#well damn now i want both of their versions of that song | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kamaluhkhan · 5 days ago

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ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember.

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers.

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.”

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.”

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control.

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.”

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top.

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you.

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips.

“why’s that?” you ask.

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go.

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins.

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?”

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being.

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults.

you taste like home.

��.

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world.

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!”

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them.

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac:

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work.

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor.

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?”

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs.

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do.

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party.

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke.

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways.

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow.

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says.

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out:

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi.

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with.

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you.

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.”

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws.

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….”

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time.

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?”

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again.

so, you do remember.

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years.

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue.

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure?

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses.

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave.

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating.

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun.

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision.

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try.

“you know powder’s graduating this year?”

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision.

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely.

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed.

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.”

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…”

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.”

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge.

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.”

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you.

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please.

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice.

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd.

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand.

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock.

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you.

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile.

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace.

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you.

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out.

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —”

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?”

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying.

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry.

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21.

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house.

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass.

“you remember.”

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.”

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be.

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours.

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp.

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —”

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder.

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor.

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego.

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you.

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers.

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks.

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away.

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart.

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time.

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to.

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.”

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again.

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work.

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door.

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying.

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear.

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear.

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her.

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl.

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes.

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake.

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek.

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away.

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone.

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move.

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath.

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs.

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin.

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head.

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open."

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer.

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit. you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple.

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess.

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving.

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream.

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers.

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another.

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash.

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before.

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?”

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand.

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday.

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back.

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.”

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling.

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours.

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.”

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.”

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round. “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.”

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder.

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye.

“i better go.”

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room.

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later.

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s.

i’ll see you later. love you!

2K notes · View notes

zepskies · 2 months ago

Text

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn.

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly.

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now.

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock…

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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lovecla · 4 months ago

Text

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

00.2. how did you and jack meet?

➴ warnings: none!!

➴ word count: 1k

➴ author’s note: mostly sophia’s first nhl concert and how she and jackie boy met. i spent the entire morning working on that Nonsense outro and i am gonna say that im very proud of it lmfao. hope u enjoy!

—♡

THE room looked full.

On the stage, you could feel dozens, hell, hundreds of eyes on you. Shanon had warned you that at least two hundred people were expected but damn.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our most expected guest for tonight, Sophia Montenegro!” A man’s theatrical voice was heard just before the first notes of Nonsense.

You and your team worked really hard to make this happen, because April flew by, really. Coachella was a hit and you got so many jobs out of it, it was crazy. But this was what you were looking forward to the most.

You sat on top of a piano, black dress shining with the lights directed at you. You smiled, feeling anxious and excited and maybe just a little bit nauseous too. There were men, women and children sitting in round tables in front of you, but what really caught your attention was the group of men sitting on the table right in front of the stage, all of them wearing shirts with your face in it. And they were screaming the loudest too.

“‘Think I only want one number in my phone, I might change your contact to ‘don’t leave me alone’.”

Singing for you meant living. It was a necessity, a need. Every time you stepped on a stage, you felt alive, you felt fulfilled. You felt like maybe you were on this planet for a reason, and that reason presented itself whenever the words came out of your mouth during a song.

So you enjoyed yourself, and watched as the other people did the same. Everyone seemed to enjoy the acoustic version of Nonsense— which you had never sung before, by the way— and it was so funny to see grown ass men singing the lyrics like their life depended on it.

“Lookin’ at you got me thinkin’ nonsense. Cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in…”

“Please do the outro!” Someone shouted before the end verse and you giggled. You were already planning on doing it, but you gave the man a thumbs up either way.

“Shanon said I should keep it PG.

So, Father, I might need to be set free.

Because I really want a Devils in me.”

Loud cheers were heard and you smiled, biting your lip.

The rest of the little concert went well, and when you noticed it, you were dancing on the stage with another five players, who had two left feet and were probably a bit drunk too, but it was so much fun. One of them even asked for the mic so he could sing for a while too. You had the time of your life and you really hoped everyone else did too.

When the last song— Espresso— ended, you received a standing ovation. You felt yourself tearing up just a bit, and you closed your eyes, bowing your head.

“Thank you so much, everyone, I had so much fun tonight,” you started, voice wobbly and tired. “I didn’t know you guys were my biggest fans…”

“Nico here went to your concert!” Some guy shouted, pointing at the man— Nico, you suppose— beside him. You laughed, blowing him a kiss. The Nico guy looked like a tomato, face all red and cute, but he was wearing your merch too.

“Well, now I need to change and from what I’ve heard, we’ll have some delicious food and more amazing singers tonight, so please don’t leave!” You said, leaving the stage after another round of applause.

You found Grace in your dressing room, and you both hugged each other, yelling with excitement. “Can you believe this is our life, baby?!” Grace yelled, and you shook your head no. “I can’t either. Anyways. You have to change into a jersey and I have to take pictures of you with it.”

You looked at the jerseys hanging on the wall in front of you and smiled. “Can I have a Nico one, please?”

—♡

AFTER taking pictures with the players and their families— some of them had daughters who loved you as well—, you found yourself near the food table. You were deadass starving and you needed to get your hands on a hot dog before you passed out. Oh, and a drink as well. It was hot there.

“You got the wrong number on your back.”

You heard a playful voice behind you and you would’ve cursed, if you hadn’t had your mouth full of bread. You tried to swallow it all before you actually turned around.

What you saw was… interesting. It was probably one of the youngest guys in there, perhaps even the same age as you, and he had beautiful, blue eyes. He was wearing a white jacket and a Devils cap, so he was definitely one of the players on the team.

“Wrong number?” You asked, looking at your jersey again, the #13 plastered on your arms and back.

“Yeah. Should be wearing an eighty-six jersey instead.” He smirked.

“Let me guess. That’s your number?”

“That’s the best number. A girl like you shouldn’t be wearing anything less.”

You ignored the compliment (was it even a compliment?) and plastered a smirk on your face, too.

“I think I’m fine with Nico’s number on me. Since he’s the captain and all,” you shrugged. “He also went to my concert so that proves he is the best.”

“Sweetheart, you seriously need someone to show you what best means,” he stepped closer and suddenly your heart was racing all over again. “I happen to be the right person for it.”

“Right person?” You chuckled. “Got your hopes way too high, don’t you, lover boy?”

He shrugged, the confident smirk never leaving his face.

“Just an offer. You did say you wanted a Devils inside you.”

You audibly scoffed. This handsome ass man, with the tiniest bit of an accent and a huge lot of an attitude had some balls.

But then again. Last time you had sex with someone was a year ago, with your ridiculous ex-boyfriend, Harris. You were feeling pretty needy, but with all the work and energy you had to put into your performances, you just didn’t find the time to deal with other dipshits.

At least this one looks like he knows here your clit is.

You stepped closer, noticing how you tilted your head up so you could look into his eyes.

“Is the offer still up?”

He smiled, cocking his head to the side.

“For you, doll? It will always be.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes x singer!fmc #Jack hughes x singer!reader #IYLMLMK

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slayfics · 9 months ago

Note

If you don’t mind me dropping a request for Katsuki headcanons then here I am…

(I know I’m in a whole other famdom right now and I don’t even simp for Bakugo (he’s yours he’s yours, I got a dif man 😉) but I’m bored and this is just an idea)

So.. what if Bakugo was dating a y/n that was just as much of an idiot as Kaminari 😥

If you haven’t done this already -

Katsuki dating a silly reader.

700 words~

Katsuki pretends to be annoyed by your air headedness but actually finds it adorable. He feels responsible for watching out for you.

He is quick to tell off anyone who insults you.

He secretly loves that you get along well with his friends.

However, he is insecure about the way Kirishima and Kaminari can have you rolling in laughter effortlessly. He won't ever mention it but it's apparent by the pout he has any time you're laughing at Kaminari's newest joke.

He loves the way you can cut through his seriousness and bring whimsy to his life. He doesn't know what he'd do without you. Heck, probably never smile again.

He is quick to catch you with any mistakes you make, albeit he scolds you for it.

He is overly tough with you when you spar, but it's only because he wants you to be as strong as you can be to take out any villains you face.

Katsuki's friends are constantly blown away by the things you get him to agree to do. Shopping at a dumb mall? Fine, he'll hold your bags. Going to an amusement park with way too many screaming kids? "Fine- if you really want to go." Singing along to a cheesy ass song? Mmm maybe, don't press your luck too far...

You brought back your food and sat at the outside table of the sports bar rejoining the boys. Music played as different sports ball games played on the various screens outside.

"Tch- why'd you two choose this place anyway? None of us give a damn about these games," Katsuki said huffing and gesturing to the TVs.

"It's the only place that's in the middle of all our places," Denki explained, as you began to take bites of your food.

"Mmm I guess- the food is shit though," Katsuki continued to complain but took a bite of his food all the same.

The song changed to an easily recognizable tune: Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler. Your and Eijiro's eyes immediately locked. The first verse synced up between the both of you as you sang.

Turn around~

Every now and then I get a little bit lonely

And you're never coming 'round

"No, stop." Katsuki huffed at you both beginning to sing. However, Katsuki's annoyance was only met with Denki joining in on the next verse.

Turn around~

Every now and then I get a little bit tired

Of listening to the sound of my tears

"Are you kidding me," Katsuki complained hiding his face in his hand. Which let Hanta know it was his turn to chime in. The four of you now had a choir.

Turn around~

Every now and then I get a little bit nervous

That the best of all the years have gone by

You three continued to sing increasing your enthusiasm with each lyric. Feeding off one another's enthusiasm.

Turn around, bright eyes~

Every now and then I fall apart

"Come on Bakugo, you know this song," Denki said nudging him during the instrumental part of the song.

"Hell no you're out of your mind!" Katsuki yelled. "Shut the hell up you four- you're making a scene."

"Awe~ Come on Kats~" You encouraged him. "You gotta do the next part with us!"

Katsuki eyed you irritated as Eijiro swayed back and forth in his seat matching Denki's dance movements.

You and the boys began singing back as the lyrics picked up again. This time, even louder and more enthusiastic than before.

And I need you now tonight

And I need you more than ever

And if you hold only hold me tight

We'll be holding on forever.

Then to all your surprise, Katsuki chimed into the last verse with you all.

I really need you tonight

Forever's gonna start tonight

Katsuki talked out, his version of singing, while you four sang as loud as ever.

"Let's go Kacchan," Denki laughed clapping his hands together in excitement.

"Awe so cute- you'd do anything they asked," Eijiro said with a giggle earning himself a bark from Katsuki.

"SHUT UP SHITTY HAIR!"

tags: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @zanarkandskylines @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs

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squinch-depraved · 2 months ago

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schlatt x single mom!reader part 1 (aside from my post about how you met)

(this will be going up on my ao3 once it's ready, i'll probably edit it and format it differently and stuff so don't be surprised if it's a lil different but tumblr gets the first version)

(if anyone has an idea for a title for this series lmk pls eek)

even though daphne’s alarm clock went off at the same time every morning with the same exact song like, well… clockwork, it still infuriated you to no end. having to wake up to “crazy frog” every damn day since you made the mistake of showing it to her almost a year ago now was bad, but what was worse was how for the past few weeks, you would stub your toe or shin or whatever it may be on one of the dozens of packed up boxes strewn about the cramped studio apartment you shared with your daughter on your way to turning off the godforsaken hello kitty alarm clock. if it weren’t so special to the both of you, you would have chucked it out of one of the two tiny windows you had ages ago.

“up, daphydil. we gotta be at the cafe in 20, opening’s in 2 hours. now, c’mon girlie,” you gently coaxed her out of bed. she was small for a five-year-old, golden brown ringlets messily framing her face and hanging in front of her forever wild eyes. a soft smile played at your lips as you stroked her hair. “there’s my beautiful girl. alright, can you be ready in 10 minutes? i bet you can’t. i bet you can’t so much that if you are ready to go in 10 minutes, shoes and everything, i’ll let you ride on my back all the way to the store. does that sound good?” daphne grinned mischievously and nodded.

