra so he can see your breasts bare, and again he groans, bringing his free hand to one of them to brush his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Oh, you’re so pretty– so, so pretty baby,” he says, groaning when the words make you clench harder around him. It doesn’t take long for the car to start rocking with the motion of his thrusts, his rhythm quickly growing sloppier. He’s been so worked up, and believe it or not, he hasn’t actually fucked anyone since you– he feels so high strung and on edge, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He just hopes he can make you cum again before he does, or at least make you cum with him– he needs you to be happy with him. You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, you can tell that he’s already impossibly close– so, like the little minx you are, you talk dirty to him, wanting to see him utterly unravel at the seams. “You gonna fill me up, daddy? Make this pussy all yours?”

Chris gasps and shudders, goosebumps erupting all over his impossibly hot skin. He knows he can’t actually– all he’s going to really fill up with his cum is the condom, but fuck, the thought of it is making his head swim. “Y-Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, daddy’s gonna make you so full,” he breathes, and God, that really does it for you.

You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick, practiced circles. Even through the condom he can feel you gushing and soaking his cock, and it sends him over the edge– as do the sounds of your incredibly pretty whimpers and moans of pleasure. His hips still when he cums, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes roll back, head thrown back in utmost bliss.

It takes Chris a few moments to recollect himself and catch his breath, and he slowly slips out of you when does. He tucks his softening length back in his jeans before he helps you fix your bra, and smoothes your skirt out over your legs while you button your blouse back up. “You feeling okay, baby?” he asks, wiping messy strands of hair out of your face.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, faces flushed and hot, hair utterly a mess– it’s obvious, even with your clothes fixed up, what you’ve been doing. “Mhm, are you?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” he replies and you giggle, kissing him once more.

He looks at himself in his rearview mirror when he pulls away, does his best to fix his messy hair while you lift yourself up from your propped position and stretch out your aching limbs. He then takes another glance around the parking lot, and notes that you’re still the only ones here– thank God. He was too enraptured by you to check earlier, and he’s grateful that no one else has showed up.

“Should probably get you home now, yeah?” Chris asks, looking at the clock on his dashboard and noticing it’s now getting dangerously close to your 10 o’clock curfew. He helps you get into the passenger seat when you nod, and you smile at him when he settles in beside you. He turns the key in the ignition, one hand resting on your thigh while the other stays on the wheel, and he drives you home.

Chris parks up the street, like he did all those times at your aunt’s beach house. He watches you walk over to your house, and he smiles when you turn around to blow him a kiss. At 11 he leaves his car, walks up the street to your home, and approaches the only window with a light still on– the window to your new bedroom. And you smile as you open it for him, letting him crawl his way inside.

He sees the teddy bear he won you at the fair sitting right in the middle of your bed, nestled against your pillows, and he smiles, delighted that you still kept it even after he broke your heart. “I love you, baby,” he tells you in a whisper after a sweet kiss, “never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, mister. Or I might just have to make you jealous again,” you warn and tease him with a cheeky little smile. He strips out of his jeans and tee shirt as you turn off your lamp, lies down beside you after you settle into your bed, runs his hand up and down your back as you press yourself against him. Head on his chest, with your arm and leg tossed over him, he kisses your head and smiles once more– because as he promised, this is just the start of a lifetime.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 CHEST PAIN ( I LOVE ) yu jimin x reader

♪ ❝please, I wanna see what we would be if you were by my side❞

⭢ moonstruck good luck, babe! (lowkey don’t need to read these but it might give small context to things)

↳ warnings paranoia!yn, pre debut paranoia, fluff, angst, idol/trainee au

jimin always thought yn was a pretty cool girl. she was rebellious, but that just made her even more intriguing. during her training period, jimin couldn’t help but notice how yn and the two boys she was always with had a different approach to training. they were constantly separated from the other trainees, which only made jimin more curious.

her curiosity grew even more when she found out the reason they were always apart. they weren’t just training. the three of them were creating music for the artists under the company.

to be honest, she didn’t like that the company kept these three talented trainees hidden away in a basement, creating music for already established artists.

then she became one of those artists.

there was something different about yn, that was the only thought running through jimin’s mind as she glanced over the lyrics for i’m unhappy. she couldn’t ignore the nervous flutter in her chest under the girl’s steady gaze.

“you sounded good before, I don’t know why you feel like you need to push yourself even more.”

jimin scoffed, rolling her eyes as she set the lyrics down on the table. “I’m literally a singer. pushing myself is the job.”

yn hummed, a small smirk playing on her lips. “sounds exhausting.”

“so is making songs for people who barely acknowledge you exist.”

yn let out a short laugh at that, shaking her head. “you and I both know that’s not true, everyone requests me.”

it was easy, this kind of back and forth. jimin had always admired yn from afar, but it was different now that they were sitting across from each other, actually talking. yn wasn’t just a name on a credits list anymore she was real, tangible, and somehow even more intriguing up close.

but what really got to her was the way yn spoke. she wasn’t like other producers jimin had worked with. she didn’t sugarcoat things or tiptoe around egos. she was blunt, but not in a cruel way just honest.

it was refreshing. and maybe a little bit dangerous.

because jimin was starting to think she wanted more.

it wasn’t like this was the first time they’d worked together. yn had been making music for the group since their debut. but this was the first time jimin felt something more, felt attracted to her.

maybe it was because yn was still technically a trainee, with her own debut coming up, yet she carried herself with the kind of confidence that made her stand out even in a room full of idols.

or maybe it was because jimin was just now allowing herself to acknowledge how drawn to her she really was. whatever the reason, she found herself making excuses to be around yn more often, finding ways to keep the conversations going after their recording sessions. she wasn’t even subtle about it.

“you wanna hang out?” yn had stared at her like she’d just asked her to commit a crime. karina almost laughed at the expression.

“what? you scared of me or something?”

“no,” yn replied quickly. then, after a pause, “maybe.” that did make jimin laugh. “c’mon. I don’t bite.”

yn hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “why?”

jimin blinked. “why what?”

“why do you wanna hang out with me?”

jimin tilted her head, pretending to think about it. “hmm. maybe I just think you’re interesting.”

yn scoffed. “that’s a lie.”

“so what if it is?”

yn exhaled, shaking her head. “fine. but just so you know, I don’t do relationships.”

karina shrugged. “that’s perfect. I’m an idol. I don’t need the weight of a relationship either, and your band or whatever is debuting soon so it’s a win.”

and just like that, it started.

their fling started as a casual thing something unspoken but understood between them. jimin was an idol, yn was debuting soon, and neither of them needed anything serious.

but casual didn’t explain the way jimin found herself lingering after studio sessions, watching yn with an intensity she couldn’t even begin to explain.

“you always stare this much?” yn asked one night, barely looking up from her laptop as she adjusted the levels on a track.

jimin scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not staring.”

yn smirked, finally turning her head to look at her. “you’re literally staring.”

jimin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “maybe I just think you’re interesting.”

yn arched a brow. “hmm. that’s a lie.”

“so what if it is?”

yn’s shook her head as she returned her focus to the screen. “you’re not as smooth as you think you are, y’know, you’ve already pulled that on me before.”

jimin rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

late night convenience store runs became a routine. sometimes it was because jimin was craving something specific, other times it was because yn needed a break from the studio.

“ramyeon or kimbap?” jimin asked, standing in front of the shelves.

yn, crouched by the ice cream freezer, glanced up. “both.”

jimin snorted. “you eat like a guy.”

“I do not.” yn shot back, tossing a carton of ice cream into the basket.

jimin grinned. “you do, it’s not your fault babe I blame wonbin and jay.”

“shut up.”

they sat on the curb outside the store, eating in comfortable silence. the streetlights cast a soft glow around them, and for a moment, jimin let herself forget that this wasn’t something real.

that it couldn’t be real.

“you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t an idol?” yn asked suddenly, voice quiet.

jimin thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. it felt like I was training forever. this is all I know.”

yn hummed, twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. “I think I’d be a producer. like, full time. not just a trainee stuck in a basement.”

jimin frowned at that. she never liked the way yn talked about herself like she was just some hidden secret the company kept locked away. “you’ll debut soon.”

“yeah.” yn’s lips curled into something unreadable. “but even then, I think i’ll always be more useful behind the scenes.”

jimin didn’t like that answer.

she nudged yn’s knee with her own. “you’re gonna be big, you know.”

yn gave her a skeptical look. “oh yeah?”

“yeah.” jimin grinned. “and then you’ll be the one barely acknowledging the people making your songs.”

yn laughed. “you suck at pep talks, and you know I would never letting anyone anyone but me and the boys touch our tracks.”

jimin just smiled, but she meant what she said.

it was small moments like these quiet, intimate, real that made it hard for jimin to pretend this was just a fling.

but she knew better than to cross that line.

except… sometimes it felt like they already had.

like when yn would adjust jimin’s mic during recordings, her fingers grazing the side of her neck just a little too long.

or when they were packed in a van after a late night session, and yn leaned her head against jimin’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

or when they were watching a variety show one night, and wonyoung popped up on screen.

“isn’t she so pretty?” jimin said, not thinking much of it.

yn tensed. it was subtle, but jimin noticed.

“she’s okay,” yn muttered. “i’m more of an irene girl.”

jimin raised a brow. “ohhh, you’re into older women.”

yn smirked, turning her head to look at her. “yeah. that’s why i’m hanging with you.”

jimin choked on air. “shut up.”

yn just laughed, leaning back against the couch with that same confident ease that always drove jimin a little insane.

it was in moments like these when jimin’s heart skipped a beat, when she found herself wanting to reach out and pull yn closer that she realized she was in trouble.

she was catching feelings.

and it scared her.

she knew what yn had told her from the start. she knew. but that didn’t stop her from wanting.

and that was dangerous.

so a few days before paranoia’s debut under sm, jimin made a choice.

she ended it.

yn was quiet for a long moment, then she simply nodded. “okay.”

but jimin saw the way she tensed the way her fingers curled just slightly, like she was bracing for impact. and suddenly, jimin was remembering the only other time she’d seen yn react like that.

jimin swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a small smile. “good luck on your debut.”

yn nodded again, and jimin turned, leaving the room before she could change her mind.

the second she was alone, the tears finally fell.

if only jimin had just told yn how she felt.

because fortunately no, unfortunately  yn felt the same way.

maybe she should’ve just been honest.

and maybe then, her tears wouldn’t have seen a single day.

[hairmetal666]

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

[butterflyscribbles]

Wachowski Family HC List

Part 1: The Wachowski Origins

Buckle up bc I’m going way back straight out of the gate….the Wachowski family wouldn’t exist without two certain soulmates coming together after all.

- Let’s start from the very beginning….Tom and Maddie have at least known each other since grade school. In high school, they were part of the same friend group but Maddie had been dating someone else at the time. Tom had girlfriends “come and go” as his mom put it, but was single most of senior year.

- Tom was already en route to becoming a sheriff, having it run in the family and with his other two “lunatic” brothers on their way in to very different directions, he was on the way to being the lone and youngest Wachowski left to “defend Green Hills” once his dad retired. I lowkey feel like it’s actually something he never really wanted to do. It was more of a family obligation. However, he did like helping people (and he didn’t want to go to college) that was really the biggest draw for him lol.

- Maddie was the resident biology and animal nerd in her class. Her dad was a park ranger that worked closely with Tom’s dad at the sheriff’s office, especially for hunting/fishing license issues and animal control type calls. Watching her dad work was where she developed a love for nature and decided she wanted to be a vet.

