#over something he might not have even done???

[mischievousmoony]

I’m blushing so hard at frat boy James!! What about the first time she comes over and meets the guys outside a party

hope i've done your idea justice! ty for requesting

𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.9k ⟢ warnings/tags: references to drinking, technically american!james potter and american!marauders

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"It'll just take a minute," James promises. "We'll be in and out."

With his hand in yours, he leads you through the door, passing under the large Greek letters as you cross the threshold.

You have been seeing James for a month and a half. You never thought you'd be interested in a frat guy—you've never even step foot in one of their houses until now—but James has proven to be the opposite of what you thought a frat guy would be like.

James is a total sweetheart. Possibly the most thoughtful and genuine guy you've ever dated. He makes you feel special, always remembering the little things like your favorite flower or your drink orders at all your favorite places. He's attentive without ever being overbearing. But honestly, you don't think you could see him that way if you tried, always loving every bit of attention he gives you.

Today, he's taking you on a study date. He remembered that you were complaining about an upcoming exam in a class he's already taken, so he's grabbing his old notes and sitting you down in a quiet corner of the library so that he can help you study.

James would already have you set up in the library on the coziest chair with your favorite hot drink from the cafe if he didn't forget his old notebook in his room—which he felt rather sheepish about leaving behind.

So, here you are. James asked if you wanted to wait in the car, but you were curious to see the inside of one of these things. You half expected to see solo cups littering the floor, a pong table in place of a coffee table, and maybe even a few hungover frat guys strewn about the living room still sobering up from last nights antics.

You were a little surprised to find out that it was rather clean. You know from James that there was indeed a party here last night, but apparently they clean up nicely.

Although, you’re right about there being a pong table. But it is folded up and leaning against a wall for future use.

James guides you towards the stairs, but before he can even mount the first step someone appears in the foyer from a hall that you can see leads to the kitchen.

"Jamesie! Back so soon?" the boy cheers when his eyes land on his friend first. His eyes dart to you a second later, and something like recognition flashes in his expression. "Is this who I think it is?"

The boy has long, black hair that cascades just to his shoulders in soft waves, the kind that look effortless but too perfect to not be styled in some way. He stares at you with piercing blue eyes, making you feel oddly self-conscious, which might also have to do with the big smirk on his lips.

James squeezes your hand, sensing your nerves, but he'd bet money that they pale in comparison to his own. He's been nervous about bringing you around here. It doesn't have anything to do with you, or them (well, maybe he's a little worried they'll scare you off). You're really important to him, and so are they, and he's been putting a lot of pressure on introducing you to them. So, this unplanned visit has his palms sweating, which he's hoping you haven't noticed.

"Sirius," James greets his friend. "Yeah, this is Y/N."

Your eyes widen a fraction when Sirius immediately steps forward, taking your free hand to press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. "Hi, sweetheart, I've heard a lot about you. Truly, a lot. James has talked my ear off about you so I really feel like I'm meeting an old friend. I'm Sirius."

You feel heat rise to your cheeks but you're not alone, as James' own face turns rosy as he mutters a scolding "dude!" at his friend.

"Don't tell me you were just gonna sneak in without so much as a proper introduction." Sirius places a hand over his heart, a dramatic look of utter disbelief painting his face.

"We're just stopping by to get my notes. We have a very important study sesh to get to, didn't want to delay us too much," James explains, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"I promise it'll only be a short detour then. Pete and Remus are the only ones here anyway," Sirius says. His eyes dart to you again, something mischievous swimming within them. "We've all been dying to meet the girl that has our James so smitten. I mean, he's been going on and on and on. It's nice to finally have a pretty face to the name."

At Sirius’ words, you can’t help but crack a smirk as you peer up at James.

“Don’t look at me like that,” James murmurs, now rubbing his thumb across your knuckles the way he does when he gets anxious. James is sure the tips of his ears are bright red. Sirius will go to no end to embarrass him, but despite the fact that his heart might jump out of his chest at any second, James really only cares how you feel about the situation. James tilts his head toward you, lowering his voice to ask, "Are you up for meeting some of the guys?"

"Yeah," you say with a warm smile. "I'd love to meet your friends." And you really would. James talks a lot about them, too. Always reciting some story about all the shenanigans they've gotten into over the years.

You've been able to tell he's been overthinking bringing you to meet them. You get it—you're secure in James' feelings for you, so you know it's nothing personal. Plus, you were really nervous when James met your friends. To be honest, even though they were jokes, you're friends have made digs at frat guys before because of the stigma. You really wanted James and your friends to like each other, and thankfully, they really do and you had nothing to be worried about.

You hope that meeting his friends will have the same outcome and ease some of James' worries.

Sirius provides a generous introduction as you enter the kitchen. "Boys, it seems we have a very special guest in our midst this morning."

There are two guys sitting on kitchen stools who swivel around to greet you.

There's a lanky boy with mousy brown hair whose eyes dart back and forth between you and James before he directs a kind smile in your direction.

The other boy spins around mid-spoonful of a bowl of cereal. He abandons the utensil in his mouth to wave at you, his other hand occupied by the bowl resting in his palm.

Your eyes trail around the kitchen as James introduces you to them. It's rather large, as it would have to be to accommodate the large number of guys you assume live here.

You've also discovered the mess you thought you'd be stepping into. It seems that all of the discarded solo cups and beer cans have already been shoveled into a few trash bags, which are just about ready to burst at the seams as they wait by the back door to be taken out.

"I'm Peter," the boy with the cereal pipes up after returning his spoon to his bowl.

"Remus," the tall one introduces himself. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," you say. "You know, I've never been in a frat house before. I take it you all live here?"

Remus is the only one who shakes his head. "Not a brother," he clarifies. "Just unlucky enough to have them as my best friends."

"Oh, you know you'd be lost without us," Sirius says, rolling his eyes playfully. "And it's not a frat house, it's a frat home," Sirius says very earnestly. Too add to his dramatics, he pulls Peter into a hug (which nearly makes him fall off his stool) and raps his fist against his back as he pretends to get emotional.

Peter's laughing as he shoves, Sirius off. "Alright, man," he says, swatting Sirius' hand away as he ruffles his hair.

"Sirius had beer for breakfast," Remus informs you to excuse Sirius' behavior.

"Hey, I only had two and I know you're not suggesting I'm a lightweight," Sirius points at Remus accusingly. "Anyway, I was just telling Y/N how often Jamesie muses about her."

Remus clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Don't tease him too badly, Sirius.”

"It's not like it's not true," Peter shrugs, earning himself a glare from James.

You look up at James. His cheeks have deepened a few shades now as he glowers at Peter. You give his hand a squeeze to attract his attention, the expression on his face immediately softening when he looks at you.

“I think it’s sweet,” you say, encouraging a smile onto James’ lips. He drops your hand, only to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you into his side. You nuzzle your nose against his shoulder, looking at him with expectant eyes. He knows what you’re asking for, and would rather hand his friends more ammo to tease him with than deny you, so he gladly plants a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“You two are sickening.” Sirius leans over the counter, propping his chin up with his hand as he sighs dramatically. “It’s adorable,” he adds.

“Wrapped around her finger, are ya?” Peter joins in on the teasing.

James keeps his eyes on you as he responds. “You bet I am.”

You tear your eyes away from James’ sweet gaze to address his smirking friends. “You know, I've heard a lot about you guys too," you say.

Sirius lights up with intrigue. "Oh, do tell."

"Well, Peter must be the guy to go to if you want to have a laugh. Every time James asks ‘Wanna hear a story Peter told me’ I know I’m gonna have to sit through several fits of laughter before he gets to the end of it," you say, nudging James with your elbow who nods along to confirm your story.

Peter puffs up his chest, proud to be known as the funny one.

"Remus," you continue, "I should've known you weren't a brother. James always tells me about how they drag you into things that you have to get them out of. If he hasn't told you before, he's very thankful for you. And Sirius. I think I've heard the most interesting stories about you."

"This should be good," Sirius says, a cocky grin on his face. "I've given James a whole catalog of legendary stories to tell about me."

"My favorite is the one that started with you trying to impress a girl by jumping into the pool from the roof and ended with you in the bushes after you tripped on the gutter,” you say, an air of sweetness in your tone and a smile on your lips.

The confident smirk drops from Sirius’ face and James snorts a laugh beside you. Peter cracks up, and even Remus snickers at the look on Sirius’ face.

"I think you’ve just won over Sirius," Remus says, watching as his grin returns.

“You got me, I can appreciate that,” Sirius says. “Why have you been hiding her from us for so long, James? I like her.”

"Yeah, I like her too,” James replies, squeezing you a little closer into his side. He doesn't bother trying to hide the broad grin overtaking his features. As he looks down at your giggling face, he can't remember what he was so nervous about.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[hy6erion]

Hi, Christine!!:)

can you pls write Viktor/jayce x small s/o with like small curves? like small breasts and ass etc.

I’m on my knees. PLEASE PLEASEEEE DO ITT😔🥹🙏🙏

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫/ 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 (𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲) 𝐱 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 ᰔ

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬

𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Jayce is the kind of guy who doesn’t care much about body types—he’s all about personality and connection. But that doesn’t mean he won’t absolutely adore every part of you.

✰ Loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder, pulling you into his broad chest. He likes how petite you feel against him.

✰ If you ever express insecurity about your body, he’s quick to shut that down. “Are you kidding? You’re perfect.” His hands will settle on your hips, and he’ll make you look at him. “You don’t need curves to be gorgeous, sweetheart.”

✰ Jayce is a sucker for practical fashion, so if you wear fitted shirts, crop tops, or high-waisted pants that show off your proportions, he thinks you look effortlessly good. He’ll definitely hype you up.

✰ If anyone even tries to make a rude comment about your body, Jayce will shut them down so fast. He’s that boyfriend who will make a whole speech about how beauty comes in all forms.

✰ Playfully calls you “tiny but mighty.” He knows firsthand that physical size has nothing to do with how powerful or brilliant someone can be (cough Viktor cough).

✰ Jayce is very into lifting you up randomly. He’s strong, and since you’re smaller, he takes advantage of it—throws you over his shoulder just to make you laugh. “Too easy. You weigh nothing.”

✰ When he hugs you, you completely disappear in his arms. He loves how snug you feel against him.

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Jayce is an ass guy, no question, but he doesn’t care about size. He’s obsessed with the shape of you, how your hips fit into his hands perfectly.

✰ He loves touching your chest. Even if you’re smaller, his hands still grope at you like you’re the most irresistible thing in the world. He’ll cup you, thumb over your nipples, and mutter, “Perfect handful.”

✰ Definitely the type to kiss down your torso slowly, savoring every little curve of your body. He’ll take his time appreciating all the details you might think are insignificant.

✰ “Doesn’t matter how big they are, they’re still sensitive, aren’t they?”—and then he’ll prove it with his tongue, teasing you until you’re squirming.

✰ If you ever try to cover yourself up during sex, Jayce won’t let you. He’ll pin your wrists down and murmur, “Nah, let me see you.”

✰ Loves when you ride him. Since you’re smaller, he loves putting his hands on your waist and lifting you up and down himself—all strength, little effort.

✰ If you wear lingerie, especially something sheer or lacy, he’s done for. He’ll just sit back and groan, pulling you onto his lap. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”

✰ Spanking? Oh, he still does it. Just because you don’t have the biggest ass doesn’t mean he won’t leave a red handprint on you. He loves making you feel how much he wants you.

✰ Growls into your skin when he’s deep inside you, holding you tight. Size kink unlocked—you feel so small beneath him, and it drives him crazy.

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Viktor is completely indifferent to body type. His attraction is all about intelligence, wit, and emotional connection. Your size? Completely irrelevant to him.

✰ That being said, he adores how dainty you are. His fingers ghost over your arms, your collarbone, your waist—he memorizes you.

✰ He loves resting his head on your shoulder when he’s tired, mumbling in his accent, “You are very comfortable, you know that?”

✰ Since he struggles with mobility, he appreciates how light you are. It’s easier for him to pull you into his lap, have you sit beside him, or keep you close.

✰ If you ever mention feeling insecure, he raises a brow. “Who told you that you are anything less than beautiful?” His voice is so genuine that you immediately melt.

✰ Unlike Jayce, he doesn’t physically lift you, but he will pull you into his coat on cold nights, letting you tuck yourself against him.

✰ He’s obsessed with the way you curl up beside him. He traces patterns on your skin absentmindedly, always touching you in some way.

✰ If someone makes a rude comment about your body, Viktor won’t even look up—he’ll just say something so sharp and intelligent that the person leaves embarrassed. “I see ignorance is still thriving. How unfortunate.”

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Viktor is fascinated by every inch of you. He’ll trace your entire body with his hands, lips, tongue—his admiration is scientific and intimate.

✰ You can feel the reverence in his touch. He worships your body, slow and deliberate, taking his time. “It is perfect, because it is you.”

✰ He likes being between your thighs. Doesn’t care about the size—he just wants to be buried there, lazy tongue strokes making you beg.

✰ Viktor is teasing. He’ll roll your nipples between his fingers, murmuring, “Sensitive, hm? And you were worried about their size.”

✰ Unlike Jayce, he prefers taking control. He loves pressing you down into the sheets, keeping you under him, making you feel small but cherished.

✰ Eye contact. The entire time. He loves watching your reactions, seeing how your body responds to him.

✰ He loves soft whimpers. If you make any noise when he touches you, he smirks—low, amused, and a little possessive.

✰ Marks your body everywhere. Not just your neck—your collarbones, the inside of your thighs, places only he gets to see.

✰ “Do not compare yourself to others,” he murmurs against your skin. “This body is mine to admire.” And then he shows you exactly how much he means it.

[edward-munson]

three's a secret | E.M. x f!reader & S.H. x f!reader

Summary: You and Steve are friends with benefits. However, you've been wanting to try something way out of your comfort zone, and it brings Steve to a mission: find someone who agrees to your intentions. (Ps: your guest has a very peculiar piercing on his body)

Pairing: Love triangle! Eddie Munson x f!reader & Steve Harrington x f!reader

Warnings: DIRTY SMUT!! (18+ MDNI), threes*me, p in v (both unprotected), oral (f and m receiving), fingering, choking kink, c*mshot, praising, aftercare. (I swear to God there's a fine amount of smutiness in this fic)

Word count: 7k

𓆩❤️‍🔥𓆪

"I found your guy" Steve slides into the booth during the break of his gig at The Hideout.

You look at him, confused, and he looks from you to the curly-haired guy leaning against the bar counter. That's Eddie. He's the backing vocalist for Steve's band.

"Remember? You told me you wanted to have a threesome and I found ourselves a guy" He leans closer to you, his beer breath fanning over your face.

You and Steve have been friends with benefits for months. You've shared multiple intimate moments together, either at his or your house, or by the lake, or in his car. Even at skull rock. And your latest discovery was that you had the wish to try ménage à trois, but you had never done it before. You were too embarrassed to tell Steve, and also too reluctant to even find someone who would be willing to do it.

Although you're both exclusive, he made an exception for you. He was always considerate of your feelings and wishes, being kind and caring. This is the same guy who splits you open and utters dirty things to you in bed.

"You just deliberately told him I wanted to be fucked by two guys?" Your voice cracks at the realization that you might be doing such thing.

"We're good friends. In fact, we talk about a lot of stuff when we're together. And he would love to get along with you better"

Steve gives you a comforting smile, but you're staring at him like you're having second guesses. You've met Eddie before, exchanging only a few words with the metalhead. You got along with him right from the start, but you were never around them when they would hang out, and he was with your group of friends only a couple of times as well.

You were sitting in a booth, swirling your drink, when a random man sat down beside you. He reeked of whiskey, and his hand rested on your bicep, startling you. You shot your eyes up at him as you watched him attempt to hit on you.

"Haven't seen you around before. Let me buy you a–" Before he could finish, a sharp scrape echoed through the room as Eddie pushed the chair back and pulled him by the collar of his shirt.

The man was looking up in shock as Eddie leaned over him, eyes dark with something dangerous. "Yeah, no" His voice was low and edged with amusement "This table's taken"

Eddie plopped down in the seat beside you, stretching out like he hadn't just sent someone almost crashing to the floor. He smirked at you, tilting his head. "Now, where were we?"

You could only chuckle at his action and tilt your head just like he did "Very humble, but thank you for that"

"Nah" He shrugged "Couldn't just stand there and watch a perv get his way"

You and Eddie immediately kicked off a conversation, the minutes extending as you both got distracted with each other. Steve was nowhere to be seen, probably just resting in the backstage room as he always does with his bandmates. The man next to you smelled like something woody, a few necklaces hanging down his chest and a bandana was wrapped around his head.

You remember talking about him to your friend. Telling him how exotic he looked and how pretty he was. Steve, the obvious man that he is, didn't say it right away, but he noticed how attracted you were to his friend. That's why he tried to talk him into doing the thing. And then, the subject was brought up.

"So, you're in?" You ask him with concern, but he leans forward, his gaze locking with yours, his voice dropping just a little more serious.

"Oh, I'm definitely in. I mean, c'mon, I'm only in this because of you. And how about you?" He smirks again, eyes glinting with mischief "I have a feeling this is going to be one hell of a ride"

"You're not, like, worried about him seeing you naked or the other way around?"

He waves you off with a scoff "I couldn't care less about Harrington, I'm sure I'll have a peek of his dick just for fun. But for the rest of the thing, I won't even give him a single glance"

"Good. Because, well... the three of us? That's going to be a lot of fun"

Eddie chuckles, his fingers twitching as if ready to play with a few strands of your hair. Maybe that's the uphold you need to feel more intimate and comfortable around him.

"Yeah, I think Steve might end up regretting this. But, hell, I guess we'll just have to make sure he doesn't, huh?"

But it suddenly makes you feel too nervous and a little taken aback. The look on your face already gives it away and he rests one hand on top of your thigh, carefully.

"Why did you agree, by the way?" You ask.

He leans back, using his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. "Couple reasons. One, Steve seemed really into the idea because of you, and I trust the guy. Two–" His voice softens, he meets your eyes "I don't know, I just thought it could be fun. But only if you were actually into it. I don't wanna make things weird for you"

You shift a little bit in your seat, relaxing your tensed body "I appreciate that"

Eddie curls his lips upwards, squeezing your thigh softly, his fingertips grazing your smooth skin. You can definitely feel the callousness on them.

"Look, I know it can be… a lot. And I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. If this is too weird, if you're not into it, there's no harm in admitting it. I won't take it personally"

"You really mean that?" You study him, surprised at his genuineness.

He pulls his hand back, lifting both of them in a mocking surrender. "Swear on my Metallica records. No pressure. No expectations. Just making sure we're all on the same page before Steve starts planning some seduction act. And I'm definitely not interested in that"

Your laugh echoes through his ears and he swears he's more inclined to take you to his trailer and abduct you to himself, than rely on the idea of sharing you with Steve.

"That sounds exactly like something he'd do"

"Right? That's why I figured we should talk first. I want you to feel good about this, comfortable, before anything else. Because if you're not, then it's a no-go. Simple as that"

You find yourself sliding your hand to his firm bicep, down his forearm where his tattoo of bats peeks out from his shirt. Your eyes drift from your touch to his brown doe eyes. "Maybe I wanna test the waters first"

He looks from down your gentle, small hand, up to your expectant, glinting eyes. "Oh?"

Your heart pounds and hammers against your chest as you slightly lean in closer to him "Yeah. See what I'm getting myself into"

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"By kissing you."

He freezes for a second, then lets out a slow chuckle "Well, well. Look at you, taking initiative" His voice drops slightly, more playful but still careful "You sure?"

You just nod, let yourself settle for your initiative. And your knees wobble when he leans in closer as well "Then by all means, sweetheart. Be my guest"

And then you finally attach your lips to his, soft at first, just testing. Eddie's lips are warm and taste like Negroni, and he kisses back easily, matching your pace. There's no rush, no pressure, just the slow, deliberate way his hand finds the side of your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. When you finally pull back, your lips hover over each other as a smug little smirk tugs at his lips.

He stares at you half-lidded through his lashes, a pink shade covering his cheeks. Eddie pulls you in for another kiss, using his tongue this time. It brushes against your lower lip first with a teasing motion before slipping past, slow and unhurried, tasting of beer. Your fingers tangle in the worn fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking. Eddie makes a low sound in his throat, half a chuckle, half a groan, and takes it as permission to kiss you harder, his other hand sliding to your waist. When you finally pull back, breathless, Eddie leans his forehead that's nearly touching yours, eyes dark and lidded with something smug and satisfied.

Steve watches from a distance how close you two sit next to each other. How you seem to feel unbothered by the way Eddie's hand rests over your thigh and how close you're leaning towards him, like you're groping him. His breath hitches and it feels like there's a tinge of jealousy there. He had never been a jealous guy, like ever. He tries to reason with himself, tell himself that this is only a one-time thing and that it's fine.

He walks to the table and sits across from you two, taking a swig of his beer, trying to act nonchalantly "So, how's the getting along going?"

"Very good. Just a little extra credit on our project" He winks at his friend.

He narrows his eyes slightly, trying to play it cool but failing a little when he catches the way you're still flushed, the way Eddie's looking at you like you just did something he didn't see  "Oh. Yeah?"

You clear your throat and try not to smirk "Yeah"

You watch as he leans back in the booth, taking a slow sip of his beer, acting nonchalant "Huh. That's… cool"

There's a hint of uneasiness when his fingers tap against the table incessantly.