“can i have a muffin for breakfast at the store?” she asked.

must be a good day, you thought. she’s talking.

“of course, bear. i’ll make the blueberry ones like you like for both of us, how ‘bout that?”

“okay. stop taking up my 10 minutes, please.”

you laughed and rose off her bed. “that’s fair. the clock starts now, daph, gogogo!” you set a timer on your phone and chuckled to yourself again as she raced to her pile of boxes to pick out an outfit. she had the most eccentric taste for a kindergartener. well, she would be in kindergarten. you had yet to find a school that worked for her— sure, she had only tried preschools, but the amount of other kids there combined with the lack of your presence sent her into a shutdown for almost a week each time. so you decided to homeschool her. school didn’t start for another week, so you still had time to get things sorted. but it was going to be extremely challenging, running the cafe, teaching her, getting moved into the new apartment, and all the other stuff you had to attend to.

for a split second as you walked back over to your own pile of clothes, the man from yesterday flashed through your mind. you couldn’t stop yourself from going over his features while you changed into working clothes; something about him made you want to give him a chance. and so, before you knew it, you were responding to his “thanks again” text he had sent once you parted ways.

you: schlatt. if you’re free, meet us at this address for breakfast. would love to talk. if not, we’re there all day. thanks.

with that, you sent him the location of the store and chucked your phone onto the bed, hissing in regret and running a hand through your hair. the embarrassment was short lived, though, as almost immediately your phone dinged with a response.

jesus, eager much?

but being the hypocrite that you are, you dove for the phone, just as excited as he was.

schlatt: hey!! yeah, sure, i can be there in maybe an hour. see you then!

taking deep breaths, you slid your phone into your back pocket and strapped on your work boots, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“i’m ready.”

“fuck!! oh, jesus, daph, i’m sorry,” you panted. “you scared the shit out of me, girl, you walk too quiet. alright, let me grab a few last things and we’ll go.” she nodded, smiling, and stepped out of your way. after you had locked the door behind you both, she raised her arms as if asking to be picked up and made a grabbing motion. with a dramatic sigh and a roll of your eyes, you squatted down and helped daphne climb on top of your back. once she was settled, you began the trek down the street to the cafe.

you wished more than anything you could see the world through daphne’s eyes. to her, pigeons were fascinating creatures that she could spew off facts about for hours. she was so full of knowledge and so willing to share it; it was how she showed her love. to her, a piece of trash on the ground could be turned into an accessory for a hat, or a decoration, or whatever it may be. she was endlessly creative and resourceful (where she got that from, you had no idea). to her, her mother was a hero. and, god, how you envied her ability to see you that way.

“we’re here!” you announced as you turned the key in the lock and stepped into the dark building. flicking on the lights, you leaned down and let daphne hop off your shoulders. “smells like coffee.”

“i hate the smell of coffee,” daphne mumbled.

“me too, bear. now, c’mon, we gotta get going!! we’re opening soon!”

she began her routine of sweeping the dining area first, and then the kitchen, and then the bathrooms while you turned on all the machines and let a few employees in the back entrance to help start everything up. opening always goes quicker than closing, so it wasn’t long before you opened the doors and let the regulars in.

but among them was schlatt. somehow you had forgotten he was coming, and daphne lit up when she saw him walk in.

“funny man!” she yelled, dropping the tongs she was holding and sprinting around to meet his fistbump from her station at the muffin display.

“daph!! now i gotta wash those again,” you grumbled. “hey, schlatt.” you sheepishly finished wiping down the counter and scanned the store for any customers. luckily, it was saturday, so there were only a few people already seated and enjoying their food; you had some time to talk before the next rush came in.

“child labor, y/n?? really?” he joked, eyeing the menu above you.

“it’s not child labor if you went through labor to have the child,” daphne spoke, repeating a phrase you had said in passing once to a friend.

“oh my god!! daphy, please, can you go make sure the mug shelf is all straight?”

she nodded, glancing at schlatt one last time before she left. he was trying to hold in his laughter, but let out a sputtering chuckle once she walked away.

you closed your eyes and took a breath before speaking. “i’m so sorry. i swear i said that once. like, genuinely one time and she says that whenever someone comments on her working. she’s too smart for her own good, i don’t know what to do with her.”

“you know, you do an awful lot of apologizing when there’s nothing really to be sorry for. she’s hilarious, from what i’ve seen. why do you always try to defend her?”

your face went hot and you stammered a few times. “buy me a drink first, damn, dude…” with a huff, you went back to scrubbing the spotless counter.

“i- fuck. i’m sorry. that’s too much. let me start over, please?” he leaned in a bit, resting his elbow on the surface between you. when you gave him a short nod, he sighed a bit with relief and nodded his head towards a blueberry muffin. “can i get one of those?”

you couldn’t help but grin at his choice of pastry as you packaged it. “anything to drink?”

“what’s your coffee order?”

“three cans of diet coke. i don’t drink that shit,” you tried to jest but it sounded bitter.

he blinked a few times and nodded. “good, me neither. i was willing to, though, let that be known.”

with a laugh, you replied, “noted. here, take a seat and i’ll bring you a lemonade? daph’s idea, she thought it would be refreshing to keep in stock for the heathens like us who don’t drink bean juice.”

“sounds good. i’ll be over here,” he called as he walked towards a table hidden away in the corner. you couldn’t stop smiling to yourself as you poured two lemonades, thanking the stars above you remembered to actually make some this morning. usually nobody ordered any until the afternoon.

setting the two glasses on the table as you slid into the seat across from him, you shot one final glance at your assistant manager, who was running the counter while you took a few minutes to talk with schlatt. luckily, she was too busy with a customer asking for a refill to make a face at you and your new potential suitor.

“holy shit, that’s fancy lemonade. is that mint on top?”

“yeah, daph says it ‘enhances the flavor profile,’ or some shit. she likes food network a lot.”

he eyed the green sprig and took a cautious sip, eyebrows raising once he made a decision on the flavor. “she’s really smart, man. i never woulda thought of this. how old is she?”

“five. she has autism; she’s always been crazy genius. i don’t know how to keep up with her, she’s already smarter than me,” you chuckled quietly. “she’s so creative, too. i can’t find a school good enough to teach her things, she has a hard time being away from me and it’s just a whole thing. speak of the devil, actually.” daphne was skipping across the dining area and sat down in the seat next to you. “hey, bear!”

“i’m not a devil, mama.”

“it’s an expression, baby. remember? like, ‘easy as pie?’”

“oh yeah. because we tried to make pie and it went really bad.”

you sighed, smiling, and rested your head in your hands. “yes, bear. ‘speak of the devil’ just means, ‘here comes the person we were just talking about!’”

daphne pulled out a notebook from her apron pouch and took a pen from your shirt pocket to write down her new phrase.

“what’s that?” schlatt asked her. “you’re five and you know how to write??” you opened your mouth to tell him, but daphne beat you to it.

“i like to write things down so i can talk better.”

“i think you talk just fine, personally.”

both of you flicked your eyes up to squint at him, curling your mouths in the same look of confusion and intrigue.

“oh my god, you two look identical making that face, that’s hilarious,” he mumbled through a mouthful of muffin. at the same time, daphne and you side-eyed each other and started laughing.

“mama says i talk just fine too, but nobody else ever did. now two people think i talk good. maybe you could be my dad,” she wondered aloud. you choked on your lemonade and slammed it back onto the table, spilling some onto the old, damaged wood.

“okay, daph. can you go get me some paper towels from the back to clean this up and then go see if anyone needs help putting sprinkles on the donuts?”

“i already looked, the donuts are done. but the syrups need refilling.”

“okay, go do that, bear.”

“mhm.”

she skipped away, oblivious to what she had just started, and returned a moment later with a roll of towels to clean up. it was silent until she left for the second time.

“you’re gonna trust a five-year-old to refill syrup bottles?”

“she’s actually steadier than i am. she came up with, like, a whole system, it’s really cool. and she’s not by herself, we have a highschooler that’s working with us for the summer, she helps her.”

thank god that’s the first thing he brought up.

“mm. listen, i understand how kids are, we don’t have to talk about what she just…”

“yeah. thanks. she’s, um… she just kinda says what’s on her mind; i can’t stop her.”

“i get it. so, uh,” he rotated his now half-empty glass a few times as he went over what to say in his mind. “why does your nametag say ‘owner?’”

with a glance down at your badge, you slunk down in your chair. “this is my parents’ store. they always wanted me to take over, and i kind of didn’t have a choice after mom fell down the stairs over there. they used to live above the cafe, now they’re in a home and i have to run this dump. at least i get to move out of my studio and into this place, though. if i can ever find the time to actually get my stuff from one place to another.” you sounded more and more dejected as you went on, unable to meet his gaze.

“i can help you move,” schlatt offered smoothly. you smiled, but shook your head.

“nah, man, we have a lot of stuff. it’d be too much to ask of you.”

“shut the fuck up, it’s fine. look, how about we make a trade? i’ll help you move if you let me take you out on a date.”

you blinked a few times in confusion as your face heated up. “m-maybe, dude. i dunno. look, we’re in a rush now, i’ve gotta get behind the counter and try to help my employees get this under control. i’ll come back in a bit.” you gestured to the line that was almost out the door and rose from your seat.

“lemme help!”

his words stopped you in your tracks. “what??”

“let me help,” he repeated, “it’s clear you need it, you’ve got three guys besides you and one of them is a toddler.”

he had a point. flustered, you waved for him to follow you. “just put on an apron and wash your hands.”

the rush of patrons took about an hour to deal with; they just kept coming. schlatt handled everything with grace, upselling people on pastries when they only ordered a coffee and making casual conversation with the usual customers that came in to ask about you and your family.

he was so much better at dealing with chaos than you thought he would be. for some reason, you were expecting him to dip out as soon as he could. it was hard to picture him wanting to hang around after learning about you and how complicated you were. but for some unknown reason, he stayed. you watched him with a soft smile on your face as he undid his apron and hung it back up before stepping around to the other side of the counter.

“wasn’t so bad,” he teased, flicking his head towards the lemonade dispensers. “gimme another one of those.” you pushed the hand that was extending a credit card towards you away and turned around to grab a to-go cup.

“you kickin’ me out?” he asked, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“i can’t work right with you here. need to think. so, i guess, just… show up here at 8 tonight wearing something nice and ready to take me somewhere. you’re gonna help me move my stuff this weekend.” unable to look him in the eyes as your face burned, you handed him the drink and quickly crossed your arms when he took it.

“i am, huh?” he was grinning as he took the straw between his teeth.

“yes.” you swept some crumbs away with your foot and glanced at him for a split second.

“alright, y/n. you like steak?”

“i guess. haven’t had it in years, it’s too expensive…” you mumbled.

“perfect. i’ll see you at 8, toots. bye, daphne!” he waved to the girl who was sitting at the table with an elderly woman sketching something in her notebook.

“bye, funny man!” she called back, not looking up from her drawing. the woman across from her looked shocked at her words.

“bye, schlatt!” you waited until he was down the street before jumping up and down a few times and pumping your fists in the air.

“got a date?” the woman watching daphne asked across the nearly empty store.

“uhm. yeah, actually, i do, mrs. reid,” you stuttered.

“need me to watch daphne for you?”

“yeah, that would be super helpful, actually.” you brought her a new cup of tea and traded it for her old one. “on the house.”

“she’s been talking a lot more.”

running one hand through your hair, you sighed and sat down next to daphne. “yeah, we’ve been working on it a lot. something about schlatt makes her open up. anything to say, bear?”

she just stuck her tongue out in concentration and continued drawing pigeons.

“that’s okay, daphy. you don’t ever have to talk if you don’t want to.” with a gentle pet of her head, you stood up and walked back behind the counter to help a customer that had just come in. you were unable to stop yourself from running over the events of the morning in your head, focusing on how schlatt would smile at you and how he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

you just have to be careful, you kept telling yourself. don’t get your hopes up.

it was too late. you couldn’t help it; your hopes were high. he made you feel… normal again. it had been almost six years since you felt that way. now you were just praying it would last, even if for only a night.