- It wasn’t until one night senior year at a house party, Maddie’s boyfriend at the time dumped her just before prom. Tom, being a close friend and the upstanding “punch first, questions later” kind of guy we know he is, started a fight with the jerk that broke her heart. He skeedaddled with her from the party before Tom’s dad showed up to break everything up. ✨That was spark #1✨ They continued talking and hanging out more after that (it was also since then Rachel has been giving Tom the side eye).

- High school graduation came and went, Maddie went off to college and Tom stayed in Green hills and started training to become a deputy. He and Maddie kept in touch even when she was off studying. When she came back into town to visit her family, they would hang out and catch up.

- Tom’s dad passed away not long after he graduated and things were a bit rough for Tom at this point. His oldest brother didn’t even show up to the funeral and his other brother didn’t help much with the process. Maddie was a beacon of light in this darker point of his life.

- One weekend while he’s out driving with her during this time, they come across a fawn by the side of the road that (very clearly) lost its mom. Tom was an emotional wreck, not wanting to leave it behind. Maddie calmly helped scoop it up in some spare blankets in the back of his car and they took it to her dad so he could find the proper wildlife rehabilitator to send it to. ✨That was spark #2✨ They started dating the next day.

- Skip ahead a bit, they’re big in love. They move into a small condo type deal together once Maddie graduates college and starts veterinary school. Tom is working his three jobs to help her pay tuition: as a police officer, part time at a local sewing shop his mom used to work at, and taking odd jobs around town mowing, doing car repairs, landscaping work. He’s exhausted, she’s exhausted, but they love each other sm….they’re married 2 years later after he proposes on a camping trip (guess who was already on Earth and witnessed the proposal but was too young to even know what it meant at the time).

- Jump again, they buy their house after Maddie has been working as a full time vet for a while and Tom is promoted to sheriff.

- Maddie’s parents are both still alive and together though her dad is retired. Her mom wrote for the Green Hills newspaper for a good while on top of taking care of her and Rachel. Tom’s mom is also still kicking. She left her job at the locally owned sewing store when Tom’s dad passed and mostly just makes her living selling crafts and vegetables from her garden at the local farmers market while also giving local children sewing lessons. Tom is doing most of the supporting for her while getting some help from his one older brother who actually got his life together a bit and got a job in insurance. He moved back to Montana, but not to Green Hills. Tom hasn’t heard from his eldest brother in over a decade.

- They’ve been living in their house for about 8 years before the events of Sonic 1. They’re “too busy for kids” but they adopt Ozzy from a litter that was dropped off where Maddie works.

- Then we all know what happens next…

[nectar-cellar]

Downtown Roles Mod Tutorial - TS3 - Mature Gameplay Ideas

NSFW 18+ mature content / a long read   

TLDR: this is a compilation/recommendation list of mods, a tutorial on how to set up NPCs, and how to tie it all together to add some mature gameplay to your save. 😈

Misukisu/Virtual Artisan had a “Downtown Roles” mod that sadly does not work anymore for the latest versions of TS3. Her mod basically allowed players to add role sims to community lots so your sims could have more NPCs to interact with, making the lots feel more alive in a mature "downtown" sort of way.

I was inspired by her mod and I want to share how you can recreate and expand her mod’s functions with Nraas Register and Arsil’s Custom Generic Role mod. Some players might already know how these mods work, but it was a new discovery for me. I didn’t know how useful role sims could be! It got the gears in my dirty mind turning.

The main purpose of this mod list/tutorial: to add role sims to community lots for your main sims to interact with, while they’re out on the town. These will be sims outside of your household. Their main “job” is to hang out at the lot. You can let the game generate new sims to fill these roles, or assign existing sims in the town to fill the roles.

Examples of role sims you can create: 

A regular patron at a dive bar for your sim to befriend or make enemies with.

A sexy single sim at a beach, gym, pool, bar or club for your sim to mingle and hook up with. 

An escort at a brothel for your sim to woohoo with (Passion mod). 

A client for your sim to sell drugs/weapons to (MonocoDoll Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod) - I have not tested this but in theory it should work. 

You can add multiple role sims on each lot. You could have a number of partygoers on a club lot/a number of escorts on a brothel lot/a number of mobsters or criminals on a warehouse lot who will always be there when your sim visits.

Why role sims?

Townies are unpredictable - you never know which lot they’ll show up on, and how long they’ll stay. Role sims will consistently be there as the supporting characters in your main sim’s story. 

Having consistent NPCs at certain locations around town can help with story-driven gameplay scenarios.

You can move a household of your own sims into town and assign them to fill various roles. See pretty NPCs around town!

If you let the game generate new sims for the roles, then it saves you the hassle of setting up new households yourself. You can always edit them later in CAS.

Limitations: 

According to Arsil, it seems like sims who are already employed (such as most townies) will be removed from their jobs if they are assigned to be role sims. So I would avoid using any employed townies for this unless you are ok with that. Use unemployed residents instead.

I believe the role sim cannot leave the lot during the designated work hours. Your sim cannot form a group with them and go to another venue. However, you can invite the sim over or hang out afterwards from the relationship panel.

Mods Needed:

Nraas Master Controller + Integration Module

Nraas Register

Arsil‘s Custom Generic Role mod (both the floor marker and the desk)

Passion (if you want your sim to be able to have sex with the role sims on the lot or have the role sims dance on the stripper pole) 

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to) 

MonocoDoll’s Arms Dealing mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to) 

How to Set Up: 

Step 1: Install the mods listed above. Then, open the save file you want to add some downtown sleaze to. 

Step 2: Find a community lot you want to add role sims to. This could be a bar, nightclub, brothel/motel/strip club, a run-down warehouse or block of buildings, casino, etc. I have downloaded many lots from Flora2 at ModtheSims and @simsmidgen here on Tumblr that fit the gritty urban vibe.  

Step 3: Enter Build/Buy mode. You can do this from Live mode. 

Press Ctrl + Shift + C, enter this cheat: testingcheatsenabled true 

Press the Shift key and click on the ground of the community lot. 

Click on “Build on this lot”. 

You can also enter Edit Town mode to renovate the community lot. 

Step 4: Place Arsil’s Custom Generic Role floor marker or desk on the lot. Place one for each role sim you want to create. They are located in Build Mode -> Community Objects -> Misc. If the desk looks out of place, use the floor marker instead. 

Step 5: In Live mode, click on the object -> Settings to set:

The name of the role (clubgoer/stripper/escort/mobster/etc.) 

The “work” hours the sim will be on the lot for 

The days off 

The motives to freeze or not (I recommend freezing all the motives to avoid interactions being interrupted/sims complaining due to low motives) 

If the sim you want to assign to the role already lives in town, click on the object -> Nraas -> Register -> Select -> Choose criteria -> select the sim from the list. I would avoid choosing any employed townies as they may lose their job when switching to this role. Choose unemployed residents to avoid conflicts.

Remove assigned roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role.

Step 6: In Live mode, click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register

Allow immigration: choose whether you want new sims to be moved into town to take the roles (enable this if you want the game to generate new sims for the roles) 

Allow immigration = False: if you set this option to false, then a new option called "Find Empty Roles" should appear. You can then assign any sim to the role object you placed, from City Hall.

Allow resident assignment: choose whether you want existing unemployed townies to be randomly assigned to fill the roles (I recommend to disable this. I had Buster Clavell show up to work at my strip club. NO!)

Pay per hour: I'm not sure how to adjust the pay for each custom role but you can just leave it at the default or change it globally

Remove roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role, or click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register -> Global Roles -> Remove by sim

Step 7: In Live mode, give the game some time to generate the role sims. Visit the community lot and have a look at your new role sims. The role sims should autonomously interact with other sims and objects on the lot. Using Nraas Master Controller, you can take the sim into CAS to give them a makeover, edit their traits, or replace them with a sim from your sim bin. 

Step 8: Make your sim interact with the shiny new role sims and play out the storylines you always wished were possible. Public hookups, functioning brothels, selling drugs and guns - this is what The Sims 3 was made for, baby!!! 

Related Mods:

Arsil’s Exotic Dancer Stage - if you have a club community lot, you can use this mod to hire dancers. You can use role sims to add other NPCs to the club such as guests, shady business sims, or non-dancer sex workers. 

Nraas Relativity - this handy mod can slow down the speed of time so your sim can spend more time doing their "activities"

Nraas Woohooer - if you don’t want the explicit sex animations from Passion, you could use this mod instead to provide more woohoo options. 

Passion - for brothels/strip clubs, this mod will add sex animations and the ability to have role sims dance on the stripper pole. 

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod - you can use role sims to create more clients for your sim to sell drugs and weapons to, like different individuals/gangs/mobs. You could have different clients hanging out at different spots in the city. 

LazyDuchess Lot Population - this mod populates community lots with townies, and they can interact with the role sims you’ve created. 

Service Sims Out on the Town - this pushes service sims to visit community lots, to add even more variety to your crowds. 

Conclusion

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading. Please let me know if you try out this style of gameplay, and if you have ideas for more role sims and community lots to make. This tutorial was NSFW-oriented but you could easily adapt it to create NPCs for SFW community lots.

[bubblesgarden]

always you — john b x reader

｡˚○ navigation

summary: you and john b have been friends for years, but when kiara carrera comes along, things become different.

author's note: hi guys ! this is my very first piece of work i've posted here and i really hope you enjoy it ♡ if you did, please consider giving this a like, reblog, or comment ! feel free to give me a follow if you'd like to see more ♡

you were just eight years old when you first met john b. he had scraped knees and an untamed mop of hair, but his smile was infectious— like how the sun shone through your curtains on a summer morning, or when you listened to a song for the first time and would have it on repeat constantly. and before you knew it, you were spending every single day together. the two of you inseparable, running wild, dreaming up adventures, and sharing secrets that you swore would never leave the walls of the chateau.

for years, it was you and him— two kids hand in hand, against the world. at least, it felt that way.

but then kiara carrera came along. she was cool, easy going, and fit into the group so effortlessly that you couldn’t really blame john b for wanting to hang out with her. at first, it didn’t bother you— after all, kie was great. but slowly, you noticed the dynamic start to shift.

the days where it was just you and john b became fewer and farther between. instead of running off to hide up in the treehouse in your backyard for hours, or lay smushed up together on the hammock at the chateau while you stared at the stars to talk about everything and nothing, he was suddenly too busy. too preoccupied. with kiara. 

at first, you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter. john b was allowed to have other friends. but as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, the sting of being phased out by your best friend since childhood was too much to ignore.

one night, after another gathering around a fire where you felt like a shadow in your own group; constantly being talked over or ignored completely, you decided you’d had enough.

you didn’t exactly know what you were going to say— there were too many things running through your mind that you were positive it was all going to turn into a bunch of word vomit when you’d eventually face him. or you’d end up freezing. there was no in between unfortunately. 

so when you finally approached the chateau, you found john b sitting on the porch, sipping on a beer as he gazed out at the stars. the glow of the moonlight highlighted the familiar curve of his jaw, and those messy curls you had ruffled a thousand times before.

“can we talk?” you ask, skipping the introductions and small talk. that would just make this worse, you thought. you stepped up onto the creaky wood, arms crossed over your chest, almost in a way to hold yourself together. 

he turned to you, surprised. almost like he had forgotten you existed— surprised to see you here, where you had been day after day, and night after night, during your years of being friends. it wasn’t unusual at all for you to show up unannounced, but right now, with that look on his face, apparently it was unusual. 

