#so it counts as a 90s song okay

[compacflt]

Do you have any opinions on what kind of music mav and ice like? I’m just curious as someone who has motorcycle riding 80s navy dad whose favorite two artists were Madonna and Bruce Springsteen if you think the answer would surprise us? Or if they’d be as predictable as always

Yeah nothing crazy. kinda predictable i guess. classic rock, country rock, classic blues, nostalgic 60s folk, contemporary stuff when it comes on the radio and isn’t unlistenable by their middle-aged-white-man standards.

+ of course ice’s somewhat gay Fleetwood Mac entanglement

[puppys-rhythm-heaven]

i like how i know that the music is helpful in rhythm heaven (since y'know, it's a rhythm game) but i just. don't rely on it 90% of the time. it's just not helpful for me in 90% of games n the only game's it's even helpful in the whole time are shoot-'em-up, tambourine and working dough-

[s-4pphics]

the party. II (sevika + vi + abby)

SYNOPSIS: reddit: a place for thought-dumping and being horny WORD COUNT: 6.5K WARNINGS: sevika, vi, and abby play rugby(kinda minor plot tbh), oc is a crazy redditor and wears skirts, STALKING, 90% SMUT MDNI(dubcon + VOYEURISM!! + degradation + munching + mult orgasms + dirty talk + scissoring + fingering) recreational drug use/drinking, some cringe A/N: fuck it everybody finna be in this.... heyyyy guys another collab w lottie bc duh ART BY LOTTIE LOT I LOVE U DEAR @trackinglessons … also callback to scumbag!abby missing her bad a lil taglist :) @marvelwomenarehot0 @falrydyke @alittlextrahoney @professionalgirlk1ss4r

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       3mi

are college parties always this wild??

[f21] omg hey guys i’ve been MIA… 

ngl i’ve been getting my shit rocked for the past 12 hours i see why ppl go on my strange addiction as therapy… i need to be publically humiliated so i can stop thinking ab sex. thats real conversion therapy…. anywho im outside the frat rn and uh it look lit n whatever but some dude jumped outta window from the 3rd floor n he might be dead idk i don’t have my glasses on lol he’s just laying there fr unbreathing …. he’s cute tho #FAKEGAY the line to frats r so long im literally freezing n im not near the entrance pneumonia incoming 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       14mi

finally inside…. i feel like im sneaking out for the first time😭😭 why do i feel so guilty like wtf is this a byproduct of being loved conditionally by family or sum idk whatever WE TURNING UPPPP 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       3mi

my girl walkedd up behind m e 2 kiss my che eeek and my other gi dl spanked me in front of every1…… i need to be spay

Quite familiar, squeezing hands land on your hips and your phone hits the sticky fucking floor and some bitch with stiletto pumps steps on your gahtdamn phone who the fuck wears —

“Where ya been?” The scent of Crown Royal nearly sends you into a frenzy — alfuckingmost, but your phone screen is still glowing bright and orange with your half-assed cry for help Vi is right fucking behind you

“Uhhh… oh y’know, explorin’, whatevs.” You try to kick your phone closer, but you just end up slipping on whatever substance dirties the floors. Your girlfriend catches you, though, as always — hollers, okay? Need some water? 

And instantly, you’re horny. You needa nut. You politely decline the drink. 

“Come smoke with us...” She proposes. 

The bodies that surround you seem to move in slow-mo. Us who? 90% of the soccer, football, and swimming teams are here getting gyrated on but, oh, wait… 

Sevika’s not in here… Or is Don Julio obscuring your vision? Is Don Julio a real person? A commander of the Crusades; A possible descendant of Julius Caesar. Hm…

Vi’s still waiting on your response. You use her expectancy as an excuse to bend over and grab your phone and you’re instantly disgusted. Your case clings to your fingers like glue. Instead of vomiting up all the poisonous liquids in your system, you accept it as a sign from the universe. Stop putting your fucking phone down! You clench your device in your hands. Shoulda brought a fucking purse. 

“YEAH!” You turn to scream to Vi… right when the fake ass DJ decides to skip to the next song. A large number of people glance at you in confusion. At least no one told you to shut the fuck up! 

Vi’s not embarrassed in the slightest. She laughs, in fact. She’s so endeared by you. Times like this are when you start feeling a little guilty for all the bullshit you’ve done. Just a smidge though. Still gotta get your rocks off! 

“Yeah?” She cheeses against your shoulder. 

“Yup!” 

… What are you agreeing to, again? Vi’s a love witch: she forces your train of thought into obscurity with her beauty. Don Julio should not be tampered with any longer! Electricity travels up your arm when her hand circles around yours to guide you out and onto the patio, through the glass door and yeah, they’re blazing out here. It’s loud as fuck. 

“SEV!” 

You follow the sonic of Vi’s shout and your legs forget their function when you see your location. 

Oh fuck. Wow. Okay fuck fuck holy fucking shit! 

Very large tall big bulky muscular women overtake your view. The whole fucking rugby team is out here puff-puff-passing; Nothing but tatted arms and girthy biceps made for hunting teeth and legs legs legs everywhere. Did Don Julio slice your throat in the name of justice or whatever the fuck your high school history teacher tried to lie to you about and sent you to heaven? Dyke heaven? 

28 eyes lock onto your cowering form, directly behind an unsuspecting Vi who waves, very lighthearted, very demure: meanwhile, war rages within you. The war of hormones and fertility and whore-ism—

“Hiiiiii—“

Vi’s so cute with her pink cheeks and slowly fading black streaked hair. Her pink is coming through, for sure! You should ask her if it’s natural. Seems to be so, truly, look at her roots! Barely even fried… 

Anything to distract you from the questioning looks being thrown your way from very attractive women. All 14 of them await your introduction and you’re really wishing Don Julio never spared your soul— 

“Who’s that?” 

A girl with freckles — lazily kicked back with a heavily tatted arm and beanie points at you, unsmiling. No one’s smiling, actually. You shrivel up and die right there. You’re only a shell now. Soulless. Your spirit’s flying around in search of a new muscular thigh to ride on. You’re forced to hold in a dreamy sigh at the memory: on your bed, both your thighs locked around Sevika’s one while Vi guided your hips from behind. 

“Don’t be rude! This is—“

Your eyes find Sevika’s while Vi fills in for you. Tinted red and trapped in delirium, but still Sev; her pupils scale all the way down your bare legs. Why does she look so good right now? Fuck your life! 

There’s a big ass bong in her heavily ringed hands. What’s up with her and compression shirts? It’s December for fucks sake! Is she not cold? You sure hope not because she looks mighty fucking good holy fuck— 

Find a distraction so you don’t hyperfixate on the invitation she’s so clearly throwing your way! Her lap is calling again, oh God, find something else quick quick quick! 

“—And this is Abby!” 

Oh. 

Distraction detected. Abby… Abigail Anderson! A complete and utter virginity-obsessed train wreck, but a hot one! Campus raves about her like they’re paid to do so; Everyone still gossips about what she did to that soccer player a few semesters back: took her virginity and ghosted her… and the streak continued until one of her bed posts smashed that same soccer player for revenge. Messy, messy. Sick work on everyone’s part. You love it!

Abby woulda really liked you if she’d got to you sooner. Vi and Sev touched you first. You’re probably all used up in her eyes. She’s gross for thinking like that. 

… Is it bad to say you’re kinda digging that? Just a tad! She looks so sweet and cozy where she sits on the lounge chair in a damn pink cashmere sweater! Who wears sweaters to a fucking rager! 

Abby stares at your legs with the same intensity as Sevika, “Nice to meet yo—“

“I’M A LESBIAN!” You shout. 

And the crowd goes silent. Bullet to the brain. Fuck Don Juilio! Sevika smiles, though. Abby laughs a little. “We all are, baby! Welcome to the winning team!” 

“HOOPLAH!” You exclaim, much louder this time. 

“… YEAH!” “WOO?” A few of their teammates whom you need so desperately attempt to support. Confused laughter explodes all around, and for the first time in your life, it’s not at you, but with you… you think! Just like that, their entire team relaxes in your presence… Don’t they? 

You love lesbianism! 

—

r/AskReddit

u/artkiller       22s

um… hey yall. one of my huzz keeps looking at me like she wants to get me pregnant but im sitting next to her friend… idk i think they’re friends they keep giving each other dirty looks… my hu keeps glaring at her whenever she touches or talks to me directly…. or am i tripping idk chile i might be contact high. maybe it’s bc she’s blonde idk i think ppl hate blondes irl 

anyway my sunshine is so cute when she’s drunk she’s like a big teddy bear…. i think. not gonna talk her punching some guy in the face earlier men deserve it. #MISANDRY

—

Vi’s eyes are on Sevika, but Sevika’s eyes are on Abby who has gotten very close to you on that couch, and her gaze is not inviting. 

No one would describe Sev as possessive. She’s the complete opposite; very free-spirited, go-with-the-wind-of-her-vape kinda energy. Hooking up with people that don’t dangle off her hip is one of her favorite pass-times. She’s okay with you being around, tagging along due to her phone never being blown with messages asking if she’s coming to pick you up for the party, or demanding to see her again, or begging for flowers, and she was thankful. You showed up to the party alone, got drunk alone, danced alone until both her and Vi searched to ensure you made it safely. You’re charming… in a weird way. 

Sevika finds it alarming how comfortable she’s become around you. She’ll admit it’s outta character — she’s not a people person, only clinging to those who’ve read and understood her deeply, and even then, it took ages to open up. She can’t help it, your eccentricity hoards space by force — you have your own little nerdy way of life but she likes that. Thinks it’s hot how little you care about being perceived… In some cases. There are moments where she can’t pinpoint where your mind wanders, and one of them is right fucking now. 

You’re pretty chill for the most part, but she knows her teammate isn’t, so why the fuck are the two so damn close? 

Abby’s naturally overbearing — your polar opposite, but you’re snuggled up like two peas in a pod: she’s all in your space, complimenting you, caressing your shoulder with care and ease because you’re allowing her to. Sevika’s track record isn’t the best — terrible, she’ll admit, but Abby’s could override the entire team’s history combined. She’s manipulative like that; lures people in with the scent of cherry blossoms and a smile that shines like crystals before devouring, staining her fangs in their blood. 

The two of them drifted apart some time ago, but it seems they’re the only ones aware of their covert friction. They challenge each other in silence on the field, in front of their team, even in front of Violet; Coach pinned it as petty jealousy of one another initially, but they’d both rather be shot dead than admit that. 

The scene plays out in front of a spectating but frazzled Vi. She adores both of her friends and loathes their disdain for each other, but when you put two domineering personalities together… this is what you get, she supposes. Their falling out was never grasped by her; one second they’re fine, the next they’re not, like an old, married couple. Sevika and Abby are usually able to keep their secret animosity under wraps so their coach refrains from questioning, but Coach isn’t here. Just bud and liquor and you. How could someone with so little understanding of human nature have this much control? She’s got no option but to respect it — what power you have. 

Abby’s eyes move in an instigating triangle; from you, to Vi, to disgustingly smug at Sevika, then back to you. What the hell is she playing at? Vi catches Sevika’s gaze for a blip, and Vi, with a silent plea, shakes her head no. 

Please don’t start. Please don’t just leave them be, she’s fine—

But her eyes shut in defeat when Sevika rises from her lone spot, jaw cinched tight when she approaches the two of you.  

“HEY-O, Amazonian lesbo!” You sing-song between chattering teeth and jumpy legs. Sevika can’t stop the smile that puffs her cheeks. Poor thing, you must be freezing. 

“Captain.” Abby greets with an arched brow and a tilt of her head while she pets the back of your neck. Incredibly mocking, and Sevika’s instantly annoyed. 

“‘Sup.” She greets short and stiff before redirecting back onto you, “Cold, babe?” 

“I’m freezing!” Sevika extends a hand, and you accept her warmth graciously, already being pulled from your seat, “Where the fucks the food!” 

“No food, hon. Vi has Ritz. Go eat.” 

“More like… Vi has the shitz!” You expel through wheezed laughter. Abby snorts from behind. 

“HEY WHAT THE FUCK NO I DON’T— “

You laugh all the way over to Vi, leaving Abby and Sevika to mentally strangle each other in silence. Abby kicks her feet on the small table in front of her, arms extended on the back of the couch. 

“She yours?” The blonde jerks her head in your direction, shoveling crackers down your throat while Vi rubs your back and observes them with caution. Abby sends her the toothiest grin. “Never seen you so in love. It's cute.” 

“I’m not fucking in love, I just met her,” Sevika attempts causality, shoulders raising in nonchalance with her hands shoved in her pockets. 

“So what’s the fuckin’ issue, babe?” 

Sevika hisses, “You as usual. Leave her the fuck alone.” 

“Or what." Abby smiles, and Sevika’s tempted to beat her face in, but she refrains; Vi will hate her til further notice. She throws her one last threatening glance before leaving Abby to obnoxiously laugh alone. When Sevika reaches you, she removes her jacket and wraps you in it. 

She bites down a laugh when you shove your nose in the sleeve and sniff. She guides you inside, Vi trailing close behind. 

—

“You seriously took a shit at a party?” You mock while you untie your shoes. 

“Shut the fuck up, no I didn’t,” Vi shuts — and locks oooolala — some random pedestrian’s bedroom door before leaning back against it with folded arms. The walk upstairs was hectic; if Sevika wasn’t there to lead you all the way up the stairs, you woulda been trampled. The later it gets, the wilder the party becomes and to be honest, it’s scary down there. Too many people throwing up and trying to crowd surf!

“Rate your first party, babe. You look like you had fun.” 

You fall onto the large, unmade mattress. You really hope cum doesn’t stick to your dress because don’t people fuck at parties? Or was that another movie myth? “I did… But I couldn’t find anywhere to pee and I think somebody was grilling hotdogs on the pool table—“

Your rambling diverts your attention, and Vi’s glad for it. Sevika’s seething from where she sits on the rolling chair across the room, pins Vi where she stands with scalding pupils. Sevika’s infuriating to deal with when she’s like this; faded and bothersome and jealous. 

“—Yeah, I dunno, very fun though, despite the death.” You conclude, and their staring contest breaks for a second. 

“THE WHAT—“ “HUH—“

“Yeah, crazy, I dunno if the cops were called or what but… yeah… OH, and I made a new friend!” 

Vi stiffens when Sevika grills lowly, “Oh, did ya? Who?” 

“Abby Anderson! Who'da thunk, right! She’s so nice and—“

“Abby, huh?” Sevika interrupts, eyes locked on an excited you. Vi silently begs you to shut up. 

You nod with enthusiasm, “Yeah! Y’know those rumors or whatever don’t do her justice, she’s funny as fuck! Not mean at all!”

Sevika scoffs silently. Pulls her vape out her sports bra. Hits it with an attitude unbeknownst to you. You’re really trying not to salivate. “That’s not your friend… you know that, right?” 

You glance at Vi in confusion, but she stares at the floor with a tapping foot, “What do you mean?” 

She finally sighs. Here we fucking go. 

“Exactly what I said.” 

“… m’really fucking confused, right now. Why don’t you think we’re friends —“

“Because you’re not.” Sevika finally snaps, and you wince. She watches you stammer with blades for eyes. Is she really mad at you right now? “She’s not your fucking friend. You’re getting too fuckin’ comfortable.”

“I dunno if we’re friends either, if we bein’ real,” She gestures between the two of you, and your entire rib cage shatters from the pulses in your chest. Water builds in your ducts. “We’re… what d’ya mean we’re not friends?” Your throat dries around tears that may or may not flow depending on her answer. 

She huffs, “I don’t think friends do what we do, baby. That’d be pretty fucked up, wouldn’t it?” 

She’s playing with you. She has to be! You’ve grown so close in the past… 14 hours! Your sheets are proof of your inseparable bond! Sevika likes you just as much as you love Vi! She does she does they both do!

“I— I’m…”

“You’re what.”

“Sev, ease up, c’mon…” Vi interjects quietly, stares in displeasure. Defends you like a knight, and your tears finally fall. From overstimulation, from sadness, from gratitude? You don’t know but it’s too much. You wipe your face and salt soaks your wrist. 

Sevika finally looks at you, still upset, “Stop crying.” 

“I’m not crying, my eyes are peeing.”

“Jesus fucking—

Vi huffs pitifully before ushering to stand in between your legs and thumb to at your wet cheeks, every glide from her rings freezing your tears in place. Every cell in your body is prepared to confess their devotion to her. 

“Relax,” She hushes before her tone drops to a whisper, “She’s being fucking stupid right now, ignore her.”

“Shut up.” 

Vi ignores Sevika and pecks your nose before both your cheeks, and your heart explodes into some warm, gooey substance. Feels like slime. Pink, glittery slime. She plants two extra smooches on your forehead and chin just to be safe, and your smile stretches for miles in result. A fat one gets smacked onto your lips before they rest by your ear. The sludge in your chest instantly burns red hot and thin. 

“Let’s cheer her up.” She whispers so lowly you can hardly hear. 

“What’re we gonna do?” You say louder and Sevika snickers at your failed secrecy. Maybe she’s not upset anymore? 

“Think you can take dick?” She purrs on your throat. 

“Like… like, whatchu mean? Take a dick where—“

“The fuck are y’all talkin’ about?” Sevika husks around one last puff before laying her robotic spliff on the desk. 

Vi’s head whips to face Sevika, “I’m settin’ us up. Say thank you, Violet.”

“Fuck you, Violet.” Sevika sasses.

“You might if ya fuckin’ behave.” 

“Can I watch?” You snort ecstatically. 

2 pairs of blank stares are thrown your way. You cough awkwardly, “Uh, so about this dick thing—“

Vi rubs the bridge of your tickling nose with a comforting finger, “I wanna see how much you can take if you’re down.”

“I can take a lot mentally, so I’m sure the same translates physically.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Sevika wisps snarkily. 

… That hurt a little. All you dream about is taking strap! What happened to following your dreams? How could they ever question your aspirations? You look past Vi, right at Sevika.

You want her to like you again! You like being liked! If this is what it takes, then so be it! You’re never drinking again after tonight, so you might as well use your courage for good! You don’t even know what you’re saying but Sevika’s just as surprised as Vi… Maybe it’s working? You can’t really tell. 

“You can obliterate my, uh… um… my vagina walls as an apology… or something like that. Sorry for talking to Abby. I promise I didn’t think anything of it. I—ACHOO— sorry… I’ll take your dick, Sev. In my throat if ya wanna, or whatever. Coochie…” You shrug in suggestion, “Uhh, yeah. Do you accept my apology?”

Silence sets in the small space before Sevika explodes into laughter. Vi laughs so hard she falls face first on the bed, and you do stare at her ass. She’s wearing cargos! You sneeze again. 

Sevika wipes her eye, “Can I get that in writing?” 

“Write in this pussy… and whatnot?” 

“Make sure to say whatnot when you cum on me.” 

“Oh wow, okay, sure.” Whatever gets her going!

“Take that dress off. ‘S got Abby germs.” 

You smile… and sneeze. 

—

Life is great. Wow. Bless up for sure. You and Vi’s cooters are inches apart. You’re naked, she’s naked, and Sevika isn’t but she’s watching very closely from where she kneels at the edge of the bed and your thighs tremble from anxiety!

Your girlfriend’s fucking perfect; so scarred and strong and tatted and built. When you shakily peeled her tank off, almost-healed teeth marks rested in between her tits and trailed all the way down to her hip bones. Ouchie… You wanna do that to her!

Sex in porn can only train so much before you’re forced to get out and smash on your own. You’re a pro watcher, but in real life… You’re slacking, let’s say that, but neither Sev or Vi have made you feel bad about your clumsiness. You haven’t had the privilege to touch either of them due to their determination to teach; experiment on you for their own research, study you, but you hope to change that soon. Vi touches you like you’re married, and you wanna do the same; you don’t think she’s in love with you yet but she also could be. Her hands would be nowhere near the porn industry. They’re too delicate, not demanding or crude or evil — you’ve seen some crazy shit on the web, good heavens. Forever traumatized. 

Her hands are tender where they stroke your chest. She can probably feel your heart beating in her palms. Right through your titty meat, how embarrassing. 

Then she starts giggling like an angel call the fucking ambulance before you go into cardiac. 

“You seeing ghosts?” She coos. 

“Nope, just God.”

“I didn’t even do anything.” 

“Don’t have to. I’m dead already. Thanks, uhh, internet.” 

“Oh yeah? You’re dead?” 

“… Yup.” Your voice drops a heavy amount when she takes your limp hands in hers. She extends them up her torso until they rest over her breasts, pressing your hands down so you can squeeze. Aneurysm incoming it’s hitting in your brain—

“How’s that feel, Casper?” 

“… Oh, gee wiz!” You squeal. 

Vi cackles with her head thrown back, “You’re so fucking cute, I’m gonna bite you!” You laugh with her even though you’re on the brink of death for the 40th time tonight — someone save you, you’re begging! 

“I like how your hands feel.” 

“I like how your tits feel.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yup.” 

“Yup,” She snickers and leans down so your titties smash together, “Gimme a kiss.” 

Your lips pucker playfully, and she pecks them. Licks them a little and you grin. “I can’t wait to stretch you out,” Her voice melts in your ears and you shudder beneath her, “Gotta make sure you’re ready.” 

“Be honest,” you whisper, embarrassed, “Is it gonna hurt?” 

“You want it to?” 

Your eyes meet the wall, “… No comment…”

Sevika chuckles while Vi comforts, “You’ll be fine, baby. We gotchu, okay? We’ll take it easy and go from there.” 

“A-Are we about to scissor?” 

“Uh huh, you excited?” 

“Yes,” you groan. 

Sevika caresses your sweaty forehead and your heart soars so high that it splatters on the ceiling like a gunshot wound, “You wet enough? Need some head first?” 

“M’okay… wanna feel…” 

“Then ask her nicely,” Sevika nods towards a smirking Vi. Her head tilts, awaiting, and you’re instantly reminded of Abby. She did that whenever she patiently waited for your response to her curiosity. Thank God Sevika can't read minds. 

“Violet…”

“Yes, baby?” 

“Can I… can you, uh…”

What would a pornstar say what would a pornstar say 

“Want me to fuck you til you cum?” She hums on your cheek and your heart thrashes in your chest. 

“Yeah… want that.”

“Then ask me.”

“Violet…”

You feel her smile, “Yes, baby?”

“Can you fuck me until I cum, please?” 

She plants a doting kiss on your cheek before separating from you to sit on the mattress with her knees pointed towards the ceiling, “Course I can. Sit up, babe.” 

You follow like a klutz but you’re here and her pussy glistens right there and so does yours. It takes you a second to replicate her guidance, but you’re eventually comfortable; the two of you resting back on your palms, your legs spread far enough for Vi to sit comfortably in between, one leg crossed over yours. Your cooters are nearly high-fiving! You can see her clit jump! 

“Gonna go slow, okay? Just do what I do,” She whispers, and you nod. You’re trying really hard not to stare at her pussy but it’s right fucking there in all its glory! It’s right there! Will she let you eat it one day? Will Sevika—

Your brain screams bloody murder when Vi closes the space between your nethers. 

—

Sevika prides herself in being patient. 