Eddie grins wider, resting his chin on his hand as he watches Steve with amusement on his face "You sure, Harrington? You look a little… tense"

"Please. You think I'm shaken by this? I suggested this, remember?" He stifles a cough and waves his friend off.

"Uh-huh. And yet, you haven't stopped staring at my mouth since you sat down"

He blinks at you before covering it up with another sip of beer, voice slightly tighter "I have no idea what you're talking about"

The curly haired man nudges you under the table as he snickers "Oh, sweetheart. I think we might've broken him"

He tries to not look too bothered, but there's a hint of something else, something darker lingering in his gaze "Alright, you know what? If we're doing this, we're really doing this. So don't get cocky just yet, Munson"

"I cannot wait to see you naked, Harrington" He mocks in a playful tone, cackling at the sight of Steve almost choking on his beer from the comment.

You and Eddie are sprawled out on Steve's couch, as the low hum of music plays from the stereo, while some random movie plays on the TV. Steve is in the kitchen, grabbing beers for the three of you, giving you and Eddie just enough space for you two to get comfortable.

Eddie is leaning back against the couch, smirking at you as he twirls one of his rings between his fingers "So, how you feeling, sweetheart? Still good about this?" 

"Yeah. You?" Your heart rate picks up when you meet his eyes.

He stretches his legs out, looking at you with something unreadable in his dark eyes "Oh, I'm more than good"

Before you can respond, Steve reappears, carrying three beers, handing one to each of you before flopping down into the chair across from you both. He takes a slow sip, watching the way you and Eddie are sitting close, maybe a little too close for his liking. His jaw tenses just slightly, but the smirk playing at his lips gives him away.

"You guys look cozy" He tries to act casual, but deep inside he's feeling the nervousness. The idea of doing a threesome seemed less intense before.

Eddie extends an arm behind your back on the couch and chuckles "Just keeping your spot warm, Harrington. Didn't wanna start without you"

"How considerate of you" His eyes flick to you, a teasing edge in his voice "And what about you? You just letting Munson take over already?" 

You smirk through the rim of the bottle before taking a sip "Maybe I just like the attention" 

He chuckles, shaking his head, but there's something intriguing in his demeanor "Yeah? Then let's test that theory" 

He places his beer down and moves towards you, just enough to close the space between you, fingers grazing your knee before trailing up your thigh, slow and deliberate. Eddie watches with amusement, but there's something heated in his gaze too, like he's invested at the scene in front of him.

Eddie feigns a gasp "And here I thought you'd be shy about all this. Turns out you like being in the spotlight, huh?" 

You feel your breath hitching slightly as Steve's fingers press just a little firmer, his lips twitching at your reaction "Maybe" 

"Then let's give you a little more of it" 

Before you can react, he's kissing you. Slow at first, teasing, his lips warm and firm against yours. His hand slides to your waist, fingers pressing just enough to ground you. Then, just as you start to melt into it, there's movement beside you.

Eddie hums as he watches you kiss Steve, his fingers brushing against your arm before sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him as Steve pulls away just slightly "Alright, alright. My turn" 

He kisses you without hesitation, deeper, rougher than Steve had, his tongue teasing against yours immediately, fingers still holding your face like he's savoring the moment. Steve doesn't pull away entirely, and if anything, he leans in closer, his warm breath against your neck, hands still gripping your waist. The tension starts bubbling inside your chest, it's a pressure that makes you feel fuzzy at first. He deepens the kiss, biting your inner lower lip, sucking on it for just a slight second before twirling his tongue around yours.

The weight of them on either side of you is dizzying, overwhelming in the best way. Steve's lips find your neck as Eddie kisses you deeper, hands roaming, heat building between all three of you. 

Steve hums beside you, clearly enjoying the show, his hand slipping higher up your thigh, fingers pressing just a little firmer, making you shift slightly under his touch. When Eddie finally pulls back, lips still ghosting over yours, Steve leans in, his voice is lower and rougher.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" His hot breath fans your ear shell, sending sparks through your veins. He knows you become submissive when it comes to him.

All the while, Eddie presses a kiss just under your jaw as he watches your reaction "Oh, she likes it. Look at her, already so needy and we've barely done anything." 

The man to your right laughs softly, his fingers finally sliding higher, brushing against your dripping pussy just enough to make your breath stutter "Damn. He might be right. You are needy, aren't you?" 

You bite your lip feeling heat flooding through you as Eddie kisses his way down your throat, Steve's fingers teasing in slow, torturous strokes over the fabric of your underwear "You two talk way too much" 

"Oh, sweetheart… you love it" Eddie rasps against your skin.

You feel Steve's touch become more determined, his long fingers circling your swollen nub "Let's see how much more you can take, then" 

The teasing, the touches, the kisses. It all blends together, overwhelming in the best way, pulling you under as you surrender completely to them. Eddie trails sloppy kisses down your chest until he reaches your nipple, latching onto it with his teeth, playing with it. His free hand gropes your other nipple, flicking your hardened skin through your crop top. Steve pulls your panties to the side and collects your wetness, using enough of your slick to slip his fingertips to your entrance. He glues his lips to yours before you can protest a whimper, barely keeping your eyes open. You slowly lift both hands and slide them over their thighs, fingers grazing their jeans, reaching their arousal. You are a dirty little slut tonight.

You love it. You feel their cock growing harder in your hand as you stroke them, while Steve slips two fingers and pumps them into your pussy. You can hear the squelch sound of it, his thumb pressing against your clit ever so gently in circles. Yes, you're a little whore who's getting off on the fact that these two men want to fuck you. You are getting wetter by the second. Your hips are thrusting up to meet his fingers, your body begging for more.

Eddie's mouth moves from your nipple to your ear, and he whispers "You're such a fucking slut"

You can only nod at the moment, sucking Steve's tongue, pressing your fingers into their tight jeans. They never leave you as they try to help themselves by removing their pants, their cocks straining against the boxers, dampening the material. You mewl between the kisses, Eddie's lips finally finds your exposed nipple and sucks on it, marking your skin with his teeth deliberately, flicking his tongue against it. He keeps one of his hands holding your leg up on his lap, pressing his fingertips on you firmly.

The other male curls his fingers and fucks you dumb, your hips meeting his hand while your hips roll against it. The immediate groan leaving their mouths is almost like a symphony when you finally grip both dicks in your hands, trying to focus on your coordination to stroke them in sync. You notice Eddie is thick, he has a piercing on his frenulum and it throws you off immediately. You use your thumb to play with the jewelry and he buckles his hips in response. His cock isn't longer than Steve's, while the latter is both thick and huge, but you don't care. You're having the time of your life.

Steve lowers his head, spreading kisses, leaving spit over your skin as he reaches to your other nipple. The action causes you to buckle upwards and moan, squeezing their cocks. Your fingers wrap around them and spread precum all over their shafts, pumping them as much as you can. They can't help but grunt against your tits, making you clench around Steve's fingers.

"God, you're such a fucking mess" He utters, sucking your nipple, pulling his head back bringing your skin along with his mouth, leaving you with a loud pop. You can't see it, but you can feel the sly grin washing over his face when you moan.

There's a fine line between shame and feeling lascivious. You're so wet, horny and eager for them. You feel your body yearning for them, even though they're both onto you right now.

Eddie slides his hand from your thigh, over Steve's hand, swatting his thumb away, using two fingers to stroke your clit. The touch is soft, but also antsy, and he circles your bundle of nerves as the other man finger fucks you mercilessly. You are three hungry people moaning and groaning almost to each other. You play with each frenulum using your thumbs, they both fuck your hands in clumsy motions, their hips stuttering as you twist your wrists.

You throw your head back, pumping them faster, Steve slowed his pace, ripping a sob out of you with a torturous stroke of his fingers while they curled. Eddie uses the other man's distraction for leverage and assaults your mouth again in a messy kiss. He laps at your tongue, sucking on it and you feel his ragged breath against your mouth the more you pump him. His ringed fingers pinch and stroke your clit, playing with your nub as you kiss feverishly.

Steve then halts his movements when you pull the skin of his shaft and squeeze his tip, jolting upwards in shock. "Fuck, I forgot how good you are with your hands"

He continues to fuck you nonchalantly, his fingers working on your throbbing pussy. You let out a hum against Eddie's lips, making him fasten his strokes. Maybe he made it a personal purpose of making you feel good as much as Steve does. This is no contest, whatsoever, but they're willing to give you a ride to the sky. You clench around Steve's fingers, your clit starts to pound and there's a building pressure growing uncontrollably inside of you. You're squeezing their cocks too hard with your hand, feeling the coil about to snap.

You keep your hips rolling, and they can feel your shuddering each passing second as you feel the pleasure approaching its apex. Eddie grins through the kiss, his fingertips now rapidly stroking your clit as Steve fucks your pussy, making you clench harder each time. Your hands are still holding them, but you feel your arms wobbly when it finally washes over you. Steve feels it first when your pussy cages his fingers, almost squeezing them. While the curly-haired man keeps his middle finger over your nub as you pulse and throb for them.

You're dripping wet when he pulls out of you, lustfully groaning at the sight, bringing his digits to his mouth, savoring your taste. He always does that to one of his fingers, offering the other one to you because he knows it brings you to the abyss of hysteria. Eddie watches with greedy eyes, dark blown pupils, and he does the same. Before even removing his hand from you, he collects your wetness, diving into your pussy and startling you with a whimper. He keeps them inside of you, he wants to have the same as his friend did. With a humbleness and eagerness, he circles his fingers around your spongy walls and makes your jaw go slack.

You can't help but whisper his name in a daze, and Steve just leans back against the couch as you try, but lacks strength, to still pump him and Eddie. The metalhead finally slips out of your pussy and immediately latches his fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking them, eyes trained at your swollen, still throbbing cunt and he twitches. You feel it in your hand and almost bring him to the edge when you pull the skin of his shaft and squeeze the head of his cock just like you did to Steve. You use his piercing for leverage, stroking his skin side to side, ripping groans out of his mouth. He grunts, using one of his hands to squeeze your thigh and leave fingerprints on your skin.

"You did good, sweetheart" Eddie beams at you, before drifting his eyes to Steve. He's definitely trying not to have a peek at his friend's cock. He just wanted to have a small glance, like he's curious to know what it looks like. But he avoids going there, and he knows he thinks the same. "Care to let me guide her to the next round?"

You look between them, hands still wrapped around their length. Steve doesn't seem to be bothered, because the idea of the threesome is for Eddie to also enjoy it. And mostly you, obviously. They help you undress, pulling your crop top off, sliding your skirt along with your underwear down to the ground. The latter isn't subtle when he pulls you forward, almost laying you down on the edge of the couch, holding your waist as he spreads your legs apart.

Your head rests against the soft material, and Steve stands on his feet next to you. Immediately, your eyes become hazy at the thought of blowing your friend while Eddie eats you out. He kneels on the carpet and hangs your legs above his shoulders, diving in without any hesitation. He latches onto your slit, licking a long stride up to find your clit, clinging to it with his teeth. The air leaves your lungs and you force your eyes shut with the sudden dizziness.

You have lost count of how many times Steve ate you out, but knowing there are two guys fucking you, it makes your senses raise violently. Your body is in a state of insatiability. You tilt your head to the side and meet Steve's cock, licking your lips before wrapping your mouth around him. He thrusts forward, one hand flying down to grab a fistful of your hair as you waste no time filling your throat with his shaft, making yourself gag on him. Your tongue glides against his skin, while your hand squeezes his balls and cups them.

Eddie sinks his face on your dripping cunt, pressing his tongue through your folds as he strokes them up and down. He manipulates your entrance with the tip of it, swirling it around your pussy just before pushing in. Your hand flies up to his hair, pulling his strands with a messy buckle of your hips and a moan leaving your mouth against the cock you're gagging on. He slips in and out of you, nudging his nose against your already swollen clit. He shakes his head, grazing his teeth against you, his fingers digging deeper into the skin of your thighs. You hear Steve groaning from above, slapping his pubic bone against your face as he fucks your mouth.

He pulls your hair harder when the tip of his cock reaches your throat and he gasps when you hollow your cheeks and engulf his shaft, making him pulse inside your mouth. Eddie starts pumping himself, but still makes sure to give all his attention to your clenching pussy. He flattens his tongue and keeps his hungry pace as it swirls around your folds. His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks the skin, pulling it back before repeating the motion. He sucks on it, tasting every little bit of you, stroking himself, humming against your skin at the sound of your moans and whimpers.

Steve cradles your face with both hands and thrusts against your mouth gently, not pushing hard enough so he won't hurt you. You're a mess of spit, tears and sweat that's making your hair stick to your face. You're just glad you were using waterproof mascara at this point. Eddie flicks his tongue into your clit, watching as you roll your hips and jolt upwards when he takes notice of the patterns that make you most sensitive.

You suddenly pull back from Steve, looking down at the man eating you out. He doesn't budge when you're about to speak, he just presses his tongue harder against you, your head hangs back as he smirks against you. "Please fuck me, Eddie"

He freezes on his spot, leaving you just enough to carefully remove your legs from his shoulders, whirling you around. "Say no more, sweets. On your fours for me"

His tone is a little husky and demanding, and you lean on your elbows, bending your knees with your ass up for him. Steve looks astonished, feeling the heat of the moment wash over him as he goes back to fill your mouth with his cock. Eddie lines himself up from behind and spreads your folds with the tip of his cock, using your wetness for leverage before pushing inch by inch until you're used to him. He holds your waist, fingers pressing hard on your skin, as he distracts himself watching you blow his friend. He's cupping your face with both of his hands, ramming his hips forward as he fucks your mouth again. His cock twitches at the sight of you being a needy slut for them both.

Eddie sinks further into you, slamming his hips against your ass once. Your body lurches forward and you gag on Steve unexpectedly. He keeps his pace as he inches back and forth, hitting your spot viciously, feeling you clench around him. You're dripping wet, you can feel your arousal slipping down your thigh as he fills your pussy with hunger. He startles both you and Steve with the echo of his slap on your ass, bringing you to a turmoil. You push your ass against his hips, skin-on-skin slapping while you take in every inch of your friend's cock into your mouth.

"Such a busy little slut, aren't you?" Steve coos, thrusting harder and rather quickly. He brings your chin up so you can look better at him, swiping a tear away from your cheek "You like that, don't you? You love being fucked by two guys"

You blink at him, senseless. You bring yourself to push back and lick his length, your lips wrapping around his tip, sucking on it. He hisses looking down at you, pulling a few strands of hair out of your face. "So beautiful cockdrunk. You're taking Eddie so well"

Eddie, on the other hand, rolls his hips against your ass, watching as he slips in and out of you. He lets out a frazzled, breathy laugh, slapping your ass again. "You're taking me really, really well sweetheart. Your pussy is so good, fuck"

Both of them exchange a single, but pleasant glance before looking down at you. You're in your own little world, daydreaming about the fact that you're going to cum again if he keeps fucking you like that. Your heart rate is quickly rising, your belly is twisted as you feel your pussy throbbing again.

"She's going to cum for you, she's already a mess" Steve watches you from above, his eyes glinting with blissful pleasure. He didn't think he would also be able to feel so dissolute seeing you being fucked by his friend. But the sight of you crumbling apart for them is making him lightheaded.

"Fuck, cum for me. Let me fucking make you cum" Eddie is almost at the brink of an outburst. Your hips roll around his cock that splits you open. He almost slips out of your soaking pussy, pushing further into you, balls deep inside of you. He snaps his hips forward and moans your name, his eyes shut, brows creasing with anticipation. His jaw is locked and his head is thrown back.

You pull back from Steve rather quickly, your body begging for Eddie's release as he pounds on you firmly and quickly. His harder thrusts make you unbalanced, and your elbows give in. You look over your shoulder at him, whimpering his name, ripping him out of his own daze, making him stare back at you. He sees your lips caging between your teeth, brows furrowed when your stomach tightens and you clench around him bashfully. Your hand grips Steve's cock, and he feels himself twitching at you. You're already feeling limp, but you still fill your mouth with his cock and blow him majestically, hollowing your cheeks every once in a while because you know he likes the suction. He bites his inner cheek and fucks your mouth again, his breath becomes uneven and you feel his shaft become rigid before he cums in your mouth.

"Fuck, baby. Take all of it" He grunts, feeling his cock throb inside of your mouth as you swallow all of him. He gives you a lopsided, messy smile, and you try to smile back at him, even though your jaw hurts.

And it's only a matter of seconds until Eddie spurts inside of you, his hips stutter and he shudders against you. His fingertips are pressing on your skin, his nails digging into your waist as he jolts forward, filling you with his seed as well. He holds you in his grip and slams forward a couple of times, before slipping out of you with a painful yelp. He's exhilarated when he sees his cum dripping down your pussy, reaching your thigh. Eddie smirks at his own job, fascinated with the sight of your cunt still throbbing, pushing more of his fluids out of your entrance. He's quick to pick a few baby wipes and clean you up. The aftercare makes him look soft after he made you his own slut, after he made you scream his name.

"Harrington, do the honors" He motions to his friend, who's still holding your face, soothing you with soft strokes of his thumb against your skin. He's still hard.

Steve lifts you up, holding his gaze at you and kisses you gently. His tongue finds yours and he hums against your mouth, a low sound of approval, and his free hand moves to your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make your skin tingle. Your tongues sweep over one another, in a way that sends heat straight to your core. His grip tightens slightly, pulling you closer, his breath mixing with yours as the kiss turns messier, needier. His other hand slides down between your legs, his fingers once again stroking between your folds, slipping against your clit and you moan against his mouth. It sends a vibration down his stomach, reaching the tip of his cock again.

"You are the death of me, you know that?" He hovers his lips over yours, and you take this as an opportunity to grope him and pull him back to the couch as you lie under him.

You look to the side, glancing at Eddie, who's expectantly waiting for his turn to get a blowjob as well. Your eyes sparkle as you finally take in the piercing on his frenulum, a small piece of jewelry that shines under the light of the living room. He takes notice of your reaction and holds his cock up so you can have a better look. The smugness on his face and his bold demeanor make you clench around nothing, while Steve trails down his lips against your stomach, reaching your clit. He latches his teeth against your sensitive spot and you retract, shutting your eyes, biting your lip. You look back at Eddie half-lidded, blinking through your lashes as you watch him stroke himself at you.

"Like what you see?" His fingers graze around the head of his cock, playing with the piercing just for you.

You lift your head and lock eyes with him, nodding slightly before replacing his hand with yours. You start pumping him slowly, still glancing up at him, watching as he blinks and heaves a groan. Eddie bites his lip and slips one hand over your hair, pulling a strand of it. You take him in without a warning, your mouth and your tongue sliding over him until you reach the base of his cock. He tilts his head back and moans your name. Steve keeps you entertained as he laps his tongue over your slit, licking stripes and drinking your dripping wetness. He pulls back and holds his cock, slapping the tip against your clit, just how you like it.

He slides his length between your folds, collecting your slick before slipping inside of you entirely. He doesn't wait, he doesn't give you time to adjust. He's used to fucking you raw and senseless. Your hips buckle upwards and he rests one hand above your waist, while he uses the other to squeeze your throat. He thrusts into you at a quick pace, his balls slapping against your ass, his firm hand grips your throat scarcely, careful to not choke you to death.

But the tightening of your throat squeezes Eddie's cock and he pounds against your mouth too. You gag on him, you swallow him whole, you savor his salty taste and you lick his shaft, bringing him closer to a frenzy with you. You shift your eyes between him and Steve, the latter holding your waist down so he can fuck you without your hips rolling. He likes to play hard, he likes to torture you, make you squirm around him and beg for him to let you fuck him back. He likes it when you're submissive, even though he won't ever admit to anyone that he's on the bottom as well. He likes to play a fair game when it comes to this.

"You like my cock, sweetie? You like my cock fucking your dirty little mouth?" Eddie utters, his hips slamming against your mouth as he watches you struggle to answer him, but you nod "Yeah, are you going to let me fill you with my cum?"

You nod again and he makes you gag. You push yourself off him, your hand shoving his stomach as you grip his length with your hand, bringing your tongue to his frenulum again. You swirl it around his skin, flicking over the jewelry as you look up at him through hazy eyes. He's much more sensitive than Steve is, and he can't keep his gaze down at you because he forces his eyes shut from the pleasure that was still building up.

You speak up for the first time after several minutes "You wanna give me a cumshot, Eds?"

He's stunned at your words, at the way you spit on his cock and blow him gracefully, even though Steve is pounding on you so hard that his tip hits your cervix. You suck him, your teeth barely grazing his skin as you feel more of his precum filling your throat. You hum against him and it makes Steve twitch inside your pussy, his reaction making you clench around him as well. You're still watching Eddie, but your eyes trail over your friend, who's seemingly very entertained at the interaction. His brows are furrowed and he watches you get mouth-fucked by his friend. It all makes everything very vulgar, because way before you had this idea, you and Steve had only fucked like normal people. But the sight and the scene and all the reactions had switched something inside of him too.

"Fuck, baby" Eddie shakes his head, amused "Yes. Shit, of course!"

You don't usually touch yourself when you fuck with Steve. You like to feel his fingers on you, you like the sight of it. You love when his long fingers fuck you too. But tonight, you've made it a goal to go way out of your comfort zone to bring them to the edge with you. So you slip your hand down your stomach, reaching your clit and deliberately stroking your skin with your own fingers. Your hips are uncontrollably rolling against Steve, and he loses his shit when he sees you touching yourself. You're touching yourself and blowing Eddie. He couldn't be more aroused than that. The latter, on the other hand, feels the sweat coating his body, the long-gone twist in his stomach crawling back over him. He tries to brush off the urge to make you gag until he comes in your mouth, only willing to thrust into you so the tip of his cock reaches your squeezed throat.