#x reader #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fluff

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alextydaisuda123 · 2 months ago

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Pepperman PT + MLP Creepypasta [WARNING!: Lots of text] Let's admit honestly that MLP Creepypasta has already become a separate fandom, existing separately from MLP itself, whose stories are one better than the other. I've had an image of Pepperman in the role of "Lil Miss Rarity" in my head for a long time. Why her? Well, explanations in the studio! 👏 1. There is something in common between the characters of both, and both are creative natures and love themselves; 2. Both have cats (this is not a reason, but just a fact); 3. I can imagine Pepperman as the same sado-masochist, but in his "role"; 4. Let's admit that Pepperman can be a "Daddy" too 🌚✨️ 5. Lil Miss Rarity used to be one of my favorite creepypastas (which I only knew a quarter of, it turns out, because the rest of the story was shrouded in darkness for me for many years, and... I just didn't understand the rest of the events when I learned the rest of the story, so for me only a part of it exists and that's enough for me). Well, if I explain the image, then... I took from the original Lil Miss Rarity only scars with scratches and a black eye. As for the brand, sorry, but I removed it, because there is nowhere to put it on Pepperman, but the question is, would he have made it as a "sign of devoted and mutual love of fans and himself", the answer is "yes", damn it!>:) For some reason I wanted to remove his shoes and gloves, exposing his paws and hands, replacing them with something else (I don't know what it is, like... the remains of his shoes and gloves? I have no idea how to explain this😐), like for the sake of convenience and "beauty". As for the doll, I'll go into a little more detail about it, because I slightly changed the events in the story, if Pepperman were like Rarity. I'll start with the fact that the wounds were not left by his kitten Chili (because he, logically, is a kitten, not aggressive and physically cannot scratch him), but by Noise, who ruined his paintings and statues once again. During the fight, Phil got injured and he killed Noise, and in fear and panic, in order to cover his tracks, he made a doll of Noisette because of Noise's connection with her (now Noisette's phrase: "You will always be in my heart" played with irony, lol) and placed his heart there, hid the remains (he does not remember where), and disguised the blood as paint (which he later drew with due to carelessness, but from there came the pleasure of drawing with this, and then a tendency to cruelty). Don't ask what I smoked to come up with this, I just wanted to speculate on this topic, to bring his image to at least some logic. And finally, I made the style of the drawing almost like from the comic about Lil Miss Rarity herself. I thought it was appropriate here. Yes, I didn't color Pepperman himself, he was originally in b/w, but I colored him in digital format, just to show the approximate shades of his palette as a whole. Is this necessary at all? 🤔 No, but if someone was still interested in finding out, here it is. And while I was drawing, I listened to 2 songs dedicated to this creepypasta (and I took the phrase written next to it from the song and replaced the word "mommy" with "daddy". So yes, now we have a cruel, but "loving" daddy😏.

Color version:

youtube

#pizza tower #pizza tower au #pepperman #pepperman pizza tower #perfect pepper #Youtube

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fairlyang · 2 months ago

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Angel of Music 🏹

w/c: 5.7K

pairing: phantom!katebishop x singer!reader

tags: kinda following poto with a few changes. she's crazy but not mean, obsessed, stalkerish, lowkey a sweetie, helping write the point in no return, confessions in form of lyrics. 18+ smut. making out. fingering, cunnilingus, praise, murder mention, happy tears, finishing the song. happy ending

a/n: my most recent obsession!! i fell in loveeee with the songs as well as the 2011 anniversary show version! then i thought damn i’d fold soooo hard if the phantom was a woman and here we are w my own rendition<3 fav fic i’ve written thus far i think:’)

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

after the sad death of your father and his last promising words that he’s left you an angel, rather that, an angel of music to protect you, you’ve heard her. you hear her when you light a candle for him in a hidden back room that’s backstage as well as when you’re in a deep slumber and dreaming.

she’s even taught you better forms to sing for your range as a soprano, encourages you to be better, and has been making sure you’re actually improving. she’s really been such an angel.

she has such a raw, sometimes sweet voice but powerful when need be. like how you knew she would be because of the short reconciliation with raoul.

“raoul!” you shouted after the man who just went to fetch his hat to take you out for supper, “things have changed, raoul..”

quickly did the sounds of your protector’s voice fill the dressing room, “insolent boy!! this slave of fashion, basking in your glory. ignorant fool! this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!”

“angel! i hear you! speak, i listen. stay by my side, guide me! angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. enter at last, master!” you sang apologetically then sounded desperate to see her.

“flattering child, you shall know me. see why in shadow i hide. look at your face in the mirror, i am there inside!” she sang in a softer tone and you quickly turned around to look at the mirror.

there she was.

you slowly walked over to her, with wide eyes in complete shock. you knew she wasn’t a fragment in your imagination but to see her in the flesh like this was something you’ve only been dreaming of for as long as she’s been teaching you.

she wore a white mask that covered the right half of her face and had her dark brown hair slicked back. she wore a black tailcoat and waistcoat, with a white shirt underneath and a dark purple cravat on top. she also had black trousers and an opera cloak.

she looked proper and dashing like the composers and musicians that you’ve seen in all your years. she looked mesmerizing.

and sounded mesmerizing as well. so much so that you were walking towards her, eyes back on hers as she sang to you, “I am your angel of music. come to me, angel of music.”

you continued towards her through the mirror, like a moth to a flame, “I am your angel of music. come to me, angel of music.”

she stuck her hand out for you and you grab it, while still retaining eye contact. her deep blue eyes were gorgeous and you couldn’t dare look away. utterly captivated.

she looked away occasionally as she led you down the candle-lit hallway, turning back to you every few seconds to ensure you were there. she saw the way raoul was looking at you and she couldn’t fathom the thought of someone else catching your eye.

after all she was your teacher and you her muse. it was about time you came face to face, for all she wanted was to have you as hers, to share your love and devotion of music.

“in sleep she sang to me, in dreams she came. that voice which calls to me and speaks my name.” you sing softly.

“and do i dream again? for now i find the phantom of the opera is there - inside my mind—” you carefully went down the stairs, looking at her face again.

her hand held yours gently as you looked down the pathway to find a horse. you both went down slowly to make sure you won’t fall or anything.

her strong voice suddenly graces your ears, “sing once again with me, our strange duet. my power over you grows stronger yet.”

she helped you on top of the horse and you turned your head, “and though you turn from me, to glance behind— the phantom of the opera is there - inside your mind.”

she stopped the horse and offered her hand once more to help you down, which you accept. you hopped down and her hand was on your waist leading you to the gondola. “those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear.”

“it's me they hear.” she sings then you both start harmonizing with alternate adjectives, “your spirit and my voice, in one combined. the phantom of the opera is there — inside my mind.”

you watched as she used a long stick to row you down the little river, her eyes boring into yours because she also couldn’t believe you were here. she’s been waiting for you.

meanwhile you were entranced by her beauty and her stunning voice. she looked to be maybe only a couple years older than you which was quite surprising because of her impeccable talents.

“in all your fantasies, you always knew — that woman and mystery..” she sang and you finished it in truth, “… were both in you…”

you harmonized with her again, “and in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the phantom of the opera is here - inside my mind…”

she looked at you with a wide grin, beyond excited, “my angel of music!” she exclaims as you slowly went under a gate and to her lair.

“she’s there, the phantom of the opera…” you sing softly as she pulls you both in.

“sing my angel.” she commands and you do a high falsetto for a few seconds while she nodded, in approval.

she looks at you and with her hand motions higher, “sing!!”

as if she was controlling you, you did it but raised it to a BB5 note. you were now entering her lair and watching as tall and big candelabras appear from beneath the water.

you do the same exact note once again without her asking for it while her hands went higher with determination, “sing!”

you went even higher, slowly reaching levels you haven’t done before. your eyes stayed wide in surprise as she watched you in awe, bewitched by your perseverance.

you repeated the same note again and she extended her hand out, “sing!”

your pitch was even higher, surprising only yourself because she knew what you were capable of. she just had to push you a bit.

“sing, my angel!” she yells and you’ve reached a C6 note.

“sing for me!!!” she lets out one final scream and you sing with all your might, reaching the highest note one can hit.

you let it drag on for as long as you could and when you stopped you held onto your throat, relishing in your new and amazing accomplishment while she got out of the gondola.

she had a huge grin on her face, ecstatic that her teachings worked well and that you were even more perfect, way beyond her own comprehension.

she stuck her hand out for you again and you snapped out of your thoughts to grab it as she helped you up and out of the gondola. you stepped out of it and stood in front of her, tall and with an aura that felt so intimidating yet familiar.

you looked at her expectantly, assuming she’ll give you praise like she has been doing for as long as you can remember. it was a plus to improving your techniques and was just proof that hard work paid off because you lived for it.

her second hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek which had you melt against her touch, “your talent is beyond the word of perfection, my angel.”

you smiled and she gave you one right back as she let go of your face, leading you inside. you walked past an organ with sheet music over a small desk and loads of candles surrounding it. there were also a handful of mirrors but they were all covered up by fabrics of velvet.

you took a quick look around and your first thoughts were how has she survived down here for so long? did it ever get lonely? is that why there were so many stacks of sheet music? is that why she was so strict with every show the opera house held?

suddenly she sings in her strong vibrato, “i have brought you to the seat of sweet music’s throne. to this kingdom where all must pay home to music, music.”

she then walked a little more and opened a curtain which revealed a mannequin that looked identical to you and not just that but in a wedding dress. you felt dizzy when she sings softly, “you have come here for one purpose and one alone. since the moment i first heard you sing i have needed you with me to serve me, to sing for my music, my music.”

that last note was the last thing you heard before blacking out and falling straight into her arms.

you woke up to the quiet sounds of a music box. you looked around, remembering where you were and realized you were on a bed. the black lace drapes covered every side of the bed and you saw a little lever to your right so you pulled on it and they slowly came up.

by the foot of the bed and on a small ottoman was the music box playing a gentle melody of a song with a monkey playing two drum cymbals right on top of it. you watched it in awe and slowly got up, now following the sounds of light humming.

you tiptoed until you got close enough to see the phantom's work space and found her writing with a feather and ink. she looked hard at work and concentrated while humming an unknown tune. she looked up to you and motioned for you to come closer with a finger and you did.

you stood above her as she showed you what she had been writing, you tilt your head and read its title plus her name below it then to the stack of lyrics to her left, "the point of no return?" you ask and she nods.