When something is foreign to her, she waits. Regardless of how dire or stressful a situation becomes, she’s often able to resolve it with stealth. She takes her time to plan and organize because it holds her hectic life together, and if that’s lost, so is she. It’s in her nature to be observant. It gets her answers, solves the riddles that wrack in her mind with ease all because she watched and waited. 

That attribute could be the reason she allows you to remain a mystery. You waltzed into her life by accident and now she’s stuck wondering what it is you want from her, her best friend; a relationship? A dirty secret? It hasn’t been that long. You're still a stranger, after all. Call it an obsession; she still has trouble wrapping her head around what allures her to you. It’s a desire she has trouble describing. You're really, really weird, but somehow that makes you one of the most attractive people she’s ever met in her life. 

You being on the brink of your second orgasm while her best friend practically rides you isn’t what entrances Sevika. There’s something about your character; you’re so blunt and comfortable and trusting. She would never allow herself to be as unguarded with a stranger as you are. There’s something something something that she’s determined to pull from you, prick from your brain. 

Why are you really here?

Please, baby, oh fuck, yes —

Vi begs when she takes and you beg her to take and Sevika thinks you’re a match made in heaven. She watches the two of you close up, dangerously personal. How your urges force your bodies against each other; you push when Vi pulls and pulls when she pushes. Both your thighs are soaked with each other and Sevika would kill to be in between them. 

Structure. You and Vi are combative in your own right and Sevika mediates your tension. It’s perfect. You fit in between them so well, slid between them like butter. Why would anyone come in and jeopardize that?

Her spirit slams back into her body when a soft hand curls around her wrist; there’s barely any pressure, a bit insecure, and she knows you’re nervous. Your eyes are on her, the pleading in them almost louder than your exclamations of satisfaction. Are you still mad at me? 

For talking to Abby. Sevika should say yes — the ruthless part of her wants to so you’ll work harder, but she swallows it. The stare she gives you is hard, and your hand squeezes tighter on her. Sevika being mad makes you wetter, she can see it with every glisten between your legs. You look like you’re boutta cum again. 

Fucking Abby… Always prepared to wreck something that’s perfectly made for her. 

You were so quick to take both of them… Would that have been the case for Abby, too?

Okay, Sevie? 

She immediately softens at Vi’s breathless inquiry, and she nods. Keep going. 

Vi arches a brow with a suggestive smile. 

We’re gonna cum for you, baby. Talk us through it? 

Those eyes… Vi’s greatest weapon. How could Sevika ever deny her?

She never will, so she moves. Stands from the floor to climb in behind Vi because she’ll always be first and she’s mad at you; a vengeful hand encloses around her best friend’s throat while she whispers the filthiest shit in her ear. Calls her a slut before kissing her like she loves her. Tells her to fuck you harder. Show her who she belongs to. 

Sevika’s tongue gets loose when she finds your gaze. You’re a fucking mess; the glitter on your lids melt down your fluttery eyes like tears. Your pupils are so apologetic and blown and searching for acceptance but she ignores you, and she thinks you might cry but she wants you to. 

You want Abby so fucking bad? She’s right downstairs. Why would you waste your time up here? Obviously we don’t give you enough. 

Sevika only says it because Vi’s distracted by her own euphoria, eyes dislodged in her skull with drool rolling down her cheek from how good you’re fucking on her, but Sevika takes care of it with her tongue. She should be watching Vi, but she watches you, cautiously eyeing the two of them like a frilled rabbit. She’ll rip you to shreds if you give her the chance. Any sign of weakness and you’re hers to tear apart, just like that. Limb from limb. She craves you. 

Can’t take it, baby, ‘s so sensitive, Vi whimpers up at Sevika with her nails in your thigh, and Sevika kisses her forehead to soothe. Tells her it’s fine. Tells her to scoot over because she’s got you. 

Vi doesn’t go too far. Slides in right next to you, actually. Your legs shake and your fingers curl around the mussed blanket. Sevika crawls to you, and you flinch when her hands latch onto your thighs. Your eyes are the same, but frantic. Please, don’t hate me, please please please. Your little sneeze is the icing on the cake. 

Her grin is sinister. Excitement radiates off you. 

Vi kisses your cheek and slides a sneaky hand down your torso, past your tummy and hips, touches right where you need it most, and your jaw slacks when she spreads you open for Sevika. Vi nudges your cheek with her nose, gets you to face her so she can kiss you, all dazed out and sloppy. 

Such a good distraction. 

A thick finger breeches your walls without warning, and you squeal into Vi’s mouth while she rubs your clit to pacify. Sevika has learned you pretty well, she thinks; knows exactly where to press to get your thighs clamping down on her wrist. She moans when your tightness chokes her; so slippery and aching and desperate on the inside. It matches your exterior perfectly. Your pussy’s begging her to give it to you. Nice and hard. 

So she slides another one in; Vi can barely kiss you because you’re so loud so she tongues at your throat. Sevika knows you’re close; she can feel it, how hard you attempt to drain her, riding that edge. 

Gonna take this dick like a good slut when we get home? She purrs. 

Yes, Sevie, yes yes yes!

Sevika gathers spit in your mouth and it splashes all over cheeks and nose and mouth. She scoffs a laugh when your fingers lace through her slobber to greedily shove in your mouth, Atta girl, get me nice ‘n wet, feels real good, huh? Show me how much you love when I’m inside you. 

More thoughtless bouts of pleasure are forced from you before Vi presses an aiding hand on your tummy. Sevika’s entire forearm is drenched in your scent, body knotted up tight as you thrash and cry and scratch all over Vi until red streaks down the side of her. She licks your tears from your cheek while your head hangs off the edge of the mattress and all Sevika can think about is making you keep your promise; taking her deep in your throat, hot and snug while you choke and slobber all over her. 

They’re so hypnotized by you, the door opening hardly shakes them. 

“Well, well, well!” 

Everything stops… Well, except you, you’re still cumming… and Sevika’s still fucking you… and Vi hasn’t moved either. Maybe nothing stopped.

“Got all your dogs on a leash, don’tcha Cap?” Abby whistles from the door that was very much so locked. Abby’s seemingly unbothered by you on the brink of a second orgasm, your hand attempting to push Sevika’s body off yours, but Vi holds your wrist down. 

“Hiii. How’d ya get in?” Vi questions while she shushes you, and Abby dangles a key off her middle finger. “Ellie sent me to get a bong replacement!”

“You live here now?” Sevika demands in annoyance. Fucks into you deeper. Smirks when you start wailing when she hits that spongy spot. 

“I don’t. Ellie does. She just lets me in when she’s feelin’ lonely… You guys, too, evidently,” She gives you the filthiest stare, “Hey, dollface! Havin’ fun? I could hear you all the way down the hall!” 

“Oh, God, Sevie, ‘m cumming again!” 

“Yeah, ‘m sure you are,” Abby rasps and Vi giggles, “So, what, is she the team’s new communal pussy or somethin’?” 

Vi tuts, “No… we’re just showing her how to do it herself.” 

Abby squints skeptically, “… Riiight, right…” 

Vi doesn’t catch the look Abby throws at you, but Sevika does, and she almost chucks one of your shoes at her face. A hyena preying on the injured. She can hear the devilish cogs turning in the blonde’s head. 

“Don’t be like that, Abby, c’mon… friends in need?” 

Abby smiles, “In need alright—“

“A-Abb — Y?”

Abby takes that as an invitation to come a little closer. Too close for Sevika, but you don’t seem to mind, “Yeah, honey, I’m here. Big meanie Sev’s doin’ ya in right?” 

“Fuck yes—“

She hums scoffingly, “Uh huuuh, looks like it, make her proud—“

“Can you get the fuck out!” Sevika shouts, and you and Vi flinch. She sends Sevika a harsh glare. 

“Jesus, calm the fuck down! Look,” Abby points at your fucked-out expression, “She likes it. Gamer freaks love this typa shit. She probably manifests having orgies in her diary.” 

Sevika sighs in irritation and she pulls out before sitting back on her heels, silently taking in how your slick glues to her fingers, and you almost start sobbing but Vi comforts you. Kisses you quiet while she holds you close, whispers encouragement in your ear while you whimper. Abby takes the chance to ease in close to Sevika, right beside her, eyes gawking at her dripping fingers. 

“Look, Cap, ‘m not the one to judge, but,” She shrugs, whispers right in her ear, “to put it light, she’s a desperate fucking loser, and what I’ve learned is that they love any bit of attention they can get. Makes ‘em feel good. You shoulda seen her earlier. She was almost in my lap ‘n all I had to say was she looked nice.” 

Sevika scoffs, but she finally meets the eyes of her conniving teammate. She’s plotting; It’s in her smile. Abby nudges Sev’s arm with her own, “C’mon, let her have this. She’ll be a fucking vet in her little Discord servers. Make her a star.” 

“You fucking disgust me.” Sevika says vehemently. 

“Doesn’t look like it, Captain.” Abby scales down Sevika’s body and back up until she meets her eyes again. She’s wound up so tight and Abby’s drinking it all in. “C’mon, for old times sake.”

Abby nearly gets strangled right there. Old times sake: chasing girls together, fucking them together, whatever else they did that she wishes she could forget, but it’s her history just as much as it’s Abby’s. When Sevika denies her an answer, she snorts in annoyance before moving to sit on the edge of the bed, thigh right beside your head. 

“Hey, baby, can ya look at me?” You take direction like a dream when you’re fucked out, eyes teary and face warm to the touch. Abby’s convinced you’d do anything to get on her good side at that point. 

“Can you take some more? I think you can take some more,” Before she can even finish, you’re consenting, “Yeah, I know you can, such a sweet girl.” 

Vi shudders with you, eyes glossy where they watch her, and Abby smirks down at her, “You are, too, as always.” The blonde gets her blushing. 

She looks over to Sevika with a hand shielding her mouth. She whispers with a finger sneakily pointed at Vi, “I think your girl wants me, Cap. Still gonna kick me out?”

Sevika is prepared to say yes, but she catches Vi with her lip jutted, silently begging to let Abby stay while you tremble next to her. She exhales so hard it sounds like a snarl. Abby smiles. 

“Do some shit I don’t like and I’ll fuck you up,” Sevika threatens, and Abby rolls her eyes. Sevika should know that she’s the last person to try and intimidate. She loves that; she’ll simply have to up her riskiness. Her finger blindly points at Ellie’s messy dresser. “There's some crazy shit in there, Sevie...” 

Sevika sighs before standing tall to head to Ellie’s drawers. Her laundry isn’t even folded, just slung on top of the cheap wood, “‘m sure you’d know, fuckin’ dirtball.” 

“Don’t flirt with me.” Abby’s heat wafts onto Sevika and she knows she’s behind her. Before Sevika can reach for a drawer handle, her wrist gets submerged in cherry blossom and red fingernail polish. 

Her tongue loosens to cuss her teammate out, but Abby whispers before she can try, “Can’t leave evidence… Ellie’ll get mad at me…” 

Sevika’s frozen; pink lips enclose around her fingers that drip and soak and smell of you. Abby swirls her tongue around the length of them, sucks them clean for her. “She taste good?” Sevika hums, and Abby sucks greedily in approval. 

A tight moan rings from the bed and their eyes hunt for you and Vi. Abby gives Sevika one last kiss on the tips of her fingers. Vi’s on top of you with her hand gripped tight on your neck while she orders you where to touch. Your hand labors between her legs, sloshing deep in her wetness while she curses in your mouth. 

Abby’s sly; takes the leap while Sevika’s distracted to drop to her knees in front of her, fingers already latching onto the fabric of her leggings. She hisses when a braun hand tugs at her hair, redirecting her gaze upwards. 

Sevika’s breathes unsteadily. “You lock the door?” 

The blonde sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. Sevika’s grip tightens when Abby’s head shakes in denial. 

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime (pt. 5)

summary: you invite logan back up to your apartment to dry off and he ends up spending the night... the beginning of something new for the both of you. pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader tags / warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), smut (18+, mdni) - missionary, unprotected p in v, no use of y/n, logan finally gets a happy ending that he deserves. word count: 3.3k a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay... part of me didn't want to write it because it means that this story is complete, but thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's read this story, who's left comments, and liked it! this story holds a special place to my heart and the first ever logan fic i've ever written so it means a lot. i hope you all enjoyed this story as much as i did writing it. also - i know the song is so 90s, but i just kept imagining the reader and logan having a very sensual night while this song is playing... anyway, enjoy the last and final part! 💛💙 song: i knew i loved you by savage garden prev. part

Finally. 

Logan practically melts into you, arms snaking around your frame so gently. Your grip around him tightens and he can feel your tears trickle down your cheeks, meeting your joined lips. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and slow, and there’s an unspoken fear; you’re both afraid that this is just a fleeting moment, that one of you is going to pull away and realize that this isn’t what you want after all. That the fear and pain of losing each other in your own universes are just too much to bear. 

But when you both do decide to pull away, rain pattering down on the both of you, the look on each other’s face is one of relief. 

“Hey bub,” Logan whispers, lips gently brushing against yours. 

You stare up at him, the look of complete vulnerability in his expression. He’s no longer hiding from you– the walls that he surrounded himself long gone as he stares at you. This Logan won’t ever be the same as the one you lost, but the one standing in front of you gives you hope for a future that you only ever dreamed of having with him. You’re sure that in every universe out there, your love for Logan is just as strong as the one in this universe. 

“Spend the night?” you ask quietly, hesitantly. 

“Are you– Are you sure?” Logan knows what you’re implying and despite the subtle excitement that flickers in his eyes, he knows that he doesn’t want to push this… doesn’t want to push you. 

And just like in his universe, you catch on to his hesitation. Can see the look of uncertainty in his eyes. You can see him thinking. Gently, you bring a hand up to his cheek, brushing the pad of your thumb across it before you lift it further to stroke his wet hair back and away from his face. 

“I’m sure.”

“But Laura–”

“Not home tonight.” 

Logan lets out a shaky breath. He’s been alive for almost two hundred years and here you are, making him nervous. “Okay, bub. I’ll spend the night.” 

You catch him by surprise by leaning up to press your lips against his that he almost stumbles back, but his arms tighten around you further and he leans back in and purses his lips against yours. Slowly, you move your lips with his and Logan can feel the excitement begin to build in the pit of his stomach. 

“We should head inside,” he mumbles into the kiss, pulling away briefly to rest his forehead against yours. “I don’t want you getting sick. We’ve been standing in the cold rain…”

You nod and then release your hold on him to bring him back inside your apartment. Once inside, you shut the door and lock it behind you. Standing in the hallway, you’re both dripping wet and you walk towards your thermostat to turn up the heat. 

“I’ve got some old clothes of Logan’s if you don’t mind,” you say quietly, biting your lower lip. “Is that weird?” 

Logan shakes his head. He walks over to you, the sound of his wet boots making quiet squeaky sounds against your hardwood floors. “I don’t mind, but…” he begins. “Will you?” 

You shrug your shoulders. You don’t know how you’d react to seeing your Logan’s clothes on some other version of him. “Only one way to find out, right?”

“I just…” Logan sighs. “I want you to be comfortable and I don’t mind taking this slow, baby.”

Baby. 

You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around him, face burying into his chest. You let out a shaky breath and feel his arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his warm embrace. Logan had always been your personal heater, his body always running hot, and this version is no different. 

Logan places a soft kiss on the crown of your head and slowly pulls away to look down at you. “We should really get you out of these wet clothes.” 

“We both should get out of these wet clothes. Come on.” You lead him further down the hallway and into your bedroom, leaving a wet trail on your floors. Once inside, Logan bends down to remove his boots and socks, setting it near the door as he catches you lifting the end of your crewneck over your head. He sees a sliver of your skin and immediately peels his gaze away from you, turning around to face the wall. 

“Logan, what are you doing?” you let out a quiet giggle and it takes everything in him not to just turn around. The sound of your laughter had always made him feel so happy, especially when he was the one making you laugh. “You can turn around. It’s okay.” 

Clearing his throat, he turns around and looks at you. You’re now standing in just a towel, a pool of your wet clothes around your ankles. But the sight of your smile makes his heart skip a beat. The way it meets your eyes, a flicker of contentment in your features… and it’s all because of him. 

“I’m going to rinse off,” you tell him. “I’ll go and use Laura’s bathroom down the hall. You can use mine.” You walk towards your closet and grab a few change of clothes, in addition to an extra towel. You bite your lower lip, keeping one hand to hold the towel up against your body. You hand him the clothes and towel, leaning up to gently peck his lips. “Then I’ll grab our wet clothes and put it in the washer.” 

As you’re walking away and out of your bedroom, Logan gently reaches out for your free hand. He turns you around and pulls you against him, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He growls against you– the fact that you’re only using a towel to cover yourself causes an excitement to rush over him. 

Logan feels your lips move against his, urging him to continue the kiss. He releases his hold on your hand and instead moves his hand to your lower back. For a brief moment, you move your own hands to his wet hair, having long forgotten the towel that you’re holding up as it slips. 

“Bub,” Logan whispers, slowly pulling away as he feels you gently bite down on his lower lip. He growls at that and then glances down to see just enough of your bare front before you wrap the towel back around yourself. He clears his throat and feels his length stir beneath his jeans – it’s uncomfortable and tight, especially since he’s completely soaked from the rain. 

“I’m going,” you reply quietly. “I’m going.” You turn around and walk out of your bedroom, glancing over your shoulder to catch his gaze and you smile. “You should get going too, baby.”

Baby. 

Logan grins at that and nods, turning on his heel and walking to your bathroom.

—

By the time you're showering, you’re dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized white t-shirt that reach your mid-thighs. You’re in the laundry room, putting yours and Logan’s clothes in the washer when you feel his strong arms wrap around you from behind. 

You shut your eyes and lean back against his chest, hands coming down to rest over his. You tilt your head upwards and feel his lips brush against the side of your neck, the feel of his facial hair tickling you. You let out a quiet giggle and Logan smiles against you, holding you firmly against him. The tension in the air thickens and you open your eyes to press the start button on the washer. Once the machine starts, Logan turns you around and stares deeply into your eyes. 

Your gaze lowers to see what he’s wearing, biting your lower lip. He’s wearing only a pair of boxers and he’s shirtless. Of fucking course. Your eyes deviate even further as you gently reach out to touch the muscles at his abdomen and move them up his strong chest and to his shoulders. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you answer, feeling the heat in your cheeks rise as you obviously ogle him. 

“Do you– Are you–” you clear your throat. “Sorry. Are you thirsty? Do you want water?” 

Logan shakes his head. “Just want you, bub.” 

You nod and then take his hand, leading him back to your bedroom. You’ve already cleaned up the wet mess you both left and your entire apartment is warm enough that you’ve already turned the heater off, but the tension makes you feel hotter than normal. Logan’s touch sends an electrifying shock through your body and once inside, you’re about to push on his chest to have him sit on the bed but he catches you by surprise when he scoops you into his arms and gently lays you down on your bed. 

He climbs in after you and gets underneath the sheets with you, instantly pulling you into his arms. Logan can feel the tension in the air, can practically smell your arousal, but he makes no comment. He wants you to set the pace, wants you to decide what you want, wants you to choose what to do next. 

You turn on your side and rest your head on his shoulder, moving a hand to rest on his bare chest. “Logan, I–” you stop yourself, biting your lower lip. 

He turns to look down at you, hand cupping your cheek. He had always been so gentle with you. Those same hands had caused so much pain, so much hurt, but with you… Logan’s always been a different man. You had awoken something inside of him that he never knew existed and when he lost you in his universe, that part of him died with you. 

But getting the chance to be with you again, even if it’s a different version of you, makes him hopeful for the future. Makes him hopeful that he can finally be happy. With you. Always with you. 

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here.” 

You let a small smile line your lips and you turn to lie on your back, bringing him to hover above you. Logan rests his hands at either side of your head, settling himself between your legs as he looks down at you. He can hear the quiet pitter patter of the rain hit your window, the small lamp on your nightstands providing just the right amount of light to illuminate you. Your hair splays against your pillow and you’re looking up at him with the same look you always had. Even in his universe. 

In your eyes, he can do no wrong. 

In your eyes, you see someone more than just the wolverine. 

In your eyes, you see someone worth loving. 

“I promise,” Logan whispers quietly. “I promise I’m going to always keep you safe, no matter what.” 

“I know, Logan,” you say softly. “You have a good heart. Always have.” 

Tears sting his eyes and he leans down to peck your lips, careful not to crush you. “I don’t deserve you…” 

“Yes, you do,” you reply. Your hands move to his arms, fingertips brushing against the chiseled muscles. “Everyone deserves to be happy, to be loved… Even you, Logan. Especially you.”

Logan feels his heart swell at your words, can feel the emotion taking over him as he remembers his dream earlier that night. His world’s version of you had said the same thing and while he isn’t even sure it was ever real, hearing those words come from you makes his heart race.

He doesn’t know what he ever did in his life to ever deserve someone like you because he’s sure that he doesn’t deserve it. 

But you… The way you’re looking at him makes him feel worthy of this happiness, of your love. 

“After everything you’ve been through, why?” Logan asks honestly. “Why do you still have such a positive outlook on life? On this life?” 

You bite your lower lip and move your hands to run through his hair, seeing his eyes flutter shut as he purrs quietly. “It’s not easy,” you admit. “There are days where I can’t wait for it all to end… but Laura still needs me. There are people out there who still need me…” you move one hand to wipe at your eyes, feeling tears begin to fall from your face again. “And because I promised him.”

“You’ve always been the strongest,” Logan whispers, placing a light kiss on your forehead. “The bravest,” another kiss on the tip of your nose. “And the kindest person I’ve ever met,” he finishes, leaning in to press his lips firmly against yours. 

You gasp against his lips and instantly move your lips with his own. The kiss deepens further, ignited by passion and a sudden sense of urgency. One of Logan’s hands remains on the mattress, keeping himself propped up as the other moves down to your side and leg, hooking it around his hip as he presses his lower half firmly against yours. 

You feel his hand move up and down the side of your bare leg, causing shivers to run through your body as you slowly roll your hips upwards to create some friction… Until you feel his hardened length press against your throbbing heat. 

It has been way too long and your panties are already soaked at the realization of what’s about to happen next. Logan pulls away from your lips to press firm kisses along your jawline and down the side of your neck, teeth darting out to graze your skin. His low growl against you reverberates through his entire being and he pulls away from you briefly to look down at you. 

You’re breathing heavily, eyes darkened with desire, but you’re still looking at him like he’s the only man that ever mattered. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. “I don’t want to do something you’re going to regret and I’m fine if nothing happens, but I just– I needed to ask before this goes any further.”

You bite your lower lip. “In your universe, were you a gentleman?” you tease. “I just assumed all versions of you liked to be in control and–”

Logan growls again and moves his hand underneath your shirt, finding his way to your bare breast as he runs his thumb across your peaked nipple. “Should have known,” he grins. “Once a smartass, always a smartass.” 

You whimper quietly, letting out a quiet laugh that only excites Logan even further. “You like it.”

“Oh, baby, I always have.” 

Then, he leans down again and presses his lips more firmly against yours. His hand kneads your breast into the pit of his palm and he can hear you whimper against his lips, can feel your body begin to squirm, can smell your arousal even more prominently now. 