“yeah, of course,” he nodded, motioning for you to sit down on the tattered, old couch on the porch. sitting down beside him, you folded your arms around your knees. for a moment, the silence stretched between you, awkwardness and the sound of cicadas filling the void.

“what happened to us?” you broke the silence, voice barely above a whisper but still steady as you turn your head to look at him. he hadn’t changed much all these years— still had that stupid boyish charm that seemed to get him out of trouble, and those same, soft eyes. 

you felt him stiffen besides you, and you almost scoffed. “what do you mean?” he asks, his tone matching yours.

“you know what i mean,” you sigh, the hurt you’d been bottling up spilling into your words. “it used to be you and me. we spent every day together. and then all of a sudden kie came along, and it’s like… i don’t exist anymore.”

his brows furrowed, and you saw the guilt flash across his face. “that’s not true.” you could pinpoint his defensive tone from a mile away— the same tone he would use when he got in trouble for something he did do, but always tried to claim he didn’t. 

“isn’t it?” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head a little. “come on, john b. you barely talk to me anymore. if i didn’t come looking for you, i don’t even think you would have noticed i wasn’t around.”

“that’s not fair.”

“neither is feeling like i lost my best friend.”

the crack in your voice must’ve struck something inside him because you watched as his defences crumbled. he set his beer down, running a hand through his already messy curls as he sighed deeply.

“it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he spoke, his voice quiet.

“then why was it?” you pressed, eyes still trained on him.

he hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting away before they finally met yours again. “because i screwed up.”

your brows furrowed, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said quietly.

john b exhaled shakily. “i started… feeling things i wasn’t supposed to feel. about you. and i thought if i got closer to kie, it would— i don’t know, distract me or something. make it go away.” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “but it didn’t. it just made everything worse because i couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. “so, what? you just pushed me away instead of telling me the truth?”

“i didn’t want to ruin what we had.” his voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the fear in his eyes. “you’re my best friend, and if you didn’t feel the same way— i can’t lose you, (y/n). i thought maybe if i kept my distance, it would hurt less.” 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, emotions churning in your stomach. anger, hurt, but underneath it all, a flicker of something you had buried a long time ago. 

“john b—”

“i’m sorry,” he cut you off, voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i just— i didn’t know what else to do.”

you searched his face, the boy you’d known for many years looking at you like he was afraid you might disappear. that you might run away and never speak to him again. 

“you’re an idiot,” you laughed softly, shaking your head. 

he looked startled, blinking in confusion. “what?”

“all this time, you were scared of ruining our friendship, and you didn’t even think to ask how i felt.”

“how you felt?” he repeated, brow furrowing. the pure confusion over his features made you want to laugh, but instead you just rolled your eyes. 

“i liked you too, john b. i still do.”

his eyes widened slightly, hope flickering in them like the fireflies dancing in the yard. “you do?”

“yeah,” you admitted, your voice softening. “but you’re going to have to make up for being a complete idiot about it.”

a slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face. “i think i can manage that.” 

before you could get another word out, he leaned in, hand brushing against yours as he closed the distance. the kiss was tentative at first, a question in the way his lips moved against yours. but when you didn’t pull away, you felt as he deepened the kiss, like he was trying to make up for all that time he’d wasted worrying. 

when you finally broke apart, he let out a breathless chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. 

“i’m never phasing you out again,” he promised.

“oh so you were phasing me out?” you tease, resulting in several pokes to your side by the curly haired male in protest.

“okay— okay! but seriously. you better not,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips.

and just like that, it was you and john b again. always had been. always would be.

[ka0ila]

Hey so I have a request... I have been thinking about this for months! So u are the 9th member of straykids and you share a hotel room with bangchan your on a call with your best friend and she tells you to try and make her jealous by sending a pic of u and banchan together. So after you hang up the phone bangchan gets up from his bed and walks over to you while you're standing in front of the mirror and he hugs you're waist saying "now take the pic" OMFG and then after u take the pic it gets smuty and he takes ur v-card with out a condom. But he's gentle.

THANK YOU FOR EXISTING AND BREATHING AIR ON THE SAME PLANET AS ME! 💞🤞🧸

| Take it

pairing - bestfriend!chan x virgin!reader

genre - smut [mdni!]

type - request

warnings - squirting, losing of virginity, fingering, foul language

divider credit - @cafekitsune

not proofread

m.list.

note - thanks for the request love, also, your blog didnt have an age, it would be great if you verify your age in the comments, thankyou :)

you were sharing a room with chan in paris.

while you were on call, chan was on the chair working on this song.

it was your last day here and you guys were mostly free,

you were on call with your bestfriend after taking a shower and chan was on his own.

“who are you staying with?” she asked you over the phone,

she has always been a little off after you became the member of straykids and you guys blew up, you knew she liked chan.

“chan, why?” hearing his name, chan’s ears perk up but he shrugged it off and went to the bathroom,

now your phone was on speaker as you were changing clothes,

“make me jealous.”

“what?”

“i said make me jealous”

“why?”

“i challenge you” you cut the phone huffing to yourself,

she was acting weird.

it was probably a joke, you thought. staring at the ceiling, you decide to get up and dry your hair,

as you were spraying your hair serum chan stands behind you, towel around his waist, bare chest, hair dripping.

he stares at you from the mirror, then back to himself,

“i can help you make her jealous.”

he said suddenly, looking down on you,

“huh?” you looked at him, acting confused, did he hear your call?

“i said, i can help you make her jealous.” he repeated himself,

“how..?” you looked at him, he pulled you back with his hand across your waist, slamming you into his chest, there had always been this weird tension between the two of you, you were always flirting and blushing.

“take a picture, cmon.”

“i— uh are you sure?” you blushed and tried to look away from the mirror to not make yourself embarrass even more,

“take it.”

and you did, his hand near your chest, holding you tight against his chest,

‘click’

he took the phone from you hand and sent the picture himself.

you looked at him and he looked at you, those eyes, the way he was staring down on you through the mirror,

he’s slowly lowering himself to reach your neck, you could feel his breath on your neck, there, a soft kiss on your neck, you gasp

“is this okay?” he whispered in your ears, your legs grew weak your mind wasn’t thinking straight, was chan going to be your first?

you knew for sure he’s had sex before during his trainee days, and when the group debuted, almost everyone did, yet you were a virgin

“yeah” you leaned back on him, as your legs started to lose their balance, he picked you up with his arm around you waist and placed you on the bed getting on top of you

you could feel his hands move towards your inner thighs as he was sucking on your neck, you arched your back as he touched you with light hands,

were you about to lose your virginity in paris, to your group leader? to your best friend?

“so wet baby, so wet for me hm? tell me” he whispered in your ear, licking it slightly

“touch me channie— please” you whined, you cringed to yourself, you sounded so desperate.

“yeah? as you wish baby” he pulls your thin underwear off, playing with your clit, making you embarrassed of all the sounds it made,

“hear that baby? youre so wet, i haven’t even done anything.” he chuckled as he inserted a finger inside of you, you gasp,

you’ve never done this before, you never had anyone do that to you, you were never able to do it properly, “chan—.” your voice creaked,

“fuck” you moaned as he placed a pillow under your waist, reaching the spots you never knew existed,

“you’re so tight baby” he groaned, “want you— please” you begged him,

vulnerable on the verge of crying, fuck were you really that desperate?

you heard his pants fall on the ground with a slight thought, you could see his bulge, it was huge.

you clenched around his fingers unconsciously, he chuckled, “its all yours baby, all yours.”

he rubbed his tip on your folds, breathing heavily, he slipped his tip in, you gasped, “oh fuck baby youre so tight.” he groaned,

he looked at you, you seemed a little.. nervous?

“baby, are you scared?” he asked you while teasing your nipple with his mouth, “chan im a virgin.” you said, tears swelling in your eyes, everything was emotional for you,

“its okay baby, i’ll treat you, i’ll treat you so gently princess.” he kissed your forehead and started moving, it hurt a little, he was inside of you, raw.

you clenched your eyes and grabbed his bicep, not caring if it left marks,

it felt so weird but so good? slowly and steadily you started to feel pure pleasure as he was pacing up his speed,

“faster channie— please i need you.” you were a crying mess, you lost your virginity to your leader, your bestfriend, whom youve loved for years.

“youre doing so good baby, so good for me.” he started pacing up as he was reaching his high,

he starts to rub your clit with his thumb simultaneously, you felt weird, there was a weird knot in your abdomen,

you couldn’t hold it back, you squirted all over his hands, you felt embarrassed, shocked infact.

“chan im so sorry—.” you cried even more,

“fuck baby that turn me on even more, i cant hold it back baby cum with me.” you were surprised when he said that,

you thought he’d be disgusted, you couldn’t think straight, you were so overstimulated,

this was a new feeling for you.

“cum in me chan— please.” you begged,

“fuck baby are you sure?” he asked,

“please im so sure.” you nearly screamed,

with that,

you went silent you body was shaking, this was the best first orgasm of your life,

chan came inside of you,

groaning, and kissing your forehead.

he fell beside you, gasping for air as you scooted towards his arm, resting your chin on your shoulder and hugging his bicep.

“gotta clean you up baby, wanna take a bath together?”

[lesbianandstressing]

Modern AU Arcane headcanons

So I finally watched Arcane, and safe to say I’m obsessed! Here are some headcanons I have of the characters existed in the same world as us, where (mostly) everyone is happy and alive :)

vi and powder are always forcing everyone to do stupid tiktok challenges and dances. vander and silco are very reluctant to participate but they somehow manage to go viral every single time

isha is powder and ekko’s adoptive child, and everyone absolutely loves her. she’s mute so everyone learned asl so she can easily communicate with them

vi and jayce play gta online together, and they either team up or constantly fuck with each other and cause chaos

caitlyn’s accent is frequently made fun of by everyone, especially powder

powder and caitlyn pretend to hate each other but are always there for one another when it really matters

sevika and isha are always teaming up to prank everyone. powder has woken up completely duct taped to her bed with sevika filming her and ekko dying with laughter

vi is in the running for the most ticklish person on earth, and everyone, and i mean everyone absolutely loves to tickle her because it’s such an easy way to mess with her. it’s a rarity for vi to go a day without being tickled by somebody at least once

vi and caitlyn’s place is the hang out spot for everyone. game nights, movie nights, and just general get togethers are always held at their place

the group plays cards against humanity (after isha goes to bed of course), and vi and powder are always putting down the most ridiculous cards that never make sense, but they always make everyone cackle

powder laughs so hard when she’s the judge that she can barely get through the cards, it takes her at least 20 minutes

mario kart tournaments always see the most competitiveness out of everyone. mel is somehow the reigning champion despite knowing very little about video games. powder and vi always sabotage each other and often get in physical play fights during mario kart

isha loves legos and has an entire collection that is taking over the house. ekko and powder are very supportive of this but they don’t know what to do about isha running out of space 😭

everyone always competes for title of isha’s favorite aunt/uncle. current title holders are sevika and jayce, but it changes very frequently

vander and silco are isha’s honorary grandfathers

isha has both of then wrapped around her finger

viktor owns a minecraft server that everyone plays on, and he’s like the dad who has to stop everyone from griefing each other

powder’s nickname is still jinx-but for a different reason. vi and powder would always play jinx related games where they would try to not say the same word, and powder always won. so jinx is vi’s affectionate nickname for powder that everyone else occasionally calls her

vander and silco own a gym where they specialize in hand to hand combat-vi works there with them and specifically works with kids, teaching them basic self defense techniques and going from there. vi never really pegged herself as kid material but she’s surprisingly really good with them, and sevika also works there with the adult classes

because of this, vi and sevika also teach isha self defense techniques in case any kids at school mess with her

powder and ekko work at an engineering company together

caitlyn is a lawyer, one of the top lawyers in the country due to her experience and schooling

jayce and viktor are scientific researchers and they are always making miraculous breakthroughs

powder and ekko worked together to design sevika’s prosthetic arm, and it’s very realistic and well functioning. after this, they started making prosthetics for people at a lower cost for those who don’t have the finances to afford them-but they still work just as well

vi and powder don’t let their romantic relationships strain their relationship as sisters. they always have sister nights with just the two of them at least once a week if not more

vi has adhd but manages well with medication and therapy

isha is obsessed with the teenage mutant ninja turtles. like, absolutely obsessed

caitlyn isn’t much of a gamer but she loves animal crosssing

ekko is an excellent cook, powder can barely make a bowl of cereal without something going wrong

jayce loves to play legos with isha

sevika kicks everyone’s ass when playing wii sports

vi and jayce function well when apart, but when they are in the same room they share one brain cell

it’s even worse when they’ve had a few drinks

powder, viktor, and caitlyn have many videos of them being total fucking idiots

sevika believes in ghosts and tries to summon them often

i’m ignoring canon for the rest of my life!