"is it another duet?" you ask and she nods yet again, "still working on the second half.."

you nod and eye the lyrics, she notices and reaches over to them before grabbing them and handing them to you. you grab them and look at her to make sure it was really okay, she gives you a smile and you look back at the papers to start reading.

she wrote in cursive, neat and delicate, starting off with strong lyrics within the first five lines then the next verse that instantly had you feeling flustered.

our passions may fuse and merge…

in your mind you've already succumbed to me.

now you are here with me, no second thoughts, you've decided, decided

your cheeks were hot and you were speechless as you quickly skimmed through the rest of it, eyes landing on two lines that had your mouth running dry.

what rich desire unlocks its door?

what sweet seduction lies before us?

you gulped and squeezed your thighs together as you finished the rest and that was all for the first page. you were speechless. your mind was blank for a short while until it was suddenly filled with words of your thoughts from the back of your head and you had to let them out.

you sing them quietly, attempting to do it in the way she imagined, "you have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence."

you kept quiet for dramatic effect but also to choose your next words carefully. she looked up at you with admiration and respect, feeling so content with her decision to snatch you away before raoul even got a proper chance. it was for the best, for you and for her.

you reached down, putting her papers down in front of her, then bringing your right hand up to cup the left side of her face. she flinched for a second, but your soft gaze calmed her down, something that shouldn't have surprised her.

you had the power in your hands to make her better. to make her a better woman. a better singer, writer.

all she ever really needed to feel human was something like this. all she she really needed was you. and all she has ever longed for was love.

maybe now she could not only change but become a better version of herself for you.

she turned her body to fully face you, her face warm and heart all fuzzy just looking at you. she can only imagine the difference your presence in her life will do already.

you took a deep breath, looking right into her eyes as you confessed, and sang gently, "i have come here hardly knowing the reason why. in my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent."

you brought your left hand to her right side, touching the mask and leaning down, "now I am here with you, no second thoughts."

you lean in, left hand going down to the very end of the mask as you feel her hand on yours, slowly bringing it up with you as you whisper, "I've decided, decided."

she lets you pull it off then tries to look away from you, afraid her worst fears will come true after your heartfelt and risqué confession that had her heart beat awfully quick but you didn't let her. you lightly cupped her jaw as you took in her features.

her cheek was wrinkled, the right side of her lips were swollen, she didn't have a right eyebrow, her right eye was actually a gray color, and a gash along her temple.

her face was deformed, and so different to the other half, it had you feeling empathetic that she felt the need to live down here and still wear a mask. she shouldn't have to live this way.

she was even more beautiful.

she attempted to look away from you in shame, now thinking that maybe you did deserve someone like raoul so you wouldn’t be embarrassed. someone who matched your beauty and wouldn’t scare people away.

you on the other hand thought the opposite.

you had already forgotten all about raoul as soon as you saw her behind that mirror but now there was no doubt in your mind that it was her that you’ll choose no matter what.

she has been not only such an excellent teacher but it really felt like she’s taken good care of you behind the scenes.

reading those lyrics felt like you were able to get a glimpse inside her mind and her true feelings as well as her deepest desires.

so you did what felt right and leaned in until you could feel her breath against your lips. you put the mask on her little desk and swiftly sat on her lap with your legs dangling to the side, wrapping your arms behind her neck while she held you in place.

she leaned in and you could see her lips lightly trembling, and your own growing nerves didn’t help you but without another moment to waste, you kissed her. it was soft, sweet just to see if she wouldn’t mind it.

you took it as a sign that she didn’t when her hands gripped your waist and she kissed back eagerly. you tried not to smile through the kiss but it felt impossible and you could feel her smiling too so that was a good sign.

she brought a hand up to your face, feeling the warmth of your skin while she kissed you deeper. you already tasted so sweet. felt so much better than she imagined.

she should’ve done this sooner.

suddenly you pulled away and she was taken by surprise. you looked down at her lips and they were a light red and already puffy. you looked up and into her eyes, they were glowing and both appeared to have darkened.

you both smiled at each other and this time she kissed you first, brushing her lips against yours gently while her hands stayed on your waist. you brought your left hand up to her jaw as you opened your mouth and she slipped her tongue inside.

your tongues were clashing and your heart was already racing in excitement. what was just a second ago a sweet and tender kiss, quickly changed into a desperate and sloppy one with your hands all over each other.

your hand went down playing with her cravat between your fingers as one of her hands went under your legs and the other to your lower back. she then stood up, carrying you bridal style en route to her bed.

she walked slowly and carefully since being down there for years, she had the whole place memorized like the back of her hand. so she moved swiftly and was able to get you there safely without hurting a hair on your head.

she pulled away from you only to lay you down on the bed gently just to admire you for a split second as you scoot to the middle of it before she climbed on to the bed then on to you. she grabbed your chin just with her index finger and thumb, making you look right into her eyes while she leant in, "you're so beautiful, and given the gift of having the voice of an ethereal angel."

your face grew hot and you wanted to look away because you were flustered but she didn't allow you to. her cheeks were red because she was just so happy, this was one her dreams that she wasn't so sure would come true but was beyond ecstatic that it did.

you were all she needed to truly feel human after all the awful years she had. her angel of music.

no one else's and she'd make sure of it.

she kissed you for the third time but this time she was even more desperate. she needed to have you. her hands were exploring every inch of your body, squeezing and gripping every curve while your hands trail up and down her back. your tongues clashed together and you were slowly losing your breath as you felt her hands suddenly undoing the straps of your robe.

you pulled away so she can look at what she was doing and your hands went down to her front to undo the buttons from her tailcoat as fast as you could. she only chuckled under her breath and opened the robe to reveal your red, green and gold bodice which looked absolutely stunning on you. unfortunately she was too eager to help you take it off so she lowered herself down your body while retaining eye contact.

she got to the hem of your skirt and right as she opened her mouth, you just nodded feverishly, "please."

she bit her lip to hide the moan that was about to slip from her mouth and pulled your skirt down slowly, admiring every inch of bare skin her eyes laid on, "so beautiful." she whispered and pulled the skirt over your legs.

she threw it behind her and you spread your legs apart – her body was between your legs, slowly going down and when reaching your thighs she made sure to leave trails of kisses on each side. then she was face to face with your already soaked panties, she bit her lip again and looked up at you.

your lips were in a pout already needing her to do something but you didn't want to seem too needy. but given you were entirely exposed and she knows you're already wet maybe she already knew.

she wraps her arms around your thighs then leans in, leaving a kiss on your clothed clit before kissing down until she got to your entrance. she then licked a strip all the way back up to your clit, sending shivers all throughout your body as she repeated the process again. you let out a sigh and bring a hand down to her hair, urging her to do more.

she grins, quickly moving your panties to the side and diving right in to have a taste. she licked your slit, savoring that sweet taste as if you'd vanish out of thin air. you tasted heavenly, exactly how she knew you would.

her tongue went up, circling your nub while she took off her gloves and teasingly threw them at you. you caught them with a laugh, tugging on her hair making her groan against you. you moaned and her head went back down, lapping at your folds like she hasn't eaten for weeks. "oh god-" you moaned and bucked your hips up.

she moaned against you, doing it faster just to hear your angelic moans for as long as she could. she felt like she was dreaming. if it weren't for the fact that you were moaning for her, she would've assumed this really was just one of her wet dreams.

she started going up and down, making sure to slurp up all your juices because she needed every drop of you in her mouth. just to make sure this was really happening.

your eyes fluttered shut and you tried to keep them open but the pleasure she was giving you was just so breathtaking. "feels so good kate-" you murmured, locking eyes with her as she nods.

suddenly you felt her teasing your entrance with a finger and your body trembled. her eyes close shut, focusing on making you feel good and on her sense of hearing to hear what you like. luckily for her she was able to feel your thighs shake, and your arousal was dripping even more.

thank the heavens she didn’t let raoul have a singular opportunity.

he’d be lost.

she slipped the finger all the way inside and your walls easily entrapped it. she moaned and pulled it back only to add a second finger. you clenched around both as she slammed it into you making you whimper.

she pulled it all the way out then went back in with both and started pumping them fast. you gasped as you heard the noises coming from between your legs, it sounded crazy.

your arousal was coating her fingers and she just watched the way your body reacted to her touch. it was everything she could have ever wanted and more.

“mm just like that-“ you moaned, trying to keep your eyes on her but it felt impossible.

you just wanted to close your eyes and feel the heaven she was giving you.

her fingers went faster, looking at your pretty face while she came up and started sucking on your clit to make you come in her mouth as fast as possible. you gasped and your eyes shot open, looking right at her as she worked expertly on your pussy.

it seemed she was good at everything she did. and looked just as good doing it.

she curled her fingers up when she pulled back making sure to hit your sweet spot with every thrust. with her other hand she pulled your left leg up, to have more space and so it can bring you more pleasure. more moans slipped from your lips making her moan into you and speed up.

your hands gripped her hair keeping her as close as possible to you because it just felt too good. her entire mouth was on your clit, flicking and sucking on it while her fingers went deeper.

you felt a strong sensation in your stomach, as if you were about to pee and it had you nervous, “kate- i d-don’t-“

your brain was mush and you couldn’t spill out a coherent sentence but she could feel you contort and clench against her fingers, you were close.

with her left hand she grabbed your right hand and made you hold your own leg up while hers went to your stomach, pressing on it over the bodice. you whined and that feeling in your stomach was only growing tighter, “oh my- f-fuck! please-“

she pulls away from your clit and looks deeply into your eyes as she murmurs, “wanna come for me, my angel?”

you quickly nod and she grins, her whole mouth and cheeks glistening with your arousal as she goes back down to suck on your swollen nub. you gasped then whimpered as your orgasm built up and with her loving stare alone, you quickly came undone. your body shook while her fingers slowed down, letting you completely ride out your high.

you whimpered out her name and let go of your leg and her hair. you could hear your heart beat loudly in your ears as the pleasure slowly washed away and was now reaching towards overstimulation. your hand went up to your face, trying to calm yourself down.

she pulls away from you and leaves a kiss on your inner thigh and just lets her fingers stay inside you while admiring your pretty face basking in afterglow.

she’d do anything to always have you like this. spending as much time as you’d let her to take care of you properly each and every time.

it’s what you deserved after the phenomenal progress of your voice and especially after tonight’s show. sure she’d have to take care of raoul to ensure he doesn’t get in the way and so you can still go up to become the permanent lead.

she’d do whatever it takes.

“kate i wanna taste you.” you whined, lightly tapping her head with a finger, and she snapped out of it.

“oh do you?” she teases and you nod.

she slowly pulls her fingers out of you and then gets up from between your legs. she sits up and you quickly move over, making space for her while she took your previous position. you went down her body, undoing her pants as fast as you could.

you pulled them down and revealed that she was wearing a pair of boxers. you slid those down as well, spreading her legs wide, and then instantly ate her out with no care in the world of anything except for her.

she moaned and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, “oh my god yes-“

you were surprised she was just as, if not more wet than you. but what surprised you more was how amazing she tasted. you wrapped your arms around her thighs, truly savoring her because she was just so sweet.

kate grinned at your desperation, happy that you’re feeling like she is now. she brought a hand down to your head, guiding you to come up and suck on her clit. you did as she wanted and looked at her while doing so which gave her instant goosebumps, “just like that, my sweet angel- y-you’re doing so good for me.” she breathed out making you moan onto her.

her body shook and you took it as a good sign. you sucked on her clit while lightly flicking it with the tip of your tongue. she gasped in shock and you just kept it going, doing it a little faster just so you could hear her again.

she moaned your name out like a prayer along with praise that had your heart skipping a beat. you brought your right hand down, pulling away from her so you can admire her. she had a slight bush on her mound and everything else was bare. her actual pussy was pretty, already glistening with a mix of your saliva and her juices.

you spread her lips apart with two fingers then can’t help but to lick a strip up then back down, tongue teasing her entrance and just feeling her shake above you. you pulled away, lips all glossy and you took a quick look at her, bringing a finger down to enter her hole before quickly looking at her.

she gasped and clenched against the digit, you pulled it out and then teased her hole with two fingers making her groan, “oh my- please, lord please.”

you slid them in, feeling yourself grow impatient and not wanting to tease her too much. she relaxed her body but her walls still clenched against your fingers, “relax angel, i’ll take care of you.” you murmur earning yourself loud moans from her.

you smile and pump them deeper as she squirmed around while you give her sweet praises, just to flip the script a bit.

you had officially made her completely lose her mind.

she had the two people she had to take care of in mind before she’d send you back up to the opera house. she had to make sure there were no loose ends when you became the official lead and maybe then she’d come up to take control without harming any more people.

but for now she’d cherish every passing second with you because it’s all she dreamed of.

your fingers were going at a fast pace, her juices dripping down your hand, and kate’s moans were gracing your ears. “just like that angel, please don’t stop-“

you nodded, doing the same thing but now going a bit harder. her hands gripped the sheets, her lower body grinding against you because it was just too good and she was starting to get greedy.

you kissed her thigh watching as her face contorted in pleasure with every thrust. her eyes were fluttering and she kept biting her lip attempting to be quiet but was obviously failing. “my beautiful angel- god you’re amazing.”

your face grew warm and you felt butterflies in your stomach, it was like becoming one of those lovesick girls from the films except you didn’t hate it. it was an amazing feeling to already feel wanted like this, in this capacity.

especially by someone whose been the most helpful for your career and always seemed to care for you more than just a tutor. like you cared for her as well.

it was more than that and it made you overjoyed and delighted to have been taught by her. you knew in your heart that it’d become more which only had you feeling excited for your future with her.

her moans brought you back to reality where she was a mess. she was making a mess of your fingers and her eyes were barely able to remain open. you went down and sucked on her clit again, pumping your fingers inside her at a faster pace that only had her dripping even more than before.