“Logan,” you moan quietly, pulling away from the kiss. “Yes, I want this. I want you.” 

It was all Logan needed to grip your shirt in two hands, ripping it open. You gasp loudly, your front now fully exposed for him. He looks down at you and clears his throat as he leans down to wrap his lips around your nipple, flicking his tongue repeatedly against you. 

He feels your hands move down to the waistband of the boxers, urging it down his legs and he pulls back to lean on his knees. He gently takes your hands and kisses your knuckles before he pushes down his boxers past his legs, slowly kicking them off to the side as he looks down at himself. 

Extremely hard. Leaking. Throbbing. 

Logan needs you. 

He sees your eyes gaze down at him and sees the way you bite your lower lip at the sight. Then, you reach down to hook your thumbs into your panties as you begin to lower it down your legs. Logan helps you, pulling them away from you as your arousal now hits his senses at full force. He looks down between your legs, reaching down to run the length of his finger across your sex and sees your wetness glisten across his digit. 

You whimper and lift your hips, yearning for more as you try to reach down to wrap your own hand around his length. Logan stops you and hovers above you, forearm propped near your head as his other hand reaches down to grasp his manhood. He runs the tip across the length of your sex before he slowly slides into you. 

You’ve always been tight, but always felt like you were made for him. Your walls stretch to give way to him as he slowly continues to slide further into your depths. Your hands move to his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin and he groans at the sensation. He feels your legs tighten around his hips, the heel of your feet digging into his lower back to urge him to push further into you. 

“Logan,” you moan, feeling his free hand cup your cheek as his eyes remain open to stare down at you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, hands now linking at the nape of his neck as Logan’s hands move to either side of you when he fully slides into the hilt. He groans, dipping his head to rest his forehead against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

You let out a loud groan at the feel of his manhood filling you completely as your walls slowly give way to his girth. Slowly, Logan rolls his hips and pulls back enough before he pushes back into you. He leans in and press his lips against yours, his hips continuing its slow and deep strokes as your walls remain tight around his length. 

You whimper against his lips, mouth widening at the sensation of his deep thrusts. You know you won’t be able to last long, the feeling of his manhood sliding along your walls, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust in, and the hair at his base brushing against your clit all bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

Logan lowers himself enough so that his chest rests against yours as his arms wrap around your waist. He slowly picks up the pace, his skin beginning to slap against yours as it echoes off the walls of your bedroom and mixes in with the sounds of your moans and the rain from outside. 

When he feels your body begin to tremble, your walls begin to tighten even further around him, Logan quickens his thrusts. You’re both panting heavily, foreheads resting against each other, bodies pressed firmly against one another. It’s so passionate, so intense, so long overdue. 

“Logan!” you exclaim, arms tightening around his shoulders as you hold onto him when you reach your high. Logan delivers a few more thrusts before he releases inside of you, growling lowly against you. Usually, Logan likes to make sure you come at least two or three times before he comes, but he couldn’t help himself. 

He needed you. 

Just as badly as you needed him. 

—

Afterwards, Logan helps you clean yourself up, using a wet and warm towel to wipe his sticky release from between your legs. He pulls you into his arms after setting the towel aside, feeling you snuggle into his chest. He looks down at you, your eyes falling shut as you drape an arm around him as well. 

He lets out a sigh of relief and brings a hand to gently brush your hair away from your face. He leans down and presses a soft kiss on your forehead, hand lower to rest on your lower back. 

“In every lifetime,” he whispers. 

You open your eyes and smile, looking up at him.

“In every lifetime, Logan.” 

--

taglist: @its-in-the-woods @mynatureworld @wadewnstonwilson @squishyfruitloop @maybedisaster

@kellyxo1 @m1cky-y-y @flowersforbucky @namikyento

[oddwalkerduckarts]

Grassland Romance AU: Winter Winds

Summary: You've been slowly falling in love with Sylus, a strange outsider who joined your tribe some time ago. You haven't been able to pluck up the courage to say anything. However, when you are caught alone in the fiercest blizzard anyone can remember, it might not be up to you anymore.

AO3

CW: AFAB reader, no use of y/n, pet names (sweetie, little huntress), blizzard, hypothermia, hunting, nude spooning, 90% fluff by volume, sexual themes (but no sex), not proofread, melodrama (god so much melodrama).

Word count: 8k

Notes: poor Luke and Kieran have to be dogs in this AU.

“Don’t be stupid,” you scoff, “how can lemmings foretell the weather? Their brains are the size of grass seeds!” The bay mare you’re sitting astride shakes her head, before pawing through the watery, heavy snow on the ground to reach the hidden grasses underneath.

Today, as with most days, you are minding the herds with your friend Cota. The two of you are practically sisters, as her family had raised you after your parents perished when you were a young child.

“I’m not the one who said it!” She protests, leaning back to aim a kick at your foot succeeding at knocking it out of your stirrup. “I’m just telling you what Elder Shikigur said, and he said, ‘There’s too many lemmings moving, there will be a large storm coming.’”

You groan. Blizzards are a continual hazard of grassland winters. Harsh winds are able to scream across the treeless landscape with terrifying fury, tearing through even thick winter deels, and whirling snow into a blinding haze. Preparing for one means rounding up the flocks, reinforcing yurts to hold against wind and snowfall, and digging out of the yurts once the storm is through. They’re critical jobs that need to be done. That is, when the weather actually calls for it.

“It’s practically spring!” You argue, gesturing wildly to the half-melted pasture around the two of you, “It’s so damn warm, that I couldn’t even wear my thickest deel today! I would’ve been covered in sweat!”

Cota shrugs, “I’m just telling you what the elders were gossiping about.”

“Well, regardless of what they say, I’m not taking out my winter deel again until next winter.”

“I bet you would if Sylus asked you to.”

You feel the color rise in your cheeks at the sing-song tease, and the mention of his name.

You aim a return kick at Cota’s leg, but she reins her mare to the side in time to evade you. “I would not! And besides, he’s out with some of the others hunting pheasant, anyway.”

Cota’s smile grows wider, “Oh ho, so you’ve been keeping track of which hunting parties he goes with, huh?”

An irritated groan leaves your throat as your friend laughs. “Aren't you supposed to be heading back about now? I'll tell the elders you've been slacking to sit around and gossip.”

“Aw, don't pout! It's cute, all your pining. You're going to have to do something soon though, otherwise some other girl is going to catch his eye at a festival, and then what will you do?”

“I’m pretty sure you're supposed to be helping with cooking right now, aren't you?”

Cota makes her own irritated groan, “No one likes when I cook anyway!”

“Better that than you sitting here and teasing me.”

She makes a rude gesture at you, and you return it.

"Fine,” she grumbles, “but keep an eye on the weather, okay?”

“Of course, I'll let you know if the lemmings are oracles or not.”

Cota rolls her eyes with a scoff, before reining her horse around and trotting back to the village. It’s good timing, you notice the right side of the herd has started to splinter a bit, and needs to be rounded back in.

As you go about your job, you can’t stop your mind from pondering over your relationship with the strange man.

Sylus had come to the tribe as an outsider a few years ago. Strong and skilled in both riding and archery, he’d been welcomed into the fold immediately, seemingly to his own surprise. His striking appearance had immediately caught many eyes; tall, broad and strong in the chest, with eyes the color of freshly-spilled blood set in a devastatingly handsome face. The one criticism you heard of him was of his curt, reticent nature, that meant he constantly had a severe expression on his face.

Well, almost-constantly.

Within a month after joining the tribe, there had begun to be problems with a particular wolf picking off sheep in the night. It had always seemed to know where to attack, far enough away from any of the herders that it was impossible to reach him in time. It even managed to evade the vigilant Bankhar dogs, who kept constant watch on their flock, and rarely let a wolf’s presence go unpunished. The predator managed to evade everyone. Everyone except Sylus.

It had only taken two nights of Sylus on guard, before he returned in the early morning light, with the giant, tawny corpse of the wolf thrown over one shoulder. He’d managed to kill it, in the dark, with a single arrow to its skull. The entire tribe had celebrated that night; an end to the nights of doubled watches in the dark and lost sheep. Wine and kumis had run freely that night, along with music and dancing in the center of the temporary village.

The wolf’s body had been set aside, to be skinned for the fur and used as linings and blankets to guard against the frigid winter months. Even in death, it still looked fierce, its fur sleek and body corded with lean muscle that reminded you of its killer. You had bent down to examine the bared teeth, sharp and white against the pale flesh of the gums. You reached out to draw your finger over one of the fangs, curious to see if it would be sharp like a knife, or blunt like one of the Bankhar dogs.

“Disturbing the dead?”

The deep voice, close enough to feel against the back of your neck, had you stumbling backwards, and gracelessly falling on your ass. A throaty chuckle came from above your head, and you had looked up to see Sylus, his face smug and scarlet eyes dancing with laughter.

“It doesn’t count if it’s a wolf,” You grumbled, pulling yourself off the ground, “ass.”

His head was cocked to the side as you rose, finger tapping his cheek in mock-thought, “I thought a wolf was supposed to be the father of the first herdsmen? Wouldn’t that make this creature here your cousin?”

“That’s an old story, no one believes that.”

His answering smile was sharp, eyes darkening into a sneer. “Is that so?” He drew closer, close enough that you could feel his breath on your face, and feel the fabric of his deel brushing against yours. The gaze he cast down made you realize what a cornered sheep must feel like in the moments before jaws close around its throat. “I think there’s more of wolves in people than you realize.” His growl was just as deep as the dogs when they scented a threat.

A part of you wanted to shrink down in your boots, make your excuses, and flee. But, a much larger, louder part of you was indignant. How dare this man sneak up on you in the dark, make you fall over in surprise, then have the audacity to growl at you like a beast?

So you had tipped your chin up defiantly, “Better be careful. Apparently even the cleverest wolves get arrows in their heads.”

He had stared at you for a moment. Made a single blink. Then a strange, amused smile curled across his face. “Are you going to be the one to fire it, little huntress?”

“If you don’t back up, maybe I will.”

Sylus chuckled then, backing up a few steps. You released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, body thrumming with… anxiety? Excitement? Both? You couldn’t tell. To distract yourself, you turned your attention back to the kill.

“It’s kind of a shame, really. It’s a pretty creature.”

His head cocked to the side again, though the curiosity in his eyes seemed to be genuine this time. “Feeling bad for the predator?”

“He was just trying to live.”

He huffs a small laugh through his nose. “You’re cute.”

“Excuse me?” You look at him, deeply irritated at his patronizing tone.

“Most animals that steal livestock are weak. They’re sick, or injured. Otherwise it just isn’t worth risking the tangle with dogs or people. This one,” he gives the corpse a nudge, “was perfectly healthy. Strong. But instead of using its smarts to take on saiga, or capercaille, it decided to take the easy way out. It never would have stopped, once it knew that it could fool the shepherds.”

You had sighed a little, knowing that in this instance, he was right. “I know. It still seems like a shame. But at least we’ll stop losing so many sheep.”

You had looked up then to find Sylus staring at you with such intensity that you had taken a step backwards. “What?”

He blinked, the intensity dissipating as quickly as a strike of lightning. “Nothing, sweetie.”

“Sweetie?” Your nose wrinkled at the childish nickname.

He gave a small laugh, a mischievous glint coming to his blood red eye, “You feel pity for a predator that would have snapped you up in an instant. It’s very sweet, if maybe a bit naïve.”

“It sounds like something you’d call a toddler.”

“I suppose it does,” the glint was quickly accompanied by an equally mischievous curl to his smirk, “I suppose I’ll have to call you that when you’re acting like a toddler, sweetie.”

“Ugh. Ass.” You’d turned on your heel to return to the fire, trailed by the sound of deep, smug chuckling.

Since then, Sylus always seemed to show up near you, whether you wanted him there or not. And, at least at first, you certainly leaned more towards the former. He had a talent for approaching silently, getting that smugly pleased look from startling you into stumbling or squeaking. He also began to challenge you, goading you into contests or archery, or riding, or throwing knuckle bones. He was nearly impossible to beat, and even on the rare occasions that you won, he had the gall to look completely unbothered by your triumph.

Really, after a few months, you should have hated him.

But in between all of the needling and teasing and challenges, you began to learn more about Sylus. You learned that he enjoyed being out hunting or riding far more than he enjoyed being surrounded by people, even if they were praising him. You learned the long-limbed black stallion he rode when he first encountered your tribe had been declared untamable before Sylus had taken him. When one of the livestock dogs died shortly after having two pups, you even learned that (if he wanted to be) he could be downright gentle. He’d done so well in helping care for the pair, that as they grew, they followed him everywhere and obeyed his every command. All of this new familiarity, so at odds with your first impression of him, had cultivated a quiet companionship between the two of you.

Even more surprising were the moments of softness, startlingly close to affection. When Sylus had sat drinking kumis with you on the new year, and you’d excitedly shared your hopes for what was to come, he listened with a quiet smile. He’d brought you the furs from the wolf he’d killed when you caught a particularly nasty winter cold, and had even insisted you keep it after you recovered. When you met other tribes for trade, he often found you afterwards, giving you some ornament or silk from beyond the grasslands. Despite the fact he’d never admitted to it, you knew that when his two dogs accompanied you out into the grasses to watch the flocks, he’d commanded them to do so.

Maybe most importantly, he’d specifically sought you out to show you a den where wolf cubs were playing in the summer, knowing you’d like to see them tussle.

They’d been adorable, large paws and ears far too big for their fluffy bodies. The two of you had left your horses some yards away and sat down a bit distant from the pups, down wind and silent so as not to give your presence away. For a while you couldn't take your eyes off their energetic forms, tussling in the dust in front of the den, chewing on each others’ ears, yelping and licking when it became too rough. Eventually you'd looked to Sylus to ask him something, but your eyes had fallen on the short, recurve bow at his side.

“You're not going to kill them, are you?” You'd whispered

He raised an eyebrow at you in a wordless question.

You checked quickly to make sure the pups hadn't heard you. Fortunately, they still seemed to be involved in their own games.

“I mean. I know they're wolves. They might eat our flocks when they get older. But, they're just babies.”

He blinked at you, with an odd, expression you couldn't place. He rose soon after, walking silently away from the den. You'd followed him, confused.

“Hey,” you hissed, “What are you doing now?”

“Leaving. One parent or the other would've been back soon to feed them. Then I would've actually had to use this.” He tapped the bow that was now slung over his shoulder.

“Oh.” You murmured, realization dawning, “Is that what you brought it for? If one of the parents came back?”

“I certainly wouldn't have needed it to kill a fragile little pup.” He scoffed. “Besides, there's no use in killing something weak and defenseless. Though it's nice to know just how highly you think of me, sweetie.”

“That's not-” a frustrated noise had escaped you as you struggled for words, “I don't think that of you. It just… others would have done that. To make sure they didn't grow up to prey on our animals.”

He turned to you then, with a gaze that seemed to be searching you, trying to find the truth of something. “And I'm ‘others’ to you?”

“Of course not!”

He arched an eyebrow for the second time that day at the vehemence in your voice.

"You're the strongest warrior we have. And an infuriating opponent. But you're also the person who protects orphaned dogs. And brings me extra furs when I'm sick. And-” you stopped yourself before you could incriminate yourself further, taking a small breath to collect yourself. “You're Sylus. Not… Others.”

There was a small silence between the two of you for a moment, as you walked over the flowing grasses together. The only sound was the occasional waves of wind across the landscape.

It was broken, only slightly, by Sylus repeating those words. “Not others.” He said them quietly, slowly, as though testing out strange words in a new language. When you turned to look at him, you caught a glimpse of a small, soft smile on his face. A look so deeply genuine, and beautifully content, it made your breath catch in your chest.

Things had begun to change after the day with the wolves. You were beginning to come familiar with the slight curve of his smile, his real smile. Instead of your usual irritation, the glint that so often came to his eye when he was planning mischief fanned a wave of warmth in you. You began craving the slight huff of breath he gave when amused with something you’d done. The deep chuckle he sometimes gave when his body drew close to yours made something strange and molten coil in your gut. When he was out hunting saiga, you found yourself unusually sullen and snappish. And when you heard people whooping and clamoring at the return of the hunting parties, you’d be jostling to the front of the small crowd to see him.

You’d started to notice things though, in this time. The gossip among the elders as they cooked about when Sylus would marry, and whose granddaughter would be the lucky catch. The gaggles of women that followed him when he’d practice archery or spectate his races, giggling and blushing. Some of the bolder women would even bring him wine at the fireside and try to curl against him (you wished sometimes that he’d respond with more than amused chuckles at their ridiculousness, though it did produce a gratifying amount of insult in the rejected ladies). Last year at the games, you noticed he’d received pouches from women of every tribe. The smug look he gave you when he’d noticed you glaring at them had been insufferable, and you couldn’t quite force yourself to congratulate him on the numerous offers.

And yet, Sylus remained alone. You didn’t even notice other women entering his yurt (though you’d die before you admitted to watching for such). You didn’t know what you’d do if he did take an interest in someone. The thought of someone else being transfixed by that soft smile in the quiet hours of the night made bile rise in your throat. But there was always the chance that he simply valued his freedom; and being rejected in favor of an ideal you could never match seemed just as nauseating.

You mull over these thoughts as you and your mare round the goats back to the group. Or, at least, attempt to. One of the damn things stubbornly refuses to rejoin the group. You can swear you see defiance in its eyes when it looks at you. Challenging you. Mocking, even. Every time you have it going the right direction, it turns and bolts in a random direction, leaving you and your bay sliding in the slush. You then have to catch back up to it, and start herding it back once more.

You’re an excellent shepherdess, with a keen eye and a skilled hand with a bow. You've rarely lost an animal on your watch, and certainly never on purpose. But at this point, even you are beginning to think that losing one goat would really not be all that bad if it means this one wouldn’t be part of the herd anymore. Besides, a wind is beginning to rise, a cold one that cuts through the previously-warm day like a freshly-sharpened knife. You’re beginning to wonder if maybe the lemmings were smarter than you’d thought.

After one more, particularly long chase, you give in.

“Fine then!” You yell at the animal, which stood watching you with unaffected eyes as it chewed grass, “you want to deal with a blizzard alone? Go ahead! I’ll laugh when you end up as a goat-cicle! Laugh!”

With a huff, you turn your horse about, ready to gallop back to the herd, and start moving them to a more sheltered part of the pasture. The animals, however, have moved further away on their own. You can see the large dark mass of them in the distance, and you feel a slight unease in your gut. You're not sure how much you believe about oracle lemmings, but you know livestock well; They instinctively group up close when bad weather is imminent, and it seems that they are bracing for a storm now.

Even more worrying is the wall of iron-gray clouds you see blowing in. They're advancing rapidly, overtaking the sky at a pace you've rarely seen before. The wind, too, is beginning to blow so furiously it all but screams, whipping any unmelted snow up into the air.

You again feel that unease in your gut. The village is even further than the herd from where you are at the moment. Thanks to the previously warm weather, you're woefully unprepared to weather a blizzard alone. But both your other options are bleak; either try to make it to the village and hope there's not enough falling snow to make you lose your way, or try your luck with the herd and hope their bodies keep you warm enough to make it through. At least if you make it to the village, your survival is guaranteed. The same can't be said of the herd.

You rein your mare toward the direction of the village, just as the first volley of fresh snowflakes batter your face and hands. And despite your own dire situation, you can't help but think of Sylus, out with the other hunters. They may have arrived home already, and even if they haven’t, their chances are good; the men should be able to find protection from the wind and cold in a group. Nevertheless, your gut twists with anxiety. Hunters rarely stay completely together. And even in the few minutes you’ve been galloping towards the village, visibility is worsening. The gusts of wind have turned into blasts, ripping through your deel and chilling you to your bones. The blasts are also heaving the already-fallen snowflakes up to rejoin the fresh ones in the air, and creating moments where the landscape is inscrutable.

Between the moments of furious wind, you can see the outline of the village. Even as your heart pounds with hope at the sight, a needling numbness begins to take hold in your hands, making it difficult to keep hold of the reins. You try to switch hands; tucking one into the overlapping fold of your deel in an effort to keep it warm, before switching to the other. The biting wind, though, is so vicious and unforgiving, that it takes a mere few seconds for whatever warmth one hand has gained to be lost. At the same time, the numbness has taken hold in your feet, making it impossible to distribute your weight properly. The violent shivers as your body tries to warm itself are a further complication.

It only takes one misstep from your mare. One hoof landing on some uneven ground, causing her to stumble. And despite the high-backed saddle, and your best efforts, it’s impossible to keep your seat. You land hard in the snow. It’s soft enough, at least, that you’re pretty sure nothing is broken. Not that it matters much. Lost and alone in the screaming wind, and featureless white storm, you are as good as dead.

It feels like an eternity that you lie there in the snow, body wracked by violent shivers in a last-ditch attempt to survive. Logically you know it can’t have been more than a handful of minutes, since you are still alive and conscious, but time loses its meaning in a situation like this. Everything ceases to exist, save for the horrible wind and the bone-deep, soul-leaching cold. The snow is falling fast, fast enough that it’s already covered you as you try to huddle for a semblance of warmth. You’ve been buried alive, waiting to die as the world around you slowly quiets and darkens.

A morbid part of you wonders if the tribe will find you, once the snow begins to melt. You imagine Cota will insist they stay long enough to find your remains. You hope she doesn’t feel guilty; neither of you could’ve known the storm would come on so fast. Your mind wanders to Sylus, too. Did the hunters make it back home before the storm hit? You pray they did; or at least they were together when the snow began to fall. The thought of Sylus in the same situation as yourself seems impossible. You have to believe it’s impossible. Entertaining any other idea strikes a dread into your heart as cold as your little tomb. You pray instead that he’s made it back, that he is safe, and warm. And, if you’re able to be a little idealistic, perhaps wondering where you are.

Quite suddenly, a sound shatters your quiet morbidity. Stark against the background of shrieking wind, there is a deep bark. Then another, closer. Soon, there is a constant barrage of the noises.

Hope burns bright in your heart. Maybe, just maybe, all is not yet lost.

You try to shift under the snow, trying to claw your way out of your icy grave. But your limbs are trembling so hard, so frequently, that controlling them is near impossible. Worse, your muscles are becoming weak. Soon they’ll be too exhausted to even shiver, much less move the heavy snow that entombs you. Nevertheless, you have to try. You must try. Because if you don’t, your last hope of warmth will move on, and then you will truly be as good as dead.

Your efforts come to a halt when a startlingly loud crunching begins in the snow above and around you. It doesn’t take long before the blanket of snow is lifted from your head, and a warm puff of air greets your face.

You open your eyes. And instead of a blinding white storm, your vision is filled with deep brown eyes set in a furry face as black as night. The same face that Sylus has sent to accompany you on night watches and sunny days alike. You smile at the familiar creature, despite the chattering of your teeth.

“H-hey, boy.” You whisper, your numb hand reaching up to sink into the dog’s deep fur. You can still hear his brother nearby, barking furiously above the wind.

Though Sylus knows them at a glance, you've never been particularly good at telling the two dogs apart by looks. They're both black, with intelligent eyes and powerful frames. In behavior though, they are slightly different. Gerel is louder, and more playful. Khar, though quieter, is definitely the smarter of the two. He's likely the one blocking your body from the worst of the wind, now.