A/N: Hope everyone enjoys these! This is my first time dabbling in the arcane fandom, so lmk what you think :)

[navybrat817]

We'll Always be Friends

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: It's time to have dinner with your friends, but your mind keeps drifting to Bucky. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: Light angst, tension, friends reconnecting, unrequited feelings (or so you think), slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) A/N: More Dreamboat and Butterfly from my Reconnect AU and a direct continuation of Waiting a Little Longer! ❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You found it difficult to leave your room, even with your friends waiting downstairs. Reconnecting with Bucky though, it made sense why you wanted to be alone with him a little longer. That wasn't fair to everyone else. The group didn't hang out quite as often during the duration of Bucky and Dot's relationship, but you were looking forward to spending time together and catching up this week.

We've weathered through tough times and deserve some fun.

Bucky put his hand on your lower back as you made your way down the stairs. The man could hardly hug you when he was with his ex, but now he wouldn't stop touching you. Just like in your room minutes ago. Not that you were going to push him away. You more than missed the affection that used to exist between you two and each minute that passed seemed to make you fall back in sync. As long as you didn't get too comfortable, it was fine.

Everything is fine.

Everyone was gathered in the brightly lit dining room, food already spread out on plates as chatter filled the room. Steve, at the head of the table, chuckled at something Sam said. Sharon laughed as well and you couldn't help but smile as you observed them. Perhaps you were imagining it, but the atmosphere wasn't as thick as it had been over the last couple of years. Even Natasha's subtle smile was gentler, more relaxed.

Like old times.

"Hey! Finally!" Sam smiled once he spotted you, bringing everyone's attention your way. Steve's smile didn't quite reach his eyes when the girls greeted you, making you tense up a little. "We were about to send a search party after you two."

"No need for that," you smiled a little when Sam pushed his chair back. "No need for that either," you teased as he walked toward you, but to no avail. He enveloped you in a hug before you could stop him. The man was almost as tall as Bucky and Steve and just as muscular. The three of them were beautiful giants in your eyes.

"Nope. Not getting out of a hug," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Give Steve one, please. He thinks you're upset with him."

You felt a little sick to your stomach as he pulled away. You hadn't meant to make Steve feel bad. "I will," you whispered back before you gave the blonde a small smile. He looked like a golden retriever who had his bone taken away. "Do I get a hug from you, too?"

Steve's shoulders dropped in relief as he got up. "Of course, you do."

Like Sam, Steve's hug was warm and friendly. They never held onto you for too long or linger the way Bucky did. A quick embrace and nothing more.

"It's good to see you. I'm sorry I rushed off when you got here," you said, wanting him at ease.

Steve shook his head and gave you a rueful smile. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he said. You didn't get a chance to ask him why before he went back to his seat. "And it's good to see you, too."

You turned your attention to the girls instead who looked perfectly at ease on their side of the table. Natasha and Sharon were as gorgeous as they were intimidating. A sultry redhead and a blonde bombshell, they could come across as unapproachable from a first glance. But they were fierce and loyal friends. You were lucky to have them in your life.

"Please, don't get up. I will hug you both after dinner," you begged when they scooted their chairs back. "I appreciate you waiting for us to join you."

"So the boys get hugs, but we don't. I see how it is," Natasha teased.

"No one hugged me," Bucky pointed out.

"No one likes you," Sam chimed in, drawing a laugh from the girls.

"Butterfly likes me just fine," Bucky said, making you nod and bite your tongue so you didn't blurt out how much you really liked him. "Sit next to me?" He asked hopefully, pulling out your chair for you.

"Since these are the only two chairs left, sure," you teased, gazing up at him as you sat down. He stared back at you before he took a seat. "How was the drive?"

"The storm slowed us down, but Steve got us here safe and sound," Sharon answered as everyone began to eat. Steve wasn't one to brag, but you caught him grinning for a split second. "But what about you two? Did you get up to anything before we got here?"

Just snuggled with Bucky and fell asleep in his arms.

Bucky looked up from his plate as you glanced at him. "We wanted to go swimming, but the rain ruined that plan and we ended up taking a nap," you said.

Natasha's eyes darted between the two of you. "You ended up taking a nap," she repeated slowly. "You slept together?"

Bucky coughed and shook his head as your eyes went wide. The redhead looked pleased with herself as she waited for an explanation. "I. We. No?" You answered.

"We fell asleep together on the couch. That's it," Bucky explained once he recovered from his cough. "Nothing happened."

That's it. Nothing happened.

You curled in a bit on yourself when Natasha frowned. "Yeah. What Bucky said," you agreed, ignoring his gaze.

You had no reason to feel sad. It wasn't as if Bucky meant anything by his response. He gave Nat an honest answer. So why did it feel like a brush off?

Steve cleared his throat when the silence stretched on. "Well, I'm glad we're all here."

Good ol' Steve breaking the tension.

"Yeah. When's the last time we all went to the beach together?" Sam asked. "Was it last year? The year before?"

Bucky moved his chair closer to yours, but you didn't acknowledge it. "Two summers ago for Steve's birthday."

Right before Dot.

Everyone was either kind enough not to voice the connection or didn't want to talk about her.

"That's right. You guys bought him a red, white, and blue Speedo," you said, remembering the redness in Steve's cheeks when he opened the present. A few drinks in and he ended up wearing them.

"They looked good on me. It would've been rude not to wear them," Steve defended himself as Sam laughed. "That was a good day."

"It was," you agreed, glancing around the table. "Perfect weather and company."

We'll always be friends.

Bucky caught your eye when he nodded. "You found a seashell on the beach and you were so excited because the color was the exact same shade of blue as your bathing suit," he said, smiling to himself as you listened. "You said it had to be some sort of good luck charm and made it your mission to find one to match my swim trunks so I'd have some good luck, too."

He remembered that?

"That was why you kept running back and forth between Buck and the water," Steve grinned, nodding to Bucky. "He wouldn't tell me what you were doing. Just that you were looking for the perfect shell."

"I was determined to find it," you giggled as Natasha and Sharon shared a look. "I must've brought dozens of shells over."

It was silly when you looked back on it, but Bucky obliged and let you have your fun. In fact, your whims and nature never once seemed to bother him. He supported them.

"You didn't give up. And about twenty minutes later, you found one," he said, rubbing the back of his neck when he added, "I still have that seashell."

You took a breath before a bashful smile crept up your face. "You kept it?"

"Well, yeah," he replied, casually putting his arm around the back of your chair. "You gave it to me."

The room went quiet and you felt everyone's eyes on you, but your focus was on Bucky. "I had no idea."

The thought that Bucky held onto something so small and seemingly insignificant because it came from you had your mind running a mile a minute. Why not get rid of it? Maybe the shell reminded him of Steve's birthday and he didn't want to let that go. The voice that led with your heart said he kept it because you gave him a tiny gift.

He kept something because I gave it to him.

Your smile widened before the flash of a camera went off, the softness leaving Bucky's eyes as you both blinked.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself," Sharon said with an innocent stare when you tore your gaze away from Bucky. "Need photos for the scrapbook. You understand."

Bucky kept his arm on your chair as everyone began to eat again. "You're making one for this trip?"

"Yeah, I want to take as many pictures as I can."

In the past, Sharon had put together photo albums and scrapbooks full of memories of the group. Sometimes for herself, others as gifts to her friends. Each one was beautiful and special, a way to reflect on the past and appreciate the time together.

"No rain tomorrow, so plenty of chances to get some outdoor photos. Maybe we can play some beach volleyball. Three on three," Sam suggested.

"You just want to show off," Natasha smirked. She wasn't wrong. The guys enjoyed the competition. "But let's make it interesting. We win, you boys have to do all the chores this week. You win, we'll take care of them."

"And if we win, you boys also have to take us to the carnival in town and win each of us a prize," Sharon added, pointing at Steve. "I know you had the carnival on the list of things to do."

"And if we win, you'll win each of us a prize?" Steve asked.

"We have to win because I'm terrible at those games," you said. They were fun, but you couldn't remember ever winning a prize.

Bucky leaned over as the group began to debate whether or not carnivals rigged the games. "I'll win you a prize no matter who wins the volleyball game," he promised.

"I'll hold you to that," you said, giddy at the thought of him winning you a teddy bear or some other stuffed animal.

"You two up for a little drinking tonight or do you plan on falling asleep on the couch again?" Sam joked, interrupting your private conversation.

"I will drink. But if I have too much, Bucky has to carry me to bed," you said.

"What happened to calling me 'Dreamboat'?"

He's pouting and it's adorable.

"Okay. You carry me to bed if I drink too much and tuck me in, Dreamboat."

"Deal," he easily agreed.

"To the best week ahead!" Steve announced.

"And get ready to get your asses handed to you tomorrow," Sam added.

As everyone began to playfully argue again, you made a mental decision not to drink too much. Alcohol had a way of making people lose their inhibitions and the last thing you needed to do was blurt something personal out in front of the whole gang. Bucky promised that the two of you would talk and you would. Sober. But a fun night could be what you needed to kick off the rest of the week.

Things will start to come to light in the next part or two. A calm before the storm, if you will... Love and thanks for reading! ❤️ Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[barbswo]

THIAM prompt: “PDA”

They weren’t really big on PDA—public displays of affection, that was. Stiles knew that there was nothing wrong with that, after all, all couples were different, but.

They were Liam and Theo.

No, sorry, not like that.

They were LiamandTheo.

As in, together.

When Stiles first heard about it, he was still in Washington, and it happened during a group call they tried to put together at least twice a month, which was a real bitch to accomplish, counting different time zones and personal schedules. Stiles was peacefully organizing some documents, listening to Malia complain about weird french customs, when Mason let out a mocking whistle, and Stiles lifted his head.

Of course, he knew that Theo was hanging around Beacon Hills. He knew that Liam’s parents, being real-life saints, let Theo to stay with them, knew that the chimera got close to the Puppy pack (Liam still hated that nickname, but Stiles thought that it was hilarious and on point), but knowing and seeing were two very different things.