“y-yes- oh my- angel please.” she moaned and you squeezed your thighs together for some friction.

“a-always so caring and t-thoughtful, aren’t you sweetheart?” she murmurs earning herself a whimper right against her pussy.

her legs shook and she was back to clenching against your fingers, maybe she was close. your fingers never stopped, only increased the pace since that’s likely what she needed. you pulled away once again just to respond, “mhm, you already know me well enough huh?”

she laughs then whimpers when your fingers start curling and she instantly feels her orgasm coming in hot pursuit. “fuck! yes, i do- know you s-so well.” she mutters making you grin.

seems you were able to break her like she did with you. another accomplishment of the night.

you brought your left hand up to her and she quickly entwined your fingers together, “give it to me. please give it to me, angel.” you murmured and she let out a loud mewl as her orgasm crashed down on her.

you continued your pace while she reached her climax, letting out more moans and whimpers as her body started shaking. her hand was gripping your hand tightly and you just held onto it as you finally slowed down. she was breathing heavily, heart pounding while she looked down at you through fucked out eyes, looking at you as if you really were a real angel.

you were just as beautiful as one. with an angelic voice to match.

you slowly pulled your fingers out of her, not wanting it to hurt her as she sighed and opened her arms. with a wide grin you climbed on top of her, before laying down and making yourself comfortable in her arms.

she wrapped her arms around you as you heard her heart face against her chest. it felt like yours was reacting the exact same way as well.

you laid like that in comfortable silence as she got herself to calm down, enjoying being able to have you like this after all she’s taught you. it was the greatest feeling.

suddenly her mind came up with heartfelt lyrics to finish your song. she cleared her throat then sang quietly just enough for you to hear, “say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime. lead me, save me from my solitude.”

her eyes welled with tears as you looked up at her, your own eyes tearing up as she finished, “say you want me with you here, beside you. anywhere you go, let me go too… that’s all i ask of you—“

her voice cracked with the very end of the last note and a single tear fell off both your faces. you quickly brought a hand up to wipe the tear from the right side of her face, gently rubbing your thumb against her skin.

she did the same to you, looking at you with eyes filled of pure love as you finish off the song, “beyond the point of no return.”

she cried softly, unable to not smile at the same time. you just made her the happiest woman in the world. you made her feel human again. you were all she needed to feel human and happy with life again.

she’ll never take you for granted and will make sure to take care of you in every way for as long as you allow her to.

#kate bishop #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x reader smut #bisexual #lesbian #sapphic #kate bishop smut #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop hawkeye #phantom of the opera au #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #sapphic phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #marvel fic #hawkeye #marvel

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jojoiread · 11 months ago

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Hello there! Could I ask for some HCs of Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie, and Angel Dust meeting Alastor’s sibling, [Reader] [Gender Neutral] [Platonic], for the first time? They’re also a powerful demon like their brother, have deer-like features (antlers and tail), fashioned with glasses, a distorted/static voice, (of course being a cannibal), etc. However, what contrasted with Alastor was they don’t have a creepy demeanor nor ill intentions. They’re actually a decently nice demon who would visit the hotel to check up on their only brother and chat with everyone.

- @sanctum-of-ramshackle

Meeting Alastors Sibling

Charlie Morning star

• Charlie would be overjoyed to see, let alone find out, that Alastor has a sibling.

•”OH MY GOSH WELCOME I DIDN’T KNOW ALASTOR HAD A SIBLING COME LET ME SHOW YOU AROUND”

•Immediately starts showing you around and telling you about how the hotel works and her dreams of redeeming her people.

•Asking you all sorts of questions relating to you and Alastor, “Who’s older? Did you guys get along? Who’s-“

•Gets cut off my Alastor cause he knows damn well that you’ll start blubbering his secrets.

•Absolutely enthralled with your personality, not everybody down here, let alone a powerful overlord who’s just so… nice and not trying to deceive others.

•Ask you if you want to join the hotel and understands when you decline.

•Gets excited for the next time you visit and waves,hugs,smiles,(a whole song atp) once you leave.

(Alastor now making a plan to keep your yapping mouth shut).

Vaggie

•Does not trust you AT ALL when you first arrive.

•A double of Alastor? No fucking thanks, keep it away, she does not need to deal with that, one is enough.

•Starts sizing you up and asking questions, judging to see if your gonna be a problem just like Alastor.

•Once she sees how nice and unalastory you are, she’ll start to calm down a bit and let her guard down.

•Absolutely baffled that someone like you is even related to Alastor.

•”Did Alastor get dropped on his head and that’s why he’s a bitch and you’re not?”(Yes he’s standing right behind her)

•(Alastor makes sure to keep a close eye on you two after that)

•She’s happy that you get along with everyone at the hotel, a good change of pace around here.

Angel Dust

•Literally does not care at first, so what? Another guest? Alastor’s sibling? Whatever

•When you first stride up to him, he makes his usual sex comments, asking to make a pass at that ass (Alastor glares and he stops relucantly).

•”So, hows it feel to squeeze out of the same tight pussy as freaky face himeself?”

• Thinks your just a mini-version of Alastor, same hair, looks, voice, etc, just throwing Alastor into a duplicator.

•Asks if he can get duplicated too.

•After realizing how nice and sweet you are, he starts to lighten up on the act he uses.

•Still making crude comments, now he’s just making sure a certain somebody isn’t in the room.

•Thinks your just like Charlie and gets himself drunk before conversing.

•(You’re both laughing and playing with fat nuggets after).

#hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin posting #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin x you #vaggie x reader #charlie x reader #alastor #angel dust x reader

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mel-ixa · 7 months ago

Text

The more I think about it, the more the RWRB fandom is winning because what do you mean we have a book (with a collector edition!) AND an amazingly written film AND an upcoming sequel??

The difference in the film vs book makes it even better because now there’s 2 versions and they’re both good and canon!!

One of my fav changes in the film is that Alex passed Henry his key in exchange for the ring so they both held on to a piece of each other when the leak happened. And that Alex was the one who played the song in the V&A right after Henry said he always wanted to dance with someone he loved there like omg 😭

I just choose whichever bits I prefer and now the mashed up version in my head is the best of both worlds and damn we are so well-fed!!

Im not even going to get started on AO3 content cause the pairing has over 10k fics so it’s just a buffet there.

And of course Taylor and Nic are both such incredible actors. Like honestly what is there not to love about RWRB!!

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #like honestly it’s been a while since I’ve been in such a well-fed fandom #I mean it’s sad June and Katherine and Cash weren’t in the movie but I just add them mentally into the scenes #ok there’s a few things that I try to not get into like the actor fanbase fighting over some stuff but I guess it’s pretty common and #you can just look away #also this isn’t an invitation to start telling me what’s there to hate #I love it in all its shape and form and you can’t take that away from me

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years ago

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Hi!! I’m your friendly neighborhood Swiftie BEGGING you for Eddie - Sparks Fly

sparks fly (eddie's version)

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff. mutual pining. the works. <3

wc: 2.1k+

a/n: this one got mad cheesy. maybe a little too cheesy. idc. i had fun with it.

“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna have to talk to Ed,” the older bartender, Phil, muses as he wipes down the counter behind you.

You hardly hear him over the current symphony of electric guitars, riveting bass, and crashing drums filling the Hideout. You had one focus tonight, just as you did every Tuesday and Friday night, and that was the band on the stage currently commanding an even larger audience than last week.

You’d seen it coming. Building crowds, more buzzing conversations around town in hushed tones about the band that owned the stage of the hole in the wall. You’d stumbled upon them by accident, coming in and telling yourself you were just grabbing one drink after a particularly rough shift. But one drink immediately turned into four that night when the band had taken the stage, playing song after song, keeping you glued to that bar stool and completely enamored with one particular boy on stage.

Eddie Munson.

Every time you watch him command that stage, wild hair and vibrant eyes, it’s like the first time all over again. You can’t get over his wicked grin, the way he puts his entire self into each performance, the rasp of his voice – you’re down bad for a man you’ve never even properly spoken to.

By some miracle, you tear your eyes from the stage, swiveling to face Phil, “Excuse me?”

“Ed. You know, Eddie,” he repeats himself, leaning both palms on the bar, “He notices you, you know? Always asks me where you ran off to after their set’s done.”

Your heart is suddenly in your throat, embarrassment red hot in the pit of your stomach, “H-He notices me? Why would he notice me?”

“You’re at every show. Even before they started getting a proper crowd. The damn boy hasn’t shut up about you since that first night,” Phil pauses to hand off a beer to another patron wordlessly, “You’re lucky you pay with cash and not card, or I’m sure he would’ve tracked you down outside of here by now. Calls you his Cinderella.”

Like a clock chiming midnight, the final tinny note of the set rings through the bar, and you can hear that rasp of Eddie’s voice booming through the speakers.

“We have been Corroded Coffin! Thank you very fucking much!”

And just like clockwork, you’re rushing to dig into your purse, yanking a twenty from your wallet and smacking it onto the bar before grabbing your drink to down the last of it.

“I’m not Cinderella,” you choke out over the residual burn of the alcohol, face still scrunched up as you glance over your shoulder to see the boys have already left the stage, “I just like the music.”

“The music,” he hums, ��Right. Well, your money’s no good here tonight, little miss Cindy,” he reaches out, and with a singular fingertip, pushes the cash back towards you over the sticky wood. When your mouth opens and closes in confusion, Phil’s eyes flicker up towards the side door beside the stage where a commotion has begun, signaling that the band is coming out, “It seems the music likes you, too. So much so that he demanded I add your drinks to his tab tonight.”

The coals of embarrassment burn even brighter, igniting you from the inside out. Your hand flies out, grabbing back the twenty and shoving it aimlessly in your purse. You keep looking back at the crowd, catching glimpses of dark curls over the small sea of people singing their praises, watching your seconds run out in real time. It’s not that you didn’t want to speak to the man who has had you captivated for several months now; you were just mortified that he’d noticed you in that crowd, noticed the way you attended each show.

One of these days you’d talk to him. But tonight, you had no bravery left for such boldness.

“You’re gonna have to leave behind a glass slipper for the boy eventually,” Phil only chuckles, watching you fumble to clasp your purse before you shoot up from the stool, “Hey, hold on-”

“Another night, Phil!” you call out, not even looking back as you make a beeline for the bar’s exit.

If you had, you would have seen your favorite ring that Phil was holding up, the one that you had taken off your finger to fiddle with endlessly before sitting it down at some point without thought, now left behind like some kind of glass slipper.

—

You were late. It was Friday night, the day had been a nightmare, and you were fucking late to Corroded Coffin’s show.

Your attendance had never faltered like this before. You were always right on time, sometimes five minutes early once the crowds doubled in size in order to secure one of your regular seats.

The deviation from your routine has you reeling, amongst other things. Your Friday had simply been shit. A nonstop rampant attack on your sanity, one thing after another testing what was left of your patience. You’d slept through your first two alarms this morning, you hadn’t realized you were out of coffee creamer until you’d grabbed the scarily light container of it this morning, you had to take a dreadfully cold shower rather than waste precious minutes letting the water warm, you’d worked through your lunch to clean up a mess made by your coworker – the list goes on and on.

You burst through the entrance of the Hideout, probably looking a bit crazed, stopping dead in your tracks when you realize two things.

One, It’s fairly empty. And two, Corroded Coffin is not on the stage.

“Look who decided to show!” Phil calls from his place behind the bar, waving dramatically to you, “Cinderella!”

“Phil, for the last time, I’m not-”

“Your favorite band canceled tonight, I’m afraid,” he bulldozes right over your retort as you approach one of your usual stools.

Your brows furrow, “Canceled? Is everything okay?”