You try to call Gerel over as his brother curls himself around your quivering body, but it’s too hard to draw a deep breath. Instead, you lean against the one lying on you, burying your face and hands against the one reprieve from the cold. You can think of nothing else but how good the slight amount of warmth feels, even as your fingers begin to burn slightly from the frostbite. It is a promising pain, one that feels of returning life rather than looming nothingness. You doubt it will be enough to truly save you, but at least you have some source of comfort now.

Eventually Gerel goes quiet, and you begin to worry he's become lost in the storm as well. You lift your face from Khar's fur, and try again to call his brother, but fail. Khar perks up, though, his massive tail wagging a fan-shaped dent in the snow. Perhaps he can smell his brother on the fierce wind?

A few moments later, you hear it. A deep, commanding voice that cuts through the shrieking wind like a blade, calling your name.

Sylus.

You don’t know why he’s here, or if he’s even real. It may be an illusion conjured by your failing mind and body. It does not matter. Real or not, you must go to him.

You try to draw yourself up, try to call his name, but Khar remains a dead weight on you. You try to shove him, but your muscles are still shaking uncontrollably, making any efforts to dislodge Khar useless.

Please, you think desperately, please, I need to go to him. I need him, I need Sylus.

In the midst of your struggle with the animal laying on you, you very nearly miss the crunching of snow approaching you. Gerel soon appears, fur nearly white with the coating of heavy, wet snow that clings to him. And directly behind him is a sight that would make you weep if you had the breath for it.

It's Sylus. He's battered by the wind and ice as he wades through the fresh snow, only a step behind Gerel. His face bears a sharp, unwavering determination and ferocity that puts even this storm to shame as he wades through the drifts. His eyes, bright scarlet amidst the daunting white, lock onto yours. Only when his master is a single step away from you does Khar finally wiggle himself off of you. The wind immediately rips away all the warmth the dog has lent you. But you feel the loss only for a moment, as in the next breath, Sylus has yanked you bodily out of the snow and crushed you against himself.

“Found you,” his deep voice is quiet, heavy with an emotion you can’t name. And oh, oh, even if this is a dream sent to ease your last moments, you do not care. There is no one you’d rather imagine at your side right now.

He releases you, only slightly, to tug off his own gloves and put them on your trembling hands. The heat that envelopes them makes your skin burn, and a whine that is half-choked by shivers bubble out of your throat.

“Bear with it,” he murmurs, wrapping a thicker, warm deel over your current one, “You won’t be able to beat me at archery if you lose your fingers, little huntress.”

Normally, you would call him an ass, berate him for worrying about losing his archery competitor as he gave you a smug smile for taking his bait. But you can’t. Your mind is foggy, and all you can do is curl into him as he sweeps you up into his arms. You notice briefly that his eyes have narrowed again. He looks… irritated maybe? Angry? You aren’t sure. Before you can think about it for very long, though, you are distracted by a sharp whistle from Sylus, shrill and sharp even over the unending wind. It’s followed by a whinny, as his tall, powerful horse wades through the snow with a determination identical to his master’s.

Sylus walks to meet the horse halfway. He says something, and then suddenly his arm drops out from under your legs. You stumble slightly, knees buckling under your own weight as your boots drop through the knee-high snow. You are strangely surprised when you don't hit the ground, and it takes you a moment to realize that Sylus has a hold on your waist, steadying you.

Oh. He was going to set you down. That's what he had said. Of course.

You look up at him, and find a hard expression on his face. Why does he look angry now? You don’t understand.

His bright eyes bore into your own, cutting through the confusion for a moment. When his voice comes, it is a command, not a request.

“Stay with me.”

You're not sure why he's saying this. It's not like you're going anywhere. All you want right now is to just curl up and sleep, back in his arms, if possible. But you nod anyway.

Sylus swings himself up onto his horse, settling himself behind the canticle. This again confuses you. You're supposed to sit on the seat. Not behind it. But before you can continue puzzling over this, Sylus has bent half-over, wrapped an arm around you once more, and hauled you up against the side of the horse. The pressure of it is uncomfortable, and you try to squirm out of the grasp. Sylus's hold is sure, though, and before you can break it, he's hooked the other arm under your knee, and lifted you up into the seat of the saddle.

You try to brace your legs, to keep your seat as the stallion begins to move beneath you, but your vicious shivers make it difficult to control your limbs, even for an action as instinctive to you as walking. Before you can falter though, Sylus’s arm wraps around you, holding you safe and steady against him.

You do your best to keep your eyes open against the biting wind and freezing snow. But the scant amount of warmth you can feel through the thickness of both your clothes, paired with the movements of the stallion slowed by the snow, is almost hypnotic. And you are tired, oh, so tired.

“You lost this game,” he says, in that damn smug voice that always makes you want to punch his arm.

“Game?”

He gives an affirmative hum. “Hide and seek. I found you, didn't I? That's another victory for me.”

You give a grunt of disgust, still not sure what he's talking about, but irritated by the condescension in his voice all the same.

“Don't be such a sore loser, sweetie.”

You don't know why you're even sitting on the same horse as him.

“A-ass,” you hiss around the waves of shivers. “Sh-should. P-push off.”

The dark chuckle behind you is as alluring as it is infuriating. “I'd love to see you try.”

You do try, for a moment, pushing against his hold. But you are soon frustrated by how clumsy your movements are, and exhausted by the effort. Sylus's tight grip is immovable anyway.

“Seems I'm still on the horse, sweetie.” Comes the singsong mocking from behind you.

You give a grunt in response. You can't be bothered to be angry. All you can feel is the heavy tiredness dulling all your senses.

Sylus says your name, sharply. There's an odd tone to it. You don't care enough to think about why.

You're vaguely aware of being jostled. And then, for a while, you are senseless.

The damn shivering is what wakes you. It's so violent and pervasive that it drives the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping between the waves of trembling to try and regain it. On instinct, you try to curl into yourself, but are unable to. In fact, apart from the tremors, you can’t move your body at all. You seem to be surrounded by some sort of heavy mass, pressing on every inch of you. You struggle, pushing against the weight near your face to get some breathing room. The mass grunts, then moves away for a moment, freeing your head and upper body. You have only a moment of reprieve from the claustrophobia before…

Something warm, wet, and slimy drags across your face.

“Ur-rgh!” You bring a quivering arm up to rub away the slime.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind you, the breath of it close enough to make warmth fan across the back of your skull, “Is that how you thank Khar for helping to save your life, sweetie?”

Your eyes snap open at the familiar voice; although instead of the carmine eyes and seductive smirk you expect, your vision is filled (for the second time today) by pitch-dark fur and smiling brown eyes set in a distinctly canine face. Right as that same face applies another sloppy lick to yours.

“Kh-khar!” You squeak, bringing your now-free arms up to protect your face from the onslaught of affection. “Th-thanks, but s-stop!”

Khar obediently jumps down from where you’re laying, though he gives you a pathetic whine. A further weight is removed from your lower half when Gerel reluctantly hefts himself off of you to join his brother on the floor, giving you a similarly dejected look.

Without Khar laying on you, you can see more of your surroundings. It’s clear that you’re in a yurt, one that is unfamiliar to you. The only light source is the barely-visible fire crackling complacently in the small stove at the center, leaving much of the place in shadow. Is it night, then? Why are you here? And why do your hands and feet feel like they are burning?

You flex your hands between shivers in an attempt to stop the strange, tingling heat. If anything, that seems to make the feeling sharper, more biting in its ferocity. Shifting them out from underneath a heavy woolen blanket and furs to inspect them gives no answers, given the dim light.

“Can you still feel them?” Sylus’s voice, humorless this time, cuts through the slowly-lifting fog of unconsciousness and confusion.

“H-hurts.”

“Good, that means there’s still life in them. Better than losing such pretty fingers to frostbite.” Memories come to you at the word ‘frostbite’. They are hazy, as though recalling a dream several hours after waking; the dogs finding you in the snow, warming you and guiding Sylus to you through the blinding storm, Sylus carrying you in his arms, and keeping you upright in the saddle before you drifted into unconsciousness.

“Syl-” Your words are cut short. In trying to turn to face him, you realize that his powerful arm is curled around your waist.

Your naked waist. And at your back, you do not feel the rough texture of clothes; but instead the heated, sticky kind of softness of skin on bare skin.

Your body stills in shock; suddenly, you are horribly, wonderfully conscious of every inch Sylus has pressed against you: The firmness of his chest, the sharp jut of his hips, the tangle of his legs around and between yours, and (both the most enticing and mortifying of all) the warm, heavy weight of what must be his cock nestled against your ass.

That damned smug chuckle comes again, “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice. It took you a while; maybe I should be more worried about your head than your fingers, hm?”

You stutter a few times, as your mind comes to terms with your situation, before blurting in a rush, “Where are my clothes, Sylus!? Where are yours!?”

“Ah, you mean our freezing, sopping wet clothes?” His tone is almost sing-song in its blithe news, and bereft of any shame, “I took the liberty of removing them so that you didn't continue freezing to death.”

Somehow, his complete lack of any embarrassment heightens your own, as though your mind has determined to make up the difference between the pair of you. The heated panic in combination with exhaustion, confusion, and desire collide in a nerve-wracking swirl. You scramble wildly to get up, get away from this source of searing, tumultuous emotions. But the movement of your hands makes them burn as you try to gain purchase In the blankets and furs, and his arm around you is immovable as stone. “You- I- Couldn’t you have just thrown a blanket on me or- or something!? Gods, let go!”

He gives a derisive snort. “You would have just frozen to death under a blanket instead of snow. You didn’t have any heat left to trap, so I lent you some of mine. And no.”

“No what?”

“I just risked my life in a blizzard hunting for you, and I’m not about to let all my effort go to waste when I’ve already caught my prize. So, no, I will not be letting you go.”

“This isn’t- Can’t you just put on some damned pants, at least?”

“Hm, I could… but are you sure you want me to?”

“Sylus!!”

He gives a full laugh at your flustered squeak, “Once I’m sure that you’ve completely warmed up, I will. Until then, I suggest you stay still. Unless you’d like me to warm you up a different way. But I’d suggest waiting until your hands have healed.”

He must be teasing, surely. Delighting in your embarrassment as always. Still, a tiny, idiotically hopeful part of you can’t help but wonder… if you were able to see his face right now, would you see a small glimmer of want for you underneath the inscrutable mask? You dismiss the thought quickly. Even if you were able to see his face, you’d only see that damn self-satisfied smirk that makes your stomach twist.

“The elders are going to be insufferable about this,” You mutter, desperate you lay those thoughts to rest. Well, as best as you can, considering Sylus is curled around you.

“So what? Let them talk.”

“Easy for you to say. They won’t say anything to you; you’re the one half of them are looking to marry their daughters off to.” You’re only aware of the venom in your last few words after they’ve already left your mouth. You pray Sylus doesn’t notice.

But of course he does.

“Jealous, little huntress?” You can hear the smile in his voice

“You’re an ass, do you know that?”

“I’m hurt sweetie. I run out into a storm to find my poor, lost huntress, and in return she calls me an ass.”

He gives a mock-sigh, but something in his words raises a question in your mind. Sylus had been out with the other hunters just before the storm hit. You hadn’t even been sure he would make it back to the village in time, but somehow he managed to find you?

“How did you even know I was out there?”

Sylus pauses for a moment. His voice, once he does speak, is startlingly somber. “Some of the hunting group saw the cloud wall rolling in. We rode back as fast as possible. Even so, if we’d had further to go, the wind would’ve outpaced us. I’ve never seen clouds that heavy and fast, outside of summer storms.”

“I tried to ride back too, when I saw them. But with the cold, I couldn’t feel my hands, and the rough ground…” You trail off, fully prepared to be teased about your riding skills. Instead, you feel an ever-so-slight tightening of his arm around you. You wonder if he’s even aware of his own movement.

Sylus continues, “When we arrived, people came out to greet us and help get everything secured before the worst of the storm. I didn’t see you throwing people out of the way like usual.”

“I do not throw people out of the way,” You mutter.

“If you say so, little huntress.” You can hear the smile in his voice for a moment, though it disappears when he continues, “I found Cota, and asked where you were. When she said you were out shepherding, I knew you wouldn’t make it back before the snow came. So, I took Khar and Gerel, and had them track you.”

“Was anyone else missing?”

“We’ll find out after the storm.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, as you process his response. He didn’t notice anyone else was gone. He didn’t ask to see if any others were lost. He didn’t bother to try and search for anyone else in the snow.

He noticed you were missing.

He asked where you were.

He went into the storm for you.

“You… Sylus, were you out in that storm, just to find me?”

A small, humorless huff of laughter fans across the back of your skull again. “I wasn’t out there just taking a stroll, sweetie.”

“You could’ve lost Gerel and Khar. And your horse. And your life.”

“Worried about me, hm?”

Of course you were. Sylus is a strong, clever man. Perhaps the greatest warrior and hunter your tribe has known; but even the greatest of mortals are brought to their knees by the forces of nature and the whims of chance. You want to tell him all this, tell him that the thought of him standing alone amidst the howling winds, searching for the path to safety… even just thinking about it makes your chest feel as empty and cold as the storm still raging outside. Your breath catches, and you cannot force the words, glutted with feelings as they are, out of your throat.

So instead you reply, “It’s a big risk to take.”

“Maybe.” His tone is nonchalant, as though he is talking about what he’d brought home from hunting, rather than the act of risking his dearest possessions and life trying to save you in near-hopeless conditions. “But I don’t gamble unless the prize is worth the risk.”

It takes you a moment to digest the words, heart caught in your throat, hardly daring to believe that you’ve understood him correctly. A fragile but brilliant hope lights in your chest. You had been aware of the friendship that had begun to form between you and Sylus, and you had been aware of your desire to be something more to him, to be someone he wanted. But you hadn’t dared to imagine occupying a position of such value to him.

“You think I’m worth all that…?”

You don’t mean to say the words aloud, but the exhaustion loosens your lips just enough for them to spill out. Immediately your stomach lurches at a strange, shifting fear. Perhaps speaking the thought aloud has crossed some sort of line, daring the universe to snuff out your hope just as it had been lit.

A soft, teasing lilt returns to his voice as he speaks, “I believe that’s what I just said, little huntress. Hm, maybe I should be more concerned about your head.” The hand that isn’t curled around your middle gives the top of your head a soft tap, tap, tap.

A small, breathless laugh bubbles up out of your chest, the hope within you flaring bright and making your heart race. You don’t know how he manages to do it; to convey something as heartfelt as ‘you are worth risking my life and all I hold dear’, while simultaneously sounding like it’s the most simple thing in the world. Something that should be obvious even to a small child.

It’s a special talent you’ve noticed in Sylus ever since that day with the wolf pups; he makes you want to throttle him one moment, and in the next breath he’ll speak with such sincere simplicity that it utterly disarms you. He somehow manages to walk that fine line between keeping you on your toes with bantering, and keeping you grounded with his forthrightness. It's addictive. It's comforting. You're not even sure if it's something he tries to do, or if his natural state of being is just something that draws your soul in effortlessly.

You need to face him.

You turn in his grasp to look at him, trying to ignore the burst of prickling heat in your hands. It's worth the pain. Sylus is a striking picture in the low light; all silvery tousled hair, gold skin, and sanguine eyes, graced by a rare look of surprise for just a moment.

And then his face relaxes into a soft look, one you've started to see more and more, but never fails to make your heart race faster than a horse galloping over the grass sea.

“There you are,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. And you simply cannot help it. Frostbite be damned. You might die if you don't kiss him, and you've come close enough to that today already. You have to kiss him.

The press of your lips against his is insistent, but chaste. At least, at first. Sylus takes in a sharp breath, and for a fraction of a second you wonder if you've misread, if you've pushed too far. And then, his mouth becomes soft, and pliant, and something in your chest melts when the arm he has around you slides up your spine to press at the nape of your neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. A pleased sigh escapes you, unbidden. Before you are quite aware of your own movements, your hand is at his jaw, cupping his face, trying to pull him closer.

A new flare of pain sears your hand at the pressure, and you reflexively pull away with a hiss.

You open your eyes (when did they close?) to see Sylus, pupils blown wide, looking at you with that same sort of ferocity and determination you saw in him earlier, when your eyes met his in the storm. And for a moment, caught in that unwavering intensity, you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

His eyes remain fixed on your own as he takes your wrist and gently (too gently) moves it away from his face, which has settled back into its usual near-arrogant smirk. Reality crashes in on you then. You are in Sylus's yurt, kissing him, sharing a bed, naked. The realization is followed by a disorienting mix of embarrassment, pride, shame, and excitement. You've just kissed him for the first time, and you know if it weren't for the pain in your hands you would have taken as much as he would give you. Begged for it, maybe. What does he think of you now? How much would he let you take? What would you tell everyone once you left here?

But as usual, when your mind threatens to whirl itself into chaos, Sylus cuts through it.

“I'll have to collect on that part of my prize later, little huntress,” He murmurs, and you wonder if it is merely your imagination, or if he is actually as breathless as you are. His thumb strokes across the soft skin at the underside of your wrist, across the vein where your pulse is thrumming like a caught hare's. “I want to see what those pretty hands can do to me when they're all healed.”

Hearing him say it out loud makes the embarrassment resurface with a vengeance, and the barely-leashed heat in Sylus's gaze makes it unbearable. Breaking the stare, you take your hand back and shuffle under the blankets once more, until the hem falls across your cheek.

Sylus's amused chuckle earns him a glare from you, but your indignation is quickly soothed over as he drags his fingers through your hair, across your scalp, gently untangling the strands. After a few minutes, the gentle scratching opens the door for a wave of exhaustion, heightened by the warm darkness and the muffled howling of the winter winds outside.

You wonder, vaguely, if the touch was meant in apology, or to make you drowsy. You're not sure it matters. Sylus is here, looking at you with that affectionate, soft smile, as your lips begin to flutter.

“Sleep, shevonica,” is the last thing you hear before drifting into unconsciousness. This time, in the safety and warmth of Sylus’s hold.

[danveration]

What if I told you I'm a mastermind? And now you're mine.

Parings: Dark!Creepy!Vox x GN!reader

Summary: Vox has a plan to finally make you his

Word count: 3145

Warnings: Stalking, obsession, manipulation, delusion, self-delusion, reader getting hypnotized by Vox against their will, mention of death, mentions of cannibalism (cannibal town), being watched while naked, reader being hurt by Vox physically

Part one

A/N: GUYS. I have a part 3 planned out but it’s REALLY fucking dark😭. Also, I was listening to the song “Mastermind” by Taylor Swift while writing this. (Hence the inspiration for the title)

Vox is getting impatient.

It’s been two weeks since he met you face to face. Two weeks since he gave you the laptop in which he’s been watching you through the webcam, and still all the cameras. Two weeks since you have been getting paranoid.

Ever since you’ve been using the laptop, you’ve noticed it’s been sparking with electricity whenever you use it. You kind of brushed it aside though because maybe this is normal for VoxTek technology.

But little did you know, it’s not normal. None of this is normal. Vox has been watching you and seeing what you browse on your laptop 24/7. He has had little no breaks. Valentino and Velvette have been giving Vox the side eye as of late, looking at him with pity/concern. He doesn’t care though, he just thinks they’re the crazy ones. This is completely okay and normal for him! How is it wrong? Nobody could prove him otherwise.

Vox must admit, seeing you face to face on the laptop camera other than angles from the cameras that are far away, is completely different. This is a millstone for him. He gets to admire you up close and take in every single detail of you. A couple days ago, you forgot to close your laptop that was on a table in your room, facing your bed. That was a fantastic day for Vox. He had a field day. He isn’t ashamed of what he did, he’s proud. He did it for you.

You’re currently sitting on your bed with your laptop, scrolling through Hell’s news feed. You’re bored, you want to do something but honestly there’s nothing much to do in Hell that doesn’t have a 90% death rate. You decide to close the laptop and go downstairs.

Vox is up. He’s been up. He had two cups of coffee beside him and he’s been awake for.. What is the hour now? He’s lost count. He just doesn’t want to miss something happening in your life! What if you wake up with a nightmare? What if bad people want to hurt you suddenly when you’re outside or asleep?? There’s so many things that could happen. He needs to be there and alert to protect you.

“Fuck sakes, Vox. You’re still on this? Clear your head, dummy!” Velvette says with a roll of her eyes.

“Shut up. My head is clear, Velvette. I’m as sane as I’d ever be!” He says.

“Uh huh.. sure. Whatever you say.” She says, walking away.

Vox shakes his head and chuckles. “People are crazy.”

He looks back up to his screen, watching you go downstairs.

You get downstairs and see that everyone is down here.

“Ah! Y/n! Goodmorning!” Charlie says with a smile.

“Morning, Charlie.” You say with a smile, waving.

“Good morning, dear!” Alastor says to you, while he’s sitting on a chair.

You look over to where he is. “Morning, Al!”

Vox’s eye twitches.

Angel and Husk are talking at the bar, and Niffty and Sir Pentious are talking. Well.. Niffty seems to be telling him something and he’s standing there in shock, looking terrified. Typical reaction for when Niffty is telling you something.

Vaggie is cleaning her spear in the lounge area, and Charlie is writing on a paper.

“Sooo, now that everyone’s here I have an announcement to make!” Charlie says, looking up from her paper. “Today.. We are doing group activities! Yay! Haha so, basically I had the great idea for all of us to go out on the town together and just spend time with one another. Doesn’t that sound fun?!” She says with excitement.

A day on the town. Honestly, that sounds nice. You’re bored out of your mind today so anything goes.

“Eehh.. I dunno. I had plans alrea-“ Angel starts but Charlie cuts him off.

“Oh come onnn! It’ll be fun, I promise!” Charlie says.

Everyone is silent so she takes that as a yes. “Alright! Great! Everyone meet here in an hour and off we go!”

You go upstairs to get dressed.

Vox listens intently to what Charlie says. A day on the town? He’s been racking his brain on how to talk to you in real life again. This may be just the thing! What if you two “accidentally” run into each other? Perfect. He notices that he’s not in the best physical state at the moment. He’s in sweat pants and a stained t-shirt. And he hasn’t showed in... A couple days. He has an hour to freshen up. He bolts out of the room to take a shower, brush his teeth, and put on his classic suit outfit.

You’re getting out of the shower and you pick out an outfit to wear. Fixing your appearance, you notice you left your laptop open again. Damn, you’ve got to get on closing that. It’ll lose its battery!

Vox steps out of the hot shower, looking at himself in the mirror. He winks at himself and goes to pick his suit outfit. After getting dressed and ready, he glances at the screen and sees you naked, about to get dressed.

“Fuck.” He says, eyeing you up and down. He feels he’s in a trance, which is ironic.

“All mine.” He whispers. Shaking his head quickly to gain composure, he sets off to go to the hotel. He will watch you guys from afar until you arrive somewhere where it’s likely where he’d be at too. Then, his mastermind plan will layout.

———————————————————————

You get downstairs and everyone is there, which is surprising. You’d expect at least Angel or Alastor to sneak off, not wanting to do this.