"She's gonna lose it again, Munson" Steve pants, slamming his hips against you, watching you lose your balance to the way your pussy clenches around his cock "Look at this pretty thing falling apart"

"Fuc–" You barely have the time and energy to react to your apex. Your third orgasm of the day in a span of less than an hour. Your whole body goes limp again, and you stutter, crying out moans as your body shakes.

He removes your hand from your clit, lacing his fingers with yours with the one free hand. As he leans against your body and chokes you, he slams forward harshly, feeling the jolt of electricity wash over him. He watches your contorted expression, your lips quivering as you come down from your high, while he overstimulates you. Then again, there's something about you that makes them both cum all at the same time. Eddie tilts your head up to face him, pulling out of your mouth as he grips his cock and spills all over your face.

You stick your tongue out, trying to get a glimpse of his taste. You feel his warm cum coating your face, and when Steve digs his nails on your waist, he spills inside of you. His cock twitches and makes your walls flutter around him, his body is almost hovering over yours and his grip around your throat loosens. He breathes heavily above you, Eddie is also a panting mess and you're a mess of cum. Your friend slowly pulls out of you, his aching cock almost throbs again and you wheeze at the feeling.

You stay sprawled out on the couch, watching them put their boxers back on before cleaning you up. Steve is responsible for cleaning up your pussy, slightly pressing the baby wipe over your sensitive spot. While Eddie softly wipes his cum off your face, his gentle fingers holding your jaw up. It almost feels domestic, if it wasn't for the filthy conversation and the poundings filling the air in the living room. You stifle a laugh through a snort, clearly catching them off guard, making them pause their hands over you.

"What?" Steve asks with curious eyes, while you purse your lips.

"Just feels very domestic. The aftercare is funny, considering this meeting was one hell of a dirty ride"

Eddie gets you. He lets out a breathy laugh and resumes cleaning your face, and Steve can't help but grin at your comment. His expression immediately shifts as he looks at the white spot on his couch.

"Dude, not the fucking couch" He lets out a frustrated sigh and playfully tosses the used baby wipes at his friend, who doesn't quite gets to protect himself in time.

"Fuck off, Harrington! Keep your freaking jizz away from me" Eddie groans, tossing the baby wipes back at him and you laugh at the pestering "You never cum on your couch?"

You glance from him to Steve, who looks so astonished he can't even respond. If you didn't know better, you might think he was careless enough to stain the furniture, but he's always been too meticulous to let that happen. You're handed your underwear and Steve's t-shirt, and you dress yourself while witnessing both friends arguing over something comically weird. 

@kellyxo1 @sammybrrr @zafetycar @andvys @hellfire--cult @skeltnwrites @ghost-proofbaby @eddiesxangel

[videokilled]

Vox snickered under his breath. Satisfied with his own look enough to be enraptured in watching the other now. Watching him fuss with his own appearance but only for another moment before he pushed the curtains open.

Not what he would have done- but his area were illuminated mostly by deep water diffused natural light. If that even.

“I can’t imagine you would look out of place in a library of any kind.” He said under his breath, his voice sounding maybe a bit softer than he intended. And he didn’t elaborate. Fuck this trip was breaking him.

Vox put his cigarette back in his mouth as he inhaled but only for a moment before moving it back out in a mild excited tone.

“I get to lead this one?? Fuck yes. Is your family religious?” He said immediately without hesitation. Actually come to think of it- he probably shouldn’t use that angle- given he only died just under a century ago and he was known nationally- especially in the ‘non-denominational’ crowd. Of course his name wasn’t Vox then- but—

“What was my name again..?” He said without a second thought. He asked Valentino often. The knowledge just wouldn’t root itself in his head- he would forget for years at a time- sometimes it felt like he had never been human to begin with. He tried not to dwell on that part.

Then he realized he might not have even told Alastor. He didn’t remember that either.

“…I did tell you my name didn’t I? I guess it doesn’t matter. I can’t use the same trick twice.”

He grinned when Alastor moved over to share in his nicotine vice. He liked seeing the radio smoke. It suited him. Classy and elegant like the smoke— or someone might say— whatever— shut up.

Vox caught Alastor’s jaw in his hand- in a familiar hold- fingers aligning to something permanent. Gently pulling their faces closer as he steered his cigarette to swing forward and meet Alastor’s until it started smoldering.

Then bounced his eyebrows and grinned as he let go.

Definitely in a good mood after his fix.

“Hmm… I could a show host- like one of those reality tv ones. Prescreening- scouting.” Of course that would depend if the target wanted fifteen minutes of fame from their dirty secret though.

He just had always thought that job looked fun..

Vox watched his companion closely after his own slip up. Near disastrous. And even now he could still feel his nerves buzzing with the manic energy the drug was seeping into his bloodstream. He had intended to go back to the kitchen for more- but after that- Vox was thinking about heading the other’s warning a bit closer.

Going easy on it. It had been several days. It wasn’t just a top off. It was more like ending a tolerance break.

He blinked several times and shook his head like he had hair in his face. Focus focus. Cool, calm, in control.

Vox smoothed his sweater down needlessly, and moved toward the bathroom to take his turn in getting ready. He didn’t have any products or pampering items but the hotel had a few staples.

He washed his face for the first time in a century or so which felt weird. Then used the water to try and smooth his hair back. Hoping it would dry how he wanted it too.

The one piece that was partially streaked red wouldn’t stay though. Insistent on leaning forward. The underside bright hibiscus red, and that made his blue brown hair look even more raven shaded by contrast.

Vox gave up after a few more tries grumbling about it and moved back out into the room with his posture much more alike how it was in hell. It felt weird getting ready without wearing a suit. He kept wanting to reach up and fix his bow tie or make sure his suit collar was sitting correctly since he couldn’t feel it.

He came back out to Alastor dropping the towel and starting to get dressed. A smarmy little smile snuck up despite himself, sparing an extra long glance before he finally continued his move into the kitchen. Taking a quick shot of the whiskey they had on the counter. (For the vitamins.) Then scrounged for his cigarettes and lighter before making his way back into the main room.

Just in time for the unexpected bomb that was going back— it jarred him how much it felt….. well jarring to think about.

Back to his routine. His head rejoiced. His safety. His control. His tools and influence and tower- and Val.

Why did it make his chest pinch like that. So much so that he stammered again.

“Ah.. ahyes.”

Or his company would be in shambles. Or it wouldn’t be a return to the comfort of his routine at all.

Vox seemed to visibly fight a panicked thought off. Unaware of it showing so pristinely on his face- even now. His own hand moved up to bracket against his temple. His pupils moving around like they were trying to avoid making eye contact with his thoughts.

“Yesyes..” he said again after he realized he didn’t even have any information to find out when would be the best time to plan their return anyway. What if now was the best time. Well they couldn’t go now. They could- he could- their contract was done. He had said three to five days. It had been three. And yet- he was drawn to this… isolated little cycle they had. It felt surreal. Untouchable.

But it would end. It also dawned on him he wished he would have appreciated it more. But that was much too sappy for Vox the media demon.

“Uh— excuse me.” He muttered like he had sneezed instead of verbally and physically zoned out.

“Whenever your business is complete. I won’t have you blaming me for cutting it short.” He added but it sounded dry and edgeless.

Then Vox lit his cigarette and seemed to once again bounce right back into his smooth recovery after the nicotine hit his lungs.

That one rogue hair leaning forward over his eyebrow like a red banner.

“So these that we’re visiting now- they live in an apartment..? Who are we hoping to find?” He exhaled his cloud

“Or is it the building…”

[tsunodaradio]

but i'll do it for you ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

oscar has a soft spot for you. (or: the one where oscar does karaoke for the first time.)

ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x reader. ꔮ word count: 0.8k. ꔮ includes: fluff, romance. profanity. title from keshi's soft spot. ꔮ commentary box: wrote this in one sitting after i saw this sportbible video. this is part of my soft spot mini-series. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“You’ve got no idea what you’ve done, have you?” 

You’re usually much more adept at seeing through Lando’s bullshit. Today, though, you’re thrown off by the suddenness of his accusation. You shoot Lando a look of mild exasperation, and he responds by jerking his head in the direction of his co-driver. 

“He’s never done that before,” says Lando. 

“Done what?” 

“Karaoke.” 

Your eyes flit over to Oscar, who’s in the middle of re-filling his water bottle. A disbelieving laugh escapes you. “You’re kidding,” you say to Lando. “Who the hell lives this long without doing karaoke?” 

“Oscar fuckin’ Piastri, it seems.” Lando sips from the drink, his lips curling around the mouth of his glass. He’s always had a penchant for joking around, but there’s something about the sharp glint in his eye that tells you this might not be one of those instances. 

“Well, he’s done it now. Y’know, he wouldn’t do it for me—” The Brit pauses. Lets the words sink in. “But I guess he’s willing to do it for someone.” 

The implication isn’t lost on you; Lando Norris wasn’t really known for his subtlety. The tips of your ears burn red as you mumble a low “sod off,” refocusing your attention on the McLaren race engineer now belting an Adele song. 

Gracefully, Lando takes your advice and leaves you alone. He shoots you a final conspiratorial wink. You resist the urge to flip him off.

As much as you don’t want to read into it, you can’t help the way your mind whirrs with thoughts. Oscar Piastri— for all his straightforwardness— was a puzzle that you’ve yet to complete, and all the scattered pieces lay out in front of you now. 

How Oscar hadn’t really been keen on going out tonight, but you asked once and he booked the two of you a cab. (Not without sighing about it, though, and mumbling on the entire car ride to the venue. The point still stands: He came out tonight. 

For you? No. You shake your head. That’d be stupid to assume.) 

Oscar, who seemed a bit flustered when you asked him for his go-to karaoke song. Oscar, who spent an arduous amount of time scrolling through his phone before finally even trying to pick something out of the book. (Lando claims that his co-driver had been Googling ‘Songs To Sing At Karaoke’, but you’ve never really trusted Lando when it came to things like this.) 

Oscar hadn’t really known how to navigate the song book— kept mixing up the index system, not knowing what to look for. He took too long, too, when it came to punching in the numbers on the machine. Like each digit was a step towards a death sentence of some sorts. 

And when he eventually did come up to the microphone, the room had gone crazy. You thought everybody was just being supportive, but it had struck you as odd. The way everybody filmed the entirety of Oscar’s off-tune rendition of The Final Countdown; the entire five minutes, immortalized on everyone’s phones like he were some popstar you all paid money to see. 

You look up, look for him. He’s still across the room, chugging water like his debut karaoke performance had taken the breath out of him more than any race. 

But when he catches your gaze, that hint of a smile tugs at his face. The one not everybody is privileged to be on the receiving end of. 

As Lando jumps up to the microphone for a Kendrick Lamar track, Oscar walks back over to you. The couch is big enough for him to sit a little further down, but he opts to be negligibly close. His side against yours; your knees pressed together. He gingerly takes one half of the song book, resting it between both your thighs. 

“Have you picked a song yet?” he asks, pitching his voice low. It’s just quiet enough that you have to lean in a bit to hear him, undoubtedly making it look like the two of you are in your own bubble. 

The pieces of his affection, the ones you’ve denied to acknowledge until now—

“We should do one together,” you blurt out. 

Oscar pauses in the middle of leafing through the song book. His thumb absentmindedly rubs at the corner of the page, like he might somehow find the answer to everything in between Maroon 5’s She Will Be Loved and keshi’s Soft Spot.

“Is that something you… want?” he stammers. (As if he’s scared to get his hopes up.) 

“Is it something you want?” 

At your question, Oscar turns to look at you. Really look at you. You feel his gaze despite the dimness of the karaoke room.

His eyes linger on your face as he answers. “It is,” he says softly, “something I want.” 

— the puzzle falls into place. ⛐

[trippinsorrows]

10 things + part three

authors note: after 87 years of waiting, here is the third and final part to this mini series. def struggled with writing it, as i haven't been in the headspace for it, hence why it hasn't been updated in so long. hope it was worth the wait and not a disappointment. ❤️

words: 5k

warnings: angst

part one + part two

***gif belongs to @dejameflorecer ***

It’s been a week.

A week since an already tumultuous relationship went from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

Nova isn’t sure if she’s ever cried as much as she has in the past week. Maybe not since the death of her childhood dog, Sadie, when she was twenty-one. But, this kind of grief is something different. Something heavier and devastating.

Something heartbreaking.

A part of her saw it coming. Nova knew it was only a matter of time before things with RJ and Roman reached a boiling point. The tension and animosity seemed like it grew by the day though something that’s actually existed for years.

The same amount of time she’s worked so hard to fix it. To repair what’s clearly broken. But, it’s always come at a cost. The latest expense, however, is unacceptable. On several fronts.

Roman put his hands on RJ.

He put his hands on their son. Their child. An act that resulted in RJ unintentionally hurting his little sister.

Two of her three children were hurt, in different ways, by their own father.

Nova knows Roman would never ever do anything to intentionally hurt any of their kids, but that doesn’t matter in the face of what’s happened. 

What’s done is done, and she doesn’t know how to move past it.

If that’s even a possibility. 

He’s tried to reach out. Both have. Roman and RJ, but she’s left them both on read for different reasons, only responding with, 'she's fine' with their questions about Bella. Roman hasn’t tried to come home in the past week, and she’s partially grateful, though it breaks her heart just a little when the girls ask about their dad.

When they ask where daddy is.

She has an idea.

Probably staying in the penthouse. 

Or, maybe not.

She struggles between caring and not giving a fuck.

And, her son, via Live 360 shows that he’s been staying with Jey. Unsurprising, to say the least. 

RJ has always been close with the twins, Jey especially. And given how Jey and Roman are on the outs, it only makes sense his estranged son would find escape with an estranged cousin.

Nova has to have an emergency session with her therapist. It’s not life-threatening, and she reiterates there are no safety concerns. She just knows she needs to talk with someone. But, even that conversation is only slightly as helpful as she would like it to be, because Nova omits a lot. Primarily the part where Roman shoved RJ, and Bella got hurt in the process. Things are already bad enough. The last thing Nova needs is DCFS opening an investigation.

She has enough going on in her life.

But, what does come out of that session is a realization. A few, but Nova is taking them one at a time. 

The doorbell ringing pulls her from her thoughts. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that she can and needs to do this. 

Walking from out the kitchen of her spacious home, she makes her way to the front door, not bothering to look out the peephole.

Opening it, she’s met with the most sheepish expression one could muster.

RJ stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey, mama….”

Instantly, her eyes are watering. As upset she might have been, and still is with her son, that’s her baby boy.

Stepping aside, she motions for him to come in. He does so, keeping an almost careful distance between them. Like, he’s being cautious. 

Looking around, he asks, “where—where are the girls?”

An understandable question. RJ is a good big brother, and the girls adore him. Have missed him the same way they miss their dad. But, they don’t need to be around for this.

“With grandma and grandpa,” she answers. Nova leads them over to the living room where she takes a seat on the big sofa. Junior remains standing, nervous almost. She pats the space next to her. “Take a seat.”

He hesitates, but only for a second. Slowly, he lowers his body onto the sofa, legs semi spread, big foot tapping. A nervous thing, clearly. 

Nova doesn't say anything at first, taking time to gather her words. 

“I’m sorry, mama,” RJ blurts, like holding it any long would be too painful. “I didn't—” He closes his eyes, shaking his head. “I would never hurt Bella or you or Cami or—”

“I know, honey,” she answers in a low voice. “It–it was a mistake.” Because, it was. For all her son’s faults and vices, that is most definitely not one of them.

Same for Roman.

But, that’s another conversation.

“Does she—does she hate me?” A quiet, almost fearful question. 

Nova smiles softly, reaching a hand over. “No, Junior. She doesn’t hate you. She could never hate you.” Because while Bella was understandably upset that night, the following morning, she was asking about her big brother and daddy.

Her little girl could never be mad at the men in her life for too long.

Something she clearly gets from her mother.

Another question. “Do you hate me?”

At that, Nova’s eyes widen. She leans over, taking RJ’s hand in her own. “RJ, I could never hate you, baby. I love you. I was….I was upset with you, yes, but I could never hate you.” The truth. The God’s honest truth. “But, I do—I do need to talk to you.” She swallows, jumping straight to it. “Honey, how do you know about your dad cheating on me?”

Because, in all of the things to come out of that terrible night, that has to be the one thing that’s kept her up the most. 

She’d prepared to go to her grave keeping that secret from her children.

Nova sees the way RJ’s expression shifts. Something cold and solemn. “I heard you crying about it that night.” Her stomach drops. “I was coming to ask you for help with my homework, and I saw you. I saw you crying onto Aunt Naomi’s shoulder.” 

RJ may not realize it, but he’s just taken her back. Taken Nova back to one of the hardest periods of her life. All of the emotions rushing and slamming into her with newfound intensity. She had no idea her son overheard and saw that. No idea he’s been sitting silently on such a thing for years.

It’s been years since that rough patch with her husband. 

“He broke your heart, mama.” She looks away, wiping at her tears. She didn’t realize she still felt so many things from that day. “He cheated on you, broke your heart, and you still took him back.” Her eyes shut, his voice desperate as he asks, “why?”

Nova takes a deep breath. This is the single most difficult conversation she’d both dreaded and never imagined having to have, but here she is. 

There is no escaping it now. 

“RJ…” Eyes closing, heart racing, she forces it out. “I cheated on your dad first.” 

His eyes widen, his jaw partially dropped. He’s stunned. “What?”

Nova forces herself to look over at him, momentarily taken back. It’s like she’s looking at her heartbroken husband all over again. 

She sniffles, wiping her eyes, moving into a well deserved explanation. “I was 23. Your dad was on the road wrestling. And, I was here, working a full time job, taking care of you. We were struggling financially, so he had to be gone. He was trying to help provide for us, and I knew that. But….but, I got lonely, and I—I started to resent that he was gone all the time.” A summarized explanation leaving out a lot of details that, even with RJ knowing about the affairs, Nova knows he doesn’t need to know. “He—” This is the part that she’ll forever regret and never be able to forget for as long as she lives. “He walked in on me and the man in bed, flowers and chocolate in hand. He—he’d come home to surprise you and I.” Her voice cracks, the emotion tipping over. “I’ll never forget how devastated he looked.”

Gutted. He was gutted. Furious but more hurt than anything.

“Sweetie.” Nova presses her lips together, shaking her head. “I broke your dad’s heart first.”

It was the reason she first started going to therapy all those years ago. Because Nova struggled deeply with how she betrayed Roman. How she’d allowed temporary emotions to lead her into making what remains one of the biggest regrets of her life.

RJ is stunned into silence, looking down, bewildered and floored. “I—I can’t—”

“You were right, honey. Your father did cheat on me, and he did break my heart.” Nova can’t and won’t deny that. Two truths can be right in the same universe. Roman was wrong, and so was she. But, they worked hard to move past those two major trust and boundary violations. So hard. “But, I chose to forgive him, because I love him, because he found it in his heart to forgive me, because he loves me.” She reaches over, gently stroking the back of his head. “The same way he loves you.”

He says nothing, clearly still struggling between maintaining his wall, and maybe, just maybe, letting it down just enough. 

“Do you….do you remember how I used to record all your games, and—” A small, silly smile breaks on her face as she recalls her scowling little boy blushing almost from embarrassment. “And, you used to always ask me why I did it? Used to tell me it wasn’t that big a deal?”

He nods, still saying nothing, a frown present on his face.

“Baby…” Her head tilts, that smile growing just a smidge. “I did it, because your dad asked me to.” Junior’s eyes widen once more at yet another bombshell being dropped on him. “And the first thing he did when he got home and had time, he’d watch them. Every single game. From start to finish. Take notes, too.”

RJ looks as breathless as he sounds. “What?” 

“I know….” She sniffles, tears cascading down her face. “I know he wasn’t there a lot when you were younger, and I realize now how that impacted you more than I realized, but sweetheart, he would come home as often as he could. Even if it meant us losing out on money, he would come home, RJ. And, he came because he wanted to see you.”

Another whispered confession from the depths of long buried trauma. “He did?”

Nova tilts her head, a small scoff leaving her mouth. “Roman is….he can be difficult at times.” Difficult feels too much of a simplification, prompting her to explain. “He’s stubborn and hardheaded, and he thinks he knows everything sometimes. If not all of the time, and he was wrong to put his hands on you. You can bet I’ll be talking to him about that.”

Because, she will. Because, Nova cannot see how there’s a way to move past that and act like nothing happened. 

Roman took it too far this time.

Way too far.

“But baby, you can also be stubborn and hardheaded. I know….I know you may not want to hear this, but you’re a lot like your dad, and I think that’s also why you two clash the way you do.” Two titans fighting for dominance. Neither willing to break or back down. 

At least, until now.

“I—” He finally speaks, ending his minutes long silence. “I didn’t know….I always felt….he never acted like….” Roman Jr. struggles to verbalize what is clearly years worth of pain and hurt. And, Nova won’t make him.

She knows exactly what he’s trying to say.

“RJ, in all the years I’ve known and been with your dad, I’ve only seen him cry once, and that was the day you were born.” Nova will never forget the silent tears that ran down Roman's face as he held his son for the first time. He was so happy. “Honey…..” She takes a second to find the right words. “Your dad….he’s always struggled with feelings and emotions and showing them, but I need you to believe me when I tell you that he loves you. He always has, and he always will.” RJ looks away, shutting his eyes. A lone tear escaping. “I know things between you two have been rough, and I’m so sorry if you knowing about the affair has played any role in the deterioration of your relationship, but please don’t let that get in the way of things. You need your dad in your life, and believe me or not, he needs you, too.”