Theo never joined their calls, acted like he didn’t even exist, always silent, hovering on the periphery of everybody’s minds. Theo was the blurry picture one deleted before trying to focus their camera, a word in a dictionary with no definition attached. And now Theo was just there, shirtless, a towel wrapped around his hips, walking around Liam’s room like it was the most normal thing to do.

“There is a naked chimera of death behind you,” blurted out Stiles, and it was fascinating how fast Liam’s head whipped around. Laughter pulled the lines of his mouth when he turned back to the camera, shaking his head.

“You almost got me there.”

Stiles blinked. Frowned. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“Stiles, I swear, you don’t want to be around Liam when there is a naked Theo nearby,” grinned Mason from his square on Stiles’ laptop, Corey’s head on his shoulder. Even cut by the camera frame, they looked so disgustingly sweet Stiles wanted to lick their faces.

Liam flipped Mason off. Scott nervously chuckled on his end, looking away for a second, and Stiles felt like he had to fight for his life while putting two and two together. It was his thing—to know stuff. To see it before everyone else did.

And maybe it would’ve been more obvious had he been around more after Theo’s… resurrection?.. but instead, realization hit him in the middle of the pack call, and Stiles almost fell off his chair.

“For all that’s sweet and pure, Liam, are you two an item? And why is everybody acting like you knew, did I miss the announcement of Theo seducing our baby wolf, and why in hell—”

“You didn’t tell him?” Asked Corey, lifting his head. “Liam, you said you would weeks ago!”

“Weeks?” Squeaked Stiles.

Liam sighed like someone had deposited the weight of the world on his shoulders. “First,” he lifted his index finger, “not your baby wolf. I’m eighteen, thank you very much. Second,” there went the next finger, “us dating is our business, and there was no announcement, Stiles, for god’s sake…”

“You called me in the middle of the night and wouldn't calm down for two hours,” dryly reminded Mason, and somewhere behind Liam’s back, Theo scoffed.

“Two hours, really? That’s kind of pathetic.”

And hey, maybe it was a little bit pathetic, but Stiles still remembered how it felt when he realized that the girl he’d been crushing on for ten years liked him back, and he wasn’t the one to judge, not really. Even if the subject of Liam’s affections was a murderer raised in sewers. Tastes differ.

But, because the subject of Liam’s affections was a murderer raised in sewers, Stiles couldn’t help but take his sudden revelation with a grain of salt. After all, he’d watched the kid grow, and in some ways, felt protective not only of Liam overall, but of Liam’s heart, too.

And Theo was known for stealing those.

“Pathetic, huh?” Liam turned his head, presenting everyone with the view of his sharp jawline, “Says the guy who whimpered when I—”

A book that looked like it could’ve taken Liam’s head off if thrown at a slightly different angle hit him in the nose, and Liam yelled, waving his hands around to steady himself. That, unfortunately, resulted in him knocking off his own laptop, and the picture of his room circled around, blurred and went totally dark.

“Maybe they will kill each other and we won’t have to deal with their weird flirting anymore,” concluded Malia, and Stiles gaped at her.

“Flirting? You call that…” he struggled to get the rest of the sentence out by choking on his own tongue, “are you absolutely sure they are together-together, because that didn’t look—”

“Oh, we are sure,” Corey wrinkled his nose, “more sure than we’d like to be.”

“I second this,” chuckled Mason, and just like that, no matter how hard Stiles tried to circle back to the potential danger of Theo dating Liam, conversation shifted to the future summer break, plans, hang-outs and trips.

And honestly? Ever since that call Stiles couldn’t wait to be back home.

Not because of the summer break. Summer, of course, was good as a concept, and it highlighted Stiles’ freckles and made his skin strawberry pink while Scott paraded around with the most picture-perfect tan ever, and it smelled like ice-cream and all-night hangouts and freshly cut grass, and for some reason made Stiles’ dad smile more, as if all the warmth and sun brought him back to the good times with less monsters and cares.

However, Stiles had a talent for getting obsessed with things he didn’t understand. No, even better—he had a talent for investigating the things he didn’t understand until he could confidently say that if needed, he could write a whole book on the subject. It just happened so that currently, LiamandTheo made absolutely no sense.

Stiles recognized that his tendencies of going deep into the trenches of “observe, think, pin down, look, understand” weren’t… well, common. Normal kids didn’t spend their nights reading every article on hair follicles just because they were fascinated by how age turned black and red and gold into silver and wanted to know how and why it happened. In Stiles’ line of life and work, meticulousness never hurt anyone.

And it wasn’t that he thought Theo would go off the rails and slit all their throats one night. It was nothing like that. Stiles was stubborn, but he wasn’t an idiot, and neither was Theo. He had countless opportunities to turn his back on the pack, yet he stayed—as Stiles was well aware, to drive Liam around and help him to do his homework.

Homework didn’t have an evil ring to it. Stiles could’ve subscribed to the idea of Theo being a chauffeur and a tutor, but Liam’s boyfriend? Theo Raeken? The same nine-year-old kid who once looked Stiles dead in the eye and said that he believed love was nothing but a concept invented by desperate people? The teenager who grew up in the sewers of dozens of cities and was raised by three faceless psycos? Same Theo who killed his own packmates because he was hungry for power before recognition?

Granted, Theo had changed, and Stiles even admitted it once, but still. Theo didn’t do anything unless there was something he could gain from it. His ever-calculating, manipulative mind would never allow him to be just selfless. It had been injected into Theo’s veins to be a perfect weapon and to survive no matter what, so excuse Stiles for not buying the cute-caring-honest-boyfriend act.

Liam certainly had a thing for mean people, but Liam was a freaking golden retriever puppy. He would let Darth Vader pet him. Stiles was not trusting his judgment, because while Liam wasn’t exactly dumb, love did weird things to human brains. Stiles would know. He was friends with Scott McCall.

Thus, upon arriving at Beacon Hills, Stiles started doing what he did best. Investigating.

And that was how he ended up glaring in frustration at his current dilemma. Also known as the pack’s movie night.

You see, Stiles was an awkward person, and he sure as hell couldn’t keep it together around his crush, but even after he did a lot of thinking and grew up, there was still a part of him that wanted to reach out to Lydia and just touch. Make sure she was real. That he hadn’t imagined her by his side like he used to do before Scott got bitten and Stiles was fourteen and helplessly in love with the most popular girl in school.

And Stiles wasn’t even a werewolf, or chimera, or—anything freaky. But he knew how it was when a lupine creature found a mate (the term tasted like pure cringe in his mouth, but there was nothing Stiles could do about that): scenting became a primal instinct, a tradition to follow of sorts. He was fairly sure every member of the pack started smelling at least a little bit like Scott on the second day of their summer break, because Scott was the alpha and they belonged to him (there was that cringe again, but Stiles’ entire life had become cringe so... whatever), but it tended to be even more intense when romance was involved.

And Stiles was starting to question whether there was any romance between Liam and Theo, because really—they didn’t act like it.

At all.

“No, we are not doing Lord of the Rings marathon,” Mason rolled his eyes at Liam’s offended face, “each movie is like, three hours long, Li, nobody has that strength of will!”

“Those movies are classic,” argued Corey, and Mason’s gaze shifted to him.

“You will be the one to fall asleep on me in twenty minutes.”

Corey sent Liam an apologetic smile. “That’s true.”

Liam let out an irritated breath and pulled Theo’s sleeve to get his attention. “Help me convince these idiots that the best saga of all time should be savored whole—oh, and we can watch the director’s cut, too!”

Theo threw Liam the most unimpressed glance Stiled had seen in his entire life. “I don’t want to know what the director’s cut even is. You and your nerdy brain should’ve really stayed home.”

Liam scoffed. “It was you who wanted to stay home, Theo.”

“Hoped to get a break from you, really.”

Stiles immediately felt offended. He, of course, believed that the best saga of all time was Star Wars, but he wasn’t going to argue on the topic, because his mind was elsewhere.

Now, sarcasm might’ve been Stiles’ first line of defense, but there was a balance between being sarcastic and mean. He wasn’t sure Theo got the memo of the said balance.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was expecting to change, having given the idea of LiamandTheo quite a lot of thought, but he certainly didn’t expect to encounter… that. Theo behaved like he was forced to be in Liam’s presence. Reserved, cold, irritated nine times out of ten, Theo was willingly waving red flags in front of Liam’s very nose, Liam turning a blind eye on every single one of them.

It was the first time Stiles got to hang out with not just Liam and Theo, but with LiamandTheo, and he didn’t like it. They ended up watching the first Narnia movie, (which was Lydia’s favorite, so Stiles knew it by heart,) and instead of keeping his eyes on the screen, he found himself studying the new happy couple. Or, “happy” “couple”. Quotation on both words for the irony.

And that was how Stiles discovered they weren’t big on PDA in the first place.

And listen, it wasn’t like he yearned to see the chimera of death sucking on the beta’s tongue. Stiles was many things, but a creep wasn’t one of them, and in his head, Liam was still a freaking baby. He didn’t even expect to watch them make out like the world was ending—but he was starting to think that they barely did at all.

There was no peck on the lips when Liam grabbed a cherry coke not only for himself, but for Theo, too. No touch of gratitude, not even a glance, just a dry “thanks” that must’ve escaped Theo’s lips by some gruesome mistake. They sat next to each other, but didn’t even touch—not their shoulders, not their knees, not even their knuckles. Nothing.

If Mason had kept his mouth shut during that call, Stiles would’ve never guessed they were something more than enemies turned allies. And it was messing with his head.

“Something is wrong,” blurted out Stiles when the pack started migrating to their respective houses, leaving him, Scott, Malia and Lydia in the McCall kitchen.

Scott, who was stacking pizza boxes atop one another in a way that made them look like the Tower of Pisa, turned his head, his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Theo,” pressed Stiles, and Lydia sighed a small “here we go again” from where she was sitting at the kitchen island. Stiles passed by her, his hand involuntarily brushing over her shoulders, because it was the most normal thing to do and because Stiles was allowed, and nodded at the window. There, the Puppy Pack gathered around Theo’s truck, talking about… something.

Scott followed Stiles’ gaze and shook his head.

“I know you don’t trust him—”

“It’s hard to trust someone who did what he did,” snapped Stiles, “but it’s not his loyalty to the pack I’m worried about. It’s…” he paused, staring at the window. Mason and Corey, apparently, were giving Nolan a ride, their trio getting in Mason’s car and leaving Liam and Theo to their devices.

Technically alone, the couple didn’t try and move closer—if anything, they drifted further apart and, if gestures and body language were anything to go by, arguing. Liam’s side was pressed into the truck’s hood, and Theo was leaning onto the driver’s door, leniently responding to Liam’s remarks.

“I don’t think he is good to him,” he said at last, his gaze drifting back to Scott. “Liam.”

“Want me to punch him?” Malia lifted her head, and Scott shook his head.

“Nobody is punching Theo,” he looked at Stiles, “it’s their relationship. I don’t think we have a say in who Liam dates, Stiles.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “But you agree that if we had, Theo wouldn’t have made the list?”

“He changed,” spoke Lydia, snatching the last piece of brownie from the plate before Malia could swallow it whole, “I know you don’t like him, and nobody is forcing you to, but Theo is different now. More… real.”