“Allriiggghht!! Let’s go.” Charlie says, walking to the entrance and opening the door for everyone.

“Where exactly are we going?” Angel says.

“Yeah, I’m not looking to walk no marathon.” Husk joins in.

“Wellll, I was thinking we’d just go to..” Charlie trails off. “Umm..”

“Charlie, do you even know where you’re taking us?” You say with a chuckle.

“Well…. Not yet. But! This isn’t about the destination. It’s about spending time together!” She says with a smile.

“I ssuppose you’re right.” Sir Pentious says.

Alastor’s ears twitch upwards and he says, “I have a marvelous idea! We could go to cannibal town! It’s truly a wonderful place. Remember, Charlie?” Alastor suggests.

“Hmm.. You know, that’s actually not a bad idea!” Charlie says.

Everyone gives them looks.

“Cannibal? As in.. Cannibal?” Sir Pentious says with shock.

“Ooohh..” Niffty laughs. “I’m SO excited!” She says, jumping up and down.

“Yeah! It’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise.” Charlie says with a smile.

“Whatever you think is best, babe.” Vaggie says, holding onto Charlie’s arm.

“Cannibal town it is!” Charlie says, leading the group.

———————————————————————

Vox is overhearing the conversation. “Cannibal town? Are you fucking kidding me?” He whispers, walking a safe distance away from you guys. Even simply seeing you exist is driving him crazy. You’re so perfect. “Cannibal town it is then. The things we do for love.” He chuckles to himself.

The way you walk is so memorizing to him. Look at you. He feels electricity spark around him, knocking over a electric pole next to him, making a loud noise.

“Shit.” He says, glancing in front of him, seeing you all stop for a moment, about to look back.

He quickly looks to his left and jumps out of the way. He waits a few seconds and then peaks out, seeing you all keep walking forward.

He sighs and goes back to following you.

What he didn’t notice was that Alastor was no longer with the group, instead, he teleported himself behind Vox. He notices, of course he does. He smiles to himself at the fact that he now has the upper hand, he has something to now hold over his head.

Teleporting back to the group, he glances over to Charlie.

“My dear, there it is!” He points.

“Ahh! Guys, we are here!” She says.

You all look around in shock. It’s actually.. Really nice there. Nicer than any place you’ve seen in Hell since you arrived. Everyone seems very polite.

Angel goes off to flirt with people, Husk looks around for the nearest bar, Charlie and Vaggie take pictures together, Sir Pentious is looking around paranoid, and Niffty is.. Where’s Niffty? Oh well, she’ll show up sooner than later. And Alastor is chatting with a lady. You think her name is Rosie? You saw her on an overload poster the other day.

You see a water fountain and go to sit by it.

Vox looks around. He’s pleasantly surprised. This isn’t the kind of place he’d choose to go, but it’s still not as bad as he thought it would be. He thought it would just be people violently eating and killing each other.

He sees you sitting on a bench beside a fountain, and walks up from behind.

You’re feeling kind of thirsty so you get up to go find the nearest store. Hopefully they sell things other than human remains.

Vox takes this as his chance, he walks swiftly beside you and then bumps into you on “accident.”

You jump and look to your side.

Vox..?

“Oh shit sorry!” He chuckles, looking up at you.

“Oh you’re.. Y/n, right?” He says with a charming smile.

“Yeah.” You chuckle awkwardly.

“You come here often?” He asks.

“To cannibal town? No, haha. Me and some friends are just visiting.” You explain.

“Ahhh.. I see, I see.” He stares at you in admiration.

You can’t help but feel weird around him. You’re not sure why. He seems like a nice guy, but.. There’s just something about him.

“Well..” You say. “I’ve got to get going.”

“Mind if I join you?” He says with a smile. “Wouldn’t want anyone eating you or anything like that.” He laughs and starts walking with you, not waiting for an answer.

“Soo.. How’ve you been? Have you been enjoying your new laptop?” He asks you.

You can’t seem to find a store that would sell water so you just stand there, turning your head to Vox to make conversation.

“I’ve been pretty good! Bored, but good. And yeah actually, I’ve been using it a lot.” You say, smiling.

“Oh that’s good, that’s good.” He says, nodding.

His heart is beating out of his chest right now.

You try your best to put aside your feelings of uneasiness towards him. It’s probably nothing. He’s just a new face and you gotta get used to that! He didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just your brain being annoying.

Little did you know, you have every single right to feel uneasy.

“Have you enjoyed all the features?” He asks, wanting to know more about what your thoughts are on the laptop. But more or less, just wanting to hear your voice and make as much conversation as he can with you.

“Yeah! Though.. I’ve noticed something weird. Is it.. normal for the laptops to spark electricity?” You ask in question, remembering how whenever you went on it, you saw sparks aka Vox watching you.

Vox smiles and says, “Absolutely! That’s completely normal. We thought it would be a cool idea, you know? It’s completely harmless!” He says in a convincing tone.

You feel relived at that. “Ohh alright, good!” You smile.

Vox wants to ask you out on a date. He wants to just take you. He wants you. All of you. He just doesn’t know how to approach this. It’s overwhelming for him.

“Vox?” You say, “What’re you doing here?” You ask in question, wondering what sort of business a powerful, popular man like himself was doing here.

“Hm?” He starts. “Oh! Right. I’m just here walking the streets. Browsing.” He answers with an awkward chuckle.

“Ohh, nice.” You ask, looking behind him to see Niffty chasing someone with an arm.

“Oh my- Will you excuse me, Vox? I have to go do something.” You say, stepping away from him.

He sparks and steps in front of you, blocking you.

“W-wait! Hold on. I wanted to ask you something.” He says with a smile.

You look at him with a raised brow.

“Uhh..” He says, shifting his feet and looking away and back at you, seemingly nervous.

“Haha..” He awkwardly scratches his neck and thinks over how exactly he wants to say this.

Just as he was about to talk and ask you to go out with him, Charlie steps in the way.

“Y/n! We were going to head back to the hotel now and do some more fuunn group exercises!” She said smiling.

She looks over to who you’re talking to and tilts her head.

“Hello! Who might you be?” She says smiling at him.

Vox stares at her, annoyed.

“This is Vox. He owns VoxTek and he’s one of the VVV’s.” You cut in.

“Oohhh well it’s SO nice to meet you, Mr. Vox.” She says.

“Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you too. Me and Y/n were just-“ He mumbles but gets interrupted by Niffty running between his legs and accidentally hitting him with the arm she was waving around.

His eyes go red and electricity goes around him, showing that he’s mad. He’s had enough. This was supposed to be a swift move. He comes in, wipes you off your feet, you fall in love with him, and you’re his. But in his mind, all these fucking bitches keep interrupting his time with you. He’s had it.

He snaps and grabs your arm, pulling you away from everyone. Charlie just looks in question, but walks away when she notices Vaggie calling her over.

You’re shocked and confused. What is going on? You barely know Vox. You feel a spark as he grabs you, and you hiss out in pain.

“Y/n.” He says, looking at you. His eyes are manic wide and he’s smiling at you possessively.

You try to back away but he holds you firmly by his wrist.

“Just listen. Everything is okay. I was trying to ask you if you wanted to go on a date with me.” He explains calmly, despite his not very calming state.

You now feel better that you had an uneasy feeling about him. It was deserved.

“Uhh.. Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’m sorry.” You say hesitantly.

He stops. Letting go of your arm.

“What did you just say?”

He looks at you in shock, anger, and determination.

You back up and say, “No. I don’t want to go on a date with you, Vox. I’m sorry.”

You walk away, meeting Charlie and the rest of the family. You guys walk back to the hotel, leaving Vox there to spiral.

Vox stands there, frozen. Did you just..? Say no..? To him? The love of your life? What has gotten in your head? He’s in disbelief. He shakes his head, laughing.

“No. This isn’t right. Don’t worry, Y/n. I’ll clear your head in no time.” He says with a smile, calming walking back to his headquarters.

———————————————————————

You’re back in you room, ready for bed. Yawning, you open your laptop to check your messages before you go to sleep.

Vox is smiling as he sends hypnotizing message through the screen. Trust him, love him, and feel sorry for how you treated him.

All of a sudden, you see sparks on the laptop again, but this time, you feel something.

Your head spins and your eyes go foggy for a second. All you can think about is how much you messed up by declining Vox’s offer today. How dumb can you be? Why would you do that?

You snap out of the trance and frown. A wave of regret and shame fills you. Vox of VoxTek, one of the most important people in Hell, the guy who gave you a free laptop, the charming man who asked you out on a date, when he could’ve asked anyone else but he asked you.. and you said no?!

You panic and begin to have anxiety. You have to apologize to him. In person.

Getting up, not even changing out of your pyjamas, you leave your room and go to walk over to the VVV tower to say sorry to Vox and see if it’s not too late to accept his offer.

All-while, Vox is sitting back smirking while watching you on his screens. See?! Now you have some sense talked into you. You just needed a little push. His lovely is on his way to see him, as it should’ve been. You just needed some reminding of how you really felt. Vox is excited to see you again. And this time, it won’t get interrupted.

You get to the VVV tower, entering the place. It’s pretty cool there. You look around and go to the reception desk.

There’s a young man there, you have the idea to ask him if you can speak to Vox.

“Hey um.. Am I able to see Vox? I have something to say to him.” You ask.

The man laughs at you and just stares.

“Oh, you’re serious?” He asks. “No can do! We can’t just let random people walk in and talk to him.” He says in a “are-you-dumb” way.

Suddenly, Vox enters from the elevator.

“Y/n! Hello, you.” He says with a charming smile, walking over to you.

“V-Vox! I just um.. I wanted to say something to you. If that’s okay..” You start.

He shushes you and tells you to wait while he brings you up to his room for more privacy.

As you two get to his room, you look around. It suits him. There’s a lot of screens and all the colours that match his usual outfits.

“So, what is it you wanted to tell me?” He says smugly, knowing already.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I acted when you asked me out. I shouldn’t have said no.. I just.. I don’t know what came over me.” You say apologetically.

“Oh my dear, dear, Y/n. Thank you for your apology.” He says. “Do you have a different answer now?”

You feel a twist in your gut. Half of you is still saying no, but half of you is saying yes. You don’t know which one to lean into. It feels like your brain is confused and that you can’t even trust yourself.

Vox notices you thinking hard, so he helps you. Using his hypnotizing “power,” he puts sense into your brain.

Your head goes dizzy for a second and all comes clear to you. You don’t have to trust yourself. You can just trust him. The answer was staring you in your face all along.

“Y-yes! I do have a different answer. I’d say yes. I want to go out with you.” You say quickly.

Vox smiles.

“Of course you do.” He whispers.

[star-wrote]

After Midnight

Characters: Stanford!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: The club lights make the mysterious stranger at the bar look even more kissable.

Warnings: drinking, cussing, a mean guy at the bar, dancing, making out, a little suggestive but no smut

A/N: just a short lil writing piece based on the song “after midnight” by chappell roan <3 written by someone who has never been to a club or had alcohol LOL.

Word Count: 1.1k ish

(divider from @strangergraphics )

The DJ at the club was spinning some track from the 90’s when you and your friends finally got through the long line. It had been cold outside; with winter break just around the corner, so it wasn’t the most comfortable to wait in your short dress. Luckily, the body heat from the people dancing in the club warmed you right up (and the shot of tequila that you had just drank).

Your friends had gone off onto the dance floor, leaving you standing at the crowded bar, waiting for another drink. There were many people around you, all of them shouting their orders at the poor bartender, except for one man. He seemed out of place standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and his brown hair framing his face. He was wearing a frown, seemingly displeased with the situation in front of him.

You wanted to kiss the frown right off his face. But maybe that was the alcohol talking.

The burst of courage that came with that one shot of tequila made you approach the stranger.

“Hey, are you waiting on a drink too?” You said while standing next to him, pretending to also watch the scene at the bar.

He glanced over at you and raised an eyebrow in what looked like surprise at you talking to him. “Uh, no. I was going to ask but the bartender looks overwhelmed.”

You nodded, smiling slightly at the sympathy he seemed to have that the other club-goers lacked. “Yeah, they’re being pretty rude tonight.”

“I guess finals make everyone desperate for alcohol,” the man says with a chuckle.

The frantic bartender called your name and slammed your drink down at the bar. While you were walking up to get it, another customer quickly looked around and grabbed your drink. When he turned around to snake off into the shadows with it, he was met with you holding a hand out for your drink.

“Thanks for grabbing that for me!” You quip while reaching to grab the glass in the thief’s hand.

He pulls the drink away. “No, this shit’s mine.”

“I’m pretty sure we don’t share the same name, Brian.” You point to where his name tag printed his name clearly across his chest.

“Look princess, I’ve had a long day at work and I just wanted a free drink, okay?” He rolls his eyes at you.

Suddenly, the cute boy from earlier walks up behind you and nods in greeting at Brian. You couldn’t help but notice how much taller he was in comparison.

“You want a drink? Wait in line like everyone else, man.”

Brian stepped closer to you, close enough to where you could feel his breath on your face. “Make me.”

Out of instinct, you pushed up on the full glass, spilling the drink all over him.

The brown haired boy quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you away as Brian sputtered. He saw you grinning in achievement at the man and laughed. “C’mon, let’s not start a bar fight.”

He led you to a table near the corner of the room, where the music was quieter and the lights were dimmer.

“Oh my god, did you see that!” You giggle as he lets go of your hand and sits down in the booth.

His smile didn’t leave his face as he says, “I’m just surprised that you dumped your own drink on the guy.”

“Well, he was being a dick,” you shrug.

He nods while smiling and looks down at the table. A beat of silence passes before he looks back up at you.

“You have a pretty name, you know. I heard the bartender say it.”

It was your turn to smile and look down at the table where your finger was picking at the chipped paint. “Well that’s not fair!”

He tilted his head in questioning, his smile still ever present on his face.

You look back at him and continue. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours! Even after we’ve gone on an adventure together.”

He chuckles. “I’m Sam. And I’m sure I could take you on way better adventures.”

“Is that an offer to go on a date, Sam?” You wink at him, the low pink lighting making you feel flirty.

The beat changes into one that you recognize as your favorite upbeat song, and you perk up.

Sam must’ve noticed because he says, “Right now, it’s an offer to go to the dance floor with me.”

You and him stand up, grab each other’s hands, and worm your way through the sea of people on the dance floor. He stops in the middle, right under the disco ball, and spins you. You two spend the rest of the song dancing together.

The song ended and a slower song filled the void. Sam’s warm hands immediately find your hips as you start to sway together. It must’ve been after midnight, because you started to feel like you were falling in love. But by the look on Sam’s face, he must’ve been feeling it too.

“Can I kiss you?” You suddenly blurted out.

Instead of responding, he leaned down and met your lips with his own in a sweet kiss. The DJ switched to a more sensual song as the slow dance faded out. Sam deepened the kiss as you sighed into his mouth.

You pulled back and grabbed his hand, leading him back to your cozy corner. You guided him to sit on the booth and you straddled his lap. He only had a look of surprise on his face for a second before he brought his hands up to your cheeks and pulled you into a kiss. You bit on his bottom lip and he let out a grunt and a breath of air out his nose. You smiled into the kiss at his reaction.

He pulled your head away to allow you both to breathe. You leaned your foreheads against each other. He saw that your dress had ridden up, so he pulled it back down to your upper thighs for you. You breathe out a “thanks.”

“I’m not sure we can continue in public without getting arrested,” he says. He gets a shy look on his face. “You wanna go back to my place?”

You stop and think for the first time that night. You had been too good this semester. You got good grades on all of your finals, and the cutest boy alive was asking you to go back to his place. You could afford to be not so good for one night.

You smile and press a quick kiss to his lips before getting back on your feet. “Sure.”

Everything good happens after midnight.

[sailoryooons]

Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.

Also, I love you ❤️

❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader

❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand. 

❀ Word Count: 4188 

❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED. 

❀ Published: August 3, 2023

❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Song Inspiration |

Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.

If he tried. 

If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family. 

Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.

Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up. 

The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.

Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games. 

He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask. 

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr. 

Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you. 

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.

Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches. 

Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it. 

“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling. 

Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text. 

Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?

Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.

Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous. 

Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.

This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire. 

Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix. 

At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable. 

Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy. 

When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.

Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.

Now, danger is already there. 

The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler. 

But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm. 

It’s you. You’re the storm. 

A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.

Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you. 

A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target. 

Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air. 

Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.

Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.

At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him. 

This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.

It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel. 

“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”

“What are you doing, Witch?”

Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach. 

It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known. 

“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing. 

“I’ll miss that. Take this.” 

Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.

Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.

Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.

Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open. 

Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.

The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.

I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. 

The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier. 

Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic. 

It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris. 

Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down. 

All he can do is scream.

-

Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core. 

You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.

But Yoongi never asks questions. 

It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.

Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.

Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise. 

Penance and praise are not the same, though. 

Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest. 

Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically. 

And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner. 

That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon. 

Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench. 

The best thing you could do for him was die.

So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child. 

Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands. 

Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.

Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar. 

It smells like… Yoongi. 

“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”

A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?” 

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy. 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

“What?”

“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”

Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”

He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“You’re in no condition to fight me.”

“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”

His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”

“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”

“Of course, witch.” 

Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands. 

Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat. 

You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.

Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”

“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”

“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”

“I’m not good at that.” 

You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?” 

“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”

Yoongi��s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.

“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.

He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.

He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.

Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight. 

“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”

“Keep going.”

“As if i could fucking stop.” 

You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile. 

Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time. 

After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers. 

“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.” 

[amyispxnk]

My Kind of Woman

Chapter 3: Moron.

Series Masterlist || Prev Chapter

Series summary - Your song captivates Joel the second he hears you that night in Jackson, but he struggles to work up the courage to confess his feelings. With some (very heavy) encouragement from Ellie and Tommy, you two get closer and closer until he finally thinks he’s ready.

Chapter summary - It’s time for you and Joel’s Friday night guitar session…

A/N: FIRSTLY. IM SO SORRY THAT THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG. I’ve had the most hectic few months and been caught up with work and whatnot, so yeah, I’m really really sorry!! Secondly, I was absolutely not planning on taking this route but it just happened, okay???? Sorry, again. 😭

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: slight fluff, a little angst, language

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Just breathe.

You keep repeating that in your mind as you pace your room, looking over your clothes and checking your hair in the mirror. Overthinking, as always, when you see yourself and contemplate why you chose this sweater instead of that other one in your closet, or why you decided to try out a new hairstyle specifically for this dat-

It’s not a date.

It’s not a date.

You’re just meeting up with your incredibly attractive 53 year-old ‘guy friend’ for some casual dinner and casual guitar on a casual Friday evening. That’s it, nothing more, nothing less.

God, you really need to get a hold of yourself, you say to your reflection in the mirror.

10 long minutes pass before you hear the soft rapping on your front door.

You take a deep breath, smoothing down your clothes, before opening it to reveal-

Ellie.

Her hair tied in a knotty ponytail and her cheeks flushed, nose tipped red, from the cold that Jackson almost always houses.

“Ellie! Hi. What’re you-” you begin after working past your surprise, having expected a burly old man and definitely not this little girl at your door.

“Joel wanted me to tell you that he’s really sorry he can’t come see you today because he has to do something and he- yeah. That’s it, actually.” She blurts out, lips pressed together and her eyes wide and inquisitive whilst she waits for your response.

You try, you really try, to not completely deflate as you register what she’s just told you, but.. how can you not?

You’d made dinner, gotten dressed, brushed up on your 90s guitar songs (since you figured that’s what he’d want to play with you), all for him to stand you up? And then send his daughter - or whatever she is to him - to tell you?

And, of course, Ellie notices when your shoulders slump and you bite your lip, glancing away. The thing is, she’s very good at seeing the emotions people try to conceal, but she’s also very good at confronting them about it in the same instant.

For you, she tries to be gentle about it.

“I’m sorry.. He did say he was really sorry. I, um, I know that you were probably really excited about it… You look really nice.” She offers weakly, to which you give an equally weak smile.

“Thanks, hon.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you glance behind you at the food on the stove and the guitar propped up against your couch.

“What’re you making?” She says after a moment, trying not to peek around your shoulder into your home since Joel told her that that was rude.

“Oh, just.. Just some chicken thing…”

She looks at you expectantly, and you decide that you shouldn’t let the food go to waste, knowing you can’t finish it all by yourself.

“You wanna come in?”

She nods eagerly, giving in and hurrying inside.

“Wowwww so this is the famous guitar, huh?” She smirks, palm brushing over your guitar, the one you use for your Tipsy Bison gigs.

“Yeah. That’s the one.” You smile softly, looking down at the instrument. It’s definitely.. a little weathered, but it does the job well.

It’s not long before you and Ellie are sat at the table, talking about whatever random topics her mind comes up with, finishing and cleaning up whilst she asks about your guitar and if you can play some songs for her.

You pause, not really feeling up to it after the disappointment you’d experienced this evening, still not feeling better even with Ellie’s amusing company.

But then you see the pleading look in her eyes, and you know you can’t fight it.

“Okay. Any particular songs you want me to play for you?”

The two of you get set up on your couch, and you look up at her expectantly.

She doesn’t reply, but she seems to be deep in thought, brows knitted.

“I don’t really know many..” she eventually says, frowning slightly.

You hum in thought, idly strumming as you think.

“Well.. there’s this one I always liked when I was a kid. It’s called Santeria.” You say after a moment, and she just nods, waiting for you to start.

You begin playing, losing yourself in the chords and gently nodding your head along to the beat as you start to sing.

I don’t practice Santeria

I ain’t got no crystal ball

Well, I had a million dollars

But I, I’d spend it all

Despite having heard you singing and playing many times before, she still listens to you playing the song with awe visible in her expression, applauding as you smile bashfully when the song ends.

“Dude, you’re so fucking good at guitar! That was so cool. Wow.” She beams, and you thank her before putting your guitar away, much to her protest.

“Go on, it’s getting late now.” You say, gently ushering her to leave. You love her, and you love kids in general, but you’re tired and you honestly want to go and cry, the nauseating feeling of heartbreak settling deep in your bones. Because that’s what it is. You found yourself falling for a man who stood you up the first chance he got. You realise you’ve been seeing it all through rose-tinted glasses - every time you talked, it was when you sat down with him, or you sped your pace to catch up with him in the street. Never him going out of his way for you.

Of course, what you didn’t realise was that Joel was just painfully petrified at the prospect of seeing you tonight. He’d used some bullshit excuse that he had to go help Tommy secure the wall right now, when he didn’t even need to do it, and they were not doing it right now.

But what was he meant to do? He didn’t deserve you, and he knew he’d just go and mess things up anyway, because that’s just how he is. Then he realises that he’s already gone and messed it up, just by not coming to see you this evening. Shit. He’s a total idiot. How long since he sent Ellie to go talk to you? Maybe he’d have enough time before she comes back?

He’s pacing around downstairs when she throws the door open, droning a very long “JOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEL!”, and he knows he’s in trouble now.

“You- fucking- idiot! Dude, why the fuck- Why would you stand her up? I thought you had to go check the fence but clearly fucking not! Oh my god.” She groans, shaking her head.