They all need each other, but it starts with them.

Father and son.

It started with them, and it needs to end with them.

—--------

Roman was just readying to head out. He was doing his best to respect the space Nova clearly wanted, but being away from his girls was becoming too much. She graciously replied to only one of his many texts, simply sharing that Bella was okay.

Nothing else. 

And, it wasn’t that Roman didn’t understand the distance she was placing between them. He fully did, but it didn’t negate the fact that he missed his family. He misses his family. 

He needs to see them.

He needs to see all his kids and speak to them, but one step at a time.

Keys in hand, Roman opens the door at the same time his entire body stills.

“Junior….”

Sure enough, his oldest stands before him, expression clearly torn. A similar experience to what Roman himself has felt the past week.

RJ swallows, gesturing inside the penthouse. “Are—are you busy?”

Roman takes a second to respond, surprised as all hell by the last person he expected to see. The last person he expected to want to see him.

“No….no….come…come in.”

Roman steps aside, and his son does just as such. Closing and locking the door, Roman watches RJ walk over and sit on the sofa, legs spread, hands clasped together as he stares at the expensive rug. 

For a moment, Roman stands unsure of what to do. Lord knows he has no idea what to fucking say. He was prepared to plead to and with his wife. Not his oldest son.

Not yet, at least.

Nevertheless, he finds himself sitting on the sofa, opposite of RJ, that tension previously felt between them at any given point suddenly melted into something almost unidentifiable. He doesn’t know what exactly it is. Just that it feels different.

Finally, Roman realizes he’s the one that needs to break this. In more ways than one. “Junior—”

“Mama told me what happened.”

Roman frowns, confused and lost. “About?”

He watches RJ swallow. “The affairs.” Roman’s back straightens. He’s most definitely wondered about that part of RJ’s angry outburst all week. Just how he knew. But, that’s suddenly less concerning in the face of what was just said. “How…how she cheated on you first, and you forgave her.”

The older man nods. “I did.”

RJ looks up. “How you cheated on her, and she forgave you.”

Roman swallows. “She did.” An act of grace and mercy Roman will forever be grateful for. Always. “Son….” Roman pauses, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t prepared for this, hadn’t gone over what he wanted to say if and when this moment came. But, sitting across from his firstborn, he’s realizing it’s less about preparation and more about honesty.

He needs to speak from the heart.

It’s time for all this to stop.

“I’m not a perfect man, and I never will be.” Roman does his best to keep his words clear, concise, and to the point. “I’ve hurt you, hurt your mom, hurt my family over the years, and I can’t….I can’t change that. I can’t take back what I’ve done, even though I’d give anything to. You…you have no idea.” He pauses, his own emotions taking a front seat. “I—I always said I would never be anything like my father. He’s a coldhearted bastard who only cares about power, success, and performance. Always told me I needed to be the best and anything less was unacceptable.” Roman runs his hand over his face, revisiting a long ago memory. “The day you were born was both the happiest and scariest fucking day of my life. I—I swore to you that day that I’d always be there for you, that I’d be a good dad to you, and that hasn’t happened.” His eyes shut, glazed over with vulnerability and accountability. “And, I’m sorry, son. I am so fucking sorry.”

RJ looks away, clearly overwhelmed by all of the emotions and unexpected confessions the day has brought. But, it’s time, and he knows it. Time to let go of the hurt, of the pain. It’s time to be honest.

“Mama told me….she told me you were the one who wanted her to record my games. That you…that you watched them.” He shakes his head, finally looking over at his father, also with unshed tears in his eyes. “All these years, I’ve been so upset with you, so angry with you. Because I thought you hurt mom, and I thought you didn’t care. Because….because you weren’t there, and I wanted you to be…to be proud of me.” He swallows, jaw clenching from the heaviness of it all. “I wanted….” His voice breaks. “I wanted my dad to love me.”

Roman’s exterior completely shatters. “Junior….”

Without thinking or even overthinking it, Roman stands and moves to sit next to his son, not wasting a single second to pull him into a hug.

A hug that RJ, for the first time in years, reciprocates.

Roman cradles the back of his head, offering the sort of comfort that his son has wanted for years. The love he’s craved. “Son, I’ve loved you since the day you were born. I’ve always loved you, and I always will.” A vow. A promise. Something that can and will never be broken. Not from this day forward. “And, I am so proud of you.” 

RJ’s eyes clench shut. 

Years.

For years, he’s wanted and craved for so long.

Something he’s had the entire time.

“You’re a fine young man, RJ.” Roman compliments, pulling back, hand gently on the back of his son’s neck. “A better man than I could ever be, and I’m sorry for the role I’ve played in your hurt. I’m gonna do better. By you. By your mom. By your sisters. All of you. I promise.”

Roman has a lot of work to do. He knows this. This one conversation, as heartfelt and vulnerable as it is, can’t undo years of damage and trauma. There’s a long road ahead, but it’s a road he’s willing to travel on.

A journey to healing he’s more than ready to make. 

—-----

Despite the unexpected appearance of his son at his doorstep, and the vulnerable conversation that followed, Roman still found his way back to the house.

He has to.

For a week, he’s suffered, as deserved, reliving the incident in his head like a bad song on repeat. He fucked up. A line was crossed that had never been crossed, and while he can’t blame Nova for icing him out, the truth remains that that’s still his wife. Those are his daughters. His son. 

His family.

He has to make things right. 

Or, at least, try. 

He’s certain Nova looked through the peephole before answering, because her usual greeting of “who is it?” is bypassed and traded with the door being swung open. And, there she stands, looking just as beautiful as she always has. 

But, there’s a sadness about her eyes that makes him frown. A sadness because of him.

Nova eyes him up and down. “You talked to RJ?” It’s not a question, not with the almost declaratory nature of her tone. Still, he feels obligated to at least reply.

“Yeah,” he answers.

She continues to look at him before closing the door behind her and walking over to the wooden bench on their porch. He’s prepared to remain standing when she pats the space next to her. 

He obliges.

She’s quiet, Roman able to tell she’s deep in thought, hence him not saying anything. Just giving her the space to think and speak, when ready.

“Roman, what happened….what happened was not okay.” She starts off, hands planted on her thighs. Nova looks at him. “You lost your temper, but not even that, you lost your temper with our son, and Bella got hurt in the process.”

He closes his eyes. She’s not saying anything he doesn’t already know. Nothing he hasn’t mentally berated himself over for the past week. As he deserves. But, there’s something about hearing her say it aloud, the devastation in her voice, that makes it that much worse. It twists the knife.

“I know,” is all he can say. He won’t make excuses. There are none to make.

“You’ve had an anger problem since we were kids, Roman. But, it’s never….” She trails off, looking away and taking a deep breath. “You need help.”

“You’re right,” he swallows. She’s always been right. He’s just been too stubborn and headstrong to see and/or acknowledge it. “I should have never put my hands on him. It should have never reached that point, but it did, and I’m so sorry, Nova. What happened was fucked up and not okay.” She glances over at him, Roman having to fight back the urge to wipe away her tears. “I haven’t been the husband you deserve or the father I need to be for our kids, and I’ve realized the only way that can change is if I get the help I need.”

All truthful, painful, almost embarrassing confession from a man who’s gradually come to realize the extent and depth of damage he’s done. Somewhere along the way, Roman lost himself. Lost sight of what was most important, and it’s caused him to land exactly where he is.

Practically begging for another chance.

“RJ….RJ told me….told me that you two talked,” she finally speaks after a good minute. “He—he said that you’re going to try to work on your relationship. That….that you asked him to think about doing family therapy with you.”

Roman nods. “I did.”

She casts him a leveled look. “Did you mean it though?”

An easy answer, probably the easiest he’s given all day. “Yes.”

Roman doesn’t necessarily like the idea of therapy. He’s done it before, but still. Feelings and emotions, and talking about them, have never been the easiest for him. But, what he wants more than anything is to repair his relationship with the people he loves the most, and if this is the way to do that, then he’ll do it ten times over.

“And what about individual therapy?” She’s probing, prying to see where his headspace is and how far he’s willing to go to right all his many wrongs.

“That too,” he agrees. “Whatever….whatever I have to do, Nova. I’ll do. I love you. I love our kids, and I love our family. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this, and I know it starts with me. Nova….” He reaches for her hand, her emotional gaze on him. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness, baby. I know I have to earn that. I have a lot to earn back….” He trails off but never breaks their eye contact. “I’m just asking for another chance.”

Nova doesn’t answer right away, and he doesn’t expect her to. He knows that sometimes she has to sit and think on things. That the gravity of the situation may require additional time. And, he’ll give her that. He’ll give her all the space she needs, because he owes her that much and so much more.

“The girls have missed you.”

But, have you?

Roman has to stop himself from actually asking her. 

“I’ve missed them, too.” 

I’ve missed you.

Nova takes a deep breath. “I think we should go to marriage counseling again.”

Yet another thing they’re on the same page with. They attended two times prior, both times to process and work through the affairs. Roman found it helpful then. He’s sure he’ll find it helpful now.

“I agree.”

She nods, looking at their conjoined hands, the sun peaking past and under the gable roof reflecting off her wedding ring and his wedding band. “I—I want your focus to primarily be on RJ. That has to be worked on, Roman, if this is going to work.”

“I know.” More agreement of a truth he can’t deny anymore. “I’m gonna make it right, Nova.”

She stares at him, looks at him in a way no one else but she can. Like, she can read him better than he can read himself. “You can come back home.” Roman closes his eyes, a massive wave of relief and joy coming over him. “But, I swear to God, Roman, if you ever put your hands on my son again, this marriage is over. I will divorce your ass so fast, and not only will I get sole custody of the girls, any visits you have with them will be supervised only.” She finishes her firm, assertive declaration with a pointed look. “Do you understand me?”

The thought of such a situation guts Roman. He would never hurt his daughters. Ever. Will forever regret shoving his son. And, he knows good and well as much as Nova might love him, she’s a mother first. Their kids will always be her first priority, as they should be. He respects that. Immensely.

“I understand,” he acknowledges. Roman runs his thumb over her knuckles. “Thank you.”

Nova doesn’t say anything. She just motions to the door. “The girls are in there with Junior.”

Her answer surprises him. He wondered who was watching their daughters while they spoke, but he assumed her parents were over. “Yeah?”

She nods, standing up. She offers her hand, prompting him to stand as well. “Come on.” 

Roman wordlessly follows her inside of their home, gently squeezing her hand as she calls out, “girls! Daddy’s home!”

The sound of his girls giggling and making sounds of excitement is accompanied by her squeezing his hand back.

A start.

It’s a start.

—---------

The Raw premiere on Netflix is major.

A groundbreaking, memorable occasion worthy of all the lights, glamour, and action. It’s a make or break night for Roman, the night where it’s decided, once and for all, who the real Tribal Chief is.

Nova and her girls are in attendance. A night so big that she can’t afford to miss it, won’t allow it to pass without her showing up to support her husband. 

In the months since the blowup, a lot has occurred. Nova’s ultimatum of sorts with her husband proved effective. He found a therapist and has been attending weekly consistently. They’re also in couples counseling. Not to mention, he and RJ have also been attending weekly therapy together, though virtual, what with Junior away at school and Roman’s schedule being hectic.

There have been some really great times and some tense times, but overall, Nova can see it. Can feel it. Can feel the healing that’s occurring. There are still a ways to go, especially between her son and husband, but they’re not where they were, and that’s all that matters. 

They’re moving in the right direction. 

Finally.

It’s a tense, violent match. 

Nova is on the edge of her seat the entire time, a bit unsurprised and grateful that her daughters are tuned in mostly to their tablets instead of their daddy fighting. Too many times where Solo is close to pinning Roman for her liking, but the whole thing has just been too close for her liking. Matches always make her nervous, and the absence of her son doesn’t help.

Roman invited RJ, as did Nova, but he never gave a solid answer.

It definitely hurt, both herself and her husband, but she could understand why.

There’s still a lot of grounds for those two to cover, and RJ’s speed at which he progresses on this new path is something that can’t be rushed.

She won’t pressure him.

He has to do this at his own pace.

Though, she can’t deny the bittersweet sensation that fills her when Roman makes the pin, when that 3 is finally achieved, signifying that her husband is the one and only Tribal Chief. The true Head of the Table. The OTC.

As proud as she is of him, of the long, hard battles he’s faced to get this point, not being able to share the moment with their firstborn is rough.

But, she braves a smile and blows a kiss to him, holding Cami, pointing to Roman who continues to take in the thunderous applause. Bella stands on the chair next to her, holding onto her dress while also pointing a finger in the air, matching the other attendees.

It dims her sadness just a bit.

However, it’s when the sounds of the crowd shift, and she turns her focus to the ramp that her stomach drops.

She sees Dwayne, Roman's cousin, but she also sees someone else.

She sees RJ.

“The Rock is heading down the ramp, and he’s accompanied by Roman Reigns’ son, RJ Reigns!” She can briefly overhear the commentary, sees the gasp and shock of the crowd. But, it’s the two of them moving into the ring as well as Roman’s unsure expression that has her focus. 

Dwayne is the first to hug and embrace Roman, mouthing something in his ear. Nova watches with continued confusion as the hug breaks, and he moves to take the sacred ula fala from Paul. Roman’s shoulders move up and down, as he pants, still trying to fully catch his breath, lingering exhaustion from the match. But both herself and Roman still watching Dwayne's next move.

He hands the ula fala to RJ.

Nova gasps. “Oh my God...”

Tears spill over as RJ walks over to his dad, offering a warm, proud smile. He nods, and Roman’s head dips just enough so RJ can place it on him. Right before her son pulls his father into a hug. 

Her heart just about combusts in that moment.

It swells and nears explosion, watching the two men in her life embrace, both their eyes shut from the emotionality of it all. The crowd around them applauds, completely unaware just what this moment means to them. 

To her family.

And, Nova sees it. Sees the way RJ’s mouth moves, saying something to Roman.

“I love you, dad.”

She doesn’t need to see Roman to know and hear exactly what he says in response.

“I love you, too, son.”

RJ claps his dad on the back, breaking the hug to stand beside him, raising Roman’s arm. Ones in the sky amongst the thousands in attendance that chant OTC. A proud, emotional expression on Nova’s face as she cries, overwhelmed with happiness and relief.

For the crowd, the OTC is back on top. 

For her, for her family, the healing is just beginning.

[pepper-potts-in-charge]

Pepper's breath caught the moment Tony moved, and she didn’t need to turn her head to know where he was. There was something magnetic about his presence, something that pulled at her, even now. Even when she thought she had buried it all deep down, when she had promised herself she was done with this back-and-forth, done with playing these games.

But there he was, moving through the crowd, his movements confident and purposeful, the same Tony Stark who had once promised her the world and then taken it away just as easily. She should’ve expected this. She should’ve been prepared for it. After all, she’d felt it the second he walked in—felt the way the room had shifted with him in it.

She didn’t need to look at him to feel the weight of his eyes. She knew him too well, just like he knew her. And even though they had called off the engagement, even though they had both tried to move on, that connection between them didn’t just vanish.

It never did.

Her grip tightened on the glass in her hand, and she couldn’t help the way her heart stuttered in her chest. Not because of the weight of their past. No, it was because of the promise she had made to herself: that this—this pain, this ache—wasn't going to control her anymore. She wasn’t going to let Tony Stark tear her apart with his simple presence, no matter how much he made her feel like everything she thought she knew was falling apart all over again.

And yet, here he was.

She wanted to ignore him. She really did. She wanted to keep her focus on the people around her, to engage in the conversation, to keep playing the part she was supposed to play. But every fiber of her being was screaming at her to turn around. To look at him. To close the distance between them that had always been so comfortable, so easy, and yet, now, felt like the most insurmountable thing in the world.

She knew he was close now. She could feel it, that familiar weight of him just out of her direct line of sight. He was standing in her periphery, right there, and she could almost hear the thoughts running through his head. Was he going to say something? Was he going to make a joke, that half-cocked smile of his lighting up the room, like nothing had changed?

Or was he just here because he couldn’t stand the silence between them any longer?

She was prepared for him to break the silence, but what she wasn’t prepared for was this. She wasn’t prepared for the sudden stillness, the way he seemed to hesitate, almost unsure of what to do next.

It made her heart race, and a quiet part of her wanted to turn and take the lead, but she couldn’t. Not now. Not like this.

Instead, she clenched her jaw, plastered on a smile, and took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. She let the cool liquid settle on her tongue, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest, fighting to keep herself composed.

But even as she did it, her mind was still on him. On what he might say or, even worse, what he might do if he decided to break the silence. What if this time, he didn't have the words to fix it? What if this time, there was no way to make the cracks between them disappear?

She could feel the tension in the air—thick and pulsing—and it was all too easy to imagine the moment when everything would finally break. When one of them would give in, and they’d both stop pretending.

But not yet. Not yet. She wasn’t ready for that. Not when there was still too much at stake.

Pepper took a slow breath and turned her body just enough to give him a glance, a flicker of acknowledgment without fully looking at him. She had to give him that, just to let him know she was aware of his presence. Just to let him know that she wasn’t completely indifferent. Because even if she wanted to pretend otherwise, she wasn’t.

But that’s all she’d give him.

For now, anyway.

SATURDAY OPEN RP! GOLDEN GALA CHARITY EVENT HOSTED BY EMERSON ENTERPRISES CEO!

The atmosphere within the main ballroom is spectacular with all the golden accents on top of black table clothes. The room is decorated to the nines with everything that could ever be done. James has his staff to thank for that.

The guests start to trickle in slowly but surely. The splendor of it all actually makes some of them gape in awe.

James knows he's going to have to go around the room talking to each one throughout the night, and maybe they will talk to each other. Tonight is about making connections and possible friendships with the people of the city. They have to band together to fight what could possibly come. This is his strategy.

This is just one step of many to take down HYDRA.

But they aren't on his mind tonight.

He greets everyone with a smile when he walks up to them. And they greet him in return when they want to speak with him.

The auction will be towards the middle of the event followed by dancing. He's pretty sure the ones with children won't stay for that.

Mingle and have fun.

Even though there are Anti-Mutant protestors threatening to show up at any moment.

At least Rumlow isn't going to be here.

//OOC Instructions: Mingle, have fun, and make some chaos happen.//

@luna-draven-barnes @wilsonfisk-thekingpin @under0-0s @the1-and-only-peggycarter @thund3randrain @thebestmerc-1 @the-daily-bugle-official-blog @nearthewaters @theoldcapsicleicle

If I missed your tag, I'm sorry, I can't remember everyone that I talked too for some reason (probably fibro brain fog) and anyone is welcome to join!!!

[supernotnatural2005]

'Happy Accidents'

Pairing: Dean x Plus!sized Reader

Summary: You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: Dry humping! (18+Only), fluff, mutual pinning, Plus!sized Reader, body insecurities, curvy girl appreciation, swearing.

AN: Okay so this is my first time writing for a more specific reader body type, but being a curvy-girl myself it was interesting to implement it into a story. And with Dean being the appreciator? Yes please! 😍 I know this might not cater to all of you, but I'm inclusive to all y'all ❤️ Also taking some inspo from @bejeweledinterludes post for this one and @zepskies Midnight Espresso series, which is honestly one of my favourite series and stories featuring a Plus!sized reader!! I do hope you guys like this one! 💕

Main Masterlist

You hadn’t seen the Winchesters in over a year.

Not since that hunt in Nebraska—the one that went sideways fast. The one that left you with a busted-up ankle and Dean with a fresh scar along his jawline. The one where, after all was said and done, you parted ways with an easy “See you around,” never expecting “around” to take this long to come back.

But when a case cropped up—one that twisted your gut with unease—you hadn’t hesitated. You picked up the phone and called the only people you trusted to have your back. If anyone could help, it was them.

And now, sitting in a dimly lit bar, waiting for them to arrive, your nerves were shot. Maybe it was the case. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d changed since they last saw you—since he last saw you.

That old, ridiculous crush on Dean Winchester hadn’t gone anywhere. That much had become painfully clear the moment he picked up the phone, his voice as deep, gravelly, and cocky as ever. But now, with time apart and the weight of your own insecurities pressing down, the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist.

You had always been curvier, carrying stubborn weight around your thighs, ass, and middle. But in the last year, you’d softened even more. Life had been quieter, with less running and fewer adrenaline-fuelled hunts. You were still strong, still capable, but you felt different. And you knew the type of women Dean gravitated toward—tall, slim, easy.

You were none of those things, and you never would be. And that was okay. But it was a niggling fact that had always lingered in the back of your mind, that had stung each time the three of you got together and you watched him charm someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

A warm, unexpected hand on your shoulder brings you out of your darker thoughts, with a slight gasp, startling you a little.

“Easy there, sweetheart.”

You turned, heart stuttering as Dean stood there, grinning down at you like no time had passed at all. And damn it all, he looked the same—scruffy and stupidly handsome in that effortless way of his, jeans snug on his hips, flannel worn open over a snug black tee. Sam stood just behind him, offering you a softer, more knowing smile.

“Hey, boys,” you manage, hoping the warmth creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. You slip off the barstool, nerves buzzing, but force yourself to keep it together.

Dean’s eyes flick over you—quick, but thorough. For a split second, something unreadable flashes across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it.