“We thought he was real senior year, and look where it almost brought us,” mumbled Stiles, reaching out and grabbing the Tower of Pizza Pisa (ha-ha) before it could fall down, “look, I know he isn’t a psycho maniac anymore—but you can’t convince me that Theo has an inch in all 5’8 of him that actually cares for Liam. As in, wants to hold his hand and stare lovingly into his eyes and kiss him until the moon dies. You know, typical teenage romance shenanigans?”

Lydia chewed her brownie, looking thoughtful. “But do we think that Theo—and Liam too, actually—are typical teenagers?”

“Exactly,” sighed Scott, closing the dishwasher soap dispenser and pushing the door shut, “I can sense Liam in my head, remember? And he is happier than he ever was before, I promise. I don’t... really feel Theo, because he is an idiot and keeps pushing me away, but what I do feel doesn’t alert me—quite the opposite, actually.”

Stiles bit his lip, looking between his friends. He did trust Scott’s senses, but it was also true that Scott had been wrong before. Crucially wrong. And it was water under the bridge now, because they all found a way to move on, push past their offenses and differences and mistakes, but it didn’t change the fact that Scott trusted people easily and was as naive as a princess in a tower.

And Liam, obviously, turned out exactly the same.

Maybe Theo didn’t want to really hurt him. Maybe he had what he always wanted to—a pack, but he realized that he needed some sort of validation, admiration, actually, and twisted and turned Liam’s barriers until the boy fell in love with him. Liam always liked people who were mean to him. And had a tendency to fall for his anchors. Theo surely knew that and used it for his own advantage, like he always did.

Of course, there was no way Stiles could say his thoughts out loud without coming out as paranoid, and to be honest, he didn’t want to burden anyone with his raw theories. His dad always said that proof was steel that nothing could break, so Stiles would have to look for that before making further advances on the topic.

After all, it was summer break. They all deserved a little rest.

The problem was, Stiles was restless.

[gugugyuu]

secret boyfriend - beomgyu x reader

warnings: very suggestive content, insecurity or self-doubt, etc.

it seems like the air between you and beomgyu are cold these days.

you felt it everytime he responded, every glances no longer hit like it used to. his voice that's once warm and teasing had grown cold too, each word is like a wall building between you.

it wasn't supposed to be like this... your relationship has always been your quiet source of joy. and now? it felt like a fragile secret you couldn't protect no longer, thus suffocating both of you.

you stole a glance at him during class as he sat at on his desk wearing an unreadable expression, totally focused on the notes in front of him.

whenever you sent him text messages, he would barely acknowledged it. answering your questions with an icy,

beomgyu: yeah.

beomgyu: i don't know.

beomgyu: i guess.

and it hurts you more than you wanted to admit.

even though the classroom was filled with energy during the break, you just couldn't join in.

groups of boys and girls hanged out near his desk and their laughter bursting out. beomgyu leaned back, pretending to listen. he barely even said a word yet his presence alone was enough to keep their attention.

you also sat at your desk, pretending not to notice the way your chest tightened at the sight, wishing you're also near him

beomgyu's everything you thought you aren't; beautiful, confident, admired, unattainable.

and he was yours.

or at least, he had been 'cause now it felt like he was slipping away and you don't know how to stop it.

"hey..."

the sound of his voice startled you. he was standing by your desk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "can we talk?"

his tone was calm, making you very nervous.

you hesitated, glancing around the room. the noise had dulled slightly and curious eyes started looking towards you. "uuh… now?" you asked him.

"yes. now..." he replied firmly. beomgyu didn’t wait for you. he immediately turned around and headed towards the hallway. you also hurried to follow him, the stares of your classmates burning into your back.

the hallway was empty, the noise of the classroom faded as the door shut behind you. beomgyu stood with his arms crossed, staring at the ground before finally looking up.

"what is it, beomgyu?" you asked cautiously.

"what is it?" he repeated, his laugh cold and humorless. "you seriously don't know?"

you opened your mouth to respond but the words were stuck in your throat.

"i'm tired." he said, cutting through your silence. "i'm tired of pretending. tired of feeling like i'm the only one who cares about this relationship."

"that's not true." you said quickly, panic rising.

"oh, then why?" his voice wasn't loud but the weight of his frustration was enough to make you sad. "you act like i don't exist whenever we're around other people. you can't even admit we're together. do you know how that feels?"

"beomgyu, i-"

"yeah, tell me." he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. "what are you so afraid of? why do you keep pushing me away like this?"

the lump in your throat swelled and your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill. "i'm not pushing you away." you whispered.

"then what are you doing?" he questioned, his looks softening despite the frustration in his voice.

you hesitated, heart pounding. "i just… i don't want people to hate me."

his brows furrowed, his frustration giving way to confusion. "hate you? or what?"

"for being with you." you admitted, sobbing. "everyone likes you, beomgyu. girls... they all have a crush on you. if they knew we were together, they'd… they'd hate me. they'd think i don't deserve you."

the honesty of your words hung in the air and for a moment, beomgyu just stared at you. his expression changed from disbelief to hurt.

"babe come on, that's what you really think?" he asked quietly.

you nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "i see the way they look at you, the way they talk about you. and i… i don't even know how i got this lucky. i'm scared, beomgyu. i'm scared they'll hate me and that you'll realize they're right."

he took a step closer, reaching for your hands.

"babe..." he said softly, his voice was steady but filled with emotion. "i don't care what they think, i don’t care if they don't like it. i care about you. you're the one i chose because you're the only one i want. isn't that enough?"

tears spilled over and you bit your lip, trying so hard to stop it from trembling. "it should be..." you whispered, sobbing. "but i'm just so scared."

"me too." he admitted, squeezing then kissed your hands. "you mean everything to me. can we face it together?"

you looked up at him after a while, then slowly, you nodded. "okay..." you whispered. "together."

a small relieved smile formed in his lips. "yes, together." he echoed, pulling you into his arms.

and without warning, you leaned forward, kissing him with a sudden boldness that caught even yourself off guard. he froze for a fraction of a second because he was startled but quickly melted into the kiss. his hands started finding their place on your waist as if they belonged there.

when you finally pulled away, he was breathless and wide-eyed. the faint, unmistakable sound of your lips parting, echoed softly between the two of you. beomgyu's eyes were locked on yours, his chest was rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.

he leaned his forehead against yours, lips curling into a dazed grin. "that sound..." he whispered, fingers traced your flustered face. "the sound of your lips leaving mine… i swear, i could get addicted to it."

you blushed and tried to look away but his fingers gently tilted your chin back to face him. his eyes held yours, captivated.

then you felt your heart ache.

beomgyu's used to people getting shy around him but whenever he watches you melt in front of him? it hits different.

"you know, you're full of surprises." he said, a breathless chuckle escaping his mouth as he leaned in to give a kiss one more time.

come on, why would you keep beomgyu as your little secret?

go to: title || masterlist

[thesweetnessofspring]

Mutual you know I love you and respect your opinions but I just CANNOT get behind you hating on Katniss being related to the covey 😭 what did she do to you????❗️

Look I totally get not wanting everything to be interconnected and like "fate" and stuff because part of the value of THG is that there's no chosen one. So like I understand and appreciate and enjoy that reading of it

But I don't think Katniss being covey ruins that? I think it's more to show the same group of people being routinely oppressed over and over again. Not to mention 12 is a small district, so I guess it just doesn't bother me so much. But I'd love to hear more of your opinion

I don't like it because:

There are NO INDICATIONS of Katniss being Covey from the original trilogy. Maude Ivory and Katniss both being quick to learn new music was put in during TBOSAS, but other than the songs, there is no other definite evidence of the Covey even existing. And because Katniss seemingly knows nothing about the Covey, I genuinely hate the idea that a Covey-Mr. Everdeen never shared his culture with her, other than songs, which don't necessarily have to be limited to the Covey's culture anyway. And before anyone mentions the lake or woods, TBOSAS says other people went there too, Francis is the one who made the movie say only the Covey knew about it but that's not canon. There is a fiddle player from 12 in MJ, so if he were Covey, where are Mr. Everdeen's instruments? Where is a hint of a Covey name for Katniss or Prim (like maybe just a ballad or just a color, something inconspicuous but important)? I can accept a culture being snuffed out/going way underground in 12 without Katniss knowing about it and thus we only get the smallest clues about its existence, but I can't accept that her father was part of that culture and didn't share it with his kids or even leave any clear indication it was part of him. Especially when he works such a dangerous job and his death could mean all memory and knowledge of his people might disappear. And I mean, he was willing to sing The Hanging Tree so it's not like he wasn't willing to risk giving his children forbidden knowledge.

As you mentioned, the whole "fate" thing. Lucy Gray was rigged to be reaped, but Prim was random chance. It shows you can do everything "right" (i.e. not be made a target by the Capitol, not take out tessarae, be the youngest age with the least amount of slips) and random odds don't care. You can be reaped. I see Katniss being Covey making the "it was rigged for Prim to be reaped" theories happen all over again, like Snow knew and wanted to kill off the Everdeen line. Now, in TUC, Suzanne plays with the idea of if something is fate or our own choices, so I can see a similar theme play out in the background here if a reader chooses to explore it. Was there some kind of fate that Lucy Gray used to bring about Katniss and Peeta going into the Games together? But I don't like the idea of it being a bloodline thing. I'd rather it be from Katniss's merit, like Lucy Gray's ghost observed her in the woods and chose her to be the Mockingjay and knew that Peeta would be the one to get her there as he is Snow's foil.

A non-Covey Katniss still shows that the same people are oppressed over and over. D12 is as a whole, even the merchants, though they certainly benefit from certain privileges those in the Seam don't have. But Katniss, who is Seam, is incredibly oppressed as well, as have the generations before her. And again, saying that Prim being reaped and Katniss going into the Games shows that one group (the Covey) is a more oppressed group supports the "Prim's reaping was rigged" theory that is such bullshit.

I don't see anything being gained in terms of the themes. Katniss may be a "chosen one" in a sense, but she was a girl who loved her sister, and Rue, and Peeta, and got caught up in being the Mockingjay. Making her Covey turns her into a traditional "chosen one" and it just does not jive with the theme of THG or Katniss's character at all. If the Capitol is built on the same 15 families having power, then why would that be replicated in the rebellion with the Covey being the "chosen ones" to bring down Snow? As if because Lucy Gray was betrayed by Coriolanus, those of her people are the ones who must take him down as well. Not because Katniss and the districts have been oppressed and so it's something she feels bound to do as a duty to the people, as she realizes in MJ. Katniss was used by some of those powerful families, but she wasn't powerful in that way. Making her Covey gives her extra mythology that goes against this idea and makes her "special" even if she wasn't special until that Reaping Day.

The fact that the district is small is why I'm not bothered by Haymitch and Mrs. Everdeen having some kind of history (it's there in CF, so it is an original part of the story) or even if Mr. Everdeen makes an appearance! I'm from a big city but it's wild hearing how some of the older generations in my circle are connected and now that I'm an adult, knowing about the relationships and drama that happened to my older siblings' cohort (especially as their kids are now becoming teens and learning some of that history). Life does connect in interesting ways! My personal favorite theory is that Mr. Everdeen hung around the Covey and learned music from them (maybe Haymitch was even a little intimidated thinking Lenore Dove would prefer Mr. Everdeen to him?) but making Mr. Everdeen's connection a family connection (blood or adopted) really sinks the themes of the original and Katniss's role.

[unoislazy]

What Can Never Be

Hiccup Haddock x Reader

Summary: You and Hiccup fight together during the battle against Drago Bludvist, what could go wrong?