“She’s so cool, and she let me stay with her for dinner and she played some sick-ass guitar for me, and she let me talk about whatever I wanted and she actually listened and- and even though I had a great time, the only reason it happened is because you stood her up! What the fuck, man?” She says, exasperated.

He just stares at her, having nothing to say, because she is completely right in her judgement.

“I’m a moron.” He mumbles to himself, running a palm down his face with a deep sigh.

“Yeah, y’ fuckin’ are.” She mutters back, before looking up at him.

“You have to fix this. I swear. If she hates you then she won’t wanna talk to me either, and I am not having that. So- figure something out. Night, man.” She says, exiting through the back door to go over to the garage, leaving him to have his crisis in peace.

–

“School’s closed for the weekend so I won’t be able to talk right now-”

“It’s me.”

You look up from your desk where you had been scribbling away at some lesson plans for your art class, stunned into silence as your words disappear, Joel Miller at the door of your classroom.

You collect yourself to make sure you don’t sound too pissed off when you greet him, but he still winces when you grate out his name, voice too high-pitched and face too smiley for it to seem natural.

He steps forward, gently closing the door behind him and looking down at the floor, looking almost.. nervous? Joel Miller is nervous? To talk to you?

Your brows knit as you wait for him to speak, turning back to your work when he suddenly speaks up.

“Look, I- I wanted to- fuck, I had a whole thing planned out but- I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” He says, stumbling through his words.

“That’s okay.” You say, not even looking at him, feeling quite indifferent to it now that it’s been an entire week. And from the fact that his apology wasn’t really much of an apology.

You look back up at him, eyebrows raised, and he sighs heavily.

“You know I ain’t good at this, sweetheart, I just- I really am sorry.. I got… I got scared.” He says, trailing off in uncertainty by the end, looking at you pleadingly.

There’s that pet name again, the heat still rushing to your cheeks despite the annoyance you feel with him now.

You shake your head slightly, sighing again in frustration.

“You got scared? Really? God, Joel, you’re really telling me you decided to stand me up like that because you were scared?”

Your jaw clenches as you try to hold your tongue, not wanting to yell at him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off once more.

“Thank you for coming to talk to me, Joel. Please could you leave my classroom now?”

And then he knows he has completely fucked up. He had already made you - the town’s sunshine - upset, and now you were probably even more angry with him.

Ultimately, your reaction was completely valid. How could you know why he did that to you? You didn’t know about all he had lost, how he feared that getting close to you in this way would just result in even more loss and heartbreak, how he felt unworthy of anything good to come into his life, like you.

He’s at a loss for words, staring into your hard gaze, nodding before he turns and leaves the room.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated 💞

Next Chapter

[iloveriddles]

Imaginal Disk Storyline + Lore.

Okay, this is all opinion and my theories.

From What I can tell, “Imaginal Disk” is about two people: our protagonist, True, and a sub-protagonist of sorts, Ghost.

True lives in a house away from town. All she can do in her house is watch TV and journal.

True hates herself, and has never felt loved, or really sees love anywhere. She is very depressed. She can’t bear to look at herself in the mirror, even. She hates the way she looks, as we see on the mirror from imaginaldisk.world in True’s room. Her face is all distorted and swirled if you click it.

She never sleeps because she “spends her days chasing clouds and counting sheep, waiting for the night to creep”.

She does this because in the field outside her house, during night, a mirror appears and in it she sees a person who looks like her. This is Ghost. I am not sure if this happens every single night, or just some, but True seems dedicated to talking to Ghost at any chance she can take.

Ghost sleeps every night well and wakes up to be in the field, opposite to True. At her side of the mirror, it’s daytime.

I know their names because of the journals in True’s bedroom, where the lyrics for Fear, Sex are handwritten with the name “Ghost” at the top, and the lyrics for Killing Time are written on the first page with with the name “True”.

Ghost, to True, is beautiful in every way. She’s pretty, she’s perfect. She is loved and happy, and True isn’t. Ghost is the “Angel on a satellite”, I am 99% sure. True, from speculation, lives vicariously in a way through Ghost. She wishes she could be Ghost, and it kills her. There’s even symbolism here with Ghost’s lover in the Death & Romance video being made of light and featureless. It’s like exactly what True wants, to “be pined for” as she says in Killing Time (“I don’t care if I don’t sleep // but someone better pine for me”), but she can’t imagine by whom because she has no love interest. She just wants faceless love. She wants to feel like she matters in some way, like she is worthy of time. “There’s always time for killing, but never time for me. It only takes a minute”, she sings in Killing Time.

It’s so sad =( she’s right, though. That’s how it feels. People have time to waste and do nothing, but not time to help their close ones when they’re in a low place. It’s neither party’s fault, but still “True”.

True’s room is also the same layout as Ghost’s, but opposite. I think they are maybe versions of themselves from parallel universes or something like that. There is also implication that they start seeing through each other’s eyes in intervals, and we see this a little at the end of the Death & Romance video when she touches the Disk. I think their brains are connected in some way.

As mentioned, True hates herself and is miserable. I think this is why she gets the Imaginal Disk. We know she watches TV, so she probably saw the ad “True Blue Interlude” which is between Killing Time and Image. Image is her getting diskinserted and going to The Doctor. In the advertisement, it seems to be singing to her. It even says her name, “True”. It’s advertised as being a next stage and phase, it’s like the perfect form of escaping for True. She doesn’t want to be herself, she wants to be “Pure” and a “better her”. I also wonder if True Blue Interlude has hypnotic properties in canon, or anything like that. It’s interesting how this changes Image so much if you know the story. “I’m the best you’ve got, *true* or not?”

We are missing music videos so I am not certain about some stuff. They said on Instagram that they’re making one for Tunnel Vision, which I am 90% certain it will be another True song. True’s eyes do the weird blink thing in the Fear, Sex music video. Also, in “That’s My Floor” the camera zooms into her eyes and she LITERALLY has “Tunnel Vision”.

Also from the “That’s My Floor” music video, we know that after getting her disk True wears red like The Doctor instead of her blue, and starts assisting him in diskinserting. There is so much speculative stuff here right now. For example, I wonder if The Doctor is supposed to be True’s universe’s version of the glowing light guy that Ghost is with. I don’t know, but it changes the songs A LOT if you know that the lyrics are in character. Some songs are Ghost songs, and others are True songs.

In “That’s My Floor”’s music video she accidentally kills the people dancing with her indirectly because she gave them the disks (speculation) so she runs away. This lines up with “The Outskirts” from the website. It says to “walk down and atone for your sins”, also also that “the weight of your guilt should be slowing you down more than that”.

I think it’s about True’s guilt for all she’s done with the Imaginal Disk. When it zooms into her stomach camera? It shows what I think is the reality she actually wants. She wants to remove their disks; but she doesn’t. I also don’t know if Ghost is actually there, or if she’s hallucinating/imagining her to be.

“Love Is Everywhere”, is a Ghost song. She says to “look through the holes in the sky” to “find Love”. I also think Cry For Me might be a Ghost song, because she says “Think of Love and you’ll remember me”. I wonder if she’s going to be killed off or something. This would be foreshadowed by “DEATH and romance”. Maybe The solid light guy (whom I assume went into The Cocoon at The Outskirts) dies, so Ghost does too? Not sure. Speculation.

In Angel on a Satellite, a song I believe to be about Ghost, True sings “A thousand eyes turn to stone and monochrome // surprise, surprise // they turn to smile at the same time”

Followed by

“That’s why I don’t look up // That’s why I’m always dancing”

I think this is symbolism for her depression and inability to feel love.

The “eyes” can’t feel; they only watch. They symbolize people around her. They’re “stone” and “monochrome” because they are cold and reflective onto her, these represent people in her life that she can’t show her misery around. Like being depressed and having to hide it from your family, or friends that say “I’m always here to listen” but do not mean it in the slightest. She’s “always dancing” because she’s masking her loneliness and self-hate for those watching her.

True has never left love. We know she doesn’t truly. She sings about it multiple times. I think this part of She Looked Like Me! Is about Ghost

“Her hair lifted as she stood still

Right there in the light And she felt like a dream

I didn't know what to think

She looked like me

We stood mirrored 'til I leaned in And then you know what she did

She shot at me like an earthbound bullet

And then she wrapped her hands around my neck and I felt love

Just ordinary love

Let me hold you in my arms

Oh, love, that familiar old drug”

I don’t think Ghost literally strangled her, but instead it’s more poetic symbolism.

In Angel on a Satellite, True sings “I swear that through your eyes everything is brighter all the time // ‘cause when I see me through your eyes I love me, so don’t leave my side // you always see the sky, angel on a satellite”

Ghost “sees the sky” by seeing and feeling love. She literally “looks up”. She’s optimistic, True isn’t. She can’t look up.

Another little detail I’ve noticed is how in Love Is Everywhere, I presume Ghost sings “Look inside through the sky all around us” in the same melody that True sings “Angel on a satellite, glad you found us” in “Feeling Diskinserted?”

I think that the album will end with True going to the cocoon and becoming her ACTUAL “Purest self”. If you spell “Imaginal Disk” with a “c” instead of a “k” at the end, it’s literally a part of a pupa. The Imaginal disc turns into portions of a bug’s exoskeleton after it emerges from its metamorphosis. So, on a literal level, the real Imaginal disk that changes you was THE COCOON ALL ALONG. Maybe the Doctor is doing a shady internet scam trick where you change the URL by one letter and pass it off.

The detail here is so interesting. Even down to their names True is literally her True self. She can’t be anyone else. It’s reality. Ghost on the other hand is like the Ghost of everything True wants to be.

I also noticed: The Doctor’s laughter from Fear, Sex plays in the bridge of Cry For Me. I bet we will get a music video for it. I wonder what is happening with the Ghost and aliens storyline.

Anyways, I have so much to say about this. I have more even than this. We are missing music videos so I will be back. I also have to talk about the alien observation plot, but that needs more pondering.

[amethystarachnid]

Would you consider involving Tony's parents in a one-shot? I've seen a few one-shots with his parents alive and being the best parents, and I really like that idea. If that's okay with you, I'd like to request 18. Resolution Reflections with Young!Tony Stark x f!Reader, his parents are throwing a New Year’s party and it's the first time Tony and Reader are spending it together and the first time she's going to his parents' house, they're going to love her and be proud of their son dating a good girl. At midnight, they share a kiss and their New Year’s resolutions/reflections, their shared dreams, and the promise to always achieve everything together, just pure fluff 🥰 and you can set in modern times, don't need to go back to the 90's 🥰

NEW YEAR EVE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Young!Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Timeline: they're on their last year of high school

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.2k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ I think I went a little off track with this and I notice only now that the story is complete, I'm sorry if this isn't exactly what you asked :(

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The invitation comes casually, like most things with Tony. He’s lounging on your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other flicking a small gadget between his fingers—a prototype, no doubt, that he whipped up in his spare time. The room smells faintly of burnt solder, thanks to his earlier tinkering. You’re perched at your desk, trying to study, though it’s hard to focus with him stretched out there looking entirely too comfortable in your space.

“So,” he says, drawing the word out like he’s testing the waters. “What do you think about spending New Year’s Eve with me?”

Your pencil stills over your notes, and you glance at him with a raised brow. “That depends. What do you think about spending New Year’s Eve with me?”

He rolls his eyes, that playful grin pulling at his lips. “Obviously, I’m in. But there’s a catch.”

Your stomach flips a little, and you don’t know why. Tony catches your hesitation immediately because, of course, he always does. He props himself up on one elbow, his expression softening in a way that still catches you off guard, even after all this time.

“Hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “It’s nothing bad. I just… well, my parents are throwing their annual party, and I want you to come with me. Meet them.”

You blink, the words landing heavily in your chest. Meet them. As in Howard and Maria Stark. The man whose name is on every headline, whose brilliance (and sometimes questionable ethics) cast a shadow Tony can never quite escape. The woman who appears in magazine spreads looking flawless and untouchable, like a queen in designer couture.

“Tony…” you start, but he’s already scrambling off the bed, crossing the room to you in a few quick strides.

“Before you say no,” he interrupts, crouching beside your chair, “hear me out. They’ll love you. I mean, how could they not? You’re… you.”

You let out a soft laugh, though it’s more nervous than amused. “You’re biased.”

“Damn right I am.” He leans his chin on the edge of your desk, looking up at you with those warm brown eyes that can talk you into almost anything. “But I mean it. They’ve been bugging me to bring you around anyway. And this party? It’s just a bunch of people standing around drinking overpriced champagne and pretending to care about the ball drop. You’ll fit right in.”

Your chest tightens at the thought. Fit right in? Not likely. Tony’s world feels so far removed from yours sometimes, even if he never treats you that way. He’s always been good at making you feel like you belong, like it doesn’t matter that his idea of a normal day includes private jets and cutting-edge labs while yours involves coffee runs and library study marathons.

“I don’t know,” you say finally, chewing on your bottom lip. “What if they… what if I don’t make a good impression?”

Tony straightens up, tilting his head as he studies you. “You’re nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous!” you blurt, your voice higher-pitched than you’d like. “Your parents are—well, they’re them. What if they think I’m… I don’t know, not good enough for you?”

His expression shifts, and for a moment, you think you’ve offended him. But then he reaches for your hands, pulling you to your feet. His grip is warm, steady, grounding.

“Okay, first of all, no one gets to decide that but me,” he says firmly. “And second, they’re going to love you. Trust me.”

The way he says it—like it’s an unshakable truth—makes your heart squeeze. Tony Stark isn’t always the best at expressing his feelings, but when he does, it’s impossible not to believe him. Still, the idea of standing in a room full of people who know Tony as the heir to one of the biggest empires in the world feels daunting.

“I don’t even know what I’d wear,” you mumble, trying to stall.

Tony smirks, his usual cocky confidence slipping back into place. “Oh, that’s easy. I’ll pick something out for you.”

You narrow your eyes. “If it’s anything like that weird futuristic dress you sketched for me last month, I’m saying no.”

“Hey, that design was ahead of its time!” he protests, though he’s laughing. “But fine, we’ll shop together. Deal?”

You sigh, the fight slowly draining out of you. It’s hard to say no to Tony when he’s this determined. And, deep down, you know he means well. He wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think you could handle it—or if he didn’t want you there.

“Okay,” you say at last, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go.”

The grin that spreads across his face is so boyish and unguarded, it almost makes you forget why you were worried in the first place. Almost.

The days leading up to the party pass in a blur of preparations. True to his word, Tony drags you to a boutique downtown, where he insists on finding the perfect outfit. It’s an exhausting ordeal—he vetoes nearly every dress you try on, claiming they don’t do you justice, until you finally settle on something sleek and elegant that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you won’t stick out like a sore thumb.

“You look amazing,” Tony says as you step out of the fitting room, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sends heat rushing to your cheeks. “My parents won’t know what hit them.”

The night of the party arrives faster than you’d like. Tony picks you up in a sleek black car that’s almost too nice to sit in, dressed in a tailored suit that makes him look older, sharper, every bit the heir to Stark Industries. He whistles low when he sees you, offering his arm with a grin.

“Ready to make an entrance?” he asks, though he doesn’t wait for your answer before leading you to the car.

By the time you reach the Stark mansion, your nerves are a full-blown storm. The house is enormous, glowing with warm light against the crisp winter night. Guests in designer gowns and tuxedos mill about on the front steps, sipping champagne and exchanging pleasantries that sound more polished than genuine.

Tony squeezes your hand as you step inside, his touch a lifeline. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of jazz music. You spot waiters gliding through the crowd with trays of hors d’oeuvres that look too pretty to eat.

He leads you through the crowd with ease, pausing now and then to exchange pleasantries with people who seem eager to talk to him. You’re introduced as “Y/N,” no titles, no qualifiers, just your name. It’s both comforting and terrifying.

And then, there they are—Howard and Maria Stark. They’re standing near the grand staircase, an impressive pair that commands attention without even trying. Howard is tall and broad-shouldered, his sharp suit and carefully combed hair giving him an air of authority. Maria, by contrast, is elegant and understated, her smile polite but unreadable.

“Mom, Dad,” Tony says as you approach. “This is Y/N.”

Maria’s gaze softens as it lands on you, and she extends a perfectly manicured hand. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” she says, her tone warm but measured.

Howard offers a nod, his smile faint but not unkind. “Tony’s told us a lot about you.”

Your stomach twists, but you manage a smile, hoping it looks more confident than you feel. “It’s nice to meet you both,” you say, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

Tony’s hand brushes yours, a small, reassuring gesture that grounds you in the moment. For now, it’s enough.

Maria’s handshake is delicate but firm, her presence somehow simultaneously inviting and intimidating. As she releases your hand, you see her eyes flicker toward Tony, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Howard’s nod is accompanied by a polite once-over, as if he’s quietly assessing you but doing so in a way that doesn’t feel overly critical. For all your nerves, the atmosphere is not as icy as you had feared. Yet you’re acutely aware of the importance of this moment—these people are more than Tony’s parents. They’re titans of industry, figures who seem untouchable from a distance, and now they’re looking at you like they’re ready to get to know you.

“So,” Maria says, her voice smooth and composed, “we’ve been hearing about you for months now. It’s lovely to finally put a face to the name.”

“It’s lovely to meet you too,” you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the butterflies rioting in your stomach. “Tony speaks about you often as well.”

Tony lets out a short laugh beside you, clearly amused. “Not too much, I hope. Don’t want to ruin the mystique.”

Maria chuckles lightly, her sharp eyes twinkling with subtle amusement. “Oh, I think we can handle it. So, tell us a bit about yourself, dear. Where do you come from? What’s your family like?”

It’s a straightforward question, but it feels loaded under the circumstances. Still, you’re determined to make a good impression.

“Well, I’m from Midtown,” you begin, smoothing the fabric of your dress unconsciously. “My family’s pretty small—just me, my mom, and my younger brother. My mom works as a nurse, and my brother’s still in middle school.”

Maria’s smile doesn’t waver, and there’s a flicker of interest in her expression. “That must keep your mother very busy. Nursing is such an admirable profession.”

“It does,” you agree, your confidence bolstered by her genuine tone. “She works long hours, but she’s amazing. She’s always been my role model.”

Howard’s deep voice cuts in next, not unkind but more direct. “And what about you? Tony mentioned you’re quite the student. What are your plans after high school?”

You glance at Tony briefly, catching the way he’s watching you—there’s a quiet pride in his eyes, a silent encouragement that steadies your nerves. Turning back to Howard, you answer honestly.

“I’m planning to go to college,” you say. “I’ve applied to a few schools already. I’m hoping to major in environmental science… maybe engineering. I’ve always loved the idea of building things or coming up with solutions to problems.”

Maria tilts her head slightly, her smile deepening. “Engineering? That’s wonderful. And very fitting, given who you’re dating,” she teases lightly, her gaze sliding toward Tony.

Tony grins, unfazed. “What can I say? I’ve got a type. Brilliant and beautiful.”

You roll your eyes at his shamelessness, but Howard chuckles, his posture relaxing slightly. “Good answer,” he says, clearly pleased with his son’s response. He turns back to you. “Environmental science, though. That’s not the most common choice. Why that field?”

You take a deep breath, finding your footing as the conversation shifts into territory you’re passionate about. “I’ve always cared about the environment,” you say. “I think it’s one of the biggest challenges our generation will face. And I want to be part of the solution. Whether it’s renewable energy, conservation, or designing more sustainable technology… it feels like something that matters.”

Maria’s gaze softens, and she exchanges a look with Howard. There’s something unspoken between them, an understanding that passes with a single glance. When Maria speaks again, her voice is warm, almost approving.

“That’s a very admirable goal. And one that’s becoming more important by the day.”

Howard nods in agreement, his demeanor shifting slightly as if he’s already decided you’re worth listening to. “It’s good to hear someone your age thinking about the bigger picture. Too many people overlook that kind of thing.”

You smile, your nerves easing with each passing moment. Their approval feels genuine, not forced or obligatory, and it gives you the confidence to keep going.

“I think it helps to have people around who believe in you,” you say, glancing at Tony again. “He’s been a big part of that for me.”

Tony’s grin widens, and he slips an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer. “Don’t let her fool you,” he says. “She’s the one with the brilliant ideas. I’m just lucky to be around to hear them.”

Maria’s laugh is soft, but her eyes are bright as she watches the two of you. “You two seem very good for each other. It’s always nice to see that kind of balance in a relationship.”

Howard’s voice carries a hint of approval as he adds, “Tony’s lucky to have found someone like you. I’m glad he has someone who’s keeping him grounded.”

The words catch you off guard, but they warm you from the inside out. It’s the kind of sentiment you’d hoped for but hadn’t dared to expect. Tony, for all his bravado, has always had a complicated relationship with his parents. Hearing his father speak so openly about his pride in Tony’s choices feels significant, like a rare glimpse into a side of their dynamic you don’t often see.

“I’m lucky too,” you say softly, meeting Howard’s eyes. “Tony’s brilliant. And he’s always pushing me to do better, to think bigger. I think that’s what makes us work so well together.”

Tony’s arm tightens around you briefly, and you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck. It’s rare to see him speechless, but the pride in his expression is unmistakable.

Maria’s smile grows, and she steps forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “You’re a lovely young woman,” she says sincerely. “And it’s clear you mean a great deal to Tony. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

The warmth in her words makes your chest ache in the best way. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been craving their approval until now, but the genuine kindness in Maria’s tone makes it all the more meaningful.

“Thank you for having me,” you reply, your voice steady despite the swell of emotion. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you both.”

Howard steps forward then, offering his hand again. This time, his grip feels a touch more personal, less perfunctory. “Keep an eye on him for us,” he says, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Lord knows he needs it.”

Tony groans dramatically. “Okay, okay, that’s enough parental bonding. Can we go check out the snack table now?”

Maria laughs softly, waving you off with a graceful flick of her hand. “Go, enjoy yourselves. We’ll talk more later.”

Tony doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes your hand, leading you away from the crowd and toward the quieter corner of the expansive room. Once you’re out of earshot, he stops, turning to face you with a mischievous grin.

“So? How’d I do?”

You blink, caught off guard. “You? What do you mean?”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I mean, did I pick the right moment to introduce you? Were the lighting and ambiance sufficiently romantic? Did I sell my pitch as the proud boyfriend?”

You laugh, the last of your nerves melting away. “You were perfect, Stark. But your parents? They’re…”

“Scary? Intimidating? Too good at making you feel like they’re reading your mind?” he offers, grinning when you nod.

“A little,” you admit. “But they were also… really nice. I think it went well.”

Tony’s expression softens, his cocky façade dropping for a moment. “Of course it did. They’d have to be crazy not to love you.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he replies, his grin turning wicked. “Now, come on. Let’s grab some dessert before my dad ropes us into a conversation about corporate ethics.”

As he pulls you toward the snack table, his hand warm in yours, you realize that the evening is far from over—but for the first time, you’re not worried. Tony’s world may be big and overwhelming, but tonight, it feels like you belong there. And as you glance back to see Maria and Howard watching you both with quiet pride, you think they might just believe that too.