“Missed us that bad, huh?” His smirk is pure Dean, cocky and teasing, slipping back into the easy rhythm of your old banter.

You roll your eyes, but are grateful for it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”

But your voice is softer than you mean it to be, and when you turn to Sam, pulling him into a warm hug first, you feel Dean’s gaze linger.

Then you step up to him, hesitation curling in your chest—but before you can overthink it, his arms are around you, solid and warm, pulling you close like no time has passed at all.

That familiar scent—woody, spiced, edged with leather—wraps around you, grounding you, unraveling you. For a second longer than necessary, you let yourself sink into it, just this once.

The three of you settled into a booth once the bartender set down your drinks. Sam took the seat across from you, while Dean slid in next to you, his presence a little too warm, a little too distracting.

“So,” Sam started, taking a sip of his beer. “What are we looking at?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “A few people have gone missing over the last month—no bodies, no traces, just… gone. I’ve ruled out everything I know of. There’s no signs of a struggle, no sulphur, no EMF spikes. It’s like they just vanished into thin air.”

Dean frowned, brows knitting together. “And no patterns? No connection between them?”

“None that I could find.” You shook your head. “That’s why I called you guys. I was hoping fresh eyes might help.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, both equally puzzled but already slipping into hunter mode.

“Well, we’re here now,” Sam said, ever the problem solver. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift. “We’ll go over everything in more detail tomorrow. Tonight…” You glanced between them, the tension of the case momentarily fading. “It’s just good to see you both.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed warmly, raising his bottle. “To old friends.”

You clinked beers with him, and Dean followed suit, but as your bottles met, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something there—something lingering, unreadable, sending a flicker of warmth through you. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, masked behind an easy sip of his beer. You swallowed, shaking it off as nothing more than a trick of your mind.

The more the beers flowed, the easier it got. You caught up, swapped stories, and fell into familiar rhythms.

Dean was as quick with his smart-ass remarks as ever, and the two of you naturally fell into your usual back-and-forth. Sam, as always, was the long-suffering audience to your antics.

At one point, you and Dean tag-teamed a particularly brutal roast of Sam—this time about the time he’d gotten sick on a case and tried to insist he was totally fine, only to end up passing out face-first into a hotel’s continental breakfast buffet.

“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned, shaking his head as you and Dean laughed. “That was years ago.”

“And yet,” you grinned, “I can still hear the sound of your face hitting that tray of scrambled eggs.”

Dean snorted, nudging his knee against yours under the table. “Dude, you took out the whole table. That poor old lady thought you died.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed his beer away. “Yeah, and that’s my cue. I’ve had enough of you two for one night.”

You laughed, but before you could say anything, Sam stood, shaking his head. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” He pulled you into a quick, brotherly hug, and you squeezed back.

“Night, Sammy,” you murmured, watching as he strode toward the door, leaving you alone with Dean.

You half-expected him to call it a night too, but instead, Dean didn’t move. If anything, the second Sam walked out, he seemed to settle in more, arm stretching along the back of the booth, fingers barely grazing your shoulder. The casual touch sent a ripple of awareness through you, but you forced yourself to act normal, reaching for your drink instead of acknowledging the way your heart had picked up speed.

“I think I’ll stick around a little longer,” he said casually, surprising you.

Your heart kicked up a notch, but you welcomed the company. “Yeah?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

And so you did. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter slipping in between shared memories and stories of the road. Some cases were so bizarre they barely seemed real, and a few had you nearly crying with laughter. Time seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, the bar thinning out around you, and you barely noticed.

At some point, Dean just sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. His expression softened, head tilting slightly as he took you in, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn, it’s really good to see you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out.

Dean huffed a small laugh, eyes still studying you like he was committing you to memory. “You look good, too.”

The words weren’t rushed, weren’t casual or offhanded. They were steady, like a thought he’d been holding onto for a while.

Heat crept up your neck, and you let out a small, nervous chuckle, dropping your gaze to your drink as you toyed with the condensation on the glass. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean shifted, leaning in just a little, enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. “I mean it,” he said, quieter this time, voice dipping low.

All you could think was; what the hell is happening here?

Dean had never been like this with you before. Sure, he flirted—it was second nature to him—but not like this. At least that’s what you’d always believed. Had you just never noticed? Had you missed the way he looked at you before? Or had something changed?

Swallowing, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes sweeping over you—slow, deliberate. No hesitation. No teasing. Just appreciation.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but part of you wanted to reach for it anyway.

Then—

“Last call!”

The bartender’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You exhaled sharply, the moment shattering as you snapped back to reality. A part of you wanted to stay frozen in it, let whatever this was between you and Dean unravel, but instead, you reached for the safest thing to say. "We should head back."

Dean nodded, standing with you, hands shoving into his jacket pockets. But even as you stepped out into the crisp night air, the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it followed you like a shadow.

The walk back to the motel was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under your boots. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat still thrumming under your skin. You kept sneaking glances at Dean, only to find him already looking at you, eyes dark, thoughtful, unreadable.

He was close—not touching, but his presence was all-consuming. The scent of leather and whiskey clung to him, mixing with the crisp night air, making your stomach twist with anticipation.

When you finally reached your door, you hesitated.

"Well… this is me," you said, voice coming out lighter than you intended, a small, nervous chuckle slipping past your lips.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile as he looked down at you. "Yeah."

But neither of you moved.

The air shifted again, crackling with something dangerous, something inevitable.

Dean’s gaze flickered lower—tracing the curve of your mouth, watching as you unconsciously pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched and something in his expression darkened.

"Fuck it."

The words barely left his lips before he was on you, crashing into you with a hunger that sent you stumbling back against the door. The force of it stole your breath, his mouth devouring yours, needy, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally gave in.

A muffled sound of surprise left you, swallowed instantly by his lips, but it only took a second before you melted into him, your fingers fisting the open lapels of his jacket, anchoring yourself against him.

It was hot and messy, all teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that left you lightheaded and aching. His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming—sliding over your hips, your back, fingers digging into your flesh like he never wanted to let go.

You fumbled for the door behind you, barely registering how you managed to get it open before tugging him inside.

Dean groaned against your mouth as the door clicked shut, his hands already working your jacket off your shoulders. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, breathless.

Your stomach flipped, your heart fluttering at the implication—the confirmation that this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment lust. This was Dean. Wanting you. For who knew how long.

A moan slipped past your lips in response because forming actual words wasn’t an option—not with his hands gripping you tighter, not with the way he was kissing you like he was starving.

You barely noticed when you reached the little loveseat, your room provided, until the back of his knees hit it. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, you shoved him down onto it and climbed into his lap.

Dean groaned, head tipping back slightly as his hands found your hips, gripping tight. Touching you like he’d always wanted to. His fingers dug into the soft curve of your thighs, your ass, holding you like he couldn’t get enough.

You stiffened for half a second. The way his hands moulded to your body, the way he held you there so easily—so greedily—made your head spin.

You’d spent years second-guessing what guys thought when they touched you, wondering if they found you too much, too soft in places you’d been taught to shrink. The idea of straddling Dean, of all people, should’ve sent a jolt of insecurity through you. Should’ve had you hesitating.

But then Dean’s hands tightened—fingers pressing into your thighs, squeezing like he couldn’t stand not to have you closer. A deep, rough sound rumbled from his chest, his lips breaking from yours just long enough to groan, "Jesus—fuck."

The way he said it sent fire straight to your core.

He wanted you like this. Craved it. He wasn’t just tolerating the way your body pressed against him—he was obsessed with it.

As if to prove the point, his grip turned bruising, his hands dragging you even closer, pulling you down into him, despite the small part of you that feared you might be too much.

Dean grunted, his head dropping forward slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Goddamn, sweetheart."

A rush of confidence flooded through you, drowning out every lingering doubt.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips, testing, teasing—just enough to feel the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted this. Wanted you.

The friction was incredible, sending a bolt of pleasure up your spine, making you bite back a moan.

Dean’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into your flesh, his entire body going rigid.

That only made you do it again. Slower this time, deeper.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching on your thighs like he was trying to keep himself together.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, strangled, almost pained.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle coiled tight as you ground against him, feeling the delicious pressure between you, the way his cock strained beneath his jeans, thick and hot against you.

Suddenly, his hands snapped up to your waist, gripping hard, stilling you.

You barely had a second to register it before—

Dean shuddered. His whole body tensed beneath you, a choked grunt ripping from his throat as his fingers dug into your flesh, his head tipping back against the couch.

He went still, and it took you a second to realise.

Dean Winchester had just cum in his jeans.

A rush of heat flooded his face, his expression shifting from shock to pure horror. He blinked up at you, wide-eyed, mortified.

"Oh, fuck." His voice was barely above a whisper, his hands still gripping your hips, as if he was trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Your lips parted in surprise. Then—a slow, wicked grin spread across your face.

"Did you just—?"

Dean groaned, head dropping back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don’t. Just—don’t."

But you couldn’t help it. Because holy shit.

You’d just made Dean Winchester cum in his jeans.

If that wasn’t the biggest ego boost of your life, you didn’t know what was.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, revelling in the way his breath stuttered. "That," you murmured, lips brushing against his ear, "is the best compliment I’ve ever gotten."

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted under your touch, his hands hesitantly sliding up your sides, gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself. When he finally looked up at you, the humiliation still lingered, but something warmer, something softer, began to take its place.

His green eyes flickered over your face like he was memorising you. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Then, suddenly, he let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

"God, I’m sorry," he huffed, running a hand down his face, still half-stunned. "You’re just—" His eyes swept over you, dark and reverent as his hands followed, tracing over the curve of your hips, the swell of your full breasts, the thickness of your thighs. His fingers flexed, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was real. "Fucking gorgeous."

Heat rushed to your face, your stomach flipping as you instinctively tried to shy away. But Dean was already there, his thumb pressing lightly under your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

"Hey," he murmured, his lips twitching into something wicked and sweet all at once. "Give me five minutes," his hands slid around the curve of your hips, then lower, grasping large handfuls of your ass, his fingers digging in like he couldn't help himself. He groaned, low and deep, pressing you closer, like he needed you to feel just how much he meant it. "And I’ll really show you how much I want you."

Your own lips curled, mirroring his. "Five minutes, huh?" You couldn’t help but hum as he kissed along the column of your throat, his lips soft and warm, his teeth grazing, sending a shiver down your spine.

His grip on you tightened, kneading the flesh beneath his hands, and another groan rumbled through his chest, when you shifted in his lap again and you felt the unmistakable twitch of him against you.

"Okay, make that two," he muttered, his voice rough with renewed hunger.

You laughed, and he grinned against your skin at the sound, before pulling you in and claiming your lips in a hot, deep kiss once more.

“Besides,” he mumbled between kisses, “I wanna sample the goods first, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, but then you squealed as he abruptly lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed like you weighed nothing. With a playful smirk, he dropped you onto the mattress unceremoniously, making you bounce with a giggle.

Dean climbed in after you, hovering over you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his expression turning unexpectedly tender. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw and honest.

Your heart fluttered.

"Then show me," you whispered.

And as his lips met yours again, slow and deep, Dean swore he’d take his damn time proving just how much he did.

AN: So this just popped into my mind, I hadn't planned on posting, but had to get it out 😅. I know this doesn't cater to everyone it's a little more reader specific, but, it's just another reason to love Dean! 😍

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[tactical-jellyfish]

How the 141 handles long-term relationships

Warnings!: Nothing, other than a reference to Simon's dad. Just silly fluff to tide my sillies (you guys) over until the new chapters of the big boy fic(s) are done :)

Also: Price isn't included in this because I wrote a fic where he's an absolute asshole and accidentally made myself dislike him. Might add him later, idk.

Simon Riley is not nearly the stern man everyone thinks he is when he's at home.

It's kind of funny, really, but he's quiet, and he is stupid in love (assuming he already trusts you as a partner, which, if he's dating you, he does). Something like a cat, really.

He wants to be in your vicinity, always. He wants to know you're safe and okay at every hour he can, but sometimes he can't handle all that lovey shit.

This is why I do think Simon would spring for someone who is very quiet, and not very touchy. He adores that, he really does. It would be even better if you didn't mind having a big, bulky man staring at you while you work for hours on end.

It's to the point that, when the rest of the task force comes over, they aren't sure if you're a roommate or a spouse(?) until they see Simon gently bump his forehead with yours, watch how he follows you the same way a prissy longhair will trail after its nonchalant owner.

Price pulls you over that night and tells you that you have his full permission to marry the lieutenant. Simon hears him, but he doesn't say anything.

Another thing: He wants desperately to take your last name. It doesn't matter if it's stupid, he wants it so badly.

He's a bastard even with a father who was a bastard. His name links him back to corpses and an abuser, he wants to be rid of it. He won't ask, but if you do, he cries.

You've seen Simon cry before. You have. Mostly after nightmares, the especially bad ones. This is nothing like that.

He cries of joy before you twice. The first is when you let him take your last name, and the second is on your "wedding" day.

There is no ceremony, just a short trip to the courthouse. He cries anyway, watching you sign the papers, pulls you into a firm hug as he sniffles into your shoulder, tells you how much he fucking adores you.

He won't let you forget that. Ever.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Johnny MacTavish is a harder task.

He's always one very predictable sort of way in his relationships: Playful. Loving and witty, always ready to tease.

Sure, there are days he's tired, days he's beat to the bone and he just wants to collapse and let moss grow over him, but he sees you and he gets a shot of something divine.

It doesn't matter who you are, really. Sometimes he needs you to match the energy a little, but other than that, he could get on well with any partner, as long as love is reciprocal.

Weddings, though... it depends.

This is where most of my more personal headcanons come into play here. I really think Soap's family is very Catholic. And that Soap is very bisexual.

If his family doesn't know (assuming the relationship is straight, too), it's great! It's a packed venue, sure, but it's raucous in the loving, familial way.

Soap wears his best kilt, cries a little as you walk down the aisle and kisses you so long his mother smacks him over it.

If not (he got kicked out, presumably years before)... it's much less fun.

He still adores you, truly, but, again, it's a bit solemn for him. Seeing you, perfect you, ready to marry a man who has no family left who wants him, it's a nasty feeling.

Johnny sees you the way he thinks everyone should. You're a person, yes, but of practically biblical levels of perfection, in his eyes. You've put up with so much, done so much, and you want him.

He won't ever get to show you to his mother, or his sisters, or his cousins, but he wants to. God, does he want to. He just knows they would have adored you, as they should.

But he can't. And it bums him out, it really does.

Still, he takes your face into his hands, and kisses you like the sinner he is, pours himself into your silhouette like he could somehow peel your ribs apart and find a space near your heart, to sit and love you for as long as he can.

No one is there to smack him for taking too long, and you hold him. And that's enough.

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Kyle Garrick is honestly the least challenging to end up in the good graces of.

He wants, more than anything, a peer. Someone who he can talk shit with and feel good confiding in.

So, of course he fell into a relationship with you. How could he not? Look at you. Brilliant, he'll say that. Brilliant, and an absolute menace with the silveriest tongue he's ever seen.

Again, like most, he's not really crazy about getting married. Not while he has a job so risky and at his age. It's more of an eventually, he feels no pressure to lock you down so fast, he already knows he has you, and that's enough for him.

This is most of the reason why the engagement is so long. I'm talking several years. Yes, multiple years. Moved in together, got a pet or two, even the rings.

And it's great, everything he could ask for. He comes home to a brilliant partner every day he's got the time, and he always wants to see you, because you're you. You can discuss, you can debate, and you can pull him over and tell him when he's being stupid.

The partnership works. And it keeps working.

At some point, you two were effectively married in everything but law, so you just forgot about the "wedding" bullshit and got one of his aunts to officiate in the living room and had a party that night with family.

Like any good soldier, Kyle has many issues with stress when he's home. His ultimate solution is to cuddle you whenever you won't be annoyed with it. Sometimes you talk, sometimes it's quiet, he doesn't mind.

He just wants you. Always.

And he knows he always will.

[writing-for-marvel]

I’m back on the hurt train ready to get absolutely railed again

I’m pretty sure I said this in my first read of the chapter but the fact that your amazing mind chose to start and end this chapter, a fic about time loops, in flashbacks is actually genius

There was something almost like bemusement that appeared in the curl of Natasha’s lip, but she didn’t kick you out, which you took as a sign that your little outburst might have been closer to the truth than you’d really expected. You leaned back ever so slightly.

Oh this just feels so Nat, you’re characterisation feels so spot on, even down to the detail of her just needing to stare reader down and reader just keeps rambling like shes justifying herself

Then, without warning, she threw her glass at you.

You obviously can’t see me but I literally flinched out of the way reading this like it was me she had done this to 😂 but I love this scene with Nat so much, it’s such a *her* thing to do, the details are just perfect

“Yeah, I’m not gonna be able to do that,” you said flatly.

Literally took the words out of my mouth

So it appears you’ve gotten yourself stuck in some macabre version of Groundhog Day. Alright. Cool cool cool. You can work with that, probably. Maybe.

I love the inner monologue you have written, it’s honestly so refreshing and actually hilarious

It’s moments like these that make you miss Nat the most.

Stop it we can’t have more death and grief than we do already please

There was something about that woman that made everyone around her open up, whether they wanted to or not.

Literally flash back to what I said before about reader just rambling under her stare without her saying a single word

“Buck?” He huffs, even though he continues to wear his usual exasperated expression. “Did Sam hit you in the head?”

You raise your eyebrows in fake surprise. It’s so easy to fall back into your usual bickering, even with everything that’s going on. “You’re right, I don’t. Your cat probably got into my room again and let out her past week’s aggressions.”

“See, that’s exactly what she wants you to think.”

Eeeee they make me giddy 🥰🥰🥰

“Nope. This is my spot, too.”

“Great,” you sigh, angling yourself away from him. “I’ll be sure to make a reservation next time.”

I’m literally just giggling and kicking my feet every time they interact

“Try the floor,” Bucky says as you’re almost out of the room. He doesn’t turn when you do, but he seems to feel your questioning gaze. “If you can’t sleep. It helps, sometimes.”

Oh my baby 😭 just the thought of him sleeping on the floor for comfort actually hurts my soul

With a sigh, you get settled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling until your eyes get too tired.

Oh she takes his advice 🥺🥺🥺

When you see your own body still lying in bed next to where you’re standing, you almost trip over your own feet.

See I knew this was coming this time and yet it still felt like a shock to the system!!!

It’s one of your favorite comfort novels. You take good care of your books for the most part, but this one is quite battered; you’ve been bringing it with you on missions for years. A bit of home that fits into your pocket and helps calming you down on countless quinjet rides better than pictures ever could.

If someone comes into my room and insults one of my favourite books you can best believe I am finally learning to throw a punch and clock them in the jaw

“It happened because you activated the time stone,” Strange sneers. “Your powers are a lot stronger than you even care to realize, and it was idiotic to keep them a secret.”

She cares so much about Bucky that she’s activated the time stone??? Nika your mind wtf 🤯🤯🤯

He must have hit his head on the side of the big table, but the shield had protected him from the sharp edge. He’s pressing a hand to his wound and he’s conscious and fine. He’s fine.

I’m just sat here waiting with bated breath for this whole sequence

You fling your knife as fast as you can, but his single moment of hesitation was long enough for the trigger to be pulled a second time. You turn just in time to see the realization on Bucky’s face, the shock and panic in his eyes as they meet yours.

You’re telling me he dies in every rendition of this god damn day Nika it’s too painfulllllllll

Bucky figuring out that somethings wrong 😭😭 they barely spend any time together and yet he’s already worked her out 😭😭 don’t mind me imma just sob over here

Things were finally starting to look up.

Right just the kick to the gut I needed at the end of this torture (affectionate; I love it)

Nika I love it, I am after two chapters already pulling my hair out every time we have to see Bucky die, but the story itself is exceptional!!

Your writing style is absolutely gorgeous, I always feel so present in the moment with all of their conversations, all the characters feel so *real*, I adore them all

And I honestly can’t say enough about the magic system in place and readers powers, like I’m bewildered by how your gorgeous mind came to that. I can’t wait to dive more into it and learn the backstory behind it all

time after time [2]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 8.2k

chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, the angst continues, another reminder to read the fic premise; a couple of guest appearances; flashbacks are my establishing shots and i’m going to make it everyone’s problem

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: 2am updates are kind of my brand at this point. big shout-out to @barnesafterglow who read a good chunk of this yesterday and is still talking to me <3 thank you all for your patience and your love for chapter one!!

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

two: twice upon a time

The first time you met Natasha Romanoff in person, a few weeks after the Snap, she only had to look at you for a couple of seconds to be able to read you like a book.

They’d compiled a file, of course, filled with all the general academic credits and official family information that was still available to the public and definitely more than a few things you’d tried to bury, too. Even then, the folder was reassuringly slim.

She’d have to take you at your word about what you’d come to offer her, anyway.

“And why would we want to have you?” she asked. As if she were interviewing you for a job. Which, technically speaking, she was.

You were on edge and Natasha knew it, even though you tried to hide your ever twitching fingers in your lap under the table, picking at the skin around your nails until you felt it break. You took a deep breath.

“Look, I know that I’m not exactly a soldier, or a—a superhero type, but I … I don’t know, I would just like to use my … thing to do good, for once. You know, stuff that will help people.”

And do it on your own terms. It stayed unsaid, then. You didn’t admit that part until much later.

Natasha’s face stayed perfectly neutral through your rambling, and you weren’t sure whether that was calming you down or making you more anxious. You reached for your necklace, tugging at the chain.