Warning: a bit of angst

————————————————————

“Woo!” You cheered, clutching tightly to the wooden handles on your dragon's saddle. You and several of the other Berkians had just busted out of Dragos traps, having waited there for just the right moment.

It was actually Erets idea, which you weren’t too keen on admitting considering he did almost sell you all out to Drago to save his own ass. Then again, if you were in his position you probably would’ve tried the same.

You and your dragon ducked and weaved between fire blasts and netting, freeing any dragon you could while taking out some trappers along the way. Honestly if the stakes weren’t as dire as they were, you’d probably be enjoying yourself a lot more.

“Alright bud, show them what you’re made of!” You shouted, leaning forward on your dragon as it dove into a crowd of trappers.

You never used to call your own dragon “bud” , but after hanging around Hiccup for so long you picked it up too.

The cold wind whipped past you as you held yourself close to your dragon, your arms were tucked to your sides, and your legs were fastened in their stirrups. You leaned in the direction your dragon would go, as if reading its mind, continuing to almost effortlessly dodge and attack the barrels of attackers ahead of you. Before long you had taken out almost the entire crowd with just a few well placed fire blasts.

Even with the crowd you took out, it seemed like there was still an endless amount that would just fill back in for the ones you had just taken out.

“Well, that’s mildly discouraging .” You muttered, trying to think of a way to get them to stop coming back. While thinking you had let your guard down for a moment. Turns out a moment is just long enough for another dragon to come up and knock you off of yours.

Before you could even blink, you had been knocked clean off your dragon, sent barreling straight for the ground. You screamed for your dragon but it just wasn’t fast enough to reach you.

So this was it, this was how you would go out. Falling to your death in the middle of a dragon battle, not the most honorable Viking death but at least you were fighting for a good cause. You continued to scream for your life as you fell even though you knew it clearly wasn’t going to help you.

And then, what often happens when someone falls to their death, your life flashed before your eyes. Living on Berk, becoming friends with Astrid and the group, getting your dragon, even when you realized you liked Hiccup. All those thoughts traveled through your brain at lightning speed, overcoming your fear with a quiet sadness as you focused on your thoughts about Hiccup.

You had no idea where he was, you thought he had been captured by Drago, but drago didn’t even know he existed. For all you knew he was long gone by now, and if that was the case, maybe heading to the gates of Valhalla after being pushed off your dragon wasn’t the worst thing that could be happening to you right now.

Just as you were about to come to terms with your fate, you heard a very familiar noise… like something rocketing through the air at an incredible speed.

Then, just barely before you hit the ground, you were yanked out of the air by a very recognizable Night Fury and his rider.

“Hiccup!” Gods were you happy to see him. The last you had heard from him was on Eret’s janky boat. Your legs dangled as Toothless's claws carefully held onto both your arms. He looked down at you, giving you a very gummy smile as his tongue flailed about in the wind. You smiled at him, feeling safe in his grasp, you had known Toothless ever since you accidentally stumbled upon him and Hiccup in the woods. Obviously you were a bit skeptical at first, but Toothless showed you just how truly gentle dragons could be.

“I knew you fell for me once but I didn’t expect you to do it a second time.” The man joked, leaning over the side of his dragon to see you. You rolled your eyes, but a wide smile was still very evident on your face. He may be a dork, but you loved him. In fact, maybe that was part of the reason you loved him in the first place.

You and Hiccup had known each other ever since your awkward teenage years. And by awkward, I mean AWKWARD. You two clearly liked each other, but neither of you did anything except fumble around the idea of getting together. So much so everyone else was just counting down the days until it would finally happen.

You’re almost sure a few people also placed bets on it, which in hindsight is a little weird, but also it’s not the craziest thing Vikings have ever done so…

By this point you and Hiccup had been together for a few years and to make a long story short, he was infatuated with you. He loved you in every sense of the word, even if sometimes he didn’t know how to articulate that well. You had been there for him for years, even when no one else paid him any mind, you were always right there for him.

And the gods alone know how much he truly appreciated that.

So now, there you were, being held by your arms, dangling a few hundred feet in the air by the claws of a Night Fury that your boyfriend was riding. All while a gigantic war was going down below you.

What more could you want?

Eventually your own dragon caught back up and Toothless gently dropped you onto it. Once you were settled you came up beside the man, unable to contain your smile as you finally knew he was okay.

“Where in the god's name have you been!?” You shouted over to him, to which he answered.

“Oh you know, catching up with mom.”

You looked at him confused before noticing him looking up at someone. You turned to see what he was looking at and just then you noticed a figure standing atop a Stormcutter, while also controlling a bewilderbeast?!

All you could manage was to stare for a few moments, your jaw practically on the floor.

“Well, now I know where you get all… this from.” You said, waving your hands in his general direction.

“You just gestured to all of me.” He laughed, giving you a very knowing smirk. “Remind me when we’re done here to introduce you to her, she’ll definitely love you.” He remarked, looking back up at her as she waved her stick around in the air.

You nodded, still staring in awe before realizing, you’re still very much in the middle of a fight. As if he read your mind, Hiccup turned back to you and said,

“Now why don’t we free some dragons?”

Before propping his mask back down over his face. You nodded, following his lead as he and toothless dove straight down into the battle.

You had continued fighting back for a while, managing to free a fair few dragons on your own as well as helping the others out when they’d get stuck. It seemed like you had this in the bag, you were all going to win!

That was until…

Dragos Alpha had killed Valkas.

The entire field went silent as you all watched in terror as Drago now commanded the dragons to gather.

From there, almost as if magic or as if they were in a trance, most of the dragons immediately began to swarm around the Alpha, listening to its command. Every single dragon you had just spent time saving, went right back to Drago as if they had no choice.

Well, because they didn’t.

Thankfully most of the dragons that were being ridden seemed to be able to block out the Alphas will… for now at least.

“Oh gods…” Was all you could mutter as you watched in terror and awe as all the dragons gathered, landing on the snowy ground before the bewilderbeast, showing their respect.

Your attention was quickly taken away from this issue when your own dragon began to struggle against the will of the alpha. Its idle flapping became jittery as it tried to keep itself in the air while also fighting against the alpha.

“Don’t listen to him, it’s okay, I’m right here.” You tried to comfort it. It seemed to work for the most part but it continued to struggle on and off.

That was until the alphas focus had been drawn away. Its massive body slowly turned away from your general direction and now focused towards an area where you could faintly hear Drago yelling for it. You took a much needed sigh of relief as your dragon quickly gained back its own full consciousness until you finally followed where the alpha was now focused on.

“Hiccup!” You gasped, “Alright, it’s time to put those fast flying skills to work!” You ordered your dragon, which wasn’t entirely needed because it was already on the same page as you.

Just as before, the freezing cold wind whipped against your face, you could feel your nose and cheeks began to sting a bit solely because of this but you didn’t care. Your eyes began to well up with tears, not only from the cold, but because now you feared you were going to lose him. You had spent hours worrying about Hiccup's safety, whether he was alive or not and you had just gotten him back, you didn’t want to let him go again so easily.

“Come on, just a little faster…” you strained, leaning as far forward as you could as if it would increase your dragon's speed by any significant amount.

Just as you had gotten into a decent enough range, an armored dragon took you by surprise and quickly grabbed hold of your dragon and dragged it to the ground, flinging you off. You both spiraled out of control, but luckily the snow broke your fall for the most part.

You quickly got up, ignoring the pain as you looked to your dragon who had managed to get out of the dragon's grasp and was now standing defensively between you and the armored beast.

Your dragon snarled at you, as if telling you to go. You knew it could handle itself, and so you listened, getting right back on track.

“Toothless, what’s going on with you bud? Snap out of it!” You could hear Hiccup yell. You were close, you were so close. The tears in your eyes made it tricky to see clearly, paired with the bruises that were now forming on your back, you had begun to slow down.

“Toothless!” You heard Hiccup scream again, the desperation in his voice seemed to flip some kind of a switch for you and the adrenaline almost immediately kicked in.

You sprinted as fast as your legs could carry you on the snow and ice, your breathing became quite heavy which caused your lungs to feel like they were being stabbed by a thousand sharp needles due to the extreme chill in the air.

But your pain didn’t matter.

What mattered right now was,

“Hiccup!” You shouted again. You were almost there. You were so… so close.

You closed your eyes, praying to the gods you would make it in time, your heart pounded as you made your way to him.

“Wait, stop!”

Was the last thing you heard before you leapt off the ground, heading straight for Hiccup and successfully pushing him out of the way, leaving you in direct range of Toothless's blast.

You didn’t feel anything as your back collided with the icy wall behind you, snow and icicles dropping on top of you as your now limp body laid beneath the rubble. The moment Toothless’s blast made contact, you were gone.

Hiccup, a bit disoriented from being so suddenly shoved, looked up and immediately ran to you.

“No, no, no, no!” He cried, quickly clearing your body of debris and holding you close to check for a pulse.

Valka and the others had made their way over, all of them shocked by the scene before them. None of them, of course, were as affected as Hiccup.

“Why would you do that…” He asked you softly, tears quickly began to spill from his eyes as he held you close as he had done many times before, except this time you weren’t going to hold him back. His hand lightly glided across your cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen just before you had pushed him out of the way.

Toothless, now out of Dragos control, tried to get near both of you, concerned as to why you were so lifeless. He carefully began to sniff your hand, expecting you to wake up and scratch just behind his ears like you always did.

But you didn’t.

Toothless went to try again, only to be pushed away by Hiccup.

“You did this! Get out of here!” He screamed, only to be held back by his mother. He was a mess, he didn’t know how to control himself.

He knew it wasn’t Toothless’s fault but he needed someone to blame. If there was anyone to blame, he wanted to blame you.

Why would you do something like that, why would you sacrifice yourself for him. He was supposed to be the one to make stupid decisions… not you.

Now here he stands, on the edge of the island, watching your now burning boat drift off into the water as his tears began to flow.

You weren’t supposed to leave like this.

You both were supposed to live out your days together, leading together, living together… and he had hoped to take the next step with you one day. He would never admit it outloud but Hiccup had pictured having a family with you and it was one of his most treasured day dreams.

Now it would become nothing more than an idea of what could’ve been…

And what can never be.

[ghosty-zero]

Sonadow one shot number #4: The Chest Fluff

Shadow was well known in Sonic's friend group as the dark, mysterious hedgehog who rarely spoke. It was easy to mistake him for being shy, but Sonic knew better. He just had no desire to make friends. Not after everything he went through.

Shadow was a loner, always in some dark corner of any room with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. If you weren't careful, he was likely to take offense at the slightest thing you said and lash out at you. It didn't help that he was one of the most powerful beings in existence, which is why no one really dared approach him.

Until Sonic.

Sonic had the nerve to talk to him like a normal person, with smiles and casual conversation. He talked about nonsense, like how he beat Eggman for the third time this week or that time Tails spilled coffee all over his desk while working on a new invention.

At first, Shadow ignored him, but as time went by he eventually warmed up to Sonic's antics. It was almost amusing listening to his stories and adventures, and the hedgehog seemed to have endless amounts of them. He was a fast talker, so he often said three sentences for every breath Shadow took. It was nice to just sit and listen for once, though he wouldn't admit it out loud.

Shadow still rarely spoke, even to Sonic, except to call him an idiot or make some sarcastic remark. Still, Sonic didn't let it get him down. He'd just laugh and continue on like nothing happened.