The grandeur of the Stark residence is even more overwhelming as the evening progresses. Every corner of the room seems to hold someone important, conversations buzzing with words like "stocks," "mergers," and "international markets." It’s a world you’re still adjusting to, and though Tony has never made you feel out of place, you can’t shake the occasional pang of self-consciousness.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom gives you a moment to breathe, away from the intensity of the crowd. You splash a little water on your wrists and smooth down your dress, giving yourself a pep talk in the mirror. You’ve already managed to win over his parents—something you hadn’t expected to happen so easily. Surely, you can handle the rest of the evening. After all, Tony is by your side.

When you step back into the main room, the sight of him immediately draws your attention. He’s standing near a sleek bar setup, surrounded by a small group of men in sharply tailored suits. Even in this crowd of CEOs and industry giants, Tony stands out. His confidence is palpable, his charisma effortlessly commanding the attention of those around him. You hesitate, unsure whether to approach. They’re deep in conversation, and the last thing you want is to interrupt or seem out of place.

For a moment, you consider waiting on the sidelines until the discussion wraps up. But as if sensing your presence, Tony glances up, his eyes finding yours almost instantly. A slow, warm smile spreads across his face, and he waves you over with a subtle beckon. The gesture feels intimate, personal—a quiet reassurance that no matter who he’s with, you’re always welcome.

As you approach, Tony’s smile deepens. When you’re close enough, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “There you are,” he murmurs, his voice low but unmistakably fond.

One of the men in the circle clears his throat, and you notice his expression shift into something between surprise and discomfort. He’s older, probably in his fifties, with a thin mustache and a stiff posture that screams corporate formality.

“I wasn’t aware you had… company tonight, Stark,” the man says, his tone carefully measured.

Tony smirks, clearly unbothered. “This is my girlfriend,” he says simply, his arm slipping around your waist. The ease with which he says it sends a thrill through you, though the reaction from the group is mixed.

“Your girlfriend?” another man echoes, his brows lifting in surprise. He looks between you and Tony, as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “Forgive me for asking, but whose daughter are you?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Oh, I’m not…” you begin, glancing at Tony for help.

“She’s not anyone’s daughter in this room, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tony interjects smoothly, his tone laced with just enough edge to make it clear he doesn’t appreciate the implication. “She’s here because she’s incredible, not because of her last name.”

The mustachioed man—Mr. Carmichael, you think you heard someone call him earlier—looks visibly taken aback. “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

Tony cuts him off with a light laugh, though there’s an unmistakable sharpness beneath it. “Relax, Carmichael. I get it. You thought I’d be interested in your pitch about your daughter. Honestly, I’m flattered, but as you can see, I’m pretty happy with my current situation.”

The color drains from Carmichael’s face, and the rest of the group shifts awkwardly, clearly unsure how to proceed. You feel a mix of emotions—embarrassment, yes, but also a fierce kind of pride. Tony’s confidence in you, his unwavering refusal to let anyone question your place by his side, makes you stand a little taller.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, trying to smooth over the tension. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Tony says firmly, giving you a reassuring squeeze. Then, addressing the group, he adds, “Actually, I think you guys might want to hear from her. She’s planning to study environmental science and engineering. Pretty smart, huh?”

The shift in the room is almost comical. Where moments ago they seemed skeptical, even dismissive, now their expressions are filled with curiosity.

“Environmental science?” one of them repeats, his tone suddenly much friendlier. “That’s an interesting field. Are you planning to focus on renewable energy?”

You nod, a little hesitant but grateful for the opportunity to steer the conversation into more comfortable territory. “That’s one of the areas I’m really interested in,” you say. “There’s so much potential for innovation, especially with the way technology is advancing. I think it’s one of the most important challenges we can address.”

The man—his name tag reads “Jameson”—nods thoughtfully. “Smart choice. The industry’s going to need more forward thinkers like you.”

“Thank you,” you say, the praise giving you a small boost of confidence.

“And you’re still in high school?” another man asks, his tone tinged with disbelief.

“Yes,” you admit. “Tony and I are in the same grade.”

Carmichael, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks up. “High school, and you’re already thinking about global challenges like that. That’s… impressive.”

You’re not sure if his approval is entirely genuine or if he’s simply trying to recover from his earlier misstep, but either way, you offer him a polite smile. “It’s something I’m passionate about. And I’m lucky to have people around me who encourage me to aim high.”

Tony beams at that, his pride in you practically radiating. “She’s underselling it,” he says. “She’s not just aiming high; she’s going to change the world.”

The men laugh, but it’s not mocking—it’s the kind of laugh that comes with genuine admiration. For the first time, you feel like you belong in this circle, like they’re starting to see you as more than just Tony’s girlfriend.

The conversation continues, flowing more easily now. They ask about your thoughts on sustainability, your experiences in school, and even your plans for college. With each question, you find yourself relaxing, the initial tension fading as you focus on the topics you’re passionate about. Tony stays by your side the whole time, chiming in occasionally with his trademark wit but mostly letting you shine.

At one point, Jameson leans closer to Tony and mutters something you can’t quite catch. Whatever it is, it makes Tony laugh—a genuine, delighted sound that makes your heart skip a beat.

When the group finally disperses, Carmichael offers you a polite nod. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he says, his tone markedly more respectful than when the conversation began.

“You too,” you reply, feeling a small sense of victory as he walks away.

Once you’re alone with Tony, he turns to you with a grin. “See? Told you they’d love you.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t hide your smile. “I think they were just surprised. They probably expected you to be dating someone… different.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. Someone from their world, I guess.”

He shakes his head, his expression turning serious. “You don’t have to be from their world to belong in it. You’re amazing, and if they can’t see that, it’s their loss.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You lean into him, letting his warmth and confidence steady you. “Thank you,” you say softly.

“For what?” he asks, his tone lightening again.

“For making me feel like I belong here,” you admit. “Even when I’m not sure I do.”

Tony presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “You don’t just belong here,” he says. “You make this place better. Don’t ever forget that.”

As the evening continues, you find yourself settling into the rhythm of it all. The grandeur of the event doesn’t feel quite so intimidating anymore, and every time you catch Tony’s eye, you’re reminded of why you’re here. In his world, by his side, you feel like you truly belong.

The night unfolds in a swirl of laughter, conversation, and the occasional clink of glasses. You find yourself more comfortable now, moving through the party with Tony’s reassuring presence at your side. The grandiose world of the Starks—one that had once felt so intimidating—begins to feel a little more approachable. With Tony holding your hand or whispering jokes into your ear at every turn, it feels like you’re in on some kind of secret.

Eventually, you find yourselves slipping away from the crowd. The party hums on in the background, the faint strains of a string quartet mingling with the murmur of voices and the distant pop of champagne corks. Tony leads you down a quieter hallway, away from the main rooms, until you’re standing in front of a set of tall windows that overlook the sprawling grounds of the estate.

“Needed a breather?” you tease as he presses his forehead to the cool glass.

He glances at you, grinning. “I thought you might need one. Not that you weren’t killing it back there, but, you know, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to step away from the CEOs and their unsolicited opinions.”

You laugh softly, crossing your arms as you lean against the window beside him. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I think I actually had fun.”

Tony straightens, his expression softening as he looks at you. “I knew you’d be amazing. I don’t think there’s anyone who can’t see it.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays your attempt to brush off the compliment. “You’re biased.”

“Absolutely,” he admits without hesitation. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

The glow from the lights outside casts his features in a warm hue, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the way he’s looking at you. There’s a tenderness there that makes your chest ache in the best way—a feeling that no matter how big his world is, you’ll always have a place in it.

“What about you?” you ask, breaking the silence. “Do you ever feel like you need a breather from all… this?”

He tilts his head, considering the question. “Sometimes. But you make it easier. When you’re here, it feels less like a circus and more like…” He trails off, his lips quirking into a wry smile. “I don’t know. Like it’s something I actually want to be part of.”

Your heart skips a beat at his honesty. “Tony Stark, are you saying I make you want to behave?”

“Let’s not go crazy,” he says with a laugh, though there’s a glimmer of seriousness in his eyes. “But yeah. You keep me grounded. And you remind me that there’s more to life than just impressing a room full of people.”

He reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. For a while, you stand there together, watching the stars outside and enjoying the rare quiet moment. The faint sounds of the party drift down the hall, but here, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

“Do you think we’ll still be doing this ten years from now?” you ask suddenly, the question slipping out before you can think too much about it.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. “I hope so. But maybe not this.” He gestures vaguely toward the distant murmur of the party. “Something better. Something ours.”

You glance at him, surprised by the depth of his response. “Ours?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone casual but his gaze steady. “Like, I don’t know… maybe a New Year’s Eve on a beach somewhere. Or in some cabin in the mountains. Just us. No suits, no CEOs. Just you and me.”

The thought makes your cheeks warm. “That sounds… perfect.”

He grins, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll make it happen.”

For a while, you stay tucked away in your little corner, stealing a moment that feels like it belongs entirely to you. Tony tells you a ridiculous story about one of his father’s business trips, and you counter with a memory from a summer vacation when you and your brother tried to camp in your backyard but got scared off by a raccoon. You laugh until your sides hurt, your voices low and close in the quiet hallway.

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, Tony reluctantly pulls you back toward the main event. The energy in the room has shifted, the hum of anticipation building as the new year approaches. Guests gather in clusters, glasses of sparkling cider in hand, their conversations a little louder and their laughter a little freer.

Tony finds a spot near the center of the room, his hand never leaving yours as he leads you to stand by his side. The two of you are surrounded by a sea of faces, but all you can focus on is him.

“Two minutes to go,” he murmurs, glancing down at you with a small smile. “You ready?”

“For the new year?” you ask, feigning nonchalance. “I guess.”

He nudges you gently. “For everything. This year, next year… all of it.”

Your breath catches at the weight of his words, but before you can respond, the countdown begins.

“Ten! Nine!”

The voices swell around you, and you feel Tony’s hand tighten slightly around yours.

“Eight! Seven! Six!”

You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you makes the rest of the room fade away.

“Five! Four!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, each second stretching out as the moment draws closer.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

The room erupts in cheers, the sound of voices and clinking glasses filling the air. But all you notice is Tony as he leans in, his free hand cupping your cheek as his lips meet yours. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise—a declaration that no matter what the new year brings, you’ll face it together.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, and his voice is soft, just for you. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

“Happy New Year,” you whisper back, your cheeks warm and your heart full.

The noise around you gradually fades into the background as the two of you share a quiet moment in the middle of the bustling crowd.

“So,” Tony says, his tone lighter now, “what’s your resolution?”

You think for a moment before answering. “To keep chasing my dreams. And to make sure we never lose sight of ours.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I like that. Mine’s to make sure you know how proud I am of you every single day. And… maybe to be a little less reckless.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

He laughs, the sound warm and familiar. “Hey, I’m a work in progress.”

You shake your head, but your smile lingers. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Always,” he says, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

The two of you stand there for a while longer, watching as the party continues around you. People laugh, toast, and embrace, the room alive with celebration. But in your little bubble, it feels like the world has stopped.

As the night winds down, Tony pulls you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as you lean against him. The future feels vast and uncertain, but with him by your side, you’re not afraid. Together, you’ll face whatever comes next—one dream, one resolution, and one New Year’s kiss at a time.

[solaris-amethyst]

💫The last day as the mc trio💫

✨Pairing: idol!Xiaojun x gn!idol!reader x idol!Yeosang ✨Prompt: It is your last day as an mc on The Show together with Xiaojun and Yeosang. ✨Genre: fluff, non romantic, idol au ✨Word Count: 2.3k ☀️Authors note: Since I reached 50 followers here on Tumblr I wrote this to celebrate that✨💓

For some reason you had not expected to feel all these emotions that you were currently experiencing whilst sitting in a make up chair getting your make up and hair fixed for today's episode of The Show.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was your last day here as an mc before you were to retire from the job. Had it been up to you, you would have continued on for far longer than you had been allowed to but unfortunately for you your company had decided after four months you had done enough and were going back to them with no real plan on what to do next.

Which honestly scared you. Not knowing what the next step would be for you, your company hadn't mentioned anything about a comeback or any other job opportunities yet.

You always looked forward coming to The Show, the staff were always so kind to you, chatting about potential upcoming comebacks for you, life in general and so much more and you always appreciated it so much. Not to forget your lovely co-stars and co-mcs Xiaojun and Yeosang.

Both who had welcomed you with open arms when you joined them four months ago. It had been a bit awkward in the beginning, all three of you a bit shy and trying to get to know each other but after your special mc-stage in which you had performed Infinites Bad it had gotten much better. Working together, learning the choreography and singing and practicing had brought you all together very quickly and soon enough the three of you were playing around and joking like you had been friends all your life.

Xiaojun had even once brought along his dog Bella to let her meet both you and Yeosang and she had absolutely adored Yeosang to the point she didn't want to listen to Xiaojun to yours and Yeosangs delight.

You had endless of memories on stage, off stage, in your group chat and much more and to know that a lot of that would stop happening created tiny little cracks in your heart. No more playing around with them, no more hearing Xiaojun sing to his hearts content or filming yet another chaotic TikTok and hearing Yeosangs wonderful laugh at that. No more seeing and hearing Yeosang giggle if he made a mistake when next to you on stage while you mc:d together.

No more of any of what made your days brighter.

"You okay there sweetheart?" The makeup lady asked kindly, stopping what she was doing to check in on you. "You look like you're feeling some big emotions right now." She says quietly and you nod at her.

"I am." You whisper, giving her a small smile before blinking quickly hoping you can will away the tears for now. You could cry later, when you were alone in your dorm room instead.

"You're gonna do great today sweetheart I just know it." She smiles kindly again before going back to putting your make up on once more. The Shows producers had been kind enough to give you three new performance, a farewell performance to you before everyone truly has to say goodbye at the end of today's show.

It had been decided that you would do a cover of Backstreet Boys song Larger Than Life. You three had a few songs presented and the decision had ultimately landed to you and you chose the Backstreet Boys song, practicing the song had been very fun especially going for a more 90s inspired look and dance.

It had caused you three to sometimes very playfully and dramatically pretend you were a group from the 90s doing some of the choreography they did back then. It was corny and very funny causing some dance movements to become inside jokes between the three of you.

"There you are! We've been looking for you!" Xiaojun singsongs as he and Yeosang enters the room, already dressed up in that classic white 90s boyband clothes you were soon gonna be adorning as well.

Both come up with big smiles to your chair, Yeosang can't stop himself from touching a part of your hair that's standing up slightly with a lil giggle causing you to smile.

It was impossible not to smile when you saw him. Yeosang just had that aura that made him instantly likable, like a moth to a flame, it was impossible to stay away and not find him endearing or funny.

"Ready for today's show?" Yeosang asks while tilting his head at you and you can only look fondly at your two friends.

"As ready as I'll ever be I guess..."

"Hey we'll have fun, let's just enjoy this stage and blow everyone's minds." Xiaojun said brightly quickly sharing a look with Yeosang before he looked back at you.

Once you got the go ahead you hurriedly got out of the chair and quickly changed clothes and got your mic on as needed.

In the room you left them, Yeosang and Xiaojun made sure their surprise which consisted of a headband and sash that said Y/ns graduation! Plus a banner they had put together with some lovely words your friends and staff had written down about you, ranging from words like how they will miss you to admiration about your work ethic or your kindness and much more.

Yeosang had even drawn a lil hehetmon holding a lil graduation flower to you and Xiaojun had managed to get Bellas paw print onto the poster as well.

"Do you have the flowers for the farewell speech?" Xiaojun questioned as he took everything to the place near the stage so they could quickly get it all at the end of the performance.

"Yeah, I got the cake as well. It's hidden well, we can try and sneak off and get it when Y/n is holding their speech." Yeosang replied glancing backwards to make sure you wouldn't come back inside and hear about their plans.

"Should I bring some tissues as well? In case they cry?" Xiaojun asks curiously thinking that you might appreciate some tissues in case the waterworks starts flowing when you're holding your very last speech as an mc. He's totally not asking because he knows his own tears might start falling down if he sees you cry, no not at all.

Yeosang gives him a quick nod when he hears you returning and Xiaojun rushes to hide the tissues near the flowers before coming back to you two.

"Ready to perform like we were a 90s boyband?" You ask with a smile feeling the familiar feeling of adrenaline and nerves settling into your bones and body.

"Let's have fun up there okay?" Yeosang says while his hand slides into yours and gives it a gentle but supportive squeeze.

"Have you thought of what to do for your ending fairy?" Your other friend asks and you nod, thinking back on how he had suggested you do the heart signs on your cheeks thinking that would be a good way to end todays stage.

"Can you three please come up on stage and get into position? We're about to start?" A staff said waving his hand so you three would hurry up.

Walking up on stage and into position made all the fans scream in anticipation of seeing what you had prepared. Right before the music started you gave a lil wave to the audience causing another stream of shouts and squeals.

When the familiar starting beat of Larger Than Life came on you and the boys started to dance and perform like you had practice.

The performance flew by quickly, the adrenaline from being on stage and from having fun with your friends made it go back so quickly. You didn't even realize as you finished your pose for your ending fairy that both Yeosang and Xiaojun had quickly run away from your sides with bright giggly smiles only shown to the audience.

You were so focused until Yeosang suddenly came into your view with a smile making you give him a surprised look, a little "eh?" escaped your mouth as he puts on a little headband with the lettering he had prepared.

"There!" He smiles and you can hear a little hehet escaping him as he giggles before stepping aside as Xiaojun comes up with a big sash and putting it on you.

"Ta-daaaaa!" Both of them hold up their little sign and Xiaojun is beaming while Yeosang looks a bit shy doing this infront of everyone in the audience.

"What?!" You exclaim in shock not fully processing what they've just done.

You stand back, mouth agape as you take in the words on the sign.

/Thank you for everything our sunshine./ /The very best at always cheering us up and seeing it from the bright side./ /Loveliest of friends./ /I'll miss you./ /Best mc bestie./

And so much more was written that it honestly brought you to tears and all you could do was run into their arms and hug them both tightly. Screw what others would think, if it would spark dating rumors or not.

You needed to hug your friends in that moment and you had never been happier when you felt them both return the hug just as tight. You could feel someone kissing the top of your head and the fans present screamed louder at the cute display between the three of you.

It took a lot of coaxing from the staff to get you three to eventually let go of each other to head back so you could change and then head out for the finale where you'd announce this weeks winner of The Show.

Yeosang made sure you had your little headband and sash on before smiling brightly again.

"There fits you perfectly." He murmurs after finally adjusting it all and his hand quickly finds his phone when he sees that Xiaojun is taking pictures of you, wanting to do the same.

"Smile Y/n!!"

"Yeah give us a pose!"

It makes you laugh at their seriousness and you can't help but pose while still fighting those tears back. It gets even harder to not cry when Xiaojun lines the three of you up so he can take some cute selfies making sure you do some goofy ones as well.

"Could you three please head up on stage? It's time for the ending of today's show." A staff member told you.

"Of course, we'll be up in a minute." You told them with an appreciative smile.

"Let's do this one last time together?" You ask looking at them both, both are smiling and you can't help but feel like you're home, right where you are supposed to be and soon it will all be ripped away from you and that hurts.

A lot.

The ending honestly flew past, greeting everyone as you made it up on stage at the front with your cue cards and hand mic, standing in the middle of Xiaojun and Yeosang, bickering and having fun during and after announcing the winners and such. The bright lights where blinding and suddenly you got your cue that it was time to wrap it up and for you to say goodbye to what had been your favorite idol gig for the past four months.

"I don't even know where to start." You said into your mic after Yeosang had asked if you wanted to share some last words.

He looked at you with such kind eyes, both of them did. Giving you encouraging nods to speak from your heart.

"I will miss this so incredibly much. I want to say thank you to all the staff here at The Show who have been so incredibly kind to me, who have made every day I've been here an absolute delight." You could feel the tears building up again, your voice starting to get full of emotion as you were speaking. "Yeosang, Xiaojun." The first tear fell when you looked at your two friends and Yeosang was blinking so much you'd think he had gotten something in his eye while Xiaojun was quick to give you a tissue while fighting back his own tears.

"Thank you for everything. Your friendship has meant more to me than you can imagine. I've loved every single minute I've spent with you two here, mc-ing with you have been the highlights of my days and I will miss you both so much now that I have to leave. I will miss you two so much." Was the last thing you managed to say before you saw them both tell you to wait, rushing off stage in a hurry as if they had forgotten something only to come back with a bouquet of roses and a little cake.

You were sure there would be pictures of you ugly crying all over the internet tomorrow but at this moment you couldn't care. You let the tears fall and the sobs to be heard as your two friends stood there with flowers and a cake for you.

"We will miss you too Y/n. We will miss our sunshine who never fails to look at the bright side of things." Xiaojun started.

"And we will miss the way you always bring a smile to everyone's faces no matter how down someone might have been." Yeosang finished.

"We love you!"

"I love you too!" You responded as the director showed they had cut the cameras after that.

You, Yeosang and Xiaojun took no notice being in your own little world of emotions and hugs, tears and laughter.

The night eventually ended with you three going out to eat at a restaurant. Determined to end the day with happiness instead of tears of sadness.

For you, your heart was warm with all the love you had been showered with throughout the day and despite it leaving a bittersweet feeling in your chest perhaps it would still end up okay.

Especially with both of your friends just a call away.

[thoughtdaughterdisease]

okay, so i was thinking about what type of music each one of the avengers would play in the car/quinjet, so here are my thoughts !!

Tony:

Mostly AC/CD obviously, Led Zeppelin , Styx, some lynard skynard, mostly like 80s-90s rock, (or if you get lucky, some milli vanilli.)

Steve:

Yes, a lot of 40s music, feat. Taylor Swift, Marvin Gaye (thanks sam!), Queen, some of The Beetles stuff, maybe even some Bob Marley to be honest :)

Bucky:

As he said in FATWS, he likes 40s music. secretly likes certain Billie Eilish songs, ie; birds of a feather, skinny, the greatest. Would like Hozier, The White Stripes, and Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon. loves ed sheeran songs

would have the saddest relationship with Sailor Song (by Gigi Perez) EVER.

Bruce:

Definitely Classical Music. He definitely seems like the type of person to have the most chaotic self destructive relationship with Requiem by Mozart.

But, sometimes he'll definitely listen to The Beetles and Queen, (probably had a secret addiction to *NSYNC or the Backstreet Boys.) Would lowkey vibe to MARINA and Mother Mother if had the chance.

Clint:

I feel like Clint doesn't listen to a lot of music because he needs all his senses and combined with his hearing problems, it's never really been confident. However, i think if he did listen to music it would be like, Counting Crows, Coldplay, Imagine Dragons, etc.

Sam:

This man has two sides and you cannot convince me otherwise.

1. Hip Hop, or just a range of shitty rap to good rap. so 50 cent, eminem, Dr. Dre, P-Diddy 😨, Ludicrious, Kendrick Lamar, Kanye, Travis Scott, XXTENTENTIONXX. i feel like he would've made his dislike for drake very clear from the moment he got famous

2. Marvin Gaye. Jazz. Blues. The whole shebang, all of it, the slow rock, and let's not forget; Michael Jackson.

Natasha:

Again, Like Clint, i don't think she'd really like having the vulnerability of when you're listening to music but, she does like when Tony puts on his music in the Quinjet. I also feel like she'd like The White Girl Music. She genuinely Believes there's nothing better to rock out to than Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield.