“But I can’t really do that on my own,” you continued, “and you, well, all of you, you’ve done it for a while and you’re good at it. And I think I could help with that.”

She still didn’t say anything, just kept waiting while you sat awkwardly in that uncomfortable office chair, regretting your decision of ever following through with your crazy impulsive idea of coming here.

But where else would you have gone?

“Also,” you remarked in a sudden burst of boldness, “I think you could use every extra pair of hands you can get at the moment.”

There was something almost like bemusement that appeared in the curl of Natasha’s lip, but she didn’t kick you out, which you took as a sign that your little outburst might have been closer to the truth than you’d really expected. You leaned back ever so slightly.

You couldn’t be sure, then, if she’d pieced together what little information they’d had on you in your file or if she’d just figured you out while you were sitting in this office, but it didn’t make all that much of a difference. She didn’t have to ask why you’d decided to offer up your abilities to the Avengers now, after everything, when they’d been hidden away for most of your life.

“You’re lonely. And you need a purpose, like all of us,” she said, looking you up and down apprehensively.

Then, without warning, she threw her glass at you.

You flinched to the side and it shattered on the wall behind you. The leftover drink slowly sank into the carpet as you turned to stare at her in shock.

Natasha lifted one of her perfectly trimmed eyebrows. “You wanna try that again?”

Really, you should’ve expected the test.

You closed your eyes and raised your hands.

It’s a strange experience, going back in time. No one had really asked you to describe what it was like, and you probably couldn’t have if you tried. It felt a little like retracing your own steps in your head, relocating your conscience to an earlier moment, second by second, in a rapid backwards motion. Like very vivid remembering. Only, it’s not just that.

“You’re lonely,” Natasha said, swirling the dregs of her glass, her green eyes tracing over you. “And you need a purpose, like all of us.”

You were expecting it this time, but the glass still slipped through your fingers and broke into tiny shards on the floor. Not good enough. You didn’t wait for her reaction this time, cursing under your breath and pulling yourself back again. As always, it took considerably more effort.

You tried your best not to stare at the glass while Natasha spoke, but you didn’t really listen anymore. This time, you caught it, even though its contents spilled over your hand.

Natasha smirked. “Not bad. First try?”

“This is when I lie to sound capable, right?” You shook the liquid off your fingers, sure she’d already noticed the sweat on your temples. No use in lying to a spy, anyway, you supposed, so you admitted, “Third.”

“We’ll work on that. But honesty’s a good start.” She held out her hand and you returned the glass. “Have you ever done combat training?”

You could barely stifle a nervous laugh. “Do I look like I’ve ever done combat training?”

“I don’t tend to judge people based on how they appear,” Natasha said, uncrossing her legs. “Come with me.”

You followed her back out of the office into the wide, empty hallway. You hadn’t seen anyone else around on the whole Compound, even though it could probably house hundreds of people on the ground floor alone. The clacking sound of your steps on the tiled floor seemed to echo all around you.

It felt like you were announcing yourself to everyone within a two-mile radius while Natasha moved around on her bare feet without a single sound.

A glass elevator took you down to the subterranean level of the building. Once the doors slid open, Natasha marched straight to a double door with square windows and large metal handlebars.

“Leave your shoes and bag by the door,” she told you. She waited for you to untie your laces and awkwardly wiggle out of your boots before she let you both in.

The Compound gym was even bigger than you’d expected. You weren’t sure if you were more surprised by that revelation or by the presence of a certain super soldier kicking the life out of a punching bag on the other side of the hall.

“Hey Rogers,” Natasha shouted as it got smacked to the ground. “Brought a new recruit!”

“Really?” he called back, unwrapping the bandages around his knuckles.

“Really?” you said. Sure, that was what you came here for, but even so, you were a little shocked it had been that simple.

“Like you said, we’re a little desperate at the moment,” she winked.

“I didn’t say that,” you muttered anxiously as Captain America jogged over to join you, a towel thrown over his shoulder. Despite his workout, he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, holding out his hand with a smile.

You shook it, slightly bewildered, and introduced yourself. He repeated your name back at you and you had to take a moment to think how strange this whole situation was, even in all the madness that’d been going on. How unreal.

“I’m sure it’ll be good to have ya,” he said, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Thankfully, you caught yourself in time.

Meanwhile, Natasha had dragged one of the thick foam mats away from the heavy equipment and rolled it out. Cracking her neck, she stepped onto it and pushed her hair out of her face.

“Okay. Show me how you’d throw a punch.”

She held out her hands flat in front of her and nodded her head for you to join her on the mat. You’d never felt so stupid in your life as you tried to rack your brains for whatever little you took from those self-defense lessons however long ago. At least Captain Goddamn America seemed to be politely ignoring you in favor of putting some weights away.

“Just move on instinct, you’re not getting graded,” Natasha said calmly.

Your instincts were telling you you were absolutely getting graded and this was your worst idea to date, but you tried your best. She had you aim at different heights a few times before she stopped you.

“Okay, your posture’s terrible. You have to straighten your back and bend your knees more, see?” She demonstrated the right stance, waiting for you to copy her. “There you go. That’s your standard pose.”

“Alright,” you said, testing it out with a little bounce. “And what do I do with that?”

“Depends on what you’re trying to do. With the right training, you can use your own weight to your advantage in a fight. Steve?”

“Oh, great, am I volunteering?” He joined you on the mat and you moved to give the two of them enough space.

“You love it. Now watch me,” she added, looking at you.

Before Steve could even properly raise up his arms, Natasha launched into a handflip and somehow managed to wrap her legs around his body. The sudden movement made him stumble backwards. He lurched his body forwards to get her off his shoulders, but she used the momentum of her fall to kick him off his feet onto the mat. She gracefully landed on all fours like a cat. It looked effortless.

“You’re right,” Steve groaned, “this is very fun for me.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna be able to do that,” you said flatly.

“I don’t expect you to,” Natasha said, pulling her hair behind her ears again. “But you do have to be able to survive in a fight, even without your powers, if you want to join the team. We can’t babysit you.”

You pressed your lips together, slowly curling your hands into fists and opening them again.

“Alright,” you said, your voice strangely dry. “When do we start?”

*****

Your initial reaction is relief.

Relief, because it’s Friday again, which means nothing has actually happened, which means Bucky is still alive.

Then, the implications of that fact hit you all at once.

You must’ve blacked out for a second or two, because when you open your eyes again, you’re lying on the floor next to your bed, heart still pounding a mile an hour. Your breath comes out in short gasps, and you force it to slow just in time for the knock on the door.

“Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!”

“Just gimme a minute!” you shout back and stumble to the bathroom.

Your hands and face are speckled with blood and you wash it off furiously, biting your lip as the tiny cuts on your skin left by the glass shards burn under your touch. Turning off the faucet, you keep leaning onto the basin and stare at your hands.

You’re not sure what you expected. Your rings are still the blackest you’ve ever seen them, and the dimly glowing symbols keep slowly circling around your wrist. It doesn’t take you long to put two and two together, because once is a coincidence, a strange, fateful accident, but twice is a pattern. And of course you’ve heard about this kind of thing happening. Only not like this.

Life everlasting.

No. Definitely not like this.

So it appears you’ve gotten yourself stuck in some macabre version of Groundhog Day. Alright. Cool cool cool. You can work with that, probably. Maybe.

“Did you get lost in there?” Sam remarks with a grin when you finally step out of your room, still looking slightly disheveled.

“I—” You stop yourself, blinking at him until he starts looking slightly concerned.

“You alright? You look …” His eyebrows raise even higher. “Shell-shocked.”

Well, this isn’t exactly an everyday occurence even for me, Samuel, you want to tell him. Instead, you say, “Don’t ever wake me up like that again.” It lacks yesterday’s punch.

“Sweet white teenage angst not your style?”

You hum, but don’t reply otherwise, still lost in thought as you climb the stairs, trying to assess your situation and come up with some sort of plan.

It’s fairly obvious you fucked up your reset the other day. So much for the precious space-time continuum; oh, you hate it when the wizard people are right every now and then.

You glance sideways at Sam while he stretches his back in the ring. He seems fine, completely normal, unaware of what’s going on with you, and of course he would be. Nothing unusual about that part of your powers. Or what’s left of them.

You raise your hands experimentally.

“I’m not high-fiving you until you get one kick in, at least.”

Not even the slightest hitch. It’s like your powers have just up and left you completely. A strange heaviness settles in your stomach. Fucking useless.

You avert your burning eyes from Sam’s gaze.

It’s not like you … talk.

None of you do, not really. Sure, you chat. You’re great at chatting. You’ve had years, countless tries of perfecting smalltalk, of knowing the things you can get away with saying to certain people. It’s made you reckless in the past, knowing you could probably replay entire conversations in the blink of an eye, the pressure of expectation gone completely.

Ever since you started coming out of hiding again, though, the fun has drizzled out of that more and more. It’s one thing to impress strangers and another to be several steps ahead of the people you’ve started to consider your friends.

Because even though sometimes it sure would be easier, having people un-live conversations they’ve had with you, particularly hard or emotional ones, is sort of a shitty move if you continue to spend your time around them afterwards. And you’ve grown determined to not intentionally hurt people with your powers. Not anymore.

So yes, you chat. You know Sam’s favorite color and the video games his nephews want for their birthdays. You know what kind of music Bucky listens to, mostly because he forgets to turn on the soundproofing in his room and Jazz trumpets are surprisingly loud. You know their habits, the foods they like, the movies they hate.

But you don’t … share. Nothing that goes deeper than the general stuff.

It’s moments like these that make you miss Nat the most.

There was something about that woman that made everyone around her open up, whether they wanted to or not. You’re almost resolved to call her as soon as you get back to your room before you remember.

You’re gonna have to do this on your own. Back to square one.

“What is up with you today?”

“I’m fine,” you grunt, but make no effort to get back up again. “Didn’t sleep well. Ow.” You narrow your eyes at Sam. “Did you just kick me?”

“I wanted to see if you’re still alive.”

“Horrible. I’m quitting. You can go spar with Bucky again.”

“At least he puts up a fight.” Sam crouches down next to you. “Anything you wanna tell me?”

Yes. You shake your head. He probably wouldn’t believe you, anyway.

“Alright,” he says, clapping you on the shoulder. You scrunch your nose. “I’m gonna hit the showers. But we’re doing a rain check for tomorrow, and you sort out your pea under the mattress situation.”

“Okay.”

You listen to Sam’s receding steps and the sound of the door opening and closing again. Then, there’s nothing but silence and the ticking of the clock on the far wall.

Even though you know you should probably just head out as well, you can’t help but linger again. Just in case.

“You look like shit.”

Your head rolls to the side. Fuck you, Barnes. “Hey, Buck.”

Same spot on the bench next to the ring, same hunched over position, same concentrated look on his face while he cleans up the shimmering golden nooks in his arm.

“Buck?” He huffs, even though he continues to wear his usual exasperated expression. “Did Sam hit you in the head?”

You don’t answer, just keep staring at his profile for a little while longer. Your eyes are drawn to the nape of his neck, to the center of his chest. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Bucky says lowly. You turn your gaze back to the ceiling.

“Nothing,” you answer, pulling an arm over your eyes. The sweatband rubs against your eyebrow.

Maybe, you think, just maybe, it could still be a fluke. Only one more time to get things right, and then all will just go back to normal. Maybe you’ll be fine today. He’ll be fine.

There’s a buzzing in your ears, and you’re not sure if it comes from the green symbols gyrating around your arm or if you’re just imagining it altogether.

“What happened to your face?” Bucky asks unexpectedly, casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you dove head-first into a rose bush.”

“Hah.” You slowly sit up, your muscles aching for a hot shower. Three days of training and fighting in a row are not agreeing with your body. “Must’ve scratched myself in my sleep.”

If he sees through your lie, he doesn’t call you out on it. “Didn’t know you have talons.”

You raise your eyebrows in fake surprise. It’s so easy to fall back into your usual bickering, even with everything that’s going on. “You’re right, I don’t. Your cat probably got into my room again and let out her past week’s aggressions.”

“My cat slept soundly, thank you very much,” Bucky says dryly.

“See, that’s exactly what she wants you to think.”

“Funny.” He stands up, hanging the piece of cloth over the side of the boxing ring to air out. “Take the towel on the right, I already used the other one.”

“Thanks, Buck,” you say with a smirk. He ignores you.

***

The shower is what brings your mood back down again. In the silence of the water hitting your back, there’s enough time for you to think about the upcoming day that you’ve already been through twice.

Up until the mission, it’s gone by fine, unremarkably so, which only makes the build-up to the evening even worse, in your opinion. You face the stream of hot water directly, trying to rid yourself of the image of Bucky lying on the floor, bleeding out in front of you.

You need to be rational about this.

First, you need to figure out what’s going on with your powers. Then, you have to make up your mind about lunch, because while you don’t exactly resent the thought of your third pizza in as many days, your stomach sadly doesn’t agree with that notion. And finally, you’re going to break this damn cycle you’re in. Easy as that.

You turn off the shower with your newfound resolve and grab the clean towel.

Your determination lasts up until you get back to your room and realize you don’t actually know how you are going to fix your powers. They’ve always been somewhat fickle, unpredictable even to you, acting up whenever it’s most inconvenient. Impossible.

No one has ever been able to tell you where they came from, nor how you could properly control them. Everything you know you had to figure out through trial and error, replaying the same scenario over and over again, and, more often than not, lucky coincidences.

Usually, when your rings are black and your powers are weakened, it helps to let your body regain its strength first. In other words, you need to sleep.

This is something you probably should have thought through before getting your morning coffee with an extra shot of espresso, out of habit, but that’s not something you can change right now.

The living room area wouldn’t usually be your first choice for a midday nap, but you’re not ready to face the bloodstains on your bedding quite yet, so you’ll have to make do with one of the suspiciously IKEA-looking throw pillows on the couch. The TV is chattering away in the background, just loud enough to somewhat distract you from your own thoughts.

It’s not enough to fall asleep, though.

You keep tossing and turning, half-listening to three or four episodes of some nineties sitcom, while your anxiety gnaws away at your insides. There’s a constant low pounding in your head that drives you up the wall, and again you swear you can hear the symbols looping around your wrist. You keep scratching at your sweatband, but it’s no use.

You don’t know how much time has passed before the pattering of small paws makes you sigh in disdain.

There’s an obnoxiously loud meowing close to your feet, followed by a sudden weight dropping on your stomach that almost invites your garlic bread back up for a double feature. You peer out at the white shape on top of you, innocently toying with the hem of your shirt.

In general, you like cats just fine, but something about Alpine has always unsettled you. Sure, she’s a cute-looking ball of fluff, but she’s also quick to scratch unsuspecting people bending down to pet her, and she seems to have a particular bone to pick with you.

“Maybe she’s just a good judge of character,” Sam jokes whenever you complain about it.

“She doesn’t like you any better.”

“Yeah, but I’m allergic to her,” Sam shrugs. “The farther she stays away, the more a favor it’s doing me.”

In truth, the only person Alpine likes is Bucky, and she loves to show it every chance she gets.

“You’re in her spot.”

Alpine graciously allows you to push up to your elbows with a groan. Bucky’s tall figure is looming over your head; there’s a bemused expression on his face. He must’ve just walked in through the door, because he’s still wearing his jacket.

“Why does the cat need a spot on the couch, exactly?” You try to shoo her off your lap, but Alpine digs her claws deeper into your shorts and you wince. “You really need to teach her manners.”

“You gotta be gentle with her,” Bucky says, pulling her off you without a hitch. “Move over.”

You swing your legs off the couch with a roll of your eyes. “Can’t you sit somewhere else?”

“Nope. This is my spot, too.”

“Great,” you sigh, angling yourself away from him. “I’ll be sure to make a reservation next time.”

Alpine starts purring as Bucky scratches her under the chin. “You watchin’ that?”

“I was trying to nap,” you mumble, throwing him the remote with a little more force than necessary. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Thirteen twelve hours.”

“Please stop just saying numbers when I ask you that.”

Bucky smirks again and switches channels. “Quarter past one-ish.”

You blink at him tiredly, surprised to find out he’s been back so early. The past two days, you didn’t see him around again until the broadcast was about to start. Then again, you didn’t really pay attention at that point, either.

There’s that tick in his jaw that he always gets when something is bothering him, even as he’s distracted by a playful cat in his lap. You’d better relieve him of the burden of your presence.

“Well,” you say, standing up. Alpine whines indignantly at the sudden movement. “I’ll try to find a cat-free spot in this tower, then.”

“Try the floor,” Bucky says as you’re almost out of the room. He doesn’t turn when you do, but he seems to feel your questioning gaze. “If you can’t sleep. It helps, sometimes.”

You hide your hands in your pants pockets, even though it’s far too late by now. He’s already noticed your black rings.

With a short hum, you briskly walk back to your room, leaning against the door as it closes behind you. This is getting ridiculous, you think, worrying the ring on your pinkie finger with your thumb. As if you didn’t have enough reasons to get a hold of your powers again; you don’t know what you would do if Bucky really got suspicious of you now.

Taking a deep breath, you eye your bed. Compared to yesterday, the blood stains on your sheets are barely more than a few specks, because you weren’t as close to Bucky when it happened. Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better.

“Fine,” you mutter in annoyance, grabbing one of your pillows and throwing it on the floor next to your bed. “FRIDAY, can you wake me in time for Sam’s speech?”

“Of course,” FRIDAY tells you. “Do you want me to use the same song as this morning?”

“Please don’t.” A little idea pipes up at the back of your head. “Do you have any record of playing that song before?”

“Last dates played. Friday, July 4th 2025, 07:50 a.m. Playtime: forty-five seconds. Thursday, March 13th 2014, 02:49 a.m. Playtime: one hour, twenty-seven minutes, eighteen seconds. End of record.”

Interesting night for Tony, then, but not exactly telling when it comes to your time loop situation. With a sigh, you get settled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling until your eyes get too tired.

You’ll think of something once you’ve had a bit of sleep. He’ll be fine.

And then, just as you’re finally about to drift off, you feel a sudden jolt go through you. It’s a bizarre sensation, like you’re falling and jumping at the same time, but your body isn’t actually moving with you. Like someone pulling at your very consciousness.

Your eyes fly open and you gasp for air.

You’re still in your room, which should be good news, but everything looks … weird. Not as out of focus as it would be if you were simply dreaming, but somehow crooked, the angles unusually pronounced. The colors are all off, the lights way lower than they should be this time of day, and when you reach out for the edge of your bed, your hands—

You take a sharp breath. Your fingers are bare, no trace of your rings anywhere, and even worse, your hands are partly transparent. Cautiously, you get up on your equally as see-through legs and turn around.

When you see your own body still lying in bed next to where you’re standing, you almost trip over your own feet.

You stare at yourself in disbelief. One of your body’s hands is tucked under the pillow, and it’s breathing regularly. Carefully, you take a step closer and reach out your noncorporeal hand. Your shoulder feels warm and solid underneath your fingertips.

Your body wrinkles its nose in its sleep and you jerk back again, losing your balance and falling to the floor. Your body doesn’t react at all, even though you pull part of the blanket with you as you go down.

“Okay. This is a dream,” you tell yourself, even though you feel your heart pounding. “Just some weird-ass dream, and I have to wake up.” Again, you can’t help but look at the sleeping body lying in your bed.

You press your hands over your eyes, willing yourself to slow your breathing. The edge of your nightstand jabs you painfully between the shoulder blades, too real to be nothing more than an act of your imagination.

“You’re not what I expected.”

The man’s voice makes you flinch slightly. Slowly, you peek through your fingers.

You either didn’t notice him while you were taking in your surroundings or he’s just blended in with them seamlessly, although you’re not sure how that last one could even be a possibility. His back is turned to you, his frame covered by a long, deep red cloak with intricate patterns stitched along the seams. He’s perusing your bookshelf, picking up old copies seemingly at random.

For some reason, your shock at the sight of him is outweighed by immediate irritation. Something about the man instantly irks you.

“Thanks, I think,” you tell him, throwing the edge of the blanket over your sleeping body again as you get up, never letting the man out of your sight.

He turns around, one of his eyebrows raised. Your eyes immediately fall on the amulet around his neck and your heart gives a stutter. You ignore it.

“Not a compliment.” He holds up a book. “This is how you spend your time, then?”

It’s one of your favorite comfort novels. You take good care of your books for the most part, but this one is quite battered; you’ve been bringing it with you on missions for years. A bit of home that fits into your pocket and helps calming you down on countless quinjet rides better than pictures ever could.

“Sue me for trying to relax in between saving the world,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Of course,” the man says wryly. “Because god forbid you use those powers of yours to their full extent, we wouldn’t want that.”

“And what’s it to you?” you snap.

The man calmly puts the book down again; not where he picked it up from, you notice in annoyance.

“My name is Doctor Stephen Strange,” he says, watching your face for your reaction. “Ah, so you have heard of me.”

Of course you have. You know who he is, you must’ve seen his picture hundreds of times during the Blip, and even before that, you’d heard about his reputation. As one of the keepers of the time stone back when it still existed, he’s on your list of people you least want to see, ever.

You narrow your eyes at him. “How did you find me? What—” You take a quick look back at your own sleeping form. “What is this place?”

“The astral plane,” he says, swiping your bookshelf for dust and inspecting his fingertips contemptuously. They’re shaking ever so slightly. “Something you would know if you hadn’t spent the past decade avoiding every single chance to use your powers responsibly.”