Shadow found that he liked to listen to Sonic talk. He liked hearing about his days and what he did when they weren't together. He was so cheerful and optimistic, it was hard not to be at least a little happy whenever he was around.Sometimes his tail would wag just the slightest bit whenever Sonic entered a room or said something he found amusing.

But Shadow wasn't the only one who noticed his tail wagging. Sonic teased him about it often, and he had to remind himself several times that he was a grown hedgehog and that his tail shouldn't be wagging so easily. But it was hard not to let his tail wag when Sonic was so carefree and adorable.

Shadow never shared anything about himself, so Sonic was left to imagine what kind of things he did when they weren't together. He liked to think that maybe Shadow was secretly a badass super hero or something, and that was why he always seemed so distant and serious. But then again, he also liked to think that Shadow was secretly a cute little puppy who just needed a hug.

There was one thing about Shadow that Sonic really wanted to explore:

The chest fluff.

Sonic noticed it the first time they met, and he's been wanting to touch it ever since. It looked so soft and fluffy, and he couldn't help but wonder what it felt like.

He tried asking Shadow about it once, but all he got was a glare in response. He didn't ask again after that.

Shadow didn't seem to be particularly fond of people touching him, so Sonic kept his distance. But the little tuft of pure white fur on his chest was so tempting, and he really wanted to know what it felt like. He didn't dare ask Shadow about it, so he settled for just watching from afar.

It was during one of their weekly hangouts when Sonic finally got a chance to feel the fluff.

The two were hanging out in Sonic's living room, watching TV. Well, Sonic was watching the tv. Shadow was sitting on the other side of the couch with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep. He didn't even stir when Sonic suddenly jumped up off the couch and declared that he was hungry, leaving the room to get snacks.

When he returned, he paused at the doorway as an idea formed in his head. He quietly placed the snacks down on the coffee table and crept over to Shadow.

Shadow was rarely seen with his guard down. He was like a Doberman; calm until you did something he didn't like. Then he would show his teeth and bare his fangs, and you'd learn very quickly that he wasn't someone you wanted to mess with.

But when he was asleep, he was the sweetest little hedgehog you could ever hope to meet. His face was soft and relaxed, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed slowly, his ears twitching and flicking towards random sounds. He looked so vulnerable and precious. Sonic smiled as he knelt in front of him, taking in his sleeping form.

His attention soon turned to the tuft of white fluff on Shadow's chest. The perfect place to test how soft it was. He slowly peeled off his glove and reached his hand out towards it. He was careful not to wake Shadow as he gently petted the soft fluff.

He had only planned on petting it once, but when he pulled his hand away Shadow shifted slightly. He was still asleep, but Sonic didn't want to risk waking him up. So he began petting the fluffy tuft again. It was just as soft as he thought it would be, if not softer. Shadow didn't stir at the touch, so he continued petting him.

It was almost comparable to a cloud or a puppy. So soft and fluffy. Sonic could have pet it all day if he wasn't worried about disturbing Shadow. As it was, he spent what felt like several minutes just gently stroking the fluff, before pulling his hand away and putting his glove back on.

Man, Shadow and Silver are lucky. They both have super cute fluff, while he was just plain blue with a flat tan chest. He could definitely get jealous sometimes, but he couldn't deny that it was adorable. Especially when they were sleeping. He knew Shadow would never admit to being adorable, but there was no denying it. He was a softie, and Sonic was going to find a way to make him admit it someday.

Until then, he would just have to satisfy himself by petting Shadow's fluff while he slept.

I just have to touch it one more time... He thought to himself as he leaned forward, gently petting it again.

"What are you doing?"

Sonic froze. That voice came from above him. He looked up to see Shadow staring down at him, his red eyes narrowed into a glare.

"Uh..." Sonic stuttered, pulling his hand away and slowly standing up. "Hi Shadow! I was just, uh...just...there was a bugon you!" He said, pointing to the tuft of fur on Shadow's chest. "I was trying to get it!"

Shadow stared at him, his expression unreadable. Sonic shifted under his gaze, unsure of what to do. He felt like darting away, and was debating on it when Shadow grabbed his hand and placed it against his chest.

"If you want to touch my fluff, just ask." Shadow said in a low voice, holding Sonic's hand in place with one of his own.

Sonic stared at him, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I-I wasn't...I wasn't touching your fluff..." He muttered, trying to pull his hand away. Shadow held him in place, not letting him go.

"When you lie, you're eyes look to the right and your voice gets higher. I can see through your lies, hedgehog. Don't bother." Shadow growled.

Sonic sighed in defeat, slumping his shoulders as he looked away. "R...right...sorry. It just looked so soft, can you blame me?"

Shadow released his hand. "I don't like being touched, especially when I'm not aware. However...I suppose if it's you, it doesn't matter as much." He muttered, crossing his arms.

Sonic smiled, his tail wagging slightly. "Does that mean I can touch your fluff whenever I want?" He asked hopefully.

Shadow's ear flicked in annoyance, and he turned away from him. "I...suppose. But a warning beforehand would be nice."

Sonic beamed. This was the most Shadow had said to him since they met, and he didn't seem annoyed or angry at him. If anything, he seemed almost happy. Maybe even a little flustered? Sonic couldn't tell.

"Right, I'll tell ya before hand and stuff." Sonic nodded, then reached his hand back down, gently petting the fluffy tuft of white fur again.

Shadow sighed, letting him continue his ministrations. It felt strange, and ticklish, but he could let it slide for now.

He was still going to murder Sonic later for taking advantage of him while he was asleep though. Even if he had good intentions. Shadow needed to keep his image after all.

Sonic was about to pull away when he felt Shadow's chest vibrate like a motor.

"Are you...purring?" He asked, surprised. He hadn't noticed before, but now that he was listening closely he could hear it.

Shadow's ears flattened against his head as he huffed and turned away from him.

"No." He growled.

"Yes you are!" Sonic grinned. "Awwwww-"

Shadow slapped Sonic's hand away, making him yelp. "I did no such thing."

"When you lie, your ears go flat and you turn away from me! That means you're lying!" Sonic teased, grinning.

Shadow glared at him, his fangs bared slightly. "I'm not lying."

Sonic continued to tease him. "Cute little Shadow is purring! Awww, I wish I had a camera-"

This was when Sonic learned that Shadow had what he now dubbed as a "Sonic limit." When this limit was reached, the usually calm and collected hedgehog would snap, and there was no telling what he would do. He had an almost limitless amount of patience, but once he reached his 'Sonic limit' he would immediately go straight for the throat. The warning signs for this deadly limit were subtle, lIke the showing of teeth or a low growl. But when you reached it, you could almost feel it in the air. Like the calm before the storm.

Shadow was at his Sonic limit.

He grabbed Sonic by the ear and pulled him forward, their noses bumping together.

"Shut up, faker." Shadow growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Sonic could feel his face heat up at how close they were, and he stared up into Shadow's crimson eyes.

"You're so cute when you're mad." Sonic whispered, grinning.

Shadow growled in response, pressing their noses together. "Do you want to die?"

"Not particularly."

"You are testing my patience. I've endured your company this long without snapping your neck. Don't think I won't hesitate to do so now."

"I have complete faith in you, Shadow."

Shadow growled again, and Sonic felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Then prove it. Shut up." Shadow hissed.

Sonic grinned, wagging his tail slightly. He leaned forward and kissed Shadow on the nose.

Shadow's eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red. He froze like a deer in headlights as Sonic slipped his arm free from his grasp.

Sonic learned something new about Shadow without Shadow saying anything:

He was adorable.

He was blushing and stammering like a schoolgirl who had never been kissed before, his ears drooping slightly and his tail hanging limply behind him. His eyes avoided Sonic completely, as if afraid to look at him. It was the most flustered Sonic had ever seen him.

Sonic decided that he loved flustered Shadow.

"What's wrong, Shadow?" Sonic teased, poking his cheek. "Cat got your tongue?"

"You...are very brave. To kiss me after all I said to you." Shadow muttered, still avoiding eye contact.

"So? I don't care. I know you won't hurt me." Sonic shrugged. "I'm a hedgehog of action. You should know that by now."

Shadow glanced at him. "You don't care what I say to you?"

"Nope."

"Why? It doesn't bother you that I could kill you with just a flick of my wrist? That I could rip your throat out with my teeth if I wanted to?"

"You won't do that. And if you did, it'd be really sexy."

Shadow blinked in confusion. "What?"

"What?" Sonic smiled innocently.

Shadow stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and looked away again. "You're very strange."

"I get that a lot. You're strange, too...in a good way though. I like you."

Shadow finally looked at him again, his eyes searching Sonic's face.

"Really? You like me?"

"Yeah, of course! You got that whole mysterious vibe going on, and your fluff is super soft," Sonic said, giving the fluff in question a playful poke. "It's like having my own personal teddy bear to hug when things get tough. Plus, you're pretty good at not letting me die when we're fighting Eggman."

"I'm...not the correct material for...hugging, Sonic." Shadow managed, his voice betraying his embarrassment.

Sonic just chuckled, reaching out to ruffle his fluff again. "I know you're tough and all that, but everyone needs a hug now and then. I've been told that I'm a great hugger!"

Shadow crossed his arms, blocking Sonic's access to his chest fluff. "I've never...I've never been hugged before."

Sonic's eyes widened. "Never? Not even once?"

"Not since...my time on the Ark." Shadow murmured, his gaze drifting off to the side.

"The Ark? Oh! That Gerald Robotnik guy? The one who created you and all that?" Sonic's eyes were wide with curiosity, his tail wagging slightly.

"I would wish we didn't talk about it." Shadow's voice was low, the room suddenly feeling heavier.

Sonic frowned, but didn't push it. "Okay...but I still like ya."

"Like as in...a friend?" Shadow questioned, his voice tentative.

Sonic grinned. "Not exactly. Like more than a friend. Like, when I see you, my heart goes 'doo-doo-doo' like a love song."

"A love song?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Wel...I figured you didn't want to hear it. You're all tough and mysterious and stuff. Plus, you never talk about your feelings. I didn't know if you'd appreciate it or if you'd just get all upset and run away." Sonic chuckled nervously, his cheeks tinting a soft red.

Shadow was silent for a moment, processing what Sonic had just said. His heart was racing, and he didn't know why. He had never felt this way before. It was confusing and terrifying. He didn't know how to respond. Rouge always joked that he was cold-hearted, that he didn't know love. Maybe she was right.

But when Sonic rested his head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, it was steady and strong. It was the first time Shadow had ever felt so...normal. He didn't feel like a weapon, a tool, or just some mystery that everyone talked about but no one knew. He just felt like a hedgehog, and it was surprisingly comforting.

Sonic started purring, which made Shadow purr along with him. Shadow's arms uncrossed slightly, and his hand found its way to Sonic's head, gently stroking his spikes. His spikes were coarse to the touch, but not unpleasant. They were relatively smooth, and the blue hedgehog's hair was surprisingly soft underneath them.

Shadow had never felt this...comfortable with anyone before. It was strange. He didn't know what to do with these feelings. But he didn't hate it. In fact, he liked it. He liked the way Sonic's cheek was pressing against him, the way his tail swished back and forth in contentment. He liked the way he smelled, like fresh air and the outdoors...and chili dogs. The rumble of his purring was soothing, and Shadow closed his eyes and just listened to it.

I believe I may like this blue hedgehog more than I thought.