Has a hidden Apprieciation for songs like Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairy, because of how much she loves to dance to them. (this also applies to movies like black swan, etc.)

Thor:

He just so in love with Disney Movies that he Unironically listens to the soundtracks when someone else shows him how. It's really the only music he willingly listens to on earth. On Asgard however, I think he'd like the musicians there but he's never paid much attention to them.

Loki:

If he found out how to use spotify, his liked songs would be filled with Classical Music, Instrumental Covers of Pop Songs that he doesn't know, some Adele songs, Partition and Haunted by Beyoncé, Some MISSIO songs, Fall Out Boy, Teen Idle by MARINA, Lords, Michael Buble, Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde, Artic Monkeys, PHOEBE BRIDGERS FOR SUREEE.

he is the embodiment of BLUE by Billie Eilish and nobody can convince me otherwise.

HAMILTON, HE WOULD LOVE HAMILTON.

----

i have a really unhealthy obsession with 2012 Avengers.

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World Chapter 7 (Nice)

Warnings: Flirting slightly, no smut, slow burn, injury (nothing major or no injury to Joe) slight blood mentioned. Lots of Sports talk.

Word Count: 2,930 (Overboard)

A;N Have a Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃🧡

Today is a pivotal day—the last game of the season, and it’s a nail-biter. With a record of 90-75, the stakes couldn't be higher. If we lose, there's still a flicker of hope for a wild card spot. But a victory? That would catapult us straight into the Divisional Championship Game, a dream scenario for any player.

On top of that, I have the incredible opportunity to watch Mr. Joe Cool in action, whom Mia playfully calls my “Future Husband.” Back in college, I was a dedicated fan, never missing a game where he showcased his extraordinary talent. Every time he stepped onto the field, I was mesmerized and captivated by his grace, skill, and looks if you know what I mean.

As I enter Truist Park, an electric energy fills the air. There's a palpable buzz among the fans, an atmosphere that feels almost tangible like anticipation hanging thick and heavy. It's a feeling that's hard to articulate but ignites something deep within me.

Stepping into what could be one of the biggest games of my life, the weight of the moment hangs around me like a cloak. While many might crack under such intense pressure, I choose to thrive in it. The doubters, the naysayers—they only serve to fuel my determination. Their negativity pushes me to dig deeper, to push harder, to give everything I've got. Today is more than just a game; it’s a chance to shine.

The game began on a strong note, with both teams holding their ground during the first couple of innings. Now, we find ourselves at the bottom of the third, and I'm stepping up to bat.

As "Do I Do" by Stevie Wonder plays, I approach home plate with a focused demeanor, considering my options for this at-bat.

Mark Andrew, the pitcher for the Washington Nationals, prepares himself on the mound as my walkout song fades and I assume my batting stance.

He takes a deep breath and delivers his pitch. I notice it's outside the zone, so I refrain from swinging and let the ball pass.

“1 and 0 is the count,” the umpire calls from behind me.

I get myself ready again as he gears up for his next pitch. He winds up and throws once more.

I swing but miss as the curveball passes by.

“Strike!” the umpire shouts.

I nod in acknowledgment and take a step back. That was the pitch I had anticipated; he boasts one of the best curveballs in the league right now.

I step back into the box a raise my bat. ‘Come on, give me something to hit,’ I said in my head

He threw his next pitch, and it all happened so fast. One moment, I was watching the ball being thrown for me to hit, and the next, I found myself on the ground, holding the side of my head because I had just been hit by a baseball. My helmet absorbed most of the impact, but when a baseball comes at you at 95 miles an hour, you definitely feel it.

A gasp swept through the ballpark as the scene unfolded. The catcher immediately waved for a trainer from my dugout before leaning down and putting a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, can you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked.

For some reason, his voice sounded distant, and I couldn't respond. I just nodded, still holding the side of my head. I guess my helmet flew off when I hit the ground.

Soon, the trainer arrived with a towel. “That was a hard hit. Do you think you can roll over?” he asked, but again, his voice sounded muffled. So, I nodded once more, and they helped roll me over.

I groaned in pain as they rolled me onto my back. Finally opening my eyes, the ringing in my ears stopped, and my hearing returned to normal. “Fuck,” I groaned, hoping the microphones on the field didn’t pick it up.

Justin squatted down next to me. “Hey, we need to get you to the trainer's room. That ball got you pretty good.”

Taking in his words, I moved my hands from my face. “Shit,” I gasped as I noticed my glove was stained with more than just dirt; I was busted open.

I managed to sit up while the trainer pressed a towel against my head. Damn, I’d rather be hit with tennis balls than this��at least they had some cushion.

With their help, I slowly got to my feet as a round of applause filled the stadium. This was definitely not how I envisioned my day going.

Unfortunately, I found myself benched after that incident, nursing a fresh set of stitches on my forehead. While I was grateful there was no concussion or major head injury involved—just a wayward pitch that went terribly wrong—I couldn’t help but feel the sting of frustration. Mark was the pitcher, and I held no grudges against him; I knew it wasn’t intentional. Just hours earlier, we’d been laughing and joking around, sharing inside jokes and pre-game camaraderie. But that’s baseball for you; sometimes, in the heat of the moment, a pitcher loses their grip, and you end up taking a hit.

It was the bottom of the ninth inning, with the air crackling with tension. The scoreboard lit up with a nail-biting 3-3 tie. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as two outs hung in the balance. Austin stepped up to the plate, a determined look on his face. My pinch replacement, Tommy Reese, was on deck, stretching and warming up, ready to step in if the situation called for it.

Over at first base, Ronald Acuña Jr. stood poised, his athletic frame ready to explode into action. All Austin needed to do was make solid contact with the ball and drive it into the outfield. With Ronald’s incredible speed, we all knew he could beat the throw home.

As the closer took his position on the mound, I felt my heart racing in sync with the crowd’s energy. He shot a quick glance back at Acuña before winding up to pitch to Austin.

Austin stood firm, carefully checking his swing as the first pitch sailed by—ball one. It was a good start, and my confidence began to build.

I leaned forward, elbows digging into my knees, every muscle in my body tense with expectation. This was it—the moment we had all been waiting for.

The pitcher glanced once more at Ronald, then took a deep breath and delivered the next pitch. It was as if everything slowed down for just a heartbeat. Austin, eyes locked on the ball, swung with ferocity and precision. The crack of the bat echoed like thunder as the ball soared into the air, arcing gracefully toward the outfield. It sailed further and further until it disappeared into the majestic waterfall display at the park.

A walk-off home run! Victory was ours!

The stadium erupted into a wild celebration, a thunderous roar that sent vibrations through the very ground beneath us. It felt as if the entire stands shook with joy and excitement. Everyone from the dugout charged the field, sprinting toward home plate, united in the thrill of triumph as Austin rounded the bases, his expression a blend of disbelief and exhilaration.

I stood just outside the circle, wise enough to be cautious with my stitches, but that didn’t stop me from celebrating with every ounce of energy I had. I cheered and clapped, sharing in the jubilant atmosphere that surrounded me.

We were heading to the NLDS, baby!

As I settled into my seat for the post-game press conference, I offered a soft but warm greeting to the room, a subtle “hello” that echoed in the anticipation-filled space.

One of the reporters, a familiar face I would later come to know as Dave, leaned forward and asked, “Riley, how are you feeling right now?”

I let out a light chuckle, a mix of relief and exhilaration washing over me. “Honestly, I’m feeling great! The adrenaline is really pumping through me right now, so I’m not even feeling this,” I said, gesturing lightly to my head. “But overall, I’m feeling good.”

From the back of the room, a voice rang out, filled with curiosity. “How proud are you of Austin?” A woman inquired, her tone sincere and warm.

A broad smile broke across my face as I thought about my brother. “I’m incredibly proud of him. That’s my twin right there,” I replied, injecting a bit of humor into the moment. It was a playful reference to the nickname we had given each other for our shared last name.

Laughter erupted around the room, lifting the spirits of everyone present. Just as the chuckles faded, another reporter asked, “When you got hurt earlier, the team looked visibly shaken, but they managed to pull themselves together. How do you all stay focused and regain your composure in such moments?”

I took a breath and nodded firmly.

I nodded firmly. “No matter how much I’m hurting or how tough things get for the team, we stand by each other, always. When you train with the same group through the spring and share the field with them through the summer. A strong bond forms. So whether we win or lose, when you underestimate us, we step onto that field and prove that we are just too nice for yall”

“Girl, you okay? I saw you got knocked upside the head,” Mia asked from the other side of the phone on her way home from work.

Leaning my head back against the headrest of the car as Kyle drove to Mercedes-Benz Stadium, I replied, “Sis, I’m cool. I got a few stitches. I'll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Alright, if you say so,” she sighed. “Are you still going to the game?”

“Pulling up to the stadium as we speak,” I responded, looking out the tinted window.

“Alright, be careful; tell Ja’marr and Joe I said hi,” she said.

“Yes, Mom,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “And I will.”

We hung up just as Kyle pulled into the private parking lot. He looked up in the rearview mirror and asked, “Ready?”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” I replied, putting on my shades. He nodded and got out to open the door for me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I offered.

He smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m a Cowboys fan anyway,” he said.

I feigned a shocked look. “Wow, I’m hurt, Kyle,” I said, shaking my head.

“Sorry, not sorry,” he replied, getting back into the driver's seat.

As I walked into the stadium, security guards escorted me to a private box. It was about thirty minutes until kickoff, and fans were filling the stands, ready for some Thursday night football.

When I entered the box, I noticed a few women already there. At first, I thought the guard had led me to the wrong room, but they reassured me that I was in the right place and welcomed me in. During our conversation, I quickly learned that they were WAGS.

“So, which one are you here for?” one of the women asked. I learned her name was Emma.

I shook my head. “Oh, I’m not dating anyone on the team. Joe, Ja’marr, and I all went to college together, so I'm just here to watch them.”

Speaking of the devils, there they were, taking the field for pregame warm-ups. My eyes drifted to Joe in his uniform. He really looked good in everything—the way his hair fell perfectly and how his tights gripped his thighs.

Girl, get ahold of yourself.

“You okay?” Lexi asked to my left with a slight chuckle.

“Yep... just great,” I responded, crossing my legs to calm myself down somewhat.

Joe started looking around the stadium until he finally found me. When he did, he tapped Ja’marr on the back, said something in his ear, and pointed up at me.

I waved at both of them, and they waved back before turning their attention back to their warm-ups.

God, help me.

The score was 27-27 in the 4 quarter with just 60 seconds left on the clock and the Bengals had the ball if I know Joe he does not want to take this thing into overtime at all.

I sat there holding my breath as the ball was snapped into Joe's hands he looked around the field before he threw a Hail Mary pass to the in-zone hoping someone would catch it and ill be dammed.

Tee Higgins caught that ball at what was the last possible second to give the Bengals the touchdown.

The stadium goes crazy, and so do I. The Bengals just won the game with that play. There was only time for the kick for the extra point.

As Joe made his way back to the sideline he pointed up to my box with a nod. I nod my head back with a smirk, something we did back in LSU as to say,y ‘Who they think they playing with’

The Bengals walked into Atlanta and got the dub 34-27.

After things calm down a bit, security takes me down to the field. I immediately spotted Ja'marr's back talking to Joe. They said Joe and I were thick as thieves. Every time you turned around, these two were together.

Deciding to mess with Ja'marr a bit I ran and jumped on his back.

“What the hell,” he said confused at first then he heard my giggles “Girl if you don't get off of me,” he said in this fake serious tone.

“You'll be okay,” I patted his chest. “Congrats on the dub, you two,” I said, hoping down.

“Thanks same to you, Divisional huh?” Ja’marr congrats me.

I nodded my head with a slight smile. “She's going to get a ring before us, Joe,” Ja’marr said with a fake cry.

I shook my head at him. “You sure he didn't get tackled too hard.”

Joe played along, “You know, been asking myself the same question all season.”

Ja’marr’s jaw drops dramatically. “You know what? I'm going to hit the showers 'cause yall doing too much.”

He walked through the tunnel before he disappeared. “Thought you weren't coming. saw you got hit earlier,” Joe said, turning his attention to me his eyes going straight to the bandage on my forehead.

Looking up at him even though I'm 5 '7 Joe still had a couple of couple inches on me. “I wasn't going to let a hit stop me from seeing you.”

He turned his head, and I could tell he was fighting a grin because the corners of his mouth twitched. “Just me?” he asked.

I pretend to think about it for a minute. “Well, you and Ja’marr if you want to throw him in there, but mostly you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I won't tell him what you said,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

I shrugged. “It's ok, he knows.”

Joe and I continued talking for a minute before his name was shouted out of the tunnel by a Bengals staff member

He turned his head, and I heard him slightly curse “You totally forgot you had a press conference didn't you” I asked trying not to giggle.

He nodded his head “Yep,” he said, popping the “P”

I shook my head. Joe had a one-track mind. He shouted to the person calling for him “I'll be there in a sec” then turned back to me.

“Duty Calls,” he opened his arms for a hug, and of course, I gave him one. Closing the gap, I hugged back despite the bulk of his gear.

It was like home, ignoring the sweat and the smell of grass and mud. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne it just felt all too familiar.

To my dislike we had to let go “Text me when you get home” he said releasing me. I didn't get a chance to respond before he was off toward the tunnel.

Yeah, I guess I will

After popping a Tylenol for my head, I climb into bed, ready to call it a night, but not before reaching for my phone and opening my text messages.

Me

I'm home.

Joe Burrr 🧡

Good. Started to get worried for a minute.

Me

Sorry after the game my head was screaming at me.

Joe Burrr 🧡

Did you take something for it?

Me

Took a Tylenol. Hasn't let me down yet.

Joe Burrr 🧡

Good..You're not going to miss any of your games right?

Me

Naw I'm too tough and got too much on the line to be benched now. I'll be ready come next week.

Joe Burrr 🧡

I know you will but just come out the next one without a hit to the face.

Me

I will try to avoid those the best I can 🫡

Joe Burrr 🧡

Please do. You have to pretty of a face for someone to be playing target practice.

Me

Watch it Joe

Joe Burrr 🧡

What! All I did was give my friend a compliment on her amazing looks.

Me

Well I thank you but now I wanna know what's your favorite look on me?

Joe Burrr 🧡

Any look you have on is my favorite. Ri.

Me

Ok, I'll give you that one

For now…

Joe Burrr 🧡

Maybe I'll have an answer for you in a couple weeks

[strniohoeee]

chris painting readers nails

Messy

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Chris decides to paint Y/N’s nails, but he does a terrible job at it causing them to laugh about it, and enjoy each others company💙

Warnings⚠️: None, like one crude joke but not really loll. It’s just a short imagine because I wasn’t sure how to make it long and interesting🥺

Song for the imagine: Butterflies- Queen Naija

And I just wanna hold you all night long

Whenever I'm around you, nothing's wrong

I'm hoping that you'll always be around

You got me on a high, I don't wanna come down

“CHRISTOPHER Owen…what are you doing” I yelled at Chris

“I am painting your nails” he said in a matter of fact way

“You’re making it messy dude” I said shaking my head

“You act like I do this shit everyday. Obviously it’s going to be messy” he said giving me a dirty look

“Paint the fucking nail idiot” I said smacking him with my other hand

“I am painting the fucking nail” he said pointing at my hand

“You’re painting 90% skin and 10% nail” I said laughing

“This shit is hard, and your nail beds are short” he said rolling his eyes

“Hey don’t come for my nail beds because you’re a shitty nail tech” I said sucking my teeth

“I clean the edges once I’m done” he said going back to painting my ring finger

“I like this color too” he said looking at the bottle

“It’s my favorite, it’s called ocean oasis” I said

“Good name for a blue color” he said

“I agree” I said

Chris painted my other hand and did a little bit of a better job.

“You’re so lucky I’m madly in love with you because these look awful” I replied laughing

“Hey be nice….” He said closing the nail polish bottle

“I painted yours so nicely” I said looking at his nails that are the same shade as mine

“Well you always paint your nails, so you have an advantage there” he said ruffling my hair

“Okay that’s true” I said nodding my head

“Now we have matching nails” he said clapping his hands together like a happy child

“More like matching skin…dude you have to clean this before it dries fully” I said looking at him

“Ughh fine” he said sitting back down

Chris gently cleaned my stained skin to perfect his work, and actually his paint job wasn’t terrible.

“See after you clean it, it’s not so bad” he said throwing the cotton balls out

“Yeah not terrible” I said looking at my nails

“I couldn’t be a nail tech though” he said looking at them and laughing

“Yeah no you’d be awful, but hey it’s the thought that counts” I said giving him a smile

“Thanks for the support babe” he said planting a kiss on my lips

“Of course my love” I said blowing on my nails to let them dry

“Want to do my toes” I said wiggling my brows

“Fuck no do not put your feet next to me” he said smacking my legs away

“You don’t act that way when you suck on my toes in bed” I said giggling

“I have never sucked your toes in bed you weirdo” he replied laughing

“I know” I said looking down with a sad face

“Change the face” he said squeezing my leg

“Maybe if you give me a pedicure you’d want to suck my toes” I said sighing

“What is wrong with you kid. I’m not sucking no toes” he said laughing

“If you got a pedicure I’d suck your toes” I said rolling my eyes

“Yeah right” he said laughing

“I’d consider it” I said rubbing my chin like I was thinking

“The day you suck my toes will be the day I give you a pedicure and return the favor” he said to me laughing

“Mm I’ll be looking forward to it” I said wiggling my brows

“You’re so interesting” he said squinting his eyes at me

“I love you too” I said leaning over and kissing him

“I love your weird ass” he said kissing me again

Chris was such a cutie, and these innocent interactions made me fall in love with him more.

The End

I know this was super short, but I wasn’t sure what else to write for this. I hope you guys enjoyed it though! This was my last request. I can’t believe I wrote five stories today LMAOOO. Time to work on my Matt story tomorrow🤭🤭LOVE YALLLL🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

[dreamwatch]

My Occupation is Syncopation

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #14 - Prompt: And The Winner Is... | Word Count: 999 | Rating: T | CW: language | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Steddie (background) | Tags: banter, Gareth wears glasses, not as often as he should, 90s Corroded Coffin

I promised you no misery today, but I made no such promise to Gareth! 😂

Title from a quote by Ringo Starr.

****

“What?”

“You can’t answer your phone like that, man, it’s unprofessional.”

“Did you wake me from my slumber to berate my telephone manner?”

“Why are you still in bed?”

“You know how we’re in a band? Well, unless you want to start playing at weddings and bar mitzvahs we need songs, which someone has to write—“

“Okay—”

“—and that someone is me. I sacrifice my sleep when inspiration strikes—”

“Yeah, yeah okay, woah is you, the tortured artist. Have you seen Modern Drummer today?”

“Oh yeah, I like to read it after I’ve perused The Wall Street Journal. It’s a real palette cleanser.”

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“I do know that.”

“Never mind, man, I’m on my way over.”

“No, no don’t—“ 

Gareth hangs up before Eddie has a chance to say no. Because this is fucking big, and the only way Eddie is going to understand is to see it in person. He grabs a few copies of the magazine (he had to get more than one, there’s his mom and dad, his brother and sister both need a copy, one for each of the band, and then a few extra in case he forgot anyone), and his car keys and he’s out the door like a flash.

Eddie lives ten minutes away which is either very convenient when they’re drunk and they need to get each other home, or very inconvenient when only one of them is drunk and needs a ride or a place to stay. Today it’s very convenient. Matt has a cool little townhouse, but it’s like an hour away so he’ll drive over to him later, and Jeff is out in the hills now ‘because you can get so much more for your dollar out here, dude’ he said like some weird real estate bro, so he’s getting the news by phone.

Outside of Gareth and the magazine staff, Eddie is the first to know.

He pulls up outside Eddie’s little apartment. He can afford something better now but he refuses to let go of this two bed little shit box, because of ‘the memories’, as if the fact he bought Wayne a really nice house by the beach isn’t the reason he can’t afford something bigger and better. But he spends as much time there as he does in this shoebox so…

He takes out his key, the one Steve gave him because ‘he worries’, and strides into the kitchen where Eddie’s sitting in his boxers, nursing a coffee.

“Why are you in my house?”

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

Eddie stares at him bleary eyed. “It’s afternoon?”

“Never mind that!” Gareth throws a copy of the magazine onto the counter where it lands in front of Eddie. “Page eight!”

Eddie rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, no doubt abusive, but then he begins to read. Gareth watches on, waiting patiently as Eddie’s eyes slowly grow wider.

“Oh shit!” Eddie grins at him. “Drummer of the year?!”

“I won drummer of the year, man!” Gareth gives up any pretence of trying to be calm.

Eddie gets up and hugs him tight.

“So fucking proud of you, man. This is awesome.”

It makes something burn in his chest, this feeling of having other people, talented, brilliant people, who he gets to perform with and be around, tell him they’re proud of him. And it’s all the more heightened when it’s Eddie.

“Thanks, man,” he says sincerely. “Seriously, thank you for everything.”

Eddie’s eyes leave the magazine and focus on him, making him squirm a little under the scrutiny. 

“You don’t have to thank me. Fuck, you did this! There are some big names on this list, and you beat them.” Eddie drops the magazine and pokes Gareth in the chest with a long finger. “You. It’s all on you, man. You talented little shit.”

Gareth smiles, feeling oddly shy for some reason. “It’s just… I know, you guys, well you specifically, didn’t want me in the band—”

“Gare, no—”

“No, let me just. I’m not. It’s not a dig, or anything. I know you and Shawn were best friends, and I know you were sad when he left. And he was a great drummer. He would have been brilliant for the band. Probably would have won this years ago.” He huffs a little laugh, trying to take the frown off Eddie’s face, because that’s not what this is. “But, you took a chance on me, and it changed my life. I owe you guys everything.”

“Gareth, I’m not a man prone to hyperbole—”

“Like fuck you’re not.”

“Shut up! Listen to me and understand this: you are an incredibly talented drummer. You don’t owe anyone shit. You earned this,” Eddie says tapping on the magazine cover, “You earned all of it. Fuck, we should be thanking you for not leaving us. You with your fucking… flams and paradiddles and ratamacues—”

“How the fuck do you know what a ratamacue is?”

“I don’t! Thats the point!” 

Gareth can’t help the giggles now. It feels amazing to be celebrated by his peers, sure, but by Eddie and the band? That’s next level, top tier shit. 

Eddie goes back to reading the article properly, but Gareth catches the frown as he starts to read.

“What?” he says, moving into Eddie’s space.

“Uh… who is Garth?”

“What?”

Eddie points his fingers under the text, not that small admittedly… does it really say…? 

Oh no.

“Where are your fucking glasses?”

“Does it really say Garth?”

“It really says Garth.”

He flops back on the chair. “Oh for fuck sake!”

Eddie doubles over with laughter, traitorous asshole that he is. For Christ’s sake can't he have one nice thing?

“Dude, its fine, the label will reach out and get it fixed for next month.”

He let’s out an exaggerated sigh, practically deflating in Eddie’s kitchen. “I bought thirty copies of this,” he whines.

Eddie shakes his head. “And they say guitarists have big egos."