“Wow,” you huff. “You don’t know anything about me or about my powers.”

“Don’t I, Y/N Y/L/N?” Strange’s cloak flaps slightly as if it were shrugging.

“I spent the last couple of years trying to save lives.”

“You’re riding on luck and pretend it’s control. You have no idea what this could do to the grand scheme of things.”

“Well, I never asked for these powers, okay?” you say defensively. “I just have them. What I don’t have is any interest in being a pawn in some grand scheme of things when I never wanted any of this.”

“People don’t generally get a choice in that matter.” His gaze drops to your wrist. “And now look where your resistance to accept your responsibilities got you.”

The green band of symbols is still leisurely circling around your arm. You bite your tongue. “I don’t know how that happened,” you say, your voice breaking slightly on the last word.

“It happened because you activated the time stone,” Strange sneers. “Your powers are a lot stronger than you even care to realize, and it was idiotic to keep them a secret.”

“Why, so you could use them for your own gain?”

“So I could prevent this exact kind of thing from happening.”

You throw your hands in the air in frustration. “So end it, then. Or did you drag me here just to berate me?”

Strange chuckles humorlessly. “This is not something others can just fix for you, Miss Y/L/N. You cast a very powerful spell in creating this loop, and you are the only one who can lift it again.”

“Great. I’m screwed, then, is that what you’re saying?” You might not be inside of your body at the moment, but you can still feel your cheeks heating up. “I want you to leave me the fuck alone.”

“You need to calm down,” Stange says sharply.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, get out of my—head, or whatever this is. Get out!”

“Alright then. Continue to play stubborn. See how far it gets you.” He holds out his right hand and there’s a crack in the air behind him; almost like a doorway, or a mirror. “I’ll be here when you’re done acting like a child.”

You come to on your bedroom floor, feeling almost more tired than you did when you laid down earlier. It takes your bleary eyes a moment to adjust to your surroundings again. When you sit up, a thin throw blanket that you don’t remember pulling over your shoulders falls into your lap.

This really is just a whole bunch of disasters stacked on top of each other.

You don’t even have to look at your rings to know there’s still not the slightest green spec in sight. Your fingers find your necklace and you tug slightly to reassure yourself of its presence. How the hell did Strange even find you?

There’s no time to think about it for too long, because once again, there’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“We got a lead on that lab,” Sam shouts on the other side. “Jet’s leaving in half an hour, get ready.”

You blink at the clock on your wall in confusion. Even though you feel like you only spent a couple of minutes in this other dimension you were dragged into, several hours have passed in this one.

Time is seriously out of your hands, and it’s only getting worse.

***

“Don’t you think that maybe they have an alarm set or something?” you say, contemplating the explosives laid out in front of you.

Sam raises his eyebrows, adjusting the intercom chip in his ear. “Is that a hunch or are you telling me?”

“Both.” You flex your fingers. “It’s just that announcing ourselves probably isn’t in our best interest right now.”

“And you couldn’t have said that earlier? As in, before we landed?” Sam sighs.

Bucky snorts as you shrug your shoulders helplessly. Your body desperately needed the half hour of uneasy sleep the flight has afforded it, even though your powers seem to be unimpressed by it.

“Look, it’s gonna be fine,” Sam continues, squeezing your arm. “We’ve handled worse. Besides, if they do have an alarm set, they’re gonna come to us whether we knock down that wall or not.”

“I guess,” you mumble, grabbing the explosives. “Let’s play knock-knock with terrorists then, that oughtta be fun.”

“Reminds me of ‘44,” Bucky says, more to himself than to either of you.

When you follow Sam down the hallway once again, you can’t help but search for the cameras you know are hidden here somewhere, but it’s impossible to tell in the dingy light. You should bring a stronger flashlight next ti—no.

You blink, stopping that thought before it’s fully formed.

There won’t be a next time. This thing ends tonight, once and for all.

Third time’s the charm, right?

About as charming as a kick to the face, you think as you find yourself delivering just that.

Sam takes off. “We better get moving. If you take care of the drive and these idiots, I’ll clear the tunnels for a way out of here!”

Bucky catches Sam’s shield as you disarm the white jacket with the knife and duck as the shots ring out. You’re sweating in your kevlar vest.

“Two o’clock, Bucky,” you tell him, throwing another punch. You’re so sick of this white-coated asshole in particular; it’s like they think you’re in the rumble from West Side Story. “And whatever you do, don’t throw that shield, alright?”

“You’re bossy today,” Bucky huffs, taking out the one with the blaster.

“I think you mean thorough,” you reply as Riff finally goes out cold.

“You tell yourself that.” He reloads his gun instead, shield firmly locked around his right arm. “How much longer for the transfer?”

You glance at the monitors and try to remember. “About a minute, maybe two.”

“Sam, you copy?” The last white jacket goes down.

“Ready for take-off in five,” Sam confirms cheerfully. “Heads-up, there’s at least another dozen heading your way.”

“Got it.” Bucky bumps your shoulder as he starts back towards the computers, leaving you only a second to process the different turnout of events.

Shouldn’t he insist on leaving?

The only thing that differentiates this mission from the first one is that you haven’t had to jump back to know what to look out for, and therefore don’t suffer the immediate side effects a redo usually has on you. You suppose that’s what they initially expected your powers to be like; flawless, useful, magical.

It’s like a slap in the face, even though Bucky doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The fact that he really does think lesser of you because of your stupid, faulty powers stings more than you care to admit.

You shake yourself back to the present moment. “Take the drive and then get away from there!” you shout, trying to catch up with him. Your lungs are burning. “They’re gonna blow up the—”

The blast of the explosion throws you backwards and you land on one of the unconscious bodies on the ground. Coughing, you roll to your hands and knees.

“Wha—ppening?” Sam’s cut off voice comes through the broken comms.

“Bucky?” You stumble towards the flaming mess that was the lab corner.

He must have hit his head on the side of the big table, but the shield had protected him from the sharp edge. He’s pressing a hand to his wound and he’s conscious and fine. He’s fine.

You can’t stop a relieved laugh as you crouch down next to him. “Wanna get out of here or what?”

The reflection of the flames makes his eyes almost look green as he squints at you, groaning. “Geez, I hate you.”

“Come on, tough guy,” you say and he lets you pull him to his feet, almost toppling over at his unsteadiness. “Let’s get you home.”

You keep turning around as you make your way to the tunnels, keep looking back towards the staircase you came down, worrying about the reinforcements Sam told you about. Maybe that’s your mistake.

Because you haven’t made it this far before, you don’t think to check that the unconscious white jackets are all still unconscious.

You still have Bucky’s shield arm around your shoulder as he jerks, sensing the motion on his left before you do. He catches the first bullet with his metal arm as you twist out of your hold on him, grabbing your knife and whirling back around. He makes a side step, taking a big swing—

Only you told him not to throw the shield.

You fling your knife as fast as you can, but his single moment of hesitation was long enough for the trigger to be pulled a second time. You turn just in time to see the realization on Bucky’s face, the shock and panic in his eyes as they meet yours.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and–

“Okay, alright, turn it off, FRIDAY!”

By the time you wipe your mouth and flush the toilet with shaky knees, hair and face still caked with blood, you’re finally starting to understand how well and truly screwed you are.

***

You lean against the fridge, staring at Sam while he’s typing away at the kitchen island. He likes working standing up for some reason, particularly when he has to write some sort of statement.

“If I have to give the speech standing up, I’ve gotta write it standing up,” he’s explained it to you once. You can’t pretend to get it, but you suppose it’s also a perk to be within an arm’s length of snacks at all times while you’re getting stuff done.

“What do you want?” Sam says evenly. His gaze remains fixed on his laptop, his fingers never stopping to move.

You bite your lip. It’s a bad, very bad, terrible idea. You shouldn’t be bothering him with your fuck-up. You don’t even know how to go about it without having him laugh in your face.

“What if I told you that I’m stuck in a time loop?”

The question comes out weirdly flat, as if you’re joking. Fuck, what’s happening to you? You’ve always been fine with being the person who knows more than anyone else in the room. This situation though …

It’s different. It unrattles you in a way your powers never have, because even though it’s your own doing, it also seems so out of your control.

Sam raises an eyebrow, still not looking up. “I’d ask when you started drinking today and why you did it without me.”

Honestly, you should have expected something along these lines as long as you have no way of proving it to him.

“Well,” you say light-heartedly, as if you’re merely chitchatting. “What would you do if you were reliving the same day over and over again?”

“Enjoy my time off, probably,” Sam says, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m starving. Shouldn’t the food be here by now?”

You check your phone. “About half a minute.”

It gives you an idea for the future.

Lo and behold. You startle the poor delivery guy, opening the front door right before he can knock. “Hi,” you smile, handing him a generous tip. “We don’t know each other, right?”

“Uhm. What?”

“Do you have like, two minutes?”

“Did you have to haggle for them, first?” Sam calls over when you finally make it back to the kitchen, closing his laptop and helping you put down the boxes and containers on the counter.

“Had to convert to Pastafarianism,” you say, getting out the cutlery. “Ready for blasphemy?”

Sam chuckles.

By the time lunch is done and Sam has left for Madison Square Garden, another wave of exhaustion catches up with you. You pull your rings off and leave them on the table before you lie down on the second couch in the living room area, hoping that maybe this time, you’ll get a little bit of rest.

Only once again, it’s no use. Every time you close your eyes, you’re back in the lab, watching Bucky get shot. The background buzz of the TV isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of your cursed memories.

Or the sound of the cat whining next to your ear.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Alpine settles on your chest this time, leaving long white hairs all over your shirt and hitting you in the face with her tail. You grimace, trying not to inhale any of her fur.

“You’re in her spot.”

You don’t bother turning your aching head. “I thought her spot was over there!” you say accusingly, gesturing vaguely to the other side of the living room.

“Who told you that?” Bucky says, a bemused tone in his voice as he scoops Alpine up in his gloved hands, careful not to touch you. “Move over.”

You blink at him. You did.

You feel his expectant glare on you and sigh.

“Really, you too? We have plenty of room, you know.” You pull your knees in.

“I do,” he says, sitting down next to you and reaching underneath the cushions. “But you’re always hoggin’ the remote.”

You put your cold feet on his thigh in retaliation. Bucky tenses.

“How are you so cold, it’s like ninety degrees outside.”

“Emphasis on outside,” you shrug. “I just run cold.”

“That you do.” He switches channels, then pulls his gloves off and puts them on the table next to your rings.

You bite the inside of your cheek and roll to the floor inelegantly. Alpine meows in disdain, like a knife scratching the whole diameter of a dinner plate.

“Please tell your cat to chill, geez,” you mumble, slumping down on the other couch and stretching your legs out again with a contented sigh.

Bucky doesn’t reply.

“My dear girl,” a thickly accented voice on the TV says, “you cannot keep bumping your head against reality and saying it is not there. The evidence was definite. We can’t remove it by wishing or crying.”

“He trusted me,” a female voice answers. “I led him into a trap, I convicted him. Is that real enough for you?”

“There is no one to blame,” the first voice continues. “The case was a little deeper than you figured. This often happens. You must realize now one thing, it is over for both of you.”

“What are you watching?” you ask.

There’s a short pause before Bucky answers. “Hitchcock. Spellbound.”

You can’t help your reaction.

“Why’d you just do that?” Bucky says.

You stare at the ceiling. “Do what?”

“You flinched.”

“Did not.” You can taste blood in your mouth.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

You turn to the side and demonstratively stare at him, even though it makes your insides twist. Bucky’s face doesn’t change at all as he gazes back at you, frown deepening between his eyebrows. It’s like he’s trying to drown you with the endless blue of his eyes.

You drop your gaze and shake your head.

“What’s your point, Bucky? Not everyone likes staring at people like you do.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird. And invasive.”

“It’s invasive to look at you?”

“Yes,” you say, “if you do it like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” You sit back up again in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Bucky?”

You look at his face this time, not his eyes. It still makes your cheeks burn, because his jaw sets that way again and he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, finally, and you hide your face between your hands in what you can only hope looks like frustration. Then you realize that that’s only making your missing rings more obvious.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you snap, balling your hands into fists.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you!”

“You promised,” Bucky says coolly. “Remember?”

Your stomach plummets.

“Yes,” you say, forcing your voice to stay calm. “But I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to worry. I’ve got this.”

You feel his eyes on your back all the way to your room, and you’re not sure if you’re lying to him or to yourself, even as you slam the door behind you and look anywhere but your bed.

Your book is lying in the wrong place.

*****

“Honestly, Nat, you could’ve killed her.”

“Don’t be dramatic. She’s made of stronger stuff than that.”

There were yellow dots dancing across your vision when you opened your eyes, groaning at the bright neon lights hitting you in the face.

You were lying on the mat in the gym of the Compound and your nose had been ripped clean off; at least that was what it felt like. Judging by your red-soaked shirt, your guess wasn’t that far off, though.

“Hey,” Natasha said, kneeling down next to you. “Sorry, that must hurt like a bitch.”

“Your head is bery solid,” you replied, touching the blood still dribbling down your face. “Ow.”

“Thank you,” she said and handed you a wet towel. “Put that in your neck and lean your head back.”

“Di’ I faind?”

“You knocked yourself out, honey,” she said with a sly grin.

“It isn’t funny, Nat,” Steve shouted. You snorted, then winced in pain.

“Don’t worry,” Natasha winked. “You’re gonna be as pretty as before once you clean up. Already reset your nose while you were out.”

“Thangs.”

Surprisingly, this was the first serious injury you’d sustained in the past couple of weeks you’ve been living as a rookie Avenger; though in truth, that was mostly due to the fact that Natasha had only had you build up your stamina and agility up until today. Your first proper day in the ring was nothing short of humiliating.

“You could always go back to the moment before you decided to headbutt me,” Natasha said once the bleeding had finally stopped.

You wiped your nose carefully, taking a few breaths to clear your airways. “Sadly, that’s not how it works,” you said, letting her help you slowly come upright again. “I’m the one moving through time, so I stay exactly the same. I can help you guys avoid the punches, but I’ll still be the one receiving them.”

Cursed to stay the same, just like you’d always said.

Natasha tilted her head. “That seems like something you could work on with proper help.”

You grimaced. “I’ve tried that before. There’s no one who can help me, no one who can … fix me, or my powers.”

There was worry in her eyes, then, and you were taken aback by how genuine it seemed. It left a crack in your shell.

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said quietly.

But it was. “I mean it,” you said, your lip twitching. “You can’t tell them that I’m here. For all they know, I got dusted just like everyone else.”

She knew; it had been the one condition you’d set in exchange for your help. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

There was a prolonged pause until Natasha nodded. “All the more reason to get you proper training,” she said, getting back to her feet and helping you up. “Let’s get you some ice cream. Good for the healing.”

You smiled when both she and Steve kept worrying about you the entire way to the kitchen, even though both of them tried hard not to make it obvious. It still filled you with a strange sense of warmth that almost had you forget about the pain.

You were safe here.

Things were finally starting to look up.

chapter three

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[n0tamused]

Hello! Congrats on 1.5k! That’s so awesome! 👏

Would it be okay to request romantic Action prompt 11 “Person A and B are sparring when one of them pins the other to the floor/wall” for Mydei? Would be cute if Reader pinned Mydei and surprised him lol 😈

I’m in shambles after 3.1–

I also request you have a lovely week heheh ❤️

︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹Mydei x Reader

A/n: EYY ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING FOR MYDEI ILY, I WAS WAITING FOR A MYDEI REQUEEST UGDTZJUKJHHIFI<3 Also thank you!!! 3.1 left me in some(a lot) denial, thus I shall be taking charge of writing how Mydei's story ends <3. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this, thank you for partaking in the event and helping me celebrate this milestone! <3

Contents: Mydei x Reader, no gender specified(GN, you/yours) but written with a fem reader in mind, fluff

Words: 580

Ko-Fi |  1.5K followers event

His next swing came from the left, swift and powerful, leaving you just enough time for you to raise your arm in defense. The blow still sent you back, and Mydei did not stop his assault there. Several more blows came, left and right, above and under, some you parried and others you dodged well enough. At one point you caught sight of his face, all twisted in focus, so amusing in the moment that it made you chortle. 

“You’re growing frustrated” you noted through a huff, just before seeing an opening to repay him with your own strike. Mydeimos caught your wrist, but could not hold it for a moment longer as you jumped back out of his grasp. Swift as a snake.

“I am not” 

“Tired then” 

He scoffed at you and shook his head, the corners of his lips giving a small tug upwards, showing faintest traces of a smirk. “You can wish” He launched at you, but something caught in his step and more of his body came forward, and with that his balance as well. For a moment you thought you’d miss your chance, as not often did Mydeimos lose his balance, but you caught the moment just in time, your body going down as your foot went under his own, successfully tripping him.

Mydei went tumbling and the breath he let out sounded as if the air got kicked out of him. You wasted no time, hopping onto him and pinning him down with a gleeful expression, perhaps one too smug, yet it couldn’t be helped.

“You are done, Mydeimos” you threw at him, chest heaving and your hand clinging onto him to hold him down - no matter how much enjoyment you took from seeing his eyes widen at you in surprise, you knew better than to let victory blind you. It goes without saying that you may have had some experiences with Mydeimos when triumph was quickly followed by your failure.  “I take victory today”.

“Victory based on luck is no victory to boast about” he shot back at you, gaze narrowing in that catish way of his, fire burning in his eyes.

“You would not be able to complain about that in a real battle” you began, already seeing him roll his eyes, having heard the same words from his mentor, “if your enemy relied on chance to reign triumph over you, it means you, also, relied in part on luck to win” 

“That means - I won, fair and square” you concluded, sparing you both any further philosophical talk that usually came with such topics.

“Fair and square, you won’t be saying that once I get up off the ground-”

“Then I will not let you rise from the ground at all”

“Why, are you scared you might just fail, that your run has run out?”

You scoffed, feeling the big ball of light and fire inside your chest burn brighter at the thought that entered your mind swiftly. 

“No, in fact, it is because I rather like this sight before me. I’d like to commit it to memory”

Mydeimos gawked at you, his lips falling ajar to say something only to find sounds of protest in place of words he wanted. He felt even more frustrated when you began to giggle and laugh, your arms leaving his frame and arms where you had him pinned down - it seems your words were enough force to keep him nailed down until he recovers. 

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[m4iya]

⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚 Order up! Brown sugar milk tea, 100% sugar, 100% ice with black pearls for @moochiwoochi!

Morning Coffee Sakusa Kiyoomi (fluff, crack, mutual pining, post high school)

Every morning for the past few weeks, at nearly the exact same time, the entry bell to the cafe you worked at would ding. In would walk a tall curly headed man, ordering the same thing each time. Once in a while, you'd offer him a baked treat, and he'd accept. Not many words would be exchanged between the two of you, but as time went on, you couldn't shake the curiosity that began to bubble up inside you.

As time passed, you'd begin to anticipate his arrival as one of the first people entering the store at the beginning of your shift. You'd began to apply just a little more lipgloss before leaving the house, touching up your makeup here and there even though you'd never paid it much mind before.

You'd never seen his entire face due to the covering he always seemed to have on. Though, as he left the store, drink in hand, you sometimes saw him pull it down a little to take a sip as he pushed the door open with his foot.

Tying your apron in the backroom of the kitchen, you decided that today would be the day that you finally speak to him. But how? And what would you say to someone you'd never had a conversation with before? A couple thoughts rushed through your head as you took one last glance in the mirror, the sound of the entry bell ringing in the background. You hurriedly rushed back to the front of the cafe, standing at the register where you saw him glancing over at the pastries in the display case.

You decided to start with a simple greeting - maybe something funny too?

"Going for something else today?" You smiled.

Surprise momentarily engulfed you as he shot you an unamused side-eye before turning his attention back to the case of sweets.

'So this is how it's going to be.' You thought to yourself before revising your expression, plastering another smile onto your face.

After he was done with his intense inspection of the pastries, he placed his order which was unusually large this time, consisting of a few drinks and sweets. Who on earth would be drinking 3 coffees and an iced chocolate this early? You didn't think he would eat 2 chocolate croissants and 3 strawberry danishes on his own either. As he swiped his card across the machine to pay, you took this as another opportunity to at least try to strike up a conversation.

"Meeting up with someone?" You asked, bagging his items.

"Kind of." He replied, slotting his card into his wallet and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

Holding the bag out to him, he grabbed it from the bottom, holding the handles once you let go. The bell rang once more as he left, and you resumed your work. You shifted around the store, cleaning up coffee cups and wiping down tables when you noticed something laying atop the counter in front of the register. Someone had left their phone there - though it didn't look like it belonged to any of the older ladies who were enjoying a breakfast at the front of the cafe. You still asked just in case, and they confirmed your thoughts.

Setting the phone aside, you wondered if it might be for the man who was at the counter not too long ago. Either way, you'll probably see him again tomorrow if he forgets to retrieve it today - there was plenty of time.

During your break, you took the phone to the 'lost items' box in the back room, sliding onto one of the chairs and enjoying your lunch. After only a few bites into your sandwich, a faint vibrating sound could be heard from the direction of the box you had placed the phone in. Following the noise, you discovered the screen of the phone was lit up; somebody was ringing.

Deciding to click the answer button, you placed the phone on speaker. Maybe you could tell whoever was it was that the owner had lost his phone.

"Didn't I tell you to change my contact name?"

"How come? Whats wrong with Oomi? See, I even put a mask emoji as well..”