Phil’s mouth opens. But it’s not his voice that answers you.

“Gareth’s sick.”

A voice you’d only heard on the stage, through crackling speakers and enthusiastic addresses to a crowd. A voice you had never heard one-on-one, and for good reason.

Your breath escapes you as you turn slowly, facing the man you’d managed to elude for months now.

“Pardon?” you squeak out, voice hardly audible.

Eddie still grins shyly, hearing you loud and clear due to how uncharacteristically quiet the bar is tonight, “Our drummer, Gareth – he’s, uh, sick. Sorry to disappoint.”

He’s just as captivating up close as he is on the stage. There’s still something wild in him, something electrifying that he seems completely unaware of.

“Don’t apologize,” you’re still whispering, internally cursing yourself for it. You probably look ridiculous right now; you can only picture your starry eyes and parted lips, looking at him with palpable shock, hardly able to utter a word, “I- I’m not disappointed. There’ll be other shows!” you stammer your way through your words, and when Eddie only continues to look at you with gentle amusement, the softest ripple of possible nerves from the way his hands shoved into his pockets, you continue to over explain yourself, rambling on, “I just- I, uh, hope he feels better.”

“Yeah, me too,” he nods in agreement before he buries his hands even deeper. Suddenly, as if he’s found something in those pockets, his face lights up in delight, “Oh! Hey, I-” his left hand pulls out of his pocket at lightning speed, still curled into a fist as he thrusts it into your direction, “I think this might be yours.”

Slowly, he unfurls his fingers, and in the center of his palm rests your ring. You had assumed it was lost to the fire, that it might have fallen off at work or outside your apartment, never to be found again. Just another thing to add to your checklist of things gone wrong.

And yet there it was, like a perfect glass slipper, right in the palm of Eddie’s hand.

Your nerves are all but forgotten as you get giddy, reaching out without thinking to take the ring from him. A gentle brush of your fingertips against this palm, and you swear you feel sparks flying from the minimal contact, “Oh! Oh my gosh! Thank you, I-” you slip it on easily, smiling widely before you look up at him gleefully, “I thought I’d lost it for good. Thank you.”

Eddie turns bashful, tilting down his chin and letting stray curls fall in his face that half hide his own contained grin. If the lighting in the bar had been better, you would have caught the pink spreading across his cheeks.

“And so the prince finally meets his Cinderella,” Phil mutters from behind the two of you before he suddenly smacks his palms on the countertop, “Alright! Well, if you two will excuse me, I have to…. Do some stock count in the back,” a blatant lie, “Don’t burn the place down, yeah?”

Eddie snaps out of his daze to look up to the older man, mock saluting him in a way that has an involuntary giggle leaving your lips. In an instant, he’s looking back down to you, almost surprised at the sound.

Cheap bar lighting can no longer hide his blush. Or your own adoration.

“The bar is yours! Make good decisions!” Phil continues to shout as he moves to the backroom, voice fading with each step.

Finally, you and Eddie are alone.

“And then there were two,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to you, finding something brave in him at the way you’re looking up at him in reverie.

The rockstar that had been enchanting you for months from a distance. The man who had been occupying all your thoughts far too much for having been a stranger.

This is your chance. No more hiding at the back of the bar, only admiring him with the safety of a crowd between you two. No more wondering, no more imagining, no more pining. Time stands still, not a single clock daring to strike midnight as the electric currents between you two come to a rise.

“Say,” you say right when he looks to be preparing himself to speak first. It’s time to be bold, take a risk, no matter the costs. “Do you… Do you want to grab a drink?”

His wicked grin is even better right in front of you, directed at you, “Well, he did say the bar is ours. What’s your poison?”

“Jack and coke?”

He shrugs, still a vibrant fool, like a schoolgirl with a crush, “I’ve been known to have a heavy hand with the jack, but… I think I can manage that.”

Electrifying, pulsing, the beginning of something new. You can see it now – the way you’re going to cling to his arm when he makes you laugh so hard you nearly fall off your chair, the way he’ll be able to charm you better over a jack and coke than he ever had been able to from behind a guitar, the way those eyes scream trouble. And yet at the end of the night, you know he’ll still walk you to your car through the empty parking lot. He’ll probably use the excuse of the bad weather looming overhead. When the sky finally breaks open and the first drops of rain fall, neither of you will be brave enough to admit what you both already know. Tonight’s not the night for kisses in the rain or talk of what-ifs.

That’s fine. For tonight, the sparks of something new are enough.

Eddie moves to walk behind the bar, but you throw out a reckless hand to catch him. Your first curls around his forearm for the first time tonight, and even with the layer of leather that separates skin, you can feel it. “Hey, did you really call me your Cinderella?”

Flashes and arrays of what’s to come flood both of you. It’s only the first drink. It’s only the first night.

It won’t be the last.

“I mean,” he nods subtly down to the hand holding him, where your ring glitters on your middle finger, snug on your knuckle, “If the ring fits, right?”

He’s right. The ring fits.

And a different ring fits years later, after all those kisses in the rain and many more jack and cokes that Eddie never quite perfects. And you’re still right where you belong, front row at every Corroded Coffin show, Eddie’s own personal Cinderella. When the clock strikes midnight, he’s no longer afraid – he knows you’ll be coming home to him now.

Phil only laughs when he receives the invite, chuckling to himself at the chosen theme for the two idiots that once haunted his bar who now had moved onto bigger and better things.

A gothic fairytale wedding, on a Tuesday night. How fitting.

"you touch me once and it's really something. you find i'm even better than you imagined i would be."

#speak now (ghost's version)#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #gotta go see a dentist now #heavily inspired by the og version where she talks about meeting in a bar ngl #speak now is just so fairytale love coded to me i'm sorry #this also would have fit so well for enchanted too but #i listened to sparks fly as i wrote it i swear

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zepskies · 2 years ago

Text

Break Me Down - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Surprise Sunday update! I was able to put the finishing touches on Part 2 a bit early. 😉

Song used in this chapter is “If I Didn’t Care” by The Ink Spots (but more like Amy Adams' version). Song inspiration for this chapter (and the song title) is “All My Livin Time” by Radio Company (Jensen’s band with Steve Carlson).

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: 18+ only! Willful seduction, kidnapping, SB being himself lol.

Part 2: You Move Me, Baby

This next mission was going to be a bit more…hands on.

It was a gentlemen’s club, styled like a 1920s speakeasy, of all things. If nothing else, Soldier Boy was predictable.

Through a crack in the dressing room door, you didn’t see any gentlemen here. You saw a bunch of skeevy bastards.

For the record, you didn’t like this plan. But as Butcher once again pointed out, Soldier Boy’s less likely to fuckin’ recognize you than any of us.

And you certainly couldn’t (wouldn’t) imagine Butcher in rhinestone nipple tassels.

Right now, you were waiting to be assigned an outfit. Hopefully, you could just blend into the background of whatever performance act the stage manager wanted to slip you into. And you really hoped you wouldn’t have to striptease on stage.

In the meantime, you sat on a stool in a black lace bra, matching panties, and sheer pantyhose, while Annie was helping you with your stage makeup. Years as a pageant child had taught her well. You felt like Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality, fending off getting hairspray up her ass.

Sure, you had gone undercover several times, but this was slightly out of your wheelhouse. You bit your lip, forgetting that you were already wearing several coats of scarlet red lipstick.

Annie slapped your hand. “Stop it. You’re smudging my paint job.”

You had Butcher and M.M. to thank for arranging this little detail.

May they both rot in hell, you silently simmered.

“Oh, stop pouting. You look great,” Annie said. You caught the little smirk she was trying to taper down.

Then the manager’s head popped into the dressing room. When he verified that all the young women had at least their underwear on, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“All right, listen up,” he said in Spanish. You understood just enough to follow what he was saying. “Angelica got food poisoning.”

You grimaced. Angelica was the main act. She had a whole burlesque-style routine with the rest of the women—for which you were meant to step in for one of the girls in the ensemble. Hopefully in the back.

“Daniela, you’re filling in,” said the manager, pointing to a busty brunette.

“What about the second act?” asked another girl. If you remembered right, her name was Raquel. “Dani can’t sing like Angelica to save her fucking life.”

“Excuse me, bitch. I sing better than you,” Daniela snapped back.

The manager rolled his eyes and clapped his hands harshly to end the bickering.

“Okay. Which one of you bitches can actually sing?” he asked, first in Spanish, then in English, you noticed as he glanced at you.

Annie looked at you with raised brows. You glared back at her.

Damn you for telling her about your childhood church choir days. You were sure your religious mother never thought you’d be using those talents like this.

“No,” you said firmly. Annie just smiled and waved the manager over.

That was how the two of them ended up all but pushing you on stage—after Annie had wrangled you into a shimmering red gown over your underwear and pantyhose. It was overlayed with delicate beading in intricate patterns. And it was easily the most beautiful thing you’d ever had on your body.

However, you did take issue with how long the slit was, running all the way up to your hip bone.

Not really ‘20s style, now is it? you thought sourly.

Annie just slapped your ass and guided you forward.

You shot back one last look at her—one that swore you’d have your revenge.

Then the curtain slid open.

Fuck me, you thought nervously. This was really happening!

The lights blinded you for a moment, and you blinked the glare out of your eyes. They soon adjusted as you forced yourself to move towards the microphone at the right-hand side of the stage, close to the live band. The pianist shot you a smile and a wink as he started to play in dulcet tones.

Steeling yourself, you grabbed the microphone with a slight tremor in your hands. You stared out into the crowd as the rest of the band joined in, slow and jazzy.

You’d informed the manager that you really only knew one song by heart.

“Eh, that is too slow,” he’d replied to you in English.

“It’s that, or Dani belts out in her best soprano,” you informed him. He sighed and waved a resigned hand.

“Get her the red one,” he told Raquel. She then handed you the dress on a hanger.

Now, you held the microphone between both hands and started the song your grandmother used to sing to you when you were a kid.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say,” you began. “If I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

You took in an unsteady breath. With each note, your voice was getting stronger, more confident.

“If this isn’t love, then why do I thrill? And what makes my head go round and round, while my heart…stands…still…”

As you eased into the rest of the song, you remembered your mission.

You scanned the dark room, rows of men of all ages, women serving drinks and food and their own bodies. You weren’t finding your target.

But this intel was good. The source was the girl you’d replaced in the show, and M.M. had already worked out her safe exit out of the city for a while.

There. You finally saw it.

Or rather, you saw him.

Towards the back, Soldier Boy sat at a large exclusive booth. He had a long joint propped between his fingers, and a working woman from the club already propositioning to service him. Her manicured hand eased down his chest.

He also seemed to have hired men sitting at a table nearby.

Your voice nearly hitched at the sight of him, but you forced yourself to take a calming breath during a musical interlude.

You knew Annie and the rest of the team were here in the club somewhere, to back you up. But Soldier Boy knew Butcher and his team were onto him. the bastard would recognize them. You were the distraction here.

And if he went away with that escort, he could easily disappear upstairs and hop out the window again, gone like a coil of weed smoke.

Somehow, you needed to keep his ass in his seat.

So your voice came back in strong for the final verse.

“If I didn’t care, would it be the same? Would my every prayer begin and end…with just your name?”

You watched Soldier Boy’s gaze drift toward the stage. Your lips curved as you held his eyes for a moment…but then, you coyly slid your gaze away.

Okay, what’s going to grab his attention…

You shifted on the stage, letting the curve of your hip and ass sway to one side. You raised your other foot on the tips of your toes. And the slit running up your leg slid open, revealing your tall silver heels and a smooth leg, all the way up to the inside of your thigh.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to fit your gun holster this time.

“And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare…” Your voice rang out on the high note; at that climactic point, the music reached a crescendo.

You turned your head and looked directly into Soldier Boy’s eyes, and his mouth slid into a grin.

He was watching you.

Good.

“Would all this be true,” you sang, “if I didn’t care for you…”

As the final notes reverberated from the piano, applause and male whoops erupted from the crowd.

You slowly released the microphone, breaking off eye contact with your target.

Then you turned around, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your legs. You pressed a discreet hand to the communicator in your ear after the curtain fell behind you, and you told the team.

“He’s here.”

Annie was no longer backstage.

“Good job, crooner,” M.M. said on the comm.

“Watch him ‘til he’s ready to leave,” Butcher said to everyone.

You agreed and dodged the manager so you could slip to the back room within the dressing room.

You were about to change into your real clothes (and grab your gun), when you were stopped by a Latino man. Though he clearly wasn’t a local or a tourist. He looked ex-military, complete with a crew cut and dark beard.

“Soldier Boy would like to meet you,” he said in lightly accented English. You affected some doe-eyed shock, even though some of your surprise was genuine.

You’d just wanted to keep him watching the show. You hadn’t expected him to take the bait this much.

“Oh, wow…where? Now?” you asked.

“Now,” he confirmed. “Upstairs.”

He couldn’t even pick me up himself? Lazy, you wanted to tsk.

You spied the stage manager over by the doorway. He gave you a stern nod that told you that you had no choice but to accept.

Not that you ever intended to decline. Though of fucking course the manager had known Soldier Boy was here. He was probably a damn regular.

You gave Soldier Boy’s man a charming smile. “Lead the way.”

This wasn’t the plan, exactly. You decided it was even better though. Just infinitely more dangerous.

Even though you had years of training, honing your body and your mind in a fight, you weren’t a supe. You were, in fact, exceedingly breakable.

“Are you crazy, cherie?” Frenchie said on the comm.

You also thought you heard M.M. mutter an, “Aw shit.”

“She don’t got a choice now,” Butcher said. “But it’s a good play to get him alone. Slip her one of them hockey pucks.”

You heard M.M., Annie, Butcher, and Frenchie’s continued twittering back and forth about the change of plan. Meanwhile, you were being escorted upstairs.

Kimiko managed to maneuver into your path from the opposite direction, and she slipped a small disk into your hand as she passed you.

You gave her a grateful wink and discreetly placed the device into your bra while your escort wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t a dose of Novichok, but it was something that might keep Soldier Boy occupied for a moment. You intended to use it if he got too fucking handsy.

You were let into a room on the third floor. With the lavish way it was furnished, complete with a king-sized bed, it almost looked like a hotel room.

Yeah, Hotel California, you thought wryly, as the door shut behind you.

Soldier Boy sat at a table by the far wall, gazing out the window with yet another joint (or perhaps the same one?) and a generous pour of whiskey in his hand.

Even you could admit, he cut an attractive figure. He was dressed in light brown slacks, a matching suit jacket and a white dress shirt with the top buttons left open. A simple ensemble, but well-tailored and suited to the golden tan he’d developed here in South America. His beard was neatly trimmed, his short hair styled back in its familiar sweep on both sides.

Even seated, his posture was casual, yet controlled as his head turned to meet your gaze. A smile started to curve his lips.

Show time, you told yourself.

“You’re new,” he said. You tilted your head, a bit of flirtation in your smile.

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

He gave you an oh please look. With the hand that held his whiskey, he gestured with a curling finger.

“Come ‘ere. Don’t be shy,” he said. It was an order rather than a request, but you hid your instinctive annoyance.

You subtly took in a steadying breath. And you moved farther into the room. You didn’t stop until you were sitting opposite him at the window, crossing your legs beneath the table.

You could tell he’d expected you to take a seat in his lap, but to a degree, you didn’t want to do what he expected. He was likely paying the club well for this time. You didn’t want to make it easy.

You wanted him to be enticed. Invested in this moment.

And distracted, for as long as he let you.

You watched him glance down with interest at your bare leg peeking out. At your strappy silver heel shining along with your dress in the soft lamplight, which casted shadows across his profile.

“Want a drink?” he asked.

You were surprised he was offering you anything. You’d half-expected him to order you onto your knees already. Upon which, he would’ve received the gift currently residing in your bra a bit early.

You didn't want to take any drink you hadn't poured yourself, but you also needed to keep this act going...

"I'm not gonna fucking drug you," he said, reading the look in your eyes. "What would be the fucking point of that?"

Hmph. smart-ass motherfucker, you thought. But you didn't detect a lie.

You quirked your head and took the proffered sip from his glass. You wanted to play it cool, but maybe you also needed a little liquid courage.

“All right, easy on the booze. Get his guard down,” Butcher said in your ear. You resisted the urge to frown.

Could Butcher see you somehow too? Or was he just hearing the ice clinking in the glass as you gulped it down.

“Did you enjoy my performance?” you asked Soldier Boy.

“Still am, doll face,” he said with a smirk. You raised a brow.

“I’m not that new,” you replied, biting indelicately on a dark cherry. Your heeled foot slowly slid against the inside of his thigh.

It was his turn to raise brow. His head tilted with his smirk.

You didn’t know if he was more amused than turned on, but his gaze roamed openly over your legs, the cleavage on display, your dark red lips.

“Are you enjoying your stay in Medellin?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Oh, yeah. I’m having a fuckin’ ball,” he said wryly. He dabbed some ash off his blunt with a finger.

There was something off there, and you didn’t miss it.

“You sound bored,” you said. Soldier Boy considered you with a lustful, challenging gaze.

“Maybe. You gonna help me with that, sweetheart?”

A flutter of nerves churned in your belly, but you used it, letting the feeling prickle awareness across your skin.

“Depends,” you said coyly.

Both his brows rose this time, as if he was surprised you were actually pretending to resist him.

“On?”

You subtly leaned forward when you gave him back his glass, allowing him to spy a bit more down your dress. You stared into his deep green eyes, and tried not to get lost yourself. He was an attractive man, but he was also your target. A job you intended to finish.

A smile played at your lips.

“On what excites you,” you replied.

By the way his eyes darkened, his smile curving, you thought he liked that answer.

Then his hand extended toward you, a silent command in his gaze. Steeling yourself, you tried your best to be graceful and sensuous when you took his hand. He playfully jerked you forward, making you fall into his lap.

You waved some dank weed smoke out of your face as you looked down at his amused one.

He was nearly down to the roach on his joint. Meanwhile, his free heavy hand slid up your bare leg, disappearing beneath your dress and making goosebumps spread across your skin. Your breath hitched, though you disguised it with a smile.

“You afraid of me, sweetheart?” he cooed.

Yes, if you were honest with yourself.

There was a false sense of security in his deep voice. You looked down into his eyes, very green and intensely focused on you, despite his air of nonchalance.

“Not really,” you replied. “Only that you might get ash on my dress.”

He chuckled, smoke blowing out his nose. He put out the joint in the ashtray and took another sip of his whiskey, likely to drown out the cotton taste in his mouth. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers spreading between the open buttons, and felt his warm skin.

He glanced up at you with another challenging tilt to his head. What are you gonna do now?

You met that challenge, boldly leaning down to press a kiss against his lips. You held his face, delving your fingers into his soft hair.

Soldier Boy grabbed your hips with a bruising force. It made you wince, instinctively biting into his lower lip. He uttered a pleased sound, guttural in this throat. You braced yourself against the wall behind him for leverage as his chair started to tip back.

Before either of you could fall, he lifted you effortlessly by the waist and pivoted, pinning you against that wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his tongue invaded your mouth, devouring you with hot and heavy hands holding you in place.

His fingers pressed into the flesh of your thighs, and you knew you couldn’t easily escape if you needed to.

This is getting out of hand…

He was busy kissing a wet and sloppy line down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. It actually felt so fucking good to be touched. You hadn’t experienced it in so long, it almost startled you when your heated core pulsed with the friction you were feeling against the hardness in his slacks.

You would never admit it, but it wasn’t an act when you moaned into his ear. Fuck…

But when his hand again slipped under your dress and crept up your inner thigh, alarm bells triggered in your mind as panic started to set in. You panted for breath.

With him seemingly distracted, you reached down into your bra and grabbed the metal disk.

You gasped as Soldier Boy grabbed your wrist, tight as a vice. He looked down at you with a sly grin.

“You were fuckable in black, but red’s my favorite so far,” he said.

Your eyes widened. When the hell did he see me in black?

And then you remembered. You’d worn a black dress at the last club, where you got groped on the dance floor and found Soldier Boy’s latest note…

Had he hung around after all, watching you and the team pick up his clues?

And you realized, he knew exactly who you were.

Soldier Boy glanced down at your lips, then at the tops of your breasts heaving as you caught your breath. His eyes shone with mischief and lust.

“It’s a real shame. You’re probably a good fuck too,” he remarked. It sparked your irate disgust like a wildfire.

Then you smirked. “You can fuck this.”

You activated the disk in your hand and flicked it at him. He instinctively grabbed at his face, releasing you. The device attached to his cheek and electrified enough volts through his body to drop an elephant.

Maybe five. The CIA weapons specialist hadn’t been too sure.

And a star bolt shot Soldier Boy in the chest, shoving him away before he could grab at you.

You jumped back and continued to put several feet of distance between you and Soldier Boy, while Annie and the rest of your team poured into the room. They were poised for a fight, once Soldier Boy ripped the device off his face with a grunt. It probably hadn’t hurt him much, but he looked pissed now.

He rolled the kinks out of his neck and surveyed the room with a slow gait. He spared you a fleeting glance. You were now at the safety of Kimiko’s side, and Frenchie handed you a gun.

“Ah, the Scooby Gang,” Soldier Boy remarked. He nodded at Butcher. “This is how you repay me for taking care of Homelander? My own son.”

“He weren’t your fucking son,” Butcher replied. “I’d reckon you know that best of all.”

Soldier Boy’s lips twitched. Whether at a smile or a frown, you couldn’t tell.

“You found me, remember? So what, you got buyer’s remorse?” he said.

“See, the problem is, supes like you are what we call,” said Butcher, “a menace to fucking society.”

Soldier Boy’s lips pulled down into a frown. He looked a cross between annoyed and impatient.

“I fought for my country. I saved lives—”

“You took just as many as you might’ve saved,” M.M. interrupted. “And not just that building you burnt the fuck up last year.”

Soldier Boy hesitated at that. “You really wanna do this?”

You all really want to die? his eyes said. He got determined silence from all of you. He rolled his shoulders and adjusted his blazer.

“All right,” he shrugged.

Then all hell broke loose. You ducked for cover as Soldier Boy deflected the giant flare gun M.M. shot at him. With his bare hand.

Hired security then poured into the room—you assumed hired by Soldier Boy. And you protected Hughie from getting his neck snapped by shooting a man between the eyes.

You and M.M. continued to fight them off. Meanwhile, Kimiko and Annie tried to give Butcher and Frenchie a chance to get close with the Novichok gas on Soldier Boy.

You took care of three more men before you heard a low buzzing sound. You turned around, and a gasp fell from your lips when you saw Soldier Boy’s chest lighting up.

You knew what came next.

And so did Annie. She poured her all into her next star bolt—which managed to shove Soldier Boy through the window. She and Kimiko flew or otherwise ran out the window to follow him. While Butcher, Frenchie, and M.M. helped you fight off the last of the hired guns.

Finally, you covered Hughie as the five of you left the normal, human way, and ran down the stairs to exit the club. By the time you were able to join Annie and Kimiko, however, Soldier Boy had disappeared.

You glared down the dark, busy streets of Medellin.

Damn it!

You returned to the hotel disappointed and angry beyond fucking belief. Mostly at yourself.

After all the work you did, having to seduce and make out with that bastard, only to discover he’d made you long before you took the stage at the club.

Fucking hell, you thought angrily as you kicked at your suitcase. It sent your clothes tumbling across the dirty carpet, but right now you didn’t give a fuck. Damn cocky bastard.

In the bathroom, you kicked off your heels in relief. You looked yourself over in the mirror and found various cuts and bruises from the fight. Your softly curled hair was a shambles, along with your makeup.

Parts of your dress were torn, along with your pantyhose. Which was probably Soldier Boy’s doing, if you thought about it. You sighed.

You were about to start undressing, but then you heard something. A small sound, like a thump.