You heard bursts of laughter in the background as whoever was on the other side sounded like they were fighting - albeit pretty calmly. Though it didn't seem to be a very long lasting squabble, as it was soon noticed that you’d answered.

"Hello?" You spoke up first. The line fell silent, save for a few subtle voices.

"Giving girls your phone, omi-omi?" Someone sneered in the background.

"Give me that."

"Hey!"

It seemed that he took the phone from the callers hand, opting to speak directly into it instead.

"You have my phone." He bluntly spoke.

"Yeah, you left it at the cafe earlier today."

A pang of silence ran through the speaker as he seemed to have realised who you were.

"Right.." His voice trailed off, softening ever so slightly. “What time does your shift end?"

"5’ o clock." You replied.

"I'll be there before then. Just keep it on the side if you can." His voice was somewhat hushed - maybe he didn’t want the others to hear? Even though he'd only said a few words to you, he seemed somewhat easier to talk to than he had this morning.

Throughout the rest of the day, you wondered if the boys in the background of the call were the ones he had bought the sweets and drinks for. A study session? Maybe they were hanging out together. You began to realise how little you knew about him considering you'd never shared a full conversation before. Thoughts swept your mind as you began to wonder how old he was, if he was in college and what he’d be studying - heck, you didn’t even know his name. And calling him what those guys had said on the other side of the phone didn’t exactly sound like something he’d be too happy about.

You found yourself glancing at the clock every few minutes, wondering how long until another 10 minutes would pass. You’ve never worked so fast before - nor had you been so eager to clock off. You had so many questions to ask him, wondering if he’d even answer any; you let them accumulate inside your already crowded headspace.

At exactly 5:00, you rushed into the employee room to freshen up a little, washing your face and applying some perfume. You made sure not to forget the reason why he was meeting you in the first place, sliding his phone into your pocket. Taking one last glance in the mirror before hoisting your handbag over your shoulder, you left the store, standing at the front where he mentioned he’d be waiting.

Stepping outside the store, you noticed a car stopped on the side of the road, its headlights still gleaming. The drivers seat window began to lower, a familiar pair of eyes meeting yours.

“Hey!” You waved walking towards the car. He stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“Here’s your phone.” He slipped it back into his pocket, thanking you.

This wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it playing out. The plethora of questions you’d accumulated over time suddenly disappeared with him standing right in front of you.

Without a counter separating the two of you, things felt different. For one, you didn’t realise how tall he was, nor did you notice the slight frizz in his curls that seemed somewhat styled earlier in the day. The way the light of the afternoon sun lightly glossed over his skin - you simply couldn’t look away.

He cleared his throat. “Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” You replied, adjusting the strap of your handbag. “I just need to wait for the bus.”

He turned towards the door of his car, opening it. “Won’t it be late by the time you get home?”

“Kind of, but I’m used to it by now.” You shrugged.

“That doesn’t sound very safe if you ask me,” He said, slipping into the drivers seat and closing the door. “I’ll take you home.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll be safe!” Embarrassed, you waved your hands in front of you in an attempt to clear the air.

Though he didn’t exactly look like the negotiable type, as he simply stared back at you with an expression that read ‘Just get in.’

Hesitantly, you walked to the other side of the car and stepped inside, placing your handbag on your lap and pulling the seatbelt over yourself. His car seemed like it had just been driven out of a dealership - it looked completely brand new. There was also a faint smell of sandalwood and vanilla - a very pleasant smell, and it was well ventiated. Below your feet was a duffel bag which was pushed as far into the leg space as it could go - as if he was expecting someone to sit in the passenger seat.

“Well? Are you going to tell me where to drop you off?”

“Oh, right! Let me just pull it up on the maps..” Embarrassed, you dipped your head to search on your phone, almost sure you heard a small laugh from the drivers seat.

As you directed him through the streets, you shared a simple conversation, finding out that he wasn’t currently a college student, but instead a professional volleyball player; and the people on the phone from earlier? Those happened to be some of his team-mates.

“I had no idea,” You chuckled. “I don’t really watch any sports. But I’d watch you play!”

“That’d be nice.” He replied, turning the wheel into the street before yours. “Oh, i’m just down there to the right,” You pointed out. “You can just drop me off here if you like.” He turned on the indicator to take the next street. “I’m already here, might as well get you home.”

Pulling into the street, he stopped in front of the apartment complex you signalled was yours.

"You really didn't have to do all this.." One hand held a grip on your bag, the other on the passenger door. You wondered if you'd ever get the opportunity to speak to him other than just a greeting in the mornings - more than the conversation the two of you shared on this short trip to your home.

"Didn’t you find my phone?" He replied, shifting the car into 'park' and turning to face you. "Someone could've stolen it."

"You'd be able to easily afford another one though."

"Yeah - well, thats," He sighed, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "Thats not the point,"

"Does your shift end at the same time everyday?"

You nodded. "Yeah, why?"

He held his phone, tapping a few things before handing it to you. "I can take you home in that case. But I'd need to let you know when I'd be waiting outside, no?"

You paused, looking at the empty contact screen he handed you; was he expecting you to fill it in?

Taking the phone from his hand, you saved your name and typed in your number, handing it back to him.

"You've never called me by my name, you know?"

"I don't usually need to call a cafe worker by their name."

"Is that an excuse?" You teased. "Because from when I stepped foot into your car, you've never called my name - not even once."

"Um, not necessarily..?" His voice trailed off.

"It's on my name-tag. You know, the one thing hanging off my apron at work."

"I didn't see it, alright?" He sighed, exasperated. "But you don't seem to know mine either." He shot back.

"Come to think of it, I may have already known it from before." Your thoughts trailed back to the phone call from earlier.

"Really? What is it then?"

You had to control yourself from bursting out into laughter as a chuckle escaped you alongisde your words. "Is it.. Omi? Omi-omi?"

"He’s so going to regret that."

[writeriguess]

Joel Miller x female reader where reader is almost bit by one of the infected when she saves him and Joel is furious at her for endangering herself? Please!!

Close Calls

The moment the infected lunged, you knew you had two choices: act or watch Joel die.

Your body moved before your mind could second-guess it. The clicker had the upper hand, pinning Joel against the crumbling brick wall of the abandoned gas station. He was struggling, knife buried in its chest, but it wasn’t enough—it never was with those things.

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

You grabbed the first weapon you could find—your own knife—and drove it deep into the base of the creature’s skull, twisting with all the force you had. The clicker went rigid, then collapsed like dead weight, taking you down with it.

The world tilted.

Pain exploded along your forearm where the clicker’s decaying jaw scraped you in its final thrashes. A breath hitched in your throat.

Oh, shit.

Strong hands yanked you up before you could even process it. You barely had a second to breathe before Joel’s voice cut through the adrenaline-charged silence like a blade.

"What the hell was that?"

His hands clamped onto your shoulders, hard, shaking you once before he wrenched you closer. His eyes were wildfire, burning with something furious and terrified all at once.

"You—you don’t ever do that again, you hear me?" His voice was rough, like he’d swallowed glass.

Your heart was still racing, body still buzzing, and now Joel—furious, frantic Joel—was in your space, gripping you, looking at you like you had done something unforgivable.

"I saved your life," you bit out.

"You damn near lost yours in the process!" His grip tightened, fingers pressing into the fabric of your jacket, his body coiled so tight you thought he might shake apart. "You don't throw yourself in front of a clicker for me. Ever."

His voice was sharp, but beneath it—beneath the rage, the fear—you heard something else.

Panic.

Joel Miller, who had survived everything this world had thrown at him, was panicked.

You swallowed. "Joel—"

"Let me see." His hands were on you again, rough but careful, pushing back your sleeve before you could protest. His fingers traced over the scrape, and his breath hitched.

For a long moment, he just stared.

You could see the war behind his eyes—the fear of what could have been, of what almost happened. His jaw clenched so tight you thought he might break his teeth.

"I’m fine," you whispered.

His fingers flexed against your arm, his whole body still thrumming with tension. "I can’t—" He exhaled sharply, voice breaking just a little. "Don’t scare me like that again."

You reached for his wrist, squeezing gently. His pulse was hammering.

"I won’t," you murmured. "But I’m not just gonna stand by and let you die either."

Joel let out a rough, uneven breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours for the briefest moment before he pulled away.

"Goddamn stubborn woman," he muttered.

But his hands were still on you, still holding on, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

[behindthesoul]

how do you think bathing with bi han would be?

Bathing with Bi-Han

Masterlist || not proofread || anon I’m sorry this is later

Baths with Bi-Han don’t often last as long as you’d like them to. He’s minimalist, almost to a fault; wash, rinse, done. You have to tell him to sit and relax with you, which he usually does by watching you complete your bath and skincare routine. If your routine is elaborate, he watches you silently.

“Is that truly necessary?”

He is not the biggest fan of clutter. If you are less organized than he is, he’ll often nudge your products to the side, making some room for himself. He never says anything about it – until something topples over. Then you’ll get a quiet, “too much nonsense.”

Bi-Han almost carries his tension like it’s his most prized possession. When you get him to relax in the bath with you, you can easily see his muscles relax. The first time you massaged his shoulders, he let out a deep, appreciative sigh. This might be his favorite part of bathing with you.

After particularly rough days, Bi-Han will sit in the bath for ages with a glass of wine in his hand. It’s his way of avoiding the outside world while he clears his mind. You are the only person allowed to be around him during these days. He doesn’t want to speak, he doesn’t even want to think. He just wants your hand in his while he pretends you two are the only people in Earthrealm.

Speaking of hands – Bi-Han’s hands are scarred and calloused from years of kombat, yet his touch is surprisingly gentle. If you have a hard time reaching a certain spot on your back, he’s already moving to take the task over for you, scrubbing your back clean, though touching you as if you’re made of glass.

After bathing, Bi-Han dries himself off rather quickly (minus his hair). If he notices you’re a bit cold after getting out of the warm bath, he’ll toss his towel over your head without a word. If you playfully grumble, he just shrugs and hides a smirk.

He has long, thick hair and dislikes how long it takes to dry after a bath. He used to wring it out with a bit too much force, until you stepped in and told him to stop being so rough with himself. You start to dry it for him, and it becomes your standard because you dry his hair faster than he does (or so he claims).

-

The bathwater ripples as you sink against Bi-Han’s chest, his cool body contrasting the warm water. His arms make their way around your waist, pressing you tighter against him. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut; a rare moment where he is just Bi-Han, your Bi-Han. Not Grandmaster.

You reach up to tangle your fingers in his damp hair, combing through the locks and twirling them around your fingers. He exhales, slow and steady, his body relaxing just a bit more. His hands gently squeeze your skin in response to your movements.

“You are making me soft,” he murmurs, the quietist you’ve ever heard him speak.

A small smile makes its way to your face. “Good.”

He doesn’t respond, but you hear him sigh again, savoring the moment before you have to face the world again.

[rositaslabyrinth]

Call it what you want - angel grace vial!reader

How she gets her name ⭑.ᐟ

She wasn’t supposed to be human, and she wasn’t supposed to need a name—but Dean gives her one anyway.

Warnings : none, this just isn’t bunker accurate so pretend that the bunker has a living room !!

Word count ; 1,466

You didn’t know what to do with your hands.

That was a problem you’d discovered quickly about being human��there were too many little, insignificant things to keep track of. Breathing. Blinking. Hands.

You kept fidgeting with the sleeves of the hoodie Sam had given you, pulling at the fabric like it might make you feel more settled in your skin. It didn’t.

Dean was pacing. He had been ever since they sat you down at the Bunker’s map table to figure out what the hell to do with you.

“Alright, let’s go over this again,” Dean said, rubbing a hand over his face before gesturing vaguely at you. “You’re… what, exactly? A test tube bottle?”

You flinched slightly. Not at the words themselves, but at the sharp frustration laced into his voice. You weren’t sure what to do with emotions—not yours, not his. It was all too much, too close.

Sam shot Dean a look. “Dean—”

“What? We still don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Dean shot back. “We can’t just keep calling her—” He gestured at you, then frowned. “See? That’s the problem. We don’t even know what the hell to call you.”

Sam sighed, glancing at you. “Do you… have a name?” You hesitated. “I wasn’t given one.” Sam frowned. “Well, do you want one?”

Another pause. You curled your fingers into the sleeves of the hoodie, thinking. A name. It felt too solid, too permanent for something like you. Names were for people. You weren’t even sure you were real yet.

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly. Dean exhaled sharply. “Great. That makes this easier.”

You shrank a little, suddenly feeling too small under his gaze. You didn’t understand what you were supposed to do with all of this—conversations, questions, the expectation of being something.

Dean, still pacing, waved a hand in your direction. “Alright, look, we’re not gonna keep calling you ‘Grace Vial’ like you’re some kind of freaking science experiment. So, until we figure something else out…”

He paused for half a second, then shrugged. “V. We’ll call you V.” Silence.

You blinked at him. Sam blinked at him. Dean stared back at both of you like he didn’t see what the big deal was. “…V?” Sam repeated, unimpressed.

“Yeah, V,” Dean said, crossing his arms. “Short. Simple. Better than ‘Angel Test Tube.’”

You tilted your head slightly. V. It was nothing—just a letter. But it was yours, now.

It settled over you strangely. Not heavy, not suffocating—just… there.

V.

You looked up at Dean, unsure why, but he was already looking away, like he didn’t want to acknowledge that he’d done something weirdly significant.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Real creative, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “Hey, she didn’t have any suggestions. You want me to go with something like Celestianna or whatever the hell?”

You blinked again. “…I think I like V.”

Dean paused, glancing at you for a moment before quickly looking away again. “Yeah, well. Don’t get too attached. We’re still figuring out what to do with you.”

But the thing was—you already were attached. Because now, you weren’t just something broken. You were V.

Dean leaned back in his chair with a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, now that we’ve got the whole name situation figured out, time to get back to the actual problem.”

Sam was already flipping open one of the lore books they’d pulled from the library. “Yeah, we need to figure out what V is and how she became human. There’s gotta be something in the records about a Grace turning into a person.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, because everything in this world makes sense.”

V shrank slightly, still curled up in the hoodie Sam had given her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about being the subject of a research session, but she understood why it was necessary. She didn’t understand herself, either.

Sam pushed up from his chair, already in full research mode. “I’ll start in the library. There’s gotta be something in the Men of Letters archives.”

Dean groaned. “Fantastic. So, what, you’re gonna be locked in there all night?”

Sam ignored him. “It’s gonna take a while, so you two just—” He waved a vague hand between Dean and V, like they were kids he was leaving alone for the first time. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Knock yourself out, nerd.” Sam gave him an unimpressed look before heading toward the library.

Which left just you and Dean. Alone. In the suddenly too-quiet War Room.

Dean shifted, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Well. That leaves us with not a damn thing to do.”

You hesitated before asking, “What do you normally do?” Dean raised a brow. “What, when Sam’s off burying himself in books?”

You nodded.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair again. “TV. Beer. Occasional existential crisis.”

You frowned. “TV?” Dean blinked at you. “Oh, you’re serious.” You just stared back, waiting.

Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Right. You don’t know what TV is.” He pushed himself up, stretching. “Okay, well, buckle up, because this is important.”

You followed as he led the way out of the War Room and into the Bunker’s main living area. He grabbed the remote and turned on the massive TV, flipping through channels like it was second nature.

“So, here’s the deal,” he said, eyes still on the screen. “TV is basically human culture 101. If you wanna blend in, you gotta know the classics.”

You settled onto the couch next to him, watching the screen flicker. “What are the classics?”

Dean smirked, then selected something from the menu.

An episode of some old show flickered onto the screen.

He pointed at it. “This? This is Star Wars. Mandatory viewing. Pay attention.”

You did. You sat perfectly still, hands in your lap, studying the screen with an intensity Dean found slightly unnerving.

He wasn’t sure why, but it was kind of… funny?

“You, uh… you don’t have to watch it like it’s some ancient prophecy,” he muttered, grabbing a beer from the side table.

You glanced at him, confused. “I thought you said it was important.” Dean paused, then snorted. “Okay, yeah, but not that important. You’re allowed to relax.”

You frowned. Relaxing. Another thing you weren’t sure how to do.

Dean sighed and took a swig of his beer. “Alright, look. Let’s try this.” He reached over and grabbed the remote, flipping through more channels. “Instead of making you memorize pop culture like a test, let’s just—”

He stopped on a random movie. It looked… strange. The people on the screen were moving quickly, their voices louder, exaggerated.

“What’s this?” you asked. Dean glanced at the title. “Tommy Boy. Classic. It’s stupid, but in a good way.” You tilted your head. “Stupid in a good way?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah. Trust me.” So, you watched.

At first, you were still too tense, like you were waiting for something important to happen. But then the man on screen tripped over himself, knocking over an entire display of auto parts, sending everything crashing to the floor.

And Dean laughed. A real, genuine, easy laugh.

You glanced at him, startled. It was the most uncomplicated sound you’d heard since waking up in this body.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, you turned back to the screen. The man did something else—bumped his head, yelled dramatically. Dean laughed again.

And something strange happened. Your lips twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, not yet, but it was something.

Dean caught it. He didn’t say anything—he just smirked a little and took another sip of his beer.

Yeah. Maybe this wasn’t the worst way to spend an evening.

꩜

Sam frowned at the book in front of him, flipping through the pages. His eyes skimmed over every mention of Grace, vessels, celestial energy—anything that could explain what V was.

So far? Nothing.

With a sigh, he pushed back from the table, rubbing his temples. Then, faintly, from the living room—Laughter.

Sam frowned. He stood, making his way toward the noise. Peering into the living room, he stopped in his tracks.

Dean was slouched on the couch, looking completely at ease. Beer in hand, legs stretched out, smirking at the TV.

And next to him, curled up in an oversized hoodie, eyes locked on the screen—V.

Sam blinked. They weren’t talking. They weren’t doing anything important. Just watching a dumb movie together.

And V—who had spent not even the last 24 hours looking completely lost—actually looked… comfortable.

Dean must’ve caught Sam staring, because he turned, raising a brow. “What?”

Sam just shook his head, huffing out a small breath. “Nothing.”

He turned and went back to the library. He still had no idea what V was. But whatever it was? At least she wasn’t alone.

Note : and V has her nickname !! (Obviously Dean gave it to her because duh) I think it’s super cute hopefully you guys do too!! You can also send in any headcanons and whatnot you have for her if you’d like :)) I literally can’t stop writing for her I have so much cute things lined up like clothes shopping that may or may not include Charlie (not spn timeline accurate idrc) ANYWAYS I’m rambling so let me know what you think of her so far !!!

Tags : @daylighted , @wchswift , @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @couturewinx

To be tagged in any future works you can check out here !!

[loredrinker]

Solas - seeing Lavellan for the first time after 10 years.

I’m pretty certain this is from my sister. 💜

For so very long, Solas has been consumed by a sunk cost fallacy. Every loss, every sacrifice, every life taken has reinforced this belief, making it harder for him to turn back. He has buried his emotions, hardened himself, and tried to become the remorseless force he believes he must be. The villain. 

And then... 

He hears that voice. 

His eyes find her face. 

He does not think - only feels. 

There is a pain that surges through his chest, the ache is sharp and hammers the centre of his rib cage so hard that he might have staggered if his body were not locked in place, frozen, stunned. 

She is here. 

His breath catches. He had forced her from his mind - believed this moment could never exist. 

The moment he sees her his carefully constructed detachment starts to falter. This is the woman he loves, the one who made him question his path before. He knows she is here to try again to help save the world he is prepared to destroy. 

But this time, his path is nearly complete. He has sacrificed too much, told himself for too long that turning back would make all his suffering meaningless. He cannot let himself waver.  

And yet...she stands before him, real and vivid in the chaos of all he has wrought. 

And all the justifications he has clung to - the walls he has built, the distance he has enforced - begin to tremble... 

He notices suddenly, the signature of time that has passed. He registers her face. She has changed. There is something in the way she stands, in the shape of her face, in the set of her shoulders. She is older. It is a stark reminder of the life he has denied himself, the warmth he turned away from. She is living proof of what he could have had if he had chosen love over destruction. And now she is here, standing before him, the past he has tried to bury made flesh. 

The guilt, the grief - he forces them back, shoving them down as he has done for centuries. He cannot afford to feel them.

And now he notices her eyes, there is something in her gaze. He does not know what he expected - fury, sorrow, betrayal - but this, this is worse. 

She still sees him. She still sees Solas.  

It is unbearable. 

With a voice he barely recognizes as his own, he whispers – partly in shock, partly in shame.

"Vhenan." 

________________________

By the time Solas reaches the end of Veilguard, he is a broken man. He has been beaten down, physically, emotionally and spiritually. He has fought a god’s dragon, poured everything he had into reaching this moment. Every mistake, every regret, every act of violence, every loss presses down on him – ruining him even further. 

This is not how he imagined his triumph. He thought the weight of his sins would be eclipsed by the grandeur of what he restored. But instead, he is faced with the one thing he never allowed himself to consider: failure. Mythal's words break the final thread of his justification. 

And then, Lavellan kneels before him. 

She tells him that, whatever comes next, it will not be terrible if they are together. 

Together. 

He is in pain, exhausted, defeated, but in her presence, he is no longer alone. He does not deny her this time - her choice - he would never ask this of her, but neither will he turn away from this grace. He has chosen atonement. He will spend eternity to make amends for what he has done. But here, now, in the softening of his gaze, in the way he does not pull away from her touch, he makes another choice. 

He chooses her. He chooses to trust her to bear this with him.

He accepts his heart back, returned by the one he gave it to.