Your gun was on the table in the main room. Frowning in suspicion, you left the bathroom cautiously. Before your hand could close around your gun, a gloved hand grabbed your wrist.

You aimed a punch with your free one and caught a man directly in the jaw. He reeled back, but was quick to recover and try to grab you again.

While the guy was strong, you could feel that he wasn’t a supe. A human, you could deal with. He wore a mask over his face, but you could see he had shoulder-length brown hair. He was tall and lean, and one of his boots was strangely larger than the other.

You didn’t have time to focus on it. You redirected his following blow and used his strength against him, flipping him over your shoulder. Unfortunately, he landed on the table that held your poor laptop.

“Aw, shit,” you snapped with a grimace. You searched for your gun in the wreckage.

While you were somewhat distracted, he aimed a kick that caught you in the face, sending you onto your back with a pained cry. You quickly rolled over and got to your feet, just as your attacker threw out fist after fist.

You dodged and shoved away most of them, until he grabbed your arm and managed to crack his elbow into your temple.

You went down and hit your head hard against the bedframe.

And it was lights out.

You slowly, painfully woke up in a moving car.

You were suffering the cottony taste of a gag in your mouth and a musty bag over your head. Your wrists were tied in front of you, and it felt like you were shoved into the backseat. The car was quiet, save for the radio playing Latin pop on low volume.

You never would’ve thought Shakira would be the background track of your kidnapping, but here you were.

The car eventually stopped and you were dragged out, forced onto your feet on a cobblestone driveway. Then into a house.

…Well, this fucking sucks.

The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor. You couldn’t see where you were going with this stuffy bag over your head, but you knew it was tile. Your bare feet all but scraped across it as they dragged you.

Whoever held your arms in a vice grip eventually forced you to sit in a rickety wooden chair. They pulled your wrists behind the chair and bound them together with a zip tie.

You felt the slit on your dress sliding open, so you crossed your legs, for whatever good that would do you. At the very least, it would give the impression that you were sitting here casually, and not (figuratively) shitting yourself with fear.

“What the hell is this?” a deep, familiar voice asked.

“A gift.” You knew this voice as well. Neither one instilled you with calm.

Then the bag finally came off your head. The gag did not, however. You knew your red dress was in unfortunate tatters. You knew you were bruised and scratched, and overall worse for wear.

But when your gaze found your kidnapper, you glared up at him with a stubborn tilt to your chin. Antonio, Señor Groping Bastard from the club, was smirking back at you.

What the fuck.

Then you noticed him.

Soldier Boy stared back at you with raised brows, and instant recognition in his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

AN: 😬 So we finally made it to the prologue opener! Was it everything you thought it would be? How did you like her attempt at "undercover?" 🤭

And are you ready for what's coming next?

To keep reading: Part 3

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rorywritesjunk · 1 year ago

Text

No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you’re fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn’t want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn’t necessarily take husband’s feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I’m just trying to vibe off what I’ve seen of Kid Buggy. I’m no expert. I’d protect that kid with my life. He’s so adorable. I also like the trope of “Meeting your self from another time” and “gets turned back into kid-self”. This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up. Also, kelpies. Are they in One Piece? I honestly don’t know but I love kelpies and needed an excuse to mention them.

Title comes from "Sailing Song" by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @misadventures0fdes @sylum @valen-yamyam16 @dohkyu

Chapter 2

Your husband refused to speak to you until the kid was gone, but you weren’t going to put up with this. Instead, you carried on like normal, taking the kid with you as you did your tasks around the ship, giving him a tour, and when it was dinner time, you fixed his favorite meal. However, when your husband came into the kitchen, he was glaring at you.

“What’s he still doing here?”

You crossed your arms and stared at him. “I’m feeding him dinner because I’m not going to let this kid go hungry because you think he’s a kelpie or omen or whatever is rattling around in that brain of yours.” With a huff, you grabbed two plates and piled them both with food before placing them on the table. Kid Buggy was already seated, watching Adult Buggy cautiously. His clothes weren’t dry yet from earlier and he didn’t want to go for another swim.

Your husband grumbled and took a seat, glaring down at his plate of food. At least you cooked his favorite meal, must be to make up for this crap he’s having to deal with. He sighed and picked up his fork before he started to shovel food into his mouth. You rolled your eyes and fixed your own plate. Kid Buggy immediately started to do the same as his adult counterpart. His eyes lit up and he looked at you excitedly.

“This is my favorite!” He said with his mouth full of food. “How’d you know?!”

You just shrugged and smiled at him as you sat down between them at the head of the table, handing the kid and your husband each a napkin. It was a lost cause because neither of them took it from you so you set it down beside them. You tried to make an effort. “I know everything.”

Kid Buggy looked between you and your husband; Adult Buggy did the same. It was weirdly intriguing and adorable to you. You ate your own food, not looking at either of them. Once your plate was clean you picked up your husband’s napkin and leaned over to wipe his face; he rolled his eyes, mumbling something about pirates and not being scary. The kid narrowed his eyes at the two of you as you leaned over to do the same for him.

“You both wear your food as much as eat it, you know.” You chuckled as you wiped the kid’s face, and to your surprise, he allowed it a second time. Your husband was used to it by now. He may be a pirate but you still wanted him to be somewhat clean, even if it was just using a damn napkin from time to time. “Now, sweetie, remember the conversation from earlier, about who this man across from you is?”

Kid Buggy shrugged and set his fork down. “You said it’s me from the future, but I don’t like this, I don’t want to be some loser like him.”

“You little-”

“Buggy.” You shot your husband a look. “This is you as a kid, so you can’t be mad if he’s sassy to you.”

“He isn’t me!” Adult Buggy insisted. “Stop saying that!”

“Honey, it is, I know it.” You assured him. “I'll take care of him and get it all figured out, okay? I promise.”

Your husband crossed his arms and glared at you. You just smiled sweetly at him. You would figure it out, no matter what.

“No.”

“Buggy-”

“This is my bed.”

“And I share it with you.”

Your husband stood at your side of the bed, glaring down at you and the sleeping figure beside you. There was no way you were going to allow the kid to sleep with the crew, and while you didn’t talk about the sleeping arrangements first with your husband, you also couldn’t find him to talk about it. He had disappeared after dinner, grumbling once again about kelpies, omens, selkies, whatever. You didn’t even know at this point. So after you got yourself and Kid Buggy ready for bed, you let the kid tell you another story about his adventures as an apprentice before he fell asleep nearing the end of his tale. It was kind of cute.

“Just for the night.” You told Buggy as he stormed over to his side of the bed. “Buggy, why are you so upset by this?”

“You brought something onto the ship!” He hissed at you as he threw the covers back and climbed under them. “We don’t know what this is!”

“It’s you, Buggy.” You sighed as you looked down at the sleeping kid. He was sprawled out beside you, snoring loudly. It reminded you of someone else you knew. “He mentioned being an apprentice on the Oro Jackson, and… and you know weird things like this can happen!”

“Not weird like this!” He shot back. “I’m going to sleep and when I wake up that kid better be gone. I don’t care where you take him, he has to be gone.”

He turned his back to you after that and pulled the covers over his head. Okay, you weren’t really bothered by that reaction. He was upset over this but you wanted to know why. What made him so certain this wasn’t him as a kid? It made you wonder if something happened to your husband as a kid to get him this freaked out. Your husband could be stubborn but you were determined. You carefully crawled over the sleeping kid and slipped under the covers behind your husband, stretching out behind him as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Buggy, tell me what’s wrong, please.” You murmured in his ear. You felt his body stiffen up, whether from the question or you suddenly being right there, you weren’t sure, but you needed to know. “You… you seem scared.”

He turned and glared at you but you didn’t back down. “I’m not talking about it.”

Oh, well…

You rested your chin against his shoulder. “I think there’s something to talk about, honey.”

He scoffed and looked away from you, but he didn’t shy away from your touch. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, hoping that might help him relax enough to start talking to you. Clearly there was something about having Kid Buggy here that was bothering him more than the kid just “being a curse or bad omen”. It made you wonder of the possibility of other universes, alternate realities, but then you remember hearing those stories from the drunk sailors and pirates, and really, you heard enough of those stories from different places that it had to be a possibility.

“Buggy, did something happen to you when you were that age?” You asked. He tensed up once more and you loosened your hold on him, but he sighed heavily and relaxed in your arms. “Honey?”

“Stop talking and go to sleep.” Buggy replied wearily. “Please, it’s late.”

Oh, he said please to you, that meant something. You knew when to stop, and if he was using words like that it meant you had to back off, so you did. You kissed his cheek again and pulled the covers around the two of you tightly.

“I love you so much, Captain.” You whispered in his ear. “You’re the fiercest pirate on the seas, and no one ever stands a chance against the future King of the Pirates.”

That did the trick. He rolled over and wrapped himself around you, head tucked under your chin as he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as you ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. You’d have to try and ask him again tomorrow. Maybe you could get him and the kid to interact without insults and threats.

Kid Buggy, however, had stirred and woken up at that moment, hearing you say the words ‘Captain’ and ‘King of the Pirates’. Now he was more confused than ever.

You were the first one awake, which wasn’t a surprise, but what was a surprise was you were surrounded on both sides. Your husband was clinging to you like a damn octopus, arms and legs wrapped around you with his head resting against your chest. The kid was curled up beside you and your arm was holding him against your side. Did he move in his sleep or did you? It was hard to tell but you didn’t think too long at that moment. You needed to get up and start breakfast.

Not to mention they were both snoring. The kid at least was nowhere near your ear, but your husband moved in his sleep and suddenly he was snoring right in your ear. Okay, that was enough. You suddenly sat up, jostling them both awake, and their matching sleepy expressions were quite adorable.

“Good morning!” You giggled, leaning over to kiss your husband on the cheek before turning to give Kid Buggy a kiss on the forehead. You pretended not to notice the smug look on your husband’s face at being the first to get attention, but you figured the kid wouldn’t care. “I’m going to get breakfast started, okay? Both of you get dressed and come find me in a bit.”

You got up before either could respond, throwing on your clothes for the day and hurrying out the door. Hopefully your husband wouldn’t throw the kid overboard again but you knew not to hold your breath. Maybe they could have a bonding moment, or Buggy could talk to his kid self or vice versa, who knew, but you wanted your husband to be honest about why this was so upsetting and stressful for him.

They finally joined you fifteen minutes later. Kid Buggy’s clothes were finally dry, so he put those back on. Your husband had his jacket and hat on, looking every bit the dashing and handsome captain that he is. You brought him a cup of coffee and kissed his cheek, complimenting on how handsome he looked this morning. He leaned back in his seat with a smirk; the kid just looked between the two of you.

“So… do I become a captain?” He asked; you both turned to look at him. “I heard you talking last night.”

“Oh!” You poured him a cup of juice and brought it over to him, giving your husband a look that said please please be quiet and don’t interrupt let me just explain something to the kid. “Um, yes. You become a captain with your own crew and everything!”

His eyes widened and he looked at Buggy. Your husband was watching you carefully, but he said nothing. The kid actually looked impressed by that. “Is this my ship?”

“My ship.” Buggy told him, narrowing his eyes. “I worked hard to get where I am.”

“But if I’m you then it’s also my ship.” The kid said with a smug look, crossing his arms as he looked back at the captain. You chuckled softly as you served them both breakfast; eggs, toast, and potatoes. The two Buggys locked eyes for a moment before both picking up their forks and shoveling food into their mouths. It was quite a sight to see how in sync they were with their movements. You finally sat down with your own plate.

“You have to work hard to get where he is.” You said, pointing from the kid to your husband. “It didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of work and sacrifice, y’know, usual stuff.”

“Wow.” Kid Buggy grinned. “Do me and Shanks have the ship together? Is he a part of the crew too? Where’s he at?”

Your husband stopped eating and set the fork down. He pushed back from the table and walked out of the room. It was surprising that he didn’t blow up at the kid, but you were grateful that he didn’t. The kid looked at you with a frown.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing.” You assured him. “We can talk about it later, I promise, but we got chores to do after breakfast.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x you #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x reader #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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